Saga [Costume Party] The Clockwork of Lady Death and Lord Chaos // Hrathi Culture

I've been wracking my brain to figure out what to come up with here for the Halloween costume contest.

So in an attempt to do something wildly different, this is in-universe epic poetry (!) from an original addition to canon (!!). ...normally I stick to general fanfic using canonical characters. So this is a completely different branch out for me. This is actually a rewrite of a http://silver-addict.livejournal.com/804.html#cutid1]prose[/url] version with in-universe commentary, but since I'd like to try and do the poetry thing, I'm going to attempt a poetic style. It's not going to be a perfect form, instead I'm going to try and ape what a translation would sound like with an emphasis on alliteration similar to Beowulf and other early English poetry.

The Hrathi are an original race I made up (for a RP set about 300 years ABY).
http://harpalyce.deviantart.com/gallery/?catpath=scraps&offset=24#/d1mq44c
However, this is their epic tale that explains Saga events, so this is why I'm sticking it in Saga.

The Hrathi are a matriarchal society with an emphasis on military and civic service. They are generally isolated from the rest of the GFFA. Although many Hrathi are force-sensitive, very few are significantly so; as such most of their interaction with the rest of the universe tends to be garbled as through 'seers'.

In other words, this is like a book a character would pick up within the Star Wars universe and sit down to read.

Title: The Clockwork of Lady Death and Lord Chaos ("Rhukk'an a'Rhettai-Mehtt")
Author: Harpalyce
Genre: Epic poem
Authors Notes: I'm sorry this is so bizarre, hahaha.
My costume: Well, I don't see any faux epic poetry here... I think this totally means this is the fanfic equivalent of a toga party. At least that's my story and I'm sticking to it.

--

Edit: I'm adding a few more Hrathi things here including two fairy-tales. So this is going to become my general Hrathi writing catch-all.

 

Rhukk'an a'Rhettai-Mehtt

The Invocation

So now my paws are poised with precision,
the lyre is laid ready in my lap.
My claws are sharp enough to strum for
the holy Goddesses and all those
who submit to turn their ears and listen.
Gracious Goddess, Lady Khurran, alone
knows the thorough thread. And may I spin,
may I be granted leave to sing the words
to tell of the Black Clockwork,
the trickery of Lord Chaos, and the
loving Lady Death.

The Need for a Clockwork

Not so long ago, in this time when Gods
meddled with mortals, Lord Chaos
ran rampant over the world. Leaving
the gentle garden of his wife, Meht
let loose his true nature, unbridled and
untempered by his lady love. The sons
of Fate and Chaos followed the father to the fields.
Plague and Famine followed Suffering.
War-goddess Dehnai complained as her tails
were pulled by clinging paws, consequence
clutching consequence: beads on
clever Khurran's fateful string.

Gracious Goddess, highly honored,
Shaa Rhet continued her work unabated,
untouched just as her sister Khurran was.
Lady Death walked wide over the land,
gathering in her gentle arms the souls
of those who had died because of the
sons and daughters of Fate and Chaos.
Overwhelming overabundance clogged her claws.
She scrubbed the souls clean in washing waters,
but as she ached, her dear daughters
worried for her sake. The Good Goddess
appealed for their help, and yet
there were still souls sealed in waiting.

Lament of Shaa Rhet

Singing softly, the Good Goddess
positioned her paws to the air, and sang
these words with palms to the stars:
"Sisters of mine, you profess I am the most talented
of us three. You claim that delightful Death,
in my sweetness, is more powerful than Love,
and is the only constant in Fate for all things.
Yet I am also called the greedy Goddess,
as I take, and I cannot give; and I cut
but I cannot spin as my sister Khurran does.
My husbands yet sleep, and my children
work with weary paws to keep pace.
What will I do? Who can help me?"

The dearest Daughter of Death, bright-eyed
Cleverness, thought with tails twitching.
"Most loved Mother," she spoke, "I know
you cannot fold fur and sculpt flesh the way
my aunts can. But life can be breathed in
different ways: my father Necessity knows."

"This is true," the Good Goddess said. "Perhaps
I do indeed know a way. Go, my girl, and
ramble the roads, walk the paths and find me a
full set of armor. Choose the best nose-guard
down to the shining tail-sheath and
dewclaw-stop. I cannot bend life and fate,
but I can mold metal. I will make a Clockwork
to serve me faithfully for this task."

