Divinity
 

This is Nothing,
Here is no light and no darkness.
It is composed of nothing, it has no substance and no emptyness.
It is neither fluid nor solid.
It is neither deep nor shallow.
It is all that is, but not all that could be.
It is Nothing.

You are the errant thought.
The impossible whisper;
"I am"
and so is.

In the sucking non-space of nothingness, a loose assemblage of nothing stirred. It could not be called alive, for it did not do anything a living thing did, unable to even think. There was nothing to think about, nothing to do. With nothing to define itself by, it had no identity of its own and was as one with Nothing. No time passed, for there was no time to pass. But some endless eternity a moment later, this errant pattern grasped the tail end of its own existence and recognised itself.

I am Shimael.

And in naming himself, he distinguished himself from the nothingness. Shimael declared himself a thing distinct and separate from the nothingness. He was aware because he decided it would be so.

But still there was nothing around the ancient, newborn god as he pondered his own existence. And then Shimael concieved the desire for something other than the unimaginable blank void around him. He looked into the Nothing and percieved it as other than it was and, in doing so, created the first lie. He lied to the nothing and convinced it that it was other than it was.

What he created was nothing and yet it was more than Nothing. You could not see nothingness, you could not hear nothingness, nor taste, touch or smell it. The darkness of this new formed void held its own tenebrous existance. And like Shimael's desire and unlike nothingness, it held an awareness of a lacking in itself and the dream of becoming something more. A self contained expanse of space, folded in upon itself so that the end became the beginning, existing between the edges of its own being, it lacked any true substance and yet was.

The young, ageless god regarded his fabrication with joy and then withdrew into his thoughts, wondering what next he might create to fill it.

Reality has its own guides, the first of which is order. It loves it with a furious passion beyond anything a mortal could understand. Thoughts which had been so free, so utterly without compunction except upon running into one another and altering now felt a imperative. A need to run together like drops of liquid. Running together they adopt and mould together until…

I am Typhon

Typhon looked about him at the nothingness. Seeing the edges and where reality merged back with itself. It was so empty. Yet He was not alone. He sensed another. Another like himself, older, moments and yet infinitely older. Is he my creator?

No. came the response, I created myself.

Within this collection of thoughts though came a desire to prove himself to it’s older. Wrapping himself around a single point, as a hand clasping around nothing. He created.

A spark. Opening out Typhon released the spark which gave the void the scope it deserved. The spark grew and grew. Typhon fed it on the very force of His will. Soon a great ball of fire raged at the centre of the nothing.

I name you Sol.

Thusly Sol was created - a new light so that darkness may be seen.
It was a pinpoint in the ever-large darkness, its luminous form cast light on all it could but it could not shed its brilliance on even a hundredth of the inifinite blackness.
And so, Sol became afraid - it was alone (for the gods had yet to shape forms that they might be percieved) and it was not enough. The fireball shook and shivered overwrought by the surrounding blackness, by what fateful twist was it born into such a place?
Such was Sol's terror that it was shaken to peices, scattering its fiery embers deep into the ocean of blackness.
But these twinkling embers cast their lights out further into the void, they were still tiny and insignificant against the subsuming blackness but they were content for against all else, they had each others company.
Thusly did Sol die and thusly were all the stars born.

It was nothing, because to be something, one must do something. But It was dormant, quiet, still, dead. But so did something happen: Light, at first. Little pinpoints of light traveling through the Void, bringing being to that which was not. And it stirred because for the first time there was something and then It was.

It was a nameless thing without reason nor mind, a reaction to an action. Without seeing it saw the lights coming closer and malcontent grew in its essence, for it did not wish to be disturbed, and then there was warmth: The stars were so close now that they warmed up the Void around the thing and It became afraid. It did not like these new sensations. But before it could react to this new knowledge a small star passed It by and with its newborn fires burned with a strength indescribable, and its flames licked the thing that so feared it.

A soundless scream rose from It and traveled far and wide, its pain so great that the star flickered for but a moment from the life sucking torment of the creature. And a creature it had become, for now it had a clear intent. It focused on the fleeing star and with a voice that made no sound but shook the space around It, It growled: "GARM!"

He flew screaming after the fiery orb, reaching out with dark tendrils in an effort to capture the elusive prey. How long did the chase go on? Impossible to tell in those early moments of the Creation, but the creature called Garm would not relent and in a murderous frenzy he enveloped the star, sucking its very essence into his bottomless belly, killing it.

And it ruptured, its cold dead husk disintegrating into dust that scattered all around and Garm drew back in surprise. What was this? The cloud of matter swirled all around him until it slowly drifted away, pulled off by the attraction generated by a star an endless distance away, but which none the less would soon find itself surrounded by the building blocks of worlds.

Garm, though wary, started to follow it, wondering what would happen to the corpse parts of his devoured prey.

In the beginning, there was nothing. Nothing but the void known as Before Creation. From that empty, infinite void came an idea.

The idea grew,taking on shape and substance, until finally, it became thought.
I am Tserrth.
The thought broadcasted itself like a ripple upon the pond of destiny, shaping and warping the void around it. It was distinctly different from the rest of the thoughts and newborn entities.

And thus, with a Thought, Tserrth took form. A shifting, shapeless form of shadows and light, Tserrth opened a consciousness as brilliant as the myriad of newborn stars... and saw the void - empty, lonely, desolate of anything Tserrth's Thoughts yearned for.

