The Tales of He who Foretold Time

**Written by *"EatSpanishMoss"***

*“I have never seen the god of foretold time. My grandmother told me these tales, but she never saw the fox either—nor did her grandmother before her, or hers before her, a thousand times over. His legends endure only around crackling fires and meals of roasted fish and cider. The further back we trace our ancestors, the truer the tales become.”*
*The children’s weary faces lift a little higher. Firelight dances upon their cheeks in contrast to the deep navy of the moon covered Salein snow.*

*“Gods dwell around us, in the sky, in between clumps of soil, and behind the veil of stars. We need only to seek their favor, to channel their being into our hearts and deeds. For instance, on the sea, it is so cold that your eyeballs might freeze solid in their sockets. But when sailors rub animal fats on their faces and think about the Great Leopard of Winter, whose true name is forgotten, they are protected from the icy ocean winds.*

*“Others, such as Shan-Uzal, refuse to allow its own legends to fade, and still stalk this world. Even after its body has perished, it demands sacrifice and forces obedience, much like the deep tainted Paleboods…”*

*They have all heard tales of the half-monster abominations. Fear makes the children lean closer to the fire. They've been hooked.*

*“Oh yes, little ones—we may speak later of the god of destruction, but the less said about it, the better.”*

*Like grandmother used to say, once they lean closer to the fire, they’re yours.*

*“Instead, these stories concern the middleborn of the seasons…”*

# I: The Shaping of Land

The god of foretold time, Acrren, was the keeper in between his brothers and sisters. Within the first ever lul between summer and winter, the young fox leapt into the world, and with his untapped youth, he itched to hunt. This was not so easy, however. As once he had crafted himself a bow, he had soon found that lands animals were weak adversaries, falling far too easily to the arrows he had shot.

After three days he grew frustrated, he threw one of his holy arrows far off into the distance. What it had hit was a mountain. When the god went to retrieve the arrow, he saw that mountain did not fall, and was very pleased by this

So, he decided to prolong his hunt of creatures, and challenged the very land itself to a good-natured duel, so that the two could hunt as equals.

As the god wrestled with the land, he dented and bruised it, molding all of the habitable valleys in Parthas that we know today. He headbutted mountains from the planes, pounding down deep valleys with cutting winds, and slicing the tops of hills with well placed arrows.

When he was tired, Acrren thanked the land for the glorious match and rested under one of its trees. The land responded by opening a dreamlike pit, showing him its very heart, and he was honored to see it was a reflection of him: an entire realm beneath the surface, and a beautiful golden fox head that rang with magics. The land had deemed the god worthy, and bestowed its secrets to him, gifting him the knowledge of its own primordial magic, for knowledge is the true agent of change in this world.

*My ancestors must be smiling, for at this moment, a light snow begins to fall. Gentle flakes settle on the children’s furred hoods, and they stick out their tongues.*
*Gently a wind stokes through our makeshift camp, blowing through the fire, having it billow off in little globs of light. It’s as if autumn himself decided to sit and rest a bit to listen to his old tales being spun once again.*

*“Did you know that there used to be no snow or rain in the whole of Parthas?” I ask them. The children's faces furrow, they now look confused.*

*“It’s true. Our lands have always been the coldest in the entire world, but in the early days there was only bitter, dry air, and no such things as storm clouds…”*

# II: The Origin of Snow

It was during the early, cloudless and cold days that The god of autumn built a house. He made it of the finest lumber. The magnificent home spanned three valleys. Can you imagine that? After completing his majestic Cyter Berry Hall, Acrren appraised his work.

“Pretty,” he said with a grin. These were the days before language, so this was a compliment indeed.

Now, his sister of winter was annoyed. Acrren had felled her favorite trees to nap under to build his home. So, she decided to teach him a lesson.

While Acrren was sleeping, she jumped in through his bedroom window. Then, she tickled his nose with her long bushy tail, causing him to sneeze a gout of wind that blew off the bedsheets! The wind carrying the bedsheets was so strong, it blew through the floor, sweeping it away! Winter panicked, and jumped out of the window she once used to enter, but this only knocked over and scattered the air throughout the entire building. Soon, all of Cyter Berry Hall was swept away.

The wind carrying the hall swept into the sea, and a wind-tuned storm raged for days, darkening the skies as once unseen moist air in a hurricane raged through the land. Of course, Acrren slept through the whole thing. He awoke atop a soaked bed frame in a very bad mood, for he had not had a restful sleep. But he did not know what his sister had done. And to this day, she has never told him the truth.

