Work Text:
Long ago, in the first age of man, when the first gods were just gathering their powers, the planet could have been lost before time had begun. Fufluns, praised for her work with the domestication of plants for humans, sought to win the contest of the gods, to be ruler over all. She sought a new home for the humans, with no need to till fields. where branches and vines would provide all things they would need to grow, and live, and thrive.
She planted a seed, deep in the earth, near its core. A new plant, she would call the world tree. As man would conquer and tame the world above, her tree would grow below, thriving on the heat and minerals it was washed in. But as it grew, it would become dangerous. Earthquake would shake the world, at first, causing great upheavals of land. This is when the first roots would appear.
Great thick boughs pierced the crust, bringing lava flows with them. These first boughs were known as Multans, in the first age. These Multans broke sideways along the crust of the earth, forming long ridges in what were once lavish plains or forests. And after the initial devastation had died down, the humans would find vast reserves of metals left from these ruptures, making a new god, Multatarvis, to see their new creations.
But the multans kept appearing, and soon the humans beseeched their gods for help. They could no longer travel as freely as they used to. Whole countries and kingdoms became separated from themselves, and a new age of strife and banditry followed as borders became redrawn. All save Fufluns herself, who eased her followers that all was according to her plans.
The gods were furious at Fufluns for her creation and her arrogance. Not only were their subjects dying from the sprouting of these multans, but the discovery of her plans sparked fear in them. If she managed to sprout this tree, their own powers would wane. So they sent for their most devoted followers.
The other gods raised armies to attack the multans, with little effect. The minerals the world tree thrived on made the multans a challenge to break into. so the gods went to Multatarvis. They tempted his sensibilities first. “Help our people!” They cried, “they are dying!” But he was not swayed. He was raised by Fufluns, taught that the world tree was good for the humans. He would not be swayed from what was good for the whole of humanity.
Then they tempted him with finery, and delicacies, and lovers, and titles. But Multatarvis could not accept. Multatarvis was promised prince of the world when the tree had grown, and then he would have his pick. Though he could not say his curiosity wasn't piqued by their desperation.
Multatarvis, curious as a good inventor should be, went to the planet, to inspect this damage that he owed his life to. There, he did see that the others had spoken the truth of his mothers works. Great peaks rose into the sky from the ground, blackened from heat and mineralization. There, he saw the flaw in his mothers work. There were no leaves, for they had burned away in the earth, and the burnt ends of the multans were covered in rock, and would not grow. Multatarvis knew then what he must do.
Multatarvis created new tools in his workshop. Tools of iron to break the hardened stone and cleave the wood beneath. Picks, axes, hammers, and shovels to break and hew this mighty tree. Then, he went to gather his people.
The forgemaster called his apprentices forth, calling his people to Multan Gravis, the first multan to appear in this age. He equipped his followers with their weapons of war against the mountain itself, and showed them where to dig. And long were the days of work in the multan.
When picks would stick in the world tree, axes would cut the fibers away. When knots where branches diverged were found, hammers smashed them to dust. And when wood gave way to stone, the pick would ring again. And so they buried into the tree.
But Fufluns wasn't happy with her son and his plans. His disobedience and betrayal angered her deeply. And so, she called upon her followers to stop the miners. Upon their arrival, she then twisted them to become skilled hunters.
It's said she grabbed each one by the ears and feet and pulled. The force of her pulling elongated their bones, and made them nimble and swift. Their lengthened arms made for more dexterity, the better to hold a bow or knife. Running through thick brambles became easier for these warriors, as their legs grew longer for greater stride above the ground. She gave each one a bow hewn from the world tree, and set them forth on her foes.
Through trees and over streams they traveled to Multan Gravis. Traveling the moon’s path through the sky, they ran through the valleys of the multans. Silent were they upon their path, passing without sleep through day and night, and hardly stopping to sup upon watery broth that fed them. So blinded in faith were they, that they ignored these changes inflicted upon them. Both in their bodies, and in their hearts, that they would hunt their fellows without remorse.
Meanwhile, in the multan, Multatarvis and his miners were also changing. The pressures of the multan and earth above them shrunk them, shortening their bones under the weight. Sap from the tree would sustain them, and give them strength. Their toils made their arms strong, though their axes and picks dulled. And with no sharp tools could they shave their faces or cut their hair, so all was put in braids.
They were discovered before they had reached the heart of the world tree. Then Fuflans army reached Multan Gravis, they attacked the borehole like a swarm of ants, crawling over the walls.
Almost feral in their bloodlust, they flooded the mineshaft. Yet still, from entrance to the miners took two weeks to climb through what had been dug. And those two weeks were the reprieve that the miners, who had taken to calling themselves Tarvin in those years working together, needed to reach the heart of the world tree.
In the heart of the world tree was a vast chamber of wood, mottled like a nut shell, larger than a rich king's castle. And in its center was the seed of the world tree. The howling of the archers, known only to themselves as Felfans, rang through the chamber as they descended onto the tarvins. The tarvins, strong but exhausted from their endeavor, were soon outmatched by the Felfans.
Arrows ran through the air like rain into the miners. Those not cut down hurled their tools at their only entrance, before claiming those of their fallen in their defense. Even these near broken tools, repaired by the wood of the world tree, sunk into the flesh of the felfans. All who had arrived at Multan Gravis had not known that their bones were now so brittle as children’s candy. And those that did hadn’t arrived at all.
Behind the Felfans arrived Fufluns herself, coming to weed out the seed she had sown. Multatarvis felt fear at her arrival, and of her creations. He pleaded with her, “mother! Please! Stop this madness!” his arms outstretched to her, dropping his shovel, as if he were a child again. However, she would not be swayed by his cries, and struck at him with her staff, knocking him to the floor.
He did not rise again when she struck him a second time, or a third, or a fourth. However, on the fifth time, with blood dripping down his beard, he gripped her staff. In his grasp, it shattered, and splinters pierced his hand. In that same hand, that she held when he was a child, that he had broken bread with, and he had dug to the center of the planet with, he gripped her hand again. And threw her against the chamber wall with a crack so mighty, you’d think the shell itself had cracked.
Because it had. Earthquakes shook the whole planet under the feet of every creature on the surface with such a rumble. Lava started to rush into the chamber of the world tree, burning the walls as it seeped in the cracks. Those not dead and able rushed towards the exit of this accursed place. Lying on the floor was Multatarvis, and against the wall was Fufluns.
The chamber flooded with the liquid core of the planet, sealing the one entrance dug into its walls. No one knows what became of the gods in that chamber. Some say they died. Others say they both live, struggling against one another at the center of the planet.
All the descendents of the Tarvins know, who became known as dwarves over the ages, is that if you ever find wood underground, it’s handy to have an axe.