Wesmakan

Wesmakan, the Father of Creation

Murmuring and sighing the River Wesmakan flows through the Demon City, almost silently falling from one plateau to another until he reaches Kimberry at the root of the City. He is the Father of Creation, the River of Life who brought forth Gaia when he coupled with his wife Cyntherea. The betrayal of his creations hurt him deep and while he didn't succumb to fetich death he nontheless was changed by his imprisonment. He doesn't bring forth new life anymore but instead embodies all life that was denied a chance to be born when the gods rose up to ursurp their parents thrones. He is the unused potential, the wasted seed. He avoids any contact with his wife but when they meet the skies shroud themselves in rolling clouds.

Wesmakan is unquiet and together with his brother the Ebon Dragon he constantly seeks for cracks in the prison or tries to create them himself. His bitter waters flow in five thousand and five streams through the city that is his brother and they carve deep canyons into the bones of malfeas. They wash away the streets Jacinth recreates just one moment later and sometimes whole layers of the Demon City are severed and float into the sky where they feed the green sun.

Nothing may stay as it is when it comes near the banks of the River of Life. The soft murmuring of his waves transforms boredom into hate and love into wanderlust whenever it is beheld by the unprotected. The taste of the salty waters brings extatic death or eternal youth to all who taste it. Entering the waters is certain death for all things male, but females are greeted by watery lovers, who take them into their wet embraces. If and when they leave the waters, they carry within them a seed of the life that was meant to stay unborn. The silvery surface of the streams reflect those fates of the spectator who could have been his but never were. Wise men and fools carve spoons from their own bones and scoop these fates from the waters. The leaden echo of their own voices is the only spectator, when they baptise themselves with their new fates and watch their old ones joining the river.

Eight-legged and blind horses ride the waves of the river and carry those willingly that dare to steal them. Their passing leaves no trace behind except for change and wet tears in the hair of young men. Demons send their slaves to the banks of the river and those blindfolded and deaf servants sing to the waters songs of promise, to lure them into their buckets made from the bones of virgins. The demons brew fifteen different spirits from these waters as it is Wesmakans will that the denizens of the black city share his dream and his rage.

Those desperate or insane enough to go looking for Wesmakan can find him at the River of Tears. All they have to do is to build a ship from lotos leaves and let them carry away from the river when there is a storm. They gain his favor by slitting their wrists and holding them into the dark waters. Just as their blood leaves their veins and falls into the maw of Wesmakan, the waters of the River of Life flow into the veins, replacing the blood and bringing change and his dark gifts with them. Should Wesmakan ever walk creation again, his wound will seal and his seed will bring forth his children in every corner of the world.

Wesmakan seldom takes on human shape since he avoids his wife. Those few times he does though, he appears as a might man in his best years, just clad into lose drapings of silk. A mighty sceptre of brass rests in his hand and is the visibly symbol of his fertility. His eyes mirror the perfection each creature could achieve if only they would bow their head to their masters in their countless adamant facets. Glittering drops of water fall from his wet hair and bring the stone to life where they hit the ground. A dense carpet of brass flowers springs up in his honor wherever he goes. At his left side, there is a great open wound that Cyntherea dealt him in their last confrontation before they were imprisoned. Great red pearls well up from within the wound and every time one of them hits the ground, a dying scream can be heard. These are the screams of those races lost forever. (Lammoth)

Fatherhood
Progeny Count: 1:1:0
Back to A Taxonomy of Madness

• Anthir Sonai, The Cascade of Pearls, Fetich soul (Lammoth)
  Amid a great lake there stands a temple made from red marble. Bitter water plays around the steps of the sanctuary and sometimes Adjoran settles beside the Altar to behold the youth who sleeps upon it. From this lake all streams of Wesmakan have their origin. Three hundred man sized crabs holding pearls the size of eggs climb the sixteen steps from the water to the altar to deposit their impeccable gifts at the feet of their master. They hunt lesser demons who come too close to the water and drag them down below the languid waves and dismember them with their obsidian claws. They descend to the crystalline clams that live at the bottom of the lake and insert the lumps of flesh into their opaque skin. As the flesh of beings that were born is a blasphemy in the eyes of Wesmakan and a reminder of his failure the clams coat the heretic flesh with thousand layers made from the waters of Wesmakan. This is how the pearls are created and their color is that of milk mixed with a drop of virgin blood.
  
