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#1 ripvanwormer Jun 06, 2008 20:11:15

They were brothers, of course. Does it truly surprise you, child, that those who are the closest can turn into the greatest of enemies? Jazirian was the light to Zehir's darkness. He was as single-minded as Zehir's mind was full of wanderings. When Jazirian thought of something, he pictured it in his head as hard as he could, and made something exactly like his mental picture. Zehir's creations were always more slippery, works in progress. They would never appear exactly like Zehir expected, and Zehir wouldn't have had it any other way. Jazirian made horses, dogs, and cows. Zehir made nightmares, dire wolves, and minotaurs. Jazirian made the first humans. Zehir made the first humans into things that pleased him better. Soon they were not simply praising Jazirian and his glory, but whispering sibilant hymns with knives against flesh. It couldn't last, child. Eventually Zehir needed to make Jazirian into something that he wasn't. It was Zehir's nature to corrupt, and Jazirian was not corruptible. What happened is Zehir made his brother a throne, a throne that whispered and hissed, shifting unpredictably at its base, even as its top glowed in the light of the heavens. "What's wrong, brother?" asked Zehir. "Do you not appreciate my gift?" Jazirian merely looked at it, doubt written in his every expression. It was certainly not what he had pictured. It positively sweated wrongness. But Jazirian couldn't imagine scorning a gift, either. It wasn't in his nature. He turned to his brother and forced his face into something approximating a smile. "Nothing is wrong, brother," said Jazirian. "I am simply... surprised." He sat on the throne, and tried to look appropriately grateful as the coils of the throne twisted around his limbs. He attempted to be courteous and polite as the throne's fangs sank into his flesh and injected him with venom. He tried to give Zehir the thanks a brother was due as Zehir sank his cleaver into his chest, and again when he cut out his tongue for good measure. Zehir gazed at the ruin which was once his brother, and was pleased. It didn't look anything like he had expected it to. As it rotted in the open air, vermin crawled in it, and surprised Zehir even more. After a while it was nothing but bones, though, and it stopped being interesting. Zehir went away. The Raven Queen came. The Raven Queen had been in love with Jazirian, even though the Highfather had told her she was meant for Zehir. All the goddesses had been in love with Jazirian, actually. So had some of the gods. But now she was all business. She picked up the pieces of Jazirian and put them in a box. The pieces that were too small for her to find were picked up by her servants, the ravens, but they all went into her box in the end. The Raven Queen wept into the box, and her tears mingled with the pieces of Jazirian's crushed bones to make a kind of paste. She ate the paste hungrily, because it was the only way she could be close to Jazirian again. Soon there was nothing left, and all she had was an empty box. She put the box away and left, still weeping. Nine months later, the Raven Queen returned. The paste had made her pregnant with Jazirian's child. I know it doesn't normally work that way, but gods aren't like people. The Raven Queen went into labor, and she decided that the box she had used to hold Jazirian's bones would make an admirable cradle for her son. From her shadowy body emerged a glowing, golden boy. We call him Pelor today, even though the blasphemers in the next valley have a different name for him. Pelor is the sun, just as Sehanine is the moon. Pelor is brighter, because there wasn't enough light left over from Jazirian's bones when his sister Sehanine was born. And when Lolth was born, there was no light left at all. Some say, though, that some of Jazirian's bones still exist. It's whispered that some of the Raven Queen's servants became disobedient and refused to return them, selling them to the highest bidder or hording them in caves. Goodness, child, who knows what strange things could be made from the bones of a god? There were cups, surely, and wands, and bone daggers, and bits of bone traded like coins. As these pieces accumulated their own spells and curses, some of them made their way back to Zehir, who treasured them above things made from any other substance. But always the Raven Queen seeks to get them back, so that she can give the light in them to her daughters.