Creation of the Clockwork

By the dewy dawn, Cleverness held in her claws
the finest of shining armor from all lands.
The silvery souls of fallen warriors
were happy to lift the armor up to her,
glorifying the Good Goddess and the best
of Death's Daughters. Every piece was
cleaned in coursing river until it gleamed
in burnished black, the same glint
underneath Shaa Rhet's great black hood.

"I cannot fold flesh and fur, but I can
embrace the shadows that are mine.
This metal is cold but it can be molded.
Gear will grind against gear, and from that
spark will slide against spark, and from that
paws will swing and tails will curl."
So she sorted the spanners and rails into rows,
and Shaa Rhet, Gracious Goddess, began to work.

By the next dawn a Hrathi yet not Hrathi,
bold in black and standing straight,
had been placed by patient paws before
the Greatest Goddess. So she opened
the crevice of its chest, careful claws
prying it open, before breathing onto
the clockwork's heart. The gears ground
and wheeled, wheezing, in constant cadence.

"Rhukk'an!" Shaa Rhet called. "Can you hear me?
Clockwork! Does your metal mind turn?"
It swayed and swooned and then stood straight
before calling out: "I obey, Shaa Rhet!"

The Greatest Goddess was delighted with
her grand creation. The Daughters of Death
gathered to celebrate - but the confused Clockwork
waited for orders from its Creator.

 

First of all, you're spot on for the idea behind the challenge--a fanfic toga party.

Secondly... you have me totally thinking back to Brit Lit I back in the day. Hoooly cow, epic poetry. I'm beyond impressed that you managed to crank out this, especially so fast, and also that it is both understandable (always a big issue with epic poetry) and enjoyable. I also like how you're calling this "droid" a clockwork, which makes me smile for some reason.

This was pretty much awesome in a craaaaaazy unexpected sort of way. Thank you for being the first and bravest to start us off and show that this can be fun.

 

Love this poetry and a great response to the challenge

 

(Phew) I have no idea if I'm going to finish this in time for the contest. I'm going to a party tonight and I'm absolutely exhausted right now. But this WILL get finished! It's a fun writing exercise to keep up that Anglo-Saxon style alliterative poetry.

 

This is awesome!

 

Very awesome!

I've never tried to write Epic Poetry but I'm sure I'd be terrible at it! When I had to do poetry in school, my little book was called "This is why I don't write poetry." You did an awesome job with this!

"Sisters of mine, you profess I am the most talented
of us three. You claim that delightful Death,
in my sweetness, is more powerful than Love,
and is the only constant in Fate for all things.

This was my favorite part. Very deep!

Wonderful job! Great costume!!

 

GUESS WHO IS FINALLY MOTIVATED TO FINISH THIS?

It's been less than a year... I at least get minor brownie points for that... right...?

Anyway...

----

A Song for the Clockwork

Death's daughters danced around the clockwork,
And slipped into song as they spun.

"Beloved brother, born to us today,
We welcome you with paws wide!
You are designed differently but kin nonetheless.
Your metal mould was sculpted in sand,
Your cast was carved from rock,
You come from ferocious flames that
melted metal into soft syrup before
finally forming you. Death's daughters are
of the soft shadows, but you are the first Son,
come from damning desert and
sweltering, sapping sunlight.
But beloved brother, we welcome you."

The Clockwork, confounded, spun in place
With clanking steps and heavy paws,
Understanding only the words but not the wisdom
Of which Death's daughters sang.

Gracious Goddess, gently swaying to the beat,
Interrupted her daughters with a demure smile.
"Clockwork, recent regrets mean I must make you
Set to work so soon. I have a great many burdens,
Willingly waiting for your wide paws.
Give me, your mother, some mercy,
And help me where you can."

The Clockwork celebrated in sincerity
And reached with wretched paws as he repeated,
"I obey, Shaa Rhet, I obey! How will I help?"

The First Calamity

Shaa Rhet's shadows were suffused with souls,
Wailing and waiting to be washed clean
So that they could scurry to the surface
And settle into living Hrathi once more.
For that is the cycle of souls, perpetually swirling,
A steady stream that springs forth again and again.

"Clockwork, dearest son," said the Good Goddess,
"Take your clever cogs and carefully clean
Each sacred soul. No stain of memory must remain.
When they are clear and bright,
Bring them to me, beautiful boy, and
I will be overjoyed."

