The Useless Silken Tablets of Telvan, Prophet of Mepahala- Tablet (5) "Gold & Silver"
Enter now, the Kalpa of the Tick
The Mundus cooled once again from the embarrassed sweeping of the Gods of Get-Along. DIB, KYN, STN, and MRA were murdered most beautify once more, and their corpses buried deep within the heavens. Zen loved his mothers, and refused to be born again with their murder; but, with their death, he had come to some moments of clarity. In these moments of sanity, he gained great power. But, in his insanity, he built prosperous cities, luminous and blinding. He thought himself safe within wrappings of walls and ‘neath the growing glowing spires.
Mephala, as the Leech King, made fair and honorable business selling flesh and souls in Edenmire’s slums. He would die and pass the right of leading the horde to His younger self, time and time again. As Zen ruled above, as God King, Mephala was an emissary for all things made false in Sithis down below.
One day, pitch black beneath the night of Underneath, Mephala parlayed with guild masters from past kalpas with two of His legs, and bedded their wives with another two. He tortured a lamb with His ebony arm, collecting its wails for later trade; and, with His three remaining arms, He listened to the stones.
“He tried to take my sand eaters from twixt my fingers. I left him none of his own.”
“I made ear that Stonnangi gave it to Tuala for her marriage, but some say he gave it to her the night before- the eve of her worming ceremony!”
“A boy, golden curls and his father’s blue eyes, the most beautiful in all the land. Mormo, his mother, a nice enough woman. No fathers, though. Shame.”
Mephala took breath, and was pleased. He finished with the guilds’ masters, their wives, and the lamb and drifted down His web.
One of Mephala’s traps had been sprung. At long last, He would drink the blood of the King of Wealth. Mormo, had been His chamberlain, versed in the arts of seduction and reduction. After scores of thousands of years of faithful service, the Leech King had rewarded silver-skinned Mormo with a millennia of torture. The supple form forgot who it was, the rich color drained from Mormo’s eyes- leaving a haunted pale blue. He rewarded her with another thousand years of agony and Mormo forgot her will, all her hair then sprouted twisted and golden. A century was inflicted on the girl so she may remember our Master’s love and forget all else. A decade more made her forget our Master.
She was sent to King Zen in place of a consort who was meant to howl for the god. Mormo howled, too. Mormo howled and wailed and screamed and wept. Zen was well pleased with his consort, and gave her his passion many and many times over. Her ancient womb was swaddled in the second of our Master’s art; so fertile was it that it took Zen’s seed each time and added it to the small boy within her womb. The child was one part Mormo, but hundreds of fractions Zen. The child grew quickly, cursedly so, and so when Mormo was found to give birth to such a large child so soon, she was banished with her spawn for lies of the purity of her flesh.
Leech King Mephala scuttled up the tunnels to inspect what had been caught in His web.
Golden-curled Clavicus lived with his mother far from the city, ‘midst the villans of the field. They lived unperturbed, but always in need. Mormo had not left the little house in some years, long enough for the beautiful boy to become a youth.
Clavicus was playing amidst the streams and stones and birds and spiders, when a fattened tick rose from the waters, “he-llo chi-ld, I am the Lee-ch King.”
Clavicus stared in wonderment at the talking beast, in awe of the majesty of our Lord. Truths spilled from one set of Mephala’s legs into the water- lies from the other. Only Clavicus could tell which was which.
Mephala, the Leech King, taught the boy the art of the lie, and the profanity of Zen’s bargains. He showed the boy how to concentrate his words and dilute his actions.
“Now, wh-at tug-ed at thy heart ‘fore I came to thee? Wh-at does my sw-ee-t boy cov-et?”
“A top, belonging to Mother Suhlak’s unborn boy. I can not have it, for it is his.”
“Dip your han-ds in my wa-ters, black-en them with this wet maybe. Make your sil-ver skin tell tru-ths ab-out lies. You can ta-ke wh-at-ev-er is gi-ven to you. This is how you sha-all get the toy you see-eek…”
Clavicus came to the home of Mother Suhlak and walked in, greeting the woman. Her two children were asleep for the week, her husbands fighting sunflowers in the fields. She was one month until birth, moving slowly and carefully. “I bid the well, fair boy, son of Mother Mormo. Will you take some stew from me?” She moved over to the pot and winced in pain from her pregnant burden.
“Mother, I thank thee, for my own gives none to eat. For this meal, tell me what may be made of me.”
“Nothing, boy, you are kind to care. Nothing in this world avails me now but freedom from the pain of this pain of child I bare.”
“It is done.”
As Suhlak’s pain subsided, as did her womb. The child, volatile, lay now in Calvicus’ arms.
“Daemon! Give back my ward!”
“I shall be more generous”, said Calvicus supping on the stew, “if I had the top made for him.”
“Take the plaything, and even shall I never speak of your transgression again!”
“This you swear!?”
“This I swear!”
Indeed, Clavicus took the top, the stew, and the child from the home, for she had failed to stipulate her child back, only implied it. She did not even call after him, for she had sworn never to speak of his transgression.
Clavicus went home, took his meal, the stew, gave Mormo her meal, the babe, and tossed the top in the fire.
