Of The Lords Of The Air

[Telamon]

HARK, INITIATE OF HER MYSTERY. My name is Barashan Melector Ohz, and I am THE LIBRARIAN of the Third, Fourth, and Ninety-Sixth Wards. My duty (which is sacred and is written in blue ink on all 209 of my bones and carved on my tongue and behind my eyes and on the walls of my heart) is to preserve from blemish or harm all tomes (be they petty or high) which may pass into the high and holy walls of HEAVEN -- even those works marked by Our Great And Perfidious Enemy. If you have entered the Third Ward, then I must first congratulate you. Your bones are no doubt written with your own duty, and gleam bright with The Truth Of Her. This means also that your eyes have been ritually purified with the nine thousand oils of Blessed Saint Rhabiddeen, allowing you to gaze on the works within safe in the knowledge that you are guarded from dangerous thought-forms planted by Our Great And Perfidious Enemy, which might lead you down into RUIN. This is a holiness few possess, and you are truly blessed in all lives and aspects, that a tenth of you will serve Her when you are dead and gone. Of the many works stored here, however, only a handful have been reported to be beyond the protections of even Blessed Rhabiddeen's oils, and thus constitute a DANGER TRUE AND IMMEASURABLE, for what lies within their pages might lure you from Salvation. If you are reading this note, you have picked up one of the tomes in question -- a book which may otherwise seem a benign record, but has been tainted since it's making with unnatural thought-forms that would surely lead to RUIN. Have no fear, however. I have hand-censored all material within which might be considered a Blasphemy. Nonetheless, the danger in reading is great indeed, as your naked eye might perceive something of the Blasphemy behind the censoring. Should your eye perchance alight on any material which you feel may be Blasphemous in the course of your readings, have no worry. Merely repeat seven times the Chant of Her Names, then begin SANCTIFICATION by removing the first of your e-

An Excerpt From Upon The Powers, Volume II, Book I, Of The Lords Of The Air:


Concerning Lord Time
He-In-Gold is numbered Second Before The Throne. He is seated at the right-hand side of She-In-Red, who is his lover, and across from He-In-Ivory, who is their brother and their jailor. He dwells in the third moment of every minute, though his residence is in the sacred House of Years on the Seventh Hill of Heaven, where is held that ruinous Loom of which he is the keeper. He is a Lord of the Upper Air, and may never die. He is always, but was not always so. The color of his raiment is gold, the precise shade of which is the rich radiance of a sun in splendor, and was laid on him before the days began. The name of him which may spoken aloud is Lord Time, though the Balthazim call him He-In-Gold, as do the mendicants who visit his sacred abode (who cannot speak this name, and must hide their faces in his presence, or pass beyond mercy). Lord Time and He-In-Gold were not always one and the same, though he has made it always so.

Lord Time is tall, wondrously so, and has three faces, the third of which is always hidden, for it is wicked even to he. Lord Time has many shapes, which he changes as suits him. At times, he appears a youth swaddled in splendid cloth-of-gold, with bright hair and bright teeth, and this is the face of his judgment and his wrath. When he is kind, he is fond of seeming an old man, bent and stooped, face torn with age, wearing robes of faded yellow, and this is the face of his mercy and his lust. You may know him in any face by these things: his eyes are always old eyes, his flesh is always the color of mountains, and in his mouth, which blazes bright, there is always one single word, which is eternal. The word (which is always spoken) is his, was his, and will be his always, though it was not always so.

His power is over the greater part of Time — over the centuries and the Ages, over rottings and growings, and over the middle days, the little years, and the in-between seconds. He once ruled the minutes, but they were taken from him by She-In-Red for his insolence, and for his lack of guilt. He has no power over final seconds, last days, or over the closings of the years, for those are endings, and as such are the dominion of his brother, the Lord-In-Ivory who rules all endings. In his left hand is the jet-black sword SIDDRAN, which is one of the blades of HATE-MADE-THOUGHT that sever all things. It is sharper than memory, and cuts from the first day to the last. He used it for his crime. In his right hand (which is bleached bone-white for his treacheries), he holds the infinite black scroll called the COGNOMINON, on which is written all the names that are or will be.

