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SHAVRE

Due to the very nature of his existence, God will be lonely.

  Can God become depressed, or heaven help us all, go insane?

Prepare to begin a journey

 into the heart, mind and soul

 of a creature that has suffered

 the longest period of isolation

 known to have been recorded

 in any historical archive.

 

His name is Shavre.

 

Now hear his story

 

Learn his names.

 

Become his Apprentice.

 

If you dare proceed beyond this page, have a pure heart and open mind

 or shut the book, and never peer into the dark lessons contained within its text.

 

  This is not a bedtime tale for children.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This book will be written in easy to understand language.  As you turn each page, remember the foundation that was carefully laid at the beginning.  I will begin by telling you my name and who I am. 

 

My name is Tilos.

 

I am an Apprentice of Shavre.

 

Are you beginning to understand how this story will unfold?   I assure you that it will not bore you even though it will intentionally avoid an excess of flowery speech.  There will be few attempts at metaphor because abstract comparisons might be misinterpreted by a reader of the text.  Symbolism will be explained.  If the reader chooses to reinterpret what is written and described to them, they do so at their own risk.  

 

Always remind yourself that Tilos, has by necessity, learned to communicate using a very literal approach. 

 

Tilos will be used in place of I or me when it serves to break the monotony of writing in the first person.  I will never write as if I am Shavre, because I am a separate and unique entity.

 

I will use a technique known as foreshadowing.  If you do not know what foreshadowing means I will define the term for you now.  It is a hint or preview of something that has not yet been presented to a reader of the text.  Foreshadowing will be used as a tool to help you better understand the story and also as a method of building suspense.  My sole purpose here is not to entertain; however, I will do so because it is important to finish the journey that you are about to embark upon.   The shadows cast will be both short and long and perhaps somewhere in between.  When a cold chill runs down your spine know that a dark shadow has been cast and as you proceed it will be revealed why that sense of dread you felt was so well justified.

 

Rather than struggle on where to begin I will simply start at the beginning.  My first encounter with Shavre was in an apartment in a large North American city.  I met Shavre in a dreamlike state under the influence of what I refer to as “Black Ice”, that was procured from a biker that looked as if he had just ridden straight out of hell.   His motorcycle had intricate skulls, fashioned from a metal that was somewhat dull in luster, interlaced into its design.  Foreshadowing?  This was hit you over the head foreshadowing and it was not a deception. 

 

Now off to never, never land.

 

The dream began with a panoramic view of a valley covered by a carpet of short green grass. The mountains surrounding the valley were the ancient weathered type.  They looked like hills at first glance but were actually very large, though not tall enough to have even a hint of snow on the higher elevations during the summer season.  A brief span into the dream something quickly caught my attention coming from a large opening in the side of one of the mountains.  The first glimpse of Shavre is something I will never forget.    

 

First of all, Shavre is huge.  For a comparison I will use what was near him because the size of this type of structure is well known and easy to envision.   Shavre is at least three times taller than a circus tent, thick and stocky in build.  Shavre is best described as a Troglodyte.  Have you ever read one of those books on the mysteries of the ancient world, with pictures of huge stone blocks, and wondered how something that massive could possibly have been moved about?  Once you have seen Shavre you will stop wondering.  I am not sure how to explain the most disturbing aspect of Shavre’s appearance other than to just say it in plain and simple terms.  Shavre has five eye-bolts screwed into his skull.  Ten fine lines trail to ground level from the eye-bolts, a twisted pair from each, never touching due to spacer rods holding them apart.  What is even more amazing are the tents arranged in a straight line, both in front of, and behind the Troglodyte.  The circus-like tents are held aloft by the fine lines attached to the eye-bolts protruding from Shavre’s immense skull.  The view was from such a distance the details of how the tents held their shape and carried their contents with them was not clear.  The entire macabre procession was slowly creeping across the fertile valley as if on a journey to nowhere. 

 

Suddenly, the dream switched the point of view.  I was inside one of the tents looking down into the center oval from a wooden deck that circled the interior.  What was down below was not easy to look at, the glowing embers of the braziers are forever etched into my deepest memory.  As I tried not to be entranced by the grim scene of chains and racks that I was witnessing, the thought of slavers began to bring about a subtle state of fear and impending doom.  Whoever was responsible for the carnage and skeletal remains chained to the racks, and scattered on the earthen floor, had not been gone but for a brief span.  The embers were still glowing a sinister red through the gray ashes attempting to hide their dying light. 

 

At this point I realized I was with another life, looking through the eyes of either another human or possibly some type of scavenger that was enough like a human to know fear and understand the concept of evil.  What we were seeing definitely looked evil and cruel.  The consciousness I shared was afraid to leave for fear of the unknown wilderness surrounding the caravan.  The dream ended with my simple opinion on the situation.  I thought, “unless you know that whatever is out there is worse than this, I would leave here while you still can.”    One last bit of information on this caravan of screams…Time was different here.  Outside the confines of the tent, as the scavenger began its journey into the unknown, it was like moving through molasses.  The ever so slow movement of the caravan felt like traveling at an unimaginable pace, like being stretched from one end of a long journey to the other. The dream of Shavre ended with the sharing of the strange sensations experienced by the scavenger as it fled into the open grasslands.  It was a long time before I understood what I had witnessed.  Be patient for some time may pass before the path of this tale rejoins Shavre’s caravan.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

KING OF NOTHING

 

What you are about to read is the oldest historical archive known to exist on the face of the Earth.  Older archives undoubtedly exist with Shavre’s people or somewhere near their place of rest.  In order for the reader to understand how I translated the archive that describes the exile of Shavre I will have to introduce a new concept.  Shavre’s people left very few written records, at the most, a few sentences would be chiseled into stone. 

