The Epic Of Philocrates, Part One: Philokrates Enters Chaos

This is an odd entry, even by my standards.

It is a part of a much larger work, written by myself and one Richard Hughes (an excellent fellow, and I'm not just saying that because doing so was a condition of reproducing his work here). The history of Philocrates - to say nothing of the world he occupies, the world of Exalted (RPG, copyright White Wolf Publishing) - is long and complex, both before and after what you're about to read. As such, I don't know whether my readers (all five of you!) will be interested in this slice of myth. But, since I don't know that you won't, and thought it was some of my best work, I thought I'd clean up this section (the first 3 pages of 21) and post it - if it seems to go well, I may put up the other sections in later updates.


Sing, Muses, of green-eyed Philocrates! Champion of the city of Great Forks, he was a chosen of the Lord of Heaven, the unmatched and unconquered Sol Invictus. Even among the Solar Exalted, Philocrates was known as a master of many disciplines: his archery was so peerless that he could fire arrows which never strayed from a bow forged of his own raging spirit, his skin was hard as iron from having baked beneath the sun's life-strengthening rays, he could go days without rest in the pursuit of Sol's glory, he could emit the Chaos-Warding Pattern, which bound madness of Hell itself to follow the holy laws of Creation, and his legend was known all across the world and beyond as a man who could broker holy oaths, that it was blasphemy to strike against unless he attacked first.
Most of all, Fleet Philocrates was known as the fastest creature in all Creation, able to race the wind, balance on a falling leaf, or the surface of a cloud, and partake travels of such an epic scope that Mercury herself, the Maiden of Journeys and sister to Sol Invictus, had honored his skill by swearing to make a road on which his running would be enhanced sevenfold for any one journey of his choice.
But though his legend was great and spread to all corners of Creation, Philocrates yearned to carry it further, into the Wylds which lie beyond creation, where beings both Nameless and Shapeless roil without having ever known the touch of order, and the half-shaped Raksha steal dreams and eat the passions of those so foolish as to reach them. Into this chaos where all laws broke down in madness and vision, Philocrates sought to carry the legends of himself, Great Forks, and Sol Invictus by running outside of the world, and making a circle all the way around Creation – many tens of thousands of miles – in a single week.
In preparation for this quest, he went to Orduin Thrice-Radiant, his ally, and a hero of legend in his own right (though this is not the time to speak fully of his accomplishments), and received a suit of armor both light and strong. He went to the three gods of Great Forks: Dayshield, Talespinner, and Dreamweaver. Each gave him their blessing, and wished for his return. Finally, he went before Mercury, and begged a grand favor indeed: that she would lay him a road all across the Wyld beyond Creation, that could lead him fully around the world. Impressed by his resolve, she laid the road, but cautioned him of one condition: should he ever cease running forward, even for a single second, the road would vanish, and he would have to return to Creation by slower and less safe means.
Taking all these gifts, Philocrates set out to carve a legend into formlessness by the patterns of his footsteps.
On the first day, Philocrates saw Chaos.
He had left the Manse Orduin maintained deep in the East, where one may stand on the branch of a tree and see neither ground nor sky. For several hours he had run East even from that place, towards the edges of Creation. The air filled with a strange mist, which might have killed a mortal, and made even so mighty a champion as Philocrates gasp. The trees bent and warped, and eventually seemed to have no true shapes at all. Thoughts and dreams took form in the air, until one no longer needed to guess what was reality and what a dream: there was no reality at all, save in Philocrates' presence. Within the glow of his Solar soul, ever-shifting branches became solid enough to stand on, impossible creatures faded from existence, and Creation asserted itself for the few moments it took that legendary sprinter to move on, carrying his Chaos-Warding presence ever deeper into the Wyld, until he could see true Chaos before him.
It looked unlike the Wyld: it had no semblance of form of meaning, no shapes or colors which could be described. Only infinite, unthinkable madness. Mercury's road, he knew, would turn just at the edge of that impossibility, forming a circle one hundred thousand miles around, with Chaos just to his right all the way around.
As Philocrates reached the point where all resemblance to reality gave way, he saw a figure approaching. It did not look like the roaring hills, or the strange bearded man who came towards him earlier, but flickered out when confronted with the force of his reality. Rather, it was a tall, strong, and oddly familiar figure, running in the same direction as he, though slowly moving sideways, towards Creation from Chaos. It was faster as well – when it first appeared it was some distance behind him, but it impossibly closed the gap over the next hour.
Upon drawing near, it called out, "Hail, Emerald-Eyed Hero. You have shown all of Creation your bravery, coming this far. Now turn back, and spare us all some anguish."