The god of autumn had one goal in particular for his next home: he did not want to become attached to it. He fashioned himself a pair of wheels, a large wooden box, and a door. With these tools, he could make a caravan to travel to the world, be free, and search far and wide for the delicious spiced eggs and berries he so enjoyed.

*“...And that is the last for the night” I say to the children “We need to be rested if we wish to make it to the city tomorrow.”*
*They groan in unison and plead with me for one more story. Of course they would beg like this.*

*I glanced far off into the cold, through the ice covered crimson trees of the landscape. In the very far off distance, a faint hint of light poured through the fog, at the very bottom of this peak, the city of Salena rested.*

*The children would need their energy to reach it in this temperature, no matter how warm our fire was.*

*“There is only one more story about Acrren left,” I tell them. “It is longer than the others, we should save it for another night…”*

*I was greeted by a wail of disappointment, though, even through it all, only when they pledge to do every chore and not complain about being too tired, do I relent.*

# III: The Monster and the Magic Seal

Everyone knows that you never challenge a shyre of the north to a drinking contest, don’t they? Even you little ones know not to make a bet with a shyre, for most are sneaky and will always win. Also, everyone in Parthas knows that the rougher and uglier one of these are, the luckier and more cunning it can be.

Unfortunately, the god of autumn did not know any of these things.

Gunrilak the Hideous was the oldest shy-kin in the world at the time. His chest hairs were so long, it got tangled up in his gnarled feet. Ugh! He would often trip over it and break most of his face, which was bulbous and misshapen from being broken so many times. He only had two good teeth, one antenna, one bad eye, and one worse eye. Bulbous sacs of strange liquids covered his rotund belly that leaked out of his chipped exoskeleton. I will not tell you how he smelled. If I did, you would never eat fish stew again.

“Old god!” Gunrilak demanded through his misshapen mandibles, “I require your magics to protect my treasures forever” The large bug demanded Acrren outside of his caravan home, “and then in return I will give you ten casks of my mead. It’s a family recipe.”

The god dismissed his guest, but Gunrilak stuck out his leg to stop the door from closing. Acrren did not want the shyres bunion-covered feet ruining the paint, so he let the creature go on.

“Let us make a wager,” said the truly un-beautiful bug. “Whoever can finish a cask of my own mead first owes the other a debt. I know you like a drink, fox”

The god was taken back by the forwardness of the request, and let out a hearty laugh “you have put me against a rock and a hard place my friend, I cannot refuse a good drink! If it will make you go away, okay. I accept your proposal, not that you will win." The autumn god had never been beaten in a drinking contest. Everyone, from the mortals to the animals, or to the smallest rock knew this back then, and now you do, too.

“At least it will be good to have a drink,” Gunrilak replied, his very smile warping the caravan's own wheels into squares.

“I am going to need one.” said Acrren in return, and the two had agreed to a duel. And the next evening, they met again under the light of a yellow harvest moon.

They toasted in a jovial manner and drank. Acrren had found the mead watered down, and he did not like it. However, Gunrilak was halfway through his cask. With his own cask still almost at the brim, Acrren tipped his head back further and drank until he thought he would drown.

But Gunrilak slammed his empty cask down and belched, and the campfire illuminating the two turned a sickly green! And Acrren coughed and spluttered.

“What is wrong?” Gunrilak teased him. “Are you choking?”

Then, Acrren had noticed the trick. He had suspected some kind slight against him, and he was only proven right from this exchange. A small gold coin sat at the bottom of his cask, and with crude magic it was perpetually creating more and watering down the existing mead. No matter how much he chugged, the magic replicated it. He gripped the cast with both hands, a guise of disappointment over him, as he was unwilling to show that he had figured out the slight.

“It is incredible that I won! It is incredible for an ugly shyre like me to have bested the mighty god of change!” In truth, the ugliest shyre have almost all the advantages in the world, but Acrren did not spend much time with ugly shyre, so he wouldn’t know that, but now all of you little ones do. “A deal is a deal,” Gunrilak reminded him.

“You won. My word is as good as my magics,” Acrren grumbled. “Even if I'm not happy.”

So, as promised Acrren labored for ten days and created the single best magical seal anyone had ever conjured. He adorned it with a gold fox head, like his own, and the one at the heart of the earth. It was impervious to other magics and lock-pickers alike. Gunrilak was so impressed with the quality of the spell that he was speechless, which is very rare for a shyre.

