The origin of the worlds and races in the Universe.
The Universe, once a field of battle, was recovering and learning to live without a ruler. The Giants, in losing their master, also lost their powers, and were exiled by the Gods to the dark, distant world of Khorrdok, which was shrouded in mist and where no light penetrated. After the exile of the Giants, the Nine Swords of Chaos vanished. Those Gods who had gone over to the side of evil and become servants of Chaos, would occasionally make timorous attempts to continue the legacy of Tallaar. Here and there clashes would break out between the Gods of Light and Darkness, but the uncoordinated, disorganised, leaderless Gods of Darkness were no match for the Gods of Light, who had begun to sense their power, especially after the Giants were exiled. There was nothing for it but for the Servants of Chaos and Gods of Darkness to disappear, to hide in far distant worlds. Yet their presence could still be felt in the Universe, like a drop of tar in a tub of honey.
The followers of Or’Verron came together in a Grand Assembly of the Gods. The Gods of the Elements took it upon themselves to head the gathering. The meeting pondered long and hard in deciding the fate of the worlds, before resolving to unite for the sake of the revival of the Universe. Once again, as long ago, the Gods created new worlds and revived old ones, which had suffered as a result of the Great War of the Gods. The Gods also resolved that, as well as monsters, they must create creatures endowed with souls.
So it was that the God Egos created the race of Humans, while the God Vulcan engendered the race of Magmars, who emerged from the depths of a volcano with lava in their veins instead of blood.
The Orcs, creatures with fangs, swamp-coloured skin and eyes burning with malice, were created by the God Geldokk. Cruel and bloodthirsty, the Orks were, nonetheless, excellent fighters who could rally instantly to form a vast army worthy of facing an enemy. They mostly lived deep in the mountains, as they disliked sunlight.
The Elves, creatures with pointed ears and skin the colour of the winter sky, were the creation of the romantic and genial God Oumallou. His desire was to create a race that would embody only goodness and strive towards the arts and sciences, but in time the race divided into Light and Dark Elves. The former went on singing the same fine songs and disliked war. They dreamt of noble manners and customs, and saw the forest as their home. The latter were servants of the dark arts, sending disease and troubles to other creatures and appearing in nightmares.
The worlds were like small lives in the Universe, flaring up one after another. Races of gnomes, dwarfs, orks, elves, trolls, ogres, fairies and many, many more creatures filled the Universe and populated the worlds.
A new age dawned – the Second Era of Creation.
The creation of the World of Faeo. The race of the Chosen.
The creation of the World of Faeo - favoured progeny of the Gods of the Elements, was one of the bright spots in the Second Era of Creation. The star Mirrow was sent down to give Faeo light and warmth. Nature on Faeo was abundant, with fertile soils, thick forests and clear-water lakes. It was a wonderful world, and the one elected by the Gods as refuge for the Chosen race. This race surpassed all others in strength, intelligence and beauty. Many Gods claimed credit for their creation, as they had indeed joined their efforts to perfecting these beings, but the true father of the new race was the God Bolivakhar.
The Chosen were tall, with strong, yet graceful figures and noble faces. Their eyes were especially remarkable, with their intelligent, penetrating look. They were also exceptionally talented and quick to learn. They mastered magic easily and effortlessly, later going on to invent their own magic spells and symbols. It was not hard to understand why the Gods had named them the Chosen race and, having combined in them all the best elements, sent them to settle in the World of Faeo. In making use of the world’s abundant resources, the Chosen gave as much in return. These industrious beings worked hard, taking care to safeguard all living things on Faeo. But for them the most important thing was magic. There was nowhere in the world they did not reach, discovering magic signs in seemingly the unlikeliest places. The Chosen wrote many books on magic and grimoires, containing various spells and ways of conjuring up the spirits. They described how to use all kinds of amulets, talismans, magic artefacts and much more. The magic abilities and potential of the Chosen increased day by day. They tamed the magic of the elements, the magic of life and the magic of death. They then decided their power was such that they could create their own magic artefacts. Having obtained the blessing of Bolivakhar, the Chosen set about their task.
