Kor and Luara

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Kor and Luara

She was born in cacophony- white silence Amidst blaring synaesthesia. Her father called her Luara and threw her Skyward, giving him an anchor Inside the constellations. Daughter of Time.

To begin a tale of such magnitude, some context might not be terribly out of place. We’ll start with Time. Time was Luara’s father, in the broadest sense of the world. As many can attest a Father isn’t necessarily someone that raises you. A father doesn’t have to know you and frankly (although, this may only be the opinion of rebellious teens and certain writing-blocked students), a Father doesn’t have to understand you. To Luara he was the word she used to describe her exact beginning (probably apt), and everything since then she attests rather proudly to herself, her peers, and those bothersome, fawning mortals. But it was with Sandru she gained her first purpose. When the Spirits first interacted with the mortal world, Elementals alone couldn’t represent what existed there. Ideas existed which couldn’t be explained by Earth, by Wind, by Chaos, Order, and, most importantly, Time. Chaos needed substance, Earth needed life, and Time needed counting. So, in what can possibly be called the worst event in the history of the world, the Immortals were created. The Immortals are the unholy amalgamation of the black and white ideals of the Ancestrals and the messy, shitstained cultures, experiences and contexts of the mortals. Luara began simply as a being made to fill an empty slot. In this brave new world Time, Sandru found, needed Order. Disgusting. Luara was created for, or possibly because of, the mortal desire to count time. Days. Seasons. By Luara the mortals would live their lives, plant their crops, bear their children, plan their festivals and generally cause ruckus and, for the first few, very successful moments, that’s precisely what she did. The world spun about her, and with each frantic revolution she lead them ever closer to their deaths. She was their guide through time. Their anchor in space. Their shepard.

Then things got messier. We could blame poets, of course, but they’re just the most obvious culprits. We could blame lovers, but they’re pretty much the same thing, just with their hands and mouths busier. Frankly it was inevitable, but someone deserves the blame and, unfortunately, it’s probably Luara. More than counted time, mortals saw in the moon distance, silence, and longing. More than their Days and their Years and their Deaths they saw (As is their tendency) themselves, and through this the moon became more than just what Father Time intended. When alone, mortals looked up and felt compassion with the distant moon. When sad, mortals sighed at the sky and pulled empathy from her endless surface. And when in love- as of course many mortals were- they had eyes for only each other in the moon’s gentle light. And so Luara knew love. But she knew other things too.

Not only are the Immortals shaped by Mortals, but by other Immortals too. Their interactions with each other are almost as important as with the bothersome creatures below, and from them grew personalities not even the mortals could begin to decipher. Great feuds- The terrible rivalry of Shezept and Jevex; Great friendships- The strong brotherhood of Theruz and Betheruz; And eventually great Loyalties. In this category came the bond of Luara and Kor. Kor was another borne from Time, but unlike Luara he was not quite so interested in the journey as much as the destination. He was the mortals’ finale. Their full stop. Usually, he was the quiet end to a fussy life. If he was lucky, he was the very loud end to a very fussy life. He- though he wouldn’t admit it- enjoyed this. And to him Luara was desperately loyal. Through time Luara guided all souls his way. From birth through life, through all counted and countless moments Luara dragged them willingly or not to where she was supposed to- Death. This was, of course, the original purpose Sandru gave her, and damned if she couldn’t do at least that. At first she called it duty- Her job, naturally. It was her only one. For some time she called it loyalty- She knew of the ideal and thought it apt. But it was with the painfully inflicted eons that Luara eventually knew it's true name. Spirits are the most human of deities- that is their nature. So it was with human agony- human longing, perhaps- that the moon became deeply, hopelessly lovesick. In Kor she saw, for the first, true time- the beauty of something in her moonlight.

Silence, however, was in Luara’s nature. Distance, unfortunately, was what the mortals knew her by. Not only was a Spirit in love, staggeringly, but she was Shy as well. What a mess. She tried sending gifts, but Kor was quiet too. That’s his shtick. The best she gave to him herself- by his gates she arrived, piously taking the form of a great, white wolf. Her loyalty to him- for it was (perhaps for love it has to be) a great loyalty- settling her into this form for the rest of her time. Lovers and poets, kings and scientists- All of them she shepherded to his hand, but never did he say a word. He nudged them on, through his silent gates, and she grew distraught. What if he thought them gifts from Freygoth? Or Theruz? Or, worst of all, Isuz!

It was in the middle of her pining Luara looked down. On this day her eye blared down upon the world, opened fully as was the convention for that time of month. It was days like this, of course, that dark things, mad things and, most importantly, desperate things, clawed their way from the undergrowth and howled to the sky. And Luara, for once, was banking on it. The Maehr were a group of Elves travelling to gain knowledge for their king. There’s another story- tragic and thoroughly longwinded- that tells of what evils befell them upon this journey, but it will be simple enough to say that, at its end, they were not in good shape. Their leader, Veluluai, had lost her mind alongside her people from the curse of some ancient evil and after an unfortunate instance involving murder, pillaging and mutilation they were cast away- banished to an empty isle with fading from existence their final punishment. Barely, very barely, Veluluai sunk her claws into what remained of her mind and drove it to pray. Her people, who were dying alongside their sanity, watched on mutley as their beloved Veluluai offered all she was for their minds- her body- her soul- her very own being- to any with power who were listening. Those with power, unfortunately, usually don’t listen. It was fortunate for Veluluai that Luara was. While it wasn’t exactly a fair deal, for Veluluai and her Maehr it was quite literally a godsend. What harm, surely, could do the moon, so beautiful and distant? It could have been quite a bit really. Thankfully Luara settled for their bodies and their souls. These she took- plucking from them their pure white skin and looking at it with a frown. No good. For Kor, she shrouded their moonlit skin in a cape of ebony, smooth as bone- Her moonlight, she decided, would be saved for him and only him. For Kor, she took their eyes; the green of Freygoth and the intelligence of Theruz were covered with the red of her Bloodmoon- They would look through the world with her ancient iris. For Kor, she marked their souls. Each one would be his as much as hers, and death would reach their kind for as long as time stretched on. For Kor, the Maehr became black, ashen, and beautiful. They were her gift- ivory turned ebony for the Spirit of Death.

Their minds returned to them, many of the Maehr managed to feel anguished with their new form. Their waking moments into the world of sanity were filled with horrified gasps-To what spirit had Veluluai given their souls? What cruel new curse had she set upon their bodies? Horrified they balked, and the beginnings of panic bled into this strange, new race of Elves. Under placid moonlight they wept for lost beauty.

Before it spread Veluluai set forth and calmed them with a word. This was her duty. Another price- an easier one, perhaps- she had payed to the Spirit of the Moon. To see your beauty, she told them, you need only look up. To see your life, she affirmed, you need only look forward. To see your soul, she stressed, you need only look within. And so it became that the Maehr dubbed themselves Dark Elves and civilised their reclusive isle, staying silent and distant from their past atrocities. During a lifetime Luara became a God to these, her prosperous gifts and, although she had of course intended for them to eventually die, it was with sorrow that she escorted the first of their dead to the gates of Kor. Eons upon eons shuddered as, with the Maehir by their side, the silence was broken between Death and the Moon.

The rest, in fact, is rather brief. Kor took the young Maehr in hand and, with a skeletal grin, beckoned the wolfish Luara by his side. She followed, of course, and always would. In the Ancestral realm Kor created a pocket to store Luara’s gifts- the Groth’Stroh- and by hand he took all of the Dark Elves when their time upon the mortal plane drew to a close. Luara, with Kor sharing the sentiment, never rushed this. With love like theirs, they could wait.