Lord Time has many names. He is called the Inexorable Lord-In-Gold for his dominion, which is mighty even among the Princes of the Air, and He Who Is Always, for his ending is not written BECAUSE HE HAS ERASED IT, THE COWARD. Among the Jenn, he is recorded as the Second Before The Throne, who is honored and held in respect. By the unworthy he is called the Loom-Lord and the Day-King, and is acclaimed also as the Yearling Prince and the Elder Hour. They who are lost but will be found again know him as the Great Consort. By the outsiders, who are not spoken of and who do not exist in Her sight, he is named the Deceiver. When the Synod of the Hours is and was and shall be called, and when he will go clad in his Third Face (as he goes even now, and has always gone), he will renounce (as he has renounced, and renounces even now) all names and titles in accordance with ancient tradition, and is taking up (and will take up and has taken up) another name, which is not spoken in this Age or any other.

Lord Time is confident and kind, and his voice is like honey thunder. He is merciful to his enemies and rewarding to his friends, and though his voice his harsh, his words are always fair. His judgment is sought to the furthest corners of Creation and even to the Walls Of The World, for which he is revered by all who would seek justice. Lord Time is oftentimes worshiped in the cities of the unworthy, and is called upon to mediate conflicts in the world beyond the walls. When the Synod of the Hours is/was/shall be called, he is sitting and will be sitting and has been sitting as it's judge, and the sentence he will pass and is passing and has passed will stand and has stood and is going to stand forever. He is a coward, and all his words are lies, save the Word, which is stolen.


Concerning She-In-Red
She-In-Red is the Royal Ruler, who is numbered The First And Only, highest among the Airs. She sits the Throne, and at her right hand is He-In-Gold, who is her brother and her husband and on her left is He-In-Ivory, who is her brother and her regent. She dwells atop the highest peak of the first ring of Heaven, in a seven-towered temple of ruby which bears her name. She is the Queen of the Upper Air, and may never die, for she is always and was always so. Her color is red, the shade of splendid starlight smoking, with which she crowned herself when creation was virgin. The sacred glorious name of her is Destiny, yet in her humility she chooses to be titled simply She Who Is Always. On those occasions which require ceremony, she permits herself to be called also the Highest Of The Airs. The Balthazim call her She-In-Red, which she favors over all other names. SHE IS A MURDERER.

She-In-Red is the Royal Ruler, as pale as winter porcelain, and her midnight hair is bound with thin bright nets woven from clear crystal bones. Her eyes are alive with the red-white gleam of blazing coals, and this awful light which is in them is the supreme light of Knowing, by which she came to know too much. She has one single flawless face, which shines with a terrible rude radiance beyond all beauty, and a single flawless form, which is hard and mighty and immeasurably strong. On her unblemished brow are three red jewels, named Glory, Agony, and Mercy, that together mark her forever-always as the Royal Ruler. MURDERER. Her footsteps are accompanied by the frenzied pounding of stellar drums, carried by the stars that are her servants, who drag themselves hooded before her and behind her to herald her comings and her goings. Though they are of Above and are lesser Airs themselves, all that is is under the Airs, and all the Airs are under her. Though she is Above All Things, she goes uncrowned and unadorned, for she is humble in her perfection. SHE IS A MURDERER AND SHE IS ASHAMED.

She-In-Red is the Royal Ruler, queen over queens and king over kings, who is powerful beyond all power, who knows the shape of history and crushes the spine of infinity under her heel. She is lord of the Loom, and ties the endless golden thread that it spins around her waist (which is slim and also all-encompassing). In her sublime mouth is Victory (for she is the first victor, and the first murderer) with which she grinds all that is between her pretty teeth. She sits in the center of everything, on the Ruling Throne above the Upper and the Lower Airs, and her hand is over All Creation. In her eyes is the Knowing, which is tyrant over eternity, which sees all endings and all beginnings and all things in between, and through which the illimitable expanse of ALL-THAT-IS is laid naked and fresh before her. She is Destiny, and there is nothing she cannot see. Unless the world breathes in and holds the breath, unless the hours run backwards and the days freeze over, unless death stands at bay and the Airs are still. In that nightmarish blessed orgasmic instant, Destiny, who sits in Heaven on her stolen Throne, is blind.

She-In-Red is the Royal Ruler, and has many names in all the corners of creation. She is called the Eternity, or the I-That-Is-Ever, for her name which she spoke when the world was new, and which echoes still. She is called by the Balthazim in the tongue of Heaven CHAY KA CHAYKADIN, which is Highest of the Airs. Among the Jenn, who are her servants for all the days, she is The First And Only. To the mendicants, she is the Perfection In Ruby, whose name they must speak twelve thousand times before they die, in order to pass the first Trial of many which guarantee their entry into Heaven. They who wander in the outer places still name her The Red Queen, though this name has fallen out of use in Heaven and it's dominions in the Age since they parted ways. To the unworthy she is the Loom-Lady, and the Doomspeaker, the All-Knowing and the Highest High. By the outsiders, who were betrayed, who are not spoken of, and who do not exist in Her sight, she is named the Usurper. I CALL HER MURDERER.