In the Glade of Oblivion, they erected the Temple of Guuchar out of natural black stone. This religious edifice sprang up in the wasteland in a single night, its spires reaching for the sky, piercing right through the clouds. Once Guuchar became master of the Glade of Oblivion, animals, birds and insects left the place for ever. No sound disturbed the silence that cloaked the temple in an aura of mystery. Only the silent black gur birds sat in state on the spires of Guuchar, preserving the deathly silence. Inside the temple, which was as black as night itself, it was cold and dark. In the centre of the menacingly majestic chamber rose an altar-like structure in transparent white stone, which contrasted sharply with the temple’s gloomy interior. The altar emitted a dim light, like the glimmer of an early star rising in the night sky. The place exuded mystery and held within it a secret…
Once every three years, when the star of Mirrow was at its furthest point and night descended on Faeo - the Night of Truth, the Chosen would gather in the Glade of Oblivion. They came from all corners of the World of Faeo, singly and in groups, appearing suddenly as if out of nowhere, or emerging as travellers weary from the long road. On this night they would perform a ceremony that culminated in the creation of another magic artefact. Driven by a single goal and tied by bonds known only to them, the minds and souls of the Chosen would be forged together in a great shaft of energy. Each had his or her own clearly defined role. Guuchar would be a-swirl with the tremendous power of these highly developed beings, intensified by their magic incantations. The discordant voices of the Chosen as they created the incantation would echo dully off the stone walls. The light of the altar flared up, then its dazzling rays lit up the temple walls, penetrating every corner of the mysterious place. In the Glade of Oblivion, in the Temple of Guuchar, the Chosen fashioned magic artifacts which long continued to perturb the souls and minds of those who inhabited the World of Faeo, exerting their influence on its creatures and directing their fates…
Thus were created the Rod of Fire, whose force was such that it endowed its owner with great power over other creatures; the Sword of the Gods, the Hammer of Thunder, the Necklace of Fear and the Staff of the Elements…
The highborn race of the Chosen could have led Faeo towards the distant ideals of peace and prosperity, but in time the World of Faeo ceased to be inhabited by these beings alone. The Gods saw it as a land of plenty, and gradually the Chosen were surrounded by neighbours of widely differing races. A new era was dawning in Faeo’s history …
The exile of the higher race
The World of Faeo became a refuge for a great variety of creatures. The Chosen now shared it with Orks, Humans, Elves, Magmars, Gnomes, Dwarves and many others. In no time the true masters of Faeo had become guests in their own land, so quickly and firmly did the other races settle down in the wondrous world’s boundless spaces. These other races enjoyed the blessings created by the Gods and the Chosen, without a thought for the toil and effort that had gone into their creation. The races gradually spread across the world, each creating their own culture, building their own cities and finding occupations to their liking. Windswept wastelands, virgin forests, the clear waters of the rivers and lakes, all were used as sources of life and sustenance. The religious edifices of the Chosen - their places of assembly, of spiritual unity, of magic ceremonies, began to suffer incursions. The curious wandered into sacred rooms and caves, destroying the magical atmosphere by their ignorance and causing irreparable damage. The highpoint of this barbarism was the invasion of the Temple of Guuchar. Hunters out roaming through the forests one day in search of game came upon the mysterious clearing. They were struck by the deathly silence: there was no birdsong, no chirping of insects in the grass, no roaring of animals.
Black and silent, Guuchar, guardian of the silence, loomed up majestically in the midst of the clearing. The armed hunters, spurred on by curiosity, stepped boldly into the temple. At that moment a black shadow leapt from the stone walls and flew headlong at the uninvited guests. The Gur bird, faithful keeper of the magic place, defended the sacred walls jealously. She fell upon the strangers in a fury, risking her own life to drive them from the patrimony of the great race of the Chosen. