Book of the Dead
Movement I: Creation
The world was.
Oceans unbounded; mountains upright; rivers from peak to sea; lakes like a thousand pearls; snow, rain, sleet and hail; the world was.
Beasts strange and familiar calved and multiplied; the seeds of ten million plants spread over the earth from deepest crevice to windswept moor. Life on the earth grew and flowered, but for all of the worlds bounty, there were no men, and there was no divinity. The world was; life was.
The earth continued this way for eons abounding, as time wore away at the skin of the world, yet flames poured from its bowels, and the world was reborn again and again. It was long into the ages that men came into this world, as filled with wonder and as simple as the animals themselves: innocent. Men were.
There were no kingdoms, there was no strife, and men were content in their ignorance. They were born, lived, and died, unaware of anything greater; none ascended to the heavens.
The first woman who rose from the ground, who first learned to speak, was Irin. She was bold and curious, yet cautious of death. She was lovely to behold, yet fierce as a storm. Irin was.
The first man who knew, the first true man, was Katir. Broad of shoulder, he was strong above all else. Yet he was also quick-witted, and a hunter of animals. He was good and kind to the land, yet cruel to his foes. Katir was.
Irin gathered nuts and fruits by day, and stumbled upon Katirs favored hunting grounds. His bow was drawn in the blink of an eye, and his arrow found the small figure that moved so freely through his trees. Yet he lowered his bow: this was no animal, for she walked with purpose and thought. He approached her, and saw that she was beautiful; they broke bread and ate on that site. Katir and Irin were.
Months passed, and their days were filled with joy. It was then that Irin conceived Tal, their first son; he was born in the second year of their union. Tal was a playful small child, but he felt lonely, and Katir and Irin were still happy with one another; Idel was conceived. She was a quiet child, but her eyes were mischievous, and Tal and Idel would play for many years. Katir and Idel were happy with their children, and had many more: Ran and Mili; Dar and Val; Sid and Lile.
Their children grew quickly, and the men aged into powerful warriors and hunters; the women were the wonder of the lands, and made the homestead. Yet as the years passed, Katir grew sour, and slept apart from his wife, clenching his dominion ever tighter. He called the land his kingdom, and built a castle; he broke the ancient laws by taking his daughters to wife, and threw his true woman into the hills, exiled forever.
His sons would not stand for this: Tal, Ran, Dar, and Sid took up their spears and came to his doorstep, demanding entrance. Yet when Katir emerged, it was with a blade; he slew his sons; their blood spilled upon the dust.
Irin found the mountains, where the air was clean and fresh, and the paths were wild and untamed; it was here that she made her new home. She was quite lonely, yet remained nonetheless, for it would be death to reenter Katirs kingdom, and the mountains gleamed in the sun; their slopes were untarnished by the blood of her sons. They were the crown of the world, and they alone remained free.
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Book of Saral
Movement I: Truths Precipice
The mountains rose high above Kicha, like kings gazing upon their humble realms. Snow covered the peaks, shimmering like the sun itself. Trees flowed down the slopes like the rivers that toppled from stone to stone. Between the mountains lay the valley, carpeted by homes and tombs, clustered around rambling streets with little plan or order. It had been said that Kicha was the ancient home of Irin. Her temple was high on the slope of the southern mountain: it was not the largest, but it was perhaps the most respected; the pyre to Ahl on the other side of the vale was its only rival.
Sarals home was on one of the southeast hills, where there were only a few tombs, and tiny houses built dangerously on top of each other. The streets were unclean; excrement flowed freely, and pigs pawed about in the mud. Several weavers had taken up residence here, and they were the most prosperous residents. It was one of their number, Lom who had taken Saral under him as an apprentice, to learn the art of spinning fibers into threads, threads into cloth, and cloth into garments and tapestries so rich and varied that kings would pay for them.
The shop was dusty and cold with air off the peaks, but Lom never lit a fire, fearing for his precious strands more than his novices health. Saral had often come home with a cold, but kept on with his work, pressed by his parents for a better life.
As he grew into manhood, he learned much of the fabric, but little of anything else; he was often beaten for not paying attention and ruining his weaves.
So it was on the day that he was reborn by Ahl.
Master Lom had set him a particularly difficult pattern, and he was to weave the mountains themselves into cloth. The slightest mistake would send a fiery streak through the slope of a mountain, or perhaps a line of leafs in the sky. It was dull work, pulling the lines through each other again and again, stopping and starting at different points; constantly checking the work; the combination was one that invited disaster.
Yet the harder Saral focused, the more his attention seemed to slip away from him. A thread might remind him of the field where he and his friends would play with their kickball, passing it from person to person, or of the striking orange tunic that his secret love Lila wore. Visions clouded his eyes, and when he shook them away, they returned with more vividness. His throat was parched, and when he asked Lom for a drink, he received only a laugh and a sharp blow to the head.
The sun bore through a window into his eyes; he blinked several times. It was not the sun that stared back at him.
A white robed figure stood before him; its skin was bronze and hair black; its eyes a knowing green. I am Ahl, it said with a deep voice, but its mouth did not move. Listen to my dreams, Saral.
It was a smack on the back of the skull that returned him to earth; his head smarted painfully. To work, lad, or you will never understand this craft, Lom said, annoyed.
I might have to join as one of the other dukes and challenge the culprit if such foolishness continues... 
. If you have any questions PM me.
. I am going to put this on a two week hiatus. Too much to do at the moment...
