DoorJam Creations | The Epiflairy: Book III

BOOK III

ÉRMÈS AND ONSÎN

Meanwhile, in a different part of the forest, occurring at the same time,

the earth’s vegetation was withered, with plant roots and leaves turning

shriveled and brown, like the hands of an old maiden, and the necessary

plants for the sustenance of mortal men and animals have failed to develop

and prosper. The growth of squashes shrunk, leaving small, frail, flaccid

things that couldn’t enlarge no matter what medicines were placed inside.

Grapes devolved into poor, wrinkly raisins that lacked any taste or appeal.

The dirt in the forest, once a chestnut-colored field that could sustain

plants, was now a dusty, pale, flaky, stone-like surface; the very few trees

that remained growing out of the dust surface, all now emaciated, had

lowered their withered branches down to the dry surface below, only now

they bore neither any green, or even brown, leaves nor any fruit in any state.

Blazing Jît, hot daughter of Faír, seared her way through the windless forest,

evaporating every single modicum of moisture running through nature.

The severity of the situation had grown to the point that the villagers were

actively praying for the arrival of the offspring born of nautical Òchen and

scorching Jît, along with Uatér and Ér - the fearsome beast Tõndurǔr, the

bringer of storms, birther of hurricanes - to add some torrential downpour

to the barren land. Alas, the prayers of the public were not answered.

There was a reason for the land transforming from a lush, productive forest

into a dry, deadly dust bowl. It was because of the actions of the Jólian gods,

at the very least, the actions of only two of them.

Green Jârbest resides above the all-mother earth, in the peaks of Mount Jóli,

responsible for all crops for the livelihood of men and life on earth.

On the mountain, the great machine, the horticulture goddess also resides with

her daughter, the fair-haired producer of prosperity, Érmès. In spite of being

related through holy blood, the two goddesses share only pure undiluted

acrimony between one another. Which one of the two goddesses first caused

the ill will between the pair is a mystery, even to this day.

Perhaps the cause of the animosity was affluent Érmès often getting upset

at minute things in her everyday life and her mother getting frustrated with

her daughter. Or perhaps the cause of the animosity was the arable Jârbest

having a temperament that was equal in size to the smallest - even to the

standards of humans - little ant, a trait passed on to her daughter.

Or perhaps the cause of the animosity was another shared trait between the

two of them: taking even the most minute criticism or concern about themselves

as an extremely personal attack, regardless of it was so or not.

Or perhaps the cause of the animosity was some foul found in all women -

the loss of all rationality and logic and replacing it with their emotions in all

their interactions.

Whatever the cause and whomever of the two goddesses caused them,

they would always argue with one another about practically all things.

Each argument would start off with them yelling about something and

would ultimately devolve into a shrieking match between the harvest

goddess and her offspring, with profanity flying frequently and the

agricultural-creator screaming while getting more red in the face.

On a dry summer’s day, after another one of their routine loud squabbles,

the daughter of Jârbest, overflowing with volcanic rage and frustration,

stormed off from her abode and, in a pitiful attempt to cool off from the

argument with her mother, marched around in the valley of Lestcöbur.

Lestcöbur, as implied by its title, covered and oppressed the immortal Lest

generation gods, who had dared existed and aspired to better lives. They

try to break free from the belly of broad Ürt, their movements responsible for

earthquakes on the surface, but the earth-mother’s strength is too much to bear

so all that’s accomplished are mere cracks on the ground, impossible to escape,

covered by landslides of boulders and the rubble of nearby villages.

All this destruction causes great fear among the public, and even Onsîn, the

finger-born dark king, becomes frightened at these occurrences should his

realm be exposed to the beaming rays of Sån the bright all-seer through the

shifted plates and split soil, the unusually luminous rays potentially disturbing

the cold souls of the deceased well below.

Afraid that this disaster might occur, the Lord of the Underworld retreated from his

shady abode and, pulled in a horse-drawn carriage, thoroughly searched over the

valley of Lestcöbur for any severe damage and crevices. When he examined the

valley and was happy to find no major damage had happened, he began his small

journey back to the dark realm laying beneath the earth that shared his name -

that is the realm under the earth itself, not the actual earth.

As the master of the world of the dead walked his homeward path, the arrows

of Lobb struck straight through his heart with sheer accuracy, and his eyes

caught a glimpse of fair-haired Émerès sitting upon the dry ground bearing a

pale hue of gold. The blond hair of the short-tempered daughter of Jârbest the

short-tempered, flowing through the moistureless air, earned the attention for

being so brilliant in color, powerful enough to make the strongest of mortal

men flounder, and being as fluffy as lying on one of the nymph-daughters

born of the liquid all-entrenched, Uáter, and uncluttered, all-encircling Èr.