 

If you have an open mind and encounter an artifact of the Troglodytes you will slowly be drawn into the details of what it contains as you read and contemplate the inscription before you.  I call the detailed, unwritten records “thought engrams.”  In order to access the engrams, which are likely stored in the crystal structure of the stone itself, one must first understand the basic message of the inscription.  If no inscription can be found, the stone or monument will present the message visually through the nature of its design.  The Troglodytes did not lift a chisel to Shavre’s archive,  at least not in a location that most humans are likely to ever view.   The stark, barren reality of the structure and the enormous stone blocks from which it was constructed defy and demand explanation.  Only after experiencing the dream of Shavre did I have the context with which to penetrate the mystory of what is known as Baalbek, or “Town of the God.”

Please forgive this departure from the tale of Shavre’s exile.  I need to explain the apparent misspelling of the word “mystery.”  This is important to understand; especially, if one wishes to become an apprentice of Shavre.  In simple terms, “mystory” is equivalent to “my story.”  Mystory is also defined as “myst story” or a story from the mists of time. The proper spelling is, of course, mystery.  The “e” being symbolic of the thought engram and the energy pattern in which it exists. One might also consider the letter “y” as shorthand for “why” or “?” and also symbolic of a tuning fork.   Your curiosity is a trigger for the artifact to attempt to tune to you and interact with you. This is part of the key to learning how to read a Troglodyte archive.

 

To avoid losing a reader, I will introduce Troglodyte culture slowly as too much detail will interfere with the telling of the tale.  If you are already impatient for more of what you are now attempting to digest, consider yourself a recruit and well on the way to Apprenticeship.

 

Now back to the mystory of Shavre’s exile.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I will start with the inscription that is likely chiseled into the sides of the stone of which it speaks. The inscriptions can only be viewed from the entrance to the underground realm of Shavre’s people. 

 

 

This Foundation was built for Shavre

 

We left him food for thought

 

A Pillar of Justice

 

 Throne for a King of Nothing

 

 to quietly contemplate

 

    Alone, his fate

 

If you are a Troglodyte reading this inscription from beneath Baalbek you are immediately drawn into the basic design of the structure of which this stone is a part. The basic message here is the futility of attempting to enter the open space of the outer shell from this location. A quiet inner voice begins by telling you “It takes two to move one.”  To a Troglodyte the words that are left out are not needed.  They understand the precise, literal meaning of the voice. The most important messages in a Troglodyte artifact usually will be found at or near the beginning of the record. I will add some words to the voice now so that the reader will have as clear of an understanding as a Troglodyte.

 

Translated:

 

It takes two of us to move one of the large stones used to build the foundation of which the inscription speaks.

 

From a practical point of view it would be impossible for Shavre to clear the stones of the foundation above without the help of another Troglodyte.  Shavre is the only Troglodyte on the face of the Earth, the rest of Shavre’s people are inside the Earth’s crust traveling back to their original homeland.  As a reader of the archive continues to exhibit  inquisitiveness, or ask “why”,  something like a basic design schematic begins to emerge.  I will attempt to reconstruct this schematic of the stone blocking the entrance, to the best of my ability, using this standard keyboard.    The schematic of the stone and what was on top of it is extremely important in explaining the exile of Shavre.   It is imperative that the reader spend some time absorbing what is about to be presented. The entire tale revolves around this stone and especially the minerals that comprise its throne.

 

Imagine the first human archaeologist to discover that an obelisk-like stone is impaled into the heart of the Foundation of Baalbek like an immense dagger or spike.  The excavation work beneath the complex reveals the pyramid shape of the obelisk’s   

 

 

Tip

and if

one sees

  some bones

 Know    Shavre

 did hold his throne

One cannot debate

 His  point was  driven

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The survey team is stunned that the inscriptions are chiseled into the stone using block letters that they have known since their first introduction to the alphabet in elementary school.  The immense bones that are surrounding the obelisk do not require a forensic team to determine the cause of death.  The tip of the obelisk broke right through the ribcage in the area where the heart would have been located.

 

The rather small voices emanating from the human minds working the dig and taking photographs of what is painstakingly being unearthed began to trigger the Troglodyte archive. “Why?”, “Why?”  “Why?”  I always marvel at the simple beauty of the question mark, its shape so similar to an ear. “Why?”  “I want to know…. I am listening…my ears and mind are open so that I may hear the answer.”  That is what a question mark communicates so well.

 

 A person could literally spend a lifetime listening to this treasure trove of history.  A history few will admit they believe, even with the ruins of Baalbek looming above them and the bones of a giant, still so intact, that to claim they belonged to a dinosaur is simply absurd.  Denying the Truth when it is reinforced with empirical evidence and logic is to tempt fate and invite death; especially, when standing at the threshold of a world where lies are not well tolerated. 

 

I will quickly define another term for the reader here in case they do not understand. Empirical evidence is defined as “Evidence acceptable to the Empire” and is one of the foundation stones of the Scientific Method which is widely taught and has proven to be so useful. Physical evidence and the results of an experiment with a reasonable, logical design are types of empirical evidence. Interesting to note that the Roman Empire used a portion of the original foundation of Baalbek to build temples to their gods and in spite of their cruelty created an empire that lasted a thousand years.  The site is the Foundation of Law, including rules of trade and commerce.

 

Getting back to the story of Shavre’s exile is always my goal so please be patient when I pause to explain something I fear may not be clear to the reader.   What an archeologist will ultimately learn after spending considerable time with the artifact is quite reasonable.  The Troglodytes were extremely intelligent and viewed  the prehistoric races of men much as we view animal species.  The law is “Tooth and Claw” for our kind during the construction period of the foundation stones.  Kindness and compassion were not usually traits that had a high rate of survival.  Tools were either non-existent or very primitive sharpened sticks or crudely shaped stones.    There was one characteristic the Troglodytes did admire and find useful in our ancestors.  A few of the prehistoric humans had proven to have the ability to communicate with the Troglodytes, mind to mind.  Getting a human to ingest the mineral substances the Troglodytes relied upon to sustain them was very challenging at first.  It did not naturally taste good to prehistoric man but it was essential to induce the capability to communicate telepathically in both Troglodytes and humans. If contact could be established then a successful relationship was usually formed.  Once a prehistoric human began to connect with the Troglodytes they seldom successfully returned to their old way of life and usually did not want to even try.  Exiles were about the only ones who attempted the transition back to the wilderness because they simply had no other choice in the matter.  When Shavre raised his arm and pointed to the path that led out of his cavern you just started walking.  Standing there and ignoring Shavre inside his own great hall was not a mistake that could be made more than once.

