essence of their physical exchanges did not inspire spiritual passion, awareness and insight, it at least dampened their ferocity. The harlings, tamed by what could hardly be called aruna, could now be taken into the main body of the tribe and soon most of them even forgot where the hatching grounds were.
Many years before, a coalition of Gelaming and what eventually had become Parasiel had stormed the Varr capital of Fulminir in the cold north of Megalithica. Here, the Varr leader, Ponclast, had made his stand against the forces that opposed him. Ponclast's right hand har, Terzian of Galhea, had not been quite dead then, but certainly in Gelaming captivity. One of those who had led the assault on Fulminir was Terzian's son, Swift. Perhaps the Fulminiric Varrs, when they'd realised this, thought Swift had been seduced by power and wealth, or else by the har who the Gelaming had given to him as consort, Seel Griselming. Perhaps they thought Swift was more like his father than Swift would ever have dared to think. Others might not even have believed their eyes. But whatever the Fulminiric Varrs had thought, Gelaming and the Parsics, who had confined the conquered hara to their strange hell in Gebaddon, who had no idea what the consequences of this exile would be. They were no longer Varrs, but Teraghasts, a forgotten tribe, sealed away, disposed of without actually having had to be killed. Nohar had really considered what would happen to them after the magical seals had been set across their boundaries, and not even the most paranoid ever believed they would start breeding. Although enlightened hara might talk of how harlings could be conceived only in love, this was not true. They could be conceived in many different emotions, if the intention and determination was strong enough.
Thiede had once said that the remnants of Ponclast's tribe might find enlightenment in the Forest of Gebaddon, but he'd never really cared about it. He'd known he was strong enough to confine them and that was all that mattered. If he ever thought about them in the years after the rout of Fulminir, it was only to consider briefly whether he should have had them slaughtered after all. To be fair, he and his allies had had to witness firsthand the atrocities these hara had been capable of, and the only thing the victors had cared about in the aftermath of that trauma was ridding the world of such a degenerate strain immediately. The defeated Varrs were beyond rehabilitation and couldn't even be domesticated.
Because Swift had led the forces that conquered them, and because the typical Teraghast memory was very long and accurate, the name of Parasiel was a curse. Even though the name had not been even been imagined by the time the last incantation had been uttered at the edge of Gebaddon, it had somehow found its way in through chinks and cracks, carried on the wind, in seeds, in dreams. If you spat and hissed the word, it could have a very strong power of its own. It was chanted often, in the hope that all the spite, hatred and resentment would somehow filter through the barrier that the Gelaming had constructed, fly across the landscape and reach into the heart of We Dwell in Forever like the black spores of disease. Fortunately, the Parasilians had long forgotten their abandoned brothered, and as the best part of a curse is the victim knowing about it, the worst hexes simply slid off the barrier, or if they found their way through had transformed into nothing more than the whisper of a whining ghost by the time they reached Galhea.
Ponclast, the erstwhile lord of Fulminir had changed very much. Perhaps some of those changes would have pleased Thiede, because Ponclast was no longer a har masquerading as a man. He had slid into the darkest corners of his feminine aspects while maintaining the steely resolve of his
Many years before, a coalition of Gelaming and what eventually had become Parasiel had stormed the Varr capital of Fulminir in the cold north of Megalithica. Here, the Varr leader, Ponclast, had made his stand against the forces that opposed him. Ponclast's right hand har, Terzian of Galhea, had not been quite dead then, but certainly in Gelaming captivity. One of those who had led the assault on Fulminir was Terzian's son, Swift. Perhaps the Fulminiric Varrs, when they'd realised this, thought Swift had been seduced by power and wealth, or else by the har who the Gelaming had given to him as consort, Seel Griselming. Perhaps they thought Swift was more like his father than Swift would ever have dared to think. Others might not even have believed their eyes. But whatever the Fulminiric Varrs had thought, Gelaming and the Parsics, who had confined the conquered hara to their strange hell in Gebaddon, who had no idea what the consequences of this exile would be. They were no longer Varrs, but Teraghasts, a forgotten tribe, sealed away, disposed of without actually having had to be killed. Nohar had really considered what would happen to them after the magical seals had been set across their boundaries, and not even the most paranoid ever believed they would start breeding. Although enlightened hara might talk of how harlings could be conceived only in love, this was not true. They could be conceived in many different emotions, if the intention and determination was strong enough.
Thiede had once said that the remnants of Ponclast's tribe might find enlightenment in the Forest of Gebaddon, but he'd never really cared about it. He'd known he was strong enough to confine them and that was all that mattered. If he ever thought about them in the years after the rout of Fulminir, it was only to consider briefly whether he should have had them slaughtered after all. To be fair, he and his allies had had to witness firsthand the atrocities these hara had been capable of, and the only thing the victors had cared about in the aftermath of that trauma was ridding the world of such a degenerate strain immediately. The defeated Varrs were beyond rehabilitation and couldn't even be domesticated.
Because Swift had led the forces that conquered them, and because the typical Teraghast memory was very long and accurate, the name of Parasiel was a curse. Even though the name had not been even been imagined by the time the last incantation had been uttered at the edge of Gebaddon, it had somehow found its way in through chinks and cracks, carried on the wind, in seeds, in dreams. If you spat and hissed the word, it could have a very strong power of its own. It was chanted often, in the hope that all the spite, hatred and resentment would somehow filter through the barrier that the Gelaming had constructed, fly across the landscape and reach into the heart of We Dwell in Forever like the black spores of disease. Fortunately, the Parasilians had long forgotten their abandoned brothered, and as the best part of a curse is the victim knowing about it, the worst hexes simply slid off the barrier, or if they found their way through had transformed into nothing more than the whisper of a whining ghost by the time they reached Galhea.
Ponclast, the erstwhile lord of Fulminir had changed very much. Perhaps some of those changes would have pleased Thiede, because Ponclast was no longer a har masquerading as a man. He had slid into the darkest corners of his feminine aspects while maintaining the steely resolve of his
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