Fomorn was born a very long time ago, in the early days of humanity, in the vicinity of modern day Ethiopia.
His mother was a hard woman who fled the brutality of her existence to lead a solitary life. She had lived in a tribe of others like herself and though everyone was mostly cooperative, the men would use food to lure her close enough to grab and ravage her, and she always struggled for the limited resources that were available.
She could hunt for herself, she didn’t need the cruel and selfish men, and she slowly wandered away from the tribe. She had learned to defend herself and she could make weapons that she used to ward off predators. Eventually, she was exploring areas of the land that the rest of her tribe had not managed to see. She wandered the new lands to the west that were flat and dry, and she soon came to regret it. Her tribe had settled near a reliable water source and the woman had struck out on her own into uncharted territory with no clue where she would get water. After wandering for days, the woman stumbled, then fell flat on her face in exhaustion as the wind blew swirls of dust in the hot air. And as she said goodbye to the existence that she was happy to have made for herself, she heard a voice call to her. She could barely lift her head to see the man who towered over her.
This was Fomorn’s father, and he was over twelve feet tall.
Fomorn’s mother knew that her son was special; he was the son of a giant who she believed had descended from heaven. The giant apologized that he could not travel with the woman for the rest of her life, but he promised her that her son would see her through. When Fomorn was born, he was fully grown. He was as smart as a grown man and he protected his mother as they continued their journey west, in search of nothing in particular. Formorn could bring the rains when his mother was thirsty, and he could stir the winds she was hot.
And then the woman longed for home. She hated the hostilities that existed in her tribe, but they were her family. She thought that maybe she could teach them to get along in a more civil way. So they turned back east and the woman proudly presented her son who was capable of miracles to the tribe she had left. They were resistant, even after Formorn performed his miracles. The woman manifested miracles of her own when the tribe turned on the boy; somehow she pulled metals from the earth that she manipulated into a makeshift prison to house the men who threatened her son. Everyone bowed to her. Her son fled in fear, though, as she basked in the admiration, and by the time she noticed he was gone, Formorn had taken flight on the wind.
When he landed, Formorn was over water and he splashed down, flailing with panic. Then he felt a hand grab his wrist and pluck him from the ocean. It was Mog, and he was smiling.
“I saw you fly,” he said. “Where are you from?”
“A people who do not want me,” Fomorn said sadly.
Mog was as tall as Formorn’s father had been, though Fomorn was not aware of this.
“I will be your people,” Mog said and they were inseparable for decades.
Until Formorn’s mother surprised them one day the two enjoyed the view over a cliff.
“You left me, your home, for him?” she asked, obviously angry. “You could do so much for your people!”
Fomorn tried to explain himself, that his time with Mog had been so peaceful that time had slipped away without his noticing, but his mother was enraged. She expected her special son to use his gifts to make things better, but instead he was hiding away with a white giant. So his mother conjured all of the magic that she had discovered over the decades and she cursed the men to always be together, unable to die, unable to rise above the station of beggar, until they proved that they could live in service to others.
“This will work? You promise?” Fomorn asked in his southern accent. He was scared and it showed on his face. He and his companion, Mog, were standing in the circle of a street light. There was a third man who stood stone still in a pose like he was shaking someone’s hand. He had been shaking Mog’s hand, that was still glowing red even after the man stood frozen.
“We unnatural, we shouldn’t be here. That snooty fuckin’ Alia…” Mog started and he stopped when Formorn frowned at him. “I know she your mama, but she’s a bitch.”
“She was just disappointed. And when we do what she asked, then we can…”
“How long we been doing what she asked? She long dead Fo, but her magic ain’t.”
The two heard a car approach. The driver’s side window went down and a woman leaned out smiling.
“Can we help y’all?” the woman asked earnestly.
Fomorn shot a look of concern at Mog. “Don’t hurt anybody, promise you won’t.”
Mog smiled gently and walked over to the car. “We only need seven,” he said looking back at Fomorm. When he looked back at the car he offered his glowing hand to the woman who shook it, and then the passenger. They both sat still as the man under the streetlight.
“We get seven, and then I can get us home.” Mog smiled. “I’ll be tall and strong again.”
Fomorn had been alive for a very long time and he had been a beggar for the majority of it. He was desperate for it to be over.
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