The World of Onbulos

A young orange shell let in a flood of new dawnwind, upsetting the delicate balance of the room. Anxiously probing the room, navigating by the aura of a red-tipped stick sitting in a carefully clasped bag, she found her way to the bed. With great physical and magical strain, Pendzi managed to lift her friend’s sleeping body onto the bed. She explored the room and came across an engraved spout. She sang to it, politely requesting that it deliver water to her. Satisfied with her performance, he began to spit drops. She drank several herself, and applied the rest copiously to a thin piece of cloth she carried with her. She thanked him and returned to the main bedroom. She dipped the cloth in a paste and then gently pried open the mouth of her friend and placed the wet cloth upon his tongue, carefully checking to ensure it was not preventing breathing. She let out a sigh, a stalk bobbing slowly up and down in concern. Pendzi rested her shell upon the floor and waited for her friend to awaken, listening carefully to the playful games between the day and the winds. The cycle continued as usual, though she heard an unusual solemnity to their play. It was as if the winds in the room sensed her anxiety and they too, in all their perpetual wisdom, were concerned for her friend.

After another cycle or two, ending with the arrival of dawn, a delicate flake of sunlight fell upon the poet’s face and gently stirred him. Slowly and carefully he opened his eyes, blinking in surprise as if he did not expect to ever see again. He sat up in the bed, spitting the damp cloth out onto the floor and shaking his head.  His mouth was filled with a bitter taste and so he went to the spout and asked for water, to which it pityingly obliged. The poet slurped feverishly and loudly. Loudly enough to disturb Pendzi’s sleep, to which she excitedly jumped into the mobile-levitation position and ran over to him. She wrapped her singular arm around him, pulling him close and feeling his face with her stalks. He let out a surprised but slow thup, pushing away and jumping back at first, pausing for a moment to look at her. The outer corners of his eyes were squished and lifted in a smile before he let out a happy noise and hugged her hard shell.  

After a moment they pulled apart and sat down, Chiir resting his body on the bed while Pendzi rested her shell on the floor. They sat silently for a while, though it was not in silence for Pendzi who could hear the energetic celebration of the various winds. She stretched her stalks in a dance with the increasing flutters of the midday air. Chiir tried to listen, unsuccessfully, to their soft whispers. Some time later, when the midday air had completely chased off the various morning winds, Pendzi rose from the floor and pointed a tendril at her friend.

“Will you be leaving soon?” She asked. He gave her a quizzical look that she could not see, though she seemed to understand his reaction based on the noises his musculature and breathing made in response to her question.

“Your reason for staying is over. I introduced you to that which I worship.” She continued.

“I am here to live for my god, and I believe that being with you will provide me with a life well lived.” He replied. Her stalks stilled suddenly, a singular pulse traveling through them as her elevation slightly faltered. Chiir laughed quietly at her embarrassment, earning him a light slap in the face with a floating pillow which only caused him to laugh louder.

“How is your health?” She asked him, seemingly eager to change the topic.

“I am sure it has been better,” he commented, standing up from the bed. He turned away from her and spit across the room. “A bit short,” he noted to himself, “It certainly has been better, but it could be worse. How long was I asleep?”

“At least two or three days after I awoke, I do not know how long it took me to recover, though it was warm and I could hear the winds of the morning singing to me. Four to six days.” His brows raised in concern; they made a crinkle that Pendzi had not yet learned to interpret.

“Should I be concerned?” He asked, trying to suppress his fear. Pendzi tilted her body back and forth in unsure contemplation.

“You are awake,” she finally answered, “and that is all that really matters now.” He nodded.

“And you? How is your health? You said you were not present for a day or two.” Her body suddenly straightened itself before she began to excitedly flit around the room. Clearly, she had a much more pleasurable experience as a result of her religious awakening. She sang a delightful song, a few notes of which Chiir believed he could recognize from the night those few cycles ago. The song was not her own, not in its entirety anyway. His eyebrows again crinkled in concern, before relaxing into a content smile as he happily watched his friend celebrate.

“Better than ever, I see.” Chiir commented, laughing again before she hit him with another pillow. He let himself fall backwards onto the bed, gazing out the window. He felt the cool air of the late evening and noticed the position of the suns in the sky.

“It is getting late,” he said as he stood up suddenly, “We should probably get something to eat.” Pendzi gradually slowed down her dance, taking much longer than necessary, before chirping in affirmation. She opened the door, allowing the evening air to rush in and dance with what remained of the other winds.