  Over time huge heaps of pearls build up at the temple and the spider demons that inhibit the temple make beads out of them that adorn the walls with their patterns. When the Ebon Dragon flies, Weskaman becomes disturbed and the waves begin to rise. When the light of the green sun is hidden behind the shadows, the waters of Weskaman rise up from their basin to meet their brother and to plan their escape. All that remains is the temple amidst the gaping wound in Malfeas' flesh.
  
  And in this twilight, Anthir Sonai awakes from his slumber. A younth made from mother of pearl with eyes of blood red pearls. Every one of his four hands posesses four fingers with four joints with nails made from meerschaum. His hair is spun silver and his flowing robes are adorned with glass shells. His face showing sorrow and grief when he raises his flute to his icy lips. The flute was made from Wesmakans rib and was given Anthir as a spiteful present from Cyntherea who is responsible for its creation. When the first mournful tunes reverberate through the temple, the pearls begin to glow in a soft light and to move in complex patterns that match Anthirs melody. Soon the whole city booms under the sound of the pearls hitting the floor of the temple in an ever increasing rhythm. And suddenly all pearls hit the ground at once and faster than a though they scatter in all directions and disappear in the sky.
  
  A dozen seconds of total silence later, pearls rain down all over Malfeas and a creature struck by them is no more. Those pearls that aren't caught by daring demons begin their dance again, approaching eath other with wide leaps and deafening thunder. High above the city they meet and all that remains after a low and threatening thunderstroke is a fine red powder that settles upon the buildings somewhere on the uppermost layer of the city. Regardless what stood there before, now there is another deep wound in the flesh of Malfeas, the red temple in the middle. When the Ebon Dragon and Wesmakan conclude their meeting, the Father of Creations waters rain down into the new basin and the rivers begin to flow anew. Anthir Sonai himself relishes this period of darkness and takes his time when he wanders the city from his old to his new temple. Sometimes he meets Erembour in the dark alleys and when his flute joins her horn it is a sad day for the denizens of the demon city indeed.
  
  Anthir is the fetich of Wesmakan and the personification of the wound his imprisonment and the betrayal of his wife dealt to him. He embodies the shedded blood and the wasted seed that is the core of Wesmakans being. Nevertheless there are the seeds of life inherent in Anthir, who await being put to use. The blood of the primordials can give birth to gods...
  
  He who summons Anthir can command him to coat his enemies with the red dust so they cease to be and to play his song to make a whole kingdom barren und sterile. Far more important than these destructive abilites are his other skills. Those sorcerers seeking to create behemoths or new races benefit from his blood and his counsel. Those who swallow a special prepared pearl can overcome the limits of their bodies and create themselves a new temple of flesh to inhabit, unblemished and glorious. His vast knowledge of life and procreation can benefit the summoner in countless other related tasks. It is almost forgotten by men, but Anthir is an expert in the arts of love, tending a bit to the wild an rough side. And children sired by him are marvellous to behold in their many forms. The only things that are constant are their blood pearl eyes.

• • Lasianthis, the Excrescent Seed of Souls, the reflecting soul of the Cascade of Pearls (Lammoth)
    Coming soon!

For those interested, here is the Text about the Yozi in German:

Unruhig murmelnd und seufzend ergießt sich der Strom Wesmakan über die zahllosen Plateaus der schwarzen Stadt hinweg, bis er die See Kimberry erreicht, und dort verschwindet. Es ist der Vater der Schöpfung, der Urfluss, der zusammen mit , der tanzenden Flamme Cyntherea Gaia zeugte. Der Verrat seiner Geschöpfe traf ihn bitter, und auch wenn er keinen Fetischtod erlitt, so wandelte sich seine Natur doch durch die Gefangenschaft. Nicht mehr brachte er immer neues Leben hervor, sondern nun verkörpert er alles Leben, das aufgrund des Verrats nie die Chance hatte, geboren zu werden. Er ist das vergeudete Potential, der verschüttete Samen. Er pflegt keinen Kontakt mehr zu seiner Gattin, und wo ihre Wege kreuzen verhüllt der Himmel selbst sein Antlitz.

