The Tragedy of Forn

Sitting on a hammer about his size, a man made of overbearing muscles awaits the inevitable moment when the last God shall show himself. With his blank expression gazing into the white horizon of the endless chamber of the Gods, he knocks on the hammer thrice, to startle the last God, maybe that will make him leave. Suddenly, a portal emerges from the ether and the last God slithers into it faster than the towering man could react.

With speed, the portal tries to close, to hide the God, yet it fails for it did not predict that the man before it, Forn, now had the powers of eleven Gods under his muscles. Forn grasps the portal and splits it open further, he grabs his hammer and twirls his large moustache. In he then goes, leaving the white arena behind and emerging on a planet unknown to him, a planet where grass is greener than anywhere else, where mountains with snow can be seen in the distance and where another story ends.

Forn feels the weight of his hammer, Gorn, increase with each step he takes, the soul within now restless for peace but smelling the violence in the distance. “Yes, I can feel it too.” Forn softly utters, glancing towards Gorn, “The end feels so close, the Jester will elude me no more, he has run out of games to play.”

In the distance, the clashing of metal, the cries of an echoing creature and the fury of magic engulf the grassy valley. In the distance, Forn can now see an old man with grey locks and a grey beard wielding a small hammer of light. Beside him, a robed figure with long flowing dark hair that touches the ground conjures weapons out of thin air. And, in front of them, the last God, the Jester, in a black cloak, oozing a black goo from his stick-like arms, of which there are four.

Forn walks towards them yet, before he could react, the Jester kills the robed figure, slicing their head off, and aims to do the same to the old man. The old man grasps the diamond attached to his belt and conjures a spell, unfamiliar to Forn, entrapping the Jester and himself within a cocoon of pure light.

Blinded by the cocoon, his vision fades as his mind wandered to the journey which has brought him this far. As such, I, an indirect witness to the events which have occurred, shall travel with him and tell you the doings of this vengeful man.

It all started long ago, at a meeting of the Gods where they discussed their centenary apprenticeship. I was not there, not at first at least, and so I do not exactly know how they gathered for they were a separated family. However, I can definitely tell you how it all went down.

It was a long table in a room sparkling with gold and silver, in the Grand Church of Manipulation. Eleven seats decorated with jewels grander than the stars upon the sky awaited the Eleven Gods. But all paled in comparison to that of the God Supreme, Divanotis, for his chair was a throne twelve meters high and five meters wide. It was cushioned with soft red pillows and adorned with stones of various colours and shapes, its arms twisted at the end, folding into themselves, creating the perfect arm rest. This throne, at the end of the rectangular wooden table, was fit for a King, no...not any King, but the King of the Gods.

One by one they entered the chamber and sat in the chairs, yet they were only nine. A figure, dressed in an outfit befit a jester, with red, black and yellow, wearing a perpetually smiling mask made of porcelain, stood by the throne as the others sat. Finally, HE entered. Wearing armour made of gold, a chainvest underneath and a fluffy red cape that extended downwards endlessly, Divanotis sat on his throne, carefully touching his black hair parted in the middle. The Jester placed his hand in the air and out of the thin a crown appeared, a crown befit a King. With both of his hands extended, the Jester gave the crown to his King, who put it gently upon his head, avoiding the ruining of his illustrious hair.

A man half naked, with his belly protruding violently and his chin having a chin of its own, sighed at the sight before him. The man to his right growled deeply at this gesture, the guttural sound fluttering his thick brown beard which covered half of his face. Their eyes, fuelled with a brotherly rivalry of old, penetrated each other’s gaze and tensed the muscles of their body. The former was the God of Nature, Birth and Life, Belatunus, father to many creatures and many demigods. The latter was the God of Smithing, of Crafting, of Weaponry, Gofogun, adoptive father to many abandoned creatures and to many famous apprentices. They hated each other for one enjoyed the gluttony of life and the freedom of Godhood, while the other enjoyed the hard work and the responsibilities of being a God.

However, even with this contrast in mind, even with their polar opposite existences, they agreed on one thing, cowardice is to be spit at, to be punished, and their brother, the Jester, was the fool of it. And so, they hated him, in their own ways. Belatunus was always trying to get at him, to make the Jester suffer in any way whatsoever. Meanwhile, Gofogun avoided him like the plague, isolating himself from the rest by building his workshop atop the highest mountain on his world.

To Belatunus’ left, there was the Goddess of Afterlife, Cerrigan, ruler of the realm below and shapeshifter. Though shy and covered in bruises in the shape of chains, she was the one to oversee any who enter her realm, to guide them to their loved ones and to make sure that their afterlife is worthwhile.

To her left, the God of Technology, Engineering and Advancements, Provigora, was asleep, his head resting on the beautiful linen table cover, undoubtably thinking of his next creation. Opposite to him was Monhur, God of War, Battle and Training, reflected in his many stitches and scars found on all parts of his body. Displeased with brother Provigora’s slumber, his left hand with four rings of silver came down upon the table with force, waking the God of Technology.

To Monhur’s right, the God of Travel, of Speed and of Messages, Shaymes, and the God of Love, Tiacue. To Tiacue’s right, the Jester, the God of Beauty, yet no one but himself knew why. Finally, there he was, the God of Gods, the King of the Gods, the God of Time, Divanotis.

He spoke, “It seems we are a few short. No matter, I shall proceed as usual. Brothers, we have gathered here today to celebrate the centenary apprenticeship programme. As per usual, we are here to announce the start of our search for yet another apprentice.” Divanotis then paused, signalling to the Jester. The Jester moved from beside his King to the other end of the table and summoned a camera. The Jester then pressed a red button and it beeped, it was now recording. With a nod from his brother, Divanotis began to utter once more, “As per usual, this message will be broadcasted to the rest of the Universe, far and wide so that the people of the God’s planet can begin choosing from among themselves the candidate best suited to traverse the gruelling journey of apprenticeship.”

“Why must I participate in this charade?” questioned Belatunus, “Is it not obvious that your apprentice will win yet again, Divanotis? Not even the pleasure of beating Gofogun at this game can convince me that this endeavour is worthwhile anymore.”

“Oh! But brother, I am not participating this time.” said Divanotis.

Belatunus’ eyes widened and his grin sharpened, “And why is that?”

“My attention will be fully drawn to making sure that the Prison of Sons is run adequately by my son. As such, neither will the Jester participate for he will be preoccupied with assisting me in this task. So, the glory to beat everyone else will be yours.”

“If you manage to turn that populace of yours from oppressed failures to geniuses in less than a century.” interrupted Gofogun.

“Ha! Ha! Ha!” cackled Belatunus, “Mighty words coming from a recluse! Your advantage is that your world is so uncivilised that those within it have gained strength from your abandonment! I offer those loyal to me the greatest of benefits and they bask in the abundance of cities!”

“Hm!” scoffed Gofogun, “Shall I ease your burden then? Shall I give you my advantage and see you fail once more?”

“What do you mean by that, arrogant buffoon?”

“A deal. I shall let you choose from among my people, while you shall let me choose from yours. I shall show you that I can do what you will never be capable of. I shall show you that I can turn an individual starved and tormented by your reign into a paragon of bravery, fearlessness and righteousness.”

“Deal!”