The Useless Silken Tablets of Telvan, Prophet of Mephala- Tablet (6) "Rotting Claws and Puppet Gods"

Enter now the Kalpa of the Slug

So the Lie was retold yet again; the flesh of a failing world, reeling from the loss of its false god, was stripped by the Time Worm and his two sons and refolded into a new Shape.

“Father,” said Janus, “I am the most unscrupulous of your litter. Let me use this and make they realm anew.”

“So be it, my son,” replied the Dragon for he was, in truth, the most unscrupulous of the false ones.

Janus bade his father rest, so the Worm lay to make the River Thras. At its end lay Arkus, mouth agape so as to accept the dead as they made their final journey. This was the whole of Janus’ plan for creation- one river- for he was a dullard, and a fool.

Mephala sat at the banks of the river, her front legs testing the waters, her back legs in the void, and contemplated how to undo something so simple- too simple. Merrunz burned in the distance, slashing through the void, bellowing curses ‘neath his poisoned armor. The Golden Haired Child let his beast slake its thirst from the river (though the Boy was relieving Himself upstream). Boethia, She Who Erases, fought Boetiah, He Who Destroys.

All were contented but for Mephala and her Brother.

“SISTER” Bellowed the Many-Eyed God, “SLAY ME NOW, SEND ME TO SITHIS FOR NONE HAVE EVER MADE CRAFT SO DULL AS THIS ONE. THERE IS NO FATE TO SCRY, NO SECRET KNOWLEDGE TO KNOW. LOOK AT THE FATE OF THIS CREATURE, IT IS THE SAME AS THE FATE OF ALL OTHERS.”

The Prince of Fate motioned a tentacle to a beast in the River Thras. The beast, like myriads before it, bobbed down the river with vacant and unthinking expression, eventually dipping into Arkus’ embrace. Such was the fate of all created things in this mundane world.

“DO SOMETHING OR I SHALL MAKE RESIDENCE IN OUR MAD BROTHER’S ISLES.”

“Very well, brother.” Mephala replied, “dirty Azurah’s robes, and I shall do the rest.”

Deep, bellowing, and mad laughter followed the Scrying Eye out into the Void.

Azurah came to the waters to wash the ink from her robes and skin. She removed her cloak and dipped it into the stream. Mora’s stain washed from them, and blessed the waters with blight. The goddess entered the waters herself, and washed her body of taint.

Mephala, as Grandmother Slug, emerged from the waters and perched on Janus’ shoulder. “Look at the Goddess of Change, how she washes Herself in your waters. She thinks her skin and robes more worthy than the whole of your complex creation. How bored she is by you; how tired she finds your themes.”

Janus said, “ I shall make a creation to woo even the Queen of change; I shall fashion a SECOND RIVER. It will be magnificent, and she will be stunned.” With this, Nocturnal’s laugh shook through the void, and Namira’s single-toothed mouth stood agape in awe of Janus’ simplicity.

“Kind King,” Mephala made to guide the simpleton, “We should once again fill the world with the Knife-Eared People of Yffre, and expand the banks of Thras. Show Azurah your benevolence and let her have a hand in this.”

Janus approached the Queen of Change and with a stroke of his hands expanded the banks of Thras. “Look, my Queen, this river was Everywhere, now these banks are Elsewhere.” He took from his breast the breath of Yffre and pulled from the Sands the Knife-Eared people.

“Foolish spirit,” chastised Azurah “The Knife-Eared People cannot live on warm sands.” She took some of the withering Mer and fashioned them into Desert-Dwellers. She bound their form to Lorkaj’s rotting corpse, for she is lazy. She made for them sweetcanes and limber-shafted woods. They fished and pruned their fur, yes, but- much to the delight of the Princes- they fought each other to bloody conclusion. Claw stripped fur from flesh and fang rent flesh from bone.

Finally, Janus had something that he loved- Azurah and her children- and with his Heart exposed, it could be made to bleed. Janus, however, nuzzled in the bosom of the Goddess, taking the First Secrets into his mouth and enjoying her protection.

This would soon be amended.

None of the Three needed light. Mephala prefers to grope her way along dark, tight spaces. Mora has little care for space, form, or distance. And Namira is Pregnant Darkness itself. The dark moon hung between the two masses of Lorkaj’s corpse, now tainted with Azurah’s binding.

“Foul,” a shrill voice came from within the haggard corpse, “they clean their fur quicker than rot can take hold. Ungrateful creatures. Masses of them and not a one blessed with festering mold.” The corpse moaned as Namira ate its way from inside it, its many legs pulling the great length of the creature out from the husk’s abdomen. “None grow old, for they die in combat; not even do they rot, for they are heaved into the river. Disgrace. Cruelty. Arkus takes my quarry. Hot, endless sands is no place for mold.”

“Wisdom? He calls himself wise, yet thoughts are a scarce commodity in his head.” Mora poured out from the ether, tentacles and eyes cascading down from thin air “Knowledge is the name of perfection, ‘wisdom’ is the fool’s crutch.”

“Surely, my sisters, your pains are made clear. A clean world and a wise people is a burden the universe should not have to bear. We shall take the spoils in the river, and deny Arkus his share, making our cruel creatures that swim upstream rather than floating down it.”