 

The Troglodytes could accomplish things with our prehistoric ancestors they simply could not have done on their own due to their immense size.  Any intricate task requiring a delicate touch required a Troglodyte to work through a prehistoric human adept.   Something amazing about symbiotic relationships is the myriad forms in which they emerge and this one was a natural fit.

 

One thing the Troglodytes could agree on was the time tested fact that Troglodytes seldom agreed on much of anything that concerned how to deal with the wild people that lived on the outer shell.  Shavre and his father had argued incessantly on the subject only agreeing that it was important enough to justify endless debate.   The result of the debates and occasional fight over how to ensure the wild hominids developed into something the Troglodytes could at least tolerate, and hopefully peacefully coexist with, was the Foundation located at what is now known as Baalbek.   The structure appears to be rather simple in design.  Any anthropologist, archeologist, scientist, engineer, doctor, lawyer, or anyone else that most consider well educated, will quickly laugh at this notion once they spend a day or two at the ruins.  The drama that played out during and after the construction of the Foundation is full of complexity.  

 

I doubt that humble Tilos can fully explain all of the different possible outcomes of the Foundation’s almost computer like design, but he will surely try.   One of the first things that is apparent to an adept is that Shavre’s throne was made of the mineral crystals that the Troglodytes used for nutrition and to enhance their mental capabilities.   His throne was food that enhanced the ability to think and to concentrate.  A Troglodyte inscription is always to be interpreted literally, with the understanding that an accurate literal translation requires knowledge of their culture for context.  Even an adept must spend considerable time studying and learning.  When the Troglodytes chiseled “We left him”  they were quite serious and meant exactly what they engraved into the stone.  This also creates a connection to the last line which reads “Alone. His fate.” Shavre’s fate was to be left alone by his people with plenty of food, for both maintaining the physical body, and to keep him mentally alert so he would have ample time to think about how to accomplish the task that lay before him.   As has already been stated, this is a complex situation with many points of view, diverse emotions, and likely a lot a politics that only the Troglodytes can really understand due to their inevitably personal nature.  The Foundation, its design, and the thought engrams one encounters when accessing the archive give the impression of double meanings and political barbs that actually are not that hard to imagine. This is the paradox of the Troglodytes.

 

The next line of the inscription mentions “A Pillar of Justice“.  Once again, the reference relates to the throne and its precise composition.  The Throne of the King of Nothing is Just Ice and a tool Shavre will need in order to judge and render verdicts while serving as the ruler of the wild people he has been charged with transforming into something we call Civilization.   Ice is Troglodyte slang for the minerals they need for nutrition and telepathic communication.  The minerals look a lot like ice or snow when viewed from a distance. Ice is also likely some technical acronym that has real scientific meaning.  Possible translations include:  “Ingestible Crystalline Energy”, “Interspecies Communicable Energy” and “Internal Code of Ethics“.  ICE is all of these things and serves many purposes. Tilos is still an Apprentice and has a healthy respect for the risk of pretending to know more than he actually has verified.  For example Tilos would never refer to himself as an Acolyte of Shavre’s because it sounds too much like “Alcohol Light” and visions of being used as a component in a lamp that burns alcohol in “The Hall of the Mountain King” does not have any appeal, whatsoever.   Ambiguity has historically proven to carry a high level of risk for humans that associate with Shavre.  Lying is consistently fatal.

 

 

THIS BITTER CUP

 

Attempting to explain the Foundation is enough to make my brain hurt; therefore Tilos will slip the reader into something less comfortable.  The tale of Shavre’s huge cup has deep roots and might be considered the precursor of what is referred to in current times as a press conference. Shavre’s version is not something that your mother would allow you to discuss at the dinner table.  

 

Shavre loved grape juice.  The problem was that grapes are rather small and difficult for a creature of Shavre’s size to gather and separate from the vine.  Eating the entire grapevine ruined the taste so Shavre fashioned a cup made of fine gray clay and baked it hard in the hot sun.  The cup was coated with a layer of resin from the evergreen trees that grew on the mountains nearby.  Shavre also tended to have a lot of ear wax and continually coated the inside of his cup with the clumps of wax he dug out each day.  Once Shavre’s cup was sufficiently waxed to have an effective barrier against the moisture and acidity of the grape juice, he began squeezing the grapevine plants between his mighty hands and filling his cup with the delicious juice of their berry-like fruit.  This great advancement quickly caused a more serious problem.  Shavre began to harvest the wild grapevines growing in the valley at a much higher rate now that he was drinking a purer form of the juice they contained.  He began to realize that not many moons would pass before every grapevine plant was harvested.  Shavre was simply too large to pick grapes in order to avoid pulling up the plants.  He needed some little help.

 

All of this took place in the early days of Shavre’s exile.  He had grown depressed and bitter and refused to share even a small portion of his Throne with any of the wild people living in the valley.   He was denying the wild people Just Ice and was unable to establish communication with them because of his reluctance to share the mineral salts that he licked for sustenance.  Perhaps the presence of grapes, which are universally adored by Troglodytes, was part of the grand design of the Foundation, or maybe it was just plain luck.  Whatever the case, the grapes of the valley are what inevitably broke the ice between Shavre and the wild people now known as humans.