"I obey!" He clattered, and​

Trembling on titanium treads
He ran to the riverbank and
Scooped up the souls. But his paws
Were too perilous, and the souls shrieked
As rough claws raked into them.
The Good Goddess knew how to be gentle,
How to sweetly scrub each stain
And let souls ride the swell of the river
Until they were spotless. But the Clockwork
Was cruel in his clumsiness.
He did not mean to mangle them, or
To send them screaming, or to watch
The waters dissolve each fragile figment
Of a soul and send them to true torment.

"Stop! Stop your cruelty, my Clockwork!"
Shaa Rhet sobbed. She scooped up the
Shattered souls in her perfect paws,
And took them to her daughters.
Each delightful daughter of the Good Goddess
Sobbed as they stitched the souls
To once again be whole, for it is a cruel thing
To tear apart a psyche so terribly and thoroughly.

The Clockwork cowered in a corner,
Truly terrified of what his mother would do.
But the Kindest Queen quietly took him
By his magnificent metal paw, and whispered
With gentle grace. "I am sorry for shouting, my son."

"Did I do well?" The Clockwork said. "I did what I thought
To be decent, nothing more daring or dangerous
than that, yet everything has gone wrong."

"The blame lies with me," sighed the shadowy Shaa Rhet.
"Wait while I weave the souls back together,
Then watch me as I wash them in the waves.
I will teach you thoroughly: do not tremble."

And the Clockwork called out,
"I obey, Shaa Rhet! I obey!"

 

Before I continue this poetry (which, yes, I want to finish), I wanted to post two more Hrathi things. This thread is becoming quickly a Hrathi culture catch-all but I'm okay with that.

Anyway, have two Hrathi fairy-tales:

'Snow White', Or The Most Beautiful Princess​

​

Not so long ago (as that is how you begin a proper Hrathi story), there was a Hrathi island kingdom ruled over by a wise and loving queen. But Lady Death came for her while she was still young, leaving her King and Princess behind. As she came of age, the Princess left to go into the wilderness once a year for the traditional hunt in her mother’s memory. She grew beautiful, with pure white fur, and so became known as Snow White, and was the island’s pride and joy. Its neighbors would look into the distance and say with a smile: yes, that Island is a prosperous one, because Snow White lives there.
But this hunting left the King without a woman’s proper influence, and in those months while his daughter was away, the King grew vain and petty and cruel, as men are wont to do without the influence of a woman. One day finally the King could not stand it. He asked for sacred water to be put into his enchanted silver bowl, and looked down into it, chanting: “Moon-silver, Moon-silver, who among us is the fairest of the isle?” The magic answered him truthfully: “Snow White, of course, the fairest of the isle.”
This infuriated the King, and he called for more magic to be at his command - dark magic full of evil things, an abomination to all the Goddesses, showing just how far the King had slipped without a woman to keep him under control. The evil things answered his call, and he told them at once: “Bring me Snow White’s head! I do not care that she is my daughter: I alone must be the pride and glory of this island. Her head! Her head! Bring it to me now!”
At that moment, Snow White was hunting, and to her surprise a stag ran up to her instead of running away. She found herself unable to shoot her bow, hands frozen fast, and the stag swept into a bow. “Snow White,” it spoke, “we things of the forest know there is magic about, and it comes for your head. But you are so beautiful and good that we cannot bear to be without you. The magic is about to take your head, but I ask you take mine, as to replace it. Simply tie on the ribbon in my horns, as it is a Goddess-born gift, and it will stay on your neck.”
“As the Goddesses wish,” said Snow White, as beautiful and pious as ever, and with one deft stroke of her sword she chopped off the stag’s head. The magic struck her the next moment, and as her head came rolling off, she went and stuck the stag’s on. She lived and breathed as well as ever, but did not speak quite in the same voice. However she was still Snow White in all other respects, and the people greatly admired her.
Meanwhile the King delighted in his prize, and made up gleeful little songs to mock Snow White’s head, but they were uninspired by the Goddesses and lacked talent and were a burden to all who heard them. His delight lasted until a few weeks later when, to make sure he could be still smug, he pulled out the magic bowl and filled it with water. “Moon-silver, Moon-silver, who is the fairest of the isle?” He puffed himself up and waited for it to answer that it was him, but instead: “Snow White, of course, is the fairest of the isle.”
This sent him into a rage. “Her heart! Her heart! You must bring me Snow White’s heart!” He screamed at the shadows. And so they set out to do so.
But once again, Snow White was hunting, and now a hawk swooped down in front of her. “Please, Snow White, take my heart! As long as you stitch up your chest with the ribbon I hold in my talons, it will beat for you. We cannot bear to see you die.”
“As you wish,” said Snow White. And with her sword she opened herself up, and then the hawk, and just as the magic snatched away her heart she replaced it with the hawk’s and wove the ribbon to pull together her body once more. Now the people noticed how Snow White seemed to grow cold, and how there began to grow feathers in her pure fur. But they were still loyal, because they remembered enough of the beautiful Princess.
Once again, the King rejoiced - until he brought out the silver bowl once more. He howled and raged and then decided that if Snow White could not be killed, he would try to steal her beauty from her. And so he began a campaign to snatch every part of her body.
A lizard replaced her tails with its own. A great cow gave her its hooves. On and on the King continued, weaving his black magic, and the animals of the forest leapt to Snow White’s defense. Soon she stopped thanking the Goddesses for their gift-ribbons altogether, and became demanding. And soon after that, the towns-people became terrified of her. “You who say you loved me,” she spat at them, roaring, “why did you not offer me your head, or your heart? All of you be damned! I will see your city razed when I take the crown!” And she was sadly true to her word.
Finally after stealing piece after piece, the King brought out his bowl, and filled it with water. “Moon-silver, Moon-silver, who is the fairest of the isle?”
“You, oh King, of course, are the fairest of the isle.”
And the King laughed and laughed. He was so enthralled in his merriment that he did not notice his daughter smashing into the castle, coming into his room, and then finally leaning in to bite out his throat. By now she was all animal, and no Hrathi, and after tasting his throat’s own blood, she opened her great gaping maw full of jagged teeth and ate him in one gulp.
And that is how the neighbors of that kingdom stopped looking to the horizon with a smile, saying “there they are blessed by the goddesses, because Snow White lives there”. Instead they looked to the horizon with fear, saying “there they are cursed - because the Beast Queen rules.”