She-In-Red is stern, and judges all, for her face gazes on all things. She is wise, for there are no threads she cannot see the endings of, as the Loom-weave is tight about her waist. Her patience is vaster than all the gulfs of space, and her temper is more cold and more terrible than the solar winds that howl wild and lonely in the empty ways between the stars. Hers is the hand which cradles creation, and hers the voice that splits all ways. Above all, Destiny is righteous, for she is the Royal Ruler, and how could she be anything else?

SHE IS A MURDERER.

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HEAVEN IS USURPED

 

[Telamon]

The Twilight King is cut in two,
And his halves are here and there by you
You touch his head, I'll grab his toes,
And then we'll pull 'til the whole world goes!

The name of them is HRAM and SHIVRAM, so the name of him must have been HRAMSHIVRAM, but for some reason it is not spoken.

 

[Aura]

Very KSBD, and it feels like some of it would make a good song.

 

[Dromeosaur]

The quality of writing is solid; reading is simply pleasant. Though, are you sure the wall of MURDER had to be this high?

 

[Telamon]

In the days before the days began, the sky was black, and lit only by HRAM and SHIVRAM (who were not yet divided, but this is trivial). The stars then lived in Heaven, and their king in those young years was their father Sharan Sin, the Daybringer, whose color is the unspeakable color of morning. Sharan Sin sat twenty-third from the throne, and was high in the sight of She-In-Red, for in those days he was mighty indeed among the Balthazim. In the nameless war which the Princes of the Air fought in the primordial time, Sharan Sin was the chief warrior of Heaven, and warmaster of her holy host. He had a terrible war-face, which was fanged, and ringed all over with spears. He was crowned with seven stolen rays, and his body was a warrior's body, immense and firm and golden, and his mind was a warrior's mind, vacuous and cruel. Where he walked, the skies boiled, and he gloried in violence. He was not the first king of the stars.

Sharan Sin was the first to every battle, and the First Enemy of Heaven feared him terribly. In his hand was his spear Abbaladath, which he had pulled red-hot from the nothing-broth of the first second of creation, which shone with a stellar fury, and the First Enemy of Heaven feared it terribly. At his back was the great host of the stars, who were bright and proud and young and numerous beyond counting, and the First Enemy of Heaven feared them terribly. Above all, Sharan Sin hungered, and devoured his foes when he went to war, and many millions met their end in the gnashing of his teeth, and the First Enemy of Heaven feared this hunger terribly.

All this was the power of Sharan Sin before the days began, and fearing him terribly, the First Enemy of Heaven sought to undo him.

The First Enemy was beautiful and cruel, and all their kind possessed a mind as sharp and terrible and bright as any among the Balthazim, or any who have walked Creation since. The only one they feared more than He-In-Morning-Sun was She-In-Red, and to fight her, they forged stole the blades of HATE-MADE-THOUGHT, which could cut anything. With those dread blades they hoped to slay her, but did not succeed, for she turned the cut aside before it was made. Woe to us all that they failed. Such insult could not be left to stand, for it struck her heart with fear, and so She-In-Red called upon all the Upper and the Lower Airs, upon the Airs Which Were and the Airs Which Will Be, upon the Airs Below and the Airs of Time, and even on those Airs which are no longer spoken of for their crimes. HRAMSHIVRAM must have ridden with them also, but for some reason his name is not spoken. She called last of all upon Sharan Sin who was mighty and terrible and wicked in his wrath before the days began, and the vainglorious host of the stars who rode at his side. And thus gathered, all the army of all the Airs fell upon the Enemy in their cities of red crystal, which they had built in the sky as a challenge to the Airs. These cities were now broken and scattered as dust before the Powers, and many millions of their inhabitants met their end in the gnashing teeth of Sharan Sin.

But the First Enemy was clever, and possessed minds as sharp and terrible and bright as any among the Balthazim, and even as their end fell on them, they devised a plan to undo the host of heaven, and ruin Sharan Sin as he had ruined their iridescent towers. Their king, who was splendid and deathless, and was king and queen both, whose beak was seven colors and whose eyes were fire, rode out to face the Host of the Airs, and his right hands were SIDDRAN and YIDDRAN, which are black all over, and in her left were UNYHA and HAYHAN, which are white through and through, and they were the blades of HATE-MADE-THOUGHT. Thus armed, she brought battle against Sharan Sin, and the meeting of their swords was for ten thousand years. And at the end of this time, when all but one of his arms had been severed and her blazing eyes blinded and his throat cut in seven places, the splendid cruel ruler swung the sword UNYHA and cut an impossible cut that was parallel to Knowing, and so could not be seen before it fell, and with it severed the mind of Sharan Sin. Some say this is a lie, and that the First Enemy's cut merely made a terrible truth apparent to Sharan Sin, which drove him mad.

