NuraGan Kartol
The second Delgon High Translator to the Belog, who was killed by Garlon for plotting against the Belog.
Below is a story the author wrote years ago when he was starting to flesh out the Delgon and the Enarii. It gives a slightly different view of the Enarii and their priests.
NuraGan Kartol wandered along the corridor, the long black robes that shrouded his frail body dragging along the immaculate cobbles. Why had his ″master″ called him at this time? He had been having an important discussion, how dare he be disturbed? Muttering under his breath Kartol entered the areas of the city which served the Lords. The narrow corridors joined the spacious chambers which they had demanded. The ornate roofs supported metres above by narrow pillars, detailed designs which crafters had spent months carving into their smoothly polished surfaces. This had all been built to appease the Lords, large areas of ancient dwellings had been callously torn out to give them a place to live near the centre of the city. Kartol could not complain, their arrival had brought him power he would not have dreamed of before. As a young jenta he had been apprenticed by an old priest, a bumbling fool who spent his nights gazing at the moons and studying ancient texts, stifled in the stench of it all. He had kept his nose down though, learning of the Enarii and their dwellings upon the moon of Enar, studying and mapping laboriously its supposed cities through one of his ancient master’s rickety old telescopes. His bleak life spread before him, a pit of dust and mould from which he would never truly escape. Then the Enarii had arrived, weary from their travel, they had been accepted immediately and praised as the gods they were thought to be. His master was one of the first to grasp their holy language and as such had gained a place high up in their service, shuffling along at their will, translating all that they said, grovelling pitifully at their feet. He had held his old master in such contempt, it was a shame he met with an accident so shortly after their arrival that let him fill the gap. He had accepted the role gladly, but he was not going to spend his life grovelling. He accepted that for the moment he would have to accept their whims, but he could see that they were stupid, slow creatures. How could they claim to be his gods? He would bide his time, continue his ascent to power under these worthless deities. His musings brought Kartol to the large archway that led into the huge expanse that formed Garlon’s personal chamber. Garlon was seated, white robes foolishly wrapped around the hulking creature that he was supposed to revere. Many black clad priests hovered around him, waiting on his every need. “Oh gracious Lord, I humble myself before you.” Kartol grovelled before the impassive Enarii in their slow painful language. He hated to have to demean himself before them, but for the moment it was necessary. Garlon turned his gargantuan, dim-witted face towards Kartol. “I have been thinking” he rumbled in his deep cracked voice. Kartol looked up towards his master, glancing around at the other assembled priests, all robed in black. It was always so painful to listen to him talk, it was such a slow process, he would pause for minutes at a time, thinking what to say next. Kartol’s attention was caught by a small gakton scuttling over Garlon’s head, probing his skin for parasites. Kartol often found this a good way of keeping looking interested as Garlon forced him to endure the agonising pauses. “I know about you.” Kartol’s eyes flicked straight into Garlon’s. “I don’t know what you mean” Kartol responded calmly, but his heart started to pound as Garlon’s small beady black eyes seemed to look straight through him. “Yes. You do.” rumbled the god with absolute and terrifying conviction. “You have held me with such contempt. You think I am slow and stupid. You are wrong.” Garlon was across the room, gripping Kartol in one huge hand before he could turn to run. Lifting the struggling priest from the ground Garlon rumbled on. “I have been watching you. You have been scheming. Planning. I waited to watch you more. I wanted to see what you would do.” Kartol continued to struggle, his fragile arms pushing against the immovable hard fingers that held him in their powerful grip. “Now I know. You presumed to scheme against me. To use me to promote your power. I am your god.” Kartol’s eyes darted around, looking for escape, or somebody to help. All the priests avoided his eye, mindful of the wrath of their God. “You serve me. That is all. You are nothing.” As Garlon gave Kartol’s frail body a sharp jerk, a quite snap carried across the room and it went limp. “I will not be used.” Garlon murmured tossing the limp body aside. “Take him away, and find somebody to replace him.” Garlon lumbered back to his ornate throne and lowered himself down into it. Reaching across to eat some of the berries that were proffered to him he lent back, his impassive face setting itself like stone as his priests scuttered around silently carrying out their tasks, their soft hoofsteps echoing around the decadently cavernous chamber.
