Post by TheUdjat on May 28, 2008 21:23:27 GMT -5
So, I've been alluding to a new setting I've been working on, Four, where I will set a 4e campaign. I thought it'd be nice to share some of that work in progress with you guys, for your enjoyment (and maybe to garner some more interest). So here's a teaser--the ancient history/creation myth of the world.
Ancient History
In the beginning, there was nothing—nothing ordered, anyway. There was chaos, a cacophony of matter and magic and minds with nothing to stabilize it. This era lasted forever, and it lasted no time at all, because there was no such thing as time. There was no point of reference, no purpose to give the passage of time any sort of meaning—and without purpose, time failed to exist.
In one shining moment, in that chaos, something happened. By pure incidence of chance, the chaos and disorder aligned itself in a structure, a pattern—and the pattern recognized itself. Given a form and function by complete happenstance, this little point of order held itself together in the wild chaos, and it survived.
And thus, Fire was born. It had form, dynamism, activity; sense. It was little more structured than the madness from which it sprung, but it was enough to support the idea of consistency and pattern. Fire burned. It danced and produced heat and it consumed. It changed things. It existed.
By accepting existence, by realizing itself and its own motion, Fire began the flow of time. For with thought, recognition and activity comes time.
Fire’s first thought upon realizing that it had surroundings and that they all existed in time was that it was different. Other things existed in that chaos, sometimes for only half a flicker of firelight, but Fire could recognize their patterns as different from its own. From the disorder, the irregularity, it picked out two others. By comparing them to itself and understanding their different functions, Fire discovered Air and Earth.
Air flowed, moving fluidly and wildly like Fire, by with a subtle kind of regularity that Fire could not reproduce. Fire consumed Air, and Air in turn doused Fire, and there was a pattern in that, too.
Earth was unlike Air, however. It was far more stable and ordered than the other two, more static and reliable. Fire could consume and cause change in Earth as well, and Earth could bear the flame, or bury it.
But Air and Earth did not enjoy such equity. They found themselves separated, always at odds, so different in form and function that they could not relate to each other as they related to Fire. Seeking to further the precious order of this fledgling universe, Fire tried to help Air and Earth, to bring them to a comfortable unity. It pulled from itself and from the two, to try and compromise the patterns into something like all, but like neither.
And so Water was born.
Water completed the circle in a way Fire had only dreamed possible. Though spawned in part from Fire itself, Water was completely unlike the latter. But much to the delight of all, it could relate easily to Air and Earth—for in Air, Water was moved and lifted, melding easily; and under and upon Earth, Water could flow, carrying little pieces of Earth with it. Water could rain through the skies, bubble up from the Earth—and with the addition or removal of Fire, could even transform from one to the other.
Water was the missing Fourth. Water brought all together, connecting and mixing and nurturing where Fire could only change and affect.
It was only when the Four were complete that they realized their efforts had had amazing consequences. For in so merging and interacting and changing one another, the Four had created the world.
And it was good.
To celebrate their new creation, the Four discussed how they might manage it. As was to be expected, they all had radically different ideas on what should be done. They debated for long hours over what to do, but could come to no decision—for though each understood their balance with the other, none could exist separate of their own whole. They were too pure in form and idea, too separate.
It was Water who suggested that they mate, and perhaps this is to be expected. Water understood that though each one had their merits, the true power of the Four lay within their relationship to one another. The Four were too close and different to manage the world, too radically different in personality. They needed to create something else.
So the Four mated, each donating pieces of themselves to the other, mixing and recombining until their essences were scattered into four times four. Each took elements of the other, donating elements of themselves, and keeping part of themselves as pure and unbroken as when they were born. The Sixteen that were left, the Four of Four, found themselves Gods of a new world.
Finally, knowing each other intimately, a part of each other and apart from each other, the elements were ready to manage their world, their piece of order in the mired seas of chaotic infinity. They immediately set to work, crafting mountains and cliffs, marshes and deserts, bottomless seas and vast blue skies.
When they were done with the Tapestry, they populated it with beings. Each God brought its own favorite ideas with which to craft beings, and it quickly became a contest. The Four of Fire finished their creations first, to no-one’s surprise, creating the pure, powerful, and proud Jinn. With blood of glowing embers and souls of restless fire, the Jinn were diligent and intelligent, full of life and verve. They scorched their mark into the world, burning out a territory and ruling with deadly beauty—much like the Gods of Fire themselves.
