As a child, Amar-Utuk lived in the darkness and silence of the void. There was no sky, no ground, no horizon to mark the passing of time. Only cold, vast and unyielding, and the echo of existence without form. This nothingness was the first world he knew, shared only with his parents, who dwelled with him in that endless black.

Yet even in the void, Amar-Utuk dreamed. His father told stories of warmth and flame, of creation-fire that once shaped reality itself. These tales lodged deep within him. He imagined a forge vast enough to hold those flames, a place where heat could be mastered rather than feared. He yearned not only for warmth, but for what warmth implied: motion, sound, change. Something in him reached for this fire long before he understood what it truly was.

When Amar-Utuk spoke of these dreams, his parents reacted with fear. They forbade him from seeking the fire of creation and warned him never to return to “the time before.” 

They believed the darkness was safety, that concealment was survival, and that ancient enemies still searched the void. Creation, they insisted, was danger. Amar-Utuk listened, but the longing did not fade. It grew, tightening over years into obsession.

At last, in the cold stillness of the void, he acted. In a moment of rage and clarity, Amar-Utuk slew his parents. No myth preserves regret in this act, only consequence. When the silence returned, it was absolute. He stood alone in the void, unbound.

With nothing left to restrain him, Amar-Utuk pursued his work. He captured the fire of creation itself and, through unknown means, bent it to his will. In this process he discovered Anbar, the heavenly metal, capable of holding creation-fire without shattering. From Anbar he began to shape the forge he had dreamed of since childhood.

This forge became known as Anbar, the Black Forge, the anvil of Amar-Utuk the Smith. It was raised from the void itself, its substance drawn from nothingness and its purpose drawn from fire. 

Upon this forge, Amar-Utuk shaped the common planes, binding together elemental realms and giving structure to existence. Ages passed in the rhythm of hammer and flame.

One night, amid the ringing echoes of the forge, Amar-Utuk realized his bed was empty. His desires were unfulfilled. He had no companion to share the world he  had made. The only sound that answered him was the endless striking of his hammer.

Determined to end his solitude, Amar-Utuk sought a wife. He encountered Beletili, and to her he offered a dowry beyond measure: any creation she desired from the forge. Beletili asked not for a city, nor a crown, but for a key. A key that could open and close anything in existence.

Delighted by her request, Amar-Utuk forged the key at once.

They married soon after. Together, Amar-Utuk and Beletili shaped the gods and the races from earth, sky, and the elements of the planes. Through them came all peoples. In this sense, both are remembered as the fathers and mothers of all.

Their first children were the First Gods, born with purpose rather than chance. Amar-Utuk, driven by a desire for variety, traveled across all he had made, drawing inspiration from mountains, forests, seas, and stars. From these journeys he shaped the nature of his children.

Beletili tolerated her husband’s eccentricities, but when Amar-Utuk returned and she became pregnant again, his patience failed. 

He imposed his will upon the births, denying her the freedom to choose where their children would dwell or what forms they would take. Worse, he demanded she bear all of them at once, so that the burden would end quickly. Beletili obeyed.

This act broke something between them. Years of bitter conflict followed. The children, frightened by the strife, hid themselves away. At last Beletili left Amar-Utuk, cursing his name and the ruin he had brought upon the world.

 Amar-Utuk did not follow. He remained content with his children, seemingly indifferent to her absence. These gods became known as the Aelu’thari., the Titans, and other elder races. Through them came elves, dwarves, and countless others. In most legends, Amar-Utuk or one of his many names stands at the center of their stories.

For a long time, both Amar-Utuk and Beletili were silent. Amar-Utuk returned to his forge. Exhausted by the conflicts of his children, he sought to make better ones: obedient, intelligent, and unburdened by the chaos of creation. He attempted to forge these children himself, shaping them in Anbar and flame. Each attempt failed. Something vital was missing.

Realizing that life required a spark beyond his own, Amar-Utuk traveled once more. He found three sisters who agreed to bear his children. He brought them to the forge, and from them were born two sons and a daughter, known to the First Gods as the Three.

From their birth, ill omens followed. Some legends claim Amar-Utuk made dire pacts to marry the sisters. Others say Beletili cursed him. All agree on one truth: each of the Three killed their mother in the act of birth.

Their names are recorded imperfectly:

• Nergal, god of the corrupted dead, the Mockery.
• Lilitu, goddess of shadows, the Devourer.
• Xaphan, lord of the infernal, the Infernal Prince.

Amar-Utuk favored them above all others. He turned his back on his elder children and lavished the Three with power, servants, and treasure. As they grew, their nature darkened. They became selfish and cruel, and many tales recount their atrocities.

At last, desiring dominion of their own, the Three slew Amar-Utuk while he was drunk. They scattered his body across the world. His blood became the Infernal Plane. His bones formed the corrupted land of the dead. His brain became the land of shadows.

Seizing the moment, the Three turned upon the other gods. Many of the First Gods were slain before resistance could form. But before the Three could consolidate their victory, Beletili returned.

She came screaming in defiance. With the forge-key, she tore each of the Three in half and cast them, along with their planes, into the six locations where they had buried their father. She sealed them away, then used the fire within the key to burn shut the entrances to their realms.

Centuries passed. The seals weakened. Mortals and immortals flocked to the Three, drawn by promises of power and revenge. War returned to the common plane.

The First Gods gathered nearly all races into a single host. Even ancient enemies stood together. Yet victory came only with the arrival of Tanith the Quiet, a human bard bearing a malformed fragment of the forge-key. Some call her Meania or Nanshe. Some say she was Beletili’s daughter.

Under her leadership, the Three were defeated once more and sealed again. Tanith returned home, lived near the Temple of Daklha, and died. She was buried with the key.

It is said the last fire of the forge sleeps within it still. When it burns like a gem, the Three will rise again. And when it is used, their threat will end forever.

End of Mythological Tale