Apostles of Doom

“Your D’Orc friends? Their lifespan, their history is as inconceivable to me as I am sure it is to you.” Tamarin moved towards the mapping table. “Not as long as the gods, obviously, but still nearly unimaginable.”

“How old are the gods?” Tom asked, suddenly struck by the thought of gods dying.

Tamarin shrugged. “As old as their followers have believed in them. That is why it is so critical to them to expand into new planes of existence. Mortal races and their civilizations only exist so long. The gods must diversify their support base across many planes of existence to ensure their power supply and thus their longevity. The more they can diversify, the more stable the pantheon or the god.”

“Or the god?” Tom asked. “Aren’t gods tied to their pantheon?”

“No. Pantheons can be family, friends or allies. Many of the oldest gods join multiple pantheons to further diversify their power base. They have multiple alliances and connections,” Tamarin said.

“Like Phaestus,” Tom said, a lightbulb clicking on.

“Exactly — he is a perfect example.” Tamarin spun to face Tom, grinning with delight. “He is an Olympian, a Nyjyr Ennead, jötnar, several dwarven pantheons and numerous others. As well as being a member of the Tartarvardenennead.”

“The Tartarvardenennead?” Tom asked, having never heard the name.

“The Nine Wardens of Tartarus.” Tamarin smiled. “To be completely honest, it is a new phrase for me as well. After you reopened Tartarus, I went and did some research.”

“So who were the nine?” Tom was extremely interested to know this.

“That is not widely known; it is, in fact, considered a closely guarded secret. However, from what I have seen and heard since being here, clearly Orcus, Völund, and Phaestus; most likely Darg-Krallnom and Arg-nargoloth. After that, it would be pure guessing; one would think this Vosh An-Non, Orcus’s general. That makes six; I have no clue as to who the others might have been.”

“This keeps getting more and more complicated,” Tom complained.

“Indeed, which is what makes it so interesting.” Tamarin smiled at him. “I am sure you could ask the others; they would have to know.”

“Probably a good idea; in particular, if there are other ‘partners’ in this black site I’ve suddenly found that I am in charge of.” Tom shook his head, thinking of everything he was learning, yet still needed to know.

Suddenly something hit him. “You said there is close to a million years of written history here?”

Tamarin shrugged. “That is one estimate made by djinn who have studied here. However, there could be older items.”

Tom shook his head, trying to conceive of that. “So then some of these plane-hopping deities — deities I may end up going against — could be a million years old?”

Tamarin shrugged again with a frown. “I have no idea, only the speculations of my teachers in various classes. You would probably not be surprised that the gods are extremely jealous of their true nature and interplay. Very few welcome djinn inquiries into their history.”

Tom sighed, closing his eyes briefly. “I can’t even imagine someone being that old.”

Tamarin chuckled. “Exactly. The existential dilemma.”

Tom was silent, thinking about such beings before realizing that there was something wrong with what Tamarin had just said. “Wait. The existential dilemma? The anxiety at the heart of existentialism is that one’s lifespan, one’s influence is so limited that it will, in the scope of all time and space, be meaningless. If one is a plane-straddling million-plus-year-old deity, I hardly think existential dread is going to be a problem. Such beings could clearly make some impact.”

Tamarin smiled. “Ahh, you speak of mortal existentialism. Existentialism is a two-sided coin. On one side, which is the side of which you speak, is the dread of a tiny, short-lived nothingness in the grand scheme of things. That is mortal existentialism; the true immortals worry about the dread of an eternity of existence. The never-ending, unceasing torment of eternal meaningfulness. Or worse, near meaningfulness.”

That rather stopped Tom cold. He was not sure he even understood what it meant. “I’m sorry, what?” he asked.

Tamarin grinned. “It is something I do not truly comprehend, but it is well known to the very long-lived races, such as the alfar and the oldest djinn. Demons, gods, avatars — all true immortals must face it.”

“Okay,” Tom said, still not getting it.

Tamarin smiled. “At its most simple level, how do you spend eternity without getting bored? At what point do you need to take a rest?”

“Okay, I get that, I have heard about gods and demon lords playing games with mortals to amuse themselves,” Tom agreed.