#boamythos

Liandros, Duli & Bel

The air in the king’s chambers was thick with perfume and sweat. Incense filled the room with smoke and other earthy scents, mixing with the sweet smell of wine and desserts, that swirled into Liandros’s nostrils. He opened his eyes and looked up. 

He was surrounded by a mass of naked bodies, men and women, and everything in between, of various ages and variety, were clumped together, sifting through each other in a drunken, sensuous trance. Liandros bit his lip, but slid across the silk mattress toward someone’s smooth backside. A head popped up from between their thighs, and grinned up at the king. 

“Hello, Majesty,” she chuckled. She was a beautiful girl, just barely a woman, with soft honey blonde hair and big doey, grey eyes. “Enjoying the view?”

Liandros grinned and played with a stray lock of her hair. “What was your name again, precious?”

“Father calls me ‘Eighty-four,” she said dryly. “But you may call me Duli, your Majesty.”

“Duli, you’re Sirosi; I can see it in your skin. The sun has kissed it just perfectly, and your work has done nothing to age you. You are beautiful, darling. Your genes reek of nobility.”

The Story of Mokur & Imak

“My head is killing me,” Garu croaked from the corner. He sat up slowly, and rubbed his forehead. “How are you two not miserable?”

“You’re overthinking, half-elf,” Vojamarsi’s smooth voice floated across the wagon. Luwyn didn’t notice him at first, but there he was, perched upon the seat of the wagon. His back was to them, but his head was turned halfway around, smirking. “Relax. You’re extremely uptight.”

Garu huffed and rolled his eyes. “I’ll relax when we’re on the ground.”

Luwyn blinked. “What do you mean?”

Garu didn’t look at Luwyn, he just pointed down. Luwyn peaked over the edge of the wagon, and saw anything but blue sky underneath them. He panicked gain. He turned back, clenching the sides.

“Why are we so high up?” Luwyn asked, panic shaking his voice.

Vojamarsi shrugged. “The only way to travel this fast is this high up. This wagon moves faster than any vessel in the world. Also...you do know that the Oru’kai is an ancient forest with many, many precautions to not be found?” Vojamarsi asked, an eyebrow raised. “And that it’s guardian, Jorr, can sense when trespassers are even looking for Oru’kai, much less on their way? Do you want to get to Oru’kai in fewer than two decades? Because that was your trajectory. Not to say you’ll survive your visit.”

Garu sunk into the wagon, a sour scowl on his face.

“Wait,” Luwyn said. “Jorr knows were coming?”

Vojamarsi chuckled and nodded. “Well, you know what they say...”

Luwyn shook his head and waited for a response. Vojamarsi leaned back and said nothing. Luwyn looked to Fila and she shrugged.

“Lighten up, Garu,” Fila chimed. “We’re on our way, making incredible time, with a lovely host. And all we have to pay him is a story.”

“Just because you’re flirting with the god of voyages doesn’t mean ours will be any smoother.”

Fila stuck her tongue out at Garu.

Vojamarsi chuckled and looked back at the trio. “You lot are funny,” he said. “Speaking of stories…”

Fila hopped up and clapped. “Yes! Everyone pay attention. This is the story of how Mokur, God of the Sea, met his queen, Imak.” She cleared her throat.

“Long ago, when the waves were young, Mokur Azsar, the Great Seaking, ruled over all the waters of the world. Son of the sea and sky, Az and Ky, Mokur was a spectacle. His blue-black tresses flowed down his back, his skin blue-green like seafoam. He was charged with the protection of the creatures of the deep, sailors and islands. But he was a lonely god, sitting on his throne alone, deep in his beautiful coral palace.”

“Wonderful! My grandfather in all of his glory,” Vojamarsi called out in dry tone.

“Anyway,” Fila continued after a quick glare at Vojamarsi. “One morning, Mokur set out on a routine patrol his kingdom. He woke up early that day, urged by something to search his waters. He spent the entire day patrolling, from to the shallows and beaches to the deepest pits of the ocean.

Mokur ventured to an uninhabited corner of the ocean, when a faint whine echoed through the water. It was pained, and Mokur’s heart began to ache when he heard it. He could smell fear and blood. Mokur followed the trails until he found a dolphin floating in the dark, murky waters. Mokur swam to the creature, and saw the wound in its side and blood streaming out.

A league away, a pair of hungry sea dragons, eels really, eyed the wounded beast. They wanted that kill, and wouldn’t let the Sea King get in their way. They thrashed their teeth at Mokur, a challenge to the god of the waves.