…The tale of Clever Hazna and the fall of the Beast Queen is, of course, another tale altogether.

Little Lucky Black-Spot And The Beast Queen​

​

Not so long ago (as that is how you begin a proper Hrathi story), in a little port town there was a foundling named Hazna. He was born clever and grew yet cleverer, and when he was still a pup he ran away from his orphanage to make his living on the streets, inviting others to gamble as he played his game of find-the-coin-under-the-shells. Unlike other races in the galaxy, Hrathi are more naturally clever, so it was and it is the norm to use five shells instead of three as the rest of the galaxy does. But Hazna’s paws were so clever and deft that he was able to move them with such swiftness, and only used three. This way many assumed they had an advantage, and came to bet on his game, and he was able to keep their coin and buy himself things to eat and a place to sleep.
One day an old man, back bent with age and whiskers withered, came to Hazna’s stall. In short order he gambled away all of his money, taking his time, winning just enough rounds to keep him interested - because, after all, Hazna was no cheat and ran a clean game. After taking the old man’s last gold piece, another hrathi came up to him, a fresh-faced country girl. “O Father!” She cried in distress. “You have gambled away all of our money, all of our savings to live on! We’ll surely starve because of you!” And she wept and continued to carry on about their misfortune.
Hazna’s heart was moved, as soon as he learned that it was the family’s entire fortune, so he gathered up all of his winnings and offered them back to the woman. “Here, please, take your money back. I wouldn’t have let the old man play if I knew this wasn’t his money to freely spend.” And he did so even knowing that he’d have to go hungry and cold for that night, for the old man was his only customer all day.
Joy broke over the woman’s face and she scooped up the money. Truthfully, this was no ordinary woman and no ordinary old man. Hazna did not know it at the time, but he was being visited by Luck, a daughter of Khurran, the sublime goddess of Fate. And the old man was Chaos, her very own father. So Luck smiled upon him and touched him between the eyes, at Goddess Fate’s sacred meridian, just with her thumb. “Sweet child, I hope that for the rest of your days, you shall never go without good luck blessing your every step.”
And the next day, right where she touched him, Hazna’s fur turned from its ruddy color to a striking black. So as he prospered, he became known as Hazna Ikkita'nuri, a name which translates to Basic as Little Freckle or Little Black-Spot.
When Hazna became tired of his gambling game, and longed for more regular life (as men are wont to do), he became a cabin-boy for a ship full of strong women, surely hoping that as his horns grew in and his mane grew long he would catch the eye of one. But a great storm blew in, and knocked the ship about. For all his virtues, Hazna was a coward, and as one great wave came to swamp the ship, he covered his eyes with his paws, nails meeting at the little black-spot. And because Luck was with him, while all the rest of the crew was dashed upon the reef, he was knocked into a great empty barrel and floated safely to shore.
When he opened his eyes, however, he found himself being carried along by a palace guard, because he had landed on the island ruled by the Beast Queen. They dumped him out before her, and in her cruelty, she snarled: “Who dares intrude upon my kingdom? Who are you to be so insolent, you miserable cur?”
“I am sorry,” he said meekly, as any good man should. “But I just ended up here by luck!”
This made the Beast Queen howl with rage and bloodlust. “Feed him to the lizards! Let me see them tear him limb from limb!” And so they took him, in his barrel, and dumped him out into the pond the Beast Queen kept just to execute her subjects.
