Across the Vast Divide: Part 2

Gharu'ndim

Sho

Viamontians

Ispar History

Auberean History

Texts

Rumors

Rain fell in torrential sheets, splattering the already foul mire toward the weeping heavens. For one hundred and twelve cycles it had rained. Ruuk Soothsayers danced around sheltered luminescent fungi and told tales of The Sleeping One, the time of reckoning and the revelations that will bring the circle of vengeance closed. They had long ago cleansed the tainted Fiazhat race from the surface of Bur, their world, but remnants of Fiazhat Gods hunted them still.

Torgluuk, shaman of the Ruuk and master of this Clutch listened half-heartedly to the prattle of his less learned cousins. His thoughts were decidedly on the swamp and the rising waters. For hundreds of years he and his spawn had made their homes in fetid mires, connected by viscous rivers of swale and though they lived in fear of the Fiazhat and their Gods, they knew peace. But that was before the The Sleeping One first stirred and split the world for the second time. Then their larger cousins, the Guruk and Kukuur, had exhumed themselves from subterranean layers to bring war. At first Torgluuk’s elders had argued against their cousins, but the perpetuation of The Sleeping One’s legend slowly ate into the hearts of them all and they readied for war against the Fiazhat.

Two hundred years of war followed. Generations of progeny were sometimes forgotten, allowing the Moars to consume the young, or the few that survived became feral beasts that survived off of the swamp and understood little of the gifts of The Sleeping One. The Ruuk also suffered ignominy at the hands of the Kukuur. Through all of that hardship they had endured and thrived. Though the shamans of the Ruuk would never be as potent as the Elder Shamans of the Kukuur, some, like Torgluuk, came close to rivaling the Kukuur Summoners. But for all their gifts with subterfuge and misdirection the Ruuk were still not able to overthrow the Kukuur and lead the Clutches. Now they were subjugated and sent to the far corners of Bur to safeguard the places where once the Gods of their enemies visited from another place.

This too was a tale from The Sleeping One, the tale that the soothsayer now told by the wan light of the koruu koruu fungus.

“The false ones came from across the vast divide, in tunnels of thunder, smoke and light. They came with gifts for the hated enemy. They came with power for the Fiazhat. They came with slaughter on their minds, the slaughter of the Ruuk, Guruk and Kukuur. But we would not fall!

“So The Sleeping One rumbled beneath the world and gave to its children the koruu koruu, jooluu, huntoo and bormoo fungus. In brew, on flesh, as food, those closest to The Sleeping One could touch the mass of his body and take the gift of magic from him” The soothsayers threw blasts of acid from their hands to accentuate the point. The younger adepts and adherents croaked and whooped in approval. As the cheers dulled, Torgluuk spied three forms swimming toward the camp through the mire.

Straining his eyes to see into the darkness Torgluuk spied three sets of smallish eyes, and heads with thick crowns; clutchmates. Likely, it was the group that set out earlier this stormy night to hunt for bomutuk, a succulent larval form of the bomutur. How such a giant worm, as long as Torgluuk’s arm and plump as his head, could become a flying stinging beast like the bomotuk was beyond even the Kukuur Elder’s understanding. It mattered little to the Ruuk though, both were a tasty dinner and the rains made the bomutur worm slither to the surface of the swamp where it was easier to catch. Morgluuk, Torgluuk’s closest clutchmate and strongest warrior, lead the small hunting band. Torgluuk would be eager to see what was caught.

He slipped down along the branches of the mighty Tkoruk tree and lowered himself into the water with the aid of a vine. Above him the soothsayers continued to dance and sing the tales. They truly believed that the time of the revelations was here. One hundred and twelve cycles had passed without the fire in the sky. It was entirely possible they were right, but Torgluuk wanted to stay focused and alert. The Moars were always nearby these days. As the cool muck of the mire spread onto Torgluuk’s flesh the bormoo that grew there began glowing gold in the night.