Mokur raised his mighty brow at the beasts and grinned. Soft spoken as always, Mokur swam forward without saying a word, and stared down the sea dragons. Her raised his mighty hands and brought them together. The sound of the clap was faint in the deep, only a muffled thump, but it sent a long, thin, horizontal current of water surfing silently toward the sea drakes.

The dragons snickered and sneered at Mokur. “With that, Azsar?” they mocked. “You will be us with a mere ripple?”

Mokur said nothing. He only grinned and chuckled quietly as he turned away, and swam back to the dolphin’s side.

The current sailed through the water, and the dragons swam to meet it. They rushed closer and closer together, until the current was inches from them. They puffed out their scaley chests to laugh again, when the current sailed through them, and left a red line on their chests.

The dragons did not laugh. They were silent for a moment. Then their bodies split into two pieces each. Their blood spread through the water.

Mokur grinned again, and turned his attention to the dolphin. He laid his hand upon the beast. ‘Be still now, child. I will heal you.’ And he did just that. Mokur pressed his hand onto the dolphin’s wound. It winced back. Mokur then gave the creature a portion of his power, the very thing that made him a god. The dolphin squirmed in his arms, then went still. The wound closed underneath Mokur’s palm.”

Fila leaned in, her eyes wide. “Then something amazing happened; the dolphin began to glow with a bright light that filled the depths. The light flickered out and Mokur uncovered his eyes to see the beautiful figure of a woman, complete with the marvous, colorful tail and fin. Her skin and eyes were pale blue, and her indigo hair rippled around her body.

‘Hello, Azsar,’ she whispered. Mokur floated in the water, his mouth agape. He was captivated by her beauty.

She swam toward Mokur, and held her delicate hands out for his. ‘You saved my life. Not only that,’ she said, grasped his large hands. ‘but, you have also given me a piece of your life. Life everlasting...will I need a new name, my king?’

Mokur shook his head. ‘Whatever you wish to be called, I would sing it from the deepest pits of the ocean, so that the monsters of the Void could hear me,’ he whispered.

‘I had a name...in my former life. Imak…’ she said.

Mokur nodded and spun her around. ‘And Imak you shall be!” the great god of the sea bellowed.

Mokur hoisted Imak in his arms, and took her back to his coral palace, and married Imak in front of every creature of the sea. Quiet Mokur has never been jollyer since meeting his bride.

Fila turned and grinned at Vojamarsi. The god of travelers nodded back from the front of the wagon and waved lazily.

“Beautiful,” he said. “Truly. My maternal grandparents’ story is a lovely, lovely tale. Did you know how my paternal grandparents story? The living black pit above us birthed the sky and the earth, and they popped out my father, Sofos. Romantic!” Vojamarsi chuckled and slapped his knee.

Fila shot a confused look at Luwyn. Luwyn only shrugged and grinned.

Garu clapped slowly. “Terrific story, Fila. Quite long. I did enjoy Vojamarsi’s quick tale, however, it was so wonderfully brief.”

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The Isanar, the Gods of Siros

The gods, known as the Isanar, are divided into four groups or generations. The three major groups are the Ise, the Isani, and the Isanuse; the fourth, lesser, group is the Isanushar.

Arandus, God of War & Rossu, God of Peace

Arandus gripped his axe, Nazul. It’s golden eye peeked up at him through cracks in the bark near the blade. A slab of gold from the sun, bathed in the light of his mother, the moon. Arandus forged it just as his father had forged him so long ago. In his rage, Arandus named the axe Nazul, or “Wrath”. That was the beginning of this war. He didn’t feel so wrathful right now, just tired.

Arandus looked to his cousin. Rossu stood next to him, his chest rose and fell steadily. His crimson red hair and skin glistened with divine sweat, his armor peeled away, and his arms and shoulder bare. He held his giant saber in his hands. The blade was huge, as wide as the god’s muscled leg, and longer than he was tall. The metal gleamed scarlet, forged from the innards of a volcano, and bathed in the magma. He named it Efir o’Rossu, “Rossu’s Fire.”

Arandus remembered a time when they were young gods, hair barely on their chins, batting together in the name of justice. There was the rare occasion when peace god Rossu, would clean up the squabbles his war god cousin would start. Now they stood together on the battlefield that might be their last.

Arandus sighed. He missed his home in the heavens, Orthu, and his brothers. His family. Each night, he looked up into the sky and stared at his mother until morning.

