Creation Mythology

I’m working on the worldbuilding for the new story I’m writing, and I don’t really want to split my attention off it too much, so worlds for the Atlas have… not been happening.
I should probably have just said ‘I’m taking a week off’, come to think of it. That would have been a good idea.
Anyway, I didn’t really want to do this, but I decided to publish some of the mythology I’ve written for that world here.
A few things, before I do.
Mostly, I’ve wanted everything in the Atlas, to be ‘do what you want with this. It’s actually  the main reason I didn’t want to publish this here. Because this one is a bit more ‘mine’. I’m not actually sure how copyright and stuff like that work, practical skills have never been my strong suit - but I’m pretty sure I can still claim intellectual property rights to something I first created here.
Same way, this is not part of the multiverse of the Atlas (I’m assuming that the fact that there is an Atlas multiverse should be pretty obvious by now, but I might be a really bad writer). I kind of wanted to keep everything on ‘The Atlas of Impossible Worlds’ to… well, to the Atlas of Impossible Worlds (Though I may include more reproduction of in-world works in future…). I wanted to give you some kind of content, though, so here it is, three myths from the people of this world.

1

In the beginning, there was naught but chaos. There was neither land nor sea, for those bonds which bind matter to matter, which make things solid, had not been formed. All existence was the incomprehensible dance of titanic energies, bound by no rules the mortal mind could follow.
But change is the nature of chaos. And so, one day, there emerged the first god, Raíli, from the chaos. And Raíli was different than everything that had come before, he had will, and purpose. And too, he had the ability to shape the chaos according to that will.
And the first thing he forged from the chaos was Rihtae,  his staff. And that staff was formed  pure from the raw stuff of chaos, bound to solidity by Raísi’s will.
And with Rihtae as his tool, Raísi forged the world. From the chaos, he pulled Fire, and bound it to solid form, and it became stone. And so Raísi made the ground beneath our feet. But echoes of his creation spread out beyond where he had reached. And so was formed the Outer Darkness, that is creation’s shadow.
Then from the chaos he pulled Mist, and bound it to solid form, and it became water. And so Raísi made the seas, the lakes, and the rivers. But echoes of his creation spread out beyond where he had reached. And so formed the great storms, that rage throughout the Outer Darkness, of which the storms we know are mere shadows.
Finally, from the chaos he pulled Decay, and bound it to solid form, and it became life. But echoes of his creation spread out beyond where he had reached. And so were formed the great beasts of chaos - ravenous, unpredictable things, each utterly different from the next, save only for their savage nature.
And so, the world was made. But Raísi looked upon it, and he was not satisfied. For though he had forged order from the chaos, still in all of creation, and in all that lay beyond, he remained the only being with a mind or a will.
He thought upon the matter for seven days, and seven nights. But there was nothing in creation from which he might forge a being like himself - he was unique.
But on the eighth day, he had an idea. There was something from which he could forge beings like himself - his own self. And so he wove his own divine essence into his creation, and in those parts which that essence touched, awakened minds and wills alike unto his own. And thus, he created life.
But even here, the echoes of his creation spread out beyond where he had reached. And this is how the demons came to be - foul mockeries of humanity, wedded to chaos.

2

When Raísi had made the world, and peopled it, he was content, for a while.
But alas, his world was not secure. Again and again it was ravaged by things from the Outer Darkness - by beasts and by storms, and by demons. He saw that if nothing was done, his creation would soon be undone. And he was weak. He had given so much of himself to his creation, he could not fight them off directly. But still, he had Rihtae. And though  the power of Rihtae is the power of chaos, and though Raísi was loath to use it, it was a tool with which he could command his creation.
And so from the earth and stone, Raísi raised up a great wall, that rose beyond even the clouds*, to bar the even storms from entry.
But the creatures of chaos do not all obey the laws of our reality. They flowed and through around the wall, like a dark tide, through gaps that should have been too small for them.
The wall was useless, and so Raísi let it fall. And in its place, he raised up a dome of water across the sky, deeper than any sea. And when the sky is dark, one may see into the depths of that sea, and see the things that were trapped in the water of the dome when it was raised - and these we call the stars.
But though the dome was solid, demons have a malevolent cunning, and powers which even Raísi lacks. Through arcane paths, from time to time, they passed what had seemed an impenetrable barrier, and brought with them things from the Outer Darkness.
And Raísi was still weak - though the incursions were fewer now, he still could not fight all of them at once.
And so, he once again split off a part of his self - but this time, he did not weave it into his creation. Rather, he broke that part into shards, and those shards he embedded into chosen humans. And it was by this method that the first of the new gods were created, to guard the world from those things which passed the great dome of the sky.**

3

For a time, the world was perfect. The demons were kept at bay, and neither age nor death had cast their shadow over us.
But there was one god, the unnamed god, who was jealous of Raísi, and who wished to rise above the other gods. And so, one day, he stole away Rihtae, and carried it with him to the outside.
The unnamed god was cunning, and he knew that even with Rihtae, he had no chance against Raísi and the other gods. And so, with Raísi’s power, he struck at the dome of the sky, and opened in it a tear, through which chaos was allowed to pour into the world. By this method, he hoped to distract the gods, and to assume supremacy over them.
But Raísi was not fooled. Despite the problems the hole might cause, he knew that if the unnamed god  was allowed to continue to hold Rihtae, far worse would come.
He pursued the nameless god across the world. And, at the far edge of the world, Raísi caught up with him. They fought for fully a year and a day, before Raísi was able to overcome his adversery.
He took back Rihtae, and cursed the unnamed god. That his name would be stricken from him, that he should forever wander the mortal world, and that he should never again have power to command another.
But as they had fought, the hole had remained. And, having remained and widened for so long, even what power remained in Rihtae was not sufficient to close it entirely.
Instead, he narrowed it down to the merest pinprick, and the gods scribed it around with every protection of which they are capable. But still, through that pinprick, chaos pours into the world. Thus was formed the Sun, and it is for that reason that, under the Sun’s glare, water turns to mist, flesh rots, and the fruits of the earth light aflame***.



