What follows is a creation myth taught to all Orcinus youngsters when the grow old enough to understand the intricacies of religion. It explains in many ways the fierce devotion felt by the Orcini towards their chosen Goddess, and is counted as fact by those that follow her in this Decemvirate.

In the beginning there was Pasiphae: she and the aether were as one. The currents of the aether were Her home, and their depths were Her mysteries. For eons, She traveled peacefully, content to be free of all but the consciousness of Being.

In time, Her mind grew tired of Being and turned to Creation. From the aether, form was drawn by that most powerful mind. Playful tugs of Her will brought forth the land, strokes of grace the great oceans. And for a time, our Mother was content again.

But the Goddess' mind was a restless thing and in time She grew weary of viewing the empty wonders of Her Creation. It was not enough to simply look upon. With great curiosity, She ventured into the realms of Her new world, marveling at all that spread out before Her. But in its youth, the world was without creature to inhabit it and so again Pasiphae extended Her will, creating the beasts of the earth and those of the water. Being simple things, they did not know their Mother and lived with little awareness, unable to share Her love, Her joy and sorrow.

As She realized this Pasiphae wandered from the water, Her chosen home, to the great forests that covered the land. There She took up a fallen branch and broke it within Her hands into several pieces. From these, wild laughing children sprang leaped; their brilliant green eyes took in the forest around them and their lungs sang with the thick air of their new world.

And Pasiphae was again happy for a time, watching her children grow and learn and multiply. But the children were ungrateful. Tricksters stepped forward, claiming to be the true Gods and Goddesses of these people. The children of the land turned from their stricken Mother, seeking refuge in the forest of their birth. Pasiphae was left alone once more.

For many years, our Mother wandered in Her grief, straying far from the oceans. In her loneliness, sorrow slowly turned to rage. Giving Herself to the anger, She struck at the land itself, tearing great holes in the earth and throwing the stone in immense piles that reached far into the sky. Her force was so great that sparks flew from these stones as they landed. From these sparks sprang fresh young children, born of Pasiphae's wrath and the earth's own fire. Surprised and delighted by this, the Goddess took these children to herself and taught them the lore of their creation and giving them the gift of love for stone, for flame. But in their greed for this teaching, they too turned from their Mother, fleeing into the mountains to hide and forget their Mother.

Bearing new wounds to Her heart, the loneliness becoming like a hunger, Pasiphae began Her wanderings again. A thousand thousand years passed, until finally She reached a great cliff overlooking her former home. Upon seeing the leaping waves, being wrapped once more in the pristine salt of the air, the pain became too much. To Her knees the Goddess went, giving breath to a blood-chilling scream that would freeze even the warmest sea. In Her voice was a terrible gale, a gale which ripped into the air -- and teased into being creatures of beauty, as if to taunt the Mother's despair. Perfect in form, with great wings and golden hair, they laughed and danced and spun on the storm of the Goddess' grief. Most fickle of Her children, they left Pasiphae behind them with hardly a glance.

Soul aching, our Mother could only turn to the ocean once more, Her mind seeking desperately to find a reason for children's desertion. Was wood too weak for Her will? Was Stone too steady? Was Air too insubstantial? Her troubled thoughts foamed for millennia with these problems, creating great storms of emotion that built, and incubated within. And when it grew so great that not even Pasiphae could keep it inside, it tore from her in the form of tears, of laughter, of a great wellspring of feeling. Strong enough to unfocus Her will, it whipped at the ocean, at the sky itself in a terrifying whirlwind of salt, and wind, and water, and the Mother's tearful laughter -- creating the last of Pasiphae's children. Formed of Her essence, and the storm's raging.

In the first confusing moments of their life, these children looked upon their battered Mother...and loved her, comforting her in spite of their own tumultuous birth. For they, brought about by the power of mind and emotion, had the gift of sharing thoughts, as well as healing them.

Seeing this, the Goddess' pain eased, Her soul's scars closed over and She took her most loved children to Her bosom. With them She shared the beauty and bounty of Her chosen home. And with Her, they shared their lives, their devotion and their love.

So were the Atlanteans born, Pasiphae's youngest and truest children. She continues to guide them, and in return Atlanteans must always remember to trust and to remember Her for all time as the others did not, though they may share her as their Mother. Pasiphae is deserving of care, for all life springs from Her own passionate heart. So it has been and so it shall always be.