 

Part of why Shavre had grown despondent was that his initial attempts to establish contact had been unsuccessful.  He had left of piece of purest Just Ice near a stream they often came to drink from and none showed the slightest interest in licking the crystalline piece he had shaved off for them.  Shavre had used a large piece of flint to shear off a piece of the Pillar of Justice to give to the wild people.  Ah, but how necessity is the mother of trying something different.  When Shavre realized the hominid life forms were the key to solving his grape dilemma he had an incentive to solve the problem of how to get them to try his Just Ice.  Shavre crushed some of the Pillar of Justice into a white powdery form that looked something like a pile of snow.  He left nothing to chance, and rather than leave it in a pile hoping the wild people would play in it long enough to absorb some of the mineral content, he blew the dust out of his mighty hand downwind of large groups of them so that they would breathe the dust.   Tilos was the first of the wild people to respond to Shavre and ultimately became his Apprentice.  Tilos understood the ways of the wild people well enough to quickly embrace a chance to experience something different.  He could feel the almost alien mind of Shavre and knew that responding to his call would be dangerous and might even result in death.  Tilos was large enough and strong enough to survive in the wilderness but he did not instinctively embrace the savage ways he saw practiced around him each and every day.    Shavre projected a calm, quiet emotion and a gentle tug encouraging the hominids, who had inhaled his dust, to begin walking towards the entrance to his cavern. Once inside they found fresh straw to rest upon and pools of crystal, clear fresh water that Shavre had transported inside his cup from deep inside the cavern.  He wanted our ancient ancestors to stay and find comfort inside the dimly lit entrance to his habitat.  One did not have to venture far before all natural light was extinguished by the curvature of the ever descending terrain.  It was a long time before humans ventured very far into Shavre‘s domain.

 

The original guild founded by Shavre was comprised of the hominids that Shavre organized to gather grapes.  These prehistoric humans developed the craft of winemaking itself, and built an immense screw type winepress for Shavre to crush the grapes with and created a systemic way of planting and tending the grapevines.   The first true vineyards were planted and cultivated under the direction of Shavre in the Bekka Valley of what is now known as Lebanon. 

 

Tilos promised something “less comfortable” so now the story must move into its dark future. After the vineyards had been well established and Shavre’s juice drink had evolved into actual fermented wine, things turned a little sour.  The four men that were chosen to represent the human population in its dealings with Shavre had succumbed to greed and began to attempt to deceive Shavre and the people they were entrusted to represent.  To this day four is still considered an ominous number.  They were not allocating the Just Ice in the way that had traditionally worked so well and that was generally accepted by the people. They began to commit adultery.  If you don’t understand what adultery is I will explain the two forms that were universally despised by those wisely choosing never to engage in either practice.   Having intimate relations with a married person you are not married to is by far the most serious form of adultery.   The other form of adultery involves the adulteration of the minerals that Shavre gave to the four men to distribute to the humans that worked the vineyards and other jobs necessary to enable Shavre’s giant cup to be filled. What truly angered Shavre was how the two forms of adultery were intertwined by the four men as they used part of the minerals they were stealing from the vineyard workers to buy favor with their wives, either with the mineral salts, or with the gold the four men received from the nomadic tribes of horsemen that they had begun to trade with using the stolen Just Ice for barter.   

 

Tilos is barely giving the reader a taste of the story.  Realize that the mystory of BaalBek and Shavre is like a cup of the finest Bekka Valley wine, something that must be swirled about, the deep aromas brought into the nostrils,  and then sipped slowly, allowing ample time to view the delicious liquid clinging to the side of the cup, demanding recognition of i-ts complex qualities. Savor this tale for it is indeed a rare vintage brought forth from the cellars of antiquity. Tilos briefly debated on whether or not to give the four men names and develop them as characters. It did not take long to admit that it was somewhat pointless to even name them as the plot will quickly alleviate the need for such respect where none is deserved.  We might as well just call them Greed, Lust,  Arrogance and Deceit. 

 

When they received the invitations to their retirement party, prepared by the faithful apprentice of Shavre, the four men were not quite sure what to think.  The invitations were nice enough and seemed sincere.  There had been a lot a stirring about and whispering among the humans that worked for the four men. They suppressed those little twinges of dread quietly trying to warn them of something dark around the next bend in time.  That night the four men anxiously made their way to the location shown on the map that accompanied their invitations.    They had never been to this place in the cavern system, and doubted that Shavre had either, as his size would force him to crawl through many of the passages they were traversing.    None of the four men had ever seen Shavre get down on his hands and knees, much less crawl.    They were starting to get nervous and almost turned back when they saw the two signs Tilos had made and began to laugh. 

 

The path they had been traveling split. In the middle of one fork was a sign that read:

 

High

Pressure

Dead

Line

 

In the middle of the other fork in the path was a sign saying:

 

Fishing

For

Life

Line

 

The four men immediately began to ponder the possibility that they were being offered a choice on whether or not to step down from their positions of authority in exchange for a more leisurely life style. Two of the four men enjoyed fishing in the river on the surface that mysteriously began at the base of the mountains near the caverns they inhabited.  The other two men were beginning to worry about what would happen when someone new took over their responsibilities and began to speak with Shavre directly, as they did at times.  Shavre was in the minds of all four men, while they stood at the fork in the path, listening to their inner thoughts and encouraging them to make a decision and continue their journey.  Turning back in fear was not an option here, that type of mistake would demand explanation.

 

Ultimately, the two less paranoid fishing enthusiasts went on to meet their dream and the other two went down the path that hopefully would allow them to continue in their positions of leadership.  

 

“Perhaps this was the plan all along” they thought.  This way a transition could be made with the two experienced leaders training and guiding the two new ones.  This is the type of system Shavre would naturally embrace because of its obvious logic and common sense.” 

 

Any sense of danger had completely vanished in the four men as they made their decisions and succumbed to the quiet numbing of their instincts by Shavre’s presence in the depths of their psyches.

 

Tilos is having a difficult time deciding which path to proceed down first.  Both paths have their own subtleties.  I’m not sure which one I would have chosen.    Sometimes knowing the exact grim details of a tough decision actually adds to the misery of the event.   The four men could thank God for the small favor of not knowing what they were about to experience. 