With terror, apathy, and spite, Namira perfected every foul, hulking lump of the new abominations. The hateful Upstream Swimmers tear apart sanctity merely to satiate their curiosity. They were indifferent to cries of mewing cubs or caged mothers as they plunged living flesh into their frothing caldrons or hungry mouths. The Upstream Swimmers of the River Thras made for quick nemeses to the Desert-Dwellers.

Claw tore at many a drooping appendage, and putrid breath flowed from gaping maws to suffocate scores of feline warriors. Azurah saw her children slain by Namira’s undulating monstrosities and pleaded with the lord of the land to rectify this. “Wise King, slay these abominations, let our children be at peace.”

“My Queen,” spoke Janus, “‘tis better to let them fight and win by their own glory, than debase them by taking this challenge from them.”

Azurah was taken aback by how the once simple Janus now spoke with her, but he had power in these sands. “Very well, my liege, then I shall prepare to make war against the Slug People.”

“En gxi aperas. Ne malofte enahkstas krome plej. Tiuj cirkonstancauw rahkspeguligxos en so aspekto so Namir,” the Slug People chanted in unison. Sixteen pillars slowly lowered over sixteen cages, crushing the emaciated prisoners inside. The hulking creatures were unperturbed by the begging and pleading of the felines. They didn’t flinch at the horrific sounds of crunching bone. They did not heed the blood and guts that poured from the pillars, between their legs, into the large basin in the center of the room. Namira, in all Her Fetid Glory, arose from the bubbling concoction of fats and blood and entrails.

“NAMIRA IS COME”

“Ne madkra so krome pegluxria chazxrigna. Daskgrigchka nobra Sload’rxh ka nist Kajitt’roj kombra. Fajgrxick’nmba calmbrah Namir, castmjana’nmba calmbrah Namir, bjasxchkra calmbroh Namir.” The largest creature raised his arms and lowered his head in adoration of the Pregnant Dark, calling out to her.

“Every moment, you worship me. Your every footstep expands my domain. So kind has been your love of me, I shall abide by your needs.”

“Kasxrgnma ba’al jsxramno fakr, Namir ro cheszimkj” The Foul Slug shook its pendulous jowls in adoration and extacy.

Namira regurgitated into Her bony palm. "This is my Covenant with you." She extended a desiccated limb, offering a writhing bladder to the creature. He made excited, mashing noises as he accepted the gift from his god. One of Namira’s rotten digits brushed the monster’s hand, the tentacle shriveled up and fell off, but it only added to its ecstasy.

Even touching the fur of another would turn the strongest of warriors into a shambling husk. The River Thras bubbled with the deep laughs of the Upstream Swimmers, who now never left its waters but to spread a new strain of Namira’s gift to them.

All around them, the People of the Desert fought one another. The ones who turned were not undead, for such a thought did not exist, but rather kept at death’s very edge, made to pass their rot to their kin. The Plague of Thras would soon wipe the desert clean.

Azura watched in terror, unable to interfere for her children had stopped sending prayer. “Janus, relieve our sons of this burden. Clean their fur. Wash their paws.”

“A balance will bw struck, my queen,” the idiot god responded, “watch, for any moment now, our kin will respond with their own mighty weapon.”

In truth, Janus was too dumb a god of wisdom to know what course to take, so he hid his stupidity in “wisdom”. The People of the Desert would soon vanish.

Inelegant Mora poured out from the void. “Azurrrrraaah. Your lover is a fool. Abide by my will, divulge his nymic and you shall have your cure by my boneless limb.”

Only six score and one thousand Desert Walkers remained, surrounded by waves of shambling husks. “A deal is struck, Old One, his nymic is yours.”

Hermaeus Mora cackled, the idiot king did not realized what was to happen as Mora edged toward him, speaking his true name. Tentacles went into every open hole, snaking into every cavity, breaking bones tearing flesh. The countenance on this painful abomination was made perfect. Julianos screamed, but was muffled by scores of tentacles erupting from his mouth. Mora moves his arms for him, and with a wave the hand, and the right incantation, the sands swallowed up the disease, burning it in the furnace of the sun’s heat.

The River Thras awoke, but the Sload had already scrimshawed to the next kalpa and so were unharmed, and again the Worm swallowed the world.

The Wheel turned once and there was night and there was day and there was a seventh Kalpa.

To this day, Julianos is the only of Mephala’s godly prey to be left alive, balanced of the edge of death. Every inch of him is violated by Mora’s writhing fury. When fools pray to Julianos for wisdom, the god weeps in pain of his injuries and Mora sends not foolish wisdom, but pure and addictive knowledge. All who pray to Julianos, are instead lead to Mora. Praise Hermaeus Mora, the Golden Eye, the Scryer of Fate, the Lord of the Tide, the Warden of Janus. Praise the Unholy Amalgam.

Blessed in Namira, cursed is the Slug. Cursed is Namira, blessed is the slug. Mephala’s favor upon the Sload, for their cunning strips flesh from reality and disproves the value of “morals”.

All praise to Mephala, the Hidden Mistress. All praise to Mephala, the Many Legged. All praise to Mephala, the Spider upon the Wheel.

Three gods are left to fall, and three Princes left to rise. Next, I weave the tale of the Seventh Kalpa, the Kalpa of the Dreugh. Bear witness the shame of Arkay and the Glory of Dreugh Queen Gba’al.

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, Sexy Times with Daedric Princes

Tablet (5) "Gold & Silver" -Clavicus Vile Usurps Zenithar, Business is Booming