FrettzoRoog
The gentle intonation of the bells slowly echoed off the walls and towers of the monastery, announcing the Hour of Contemplation to have passed. Voices, not quite hushed but certainly respectfully muffled, began to pick up across the monastery’s many corridors. Soon Kynweir-Alwyld was alive with activity, bustling from base to parapet. All manner of Valla now thronged the numerous halls of Roog’s Monastery, on their way to whatever their day had in store for them.
Roog, for his part, remained where he often was; sitting beneath the Reodweir in contemplation of his own. The Hour of Contemplation had not been of his own creation, thought up by the Cenekyn as a time for reflection and meditation. They had learned much from observation as Roog was not one to provide the most direct answers to their queries. Instead, his actions served as the basis of their own. They had, on their own, developed a schedule to follow throughout their day that all monks of the Cenekyn were bade to partake in while all guests were welcomed to take part.
Roog let a hand rise from his cross legged position, feeling the tactile divots where once smooth ribs had been. The scars of his fight with the Gate Lord had been considerable and, despite his body having reincarnated into Valla form, their damage remained quite visible. Roog had pondered on that as he contemplated his future over the past few weeks, reflecting on the death of his creator and his own inability to grow past his own injuries. It seemed, for the moment at least, that even through his different lives his mind would not allow his body to heal. His failure to defeat the Gate Lord, it seemed, would be bound to Roog in more ways than one.
Roog’s eyes opened to the slight sounds of movement, a collection of his Cenekyn having already begun to gather. It was this way every morning, when the Hour of Contemplation gave way to the Hour of Observation. Those Cenekyn not out on their duties in the wilds of the North gathered to simply observe, to learn from what little Roog had to say, and begin their exercises in preparation for the day’s training.
Today, Roog decided, he would not simply sit back and share what little wisdom he felt he had. His brows furrowed and he stood, simple robes shedding leaves and bits of bark that had fallen there over the night before. His audience watched with anticipation, rare were the times where their master took action so early in the day.
”Come. This setting will not do for today.
Roog’s followers kept after him well into the walk, his pace difficult to match but easy enough to catch up to in bursts. Down the mountainside he strode, using paths walked by only him and leaping over stones he had left unturned. They remained behind, several dozen Cenekyn in obes and fur cloaks bobbing after him.
At long last they reached their destination, a great rent in the side of the valley where water pooled crystal blue. The Valla-God stood upon a stone, looking down into the quarry, before nodding appreciatively; this had been where he had done all that work, feverishly carving stone free with his bare hands to build his monastery. It had been sometime since the construction of Yn-’e-Kynweir-Alwyld that the demigod had returned to this place but a clear sense of accomplishment washed over him.
”This is where I labored all those years ago.”
The Cenekyn seemed suitably impressed, this hidden valley one of the few places few if any had ventured and a fitting site for those holy labors their patron had suffered through. It was, in many ways, hallowed ground. Nevertheless, a simple field trip had not been what many expected.
“Great-Wolf,” came the voice well known to him, that of the Valla Emla, “What do you teach us with this? Is it to learn of the value of labors and effort?”
”No,” Roog replied, It is to teach you how to build your own homes.
The Cenekyn responded with considerable curiosity at the statement; the idea, though not alien to them, had never been within their consideration. The Cenekyn lived in the Monastery itself and had never seen a need to do otherwise. Their home was alongside their God, learning in the grace of his presence or travelling far and wide to protect the disparate villages of the Northern Valla. What could such skills possibly do for monks such as them?
”My journey will soon take me from these shores, the land of my creator and my first and only home. For how long, I cannot be sure. There is much to be done in the lands of my father and you, my Cenekyn, will be the shepherds of our people. To do this, there are skills I must teach you.”
Roog leapt from his stone down into the small quarry, the Cenekyn following suit as the Wolf-Valla walked to the edge. His hands traced the stone gently, remembering each and every groove carved by fingers and nails. They were each a monument to those days, the determination that burned in his chest during his labors. As thoughts flooded across his mind the tactile sensation of something other than stone caught his attention and his mind returned to the present. Beneath his hand lay a vein of a greenish material, rough to the touch unlike the smooth granite he had carved free.
