Writing Prompt: Create a Mythic Tale

Figure easier to get back in the habit of writing by doing these writing prompts found on Reddit. Generally the responses don't need to be long and the prompts are 'off.' Something as simple as 'you are Hitler's reincarnation and find this out along with the rest of the world. Now what?' or as complicated as 'Death will give one thing to you that he has taken if you will do Death a favor.'

Here is my response to a prompt asking to create a Myth.

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A fire crackled and burned fitfully as the village's shaman gathered the young for their nightly lessons. As she looked at the children she smiled, remembering the might this tale had been passed onto her in the same way she would pass onto them.

Long ago, in the time when the Gods would show us their will with starsign and portense, before Ariel the Liberator slew Oren the Starclad Emperor. Before even Oren the Starclad were the manimals. Heathen beasts that walked on two leg yet had stone-tough skin, and an angry heathen blood-lust for man flesh.

In those dark times the People of The Three Brothere were few. Sítleberm's People thought high thick walls would save them, so grew lazy. Ōgalthêst's People thought safety was in staying on the move and so never were able to grow mighty. Ūghær's People, thinking if they were unseen they would weather the Manimal scourge, yet while they grew mighty in their mountain hold they grew scornful of the Light.

Each of the Three soon fell. Mighty walls of fire-brick crumbled. The scattered settlements tracked. Only the Mountain Hold was safe from the Manimals bloodlust, yet their pride and scorn of the light lead them to become something other than Man.

Their greed lead them to dig ever deeper. To horde more and for little reason other than that they could. It became such that in the years before he became the Starclad when Orem sought to unite the People under his banner he found not Men under the Mountain but Demons. Stone skinned beasts that lusted only for metal and gems so that they might build their Great Engine.

Yet even whitg Oren's revultion He entered their mountain hold. He broke their thane's back in view of their great hall. He smote their champion's ruined body and scattered it to the hot blood of the earth so that these Demons could not revive him with their alchemy of Gear and Gem.

Yet even as the Demons fled and the deepest of their tunnels sealed so that their mischief could not trouble the remaining People Oren turned his attention to The Engine. It was a foul device that sounded like a leashed thunderstorm that never wandered. Its lightning spewed out unto other Devices and Alchemical Works that Orem studied. These were made by Demon hands, but they themselves were neigher fair nor wicked. In his wisdom Oren brought scribes and soothsayers to divine their purposes such that more could be made.

And though the Mountain Demons were no longer Men their works helped when the hour grew dark and Man needed a miracle the Gods themselves had chosen to with old. These Divices, animated by the Engine's lightning scythed through the manimals as if they were stalks of wheat. Weapons forged by these demonic creations were stronger even than the skymetal sword that would one day end Oren the Starclad's rule. That inhuman strength was needed in those days for it was that ceaceless motion and unending power that turned back the black tide and gave Man a chance to grow as the Gods intended.

__Thus is why even if a man be your enemy. Even if he be repulsive you heed his words. You consider his worth. Even those may one day be what saves you._
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