The two traveled together to a nearby cafeteria where they first talked about the subjects of their worship. Today, no musicians played. As was typical for the pair, Chiir purchased a thick and cold vegetable drink and Pendzi a hearty meat stew. They exchanged a few round lumps of common metal for their food and Pendzi found them seats in the mostly empty cafeteria. Chiir stayed behind for a moment to speak with the chef, stating that he had been away for a few days and was curious about the events during his absence. The chef did not have much to say. Chiir questioned him about any loud noises in the past seven days. The chef shook his head, only having heard the music and the talk of the people. It would have been late at night, possibly would have woken people up, Chiir explained. The chef shook his head again. He had heard no such noise, nor any rumors or discussions about such a noise. Chiir appeared dumbfounded and his brows crinkled in such intense confusion and frustration that Pendzi could hear them from her seat. Chiir sighed, grabbed the dishes, thanked the Chef for his time, and went to sit with Pendzi.

“What is it that has you so frustrated?” Pendzi inquired, pointing a tendril at him as she took her dish and sucked in a mouthful of stew.

“What possibly could you mean?”

“You are very loud, I do not think you could hide your feelings from me even if you tried.”

They laughed together softly.

“The other night, when we visited your moon, he made such loud noises. But it seems that nobody was disturbed by them.” He answered, looking down in contemplation for a moment, “Actually I cannot recall any response from the critters around us. I would have expected some sort of commotion, but they did not run in fear. Perhaps, like me, they were paralyzed in awe…” he began to trail off.

“It is not my moon,” she stated rather sternly as she placed her dish on the table, “I simply worship it.” She paused for a moment before continuing, “that does not surprise me,” she stated simply and without further elaboration.

“And why not?”

“Such is the nature of the moons, those that are sufficiently in control of their power anyway. They do not expose themselves to those that need not know of their presence or expanse. Perhaps, if one was sensitive enough and had enough intention, they may have heard it as it spoke to you, but for most that is not the case.”

Chiir nodded his head in false understanding.

“Do you know what it said to me?”

“Do you not?”

“I…”     “The details are a bit murky. It said hello.”     “Is that all?”

“It was a standard greeting. First, it thanked me for my service as conduit. It observed the area through my eyes. Not eyes. Sensory stalks. I don’t have eyes. Then it turned its attention towards you, I believe it was pleasantly surprised to meet someone new; it has seemed somewhat lonely lately. It addressed you by name; I believe there was some sort of epithet attached. It said that it saw you, and that now you are witness to its awesome power.”

“An epithet you said‽” Chiir asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Pendzi replied plainly.

“Do you remember what it was?”

“No. No I do not. I do not remember… words. That is not how communing with a moon works. They do not speak in sentences in the same way you and I are speaking. They speak in ideas, and all I gleaned was that he was addressing you in a name more full than what I have come to know you by.”

Chiir sighed, looking down at his drink in defeat. He took a long sip that quickly developed into an extended gulping.

“Why does this upset you?”

“We… Thup-Thups, that is… We typically have three names throughout our life. My first name, Chiir, I was given because I showed aptitude for writing. My second, Taijal, I chose when I chose to become a poet. Often the second name is more of a title than a name.”

“Your honorifics go after your name then?”

“Yes.”

“Taijal… That is like my prefix Yan.”

“Yes, yes it is!”

Pendzi chirped happily, proud of herself for catching on so quickly and connecting the different approaches of their disparate cultures.

“And what about the third name? When will you receive yours?”

“I will receive it when I die.”

“Oh.”

“Unless, of course, I receive it early from an oracle or a moon.”

“I understand why that possibility upsets you.”

Chiir nodded in response and took another sip of his drink.

“And you… what do your names mean?” He asked her.

“This circle here marks my name, Pendzi. It means… Student. I was given the name because I showed an aptitude for learning. And also because I was somewhat foolish. Foolish student, Pendzi means,” she began, pointing at a marking on her shell. “Above it is a starmap from my birth and beside it a little circle I received from my commune of Wedariig. Right underneath my name is a little ring I received from the Council of Double-Ancient Research when I enrolled, and this other big circle is my prefix Yan! It means I am an officially certified scholar.” Her voice was brimming with pride as she spoke of her recently acquired title, “It still feels fresh.”

Chiir listened intently to her every word, absolutely fascinated by her foreign naming conventions. He watched as her markings were illuminated by the last remaining rays of light from the setting suns as the last of the sun-kissed winds gave way to the thick and cold air of the night.

