Chapter Text
In the beginning, there was the Spawn.
It shown bright in its glory, leading the corrupt to purity.
It was merciful, accepting all who wished to worship it.
Sinners, Saints, the ordinary, all were equal in the eyes of the Spawn.
This was it's ultimate mistake.
Few disliked the Spawn, it was just and fair in all ways.
However, that doesn't stop people from fearing it.
They called the worshipers cultists, their god a fake, and their way of life barbaric.
Then they repented, seemingly.
They did not mean it.
The enemies spread rumors, started fights, but the Spawn stayed alive.
They decided to kill it themselves, if killing its people wouldn't do.
The Spawn was shattered into three pieces, its worshipers dead.
It drifted, until it found a small community.
The community faced death by starvation.
The Spawn decided that it could spare the last of itself on a miracle.
The Spawn fed the town, growing all of their crops to maturity despite the season being dry.
The villagers rejoiced, and the Spawn lay happy as it died, broken.
But it did not die.
The villagers decided that some god must have saved them, and called their wise woman to find out who.
She told the Spawns tale, and the villagers built an altar to it.
The Spawn was kept alive by the worship, and it blessed the village.
None got sick as long as they drank from the pure waters of the well.
The well never ran out.
The crops never failed.
The food nourished their bodies, and their strength never withered.
The Spawn blessed their people with wings on their backs, white as milk, so they may fly from harm.
The community grew, and so did the Spawn.
The pieces gained names, and personalities, and experience.
The Spawn was too vast to be considered in just a few words, but the pieces weren't.
And so the Spawn became three.
Wisdom. Wisdom was what people went to for decisions, for thoughts, for knowledge of the world.
Joy. Joy was what people went to for happiness, for creativity, for laughter.
Strength. Strength was what people went to for sadness, for the ability to endure, for fights, for protection.
There was balance, for a while.
Then there was confusion.
The people needed a leader before they fell apart.
Joy said farewell to the others, and was sent down.
A baby girl, wrapped in sheets of gold and fire, appeared on the altar.
She had purple hair, and eyes as silver as moonlight.
"This is your leader," a voice spoke from the air above her.
It was a woman's voice, fading, but musical.
These were Joy's final words.
"She will guide you."
"Protect her, and you will be prosperous."
"The first Amarah," the voice of a man replaced the faded one.
And they did.
There was much wonder, and much delight as she grew up.
The girl was just like the piece that had sacrificed itself to make her.
She was joy itself, and everyone loved her.
She always had laughter following her, like a playful dog.
She grew fast, and she grew strong.
But not strong enough, and not fast enough.
Enemies broke through the walls, Strength and Wisdom powerless to stop it.
It was a slaughter.
The first Amarah, killed, lay on the altar where she came to be.
The enemies plundered, stealing what was valuable and breaking what wasn't.
They left with the dawn, blood on their hands and feet, treasures in their hands.
The Spawn did what they could to help, but they were still weak from the death of Joy.
The wings of everyone left alive faded black, a reminder.
They had failed.
They had killed Joy.
Burned into the wings of all, they must do better.
They cannot fail again.
When everything was finally cleaned up, the second Amarah was born.
Wisdom did not appear on the bloody altar, nor as a baby.
He appeared on the grave of Joy, a young child.
Hair blue as the late evening sky, eyes a fiery orange.
He did not dance an sing and skip and play.
He wasn't Joy.
He read, and learned, and watched everything, and everyone.
He was quiet, but he could solve any problems, and fix any mistake.
He repaired the village, and taught the villagers.
They were ready when the enemies came.
This time, it wasn't the Amarah dead on the altar, it was the bodies of the invaders.
Strength, the last one left, took the bodies as an offering.
It grew stronger.
So did the commune.
Wisdom lived, and grew to be a true leader.
When Wisdom took a wife, from their union came the next Amarah.
Strength blessed the new Amarah with the first white wings since the massacre.
Four wings, one pair on the head, and one on the hips.
The Amarah could never fly.
It was their duty to lead, to guide the commune to safety.
It was the communes duty to die for the Amarah, to protect them at all costs.
The Spawn taught purity, that death brought the ultimate cleansing.
That if someone was good during life, they would be reborn.
These were the Rules:
- Do not hurt or turn out travelers, give them rest and food, let them join if they wish
- Do not injure or kill birds, any kind, they are your cousins
- Follow a crow if it leads you
- Leave if it stops you
- Tend to your families, they come second only to the Amarah.
- Do not father children you will not keep, or take care of
- Follow the Spawn
- Follow the Amarah
- Contracts with the outside world must be signed in blood
- Love those who make you happy
- Be kind
- Love your body
- Be compassionate
- Do not kill unless it is is self-defense
- Do not kill those who live in the commute
- Follow these rules
- Confess your sins to the Amarah
- Protect the Amarah with your life
- Follow the Spawn
And these Rules brought peace.