The young goddess seemed also upset at something, though Onsîn, the lord of

Onsîn, could not fathom as to what it could be. Appropriate and logical, since he

just appeared now in the story and was absent for the start of the story detailing

the fractured relationship between Érmès and Jârbest.

Moving with the extreme speed of a donkey with a damaged leg from his stable

to the nearby home of his master, and with the confidence of a lone warrior who

was only partially sure he could survive an attack from the many forces of an

enemy tribe, the Master of the Dead approached fair-haired Érmès and timidly

stated this to the daughter of the harvest goddess:

“Hello, there. I’m Onsîn, lord of the underworld, Onsîn. I-I think you look beautiful,

especially with your-your long, blonde hair. It’s very bright and…and soft. Uh…

Y-you also seem a little sad and angry right now, so…I figured that I should help

you out and make you happy…I’m also look-looking for a queen to rule by my side.

And I figured you’d make…a nice candidate…So, I’m now going to make you my

bride by raping you to the land of the deceased.” And with that, he committed the

promise he just stated to her.

The daughter of Jârbest sat in confusion for the duration of Onsîn’s words, having

never met or even heard of the dark dead lord before this moment. After that, when

he said he would rape her to his deathly domain to make her his queen, frightful

thoughts of avoiding this fate by means of running back towards the peaks of

Mount Jóli, to safety. These thoughts, alas, only last for a modicum of a fraction

of a second before Onsîn started raping her.

He raped her across the bare fields of the dying forest, back to his chariot of

lapis lazuli, drawn to his loyal cobalt-colored horses. The Lord of the Dead

politely placed Érmès into his lapis chariot while raping her, and made his

loyal steeds pull both of them across the desolate Lestcöbur and back down

through a crevice in the surface back to his underground lair, raping the

daughter of the harvest all the way down.

The shadowed one drove his chariot down to his mighty throne room. Residing very

below the surface of the earth and resting just above the molten center of the earth,

the realm of Onsîn, Onsîn, is a scorching vault of extreme heat yet also being entirely

dark. The only thing that could survive in the deathly kingdom below the feet of men,

apart from the Jólians from up above, are the icy spirits of all the deceased of all things,

now unable to belong in the world of the living.

Onsîn, still raping his new bride, had arrived back to his throne room; his vast domain,

like the entirety of Onsîn, appeared almost identical to that of the world of the living,

only all buildings and structures appeared to be constructed out of perovskites and

a myriad more of underground minerals.

Even in the midst of the rays of the great eye being unable to penetrate the world,

every building and abode there was easily distinguishable from one another,

mainly by factors such as their sizes and the varying shades of earthy brown shown.

The mightiest, most majestic, and most luminous building in all the territory of

the dead was the palace of Onsîn: A suitably kingly resort constructed out of spires,

towers, and naturally-grown ornate decorative patterns, the remaining buildings paled

in comparison to the size, scale, and overall majesty of the home of the unseen one.

In case you haven’t noticed, thinking of overly lengthy circumlocutions to mimic the

style of ancient mythological poetry is quite difficult.

Onsîn had finally returned to his home, ending his lengthy rape of fair-haired Érmès.

Overcome with adoration to the daughter of Jârbest, as the world above the underworld

was now overcome with air without moisture, the timid ruler of the dead opened the door

of his chariot for her to let her out. After cautiously exiting his vehicle, the deathly one

said to her, “Welcome to my lair, my queen!”

The modicum of courage he just mustered up dissipated as quickly as it arrived. The Lord

of the Dead didn’t want to give an image of abrasiveness to his new mate. “My-my lair

is named Onsîn, as am I. My-my name is also Onsîn, as-as is my lair, too!”

The short-fused daughter of the harvest just stared at the finger-born with a look of

confusion upon her brow. The lord of the dead rallied a little bit of strength to say,

“Here! Let-let me show you around!” He brought out his arm for her to hold on to.

Érmès reluctantly held it, as Onsîn lead her around Onsîn for a tour of the land.

Back above in the heavens, in the peaks of Mount Jóli, the machine; the home of

the great, immortal overseers; the domain holding those responsible for all life

of the surface of rotund, all-encompassing Ürt, the fruitful mother who bears

men on her surface, the daughter born of Uáter alone, she who produces crops

for the lively hood of men, waited in frustration for her stupid daughter to return.