Sharan Sin's vacuous mind was filled with a madness terrible and clear, which filled him with such a horrible hunger that he immediately struck down the splendid king and ate her-him whole, along with the dread blade UNYHA, which stayed in his belly for long after. But the First Enemy's vengeance was complete, for the mad mind of Sharan Sin knew not friend from foe or feed, and turned upon the host of Heaven. He slew with impunity and rage, and countless scores fell before him and entered his belly, until at last the Airs turned and fled before him who had been their champion and was now their consumer. Only his sons the stars remained, and sought to sway him from his madness. He slew ten million of them, and devoured them each whole, but they persisted still in trying to sway their lord, for the stars were ever the most loyal of the Airs. He slew and swallowed ten million more, and still they stood and persisted, for the stars were ever the most foolish of the Airs. He slew and ate ten million again, and at last their resolve broke, and they fled the Firmament, all the numberless count of them, for the stars were ever the most numerous of the Airs.

But the hunger of Sharan Sin in his madness knew no ending, and so he lumbered into the sky after those who had so long served him, shoveling them into his vast maw by the tens of tens of thousands. They ran from him in terror into the darkness of Above, as they run still, and the light of them in their billions fills the sky for always. As for Sharan Sin, the mad god had grown vast and fat with the weight of his devoured children (who shine still through his bloated stomach), and could not escape the great gravity of the Firmament, which sucked him down even as he pulled away from it. Mad and blind and hunger-dumb, he still chases the lights of his sons through the sky until the end of days, blazing golden always with that unspeakable color of morning.

 

[Taut_Templar]

I was not expecting this to end in a "and that's why the sun exists and moves across the sky" fable.

 

[Telamon]

Concerning the Orchid
She-In-Silver is numbered Twelfth Before The Throne. She is seated to the right of She-In-Red, beside the esteemed Prince-In-Jade, whom she despises for the circumstances of his birth. She dwells in the great gardens of which she is the caretaker, in a brilliant palace of pewter and porphyry, which is kept in her absence by mute princelings. She is a Lord of the Lower Air, and death does not rule her days. She is always, but it is held that she was not always so and may not always be so. The color of her raiment is silver, the exact shade of knives glinting in starlight, and was laid on her before the days began. The name of her which may be spoken aloud is Lady Orchid, and among the Balthazim she is known as She-In-Silver.

Lady Orchid's skin is the color of dusk, and her hair is like fire, or copper wires shining in the sun. She has two faces, each of which is smooth with the cruel ageless flawlessness of royalty. She is sightless and blind, and her eyes are bound tight with snow-white cloth, which at times is still not enough to hide what lies beneath. This blindfold is always damp with tears, and why she weeps is a mystery. Though she is blind, Lady Orchid moves with power and purpose, and there is a terrible strength in her hands. She is attended in all her doings and days by two servants, who see in her stead and might have once been kings. She was blinded for her crimes before the days began, though in dreams she remembers a time when she was sighted. It is said there is something still under her blindfold, though precisely what is not known.

Her power is over gardens, and garden-keepers, and all quiet places where moss grows silent on the graves of men whose names are forgotten -- for those are gardens of a sort. She has mastery at times over tending and shaping and cutting and guiding and, lastly, over patience and mastery, which are her spheres above all other things. She is keeper and caretaker of the many-laked gardens of Heaven, and the handmaiden of Destiny, by which she holds a great many privileges and is counted mighty among the Balthazim. The sign of her office is burned into her hands, and marks her in all places and all times as a servant of the Lady. When it shines crimson, she speaks with the authority of the Royal Ruler, and her voice is the voice of Destiny.

Lady Orchid has many names. She is called the Lady of the Hundred Lakes for her place of dwelling, and also the Caretaker and the Handmaiden, for the mighty offices which she holds. Among the Jenn, she is recorded as the Twelfth, or the Emissary, and is greeted with the deference due to one who speaks for the Lady. By the unworthy she is known as the Lake-Queen and the Wondermaker. In an age gone by, she was worshiped as the Thorn Maiden, but the worship of the Lower Airs is now forbidden by Heaven's decree, and as a result this name is rarely spoken aloud. She had a name among those who are not spoken of, but it was lost with her sight.

