Kurai No Onna (the Dark Lady), a Nameccian creation myth
~ by Velasa
I don't know why it's taken me so long to post this.. I wrote it in 2008 and had it all typed up but it just... never made it online. I'll be touching it up slightly from then to the tune of prerecorded rain since the weather's absolutely beautiful outside today. Continuing with the original intro now
I had a dream this morning that brought out this- a rewrite of one of the oldest stories I've ever done. The Lady's tale came up at first on a whim from a random note one of my warriors boys made just before he died in the very first version of Dreams. The first version of the story was awkward and overgrown and I never really liked it, but in the dream there was a young man telling a story and I knew that was how it had to be.
Rated PG because it's your normal creation myth sorta thing. There are touches that connect to the Dreams universe here but it stands on its own, particularly now. Originally I listened to midis of "White Reflection" and the Eva theme writing this, but this time I just had the humming of the rain outside the windows in my head. I think I'll blame Onyx and phenomenal Japanese fanart for this, because Mswari leapt from my head only after several hours of both
We'll start with setting the scene. Chapter two is the tale itself.
The rounded room flickers with the green light of the chi fire by the far wall. Rain pelts the windows and draws streaks down the night darkened glass as the children huddle closer to the fire under their blankets- some gifted by the earthlings since their arrival, blessed few from the homeland made of adjissia fibers. The adults, the elders stay further back on the floor and against the walls. All are silent.
There's a gloom hanging over them much colder than the rain outside and the dark that they do not know from their own world. The children have adapted more quickly to their new surroundings, but these are a people lost. The earthlings are pleasant and have been kind to them, giving them somewhere quiet to live that has a little similarity to the open land of the larger islands of their homeworld. But they are not at home on this strange blue world. The storyteller knows this as he takes his place at the fire, young in years but old at his craft. Mswari raises his hands, the little ones who had been talking to each other fall silent, and when all eyes have come to him he speaks.