So Tserrth Thought, and brought forth an Idea. Taking from the void, Tserrth wove a net - a vast and impressive thing that caught stars wherever Tserrth cast it. Tserrth took the net and cast it into one part of the void, capturing the fiery orbs with ease.

Slowly, she brought them closer together, using a great entity finger to swirl them around until finally...

Tserrth released the net around the captors, and took a moment to admire the Idea, the Thought. But the spiralling stars did not last long enough to please her. The spinning orbs in the middle became agressive and swallowed other stars until finally...

Tserrth put forth another Idea. Another Thought. With a great deific hand, Tserrth swept together the void and some stars, and crushed them so that they became but a single point in the great nothingness around them. Then, Tserrth put that point into the middle of the spiralling stars.

You shall be the Point where All has Gone, and All will be Released.

Thus, Tserrth set to work, creating vast galaxies and setting them into motion.

Typhon watched as events unfolded. He watched as the Universe was born.

First he saw the death of Sol and in an instant knew sorrow for the first time. Yet as it’s death give birth to thousands upon thousands of balls light and life he felt his Sorrow fade and Joy rise in it’s place. For a moment he paused and marvelled at the sheer majesty of their rushing joy. As knew beings formed themselves to join himself and Shimael.

And then for the first time Typhon felt anger.

He as the newborn Garm sucked the life from on of the shards of Sol. Scattering it’s flameless essence as a cloud. For a moment Typhon pondered retribution. Of taking a fiery destructive form and making war. But Typhon was slow to anger and dismissed the thoughts of rage. Still he gathered together the cloud in memory.

For a moment his dark thoughts were subdued as he gazed upon the work of Tserrth. For the first time he saw the beauty of another beings work and his faith in the newborn his kind was restored. He watched as the new being created spiralling arcs from the shards of Sol. The Stars formed the great beautiful strokes of the first Art.

Typhon was inspired. Taking the lifeless cloud in his great hands he travelled the central galaxy. That in the very centre of the endless void. Which had been made from Sol’s great heart, finding then the greatest of the stars, the most perfect shard.

He set the cloud in motion flowing around the star bound by the love of order that creation possesses. Spinning it faster and faster he begins to shape and mould it. One speck of dust touches another, then another joins it, then another and another. Typhon formed great Orbs from the body of the star and let them spin, as they would for eternity, around the greatest of stars.

Typhon pledged then that these orbs would be full of life. They would be an eternal monument of life to the first death in the universe. This was the word of Typhon Starfather and he would honour it till the end of all things.

OOC: Yes, yes I did just give myself a title lol. Also just remembered who (what?) Garm is…. Bad dog.

Once set in motion the stars refused to be still, whirling feverishly through the dark universe. The fiery motes had no voices with which to sing their joy and so they danced, discontent with the path they had been set they flung themselves from their orbits, a trail of dazzling light streaming between the galaxies as the fireballs swapped partners and began their whirlings anew.
Typhon's orbs were helpless, dragged behind the feverish path of their homestar and spun apart from one another until they were alone, each tossed recklessly from one star to another as the dance wore on.

Shimael stirred from his reverie and was troubled. Here were things that were not of his devising and thoughts not his own. Stars came into being and shifted in their patterns, reeking of another's hand. Coiling back into the elder darkness, Shimael reached out one vast, tenebrous hand to extinguish the stars and then hesitated, seeing them dance in their merry cascades.

Shimael knew that there was himself and all else was the Other. By defining himself, he had gained his identity and shaped something of what was not him into a shape more pleasing to him. But now there were wills at work other than his and they shaped things according to their own desires. Aside from it being a reflection of his own actions upon it, Shimael had never pondered the idea of the Other being like himself.

This new thought upon him, Shimael desired to know of the other gods. But his thoughts were not their thoughts. They were minds alien to him, and he to them. Wishing to communicate, Shimael bent his will upon concieving a way so that he make his thought clear to them. So that he might be understood, Shimael forged words and turned his mind to their delivery.

With a crack that echoed across all starry creation, sound sprang from the depths of the void and Shimael gave voice to his question.

"I am Shimael. I came from Nothing and I dreamed this place from Nothing. You are not my thoughts nor a making of mine. What are you and why do you come here?"

All the Gods had been working with only a mind to their own wishes, their own desires. It was fitting then that the First was also the First Speaker. It seemed clear to Typhon what the course must be if they could create these wonders divided, then what they could do in concert would be fantastic. So mustered his own Voice. The greatest tool of any God. His own was deeper than that of Shimael, less of a crack more the rolling thunder of a distant storm.

“I am Typhon. I am of My own Thoughts and My own Making. I made Sol to highlight your creation and it gave birth to the Stars. Others though have arranged them, or slain them as they saw fit. From the dead I created the Orbs. I ask you Shimael to help me fill the Orbs with life to better fill the art of your creation.”

As Typhon spoke the stars continued their dance. Slowly the Orbs chose their favourite partners though and while the starts swirled and danced with joy the Orbs span sedately around their chosen star. Some were hot, almost molten with the furious life of their star while others span further out in the Void’s cold.

Some stars had one Orb some had many, some Orbs were bound between multiple stars. Everywhere the situation was different but always the beauty of creation continued.