"I cannot turn back from this road," said Philocrates, leaping from leaf to leaf, the leaves no more coherent than the word, occasionally striding across bare words, 'leaf', 'spore', 'branch', written in blood across the bark-colored sky. "Mercury has sanctified it for me!"
"Mercury," called the figure, running lightly up a waterfall of coins, "is not here. She has no authority on the path you take. Only yourself and Chaos may decide the outcome. Chaos has chosen destruction for all you hold dear. Do you assent to this judgment?"
For a moment, Philocrates prepared to respond, 'Obviously I don't,' but thought perhaps these things of Chaos do not understand the idea of loathing destruction of that which you cherish. "I do not assent to this judgment," he said, narrowing his eyes on this figure, seeking to take the measure of the eyes, the face, the shoulders - to force reality upon this thing that dwells in chaos, to destroy it with his judgment and gaze. It ran on the opposite side of many falling crocodile's tears, but he could see that it wore armor, with an elaborate crest. Virtually none of the thing's features showed, though two bright flames glowed where eyes should have been. Its footsteps left ice in their wake, its breath appeared as spores, the fingers protruding from its gauntlets were as grey as stone, and a slight sheen of deep blue sweat had appeared on them.
It continued to approach as it said, "If you would overturn the judgment, then leave, for this road is nothing but ruin to you and yours. Each day, a trial shall come. To fail is to die, to succeed is worse."
"I fear nothing that you can bring to bear against me," declared Philocrates bluntly. "The horrors of chaos are diaphanous illusions, easily spurned; even your Raksha cousins are mostly vapor. Your illusions vanish under the weight of my Chaos-Warding Pattern!"
"A Solar is stronger than a Raksha," agreed the figure, running up a sequence of clouds to leap gloriously through the air, "and might be stronger than Chaos itself. But how well do you know yourself? Each challenge you pass will become a part of your story, and legend. For each challenge you pass, a part of it will stay with you, attached to your Name across all the Wyld. And, before you emerge, a plague will fall upon Great Forks, far from your Patten, and smash them with Wood, Air, Water, Fire, Earth, and Chaos, if you live so long, before great Philocrates can defend them."
“Chaos lies," replied Philocrates, striding across integral trees through miasmic skies. There is a lull in the conversation while he holds his breath for a solid minute, sprinting at full speed. "If you would scourge Great Forks, you will find it harder than you imagine. Our walls are not so easily wished away - our gods mightier than your vaporous wrath."
The figure landed beside Philocrates, just outside his Pattern, making the ground nearby less mutable as it did. It proved to be of a height with the young hero, and when it turned its head to regard him, the flames burning in its helmet were green. "I know the strength of Great Forks," it said, in a voice as tired as it was defiant. "But you do not know the power of Chaos. And if we are wise, we never will."
"For us to know you would limit you," said Philocrates. "It's natural you fear our gaze - our understanding. But so be it. Bring your horrors upon me, then! We'll see who is victorious!" As he spoke, he remained careful not to twitch to the side, and brush the horror with his Pattern, which would scourge it and violate the peace-pact.
The figure, however, entered the Pattern willfully, and remained unharmed. Running directly alongside Philocrates, it continued speaking. "They are not my horrors and we both know you will win, if you are ready to risk everything for the run. I am telling you that it is not worth the sacrifice. There is victory over any obstacle, but not over Chaos."
Philocrates would have paused, if such an act would not be instantly fatal – this close, he could recognize the figure's voice as his own. "You move like darkness chasing the receding light and stand unharmed under the weight of Creation... What are you?" His gaze remained forward - to blink could send him in to a tree-branch, and even his iron skin could only protect him against so many.
"I am one who followed a path sanctified by Mercury," came the voice again, "without fear, repelled tides chaos, bested all challengers, and came to understand the price."
Philocrates narrows his eyes and stares in to the path ahead of him. "You're a lie born of chaos. We'll see what comes of it."
"Maybe I am," said the other Philocrates, "Though I feel myself to be real, and I stand within the bounds of Creation. Once I ran where you run, and heard the warnings you hear, and I did not believe, either - I do not know why I thought I could sway you, though a hero must try." The specter took a deep breath and held it as the two sprinted through a swarm of non-existent bees, which faded to a gentle mist on contact with the Chaos-Repelling Pattern. "Remember what I have told you - there will be six trials: Wood, Air, Water, Fire, Earth, and Chaos. Failure is death, and only death or surrender will prevent retribution.
"Remember this."
So saying, the strange doppleganger veered away from Philocrates, plunging into Chaos. The earth shook, a horde of mechanical birds cried that the worms can swim through ice, and this is unjust. Then, there was silence.
"I'm not so easily swayed by such things," muttered Philocrates, setting himself forward and thinking only of the road ahead, his iron will fighting to avoid despair at the impossibly compelling mockery all men know is within The Wyld's power. "Chaos will rue their attempts to ward me."
Chaos made no answer, and the unreality lay still for a time.