Acrren used the conjured magic to adorn the door in front of the shyre’s cave, which was on top of the shyre’s mountain, and where all the ugliest shy-kin in history had hid their treasure.

With a grunt, Acrren trundled off, leaving Gunrilak admiring his new sealed door.

When he had regained his wits, Gunrilak realized it had been a day since he last counted his gold, and he was growing anxious. But he could find no way to open the door! None at all.

Gunrilak tried brute force. The fox-faced seal did not budge. Then, he tried to strip the enchantment off with his foul breath. Again, the magic did not budge. Lastly, he tried his own sorcery to pry it from the cave wall but, alas, the spell was fixed to the mountain so firmly that the shyre only hurt his shoulders trying to shake it loose. He was locked out.

Gunrilak stormed into Acrrens caravan. “What trickery is this?” he shouted. His breath was so bad, the many potted plants of the God nearly wilted to dust.

“There is no trickery,” Acrren replied, stirring his spoon around in his spiced berry tea. “You told me to use my enchants to keep your treasure safe from thieves forever, and I did. In fact, I made it so strong, it will stand longer than the mountain it is on. No one can break it. Not even another god. I made it just as you asked.”

“But I cannot get inside!” Gunrilak cried. “And I stole nothing from you!”

“Yes you did.” If you heard Acrrens voice at the time, you would know he was not pleased. “Not only did you cheat me but you have forgotten that time is more valuable than gold,” the God said. “So, you are a thief and a liar, and my magic is as good as my word.”

Gunrilak tried for years to get back inside for his treasure, but the magic never opened for him. With each attempt, the fox-headed door stared back at him, an eternal reminder of the time he cheated the god of foretold time.

And if you listen carefully, up in the mountains, you can hear greedy old Gunrilak’s wails of anguish before any avalanche, even to this day.

*The children are fast asleep, snuggled into each other around the fire. I carry them one by one to our makeshift tent.*
*The last child is still awake by the fire. He lies on his side, clutching it as if he were ill.*

*“Those stories aren’t real,” he says with the weakest, most tiny voice.*

*It’s the legless boy. We found him half-dead in the snow on our way to Salena in the deep crimson forests that separate it from Ishan. We couldn’t leave him—I couldn’t leave him—so I wrapped his wounds in bandages, and carried him on my shoulders. “I think they are made up. Or…you changed them to help us go to sleep.”*

*“A story is as real as we believe it is,” I tell him, as I settle down in the snow next to him.*

*His voice quivers, and I feel as he rests his head into my chest for comfort. “There is a god who is good, but he doesn’t care about us. None of them do.”*

*I nod slowly. “I can see why you would think that, but it is not true.”*

*I pull my hand through his soft hair to provide any comfort I can. He’s so small compared to me. Surely, somewhere in that city, there could be someone to help him too, as well as us.*

*“There is one more story I can tell you. It was the last story my grandmother told me before I blossomed into womanhood. She wanted me to be ready, for it is not like the others. But I think you have seen enough to be ready. What do you think?”*

*The boy nods. I wrap my arms around him and begin.*

# IV: The Tragedy of an Ancient Destruction

Once, long before the north of Parthes split into three clans, Acrren had a legion of followers who lived around his caravan. They claimed to worship the god, but if you were to ask him, they were misguided, for he would say he had no followers, only people who shared many of the same interests as him. Still, it is true that they built themselves a little town and that it was filled with folk who wished to make the finest things in all the world.

There were thousands of them. They made tools. They crafted magics. They hunted and sang and made delicious teas. They aged ale and fished too. They had become the finest craftspeople and tinkerers in the world, and their workmanship was surpassed in quality only by their gods.

Occasionally, he would appraise their work. If he liked what one of the people had wrought, he simply said “ Pretty.” This was a mighty compliment from Acrren, who had long ago made that his first ever compliment, and in due time, deemed it as his best. Do you remember that tale?

Acrren never admitted that he admired the people who surrounded him, but, deep inside his chest, his golden heart churned with respect for the hardworking people. They did not kneel to him or offer him sacrificed flesh. They did not turn his words into scriptures and spread them across the land to people who did not want to hear them. Instead, they focused on their work in childlike whimsy. They were imaginative, resourceful, and hardworking. These folks made Acrren smile, although nobody knew because they couldn’t see the smile underneath his many silken scarves.