“You return with bomutur?” he asked.

“Have we ever failed to find a nest?” Morgluuk asked. Everything Morgluuk said was a challenge. He knew no other way. He was a savage. Most of his time was spent fighting with other savages in the deep swamps where the Moars were most plentiful. He was always fighting. Fighting had become part of everything that he was. He lifted a bushel of bomutur and ordered the other savages to bring the catch up into the Tkoruk and prepare the meal.

“Are the Moars advancing?” Torgluuk asked as he watched the hunters spring from the water to a large branch and then into the glow of the koruu koruu. There was a cheer as they showed the catch and then the soothsayers began again; Torgluuk shook his head.

“You still do not believe? A shaman without the heart of The Sleeping One, how did the fungus not devour your innards?” Morgluuk brushed at the glowing fungus on his clutchmate’s flesh. They shared a small moment of laughter. “They move closer, the others did not see the signs but I see that they close. Fire breathers, talons of ice.”

They stared at one another for a moment.

“Damned be the Fiazhat and their ‘Gods’!” Morgluuk croaked in defiance. “Without their tampering we would rule this world now.”

Torgluuk knew it was true. After the Fiazhat had been eradicated, peace reigned for some time, only to be shattered when the Moars came from the depths and made war again. Since that time they had not known peace. The memories of the ancestors flowed through their veins and so they knew the past, knew that the Fiazhat’s ‘Gods’ had brought this plague upon them.

“They are damned already. The last of their kind fell beneath our blades over 800 years ago. Their ‘Gods’ are dead longer.” Torgluuk drank deeply of the swamp to slake a thirst. “We are the masters of this world. We drive the Moars away whenever they come.”

Morgluuk waved a hand dismissively toward Torgluuk and leapt to the vine above them. He began to climb toward the meal and celebration of the tears of The Sleeping One. Torgluuk stared after him a moment and then looked out over the still swamp. Out there were the Moars; they would come for this temple again. The eyes of the false ‘Gods’ stared out to the Moars, calling them to each temple site across Bur. Morgluuk threw a clump of offal down on his clutchmate.

“Come, shaman! You must lead the dinner pray—“His statement was cut short by the sound of thunder. Torgluuk watched as Morgluuk was blasted off the limb of the Tkoruk and unceremoniously deposited into the mire, head first. Other bodies flew through the air, scattering on all sides about Torgluuk, and a muted violet glow throbbed from the mouth of the ancient Fiazhat temple.

Morgluuk pulled himself free of the muck and sprang to the side of the Clutch’s leader, sickle and sword drawn. He croaked orders and gave off a scent to warn any that were conscious that they were under attack. He looked at Torgluuk expectantly.

“It is time,” Torgluuk stated without thought. This could only be the sign, the moment about which the soothsayers had been singing only moments before. He had not believed that it was possible, had not wanted to believe that the Fiazhat ‘Gods’ still lived. He looked to his clutchmate and leapt onto the branch of the mighty Tkoruk. Morgluuk followed and ordered the others to stay below.

When they landed and looked at the stone slabs that stood amongst the ruins of the ancient temple they knew immediately that the prophecies were right. The Sleepless One had awakened and their time was now. They looked below at their clutch and croaked in triumph. The echoes of their voices carried deep into the swamp unnerving every manner of beast. Even the Moars would not come this night.

There in the ruins, a tunnel of dark gray mist, swirling lightning and the sound of a thunderhead beckoned. Torgluuk clucked his tongue and looked at Morgluuk.

“I believe.” Torgluuk let a smile spread, showing rows of sharp teeth.

“This is our time brother! Damned be the Kukuur. We, the Ruuk, shall claim this victory!” Morgluuk howled in defiance. Another thunderclap sounded in the sky and the rain suddenly began to clear. Torgluuk turned and walked to the edge of the Tkoruk.

“Ruuk of the Clutch of Tkoruk Guruul, The Sleeping One has sent us the sign!”