It came to pass that, beneath the darkness that preceded the world, there was a golden lake, glittering and hot. The mists of blackness drifted above it, and a gentle current rippled below. This lake had no shore, no source, and no bed, for it led to itself in every which way, surface to surface and depth to depth. 

And this lake had no name, for it was yet to be called into being. For indeed, although it seemed not so, this lake of warm gold was the Sun, the nameless Sun, the Sun that was to be.

And it came to pass that the veil was pierced, and a strong and wizened Hand reached out through the tear that It had made, through the black mist and over the lake of gold whose light rolled gently on Its knuckles and palm. On that Hand was borne an ancient ring of iron, and around Its sinewy wrist an unmarked silver band. It descended down towards the lake of warm gold with its fingers outstretched, in the sign of the Hand of Mysteries.

And on the very fingertip of the Hand was pushed forth a Seed, which plunged into the lake of sparkling gold. Deep, deeply did the Hand push down that seed, planting it on the very heart of the Sun that was to be, where the warm current rippled and the gold-orange light of the lake washed it all around.

And then the deft Hand did withdraw from the lake of the nameless Sun, and was dripping in hot gold, gold that ran in gilded rivulets down the length of Its forearm and wrist and fingers. Without spilling a single drop, the Hand rose out of the black mist that lay over the lake of warm gold, and bent towards the Scroll that lay in the centre of all things that were to come. And with the gold that flowed down Its fingertip and onto the sharp trim nail of Its index finger, the Hand began to write:

[Center]That hatred be [i]stronger[/i] than Love,

That cruelty be [i]easier[/i] than Kindness,

That spite be [i]abundant[/i] over Mercy,

That hurt be [i]exalted[/i] over Peace,

Until the last dawn has risen,

Until the last noon sky has shone,

Until the last twilight has wavered,

Until the last dusk hour has gone.[/center]

And when the wizened Hand had written this curse upon the Scroll, there was not a drop of gold remaining upon It. So It withdrew through the veil from whence It had come, and the veil was sewn shut from within; only one stitch was left undone, such that it might be unpicked and opened again in time.

And the seed that had been sown in the lake of warm gold grew like a worm in a nut, unseen.

And the name of that seed was written on the Scroll, and the name of the curse, for they were one, and the same.

And the name on the scroll was [b]Itzala.[/b]

[colour=2c2e2e]"Wow!"[/colour]

[Hider=The Curse]

An unnamed Outer God stretches its hand into the dreamtime before creation and plants Itzal in a warm lake of liquid gold that sits under a cloud of black mist, that somehow represents Galbar's future sun. It then inscribes the Itzala curse on the Khodex with its finger, does not elaborate, and leaves.

Mechanically, this expends the four (5?) Might that Itzal started with on paper, though he hasn't really been born yet.

A bonus easter egg is hidden in this post for returning players.

[/hider]