As the evening winds were replaced by the cold and capricious nighttime song, a sudden and loud singular knock upon his door interrupted Chiir, causing him to jump away from the startled flame who flared bright and tall in return before vanishing in a puff of smoke as it fled from the noise. The young poet sighed, took a moment to regain his composure, and opened the door for his friend.

Pendzi snorted a laugh, her shell shuddering as her elevation faltered and rolled. She waved a tendril at Chiir. He raised a brow.

“Can you feel it?” She chirped ecstatically.

“Feel what?” He asked, even more confused than before.

“Tonight, the sky will be right.”

“Right for what?” he asked.

    “Have you already forgotten my dear new friend? Night has fallen, as I said it would, and soon the sky will be right, and if you will still allow me I would like to show you what it is that I revere.”

    He lowered his head in understanding. “It has been long, as you said it would.”

Her stalks partially retracted, tips sticking out and curling inward. Chiir politely scoffed at her prideful display.

    “Not all your predictions have shown true. The wait was not dangerous.”

    Two stalks curled outward, the other pair bobbing slowly. “I suppose that much can be said. Let us hope that pattern holds true.”   

    Chiir nodded solemnly and exited his room, closing the door behind him.

    “Is the sky right now?” He asked. Her stalks bobbed in and out of her valve in a pattern that told him he would have to wait.

    “Come with me, I will lead you to a place where you will be able to see,”she whispered.

The two left the grounds of the inn. They stopped at the top of a small hill that looked upon the nearby fields of lightly colored flowers and sat under the moonshade of a small tree-like plant. Pendzi's stalks swelled and began to glow dimly as they got close, their illuminance gradually growing in intensity.

“Look up at the sky,” she instructed him, her fins now so bright they displaced the moonshade entirely. She pointed upwards. Gliding lazily across the sky was a moon, not all that different from the others in the sky. It was of average size, not significantly large or small. It was wholly unremarkable, a pale grey lump of living rock with flecks of blue-green. It had no face or eyes, no significant features for Chiir to find visible patterns in. Nothing immediately or visibly noteworthy. But its presence resonated with Pendzi and her stalks began to quiver. Chiir scanned the sky for whatever it was that she wanted him to see. The search was frustratingly futile.

“What is it I am supposed to be looking at?” He asked.

“Do you mean to say you can't feel its presence? Can you feel anything at all? Or are your senses so…” She let out a sigh, lowering herself from her elevated posture of agitation. She firmly pointed at the moon with a tendril and a finger. Chiir squinted at the moon. He nodded in confusion.

“Can you not hear its song?”

He shook his head.

She sighed again, defeated. Pendzi began to sing, blundering at first before finding a comfortable way of retelling her gods story-song.

Chiir listened intently, still struggling to find the significance in it all. The song was simple, beautifully simple, but ultimately unremarkable to the poet’s ears. Pendzi became increasingly frustrated with his ignorance. She let out a huff mid song, stopping herself.

“You don’t understand.”

“I apologize.” “Please, you must excuse me.”

“Excuse you? For wh-”

    Her stalks then let out a great burst of blue radiance as they retracted. She fell to the ground abruptly. Chiir was stunned for a moment and unable to catch her, though he recovered his senses in time to prevent her from rolling down the hill into the throng of pallid blooms. She sang somebody else's song in a voice that was not her own. A deep and powerful bellow was forcing itself out of her valves. It was a sound so powerful, Chiir thought, that nobody on the island should be able to sleep.

The moon used Pendzi as its conduit; she became naught but a shell within which it was contained. It scooped her out and made itself home, filling her emptied shell with itself. It seemed to erase all that once was Pendzi’s voice, replace it with its own. New, foreign vocal organs that were impossibly extensive in span and powerful yet also impossibly compact, now inhabited the tight space that once held her pipes. Chiir worried that nothing would be left of his friend if this continued. He considered calling out, screaming, running for help. The moon then addressed the poet by his full name, posthumous epithet included, painting the shape of the script with variations of tone and inflection.

“A battle,” Pendzi commented. Chiir nodded, not really understanding what she was referring to. He sipped at his drink. Her tendrils followed the rhythm of the music.

“They are winning,” she continued. Chiir nodded again and took another confused sip from his drink.

“That is what music is. A battle for dominance. Those musicians, they are bending the winds to their will. They believe they have more right to be heard because they are louder. I can hear the winds wimper with every loud thump from the drummer .”  

Chiir thought about how much joy music has brought him and took a sip of shame. Pendzi pulled a piece of cooked meat into her valve.