Lady Orchid is a wise fool, and something of her mistress' foretellings echoes in her skull. She dreams of things that may be or were or are yet to come, and when she speaks her voice is thick with prophecy. Save for Rhaz Mo Tun, her great enemy of old, she is the proudest among the Lower Airs, and once aspired to leave their number. She is imperious and dominating, and speaks always with command, which comes naturally to one such as she. She disdains the unworthy, save for their petty lords and kings, for she loves especially those of noble spirit, and often bestows great boons upon them. She preys upon the kings of men, delighting in breaking power and snaring glory. Her gifts are double-sided, and have cruel edges. Alone among her peers, she keeps mortal servants, and has made certain deals with He-In-Ivory that they may live forever. She is a seducer and a destroyer and a spider, who once aspired to rule Heaven in an older day. She alone remembers this time still, and the tears she weeps are either tears of rage or joy.

 

[Taut_Templar]

In a way she reminds me of a 'Lucifer' figure: makes deals you'll regret, aristocratically vicious, and - of course - reached above her station and got burned for it.

 

[Telamon]

An Excerpt from Upon The Powers, Volume II, Book II, Of The Lords of Creation, Chapter Fifteen, The Dark Years:

Behold, the Worm! See him shining cold and white, brilliant bright; See his bulk, splendid he! See his maw, like swords upright in the morning sun! His scales bear the world!

In his eyes is the ART, so delicate, so beautiful, snaring and grinding and cutting and dividing. VENOM-FAIR, wrapping senseless and tight and hard about all that is! The WORM is coiled around our history -- feel him squeeze all our days.

Truly, his glory stands upon the shores of time.

He knows all the sword-strokes, even the ones that have not yet been thought of, for before he was the WORM (which is never, for the WORM is always) he was a prince of the blade, and brooked no peers. He goes garbed always in silk and ermine, and knows no skin but his scales, which will shine until the days are over (so it is decreed). There is a remarkable idiocy in him, that baffles the scholars and the saints. Look upon his eyes and know the blinding ecstasy of oblivion.

The WORM knows something of misery and mastery both, and balances in his endless fist the dust of our comings and our goings. The serpents call him king, and the silkworms too, for there is something of both in his heart. All mulberry trees are his altars, and all serpent dens and swordsmithies also. His servants are makers and unmakers both, and you may know them by the venom that drips from their mouths like lies. His is a carmine hatred, which must be embraced and understood before one may begin to learn the many-folded ART OF KILLING, which is disgusting and erotic, and of which he is the first and only master.

He sits before the LOOM and holds it's thread in his jaw. He goes not often in his slave-skin, but when he deigns to chain himself, the color of him is the resplendent shade of serpents, which is also the color of raw nephrite. In that vapid and mongrel court where he is made both LESSER and LESS, the sacred stupid number of him is THIRTEEN.

When the OUTSIDERS walked in new flesh and HEAVEN Strode unclothed the world, and a hundred holy cities stood against the tide, then was builded and risen on the distant plains of the north that damned and resplendent city of many names: IRAHAN of the Many Swords, IRAHAN the Seven-Walled, IRAHAN that is now lost -- sunken splendid IRAHAN, where dwells eternal the SWORD-WORM! Here, he was born, if any may claim the WORM was born, and here they named him his sacred name, which has three syllables, and which he coiled in wormskin until it shone!

Speak the syllables, name the name, and numb your mind in his coils:

A -- or ALL, for this is what waits coiled in his shimmering endless scales.

HA -- for the cutting of hope and the boiling of breath, which he promises like a lover.

RAZ -- The last syllable, whose meaning is obscured, but brings to mind the killing stroke that severs life.

Before he was always, the Worm was unworthy. The way he walked was barred after him.

 

[saiman]

This is quite strange, but great. A bit like the beginning of the Simarillion

 

[Telamon]

...And it is said that when Heaven closed her eyes to us, and the sins of our forebears were repaid tenfold upon the world, and the outsiders were outside no longer, mankind appealed in desperation to the Powers, and our pleas rang in the halls of the Airs. Though the High were dumb to our plight, and cared not, there were some among the Low who paid heed, and answered the call when all seemed lost. And for this we swore ourselves to them, and a hundred holy cities studded the world.