“Oh Luck, don’t desert me now!” cried Hazna, putting his paws over his eyes as he went in. He pulled one paw away just in time to see a tiny fish by his face, and the fish gave him a great big wink. One of the great water lizards unhinged its jaw and swallowed him up along with the fish, but the fish tickled the inside of the lizard’s stomach so that it heaved and choked and finally spat him out again onto dry land.
The Beast Queen was made extraordinarily angry by this. “Feed him to the hounds! Feed him to the hounds so that I may see him pulled limb from limb!”
And as he was tossed into the pit of hounds, Hazna cried out once more: “Oh Luck, don’t desert me now!” One of the hounds looked at him and gave a great big wink, and then all the rest of them laid around him so sweetly and began to lick his fur into whorls.
This made the Beast Queen even more furious. “The cliff-birds! Let the birds tear him to pieces! The birds will bring me his heart after he is dashed against the rocks under the cliffs!”
And so the guards grabbed Hazna and tossed him over the great wide cliff. He put his paws over his eyes once more, and yelled: “Oh Luck, don’t desert me now!”
He peeked out just in time to see one of the great birds wink at him before it scooped him up ever-so-gently in its talons, and dropped him on another bird’s back. He clutched its neck and rode in circles, thrilled by being in the clouds, even as below him the Beast Queen seethed.
That, however, gave the Beast Queen enough time for her anger to subside. When Little Black-Spot landed at the castle once more, he found himself greeted with servants carrying lovely trays of treats ready to pamper him, and the Beast Queen wearing a smile. “If he cannot die,” she thought, “surely he is blessed, and might make a suitable prince, so that my offspring may inherit his blessing and rule this island forever!”
So the Beast Queen put on her best dresses and jewels, which only served to demonstrate how very far she had fallen from being Hrathi. But Hazna was clever enough to not mention these things, and played along. He was shy and coquettish, which made the Queen furious, but she kept her temper in check.
“Dearest one,” the Beast Queen cooed, “what can I do to make you love me?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Hazna said, playing coy. “Perhaps if I knew you trusted me.”
“My darling dearest, I trust you implicitly. Please, undress me, pet me; I will even let you advise me in my kingdom. I will give you your own guard, your own castle, your own province! How else can I show you how much I trust you?”
Hazna sighed and pouted and finally said: “If you truly loved me, you would let me change that ribbon around your neck. It is so tattered and frayed. I found a much lovelier ribbon floating in the clouds while I rode on the backs of the birds. Please, if you love me, let me do this service for you.”
The Beast Queen thought on this, but her greediness for his blessings outpaced her common sense. “Of course, darling dearest. Go ahead.”
And in the mirror behind him, he saw Luck, who gave him a wink to let him know he was on the right track.
The Beast Queen was so greedy and eager that she stripped for him immediately, and sat in his lap, saying “Go ahead, darling - let me show you how much I love you.” And quick as a wink, Hazna pulled out all of the ribbons holding her together, and she fell apart into pieces.
The island had been chafing under the Beast Queen’s tyranny, so the people of the kingdom immediately cheered in happiness and declared him the new King. Immediately he found a very sensible Princess from a nearby island and married her, letting her run the kingdom benevolently as he indeed should do.

But that is how his kindness to Luck was repaid a thousandfold, and because of it, Little Lucky Black-Spot went from foundling to king consort.