Divine hands dug deep into stone like claws through soft soil, pulling forth the chunky material and tossing it behind him. For minutes Roog went about the process, following the vein and removing more and more of the ore. Soon sizeable piles had been formed of several different materials, Roog pulling loose large quantities of the earth’s bones. Roog turned after nearly a half hour of his work, the Cenekyn having poured over the elements revealed by their god with growing curiosity and considerable interest.
”The bones of the earth outdo all materials of mortal ken, with only the works of the divine their equal. There are many kinds that do many things, each unique as the Valla.
Roog stepped over to his piles while knocking dust from his forearms, selecting from the largest of the piles a sizeable chunk of the material. It was mostly an oxidized green color with flecks of orangeish brown visible where Roog’s fingers had dug deepest. From earlier inspections the material had seemed decently heavy and very hard, unable to be smashed or broken apart as the stones used for spears would with little effort.
”Red-metal, copper; stronger than any stone for an axe or adze. Malleable, easy to form. As Roog spoke his hands worked, crushing the metal as flakes of oxidization chipped loose to reveal the orangish metal beneath, densely crushed into a single form. Shape was given to it by Roog’s ministrations, pulled into a simple adze blade. ”With fire and heat more can be done, purifying and perfecting it as we do ourselves.
Roog moved on, grabbing up a piece of more silvery material. Black flames cooked off in his hands as he worked, staring with considerable focus at his activity. At ;ast his hands opened, revealing the adze blade changed in color with a clear edge, sharp and gleaming.
”Black-metal, tin. Alone, copper and tin are soft or brittle. Good for few things, though useful. Together they are bronze, greater than the sum of their parts. Red-metal is common, black-metal is rare. They must be brought together to attain true perfection. From flame, great works can be born.”
Roog handed out the bronze blade, letting it be passed between the many members of his Cenekyn as he travelled to the two other piles. The first was of granite, the same material he had used to construct the monastery, and the other of a deep sea-green stone he found in middling amounts.
”With tools of copper and bronze, you can cut stone as I do. Be sparing with what you take from the earth for her bones cannot be remade. Use only what you need and carve wood where stone is not needed. Green-stone, Jade, and other such stones of beauty and value reside in the earth as well. Their uses I leave up to you.”
”Now come, there is much more to teach.”
The following days had little in the way of free time for the Cenekyn, active as they were keeping up with their god and his teachings. Everything he knew regarding the arts of stone cutting and tool making he imparted on them, teaching them how to make basic kilns and simple forges. Some were quick to learn, picking up certain skills rapidly, while others struggled through certain sets or all of them. Nevertheless, the knowledge of how and where to gather the materials needed and the arts needed to process and refine them into usable things took up considerable amounts of time. Even with divine intervention, these were not skills easily learned.
Within a week and a half, through divine inspiration and active teaching, the skills that Roog needed to impart had been at least somewhat absorbed. The rest would be up to those Valla with the drive to learn more, developing those skills into true mastery over time. They would share those skills that they had learned with the Valla of the world and, with effort, all Vallamir would one day live in homes of wood and stone or bare sharp tools of metal. Now, during the Hour of Contemplation with over a week passed, Roog had time to reflect and prepare for the journey to come.
Each night dreams of the Red-Woman had come to him, memories of his vision calling him to action. Seihdhara, whoever and whatever she was, remained distant and unknown to him. Though he did not need sleep, meditation had become a norm for the Wolf-God and now that time was riddled with manifestations of the crimson apparition that called herself Seihdhara. Between those disparate moments of deep thought Roog filled the time with his own exercises. Roog had spent considerable time playing back the events of his battle with the Gate Lord, determining the mistakes he had made and what he could have done to achieve victory.
Above all else, Roog had decided his greatest failing was his failure to wait for his pack. Despite the blood of the wolf burning through his veins, Roog had never been a true member of a pack. Even when travelling among the wargs of his own creation, the Wolf of Demise had ever stood apart. With the battle against the Gate Lord, Roog had gone into battle with allies at his back and though they were not distinctly his equals, their powers were more than formidable. If he had waited or even organized his efforts, perhaps the Gate Lord would have been slain by their hands.