 

As Lust, Greed, Arrogance and Deceit proceeded through the passages they noticed something peculiar about the contour of the stone that separated the two paths. They also begin to realize that the passages they had traveled through were unnaturally uniform. It was almost as if this part of the cavern had been sculpted.  In actuality this entire section of the cavern had been modified and had a false ceiling. Shavre had been inside the large inner chamber since his last face to face meeting with the four men.  He had been directing new recruits from the nomadic tribes in the construction of a huge wooden hoist, similar to a crane. A very long time had passed since Shavre had sealed his fate, and humans had advanced considerably; especially, those he had connected with telepathically.  The nomadic tribes had developed excellent rope making skills, and Shavre was pleased with the pace at which they had braided the long, long, long, long, long rope he required for his dark project.

    

There were multiple goals for the project.  The first goal was to demonstrate that there was a natural consequence as a response to the behavior the four men had been exhibiting.  Tilos does admit that the way the four men came into contact with their natural consequence could be considered somewhat unnatural.  Something to be admired in Shavre was his ability to weave many lessons into one monstrous course.  The somewhat black project included lessons in rope making, hoist construction,  pulley design, psychological warfare, torture, exploration, and a very basic demonstration of Shavre’s ability to enforce his system of Just Ice.  The fate of the four men was not something the other humans watching would be cheering about due to the severe consequences that accompanied the guilty verdict.  The verdict was clear and accepted by the people as accurate.  It was very grim, solemn business building the hoist and braiding the ropes for Shavre’s first dark lesson.

 

The four men never were able to know that the strange curvature of the forked path was due to the huge boulder, that created the split, being reminiscent of a hominid skull. This feature was clear from another viewpoint that the humans were able to see once the hoist was operational. The skull boulder was direct evidence that a raging river once flowed through this section of the caverns. Under the direction of Shavre humans selected from both the Guild of the Vine and the Guild of the Horse were creating the eye sockets, nose and mouth of what would be the Temple of the Skull, the holiest place of their newly formed priesthood, The Guild of the Skull.

 

Adequately describing the Hall of the Mountain King requires some music for ambience.  If you have a way to listen to an orchestra playing “In the Hall of the Mountain King” arranged by Edvard Grieg,  part of the Peer Gynt Suite, please do so.   The slowly building, ominous throb of the piece will haunt you for eternity.  The first dark lesson took place inside a magnificent chamber soaring to a height that allowed for the Mountain King to stand erect.  The throne in this place was a natural shelf in the rock that Shavre had cleared of rubble so that he would have a place to rest without laying down. Shavre had never laid down in the presence of humans.

 

When Greed and Deceit made their way around the skull they encountered one of the wooden boxes used in the great winepress their forefathers had constructed for pressing the juice out of the grapes they harvested.  They saw Shavre looming over the crowd of humans the men had betrayed.  Shavre instructed the men to sit in the box in while they answered some questions for the humans that were encircling the area. The reader will have to be content for Greed and Deceit to wait in their press box awhile in order for Arrogance and Lust to make their way around the bend so that the fishing expedition may proceed.   Perhaps another name will soon suffice for the pair.  Just call them “Bobs of Hope.”

 

Bobbing along

The Sunless Sea

I do not know

What’s Under Me

 

Let us proceed into the mind of Shavre for a moment.  The cavern system he had chosen to create his great hall in was very, very old. Shavre had encountered the mind of another life form at times when resting on the stone ledge in the great hall. Part of the reason for the construction of the wooden hoist was to enable exploration of the area of the caverns that this other life form inhabited.  A seemingly bottomless pit was at the far end of the great hall where a raging river had once disappeared into the depths of the Earth.   For some unknown reason the water did not flow through this area now, even though its flow patterns remained etched into the walls and smooth floor of the chamber.   Until the long, long, long, long, long rope had been completed Shavre had not even been sure the forbidding black hole had a bottom at all.   What became apparent during the first test was that it was still very wet in the depths of the pit.   The body of water that occupied the bottom of the pit became known as the Sunless Sea.  It was of such size to justify the name.  Shavre had lowered a few of the humans down into the pit with the long, long, long, long, long rope and had seen through their eyes the eerie bioluminescent glow of something, or some things.  The glow was a sickly blue.  It was what life’s dying light looks like.  Whatever lived down there was starving, the shoreline was littered with the bones of all types of animals.  Most of the bones were old bones, dead bones.  Evidently the presence of Shavre and the humans had disrupted the food supply for whatever lived below.  Why animals would venture this far into the cavern was not a mystery to Shavre and he had warned the humans working near the gaping hole not to let their guard down. The gentle tug of Crawl’s Dad was even more seductive and subtle than what originally lured the ancestors of the humans into the mouth of the cavern.   Before the immense torches had been installed in the grand hall the gaping hole emitted a faint hint of light drawing the already entranced animals to meet the watery sky of the Sunless Sea. 

 

Another brief explanation is in order here.  To be “entranced” is defined as being lured or seduced through direct interaction with your mind into the entrance of a cave, cavern, hole or any other type of opening by a sentient life form inhabiting the domain.   Most definitions will mention being filled with wonder, becoming captivated or charmed and that is quite accurate.    The exact details of what happens after a person or animal enters the cavern system that Shavre inhabited is what is important.   Falling into the pit and flailing about in the Sunless Sea is not something I would recommend.    Being entranced and meeting Shavre is the best possible outcome for most who venture into the cavern system.  A close encounter with the Mountain King is not without risk; however, anyone entering his hall for the first time is always given a chance to open their mind to Shavre in order that he might know the nature of their spirit.