Wesmakan ist unruhig und träumt von seiner verlorenen Macht. Unermüdlich sucht er nach Rissen im Fleisch seines Bruders Malfeas, um sich hindurchzuzwängen und so wieder die Schöpfung zu betreten. Der unendlich breite Strom verbleibt nicht in einem festen Flussbett. Fünftausend und fünf Rinnsale, Flüsse und Ströme winden sich durch die Stadt, und fressen tiefe Schluchten in ihren schwarzen Stein und spülen die Straßen hinweg, die Jacinth mit jedem Atemzug neu errichtet. Manchmal brechen ganze Ebenen der Stadt weg und schweben langsam in den Himmel, um die grüne Sonne zu nähren.

Nichts kann so bleiben, wie es ist, wenn es Wesmakan zu nahe kommt. Das sanfte Murmeln seiner Wasser verwandelt Langeweile in Hass und Liebe in Reiselust. Der Geschmack der salzigen Lake bringt einen extatischen Tod oder die ewige Jugend. Alles Weibliche, das in die Fluten steigt, wird von den sieben perfekten Partnern empfangen, die auf jedes Lebewesen warten und verschwindet in ihrer Umarmung. Wenn sie wieder an das Ufer klettern, tragen sie einen der Samen von Wesmakan in sich. Alles Männliche ist auf immer verloren, wenn sich die Wasser über ihm schließen. In seiner matten Oberfläche spiegeln sich alle Schicksale des Betrachters wieder, die ihm hätten gelten können. Manchmal schöpfen Wagemutige und Narren mit Kellen aus ihren eigenen Knochen diese Spiegelungen ab, und lassen sich von dem bleiernen Widerhall ihrer Stimmen mit einem neuen Schicksal taufen. Ihr altes Schicksal fließt hinab, und vereint sich mit dem Strom.

Achtbeinige und blinde Pferde aus Sand reiten auf den Wellen des Flusses. Mutige Dämonen und Männer haben es geschafft, eines dieser Pferden zu zähmen. Wo sie entlangreiten wandelt sich die Welt, bis kein Zeichen ihrer Anwesenheit mehr übrig ist, bis auf funkelnden Tau im Haar von jungen Männern.

Die Dämonen schicken ihre tauben und blinden Sklaven mit Eimern aus den Knochen von Jungfrauen an die kahlen Ufer, wo sie mit Lockgesängen das Wasser in ihre Behälter locken. Wenn es den armen Wesen einmal gelingt, lebendig und ungewandelt bis zu den Füßen ihrer Herren zurückzukehren, so wird das Wasser in dutzende verschiedene Weine vergoren, denn es ist der Wille Wesmakans, auf dass die Bewohner der Stadt seine Trauer und seinen Traum teilen.

Wer Wesmakan sucht, findet ihn auch in der Schöpfung, wenn er dem Fluss der Tränen folgt, und bei einem Sturm in einem Boot aus Schilf hinausrudert, und sich die Adern öffnet. Findet Wesmakan Gefallen an der Tat, so strömen seine Wasser in die Adern des Verehrers hinein, genauso wie dessen Blut in die gierigen Fluten des Vaters der Schöpfung gesogen wird. Sollte Wesmakan jemals wieder auf der Schöpfung wandeln, so wird er alle Makel der Kreaturen beseitigen, und seine Kinder werden an allen Enden der Schöpfung geboren werden.

Wesmakan nimmt selten eine menschliche Gestalt an, seitdem er keinen Kontakt mehr zu seiner Gemahlin pflegt. Wenn er es aber tut, erscheint er als hochgewachsener Mann in seinen besten Jahren, nur mit losen Seidenbahnen bekleidet und ein mächtiges Szepter aus Messing an seiner Seite. In geschliffenen Diamantaugen spiegelt sich die Perfektion jedes Wesens wieder, dass sie betrachtet, und wo schillernde Tropfen aus seinem nassen Haar den Boden berühren, beginnt der Stein selbst zu leben, und einen Teppich aus Messingblüten zu Ehren Wesmakans zu entfalten. An seiner Seite klafft eine große Wunde, aus der rote Perlen quellen, die mit jedem Auftreffen auf dem Boden den sterbenden Schrei eines Lebewesens erschallen lassen, dem es nicht vergönnt war, das Licht dieser oder einer anderen Welt zu erblicken. (Lammoth)