“Rossu.”

The Red God grunted a response.

“How many times have we done this?”

Rossu blinked, a clear sign that he was thinking, quite deeply. “Somewhere around five billion, seventeen thousand, three hundred and fifty five. Plus that skirmish with my mother.” He shivered.

Arandus bellowed laughter, the hearty sound echoed across the field. “Leave it to the son of the Sofos the Wise to remember all of our battles, to fear of Rosiag, Torturer of Souls.” He paused.

The horde of vile monsters of the Void waited across the battlefield. They slashed their claws and flashed vicious fangs at Arandus and Rossu, eyes burning with black fire. Their hideous shadowy bodies writhed and hummed with anger. They stood around Oni, several times even the old god’s size, who towered over his nephews. He held a hand in the air, holding his army in place.

Oni’s black mane flowed in the wind, his ruddy grey skin glistening with his power stolen from the sun. His armor was black and gold, emblazoned with runes exclaiming his grace and strength. Oni twirled his spear in his other hand, the golden blade long and wicked. Arandus huffed and glared into his uncle’s onyx eyes.

Arandus chuckled. “We may die here today, Cousin,” he said. Rossu nodded. The God of Peace was never wasteful with his words.

“Shall we make it worth it?”

Rossu nodded again. He swung Efir around his head and slammed it into the ground. The earth separated at his feat, magma bubbling to the surface. The magma rose and morphed, and dryed into the shape of red molten rock warriors, each equipped with swords and axes, maces and spears. They let out guttural sounds that boomed across the field, then charged, hooping and flaying their weapons.

Oni raised his spear, gesturing for his monsters to charge in return, a devilish wrapped grin across his face.

Arandus took a deep breath, then he and Rossu lunged, weapons raised high. They let out a battle cry and crashed through the army of monsters, moving for Oni.

“You took my father from me,” Arandus yelled, sliding underneath a large wolf shaped creature, slashing the length of its belly with his axe. “You took my mother, my home.”

Arandus hopped up and spun, slicing off the head of a tall shadowy figure behind him. He grabbed the limp body and slammed it into another monster. He hacked at the ground, and Nazul’s blade gouged into the soil. He propelled himself through the frey, his eyes locked into Oni.

“For that, Oni, you will feel my wrath!”

this is the roughest sketch ever, but this is how I picture Nazul, the mythical axe forged and wielded by Luwyn’s ancestor and the God of War, Arandus.

Arandus Solandusiir, God of War, Fortune and Thieves, 1st King of Siros

“I want to show you what happened the day Arandus snuck into Oru’kai and stole a branch to complete the great axe he forged, nazul,” Jorr said. “I will show you here.”

She waved her hand, and the air in front of them started to turn in on itself. The leaves dulled in color and the sky glowed any eerie grey.

In front of them, instantly, was Jorr. She was mounted atop a huge green elk covered in moss and mushrooms. Luwyn faintly recognized it from her camp. Jorr looked young and less worn. The white of her skin shone like moonlight and her emerald eyes glinted with anger. She had a huge, knocked arrow aimed at Arandus.

This was no statue, no painting or drawing. This was what Luwyn’s ancestor looked like and he took all of him in. Luwyn first noticed how beautiful he was. His appearance didn’t differ much from the statue in his temple or in Siros; his golden skin shimmered in the faint light. His curls bounced like gold chain links whenever he spoke. His eyes were like pools of amber and his jaw was strong and square. Though he knelt before Jorr, Luwyn could tell that Arandus was much larger than her, and maybe two heads taller. His muscles bulged in thick straps under a gold and bronze leather tunic. He was clad in heavy gold boots and gold tights; a casual outfit, not suited for battle. A dozen arrows with red tips stuck out from all over his body. His golden blood trickled down and stained the grass.

“Having the same enemy doesn’t make us friends, allies or comrades,” the past Jorr said, annoyed. Her huge green eyes were dim and peered down at Arandus with an incredible amount of disinterest. Her mount shifted beneath her.

Arandus shuffled his foot. “Jorr—sister—your brothers and I need your help. We must find a home. Should I remind you whose father it was that killed our father, took our home at Orthu and took our own mother as his prize?”

Jorr’s eyes flashed with anger. “We’re only have siblings.”

