Ah, very well then. [Zulf curls up one of his hands and presses it to his mouth, thinking for a moment. He knows quite a few... Which should he tell?] Perhaps... Hense and her roses?
[That seems to be a good a place to start as any. Zulf smooths out his skirts and straightens himself up before he begins.]
Even in early creation, some Gods were more known for their skills in such an area than others. Lemaign was a genius with his hammer, using it just as often for crafting as he did for battle. Pyth could make life spring up in the wake of his hoofsteps, and Jevel could make life blossom ever stronger at his touch. Micia... Well, Micia had made all of them, and she continued to make more still.
Out of them, Hense perhaps had the most difficulty with this. She did so envy her siblings, who could coax life from earth and craft wonders that would make others marvel. To smith as Lemaign did seemed too difficult for her hands, so one day the Veiled Widow knelt upon a spare patch of earth and set herself to work. It took a very long time, but finally some green reached up to her dirty fingers. Enjoyed and enamored that her hard work was bearing life, Hense encouraged it. It was only halfway through that she realized she had coaxed to life nothing but thorns- branches and vines full of them. Still, she was proud of her work no matter how many times the thorns pricked her, spilling blood.
One day, while she was wandering, she came upon Roathus. She thought his state quite pitiful, punished by the Mother for greediness and now no longer able to enjoy the food he had once adored. Now he knew much of pain, so she thought she would share her other realm with him. "Poor Roathus," she sang, lighting a scarred hand upon his shoulder. "I will ask nothing from you today, and give freely this brief gift. Enjoy the taste of your food and drink." With that, she went on her way again. Pain and pleasure can be so sudden, and Hense was indeed that on many occasions.
Roathus felt quite touched by this act. The situation which had lead to his punishment brought him much shame, and he felt he had disappointed his family to unforgivable levels. For Hense to show she bore no grudge against him relieved the God greatly. He enjoyed her gift as best as he could. When he had sated his hunger to more bearable levels, he decided he would repay her. Such a thing would only be fair. He knew, as all the Gods did, of her difficulty with creation and so went to the God he knew would be able to assist with such a thing.
Pyth was busy with his duty in the fields, encouraging many good things to grow, but when he saw Roathus he gave a stomp of his hoof in aggravation. Roathus spoke quickly. "Hail, brother bull. I know no apologies can truly right what wrongs I have done against you. Instead of words, I shall let my actions speak. I will harvest this great work you have done, and shall not touch a single one for myself. This I will do to repair this break I have made between us."
A snort came from Pyth's nostrils and he tossed his fearsome horns. "I will allow this, Roathus. I will give only this chance to you, and no other. Let it be known that if you break your promise, I will come upon you with all that I am capable of, and then I shall drag you before our sister of Oaths so that she may judge you as well."
Such a thought made Roathus tremble, but still he agreed. More than ever he wished to repent, and more than ever he wished to repay his sister Hense. Immediately he went to work with harvesting fruits and vegetables and wheat, only his own massive strength to help him. Because Pyth still felt anger at his brother, he would sometimes cause more to grow when Roathus' back was turned. Despite how he was certain his ravenous brother would break his promise, Roathus continued to work hard even when his gaze was hollow and his massive body grew weak. Finally, all was done, and the Wakeful Bull came up to him.
"I underestimated you, brother!" Pyth said, glad to call him so once more. "We will feast well tonight, although I know such things give you pain. Do this for me every year, so that I may not forget that you are honest in your words for forgiveness."
Still weak in limb, Roathus replied, "Perhaps such hard work will make the food taste sweet and the drink will soothe my poor throat once more." Finally he was permitted to eat once again. In the midst of such ravenous feeding, Pyth inquired as to what had made Roathus finally act on his own, and so Roathus told him. The explanation satisfied the bull, and he agreed to help Roathus as best he could.
Hense was not expecting many visitors to her garden of thorns, and smiled greatly when she saw her brothers approaching. "Hail, Roathus. Hail, Pyth. What has you traveling to me today?"
"For your kindness the other day, sister," Roathus explained. "Perhaps we could change these thorns which draw so much of your blood." Right then, however, Pyth gave a shake of his great head. He had been looking closely upon the thorns, and had realized something. They were imbued with too much of Hense's power, and too firmly entrenched in creation itself. He could not destroy such things, only add to them. Perhaps their Lorn Mother could do differently, with her greying touch.
Both Pyth and Roathus did not know how they would ask the Mother for such a thing, and Hense raised her hand. "I have no desire to rid my creations of their thorns," she said, forever smiling. "Yet if you wish to do me a kindness, brothers, perhaps you could let these plants bloom?"
That, Pyth could do quite readily, and with Roathus' help they crafted a most delicate and full flower that flourished with white blossoms upon the thorny branches and vines. Hense's smile grew brighter as she saw it, yet when the thorns beneath such petals pricked her once again, her blood stained those petals so until they were deep deep red. She did not mind, and simply enjoyed the scent of her new roses. Satisfied that his sister was happy, Pyth took his leave. It was Roathus who stayed behind, and he asked his sister this:
"Why do you still smile so, Hense? The thorns still prick you, and now they are hidden beneath all the petals."
Hense gave a slow shake of her head, and laid a rose in his hair. "I still crafted these thorns myself, my silly Roathus, and I am proud of what I have made with my own two hands. If not for the thorns, then there would be no place for these roses to blossom. Pain and pleasure go hand in hand- now that I know one, I can appreciate the other all the more."
