Creation Myth

Long ago, there was a man. This man had no form or shape. He was the maker of things, but had yet to make himself. One day, the maker of things saw his brother and sister makers creating people to inhabit the world around them. His sister made forests, with people to climb in them. His brother, plains, with people to farm on them. The maker, he had his mountains, but no people to scale them.

The maker slept, and when he dreamt, he dreamt of his people, light of weight but great of spirit, capable of climbing the tallest of heights. He dreamt of big hands to scale with, big feet and tails to balance with, and thick fur to help them through the cold heights. This, the maker thought, would be his people.

When he awoke, the maker set to work. He scooped the sand from the deep deserts of his rain shadows, took hold of the fertile soil from his vibrant jungles below the heights, and mixed in the oldest snow from the tops of the peaks. He made a form, not unlike those of his siblings, but smaller, lighter. As he worked, he daydreamt of the beautiful towns his people would build on the mountainsides. He imagined his siblings’ people in awe of the handiwork of his children.

But, in his daydreaming, the maker forgot most of his fur, decorating his climbing hands, his balancing feet, and his thinking head with fur too thin to protect from the howling, hungry gales of his mountain heights.

Still, he dreamt of the admiration he would reap when his people, high above the people of his siblings, built marvels to rival the sun. Still, he imagined the pride he would feel when the other people looked up and dreamt as he did, of the glory of the maker’s children.

Distracted by his pride, the maker failed to give his people the tail they needed to scale the heights.

When he finally awoke from his daydream, the clay of his people had settled, and, as his people blinked their eyes open for the first time, the maker gazed upon them and knew he had failed.

These children were not the people he’d dreamt of so many days ago. These were not the people he imagined he was building. These were not the people he was proud of.

In his pride and disappointment, the maker left, retreating to his highest peaks, away from his children. In the maker’s laziness and lack of attention, he abandoned his children to disappear in the snow. Many children yearned for their maker, attempting to scale the cliffs that were no longer their home. Few survived the climb. Fewer yet ever emerged from the snows.

In desperation, the maker’s people abandoned the mountain, fleeing to the valley beneath them, hoping to be spared from the merciless ice and snow. Still fewer ever made it down.

For those that found the valley, however, a gift would find them. For, in the valley lived two powerful beings. Mundra and Mogda, as they were known, were not makers, like the peoples’ father. Instead, the two were wise, learning much from the other people and makers, and watching the maker’s people struggle through their birth.

When the people arrived in the valley, Mogda came with clothes of wool and fur for the cold, and Mundra came with medicines for the sick.

The two wise ones brought the people into their home, embraced their half-frozen bodies, and shared their warm foods and hot drinks with them. Mundra brought fire to their cold bodies and shared the recipes of her cooking. Mogda shared tales of the world beyond the mountain and brought fire to their downtrodden souls.

It was Mogda who ultimately gave a name to the abandoned people. He watched as their makers pride undid their race, and taught them the value of their own humility. In this teaching, he named the young people The Humbled, for they had no great destiny, no chosen home, and no maker to call their own.

And so it was that the wise ones brought The Humbled into their homes, and the Humbled loved them for it.

As The Humbled recovered and grew, they built their homes around that of the wise ones, and listened to Mogda’s stories, and learned from Mundra’s lessons. As they listened, each wise one granted The Humbled their gifts.

From Mundra, The Humbled learned compassion, and how to build, farm, and cook for themselves. When she saw that The Humbled build great things they could not possibly maintain, she gave them contentment. So it was that Mundra instilled a sense of industriousness, but not over ambition, to The Humbled. In this way, she said, they would not face the folly of the twicelings from the plains and forests.

From Mogda, The Humbled learned curiosity and love of a world beyond their own. A great wanderer, Mogda created within his adopted people an urge to explore, to return with stories of their own, to once more share with others. So it was that Mogda gifted the people The Wander, and gave them a great yearning for the horizon, and the courage to harden their spirits against the large creatures of the wide world.

So it is now, that within every hearth, every kitchen, and with every Humble home that Mundra lives and teaches.

So it is now, that within every story, every journey, and within the soles of well-worn Humble shoes, that Mogda wanders and story-tells.

Sincerely,

Androse Cardy, Field Scholar

P.S. Did you know how much they can eat? I know not where it all goes, but a determined halfing can out-eat a troll!