Arandus continued, “Oni. The Void, The Ursuper, Isanisarnath, masquerading as the Sun. Your father. You know that he raped her, our mother. I’m not sure if that is how you came about, little sister, but Bulugoba, definitely—”

“Enough!” Jorr interrupted. With a wave of her hand, her elk thrusted her sharp, foliage ridden antlers at Arandus’s throat. “You do not speak of my mother that way. You do not speak of Oni here. Not in this forest, not in any.”

“Anwe was my mother first, and will always be,” Arandus barked, though he stayed eerily calm. “Don’t you know that I am chiseled from gold, sister? You can never really cut me.”

His shoulder began to shake and writhe, the divine bones shifting underneath his golden skin. Arandus looked Jorr in her eyes as a solid gold hilt jutted from somewhere near his neck. Arandus grasped the handle and pulled until a giant, solid gold axe appeared. The blade was as large as his head and had a wicked curve. Nazul. The arrows popped out of his body and his wounds healed instantly. Arandus stretched his large muscles and swung nazul around, extending it towards Jorr.

“I am Arandus Solandusiir, the god of war and bounty and fortune, eldest son of the old god Solandus, Isanisaris, the real Sun. You cannot fight me and win, Huntress, especially not while I wield nazul. You will not stop me. I will cut down every forest, ravage every plane, and drain every ocean to make a home for my brothers and I if I must. But I do not want to. Spawn of Oni or not, you are still a child of Anwe. And you hate your father as much as I do. Help me, sister. Do not fight me.”

Jorr waved her hand again and the elk relaxed. She ran her long fingers across her bald, moss covered head, and shot Arandus a challenging, inquisitive glare.

“Arandus reminded me of her, faintly,” present Jorr said to Luwyn. “My mother, Anwe. Supplant her pale, white gold hair with his gold laden curls and she could very clearing see the resemblance. But in the end, Arandus shared a face with the old god I’ve never met, his father.”

“We all look like our fathers, in some way, don’t we?” present Jorr asked no one in the god-tongue, staring at the imagine thoughtfully.

Luwyn looked back to the past Arandus and Jorr.

Arandus lowered nazul slowly, and planted its hilt into the ground. “We cannot do this alone. I made this weapon to defeat Oni, which means through it, you will have also be responsible for bringing the Usurper to his demise. Help us, please.”

The image faded away and Jorr turned to Luwyn.

“I let him have the branch, partly because he already took it. But mostly, because I knew it was the right thing to do. I hate Oni,” Jorr said, her voice shaking. “I hate that I have no choice but to think of him as my father. Do you know why Jorr the Huntress is bald? I saw my father too much in that black hair I was born with. So I cut it.” She rubbed her hand over her smooth, shiny head.

“I wanted Arandus to strike him down. I prayed to my mother for it. They day I heard that Arandus had fallen, was the only day I have cried in this long life. I felt like I let him down. Should I have picked a better branch? Should I have left this damned forest to aid him in battle? I will never know. But I do know that I can help you. I will stand by your side on the battlefield if you would have me.”

She knelt down so that their faces were close. “I need you now, Luwyn Arandus.”

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The Story of Iassa

(told by Fila, to Luwyn)

“You know,” Luwyn started. “Your magic is beautiful and incredible. A bit scary sometimes, but beautiful nonetheless. How do you do all of those amazing things? Controlling the mud and dirt, creating a prophecy out of demonic rotten hair and bear claws and green fire, healing me and yourself. How do you do it?”

Fila shrugged. “It’s beyond my comprehension. I am gifted and blessed and I do not take this gift for granted. I appreciate my power, so maybe it just appreciates me back,” she replied with a giggled. Luwyn chuckled back.

Fila stared blankly into the distance for a moment, then asked, “Would you like to hear how magic came about? The true origin of all the magic in the world?”

Luwyn quickly sat up so that Fila’s head was in his lap and he looked down at her. “Go for it,” he said, truly intrigued.

“Ok, ok. Long ago there was a god named Iassa. He was the third of the old sun god, Solandus’s, four sons. You know of his brothers, Arandus, Torsu...”

Luwyn nodded quickly. “And Luwyn. I’m named for him, apparently.”

Fila’s eyes opened wide. “Interesting! Anyway, Iassa was a trickster god, and enjoyed mischief and games. After Solandus was cut down, and his sons chased out of the heavens, Iassa grew cynical and closed off from the world, even his brothers. Iassa eventually left his kin, and travelled the world alone.”