“All sound, really. Even now, simply talking with one another, we are winning in a battle against the winds.”

He looked down sheepishly, away from the music and away from her.

“I apologize for the disrespect.”

She laughed.

“Do you assume I revere the winds?”

“Well I-”

“I do not. Not all Spilusips revere the winds. Do not mistake my observation of a struggle for taking sides, and do not assume I would take a side other than my own. ”

“But what of the battle? The domination?”

“Not all domination is brutal or shameful in its violence. The winds are here so that we may change them, and for that they are revered. Speech is their gift to us, to forsake it would be much more disrespectful.”

Chiir nodded, took a sip of his drink, looked up at Pendzi, paused, and then asked, “What is it that you revere, if not the winds?”

She waved her stalks in an excited pattern. “When night falls, if the sky is right, and if you would allow me, I would like to show you.”

He nodded again. They both sat in silence for several moments.

“Well?” She asked him.

His snout crinkled in embarrassment, making a very distinct sound. He forgot that she had no easy way to see him nod and that, even if she did, she may not understand what he meant by it.

“I would like that very much. I will allow you, when the sky is right.”

“It may be long before the sky is right.” “Then I will stay with you.” “Are you sure?” “I am.”

“And if it is dangerous?” “I do not fear.” “And if you should fear?” “Then I suppose I would be a fool.”

Pendzi’s stalks bobbed with concern.

“And what is it that you revere?” She asked.

“I revere my people.” She chirped curiously, prompting him to elaborate.

“What do you know of Thup-Thup religion?” He asked her. “I know that they worship death.”

Now it was Chiir’s turn to laugh at her ignorance.

“We are joined together by death and in death. It is the unity brought by death that we revere, not death itself.”

“And you revere this unity?” “I do.” “And do you worship?” “I live.”

“You worship through life?”

“Yes, through a life well lived I will enrich the united funeral corpse with my experiences.”

“Is that why you have come here?” “Yes, I will bring the sensations of the energy of this place with me.”

“Is that why you have decided to stay with me until the sky is right?” “Yes, but also because I enjoy your company.”

Pendzi’s stalks curled happily.

The first name in the example, Chiir, is composed of four characters. The first two identify the name as a first name. In red is the character for person, designating that the word is a name. Next, in yellow-green, is the character for past, here used to signify first or preceding the second name. Past is used because this name will be from the past for much of the individuals life. In some regions the symbol for given is used instead. Next, in green-blue, is the character for writing followed by the indigo character for positive here used to mean good. Together they indicate that the person was named for being good at writing at a young age. 

The first name in full is read as First/past, of person, skilled at writing.

The modification of characters in word formation can be seen in the first and third characters. In person two strokes are omitted, leaving only the most identifiable part of the shape and leaving room for past. The square in writing is also omitted and the second stroke is replaced by the leg of positive.  

The second name shown, Taijal, is only composed of three characters. First, highlighted in yellow-green is the symbol for present. Present is used because the name is used for much of what would be considered the present for the individual. This is sometimes replaced by the symbol for chosen in much the same way as past is replaced by given. Next, in green-blue, is the character for poetry, indicating that the individual chose to lead a life as a poet. And last, in red, is the character for Thup-Thup, identifying the individual. If an individual of another group was brought up with Thup-Thup naming conventions then either the symbol for that group or the symbol for outsider would be used instead. 

The second name in full is read as Second/Present, Poet, Thup-Thup.

More drastic modification can be seen in this name, with the tail of poetry being reversed and the loop of present replacing the line at the head. The symbol for Thup-Thup is rearranged and split in half. What was once used as a rough approximation of a face is barely recognizable. 

The last name shown, Zolinel, is composed of five characters. It is an example of a simple last name that humbly honors the life of the dead. The symbol for future in yellow-green is joined by the symbol for death in brown to indicate the end of a life. Future is used because it takes place after the present that comprised the individuals life. It is sometimes, as with the other indicators of time, replaced with the symbol for end. The indigo symbol for positive is joined with the red symbol for soul to indicate that the individual had a good and respectable soul. Lastly, in purple, is the symbol for fast. Here it is used to indicate that the life of the individual ended relatively quickly, that they died young. 

The last name in full is read as Future dead, honorable soul, died young. 

The modification of characters can be seen in the omitting of the circle-eye in death and in the substitution of soul for the circle in fast.

The name in full is read as such: 

Past, of person, skilled at writing. Present, Poet, Thup-Thup. Future dead, honorable soul, died quickly. 