After nights of feverish effort, Roog had come to an epiphany.
”We are, in ourselves, never alone.” Roog began the day early, the Hour of Observation rapidly becoming a time of direct instruction.
”In all matters of effort, struggle is best a burden best held by many shoulders. Though I have taught you the means to defend yourselves and your people, I failed to impart true wisdom in the act. I intend to remedy this.
Roog took up a strong posture, muscles flexing and eyes flaring. A wild gleam flashed from his gaze and his toothy smile spread wide. A deep breath in and out exhaled black flame and a cloud of smoke. With his pose taken up Roog began to move, slow and purposeful for demonstration.
”Even in our own bodies, we are many; we are hearts, we are minds, we are fists.” Roog continued his motions, displaying the forms his fervent practices had birthed, ”Your own own body is a pack, poised for action; you must move as one but to many goals to defeat your opponent. In this way you must be with each new member who joins your pack. I shall demonstrate.
Roog’s chest heaved from exertion, a convincing mimicry of the needs felt by all mortals. Roog had found that he enjoyed the process when his divine form was burned away, the simple things that his mortal body experienced an excellent tool for focus and meditation. The days had been spent imparting everything he could to the Cenekyn, weeks passing as he used every muscle in his body and every aspect of his divine power to instill his chosen with this newfound knowledge.
The blessings all Cenekyn enjoyed regarding martial pursuits only sped up their training, greatly augmented by additional divine effort provided by Roog. The Hour of Effort, as the Valla had come to call it, had become more and more prevalent and proven its domination over all other times. The Hour often dominated entire days and Cenekyn left the Rise battered and bruised but wiser and stronger for it. Now, alone on his Rise beneath the Reodweir, Roog had time to think.
The Wolf-who-was could not help but fail to contain his joy for these were most joyous times; the depression brought on by his failure had instead spawned recognition and action. Now his chosen followers were greater in skill than ever before, practicing the arts that he shared with them. Roogada, they had begun to call it, though Roog was personally distasteful of the name; it seemed the Vallamir were similar to their Man-God creator than just his shape. Nevertheless, Roog was pleased with their willingness and desire to learn even through the hardships. Many likened the labors now to Roog’s own in the valleys and mountain sides during the creation of the very monastery they now trained in. And all the while Roog had been struck with more and more visions of the Red-Woman, beginning to demand his full attention.
The now omnipresent need to find the Red-Woman, to know who she was and to finally understand the meaning she posed in Roog’s visions was all the Wolf-God could think about as he sat, cross legged, beneath the great redwood. She was a warrior, that much was certain from what he could glean from the dreams, and in training the Cenekyn he was following in her footsteps in some way. He had been faced with a savage smile in one dream, flecked with blood and filled with violent determination; a sign of approval, perhaps? No matter the meaning, Roog knew he could not put off his journey much longer.
Now there was only the matter of the vast ocean to consider.
Roog had remained consideration of that particular obstacle for some time. Though he had no doubt he was capable of swimming, the vast distance posed greater threat of pulling him off course without mentioning the unknown risks the oceans posed. Roog could through some effort seek to run across the water itself but in the vast waves he’d seen from the coast that seemed hardly a solution to the previous problems. The beasts of Kalmar’s own creation, Shynir and the great dragon who had once provided passage across those roiling waves, could potentially present a path but Roog knew he had no way to easily contact the latter and no desire to remove the former from his role as defender of Kalgrun.
No, this was something Roog would have to handle himself.
Roog closed his eyes and imagined those vast open spaced above the ocean reaching far beyond the eyes could see. Somewhere, far from his home, lay the answers he so desperately needed. A vision of flame overcame him, black as night, the biting tips of the fire turning to feathers. Talons suddenly pulled something wriggling from the endless blue and a flash of pale moonlight vanished the wriggling thing into its embrace. A vast eye rose high into the sky, solar and triumphant as it peered across the world with boundless freedom. Roog’s ears rang from a screech that pierced the calm air, cutting through the vision like a knife.