Why the four men thought they could deceive Shavre is not known.  It certainly was not ignorance.   Over the span of countless moons the level of treachery had grown like a slow cancer.  In the early stages it was barely detectable even by Shavre.   Being a little sloppy while dividing the portions of Just Ice for the vineyard workers was how it all began.  Unfortunately the errors were always in the favor of the four men.  When the intentional patterns of deceit began to emerge Shavre made a decision to quietly watch.  He always gave clear mental impressions of his views and attitudes concerning what he referred to as Natural Law.  Shavre never tried to justify being kind and respectful of others based on the premise that is was the right way to behave.  He simply taught that it was the only way to avoid living the life of the wild people.  The natural consequence of not respecting this law was conflict between individuals or groups of individuals, Chaos, Anarchy.  Shavre had never done anything cruel or disrespectful to any living creature unless there was a very easily understood reason.  Shavre respected the Law of Tooth and Claw because it was part of Natural Law.  He was larger and stronger than most creatures in existence; however, there was only one of his species living on the outer shell and he was not invulnerable to attack.  Bonding with our ancestors and assisting them in their development was a way to decrease the risk of being injured. 

Life will often kill you if given the opportunity.

 

Are you getting a little frustrated? 

Is it taking too long to kill these four men? 

A little bloodthirsty?

Just Curious.

CRAWL’s DAD

 

Basic premise :  Crawl’s Dad is an original aquatic Deity created by the Earth’s core – two countering rotating rings – borne of Chaos – the very first self-organized entity in the general vicinity of what we refer to as Earth.

Reproductive cycle – does not reproduce in the traditional sense – creates mobile extensions that do have distinct personalities – capable of independent life?   Began as leech like forms that mutate after feeding on blood – mutation varies with blood type?

Central to a chapter or two in the book – Crawl’s Dad symbiosis with “hiss” children.   This will tie into Shavre’s group and a battle scenario.   Tie in to Babylon carving showing “serpent/snake” behind the Kings head/body – duality? Not hardly – this will be a place for humor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

( ( Pufft ) ) The Magic Drags On

Ruth saw the sign first.

“Mommy, Mommy, can we go see the magic show?”
“Please, Please, Please Mommy can we see the magic show?”

Charlene looked at her daughter and smiled. 

“The sign says there is a fire breathing Dragon on display inside.”
“I don’t think we should go in there.”

Ruth looked at her with the pleading eyes of a child determined to get her way. 

“Mommy, I peeked inside when we were standing near here earlier today. There is NOT a fire breathing Dragon inside. It is a Magic Show. There is a small table covered with a white cloth on the stage. I saw a big, old top hat sitting on the table. I think maybe the Magician will pull a rabbit out of the hat. I’ve always wanted to see a real magic show Mommy. It’s free Mommy.”

Ruth had managed to say the magic words. 

Charlene and her daughter were now walking briskly back towards one of the smaller tents attached to the most miserable looking creature she had ever laid eyes on. Ruth’s mother was already frantically searching for her smokes before they were far enough inside to read the signs. Just as Ruth had promised, there was a sign inside the tent that said:

The Magic Show is Free

There was also another sign that read:

Ice Cream 
For the Kids
JPrice LessJ

Charlene immediately shot a glance at Ruth. Ruth smiled back and said “Mommy, it’s OK. I’m not hungry. I just want to see the Magic Show.”

There were plenty of empty seats even though the tent was rather small. The whole place was about twenty feet in diameter. As in all of the tents Ruth and her mother had been in, this one had a wooden deck circling the interior. This one was so small and narrow that is was useless for providing additional seating. All that was up there were some rather bizarre statues of small monkeys playing flutes. Charlene tried not to look at them too long, for some reason they made her uneasy. What was adorning either side of the stage was truly grotesque; yet, easier to look at than the monkeys. From what Charlene could tell they were supposed to be Pygmies. They looked so real she would almost swear that they were stuffed. Why their hands were missing was something of a mystery, not to mention the crude manner in which their mouths had been sewed shut. Their cheeks were all fat and round like they had just taken an immense breath right before the suture’s had sealed their lips forever. Charlene wondered… “What kind of sick bastard would put that in front a stage for a children’s magic show?” 

“What the hell” Charlene thought... “It’s free and I can smoke in here.” Ruth seemed content enough, and that was a good thing. Charlene had already decided that they would go home right after the show was over. This would be as much as she could take for one day.

Little Ruth was being unusually still and quiet. She was intently studying a small piece of old parchment she had picked up on the way inside the tent. Charlene knew it was a bit risky to not examine whatever her daughter was looking at, but she was tired of being eternally vigilant. This place had a way of wearing down a person’s defenses after spending a whole day here.

Ruth hadn’t written anything on the card yet. She did manage to find a small charred stick on the floor she could use later. The parchment hadn’t even been used yet. Ruth was happy to have found a clean scorecard. 

She would be very careful to fill it out… just right. 

There was already one thing she could mark before the Magic Show even started. There was a circle drawn on top of a cone. Ruth marked a big X through it. She thought once again to herself the magic phrases that got her inside the tent and into a seat. “It‘s free Mommy.” … “It’s OK Mommy, I’m not hungry.” Ruth’s thin, small lips quivered into an almost evil smile. 

At last the Magician appeared on the stage. He looked older than Methuselah. Ruth was pretty sure Methuselah was dead, if not this was probably really him. The Magician didn’t look weak or frail. He did look old, ancient and weathered just like the mountains nearby.

Charlene was well into her first smoke when she began to ridicule to old magician in her mind. “This guy is boring as hell … no wonder the show is free. Probably just uses it as a scam to sell overpriced ice cream to kids, how typical.”

Ruth was watching intently as the Magician waved his wand and tapped the old top hat three times. He said “Typical Temporal Drag on Drag on Drag on” Ruth laughed silently at the simple word play knowing in her heart that it was deadly serious in its intent. 

The Magician then began the arduous task of actually pulling the rabbit out of the hat. This particular rabbit was not coming out without a fight. 