When this was done, the Gods of Earth took their turn next. With sturdy shapes and malleable forms, they created a multitude of beings—all hardy, borne of the Earth itself and kin to it. Some were small and some were great, some modeled after the fine form of the Jinn, others entirely unlike them. Some bore soft flesh like clay, others hardened scales like rock, or diamond. There were too many to count, all of them wondrous in some way—hideous or impressive or noble.
The greatest of these were the Trolls Lords, and the Dragons. So great were they, that they took dominion of the world from out of the hands of the Jinn, who were already overwhelmed by the myriad creations of Earth. The Fire Lords retreated to the hot deserts were those of clay were reluctant to tread, leaving the rest of the world to the Trolls and Dragons.
But the Trolls and Dragons, though brothers of Earth, were rivals. Each one sought to be the best creation of the Earth gods, and so they went to war with one another. The terror and devastation that came from this battle sent many of the lesser species into hiding, and laid waste to the great empires of both great peoples. In the end, the mighty kingdom of the Trolls was but ruins, and the Dragons were scattered to the edges of the land.
The way was clear for those of Air to take their turn.
While the creations of Earth warred and those of Fire retreated, Air created creatures from the skies and stars themselves, weaving stormclouds and scented breezes and twinkling constellations into the forms of the Fey folk. Like those of Earth, they were many in form and mind—but unlike those of Earth, they were bent towards less physical pursuits—crafting works of art, bending mighty nature to house their cities, contemplating the way of things, and inventing music and poetry. Great cultures arose from the ranks of the Fey, foremost among them they great Sidhe, who spread knowledge and craftsmanship to the farthest reaches of the world, still recovering from the violence of the Trolls and Dragons. The Sidhe nurtured the world, and they filled every part of it—but taking most fondly to the forests and high spires of the land.
The gods of Air felt smug with their creations, confident with their success in the grand contest. The empires of Fire and Earth had fallen into obscurity and barbarism, while Air rose higher and achieved much through peace and kindness.
The Gods looked to Water for the last challenge. Smiling, quiet, the Gods of Water laid out the myriad animals of sky, sea, and soil. Bears, cattle, insects, wolves, ravens, fish—all were made by the steady, quiet power of Water.
The other Gods shook their heads in amusement at this pitiful offering. The animals were elegant and numerous, but they didn’t possess the power or intelligence of the other offerings. The Gods of Air took it as an admission of defeat, and the contest was deemed settled.
Those of Water sat back, they smiled, and they waited.
While the Gods toiled about their sandbox, the chaos that reigned beyond their Tapestry was not idle. For their, lurking in the space beyond existence, outside the boundaries of That Which Is, other things watched the world. They were beings of chaos, by luck drawn into semi-cohesive forms. They did not have the ordered perfection of the Four of Four, but they bore power nonetheless, spawned of the same primordial pit that birthed the elements. And looking on the world, they were jealous.
As the contest of the Gods wore on, Forty separate gazes swept over the world, watching and waiting, seething and enviously spying on a place of ordered perfection beyond their reach. Finally, when the Gods of Air declared their victory and the Sidhe reigned over the world, the Forty Fiends that watched saw their moment—and they seized it.
For though the creations of the Gods were powerful and magnificent, they bore intelligence, and such a thing did not come without a price. Intelligence required something from beyond the perfect order of the Elements, some tiny sliver of chaos with which to give it imagination, depth, and higher functions. The Gods did not even realize they granted their creations such a thing, but they had done so, and the Forty Fiends seized on that infinitesimal piece of themselves, and they whispered into the minds of those that walked the world.
Those that are highest fall furthest, so it is said, and so it was. The minds of the Sidhe, knowing only peace and comfort, were easy prey for the Lords of Madness. The Fiends spoke to them, and the fickle Sidhe listened. The peaceful breeze of Air’s servants turned to tempests of crazed emotion. Millions of Sidhe abandoned the path of leisure and prosperity, turning to unfamiliar violence, slaughter, and insanity as their newfound gods. A civil war erupted across the world, and the horrid creatures destroyed or twisted everything before them.
The Dark Elves were born.