Heart beating a slow and gentle pace, Roog’s eyes opened. There was music in his head, distant chanting from a life perhaps never lived. Bells chimed sonorously across the wind, so quiet they could barely be heard. The screech rang out again and Roog’s gaze rose to the heavens, the site of a sea-eagle high above catching his undivided attention.
The eagle’s wings carried it on high effortlessly, the tender touch of the wind barely rippling the great bird’s feathers. It was, in every way to Roog’s eyes, quintessentially ideal. There was no doubt, there was no question, and every movement emanated absolute freedom. In his fiery heart Roog felt complete balance in that moment, for one single instance in time having a glimpse at the perfect mortal image of the freedom his oblivion so offered.
This was the oblivion he so craved, a fleeting sensation of that perfection and cessation of personhood. The Eagle, free in the wind, was the idealized metaphor for the sensations of true, benevolent oblivion. The realization felt deeply profound to Roog in that moment, even if it was so simple and pedantic in the grand scheme of the universe. It was, at that very instance in time, exactly what he needed. There was an awakening in his heart, the culmination of nearly a century of effort towards one singular goal; reincarnation was unlocked, a winding path to oblivion with many steps on the way.
Roog’s heart set alight in that moment, black flame burning flesh and curling bone to ashen crisps. His Valla body collapsed on itself in a fiery conflagration, torched to cinders in mere moments. From the fiery center of his corpse burst forth a monumental eagle, taking to the skies in a burst of black fire. Each feather flickered with a life of its own, an individual fire in its own right, and moonlit beak and talons flared and flashed in the sunlight. Two bronze orbs, glowing with divine power, gazed out across the heavens now well within the Once-Wolf’s grasp.
The serenity of the monastery was pierced by the descent of the angelic eagle of fire. Black wings erupted and burst as the form combusted, thin bones clattering against the stone floor before crumbling to ash and being whisked away by the wind. The familiar lupine form of Roog grew from the remains, standing resplendently in the square. Hundreds of Valla had fallen to their knees, bowing low or with their foreheads pressed to the floor in praise. Whispered prayers danced across the collected Valla, fingers interlocked and hands held forward; their patron God had found freedom once more in oblivion, returning again to guide them.
”My beloved people,” Roog professed, joy and sadness written across his wolfen features in equal measure, ”You are everything I have ever hoped I could achieve; in you I see the promise of a beautiful future.”
”It pains me beyond all the suffering I have ever faced to leave you; I will not see your children grow or your families rise and prosper. I cannot know how long I will be gone or if I will ever be able to return. I pray to my creators, my fathers of Heaven and Earth, that I may return here to my home and to my people. Until that day when I return, I leave the Valla to the Cenekyn and the Natural Guardians of our home.”
Roog leaned back, chest puffed forward as his head reached to the heavens. A deep howl echoed forth, low and sombre. That most primal noise, bouncing from hills and dells across the north, spoke of intense love and pride. Those around him who held back tears hummed in chorus, matching the tone with wet eyes and heavy hearts.
”For you, my people, I offer one last gift.”
Gentle gasps, quiet and reserved, wandered their way across the throng. Valla of all ages and genders, Cenekyn or tribesmen, all watched as their skin darkened. Just as the day of ash where Roog’s first death was celebrated and mourned, their skin turned to ashen grey. They were marked, each and every one of them, as the true sons and daughters of Roog.
”Let the world see you for who you are; may they feel joy at your friendship or tremble for making you their foe. May the winter never touch you and the sun never harm you, may the shadows beneath our trees be your home. You will always be the hunter, never the hunted, and ever safe from the world’s many woes. I give you this gift so that I will know you when I return, no matter how far you have come. You are the greatest thing I ever could possibly create and will, one day, outshine even the First Born in your majesty and grace. By your presence I am forever humbled. May you live the bountiful lives you so deserve and in your many lives to come find fulfillment and boundless joy.