Charlene felt a small prick on the side of her neck as the first ice shard penetrated her soft flesh and quickly dissolved into her bloodstream. Ruth was very still and barely caught a glimpse of the monkey reaching into a pouch to pull out a shard to insert into its flute. She knew the strange protrusions on the bottom of the pouch were fingers. She just knew it. Ruth had a sense for such things being the good little Witch that she was. Ruth never actually even saw the monkey blow the shard into her mommy’s neck but she definitely heard the “pufft” sound as it began its flight. The little trickle of blood slowly working a path down Charlene’s fair skin told Ruth everything she needed to know. Ruth reached up and gently kissed her mother’s neck as to prevent the new silk blouse she was wearing from becoming stained. 

“Thank you Mommy. I love you Mommy.”

Ruth felt a little twinge of guilt at the perverse pleasure she received from the salty, metallic mixture of her mother’s sweat and blood, coupled with her schoolgirl like infatuation with the Magician. For the most part Ruth was just pleased as pie that she had enough self-discipline to wait until the end of the day to bring her mother here. If Mommy wasn’t a little tired and stressed it might not work out the way that she had hoped.

Charlene felt something bite her neck. “Damn mosquito.” She didn’t have time to swat at it as her daughter was reaching up to give her a very loving kiss, thanking her for be a good mommy and giving in, as usual. She looked at her watch as the Magician began reaching into the old top hat. It was five o’clock sharp. As the old man began the seemingly mundane task of extracting the rabbit Charlene began to feel a little strange. Time was slowing down. She wasn’t the least bit groggy. It was quite the opposite. Every second ticked by as if it were a minute. Every minute seemed as if it were an hour. A hour was a little less than an eternity. Charlene’s focus was entirely upon the magician and what was transpiring between him, the old hat and the rabbit. She could not look away, except to look at her watch. 

At first nothing happened. The hand went into the hat and began the telltale motions of searching for something inside. This went on for a minute or two. Charlene watched the process in excruciating detail for what seemed like an hour. At least an hour. More like two hours. Not only was she watching, she was also entrained with the mind of the old man in a way she had never before experienced. She felt exactly like a fish that had swallowed the bait and had absolutely no hope of getting the hook out. It was set that deep. There was nothing left to do except fight the battle to the death. The battle the fish knows it will never win, yet fights with all of its strength out of sheer instinct. If Charlene tried to look away from the stage her head jerked back around violently, as if an invisible hand had grabbed her by the face. 

Little Ruth laughed as the Magician’s arm was pulled into the hat up to his armpit. He then began the slapstick routine of attempting to extract his arm and whatever it was that he had gotten a hold of inside the dark silk interior. Back and forth the battle raged on. Ruth thought it was quite hilarious. She made a point not to look at her mother. A little more time needed to pass before she would feel confident that it was safe. Too much preparation had gone into this for her to mess it all up by risking a little peek. Fifteen minutes was what she had decided upon and she was determined not to violate her own little rule. Finally the Magician put both arms into the hat and pulled with all of his might. Two somewhat mangy looking ears emerged. The Magician spread them apart and said “Can you ear me now?” Ruth’s mouth quivered into a smile, knowing that the comment was directed at her mother. This was going to be better than she had ever believed possible. Upon hearing the words of the old man, Charlene rose from her chair and screamed… “You Son of a”… “Puff, Puff” two more spots appeared on Charlene’s neck and she immediately sank back into her chair.

Ruth could her a faint echo of what her mother was experiencing due to the sweet kiss on her mother’s neck as the show was beginning. The voice was extremely faint, yet extraordinarily clear. “The Automated Restraining Translator has been activated. Please remain seated for the duration of the show. The Automatic Rest Training system has been activated. Prepared to be trained for the rest of the show in proper etiquette and manners. This is not a drill. Be glad for that!”

Ruth was taken a bit by surprise; however, she quickly examined her score card.
There was an eye, a megaphone and a big smiley face. She circled the megaphone and drew a bar through it. “No Screaming Allowed, Mommy.” The thin lips quivered once more. Ruth glanced up at her mother’s eyes. She might have to wait awhile on this one.

The old man looked directly at Charlene as she sank back into her chair. Suddenly her head jerked up violently and she was staring directly at the small table and the old top hat once again. The gruesome sound of bone breaking pierced Charlene’s ears. “Can you ear me now?” echoed through her mind. The old man let out a guttural sound as he ripped the rabbit’s leg off at the hip. He had to stretch the fluffy skin considerably before the fur began to turn an ugly red and the leg broke loose. He held it so Charlene could see it clearly. He held it there for a least a minute before taking a bite. A bit of raw, bloody muscle tissue was clinging to his chin as he threw the rest over to the side of the stage. An old hound dog hidden in the shadows began to tear into the leg with contentment. Without any conscious thought Charlene reached into her purse and found her smokes. As she took the first puff off of her second cigarette a quiet voice entered her mind chanting… “Puff the magic drags on…, puff the magic drags on…, puff the magic drags on… ” Charlene knew that smoking was making things worse yet the habit was so ingrained in her that the hand crept knowingly to her mouth time and time again. She had about half a pack left. It was going to be a very, very, very, very, very long magic show. A single tear slipped out of the corner of her left eye and began its journey to mingle with the drying trickles of blood on her neck. She was beginning to sweat profusely due to a variety of things. The nicotine entering her system was making the sweating worse and she was beginning to feel nauseous.

Ruth laughed as the Magician pulled a roasted turkey leg from the old top hat and took a big sloppy bite from it. There was still a piece hanging from his chin as he returned her thin evil smile with a huge grin and a wink from one eye. Ruth hadn’t even noticed the old hound but was happy when he got a nice treat. She missed the single tear rolling down her mother’s cheek.

Charlene watched the old man plunge his arm deep into the hat for the second time. Once again a mighty battle ensued. His elbow would emerge from the top of the hat only to be yanked violently back into the deep silk unknown. In and out. In and out. In and out. The old man was deep into Charlene’s mind and when he tried to go into that most private part of her psyche she rebelled. Another “Pufft” and she settled right back down. “Just sit back, relax and enjoy the show” softly undulated through her mind. She briefly saw a cowboy hat instead of a top hat on the table. Who knows why. 