“During his travels, he learned to apply his power and condense it, and channel it through words and movements. Iassa learned that he could harness the power of the old gods, the elements themselves and much more. He labeled this new power mak’ia. Overtime, Iassa recorded and collected his many, many accomplishments and findings into thousands of grimoires. Eventually, mankind caught wind of Iassa’s research and sought offer his guidance. At first, Iassa refused, but after he met a beautiful woman named Osera, he gave in and taught her and many others mak’ia. Iassa has to give a little bit of his power, a bit of himself every time he taught someone mak’ia. It drained him, but at the same time, it fulfilled him. Iassa loved giving himself and helping others with his power and enlightening others. The more he gave of himself, the more it diluted his divinity and immortality.”

“And then what?” Luwyn asked.

“Then, he became mortal,” Fila said, shrugging.

“His life was long, longer than any natural mortal being, but he sacrificed it for his passion. He met the love of his life through mak’ia and created a purpose for himself. When Iassa died, his body faded into mist and it sparked into every crack in the earth, every wind current and wave and some living creatures. Through mak’ia, Iassa is responsible for all of the mystical, wonderous and terrifying creatures and beasts that walk the earth, like dragons and demons and elves and ogres. It was passed down and inherited, mutated nature and created beautiful and terrifying and mystical things and became what we now call magic.”

“So,” Luwyn started, pondering. “Magic is just Iassa’s life force?”

Fila laughed and sat up, making it hard for Luwyn to look her in the eye. “In layman's terms, yes.”

She rolled off of the bed and strolled across the room. She barely pulled on her robes, so that her bare torso was fully exposed and grabbed a large package next to the doorway. It was wrapped in canvas and twine.

“Here is your meat,” Fila chimed. “It would be best if you go now, though. I have more work to do and must be left alone.”

Luwyn was surprised by her shortness. He crawled to edge of the bed and grabbed her hand. “What do you mean? You don’t want me to stay?”

“Not particularly, no,” Fila replied, a small smile still on her face.

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Jorr, Goddess of the Hunt and Guardian of Oru’kai

The mud marionettes stopped battling and felt back to the ground. Fila was panting as soon as she finished her story.

Garu clapped sarcastically. “That was wonderful—oof!”

An arrow zipped through the air and nailed Garu in his shoulder so hard he flew back. The arrow was large and made of dark, burgundy wood, with a purple stone arrowhead. Blood ran down Garu’s arm and he tried to stand, but the right side of his body was completely limp. His eyelid sagged shut and the corner of his mouth hung. His arm and leg were useless noodles and he struggled to hold himself up. He tried to speak but his voice came out in gurgles and grunts.

Another arrow struck Fila in her thigh, this time with a blue arrowhead. Fila waited for herself to go limp, but it never happened. A spell snapped from her lips and she waved her hand their attacker’s direction. Nothing happened. She tried another spell and hand movement, and still nothing worked. Fila looked back at Luwyn, her eyes wide and frantic with fear.

“My magic is gone!” she wailed, tears falling down her cheeks.

An arrow flew by Luwyn’s ear, but he ducked and rolled down a small hill, out of the way. He stood and crawled back up the ridge to see someone looming over Garu and Fila.

He couldn’t tell if it were a man or woman; they were bald and their facial features were severe, yet soft and beautiful. They were inhumanly tall and, nearly twice Luwyn’s height and their body wrapped with thin muscle. They wore layers of green and brown furs and leaves and their dazzling, marble white face was hooded and painted with mud and moss. They used a log strapped to their back as a quiver and carried a bundle of human length arrows. The attacker knelt down and examined them. They ripped the arrows from Garu and Fila’s flesh, and threw a large net made of vines over them.

“I am Jorr, the Huntress,” she said. “You are trespassing on hallowed and scared land.” Jorr’s voice was booming and mesmerizing. She sniffed and looked it into the trees.

“There is a third,” Jorr said finally. “I will return for you! You have no business being here. You may try to retrieve your friends, but god’s help you if you do.” Jorr galloped into the trees and disappeared.

Luwyn hopped out of his hiding space and drew his dagger.

“I’ll cut you free,” he said. But every time he managed to break the surprisingly tough vine, it sewed itself back together. There was a loud whistle that echoed through the forest. The long vine at the end of the net started to reel in, until it pulled taut and the net tightened around Garu and Fila and they were dragged away into the forest.

Luwyn tried to keep up with them, but whatever was pulling them went at speeds he couldn’t think of keeping up with. He peered past the net and saw the bald attacker riding away on what looked like a giant green elk, but he wasn’t sure, it was too dark.

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