Story 2: Hense's Roses
[That seems to be a good a place to start as any. Zulf smooths out his skirts and straightens himself up before he begins.]
Even in early creation, some Gods were more known for their skills in such an area than others. Lemaign was a genius with his hammer, using it just as often for crafting as he did for battle. Pyth could make life spring up in the wake of his hoofsteps, and Jevel could make life blossom ever stronger at his touch. Micia... Well, Micia had made all of them, and she continued to make more still.
Out of them, Hense perhaps had the most difficulty with this. She did so envy her siblings, who could coax life from earth and craft wonders that would make others marvel. To smith as Lemaign did seemed too difficult for her hands, so one day the Veiled Widow knelt upon a spare patch of earth and set herself to work. It took a very long time, but finally some green reached up to her dirty fingers. Enjoyed and enamored that her hard work was bearing life, Hense encouraged it. It was only halfway through that she realized she had coaxed to life nothing but thorns- branches and vines full of them. Still, she was proud of her work no matter how many times the thorns pricked her, spilling blood.
One day, while she was wandering, she came upon Roathus. She thought his state quite pitiful, punished by the Mother for greediness and now no longer able to enjoy the food he had once adored. Now he knew much of pain, so she thought she would share her other realm with him. "Poor Roathus," she sang, lighting a scarred hand upon his shoulder. "I will ask nothing from you today, and give freely this brief gift. Enjoy the taste of your food and drink." With that, she went on her way again. Pain and pleasure can be so sudden, and Hense was indeed that on many occasions.
Roathus felt quite touched by this act. The situation which had lead to his punishment brought him much shame, and he felt he had disappointed his family to unforgivable levels. For Hense to show she bore no grudge against him relieved the God greatly. He enjoyed her gift as best as he could. When he had sated his hunger to more bearable levels, he decided he would repay her. Such a thing would only be fair. He knew, as all the Gods did, of her difficulty with creation and so went to the God he knew would be able to assist with such a thing.
Pyth was busy with his duty in the fields, encouraging many good things to grow, but when he saw Roathus he gave a stomp of his hoof in aggravation. Roathus spoke quickly. "Hail, brother bull. I know no apologies can truly right what wrongs I have done against you. Instead of words, I shall let my actions speak. I will harvest this great work you have done, and shall not touch a single one for myself. This I will do to repair this break I have made between us."
A snort came from Pyth's nostrils and he tossed his fearsome horns. "I will allow this, Roathus. I will give only this chance to you, and no other. Let it be known that if you break your promise, I will come upon you with all that I am capable of, and then I shall drag you before our sister of Oaths so that she may judge you as well."
Such a thought made Roathus tremble, but still he agreed. More than ever he wished to repent, and more than ever he wished to repay his sister Hense. Immediately he went to work with harvesting fruits and vegetables and wheat, only his own massive strength to help him. Because Pyth still felt anger at his brother, he would sometimes cause more to grow when Roathus' back was turned. Despite how he was certain his ravenous brother would break his promise, Roathus continued to work hard even when his gaze was hollow and his massive body grew weak. Finally, all was done, and the Wakeful Bull came up to him.
"I underestimated you, brother!" Pyth said, glad to call him so once more. "We will feast well tonight, although I know such things give you pain. Do this for me every year, so that I may not forget that you are honest in your words for forgiveness."
Still weak in limb, Roathus replied, "Perhaps such hard work will make the food taste sweet and the drink will soothe my poor throat once more." Finally he was permitted to eat once again. In the midst of such ravenous feeding, Pyth inquired as to what had made Roathus finally act on his own, and so Roathus told him. The explanation satisfied the bull, and he agreed to help Roathus as best he could.
Hense was not expecting many visitors to her garden of thorns, and smiled greatly when she saw her brothers approaching. "Hail, Roathus. Hail, Pyth. What has you traveling to me today?"
"For your kindness the other day, sister," Roathus explained. "Perhaps we could change these thorns which draw so much of your blood." Right then, however, Pyth gave a shake of his great head. He had been looking closely upon the thorns, and had realized something. They were imbued with too much of Hense's power, and too firmly entrenched in creation itself. He could not destroy such things, only add to them. Perhaps their Lorn Mother could do differently, with her greying touch.
Both Pyth and Roathus did not know how they would ask the Mother for such a thing, and Hense raised her hand. "I have no desire to rid my creations of their thorns," she said, forever smiling. "Yet if you wish to do me a kindness, brothers, perhaps you could let these plants bloom?"
That, Pyth could do quite readily, and with Roathus' help they crafted a most delicate and full flower that flourished with white blossoms upon the thorny branches and vines. Hense's smile grew brighter as she saw it, yet when the thorns beneath such petals pricked her once again, her blood stained those petals so until they were deep deep red. She did not mind, and simply enjoyed the scent of her new roses. Satisfied that his sister was happy, Pyth took his leave. It was Roathus who stayed behind, and he asked his sister this:
"Why do you still smile so, Hense? The thorns still prick you, and now they are hidden beneath all the petals."
Hense gave a slow shake of her head, and laid a rose in his hair. "I still crafted these thorns myself, my silly Roathus, and I am proud of what I have made with my own two hands. If not for the thorns, then there would be no place for these roses to blossom. Pain and pleasure go hand in hand- now that I know one, I can appreciate the other all the more."