They spread their taint all across the world like a foul wind, infecting every corner with their filth. They passed on the worship of madness to the other precious creations, infecting Troll, Dragon, and Jinn all. Brother was turned on brother, civilizations and kingdoms turned to strife and collapsed. All was barbarism, death, and… chaos.
The Fiends were happy.
But there were those that were not corrupted by the Fiends—those that hadn’t the minds and comprehension to be infected by them. The animals, full of base instinct, were immune to the chaos of the Fiends, and though they could not oppose their agents, they were allowed to grow populous, and to grow. Those Sidhe that survived the tyranny of their brothers recognized this strange power of Water’s creations, and they seized on it. They took in the craftiest of Water’s creations, the ape called Man, and they passed on their knowledge and learning to him—and with it they gave Man the warning of delirium and madness, of what darkness can come of intellect.
Thus, when the Sidhe tore a spark of chaos out of the aether to gift Man with sentience, he was ready.
Humanity was created.
The Gods of Water looked on, pleased.
The Dark Elves and their ilk didn’t expect the wave of Humanity that arose to confront them. With the divided Sidhe as allies, Mankind flowed across the world, driving the darkness of the Fiends from the world. They killed or redeemed those they encountered, and in so doing liberated the sons of Earth known as Dwarves and Dragonborn. Halflings, too, were freed, and the Jinn—though the last merely departed to their isolation, as is the way of fragile, consuming Fire.
The legions of the Forty Fiends, over time, fell before the united mass of mankind. Though not immune to the madness of the Fiends, Man was resistant to it, and far more numerous than the other races—and much, much more adaptable. Like the Water they were made from, mankind flowed around, beneath, or over the obstacles in its path, the power of the masses more impressive than the sum of its parts.
It was a long and dark time, fraught with danger and desperation at times, but in the end mankind drove the Forty Fiends and their minions to the deepest reaches of the world, and there bound them beneath the foundations of the world—forever sealed away. And there they remain, even to this day.
With the Fiends imprisoned and their legions scattered or decimated, Humanity turned to the world it had inherited. Man, that finest of Water’s forms, took up dominion of the world, leaving space for those that had raised in, fought with it, and worked with it—the Sidhe, Elves, Halflings, Dwarves, and Dragonborn; even those of the Jinn called Tieflings, closest to the world of Man.
But even Water can become murky and volatile...
Ancient History
In the beginning, there was nothing—nothing ordered, anyway. There was chaos, a cacophony of matter and magic and minds with nothing to stabilize it. This era lasted forever, and it lasted no time at all, because there was no such thing as time. There was no point of reference, no purpose to give the passage of time any sort of meaning—and without purpose, time failed to exist.
In one shining moment, in that chaos, something happened. By pure incidence of chance, the chaos and disorder aligned itself in a structure, a pattern—and the pattern recognized itself. Given a form and function by complete happenstance, this little point of order held itself together in the wild chaos, and it survived.
And thus, Fire was born. It had form, dynamism, activity; sense. It was little more structured than the madness from which it sprung, but it was enough to support the idea of consistency and pattern. Fire burned. It danced and produced heat and it consumed. It changed things. It existed.
By accepting existence, by realizing itself and its own motion, Fire began the flow of time. For with thought, recognition and activity comes time.
Fire’s first thought upon realizing that it had surroundings and that they all existed in time was that it was different. Other things existed in that chaos, sometimes for only half a flicker of firelight, but Fire could recognize their patterns as different from its own. From the disorder, the irregularity, it picked out two others. By comparing them to itself and understanding their different functions, Fire discovered Air and Earth.
Air flowed, moving fluidly and wildly like Fire, by with a subtle kind of regularity that Fire could not reproduce. Fire consumed Air, and Air in turn doused Fire, and there was a pattern in that, too.
Earth was unlike Air, however. It was far more stable and ordered than the other two, more static and reliable. Fire could consume and cause change in Earth as well, and Earth could bear the flame, or bury it.
But Air and Earth did not enjoy such equity. They found themselves separated, always at odds, so different in form and function that they could not relate to each other as they related to Fire. Seeking to further the precious order of this fledgling universe, Fire tried to help Air and Earth, to bring them to a comfortable unity. It pulled from itself and from the two, to try and compromise the patterns into something like all, but like neither.
And so Water was born.
