The last of me
It will not be
Not even mists can hold me
Now sit down, little runt
Never ending fun
I’ll make you a star
For you burn like one
Within the Void between Creations, time has no meaning nor does the concept exist. All that is within defy reality but roam nameless and formless in this nothing. Death himself is said to be from here and he was one of the lower castes of the beings there. If even one of these entities would break through and ‘be’, all Creations of the Mother and Father face doom, including them.
Yet it was that of which brave Lusanfîr thought when she held Council in the Realm of Wheels with her following. The matter of a scourge among mortals that could no longer be ignored, not even by command of the Supremes. The matter of mortals turning to vicious beasts of madness by the whim and boredom of one being.
The matter of Dyskopi, the Entropic Jester.
The mightiest under Lusanfîr’s following, Mikkhal, Herald of the Host, named the Jester a plague on all worlds and a thing not meant to be. Why is he to be left alone while Daigor and worse roam through Creations?
The wisest, Azzral the Scribe, said all things against the Supremes spawn through Dyskopi. And yet, the Mother and Father decreed not to pursue these injustices unlike the judgement of their own son, Aranel; now known as Sathanî. And was Aranel not just a victim to the corrupting words of Chaos?
The whole of the council laid heavy on those reasons and questions but neither the Mother or the Father answered.
That was Lusanfîr’s role: a champion for mortalkind and harbinger of Celestials.
And she said, “True, our Mother and Father laboured to make home their Lost Children and we are tasked to guide and protect from the vices of my brother. But was it not their own turmoil, set by Dysharr of old, that they met and so spawned us from the embers of the first battle?’
Her words stemmed from a deeper knowledge for not even Azzral knew of Dysharr’s meddling in this. And some in the council whispered that maybe they owed Dyskopi their allegiance for existing at all.
Lusanfîr saw the murmurs of discontent and layed those desires to rest. ‘But the Jester is no Dysharr! He is the condensed mind of one like the Supremes but not alike in might, he can be bested outside his boasts but alas, he will reappear within his own realm and from there bring a terrible vengeance. Vengeance even my brother could never dream to hope for. But I summoned this council not to battle the Jester but to find means to detain him. His meddling must end before all our Lost brothers and sisters become his creatures or die for his amusement.’
To this, all agreed but the question remained: how?
A question that lingered for centuries but finally answered when a Harvester came, bearing the words and judged voice of the Father.
‘Let him be trapped in the places between what is and what is not. He will be forgotten and be a mere ghost to frighten children mayhaps but no more will his terror spread or be acknowledged to him! There, the creatures of the Nothing will devour him until not even oblivion remembers the name of the Great Deceiver!’
And so, Lusanfîr’s original thoughts were known to Father Death and he made it a command to preserve the Natural Order. But there another problem arose: how to trap the Jester if the trap cannot be reached? And to this, the Father spoke through his Harvester, ‘Upon the fringes of all, the door of the nothing remains standing. Once the Deceiver is within, the door will not let it out. None passed through since our coming and none shall pass as long as I and my beloved reign together!’
So Death decreed.
The Mother was absent from these councils as She held compassion for all within Existence, even those hindering the Natural Order and falling outside of it.
With only a few gathered, among them Mikkahl, Lusanfîr travelled beyond the stars and into darkness. Time started to lose meaning as they approached their far away destination. So very far they travelled that not a single star shone in the distance and even Lusanfîr’s radiance dimmed away. Her companions fell one by one, losing themselves and each other until only she and Mikkhal remained roaming. Mikkhal was at the end of his strength and even Lusanfîr started to falter and grew weary. Lusanfîr held Mikkhal’s hands, determined not to lose another companion as the memory of Mastamîr the Traitor and now Cardinal of Pride, flashed before her. At last, she fell into a slumber with Mikkhal.
I once thought that all were blind
Now I see
All that troubles mortalkind
Blamed to me
My next carol will be
Deafening
Soon, they too will find the Void
Beckoning
As they woke, fully recovered of mind and spirit, they beheld a great wall of golden fires and flickers of bronze lightning.
The Edge of Existence.
It held all together within the boundaries and it ever expanded since the first Clashes of the Supremes. It felt warm as Mother Life’s love and as awe inspiring as the Father Death’s ire.