One day, Acrren was reunited with a much older, far more intimidating family member

This was no friendly stop, for autumn and his family were never friendly, nor had they ever visited one another before. And this was no simple God, but Shan-Uzal itself.

Acrren saw the creature—fierce aberrations, thousands of men forcefully twisted into other shapes in their hosts efforts to use a functioning vessel. It was a mockery of life, and fierce, and very quick to anger. Uncharacteristically, when Shan-Uzal picked Acrren up by the silk cloak covering him, its many starving mouths opened, and spoke to its smaller cousin god.

“Allow me to be kind to you. Give me your followers,” Shan-Uzal demanded, with wicked intent. “Give them to me, and I will make it worth your while. I promise you.”

“No,” said Acrren, for he wanted no part in his elders' warmongering. “The people in the town below do not follow me, they build for themselves. They are quiet and work hard. That is all. They are no one's followers, and they will not be yours.”

This was perhaps the first time anyone defying Shan-Uzal hadn’t been devoured moments later, as it deemed the subject important enough to let the god of autumn continue to talk. It had seen beneath the younger gods words, all the way to the heart in his chest. For all its flaws, Shan-Uzal was very good at reading others.

“They are a reflection of your own image.” The far larger god practically cackled with delight, though for the sound it made was pained, as it carried centuries of suffering inside it. “You are even ignorant to what you don’t know.”

If you heard Acrrens voice at the time, you would know he was not pleased. “If I see you again, Shan-Uzal, I will beat you within an inch of your life.” And if you had heard this threat, you would think it wise for Shan-Uzal to leave and never return.

But Shan-Uzal loved fighting, and did not fear the younger gods' words. It would be more than glad to consume a fellow divine for its goals, and it’s many mouths salivated at the idea.

“If you refuse to give them to me, then I will take them myself.”

With that, the two began a terrible and violent battle. Acrren had released such a blast of elemental magic that was so powerful a blow, the summit of the mountain shook.

They fought for eight days. They fought so hard, the base of the mountain they fought on trembled. So fierce was their fighting that molten stone exploded from the earth, and the very nature of this world shook. Parts of reality were consumed whole, and winds so powerful they could vortex nations gushed from the cliffs. The skies grew black and red. The blood of the world ran through the highlands as the ground shook. People all over the lands saw the results of the battle between Shan-Uzal and The god of foretold time.

When the smoke cleared, the mountain had lost its peak. But worse, the people from the village below were all dead, and their town was nothing but smoldering ruins and a fading memory.

For many centuries, the half-mountain has stood silent, its top devoured whole by Shan-Uzal. Some say it is the god of autumn who had survived, though when witnessing the death of the village people, retreated into isolation to mourn. Others say both gods had perished in the chaos, as neither has been seen since.

And there are others still, who believe Shan-Uzal was the victor, and after gorging itself on a fellow god almost as old as itself, fell into a deep slumber, as its appetite was finally quenched for the time being.

*That is a sad tale, which means it is the truest,” the legless boy says, looking up at me. There is a tear in his eye. “What do you believe happened to Acrren?”*
*“The leaves still turn in between summer and winter” I tell him,“I doubt either of them had perished, as their influences still linger in this world.”*

*“If that's true, I want to see them rematch.”*

*“Maybe you will.”I pick him up like I did the rest, and walk him to the tent. I too am hit with a spell of drowsiness in the bone chilling cold of the night. “Repeat these tales so our children’s children can still hear our ancestors’ voices, and stoke the fire in our hearts.”*

*I lay down, he tucked gently against me in the cold “...that is the most important thing” and succumb to drowsiness…*

*I awoke to the smell of spices and an uncommon warmth. It was a small space the children and I slowly woke up within, which gave me ample time to see the person making tea in the very front.*

*A tall person with soft animal ears in a large draping silk cloak in the color mahogany had their back to us.*

*“Forgive me for kidnaping you, but I know a good storyteller when I hear one. I wouldn’t let a muse of mine freeze to death outside in these temperatures.” The voice was deep and smooth, it was that of thick maple syrup on my ears. The figure poured the hot water into a small cup, and turned to reveal his face.*

*There wasn’t very much extraordinary about him, he looked to be a simple young man with a warm complexion, but his eyes were that of gold. They looked as if they’d seen centuries of life, pain, pleasers, and unforetold wisdoms of the past. The person standing before me was… none other than the god of foretold time himself, about to nurture me and the children back to strength.*

*“Tell me, Vrynna. Where are you headed to?”*