Water completed the circle in a way Fire had only dreamed possible. Though spawned in part from Fire itself, Water was completely unlike the latter. But much to the delight of all, it could relate easily to Air and Earth—for in Air, Water was moved and lifted, melding easily; and under and upon Earth, Water could flow, carrying little pieces of Earth with it. Water could rain through the skies, bubble up from the Earth—and with the addition or removal of Fire, could even transform from one to the other.
Water was the missing Fourth. Water brought all together, connecting and mixing and nurturing where Fire could only change and affect.
It was only when the Four were complete that they realized their efforts had had amazing consequences. For in so merging and interacting and changing one another, the Four had created the world.
And it was good.
To celebrate their new creation, the Four discussed how they might manage it. As was to be expected, they all had radically different ideas on what should be done. They debated for long hours over what to do, but could come to no decision—for though each understood their balance with the other, none could exist separate of their own whole. They were too pure in form and idea, too separate.
It was Water who suggested that they mate, and perhaps this is to be expected. Water understood that though each one had their merits, the true power of the Four lay within their relationship to one another. The Four were too close and different to manage the world, too radically different in personality. They needed to create something else.
So the Four mated, each donating pieces of themselves to the other, mixing and recombining until their essences were scattered into four times four. Each took elements of the other, donating elements of themselves, and keeping part of themselves as pure and unbroken as when they were born. The Sixteen that were left, the Four of Four, found themselves Gods of a new world.
Finally, knowing each other intimately, a part of each other and apart from each other, the elements were ready to manage their world, their piece of order in the mired seas of chaotic infinity. They immediately set to work, crafting mountains and cliffs, marshes and deserts, bottomless seas and vast blue skies.
When they were done with the Tapestry, they populated it with beings. Each God brought its own favorite ideas with which to craft beings, and it quickly became a contest. The Four of Fire finished their creations first, to no-one’s surprise, creating the pure, powerful, and proud Jinn. With blood of glowing embers and souls of restless fire, the Jinn were diligent and intelligent, full of life and verve. They scorched their mark into the world, burning out a territory and ruling with deadly beauty—much like the Gods of Fire themselves.
When this was done, the Gods of Earth took their turn next. With sturdy shapes and malleable forms, they created a multitude of beings—all hardy, borne of the Earth itself and kin to it. Some were small and some were great, some modeled after the fine form of the Jinn, others entirely unlike them. Some bore soft flesh like clay, others hardened scales like rock, or diamond. There were too many to count, all of them wondrous in some way—hideous or impressive or noble.
The greatest of these were the Trolls Lords, and the Dragons. So great were they, that they took dominion of the world from out of the hands of the Jinn, who were already overwhelmed by the myriad creations of Earth. The Fire Lords retreated to the hot deserts were those of clay were reluctant to tread, leaving the rest of the world to the Trolls and Dragons.
But the Trolls and Dragons, though brothers of Earth, were rivals. Each one sought to be the best creation of the Earth gods, and so they went to war with one another. The terror and devastation that came from this battle sent many of the lesser species into hiding, and laid waste to the great empires of both great peoples. In the end, the mighty kingdom of the Trolls was but ruins, and the Dragons were scattered to the edges of the land.
The way was clear for those of Air to take their turn.
While the creations of Earth warred and those of Fire retreated, Air created creatures from the skies and stars themselves, weaving stormclouds and scented breezes and twinkling constellations into the forms of the Fey folk. Like those of Earth, they were many in form and mind—but unlike those of Earth, they were bent towards less physical pursuits—crafting works of art, bending mighty nature to house their cities, contemplating the way of things, and inventing music and poetry. Great cultures arose from the ranks of the Fey, foremost among them they great Sidhe, who spread knowledge and craftsmanship to the farthest reaches of the world, still recovering from the violence of the Trolls and Dragons. The Sidhe nurtured the world, and they filled every part of it—but taking most fondly to the forests and high spires of the land.
The gods of Air felt smug with their creations, confident with their success in the grand contest. The empires of Fire and Earth had fallen into obscurity and barbarism, while Air rose higher and achieved much through peace and kindness.
The Gods looked to Water for the last challenge. Smiling, quiet, the Gods of Water laid out the myriad animals of sky, sea, and soil. Bears, cattle, insects, wolves, ravens, fish—all were made by the steady, quiet power of Water.
