They called him Ore Om, though he had other names. He made the heavens and the lands, the fire and the water, the plants and animals and bugs, and all in between. Other stories say others made such things, but they do not tell our story.
Our story begins with his bride. Ar'Chel. Ore Om crafted the grand planks of the world, and Ar'Chel came after with thread and patch and binding, crafting the smaller details, the underpinings that all great things stood on. They did this because they wished it, and because they must, and because they desired worship, and for no reason at all, for it is impossible to know the minds of such beings. Once they stood before their creation, they pronounced it good, and began to watch it to see what it would do.
It made mankind, and mankind rose to stand above all others. Man grew beyond animal, began to grasp the greater wonders of the world. Ore Om was pleased, and allowed some men barest glimpses. They built temples to him and his wife, assigned them places as they saw fit. Ore Om made the animals men tamed and fed upon, the crops he grew, the water that he drank and the fire he used to make the world his. Ar'Chel made the family, the mothers who made sons, the lessons that let men pass their knowledge on. the desire to go forward and learn ever more. As the two effected changed on mankind, mankind affected change on them. And it was good.
But man did not just change as their gods would wish. Man changed in other ways. New thoughts came to them, to him, solely from himself. Man began to grasp the concept of ownership, of being master in all ways instead of the greatest, most important ones. To be what they could be, man must change. They must kill other man. They must cut themselves off from lessons. They must sometimes, too many times, remove everything that makes them man. They saw it good.
Woman fell prey to man. Woman became property. Woman became despised, for she had powers man never could have. The temples to Al'Chel were torn down. Her words and stories were scrubbed away. Al'Chel wept and begged her husband to guide man away from such deeds, or allow her a chance for them to learn lessons anew, but man and god were linked too close now. Ore Om had created man, but in turn man had created him, and so Ore Om took up a rock and struck down his bride, and left her to wither away. Forgotten. Loathed.
It was the foolishness they could never grasp. That if thoughts could affect such a mark on a god, than other thoughts could not be so easily purged, no matter how much man wanted them to be.
Who was the first, cast out for whatever reason given? Who found where the old thoughts lay, the anger and rage that was born for the choices of man? Who first began to learn the knowledge of blood and thread, of seeing what lay beneath all things, of making them yours, devouring them? Her name is lost, as are many others, for man never ceased in his desire.
It has been many ages since then. What became of Ore Om is not known. Perhaps he eventually grasped the shame of his deeds and fled in penance. Perhaps he was forgotten, and ceased to be a presence on our lands and skies. Perhaps he changed so much that he exists still under another name, dead in all ways save the absence of life. Man has changed too, in some ways. Many have realized their foolishness and have tried to make amends for the deeds that murdered Al'Chel. Others have not, and yet others come from other lands, other planes, other gods, with eyes that see a thousand thousand ways.
It does not matter. The lessons we learned, have passed down from the blood and body of Al'Chel, have remained. It was the worst thing man could have done, for they taught us the joy in dominance, in pain and death and inflicting horror, taking everything and draining it dry. It does not matter if the paths of man have forked. That elixir is the sweetest of all, and our being, our lineage, is to drink it until the last man draws his last breath. Ore Om changed, but we will never change. We know the dark truths that birthed us, and we will give rise in it to those who have not changed and brand those who have, the inescapable sin, the crime of man.
We are the secrets in blood, the noosemakers of thread, the savage hand that strokes the savage beast that allowed man to break gods in mind and body. We are the truth, and we have existed too long to be brought down by knowledge, or star people, or heroes like this poor unfortunate girl who could not resist the curiosity of our grand ritual, and the war it will bring to those who will surely seek to destroy us like man destroyed his gods.
We are the Haruspex. We are the reapers of man.
And it is good.
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