And as they went along the Edge, there was a sudden cold that overtook both Celestials and halted their flight. There, as the Father said, stood a door of the blackest black and darkest dark in all Creations. Mikkhal found it alluring and heard whispers of the deepest secrets and he was slowly drawn to the door. But Lusanfîr pulled the struggling Celestial back before he went through and warned not to look at it anymore.
The trap was now found, now they must get the Jester here.
This was the task of Omyrr, a Celestial that enjoyed craftsmanship of all kinds.
Omyrr was already competing with Dyskopî to create the most beautiful and deadliest weapons and always the Entropic Jester was victorious as he was creative on his own accord and did not draw designs from the minds of mortals, like the Celestial smith did. This time, Omyrr revealed that Lusanfîr was travelling to the fringes of Existence to acquire the first flames there, which would allow Omyrr to surpass Dyskopi in any endeavour, even beyond crafting.
Rivalry was not a thing the Jester of Entropy suffered and as a revolving palette of colours, he too travelled to the Edge. Before departing, Dyskopi remained cautious and laid his seeds and essence in a chosen few mortals so there will always be an anchor and window for him on Corras and further.
Where the lesser Celestials wandered off and became lost, Dyskopi witnessed their descent into madness and offered them safe passage for servitude as he suspected Omyrr of lying and there be different reasons for Lusanfîr’s flight. Every Celestial the Jester came across accepted his mad offer and so were bound to his will with a shake of hands. He kept them back to surprise the Radiant Lady and Lord of the Host should clashes come to be.
He arrived and found Lusanfîr and Mikkhal waiting for him.
It was most amusing to the Jester as Mikkhal declared the time of chaos to be at an end. Howling with laughter, Dyskopi effortlessly swung around Mikkhal until the Celestial lost his conscience. Hardening her resolve, Lusanîr charged in anger but Dyskopi kept appearing and disappearing like a dancing madman. The Jester’s hands morphed into a group of long trumpets and gleefully declared the arrival of his cavalry: their own lost Celestials.
Lusanfîr gained many wounds as she refused to harm her fellows but then Dyskopi ordered them to tear apart defenceless Mikkhal. They pulled at his limbs with tears and sadness on their faces and the maniacal laughter of the Jester as their whip. Charging to save Mikkhal from their fallen comrades, Lusanfîr finally found the resolve to with a steel heart but reached her friends with all limbs torn, including his head, but still alive in the greatest of agonies.
Mocking their efforts in laughter, Dyskopi demanded to know why such young children would wander so far from their houses of light. Holding Mikkhal’s head, the Radiant Lady said she wanted to challenge Dyskopi, not in might but in curiosity. She argued there was more beyond this Edge than the Supremes were telling her. She explained further how she believed that the Edge was nothing more but a great barrier to enclose their territory and trap everything inside to their whim, which was the Natural Order.
At first, the Jester laughed at the claims but saw the conviction in the Radiant’s sun-like eyes. Pondering at the prospect of more playgrounds, he asked Lusanfîr why she was waiting for him and why Omyrr lied about his challenge. The questions were difficult but she had observed and learned about deception from Sathanî and many mortals after him. So she said that there was no other reason Dyskopi would not come as he is the only one that can challenge the Supremes and thus puncture a hole in their barrier.
Laughing in enjoyment, Dyskopi commended Lusanfîr on her play to draw him out and accepted this new challenge. Lusanfîr told the Jester of a small door she already found but the barrier kept it shut. Still in pain from being torn, Mikkhal inquired on the fate that their remaining fellows and the Jester shouted they belonged to him now and so will aid in tearing this ‘barrier’. Knowing the sacrifice, Mikkhal remained silent after that and so did his cursed comrades; a last flicker of loyalty.
Drawing nearer to the door, the chill feeling came back but it did not bother Dyskopi, unlike the rest. Arriving again where Mikkhal was lured. Suddenly, one of the fallen was hurled towards the door against his will but Dyskopi flung him further in with a mere gesture. Confirming the betrayal, all of the fallen were flung inside, a punishment for the silence. Lusanfîr let go Mikkhal’s head and she drew a golden spear dipped in sun fires. Dyskopi was enraged by the thought of them believing he was a true fool and grew and grew to a great beast of thorns and tentacles and roaring from the many world sized mouths that paralyzed Creation. A size that dwarfed all realms and could easily swallow worlds like sweetwater. His head remained the same, giggling and laughing horribly and was within the swirling mass of eyes, maws and thorns. His prominent pair of rosy eyes became bulging masses of lizard’s or cat’s eyes. The battle was long and Lusanfîr’s sight went weaker as the battle progressed. Dyskopi swung many thornes and beasts of his own imagining at the Great Champion and one thorn pierced her side. Smaller thorned tentacles struck her with great force and pain rendered her useless. Each strike diminished her own light and felt like breaking bones.