Upon the morning-kissed spires of Bredis, the City of Morning, came the Dreaming Host and their un-real king, who rides forever through the midnight hours, who was maimed in the wars to come, who is cobalt-clad and has eyes like thunder, who rules last and least the dreams of men. And morning kissed those crystal towers no more, but a hallowed and holy dream came on all who dwelt therin, so that in later years Bredis was called the Dreaming City, and the might of it's sleepers was feared.

The city of Khand on the southern shores was girded in iron and stone, and the power of the Lord-In-White-Diamonds was on their land, and it was said of the men of that city that their skin did not break or wear, that they wanted not for hunger nor sleep nor venial things, for the mantle of the earth was about them. And they were known in after times as the holy Stone Men of Khand.

High in the mountains, in the city of Gharim Bel, the clouds began to weep and never stopped. The waters were with them, and rolled down from the mountain high to shatter their foes. And for many long years after, wherever in the wide world went the tattooed men of Gharim Bel, there also went ruin and thunder and stormclouds rolling. Their treason is still reviled, and the waters they loved are spat upon.

Upon the northern plains was raised a city of killers, who mastered that dread art, and were taught in all their doings by He-In-Jade: the finest killer in creation. These murderers were feared on every continent, and in their mouths was death. It is said that their lord taught them too well, and that from that holy city of swords was born a killer more perfect even than he, who later usurped his place with pomp and disgusting ceremony.

In the jungled city of Vijran, a boy who was born who could tell no lies, who mastered every art and skill, who danced every dance like it was his last, who was a scholar and a swordsman and a smith and a saint. Through him was born upon the world the passion and the power of the Prince of Pride, held not in many men, but in one, finest in shape and form and skill. And while he lived, the people of that city knew no fear of foes, and counted themselves ever and always foremost among the cities of the earth. Their arrogance was their undoing.

Lo! For a city stood on nine hills with nine towers and nine kings, and the name of it was Maggan Hen, and the power that came upon it was a power overwhelming, and it's kings renounced their petty crowns and became holy warriors, swearing themselves forever to their lady, a maiden fair and terrible. And where they rode there was woe, and the green earth rode with them, and they were the Sword-Saints of Maggan Hen, great battle-lords who long ago followed their lady into ruin.

The men of the jeweled city of Sarnis gave trifling parts of their flesh (a thumb, or a tongue, or an eye) to the Power that came upon their land, and in return it guarded them forever after. They shut the doors of their city, and while they remained shut no power of Heaven or Earth could overthrow them, nor any enter that they did not will. Yet once, in their foolishness, they threw them open, no power above or below could deliver them from ruin.

And the Powers themselves walked to defend their servants, and were seen on the field of war, girded and armed with their heavenly raiment, each to his own. Above the high spires of Bredis rode heavy-handed Baijun in his chariot of smoke, and behind him all his horsemen. In the mountains of Gharim Bel danced mad Azra, who rules the clouds, and her husband in purple cloth, who ruled the rains, and their mad court was all the Airs of the waters. In the jungles of Vijran great Rhaz Mo Tun stalked his prey, and at the doors of Sarnis So Rham the Undefeated stood with her spear of bone, as she stands even now at the Gates of Heaven, as she stands even now at the end of all ways. And in the sacred nave of the holy shrine of long-lost Chiarascuro dwelt the Lord In Indigo, who for some reason is not named among the Powers, who is now dead, and who they mourned.

And so the Lower Airs walked unclothed the world, and the deeds they and their servants wrought in those dark days were the stuff of legend. War spilled forth unending from the Walls of the World across all creation, and men walked with Heaven's might upon their breasts and in their fists, and a hundred holy cities stood against the tide. One by one they fell, for the Balthazim are no friends to men or mankind, nor can they be. Theirs are alien minds and alien hearts, and all things they work are to their satisfaction and their desire, and to these ends alone.

 

[Telamon]

An Excerpt from Upon The Powers, Volume II, Book II, Of The Lords of Creation, Chapter One, The Firstborn:

When the world was white-hot and new-made, and the Word still hung in the air, and the treason was still fresh, the Lah awoke. They rose dripping from the nothing-broth of creation's afterbirth, and gazed upon what none had before them seen. Vast wings they had, three times three, and manifold limbs, and splendid shimmering crests painted the many colors of frozen fire. They were the Talong Lah, matchless and splendid, iridescent and resplendent, with minds sharp and cold and terrible too. They were the Lords of Creation, the inheritors of the Firmament and the princes of the sky -- the first mortals. They were the first to know the world, and to feel the iron lash of the Knowing upon their days. They were born to a prison, and sought always an escape. Heaven met them when they were young, and smiled on them, for they were the first of her children. They met Destiny and her lover when their hands were still red with their sin, and knew her for an enemy. To the Firmament the Talong Lah gave the name of Rokh, and from among them they chose a ruler, a lord over the lords of creation -- the Rokh'haran, which in their tongue is the splendid-deathless-one, whose beak was seven colors and whose eyes were fire, who was god and flesh and queen and king in one.

