Legends of Eiyressia [EN]

Maker

Humanity takes nature for granted, as it existed countless years before them, remaining the same in its core. Animals, plants, they may have evolved, adapting to their environment, but even so, they retained their identity. These rules can be applied to both Earth and Eiyressia. Nature grew alongside humanity, humanity blossomed thanks to nature. Such symbiotic relation lasted centuries without any issues, going steadily towards future.

But something changed.

Someone, some being, grabbed nature with its claws, playing around the fragile balance as if it was just a toy. It took animals from their homes, from their mothers, put under influence of toxins, made to corrupt them, adapt to murder, hunting for prey. Plants, exterminated and then revived to kill all that come near them.

Paths, once safe from harm, now lay abandoned. Once the change has been made, no human, who was right in their mind, would dare to venture into such places, fearing for their bodies and souls. Only nature remains there, looking in disgust at what happened to her children.

All of this done by one creature, a being known through the mask it wore. Maker, a genius of many centuries, someone, who denied death's embrace. He arrived before first cities rose, disappeared before world got a chance to learn about him. Those, who were given a chance to see him, now lay deep below ground, unable to tell the tale. Others, who thank the gods for the luck that shined upon them after they survived their encounter with the one, who brought the unknown, are unable to spew out even a single sentence, not to mention a tale about him.

He however requires no introduction. Everyone would recognize him, if were they to encounter him. There may be none singular description of his appearance, his voice, as he does not require such details. The only thing that matters, are his eyes, burning brighter than the farthest reaches of the Abyss. Just his gaze alone can tell a tale, that will collect another victim to its toll. Wrath, that burns within him, shows a history of suffering he experienced in his prolonged existence. No other creature could demonstrate such exhaustion, pain, interest from a simple glance.

He however is no mere creature. Wherever he came from, the devil himself forged an armour for him, that was capable of shape-shifting at will. There are no paintings of him and none are going to be ever made. How can one describe something, that for the best of artists will bring madness, that no prayer shall ease?

He appeared before the begging and left without the end in sight. All remained scathed by him, where nothing remained of him. The work he breathed life into, is the only evidence of his existence. But even it remains inconsistent with the story, that exists. How can one explain blasphemous writings on cave walls, dating the same period, but separated by days worth of travelling? Who will find explanation for animals that appear similar to wolves, only distinguished by their eyes, burning with the same emotions as the one, who treated to them?

The deepest caves, the highest mountains, he visited every corner of the land. Covering his tracks, wherever he was, trying to hide his involvement in things that changed. What he could not account for, is that even the greatest make mistakes. Even he, the great Maker, filled with ambition sometimes forgot to hide himself from the rest of the world.

Symbols, engraved into rocks, aligned in such manner that no human mind can comprehend. Writings, left in scraps, created in a language only known to the past or those, who will soon join it. Just a mere though of such vile remains brings fear in those, who don't have the strongest of hearts. Time buried most, so its better than to search for things, that only bring destruction.

Many believe, that the moves he made weren't random, influenced by the fear of someone discovering his most treasured secrets. He wanted to be discovered, but in such manner he would have seen fit. Lurking in the shadows, he observes how mankind fairs without him. An entity that broke the barrier of death, reshaped life anew, to its own liking, would not allow itself for rest, not without a reward.

Now, that he has seen how empires crumble, and more nations go along their tracks, he awaits the right moment. Only then, will he become a part of life again, resuming his work. Wanting to get it done fast, he will look sheep, who are ready to set themselves for the axe, without any effort from him. They are going to be obedient, hoping not for fame, fortune, but survival. 

The poor, weak, outcasts, all find refuge within his grasp, a place free from harm. Their loyalty will lead them to service, no human would accept. Another monster, howling, when the sun doesn't look at the things happening under it, that's all they will become. After it, the only thing they could do, is wail maniacally from the pain, that will come.

Some may try to apprehend him for the crimes he has committed, throwing everything they can against him, just as they tried through the decades. Even after doing it all those years, they still can't acknowledge the fact, that they are chasing after wind, nothing else. No human can capture something, who is always two steps ahead. The one, who for many exists as a nightmare, travelled countless roads, his memory only getting better with each step.

Getting him won't bring salvation. Thanks to becoming a distraction, his work may go unnoticed, spreading chaos and destruction, just as he would have wanted, while those who search for justice won't even notice it.

His tale is told since times, when Eiyressia was quiet, free from thousands of voices. When humanity was learning how to live anew, he watched them, creating things, that overshadow the biggest monuments erected by mankind. Although his work is spectacular, a sense of suffering can be seen in all of it, having deeper roots, than just sadistic thinking. Perhaps, even Maker himself fell under the effect of something, that changed him beyond recognition. That however, is only known to him and the bodies, that lay in his wake.