Clavicus tricked villagers, one after one, out of home and family. His basest loves were met; his mother, still locked in the cellar, was fed. The youth was now a man of fertile age, his beauty could turn any head of any neck, and his words any heart.
Though he had many baubles and trinkets, raw power was one thing held from his grasp. Mephala would not grant it so easily, so he merely asked a favor of our god.
The Leech King parlayed with Sheogorath, who took a a spool of yarn and spun from it a mountain. With his Grey Arm he flung it to the little village of Clavicus. The mountain with the weight of a spool of yarn crashed to the ground, and as Clavicus motioned with his hands above him, Mephala affixed it with a single thread to an unmoving star.
It seemed to the townspeople that Clavicus was holding it midair for them.
“By my love,” he told them, “I keep it afloat, but it will not last long. Bring one ailing and near death, sacrifice their soul so that it may stay afloat.”
It was so; an elderly woman was brought before Clavicus, her throat slit with the Eclipse Blade, and soul drained into the boy. Every month, the oldest of the village was brought to Clavicus so that he may take of their souls and the young would be spared. Clavicus drank of their spirit, gestured falsely with his hands and contented the townspeople for another month.
Mephala saw that it was good.
Years passed and Calvicus was bolstered in power, stealing souls from the elderly and infants alike. Soon he felt like it was time to return to his father’s land, with a vengeance.
He and an delegation of the finest merchant lords from the Outer Lands, wrapped in furs and gold, as was Kothringi custom, paraded to Zen’s capitol, laden with gifts and bribes. They made no trouble, and were the perfect guests- shaking all the right hands, paying the right people, dining at the right locations, sleeping with the right nobles, swindling the right merchants. They weakened Zen’s power and bolstered their own. All were oblivious of Clavicus’ trickery. All, that is, but Zen’s silver watchdog, Barbus.
The dog could see past the finery, for dogs have no need of wealth or power, and knew Clavicus’ true plot, but none could see the handsome man as being so cruel, and so Barbus was silenced.
Then the armies attacked.
Late at night, when the wine had been fed to even the servants, silver-skinned Kothringi marched from the Mora’s Woods, many-legged creatures and no-legged men crawled from ‘neath the sewers, and blessed children of Mephala slipped in through the cracks of the Mundus. Zen’s people were poisoned and outnumbered, incapable of fighting back, but the old god himself was cutting through waves of the Blessed in his throne room.
Clavicus entered the atrium, wielding the Eclipse of the Ebony Blade, matching his father for every blow. Strands of silk, falling to the ground, slowed the old god but Clavicus danced through them.
They fought for four days and eight nights, whereupon they found they were equal.
“Parlay, my son.” Said the god, “let us rest a moment.”
“What quarter shall you give me?”
“A bed, and a meal of netchmeat.”
“Bah! Netchmeat! Think you me a commoner, ‘Lord of Fair Trade’?”
“Then, Kynesonflesh.”
“They are tough and cruel, and should be et only before a rouse. Did you mean to lay with me, too, father?”
“Insufferable boy, take any animal you will in this kingdom and slay it, together we shall sup of even its marrow, should you will it. But, until either we both agree to fight again or three moons have passed, no blows will be thrown.”
“Is this binding to our parlay? Do you pledge it so?” Asked Clavicus
“I do, if you are bound the same.”
“So be it,” said Clavicus, binding the two to the deal, “…let us sup of your hound. His flesh will please me… in your gut”
Clavicus summoned Barbus, slowly and cruelly slew the hound before its master, who wept and pleaded, and bade the nurses cook it in oils. Oath bound, Zen et of his friend, with every bite a bit of his sanity left him, “What good is it that I own the whole world, should I have et of Barbas’ flesh?”
Clavicus drew even sinew off every bone of his half of the beast, smiled, picked up the Eclipse Blade, walked over to the demented god and made to strike off his head.
“We begin fighting in three moons; this was the deal, you vile creature.” said Zen.
“I am bound by no deals,” said Clavicus Vile as he swung through Zen’s neck, “honor is a coward’s tool.”
The Wheel turned once and there was night and there was day and there was a sixth Kalpa.
Mephala blesses us with the Lord of Wishes, the Golden Boy of Morningstar, the Deceiver. Be careful in only dealing in words, scuttlers. Sometimes lies do not fill one’s appetites. Sometimes we rely on Vile murder. Blessed is the tick, blessed is Mephala!
My Seekers are past the halfway point, recovering my sister's text. Should you not have read Mephala's blessed texts, here are prior books:
Tablet (-1) "Before the Wheel" -Formation of the Mundus
Tablet (0) "The Making of a Kalpa" -Madness & Order
Tablet (1) "Mephala Conceives Sex" -Sanguine Usurps Dibella, Namira is Pleased
Tablet (2) "Godbeast" -Hircine Usurps Kynareth, Wood Elves & Werewolves
Tablet (3) "The Wages of Love is Fear" -Mehrunes Dagon Usurps Stendarr, Magnus is Blessed
Tablet (4) "Clad in Ebony" -Boethiah Usurps Mara, All Sex in this Story is Gay