The world then had not yet cooled, and was warm to the touch, and could still be molded by those with will to try -- and the will of the Lah has not yet been equaled in this world. They bent the angles to perplex their enemy and tore the seas to frustrate the Airs and divided the mountains to divide their foes. They fastened the days together and carved the hours into shape (which had before them been formless) and mutilated the proud Lord Time, who before had been greatest of his siblings. Creation was wild and untamed at her birth, but the Talong Lah tamed her, beat her and broke her and bound her fast with iron chains. They fashioned their prison into a weapon, that they might wage war on their own terms.

Great cities of red crystal they built in the sky, a vermillion challenge to the Powers, and all that was or would later be was under their hand. Beasts they fashioned in their towers tall, and myriad shapes and forms and creatures they molded with strong fingers and set to roam upon the world. Weapons, all weapons. They were ever a race at war, and scattered Creation with living things to clutter the vision of their Foe. They fashioned those who would follow after them, gave them limb and tongue and heart, and in their iron forges were born the Yan-Yaboth, the knife of their spite, and many of the mortals who would follow after. Many great things and small they made and fashioned in these noontide years, things primordial and awful and glorious that lie sleeping still beneath the skin of the world. Last of all they made four great blades, cooled in the deeps of space and fashioned from the fibers of the Firmament, so terribly sharp they could cut days and names alike. They did not make them. These were the blades of HATE-MADE-THOUGHT.

But at last they grew too proud, and too splendid, and Heaven grew jealous. They dared raise up their weapons of cold iron, the only things that might harm the hated Enemy, and make war upon Heaven. They almost succeeded, but they were betrayed. For their insolence, they were destroyed utterly, and nothing of them now remains. Woe to us all that they failed. The prison holds. The Lah were beautiful, and mighty beyond words or the imagining of later mortals, but for their hubris they were undone. Their cities hang still empty in the sky, lustrous and red and cruel.

They were the first Lords of Creation, but not the last. Their slaves and creations followed after them, each in their turn inheriting something of their glory and their craft, and each in their turn chafed under the tyranny of Heaven.

The war they began has not yet ended. We are all fighting it still, even if we know it not.

 

[Telamon]

An Excerpt From Upon The Powers, Volume II, Book I, Of The Lords Of The Air:

Concerning He-In-Ivory

He-In-Ivory stands before the Throne, and to it's left, and yet apart. He holds no number (though he would be Third Before The Throne if he did, but he does not) and dwells in no place, though his kingdom is limitless. He is a Lord of the Upper Air, and will never end. He is for always. The color of his raiment is ivory, the precise shade of which is bone bleached blinding white, or a new-fallen snow blazing in the sun, in which he was clad before Creation was born. The name of him is which is spoken most often is Lord-In-Ivory, though he has as many names among the unworthy as there are tongues on the earth. No mendicants make the trek to visit him, yet all who seek entry to Heaven honor him in their heart, for he waits at the end of their journey. The Balthazim have no name for him in their speech, yet the silence which falls at his coming and his passing names him as surely and finally as any syllable. By the Royal Ruler he is called "Brother", an honor not given to Lord Time, and by which he is set apart from all who live in Heaven. So numberless, so nameless, so matchless comes he.

The Third (who is not the Third) has an uncountable number of faces, each different from the last, some beautiful and some awful, some erotic and some hideous, and wears a different one each hour. It is said when he no longer has faces left, a terrible age shall come to pass, and all that was shall be ground into dust. He comes in sizes high and small, strong and splendid, many-armed and many-tongued, and the only way you may ever know him or mark him true is by his Breath, which is the wild west wind, that is sometimes sweet, that blows about his feet and shakes the dust from his robes. It is said by certain fools that his eyes stay the same, but this is a lie, for his eyes are empty.

His power is over endings, and the closing of ways — his rule over dyings and doings, over births and strife, over orgasms and conquerors alike. Most of all he is a lord of stories, for all stories must end. His left hand is wreathed always in invisible and perilous fire, which is all-consuming (and which will consume him last of all), while his right is curled tight around a nigh-endless ring of keys, each of which opens every door in the world — and one, it is said, which opens one door alone. All Airs are under him, and all spheres, and all hours and ways and things and days, for there is nothing that must not meet an ending. His is a mastery most sublime. Infinity kneels before his visage, and on his tongue is written the day of the world's ending, which he has shared with none. He is the jailor, and the keys he holds are the keys of the prison, for which even She must envy him.

