This is an account of the dreams of the men of Irminloo, and of the faith held by little people in the forest. ----- In the beginning, there were stars. After the beginning, there were drums. Yogung played the drums and lo! there were Worlds. Every star holds secrets whom only the skeleton skinbeater can behold. Quickly pleased yet never sated, Yogung plays the drums and the worlds take shape. Then came Basheesh through the mist. And a rumbling arose from the Naught between the Worlds. Basheesh said Go! and the worlds went on their ways. Behold! The worlds dance in unison as Basheesh plucks the strings. Basheesh is a crafty god, and has a hidden love for the crafting of dance out of the stardust that the worlds are made of. Finally came Theming, last of those aroused by starlight. Theming was pleased with the dancing Worlds, yet desired more from the Naught than just Worlds and Stars. While Yogung and Basheesh were idly conducting their symphonies of stardust, Theming spoke to himself. "Why should only us of Music be in possession of the Secrets of the Stars? Let there be others to behold what we have wrought. Let there be others to toil and dream like we do." Then Theming spent an eternity crafting six silver strings, imbued with starlight, and finally let fly his creation with his fingers. And there was Life upon the worlds. Theming is a kindly god, and sensitive. He smiles upon idyllic scenes and spends eternity tinkering with men and beasts in little forests on little moons without hosts. This is the faith of our people. ---- One time one of the Men, whom only walk on solid ground with two legs, declared himself a gravedigger. A strange purpose he chose, for Men in that time did not leave this world. Once their inner starlight had played its tunes, they came back Spirits, there being enough space and time to accommodate all. Yet still the Man with No Name took matters of undertaking upon himself so as to prepare for coming times, for he had seen Yogung in his dreams. The Skeleton Skinbeater had plans for this man. And the Man with No Name prayed to Theming. "Why dost thou tinker upon Life and Lives, ever creating more, yet never ceasing? I have graves to dig. It is bad for business having my customers get up and walk away." But Theming was out on some forested moon tinkering with a new flying breed of polar bears, for he had recently created this shining form of Bear and found them very pleasing to the eye; and wished to grant them the powers of flight, as birds enjoy. And polar bears stretched their furry wings and basked and gleamed in the violet light of a star nearby. And Theming did not listen to the prayers of the Man with No Name. And the Man with No Name prayed to Theming once more, denouncing him this time. "Thou hast not listened to my pleas, o Theming. And it saddens me. Thou tinkerest away on moons and on the tops of trees yet does not harken the cries of your own Creation. Thou pleaseth thyself with the fruit of Creation yet dost not care for its pursuits. Lately on this day a fellow Man came to me, banging on the door in a gravely distressed mood. After offering him some solace with fungoid sustenance, he explained to me the subject of his irk. It may surprise you to know, Theming, that the source of his woe was his own father, having moved in with his son again after I was paid a substantial amount of gold pieces for the burial of the stardust his father was made of. Not only did I spend five days inquiring on the necessary rites, which assuredly are as Naught to you yet important to my own being, but the volume of refund I would have to pay would ruin my business! Thy Life is eternal, yet full of grief and bad business. Thy Life is pleasing, yet incomplete. Thy Life is not Finished. Do not the Worlds have their beginning and end?" Theming walked over leaf and river, hidden in the turqoise jungles of Tenglina, his favored forests. Smiling to the songs of panthers and trees singing together in Life and revelling in the colors of the jungle, suddenly the Lord of Life noticed a note of dischord with his starlit ears. ---- Basheesh beheld the void the worlds, teeming with Life. Wither he knew what was to come, none knoweth. Thence came Yogung. Yogung spake, and Basheesh agreed. And a silent horror crept over the four strings of Time. Basheesh went on his way, and crafted the six Black Strings from the Void between the worlds. Crafty and sublime is the balance upheld by Basheesh, and skillfully he infused the strings with its essence. Basheesh declared, "It is Finished." And Yogung took the strings and placed them in the gravedigger's mouldy home. Yogung plots, and none knoweth whence the webs will spin. Thus, Syndar came to be. ---- An account of the last soul of Tenglina It is an abject thing to behold stardust, ripped apart- yet it is another entirely to have to watch starlight cease its shine. As the gems are polished, so they are cut with mortal grief. Alas, Tenglina was spared these honours. Themings favorites were erased from their world with a singular indifference, and there are no words to express what it means to watch an entire world be crushed under the heel of its bones. Syndar is a greedy god, yet fair. He beholds patterns in the gems of Life and barters for the balance of Payment. Skillfully he upholds the Balance between Void and worlds, as proudly he clutches the gems of Life and cuts them with mortal grief. Saying Aye to some and Nay to others, there is a singular Need to which Syndar pledged the strings. Syndar grates the strings and the Void takes thence what it owned from the start. ---- Where the plucking of strings meets the beating of bone, where starlight crashes into stardust, and flees back into the void, there sit the Gods of Irminloo. It is their wont to sit idly and conduct the symphonies of stardust, ever keeping watch, never once contemplating the means to cease. So it should be. Did not the skeleton skinbeater tell me these words? Into eternity, they sang.