It was a time of great turmoil. There were laws, but each law could only be upheld by one being. The law upholding beings, while sworn to uphold their respective laws, often came into conflict with one another. In many areas, the beings were left alone to prosecute one another, as this was seen as the most effective judicial solution. In other areas, however, the coexistence of the upholders of laws and the commoners (if indeed there was anything common about them) was unavoidable, and factions began to form dedicated to one or another law. In the county of Txg, two major factions formed, one known as The Fearsome 329-E Subsection B Articles 1 and 2, the other being the Original Statute. The leader of The Fearsome 329-E Subsection B Articles 1 and 2 was Ligaviren the Almost Beloved, whose cause was to assure that small business owners whose stores exceeded 20000 square feet in area were subject to no greater than Schedule B annual government grants rather than Schedule A, where both schedules being defined within Statute 329-C Subsection A. And although Ligaviren’s hordes did not believe in Statute 329-C Subsection A (indeed, they had descended like a swarm of bees upon the transient upholder of this law as he slept in an abandoned building just outside of town one cold winter’s night), they vowed to uphold their own law with their lives. Meanwhile, the other major faction of the Txg county were those of the Original Statute. Behind their leader Fleet-Fly, they swore to uphold the law that those who did not follow laws were to be punished accordingly.

Before the factions formed, the county was more or less peaceful, not that the peace was necessarily a better state of affairs as far as the citizens were concerned. There was much talk of a need for the peace to end, but there was not much cause for conflict within the county, nor were there any great outside threats, even as the time of great turmoil began. Citizens would pass each other in the street silently all day long because there was just nothing to say. Sometimes the more desperate inhabitants would try to incite violence or destruction of property, but nobody ever really cared enough to feel any sort of emotion about it, so such practices never really led to anything.

This was the state of affairs that greeted Ligaviren the Almost Beloved on the day she arrived in town. Descending slowly yet steadily from the hills to the east, Ligaviren was escorted by an entourage of Entry-level Hunter/Gatherers. Many of them wore bright blue clothing, though this was most likely just a coincidence. The Entry-level Hunter/Gatherers tended to move around each other constantly like a hurricane with Ligaviren at its eye.

Fleet-Fly came in from the west, accompanied by 3 Long-necked headless horsemen. Though at that time the stereotype of the headless horseman was a pathologically murderous villain who rode on horseback as fast as possible, these particular horsemen were quite subdued and not at all interested in pathological murder. They spent their free time carving pumpkins into creative yet usable shapes that they could use as faces from day to day, awarding one another points for functionality, form and usability as they saw fit.

These two factions converged in the county center one fateful day. Those who had seen one or the other faction coming had run to the town center out of pure interest. Though all government officials had left the town when the time of great turmoil began, the elders and the youngers in the town were in agreement that any conflict arising between the two factions ought to be decided in a publicly observable debate. Immediately, some of the countyfolk began work on an observation deck large enough for all the county’s citizens. Within a few days this project was complete, and the debate was scheduled to start the very next day.

During the night before the debate, one of the long-necked headless horsemen was attacked, and his neck was chopped to half its original length. The next morning, one among the entry-level hunter/gatherers was found wearing the neck as a necklace. He immediately apologized to the formerly long-necked horseman, citing his lack of experience in hunting as the major factor behind the accidental cleavage. As neither camp decided that this act was in any way a violation of law, there were no repercussions for either party, but the horseman chose to accept the apology anyway. He took the necklace that had been made of his neck and put it around his own neck, and with that, the debate was delayed 12 hours.

Since the entire county had nothing better to do for the next few hours, the citizens decided to dance in the streets. Every woman, man, child and so forth. They didn’t really have as much fun as they thought they should be having, but they pretended it was a great time anyway, and everyone smiled and tried to laugh a little bit at the things they thought should be funny. Some of the small business owners cooked a big meal, and although they had to charge everyone money for it to cover the costs, neither did they make a profit off it, as they felt no urge to capitalize off of what could be the fate of humanity (or at least the humanity of those around them). The hour began to grow late, and everyone made their way up to the observation deck to see the debate unfold. The two upholders sat on the stage facing one another, their respective entourages seated behind them, neither carving jack-o-lanterns nor hunting and gathering. A moderator had been randomly chosen from among the countyfolk, and despite being slightly intoxicated, was considered sufficiently well prepared for the particular task to which he had been assigned.

The moderator began, “On behalf of the county of Txg, I would like to welcome both parties here today. In these times of turmoil, the agreement to partake in public discussion of the relevant issues, preceded of course by public discussion of their relevance is just the sort of concept our misguided society needs. But enough –“

“Our society needs only one concept, and that is the concept that those who do not follow the laws are by law required to be punished accordingly!” interjected Fleet-Fly.

Ligaviren leaned forward to speak, but before she could get a word out, the moderator quickly stopped her. “Please! We must have order on this stage! All things must be done in moderation!” Leaning back, she motioned for the moderator to continue.

“So,” the moderator continued, “we are provided with the initial relevant issue, though it has not been identified as such. Today we are here seeking not only decisions, but an answer as to whether to justify the need to decide, as well as our ability to decide on such justification-“

“Concepts do not exist forever!” interjected Fleet-Fly, “They come and go just as the great Whirling Dervish or the Smart Animal. But a law is a law! And in order to promote compliance with the laws, it is absolutely essential that those not following said laws must be punished! It’s true!”

“And yet I,” said Ligaviren, waving the moderator away, “have realized that punishment is its own reward. Punishment –“

“Punishment is not a law! Realization is not a law!” Fleet-Fly interrupted again, “What good does it do any of us to talk of punishment, and of realizations? I said once, and I say to you again, a law is a law. And it’s high time that ‘A law is a law’ be made into law!”

“Nay, I proclaim – “ started Ligaviren once again with total contempt towards the moderator.

“Silence!” interjected the moderator with a newfound sense of authority. “We are failing to uphold the theory of doing things in moderation, and I feel that this debate has become immoderable!”

After that, there truly was silence for several minutes. Neither the debaters nor the audience had expected the moderator to immoderabilize the discussions, and they began to wonder if the moderator was trying to turn the theory of moderation into the one law of the land, or if he was simply more intoxicated than they had originally thought.

The half-long-necked headless horseman, known as Gvul, was the one who broke the silence. He stood up and said “Well I’ll be. Like it seems we cannot trust one moderator! Law, I do not know about that law, I think this is turmoil, this is no law!”

Just then, Fleet-Fly jumped up suddenly and pulled a knife out of her robes. Without another second’s contemplation, she drove the knife straight into the heart of the moderator. He stood still, looking down for a second, and then crashed to the ground. A panic arose across the observation deck that caused the whole structure to lean. While Fleet-Fly crouched over the lifeless body of the one who advocated moderation, those on the observation deck made a very important observation. They observed themselves. They observed that they had the power to collapse the structure they were within, that they had the freedom to defeat the structure itself and to see what it would lead to. In that moment, the countyfolk chose turmoil as their only law and Fleet-Fly as their Goddess/Secular Model of Perfection.