*Annoyingly, the current President has made anything that sounds like ‘build a wall’ come off as a political metaphor. But honestly, whatever its issues as a way of keeping out migrants, it is probably a reasonable response to marauding half-created things from beyond our reality. I am also willing to consider it a reasonable measure against marauding Mongol hordes and marauding Scots. A highly controversial political stance, I know.
**All of these stories have variants, which are tolerated to varying degrees. For example, this story has a version in which the gods created first and the dome of the sky after them - in these versions, the gods are unable to hold back everything that comes from the Outer Darkness by themselves, and Raísi creates the sky as his third and most successful attempt. This alternate version  is considered less than flattering to the gods, so whilst it is not expressly forbidden (as some stories are) it is rarely told.
***Many people, hearing this, might question why, if this is true, one cannot set fire to a stone. To which there are two answers. The first is that that is what the people of this world consider lava to be - it doesn’t catch alight the way other things do because other things are not pure fire, but merely have fire in them, which escapes when they are burnt. Lava, on the other hand, is stone in the process of turning wholly back into fire. As for why it’s so much more difficult to make lava than it is to boil water, the consensus is that fire, having been bound first, was also bound most strongly.

Sylva

When I'm doing these, I have a whole list of things I want to say. But I never want to make these introduction bits too long, so it usually just ends up being the last thing I happened to think of.
Anyway, I was working on a short story recently, and decide I could probably make it a full novel-length story. And so for the last while or so, I've been world building for that.
I tend to go into a lot more detail in my own worlds than I do here. Say what you like, few of these worlds involve me spending much time worrying about what local councils look like in random countries, because even I know that's kinda boring.


The forest world of Sylva was once a paradise. The gods bent nature itself to their needs, and fulfilled all that was requested from them. The trees themselves grew into homes, exotic food and drink were there for the taking, and even disease was unheard of.
Needless to say, this didn’t last forever. For one day, a tear opened in reality itself - a pinprick at first, but it was growing quickly.
And the gods, as was their duty to their world, fought against them - by magic and by trickery, by every means that was available to them. And to start with, they were successful - they were quickly able to halt the growth of the tear, but beyond that, their power was limited - for fear of what might happen to their wards, they were unwilling to open the tear any further, and so could act in only the most limited way upon the world beyond it. And so, the gods and the things from beyond the tear settled into a kind of stalemate.
But for the people of Sylva, that alone was a tragedy. For all of their existence, they had been looked after by their gods, and now their gods were distracted by other things.
But humans are adaptable creatures - although they had not experienced such things before, they quickly learned to live with their new situation. Though the gods did not have nearly the power to spare they once had, they did not abandon their people entirely. And with the help of the gods, the people learned to build houses from wood, to grow food from the earth, to weave clothing, and to make for themselves all of those products of civilization that had once been given to them.
But no sooner had they adjusted to the new situation, than it changed again. For, somehow, the things on the other side of the tear evaded the gods, and came to the people of Sylva, and spoke with them.
But, though their bodies looked human, their words were strange, and the people of Sylva could not understand them.
And the things from beyond the tear were angry with the gods, who had defied them - and they struck them down. They had done… something. Noone knew what. The gods were powerless against them. And, seeing their gods fall, the people of Sylva fled from what little they had managed to build. And they were glad that they had done so. For, with the gods dead, the things came bodily through the tear. They built strange structures, they scarred the earth with mines, and burned the forest. Some people stayed behind, and fought them - but what hope could humans have, where gods failed? Those who left have not heard from them since.
But for those who left, there was a new life to be built. Having had only a scant few years to learn to fend for themselves, the people of Sylva could not, as yet, build boats that would take them beyond oceans. And so, they became a nomadic people, keeping far away from the buildings and strange vehicles of the outsiders. For their own part, the things seemed content to leave people alone, so long as they were not interfered with. Why should they care about these creatures, who posed no threat to them.
It scarcely mattered, anyway. However adaptable humans might be, the change to a nomadic lifestyle took its toll. Where once they were a teeming multitude, those numbers have quickly been worn away by the everyday dangers of even the safest world - dehydration, starvation, accident and malice.
It has only been a few decades since they took up a nomadic lifestyle, but the people of Sylva are scarcely recognisable. They have lost almost all that their gods taught them, and from birth, children are taught to fear the things from beyond the world.
They are a hard people, and suspicious of outsiders (not that those outsiders can give much explanation for where they came from). And though they may have banded together for survival, the fact remains that there is little people will not do when food is scarce - even with their constantly diminishing numbers, even within the single group that they have mostly remained, there have been wars. Factions, rivalries, and grudges have developed. Small groups have started to split off and make their own way, and it can only be a matter of time before the entire population splits into many parts - and before each inevitably finds that it is easier to find food for a small group, than for a large one.