Mortals have had assumptions that creation was made by an omnipotent consciousness for benevolent purposes. That we were to follow His teachings of morality should we want to leave behind the suffering of mortality. That we may have our insignificant selves ascend to greatness. But what is this benevolence and love? Is it for us to perceive goodness and joy as concepts mortals should strive to obtain? What of everything else - the neutral, evil, and undiscovered? What if this path is just one of countless being paved from the tar of creation?

Perceived from this tar pit of creativity is Khaastgaah the origin. From it was the container of concepts such as creation possible for solid comprehension, observation, and inspiration. Even the concept of destruction that returns all to formlessness itself. As a means to safely understand Khaastgaah, it is best that its tale is translated into the classic creation myth the following texts will tell.

The all-creating Khaastgaah sculpted a divine face: the neutral, dreaming, and lonely Zurvan. Melded from the earliest batch of creative masks, it kept melting and reforming itself inconsistently, like a clay pot knowing it was a pot but was told to be a bowl. Churning pieces of milky essence spat out of Zurvan’s formless self, fragments of diluted concepts curdling into lumps that would conceptualize as the super-concept of consciousness. The rest of the lumps amassed into a massive container, forming the entities mortals have - untouchable deities that spawn both awe and fear.

There is the stinking Gannag Menog whose idiotic roots branch across the horizons of nothingness. On them grew ethereal fruits housing realistic verses, or reality, as referred by the lesser mortals. Aligning the putrid bark are gnawing maws for chewing the festered fruits detached from Menog’s own roots, the throats leading to digestive sewers where the complex is grinded to be defecated as creative essence for the great dreamer.

There is the radiant Atar whose five radiant heads spewed radiation which gathered into heat within the vacant void. The shimmering of the serpent’s necks shook his plasmic scales, their rattling collapsing into solar spheres home to his wingless spawn. Near these waving nests where the worms that crest, divine-less dolls of lesser power split from the timeless muck of creation, creating to their nature’s whims next to the homes of the Atar-spawn.

There is the ominous Mah whose formless crusts had shed rocky debris that fell into the skins of realities. These stony Mah-childs would crash into one another, which many dolls beneath divinity developed in and on them. Largest of the polished debris attracted their shattered kin to gather, one by one, they further fragmented post-impact onto their eldest’s crusts, seeding the natives with Mah’s watery essence. Smaller rocks unbroken floated dormant next to the eldest as eclipsing moons, a reminder of their deceased contributions to mortality.

There is the turbulent yet composed Vayu-Vata whose twin-natured heads blew all beneath them to move with their laughing breaths. From Vayu’s free spirit birthed strong winds and the space between things; from Vata’s calm spirit birthed the atmosphere and progressive time. One jokes aloud and one jokes unloud, their antics are what make waves out of seas, canvases for creative crafts, allow life to breathe vitality, and allow stories to reach from start to end.

Then there were the dueling moralities Ohrmazd and Ahriman. The former of light and the latter of dark, each who had their visions for infant reality and perceived to be in mutual conflict. With his own light did Ohrmazd craft proto-life from the shaped muck on the Mah-childs near the Atar-spawn, attracting the ire of Ahriman who beated his own dark into proto-life who exist to pain all that is not their maker.

So began the time for Zurvan’s side of creation to expand and dominate.

So began… the reign of the Zurvanists.