Of all the Airs, he holds the greatest worship, and his names are beyond reckoning. As has been said, the Balthazim name him not, but to the Jenn he might have been the Honored Third — but he is not the Third, and so he is marked only with a reverent silence. He is beloved and feared by the unworthy, who call him the Liesmith and the King of Dragonflies, and acclaim him again and always as the Unconquered Air and the Emperor of Harlots. He is the Loom-Breaker and the Warden of Heaven. The ones who were lost call him the Key-Keeper. To the outsiders, who are not spoken of and do not exist, he is perhaps their final hope. Last of all, in endless tongues and in endless voices, he is known to all who live or have lived (and to all, we are assured by Lord Time, who will live) as Lord Death.

Lord Death is the most jubilant of all his peers. He is a famed hedonist, and has tasted of all the pleasures of all the places of all the world. He delights in finite things - in wine a day from spoilage, in a virgin's final minutes, in a hunted hind's last mad dash, in the blast of the horn and the glinting of the spear. Here, he holds his revels, and they are terrible revels indeed, for they are all in silence, and they alone of all things have no endings. He holds his lusty court in plague-struck wards and aboard sinking ships, in the heaving lungs of murdered men and on the last pages of every single book. He smiles only at endings — and so Lord Death is always smiling. The Lord in Ivory is acclaimed in all hospitals and graveyards, on all battlefields and in all whorehouses, in every birthing room and by every writer and painter, and more and moreover, by all the unworthy. His name is on every soldier's lips, on every murderer's tongue and in every harlot's heart. For all those who dread or fear or hope for the coming of his court and the sight of his smile, his name is above all other Airs.

HE IS A TRAITOR.

 

[Telamon]

An Excerpt From Upon The Powers, Volume II, Book I, Of The Lords Of The Air:

Concerning The Fourteen-Hundred-And-Ninth

Par Bellabon is the Fourteen Hundred And Ninth Before The Throne. He is seated by many leagues to the left of She-In-Red. He makes his living on the Fourth Hill of Heaven, across from a dyeworks and several feet to the right of a popular theater. He is a Lord Of The Lower Air, and death does not rule his days. He is always, but it is held that he was not always so and may not always be so. The color of his raiment is chalcedony, the exact color of which is the clouded half-seen blue of a stone from the deep. The name of him which may be spoken aloud is Par Bellabon, which in the tongue of Heaven means "One born fortunate who perseveres.", though he is sometimes called the Prince-In-Chalcedony.

The Prince-In-Chalcedony is short and rotund, with a round ruddy face and small bright eyes that twinkle like diamonds. His war-face, which he won in a game of chance, is said to be amusing to look upon.

His power is over Seconds Which Feel Like Minutes, and so he is counted among the Airs Of Time, and numbered among the Synod of the Hours, though he is/will be/has been rarely called upon by his lord. His foremost rival and partner in all things is his brother Par Vennatos, the Lord of Seconds-Which-Feel-Like-Hours, and their struggles and mischiefs have marked the Courts of Lord Time for many an eon. His weapon of choice is the multifaceted blade Ynnabraw, the Knife-Of-Cuts-Untold, which he bought from She-In-Viridian-Green for a princely sum, and which may deal many blows before the blade falls, and which he sold to his brother for a greater sum than he bought it because the damn thing doesn't work.

The Prince-In-Chalcedony is counted among the followers of the Prince-In-Azure, and served him as partisan and a messenger in his struggle with the Prince-In-Cobalt. He is little-known to the unworthy, though in the city of Ebdos he and his brother are known as the Princes of the Cloister, and were worshiped there in the age when such things were permitted. Altars are kept to him still.

Par Bellabon is jovial, and laughs often, and lies more frequently. Though small, he makes good friends of greater lords, and turns his words to good effect often. Though men know him rarely, they curse him often, and feel his hand heavy upon the small moments of their lives. He is a singer and a dancer and a maker of merry, and as all the Airs of Time, he sits and will sit and has sat in the Synod of the Hours.

He's a sly piece of shit. Trust nothing he says. HE WAS THE ONE WHO GUIDED THE BLADE.

 

[Lykantos]

I'm very curious who or what the author of the strikethroughs are. The excerpts really give the impression of a long, detailed history book, and I'm definitely digging the vibe.