She was beaten.
About to devour what was nearly a corpse, Mikkhal suddenly invoked words unknown.
Lusanfîr’s eyes then opened, one dark and one bright. Her wounds became undone and the thorn was flung back in one of Dyskopi’s crazed rosy eyes.
Mother Life and Father Death spoke through the First Child.
‘At an end is the rule of fear. Too long have you plagued our children. Too long have we suffered your existence. We ban you, Mind of Corruption. We ban you where you are nameless, powerless, formless and you will be utterly unknown at any time. None will know or remember you. Your vices are given as trophies to others.’
With a great force, the monstrous form of Dyskopi was slowly pushed to the door and he tried to wrap his many slimy arms around the avatar of the Supremes but they were burnt away before the touch. Screaming hideously at this defiance, Dyskopi fought back with his own might of will and almost overcame the Supremes themselves.
But he felt another force pulling him towards the door.
The Jester had not counted for this new force.
That ravenous Abyss beyond the door pulled Dyskopi further in and so he felt a primal rage overcoming him and he cursed Lorias and Mîrrovor and their unnatural Natural Order, but it was too late. Like a beast of hunger, the Abyss wanted the Entropic Jester, or maybe a lesser form of his older self, returned. The vortex of the Abyss encompassed him and with a last, most powerful push, the Supremes hurled the dreaded Jester of Entropy in the realm of nothing. He was melting as he struggled to maintain a form there and his horrible scowl was soon forgotten by all.
Forgotten by mortals.
Forgotten by history.
Forgotten by his own creatures.
Forgotten, even by his own living realm.
Dyskopi then scattered in the Abyss and the ages forgot his very name.
Mikkhal was the last to see the Jester beyond the door and the prolonged sight into the blackest black with their defeated foe’s undone form drove him insane. His head was hurtling towards the Realm of Wheels and once there, kept in Lusanfîr’s inner sanctum.
The Radiant Lady herself was battered in spirit and broken in body and fell into a deep sleep as the Supremes left her. She awoke within her own realm, still recovering and centuries later. Beyond herself, none recalled why she left or for what purpose and every time Lusanfîr spoke a certain name, none could understand or even comprehend it like she spoke incomprehensibly. What an unbelievable sensation; to have victory but no celebration was given as none would know what for. The only other within the realm that retained the memory was Mikkhal and spoke equally incomprehensible and without sense, his ever repeating prophecy whispered like a madman in a corner:
"There be weird winds blown anew
Crooked paths away from sanity
There be a madness over-brewed
With all things not meant to be
Our future should be filled with harmony
Dreams and virtues, all amazed.
Yet days to come are drenched in insanity
No cries for hope when all is crazed.
Whatever might have been
All poor souls that are laid bare
By the child that I have seen
The future is a deranged nightmare
At long last comes our fear
Time brought to freeze
Reality bends when near
Yet it all remains a tease
Out his inky prison
Sundering our heavenly blue skies
Soon, He’ll be arisen
Dread the beast in trader’s guise.
Waiting for One of Two to fall
None can flee the wicked storms
He watches us all
Both gods and mortals, all but forlorn"
Though he was no more, there were still whispers ,among children especially, of a jolly merryman befriending them for years before being forgotten in their adult lives. Though these could simply be the fantasy of children wanting a friend, why would all of them speak in rhymes and songs and always the same ghost?
Then the Tales of madmen larger than life that play cruel and bloody games throughout the Planes with their fellow mortals. Myths of a salesman granting wishes and serving ironic justice. Was it still possible for the Forgotten One to pierce through the membrane of the Void, ever so slightly?
Was he still mocking their attempts?
He remained nameless and a forgotten horror for Existence and all must fear the moment of his release.
For Life is not infinite. Some day, Death will reap his beloved.
Thus two reign together no more.
The Void’s Door will open again.
No one knows how it is to not exist
See myself scattered throughout black mist
Once my changes had a name
Now I await the greatest game
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