Back when things made sense
You may think this, yet mortals do not always see the purpose behind the ways of the immortal.
For all that death is undesirable to the living, we must die or the lands would be overrun with our children and our children's children.
Do not judge the deathbringer lest she judge you.
This land was old, and the peoples, old. Here along the banks of the bountiful River Elid, the planet's first human civilization was born. The annual flooding of the river brought the rich, life sustaining blessing of Elidinis to the land, and Tumeken, the sun, Lord of Light reached down and gave life to lifeless seeds. But the banks of the Elid were not the only part of the land that was bountiful. The plains of Uzer and the savanna where the Bedabin tribe roamed had plentiful game. A rich diversity of creatures wandered there, versions of which made it seem that their cousins who roamed elsewhere were only shadows. And the rich forests of Ullek, where wood prized the world over grows and matures; the granite and sandstone quarries!
Life begets death, and death begets life. And so, the union of the life giving powers of the sun and the river gave birth to death, rebirth, and destruction. And two new gods were born: Caring, gentle Icthlarin, and Amascut, red-haired and handsome. To Icthlarin fell the responsibility of bringing life though death and preparing the soul for the afterlife. His was the mystery of new life springing from the ground where the deceased found their final resting place. To Amascut fell the responsibility of bringing death though life and preparing the body for the afterlife. Hers was the necessity of death to life; hers was old age; hers was the hunt; hers was the need to eat; hers was the vicious fight for survival.
Hers was the harvest. And she had come to collect.
She passed her hands above the heads of wheat while walking through the field belonging to the household she was due to visit. As the wheat tickles her palms, spikelets fall to the ground. At least in this part of the field, the mice will not climb the stalks and break them just to get their meal, and the family will have a little more to eat went the harvest comes. Well, a little bit more than if they were just losing one mouth to feed.
Inside, a family was gathered around a boy lying on a few mats on the ground. He had been lying there, feverish, for half a week. And for the entire time, his family had kept vigil, praying that he would get better.
The reaper, grim and somber, passes through the walls of the house as if they were naught but smoke.
For all that death is undesirable to the living, we must die or the lands would be overrun with our children and our children's children.
Do not judge the deathbringer lest she judge you.
This land was old, and the peoples, old. Here along the banks of the bountiful River Elid, the planet's first human civilization was born. The annual flooding of the river brought the rich, life sustaining blessing of Elidinis to the land, and Tumeken, the sun, Lord of Light reached down and gave life to lifeless seeds. But the banks of the Elid were not the only part of the land that was bountiful. The plains of Uzer and the savanna where the Bedabin tribe roamed had plentiful game. A rich diversity of creatures wandered there, versions of which made it seem that their cousins who roamed elsewhere were only shadows. And the rich forests of Ullek, where wood prized the world over grows and matures; the granite and sandstone quarries!
Life begets death, and death begets life. And so, the union of the life giving powers of the sun and the river gave birth to death, rebirth, and destruction. And two new gods were born: Caring, gentle Icthlarin, and Amascut, red-haired and handsome. To Icthlarin fell the responsibility of bringing life though death and preparing the soul for the afterlife. His was the mystery of new life springing from the ground where the deceased found their final resting place. To Amascut fell the responsibility of bringing death though life and preparing the body for the afterlife. Hers was the necessity of death to life; hers was old age; hers was the hunt; hers was the need to eat; hers was the vicious fight for survival.
Hers was the harvest. And she had come to collect.
She passed her hands above the heads of wheat while walking through the field belonging to the household she was due to visit. As the wheat tickles her palms, spikelets fall to the ground. At least in this part of the field, the mice will not climb the stalks and break them just to get their meal, and the family will have a little more to eat went the harvest comes. Well, a little bit more than if they were just losing one mouth to feed.
Inside, a family was gathered around a boy lying on a few mats on the ground. He had been lying there, feverish, for half a week. And for the entire time, his family had kept vigil, praying that he would get better.
The reaper, grim and somber, passes through the walls of the house as if they were naught but smoke.