From name alone it can be interpreted that this individual, Chiir Taijal Zolinel, showed an aptitude for writing at an early age, lived an honorable life as a poet, died young, and was remembered for the quality of his soul. Because of the absence of a symbol indicating gender and the usage of past, present, and future instead of given, chosen, and end the it can be reasonably assumed that he lived near the central region of the punctured continent. 

The rare structures of this civilization feature intense and vivid detail and tend to be monolithic. Their style is unlike anything else on the planet with a nearly awkward mix of bizarre organic almost organ like shapes and powerfully perfect geometries. Their favored medium seems to be of the strongest stone materials, though it is possible that these were the only structures to survive since their fall and may have produced an unimaginably large number of architectural wonders that did not survive the trials and tribulations of time’s forward journey. It is not know how they fare against time’s journey back. The few structures made out of weaker materials that have been recovered were victims of severe environmental damage, indicating the inconceivably old age of this fallen civilization.

Due to the age of this civilization it is often referred to as the “Double-Ancient Civilization.” Its age has also led most to conclude that it is impossible for it to have been inhabited by any of the intelligent races who currently exist, as all are believed to arrived relatively recently in the history of Onbulos with nothing to indicate otherwise.

Despite the overwhelming lack of knowledge and understanding of the origins and endings of those that are Double-Ancient, their decoded word is trusted by a majority of scholars. Much of the Onbulos Council of Historical Thought’s information on cosmic and planetary prehistory comes from Double-Ancient artifacts and writings.

The civilization’s writings themselves have never been deciphered and do not seem to follow a consistent system of symbols or grammatical rules and have been described as simultaneously impossibly simple and impossibly complex. Rather than being understood through reading, scholar-wizards meditate at Double-Ancient sites and learn from the lingering residue from spells cast by enchantresses long dead. The exact mechanism of these rituals is strongly guarded, leading to some controversy and skepticism. The scholar-wizards of Double-Ancient studies assure the public that this knowledge must be kept in secrecy and their methods not be repeated, their faces gravely disturbed. All that is publically known is that the meditation requires the channeling of a higher power and that it should not be attempted alone and unsupervised.

Reports from those that have experienced the towering structures of Double-Ancient origin firsthand describe them as oppressive and terrifyingly humbling, inspiring deep feelings of unease and insignificance. Seeing them invariably leaves a permanent effect on the minds of visitors. Encounters with Double-Ancient artifacts are described similarly. Coming within proximity of an artifact causes a noticeable shift in the emotion of the air as it becomes thick and intoxicating. Rather than humility, the powerful objects usually inspire intense desire or panic.   

There has been no greater or more well known demonstration of the magical power contained within these artifacts than the Lunar Undoing of Derelict myth and history. In an act of rebellion against their godlike creator, a group of Derelict and Thup-Thups used a divine artifact to split its shell. The gash cut deep and the lifeblood of the former Once-Moon spilled into the now glowing waters. Rays of light erupted as all witnesses were blinded for several days and the undoers transcended into martyrdom, their bodies vaporized instantly.   

Because of the innate danger with these arcane objects they are often locked away and heavily guarded, most commonly in the tall buildings of wizard-scholars. A small number of weak or powerless artifacts may be seen on display in museums behind thick glass walls. The aforementioned divine artifact of Derelict legend is contained behind many thick stone walls with enchanted bricks, save for a small fragment used in their annual celebrations. This fragment alone, no larger than a small pebble, contains within it enough power to damage the pulsating corpse of the Once-Moon and release weakly blinding rays of ancient energy.

The civilizations culture remains ambiguous and poorly understood. Wizard-scholars are in general agreement that they must have put great importance in the construction of monolithic structures and complex magic, though some on the fringe of convention have suggested this may not have been their society as a whole but a select grouping of individuals. Communion with the ghastly imprints of Double-Ancient enchantresses does not suggest a preference for either interpretation. Nothing about the roles of gender in their society is known save for the adamant assertion of wizard-scholars that the magic came from enchantresses in specific. Studies of their architecture suggest complex understanding of anatomy, though the organ-like structures do not seem consistent in their source material. Their assumed system of writing offers no insight into their way of life or belief as it behaves stubbornly undecipherable.

All research on the Double-Ancient civilization and their artifacts is stored at the prestigious Onbulos Council of Double-Ancient Research building, an intimidating grouping of towers on an island off the coast of the Twin Gulfs of the Angry Moons peninsula. The council shares the island with the sacred Vault of History where a good number of writers, historians, and political figures are interred. Copies of the council’s documents are scattered around the world’s libraries.