The other Gods shook their heads in amusement at this pitiful offering. The animals were elegant and numerous, but they didn’t possess the power or intelligence of the other offerings. The Gods of Air took it as an admission of defeat, and the contest was deemed settled.
Those of Water sat back, they smiled, and they waited.
While the Gods toiled about their sandbox, the chaos that reigned beyond their Tapestry was not idle. For their, lurking in the space beyond existence, outside the boundaries of That Which Is, other things watched the world. They were beings of chaos, by luck drawn into semi-cohesive forms. They did not have the ordered perfection of the Four of Four, but they bore power nonetheless, spawned of the same primordial pit that birthed the elements. And looking on the world, they were jealous.
As the contest of the Gods wore on, Forty separate gazes swept over the world, watching and waiting, seething and enviously spying on a place of ordered perfection beyond their reach. Finally, when the Gods of Air declared their victory and the Sidhe reigned over the world, the Forty Fiends that watched saw their moment—and they seized it.
For though the creations of the Gods were powerful and magnificent, they bore intelligence, and such a thing did not come without a price. Intelligence required something from beyond the perfect order of the Elements, some tiny sliver of chaos with which to give it imagination, depth, and higher functions. The Gods did not even realize they granted their creations such a thing, but they had done so, and the Forty Fiends seized on that infinitesimal piece of themselves, and they whispered into the minds of those that walked the world.
Those that are highest fall furthest, so it is said, and so it was. The minds of the Sidhe, knowing only peace and comfort, were easy prey for the Lords of Madness. The Fiends spoke to them, and the fickle Sidhe listened. The peaceful breeze of Air’s servants turned to tempests of crazed emotion. Millions of Sidhe abandoned the path of leisure and prosperity, turning to unfamiliar violence, slaughter, and insanity as their newfound gods. A civil war erupted across the world, and the horrid creatures destroyed or twisted everything before them.
The Dark Elves were born.
They spread their taint all across the world like a foul wind, infecting every corner with their filth. They passed on the worship of madness to the other precious creations, infecting Troll, Dragon, and Jinn all. Brother was turned on brother, civilizations and kingdoms turned to strife and collapsed. All was barbarism, death, and… chaos.
The Fiends were happy.
But there were those that were not corrupted by the Fiends—those that hadn’t the minds and comprehension to be infected by them. The animals, full of base instinct, were immune to the chaos of the Fiends, and though they could not oppose their agents, they were allowed to grow populous, and to grow. Those Sidhe that survived the tyranny of their brothers recognized this strange power of Water’s creations, and they seized on it. They took in the craftiest of Water’s creations, the ape called Man, and they passed on their knowledge and learning to him—and with it they gave Man the warning of delirium and madness, of what darkness can come of intellect.
Thus, when the Sidhe tore a spark of chaos out of the aether to gift Man with sentience, he was ready.
Humanity was created.
The Gods of Water looked on, pleased.
The Dark Elves and their ilk didn’t expect the wave of Humanity that arose to confront them. With the divided Sidhe as allies, Mankind flowed across the world, driving the darkness of the Fiends from the world. They killed or redeemed those they encountered, and in so doing liberated the sons of Earth known as Dwarves and Dragonborn. Halflings, too, were freed, and the Jinn—though the last merely departed to their isolation, as is the way of fragile, consuming Fire.
The legions of the Forty Fiends, over time, fell before the united mass of mankind. Though not immune to the madness of the Fiends, Man was resistant to it, and far more numerous than the other races—and much, much more adaptable. Like the Water they were made from, mankind flowed around, beneath, or over the obstacles in its path, the power of the masses more impressive than the sum of its parts.
It was a long and dark time, fraught with danger and desperation at times, but in the end mankind drove the Forty Fiends and their minions to the deepest reaches of the world, and there bound them beneath the foundations of the world—forever sealed away. And there they remain, even to this day.
With the Fiends imprisoned and their legions scattered or decimated, Humanity turned to the world it had inherited. Man, that finest of Water’s forms, took up dominion of the world, leaving space for those that had raised in, fought with it, and worked with it—the Sidhe, Elves, Halflings, Dwarves, and Dragonborn; even those of the Jinn called Tieflings, closest to the world of Man.
But even Water can become murky and volatile...