Charlene looked at her watch. It took a full count of sixty in her mind for one second to tick off. Quickly that invisible hand grabbed her by the face and jerked her head straight ahead to become entrained with the small table, the top hat, the rabbit, and the Magician. The see-saw battle was still in full swing. The old man’s arm was beginning to look like something had been gnawing on it, the sleeve to the jacket of his formal tuxedo, with long tails, showed red in the places where the rabbits teeth had managed to puncture the fabric. He had a white shirt on underneath the coat, the kind with fancy ruffles running down the front. The ruffles were smeared with blood and entrails. 

Once again the old man plunged both arms into the dark interior of the hat. This time he had the demonic bunny by the throat. Charlene watched in horror as the Magician plucked out an eye with his thumb. The old man’s nails were long, thick, and black with dirt. The tissues that normally held the eye firmly in place inside the rabbits head were dangling from the eyeball as the Magician plopped it into his mouth and began to make it peep out from between his teeth and lips with pushes from his tongue. 

Charlene had gone into a catatonic stare. Ruth circled the eye on her scorecard and drew an arrow to the megaphone. “Eye Scream.” Now she knew what an Eye Scream looked like. Ruth could look at Mommy as much as she wanted to at this point. Mommy was too far gone for anything to disturb her eternal moment of absolute terror.

…I Scream for the kids…
…Eye Scream for the kids…
JPrice LessJ

Ruth hadn’t marked the smiley face on her scorecard yet, it would have been a bit premature. She laughed when the Magician plopped a couple of grapes into his mouth as he was battling with the rabbit. He was pushing them in and out of his mouth with his tongue. Ruth thought it was a little gross, but funny nonetheless. The rabbit looked fake, like a child’s stuffed toy, the type she might sleep with at night. Both the rabbit and the Magician’s shirt were stained, probably from the turkey leg he had pulled out earlier in the show. “Sweet dreams Mommy,” Ruth thought silently to herself… “Sweet dreams.” 

Charlene saw the end of a rope poking out beneath the, not so white, tablecloth. The old man sensed her awareness and reached down for the coil of coarse rope. Tied to the end of the rope was an oversized fish hook. The Magician pulled a big carrot from inside his sleeve and impaled it with the hook so that it completely disguised the sharp barb on the end. 

Charlene looked at her watch. She counted to sixty and the second hand finally went, “tick.” When the rope began to pull through the old man’s hands so quickly as to burn his flesh, Charlene thought she was going to vomit. The smell of burnt rope and skin was quickly replaced by a wet, squishy sound. The rope was wet with the blood of the old man’s mangled hands, yet he held on with all of his will and began the slow, painful task of reclaiming the length of rope that had disappeared into the dark silky interior of the old top hat. The old man began making knots in the rope. It wouldn’t be as easy to pull through his wet, bloody palms next time. What seemed like hours later, the head of the rabbit finally began to emerge from the top of the hat. The hook had entered through the top of the inside of the rabbit’s mouth and had pierced through the top of the skull. The carrot was still covering the hook and gave the dead rabbit the look of a small mutant Unicorn, the bloodied carrot protruding from the forehead in just the right place.

Little Ruth thought it was a perfect Grand Finale, Tying a carrot to the end of a rope and catching the rabbit like a furry crawdad. The back and forth battle never grew monotonous as the Magician threw in enough twists to keep her attention. The red scarves he pulled from his sleeves were slimy and covered with catsup. It was a little gross but extremely funny. The Magician had made quite a mess of both himself and the table by the time the show was complete. Ruth could see that the rabbit had gotten the carrot; however the Magician quickly hid the rabbit from her view and gave a great bow.

The show was over.

Charlene was choking down her last smoke when she heard a quiet voice say “Mommy, we can leave now. The show is over. Mommy, can you hear me?”
Charlene’s lungs hurt, her head hurt and she felt like she was going to be sick.
She snapped back at Ruth… “Yes, I can hear you. Come on let’s go.”

As they were exiting the tent they both noticed something they hadn’t seen on the way in, a large barrel with a big smiley face was sitting in the center of the exit. Charlene threw the crushed, empty pack she held in her hand into the barrel. The barrel was full of crushed empty packs that once held smokes.

Charlene grabbed Ruth’s hand and began walking away from the tent at an uncomfortable pace. Ruth thought to herself… 
“I will have to mark the smiley face when I get home.”

That evening Charlene went to bed early. Ruth pulled out her scorecard and drew a circle around the two black dots and the open arc beneath it. She then found a piece of scrap paper and make a face large enough to cover the lid of the kitchen trashcan. It was the round kind, with a little peddle at the base. When you pressed the peddle down the lid would flip open. 

Charlene did not wake up until almost noon the next day. She rummaged through the fridge searching for something picky little Ruth would eat. All that she could find were some bananas that were beginning to turn black from the cold. Ruth saw the black skin of the bananas and said “I’m not hungry Mommy.” Charlene stopped dead in her tracks. She went back to the fridge and opened the freezer and pulled out a carton of ice cream. Charlene placed a bowl in front of Ruth and dipped out two scoops. Ruth looked up at her with an icy stare prompting Charlene to rather forcefully slam another scoop on top of the first two. Ruth thought quietly “That’s right Mommy they are the ancient, weathered type…” and then began digging a hole in the side of one of the mounds on the bottom. 

The carton was empty so Charlene walked over to the trashcan. She saw the smiley face on the lid and began to shake.

There was a single tear drop beneath the left eye.
Charlene dropped to her knees and began to cry. 

Ruth got up from her chair and walked over her mother.
She gave Charlene a very gentle, loving kiss on the side of her neck.
“Thank you Mommy. I love you Mommy.”