A Tale Of Remnant

Mantle Creation Myth

Once, there was nothing. All was the void. In the void was the great Divine. The Divine had no desire, nor any need. He had, however, the will to create.

And so it was. He crafted Remnant, it's waters and it's mountains. Every bird, beast, and fish he personally crafted. Then he created his zenith: humans.

They were his finest creation. Humanity had no wings for flight or gills for the sea. Even the beasts of the land outmatched them in virtually every physical attribute. Despite these disadvantages, humanity had what animals did not: questions. As the Divine walked amongst his creations, humans would ask him questions to satisfy their curiosity. Sometimes they would ask about the animals, sometimes about Remnant. The Divine answered all.

One human in particular asked about something else entirely. He would ask about the Divine. The particular human would question the nature of his existence and the concept of creation. The Divine answered all.

In order to better serve mankind's needs, The Divine bestowed power on to the inquisitive human. Endowed with great power and blessed with a strong imagination, they sought out ways to further humanity's perfection. Soon, this particular human would go on to create a vast array of wonders for the benefit of all humanity. Magic and alchemy were their personal favorites. The human would, therefore, be dubbed "The Spellcaster".

Over the years The Spellcaster would continue their work, crafting magnificent magics and shaping the land to be even more perfect. As their machinations grew, so too did their followers. It was, however, never enough. Despite designing a paradise alongside The Divine, they knew full well that their abilities were not their own. At first, this was a simple observation of fact. But as time went on, it festered into resentment. The Spellcaster bore witness to the withering costs of mortality. How could humanity ever ascend to new heights if The Divine held a monopoly over creation? Why must man be mortal and die, while The Divine lives on?

The Spellcaster plotted and plotted with those who followed them until they finally found a solution. They set themselves apart from humanity and, hidden away in the dark, fashioned the first weapon, an iron dagger. Then in the night, The Spellcaster crept up on the sleeping form of The Divine. With surgical precision using the iron dagger, the flesh of The Divine was cut. Emitting forth was four different colored liquids. The Divine awakened and, in furious wrath, took hold of The Spellcaster. The multicolored blood from the cut seeped into the earth, sprouting four different colored crystals.

"Vile ingrate! You, who was blessed with so much, would dare harm another? For what did you go through such effort? This hued rock? Such shortsighted arrogance! Perhaps you wish to name this creation, you, who came from dust? Perhaps we can name it after your fleeting kind. Dust! Enjoy your blessed rocks. Unto you, I shall cast my curse."

By Curse of Savagery, all mankind will follow your example. Brother will take up arms against brother. The will of the sword shall be thy law. May humanity never know peace.

By Curse of Blood, a mark shall forever stain your visage and the visage of your followers, so that all may know of your wickedness. Because you have chosen the path of the beast, a beast's form you shall have. Let your men grow claws and your women grow horns. Not even thy children will evade this curse, nor their children. Bound for all eternity your people will be to fauna.

By Curse of Void, you have acted out of the fear of mortality, so your fear of death shall be multiplied a hundredfold! Within every shadow and hidden in the dark I shall send forth to dwell amongst you the wrath of grim beasts. As black as thy soul, they will forever hunt you and the rest of humanity. The shades of your wickedness will haunt you with their coming. No paradise awaits you beyond time, only Oblivion. As you have chosen to strike me for petty gains, the dark monstrosities I summon shall hunt you for sport and carry you on to utter nothingness.

By Curse of Doom, know that your fate is sealed. When the seas turn red and the skies become black, your descendants shall know of my coming. Grim heralds shall announce my coming. Once I return, I will cleanse Remnant as a flood washes away the filth. Such is the doom of man.

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"Well that's the end of the tale", Colonel Bryagh Lilith said.

He looked expectantly to his darling daughter, eager to hear her response to this bedtime story. She always had many thoughts on the myths and legends and fairy tales she was read. Of course, the Colonel was always troubled by her positive reactions to the darker and grim stories. Even at the age of seven, Brittany Lilith had a fascination for tragedies and unhappy endings.

"I loved it, Daddy", Brittany exclaimed with glee, "The Curses are my favorite, though."

She squirmed underneath the blankets of her bed, giddily imagining the scenes in the story.

"Can you read another one? Please?", she begged her father.

He could only smile forlornly at the request.

"I'm sorry my little dove, but you need to get some sleep. It's getting late and tomorrow is your eighth birthday. You don't want to be tired on your birthday do you?", he kindly said.

Brittany pouted in protest but nonetheless resigned herself. She really wanted to hear another story. It's the only time she and her father could be alone. She didn't feel like sleeping. Something was bothering her, though. It was something in the story.

"Daddy, are the people in town cursed?", she nearly whispered.

Bryagh Lilith was taken aback by the question. His daughter had never been shy to strangers, least of all in Mantle. He considered that she may have noticed the poor condition of the city more clearly then he thought. Then it occurred to him that the story is to blame for this sudden question. After all, it's hard to miss the Curse of Blood in a city of faunus.

"I'm afraid so, sweetheart", he confessed.

"Are they really that bad? I didn't think anyone in town was a bad person", Brittany said slowly tearing up.

Seeing her eyes begin to fog, the Colonel placed a hurried grasp on her cheek. He had to correct her if only to keep his daughter from becoming guilty for thinking ill of others.

"No! No, my little dove, they aren't bad people. None of them are bad. They're just being punished for the actions of their ancestors. None of them did anything wrong", Bryagh hastily comforted her.

She drew deeper into the covers.

"But why are they cursed then? It's not fair", she argued.

Her father could only sigh.

"It isn't fair. They never asked to be faunus. Still, there is good in them nonetheless. Don't let it get to you-"

A burst of knocks rocked on to the bedroom door. The muffled voice of a woman could be heard from the other side.

"Bryagh, it's late! Get her to sleep and come to bed."

Colonel Lilith checked his watch. It was half past ten. Perhaps he did lose track of time. He kissed Brittany on the forehead.

"Goodnight, my little dove", he whispered.

The Colonel then took his Solaris, the holy book of his religion as well as the source of the story, rose up and made his way to the door. He flipped the switch for the lamp at the door, painting the room in darkness.
Brittany watched as he opened the door, letting in a cascade of light and revealing the woman who interrupted her time with her father. It was her foster mother, wearing her usual wary and disappointed expression.

Brittany felt a chill from her foster mother's gaze. No matter how often she saw it, the expression always had a cold and spiteful disdain about it. Brittany had suspicions as to why, of course. Even a girl like her could pick up on rumors and gossip. Maybe she was cursed, too. The faunus never asked to be born faunus. Brittany never asked to be a bastard child.