It seems that damn piece of shit was put on this mountain to make my life hell,

Jârbest thought to herself. The little cunt never wants to listen to me complain

and bitch about every little thing, even things I easily have control over! The

harvest goddess waited and waited for her worthless failed abortion to return

back to Jóli for ten godly days.

During these days, Jârbest felt an odd sensation she seemingly never did in

her eternal existence. Or perhaps it was an old feeling that she had felt not

in an extremely long time in her life. She didn’t feel frustrated or enraged.

Ěnguer, son of primordial Faír, loosened his grip upon her mind and soul.

This new state for the Uáter-born was also apparent upon the land of men.

Where once were pale brown patches of barrenness, small green sprouts

were now emerging skyward. Withered crops suddenly regained their

regular sizes and colors. Starving families were now having their bellies

filled up with freshly-grown fruits. The earlier empty earth presently

proceeded to produce produce after a suffocating dry spell.

On the eleventh day, after Érmès failed to show up at all back home,

the daughter of moist, primordial Uáter had lost completely all and

any hint of mental touch from the furious son of Faír and replaced with

that of joyous Chîr, daughter of lustrous Laít, son of Faír.

There was no more arguing with her daughter about whatever her silly

issues were, whether or not they be the cause of the arguments. No

longer would that annoying cunt Érmès not be interested in being

forced to listen to the harvest goddess’ whining about things neither

she nor her daughter could easily solve, if at all.

For the first time in a great long while to Jârbest, she could easily find

peace and happiness within her grasp. The goddess could not recall

a time she had felt so calmed and relaxed. The warm, pleased feelings

of the giver of crops gave major consequences for life down below.

People had, after a lengthy drought, finally managed to harvest crops again.

A family could now have many squashes and cabbages for dinner meals.

The patriarchal hunters of clans were now easily nourished and ready to

hunt their game. Small plant-eating animals were no longer starving and

were quick to stuff their faces with the emerald grass blades rising erect

from the dirt, so that they were now suitable to be on the receiving end

of a patriarchal hunter’s flint-tipped spear.

Man was pleased to have produce and plants reappear. Woman was less pleased,

as this meant more cooking special plant-based dishes for their families. Child

hated this the most, as they would rather eat Nestle Chocolate Balls with cartoon-

themed little candies instead of yucky vegetables.

The situation would progress for the worse, however. As the months passed,

the whole world soon became overtaken by vegetables. Clear paths to villagers’

homes were swamped with an ocean of squashes, vines, and blueberries.

Families were now arguing, not unlike those done by the harvest goddess and

her own daughter, about what to do with all the excess vegetation they now stored.

Trees growing in the forest, previously dried out, first started regrowing strong

and tall, only for them to become extremely massive, blocking out the bright

rays of the all-seeing sun, causing flocks of black bats to screech around

the canopy and flutter their frightening translucent wings like a flock of bats.

The ceaseless collections of enormous vernal flowers of pastel hues caused

pollen sprites to be birthed and suffocate those who suffer from allergies

with a cave’s worth of nasal congestion and backdrip.

Sån, queen of the Jólian gods who sees everything on earth, saw what was

happening on earth and was appalled. If the humans down below on earth

were suffering miserably, there would be none to make sacrifices and prayers

to her and her siblings up above, and that would never do.

The sun journeyed some distance, however long is unimportant, to the happy

domain of Jârbest, notably free of profanity and shouting matches. The bright

star spoke to the harvest goddess, in her queenly commanding voice: “For what

reason are you so overcome by the happiness of Chîr, daughter of Laít, Jârbest?”

“I’m so happy ‘cuz my absolute shithead of a daughter is finally gone!” replied the

water-born. “Everyday I would whine to her about some issues I couldn’t solve

and the little bitch shrieked at me, ‘OH MY US, MOM! I DON’T WANNA HEAR

ABOUT IT!’ And she would try to complain to me about her shitty problems

that couldn’t give a rat’s ass about!”

Jârbest produced a prolonged, exasperated sigh, something she normally would

do even, and most especially, when fair-haired, short-fused Érmès was around.

“But,” the harvest goddess resumed happily, “that little cunt is outta my hair now

and I’m living the happiest life of my life!”

“Well,” the all-seeing star replied, “the humans aren’t living the happiest lives

of their lives. The daughter of Faír explained the situation to the Jârbest: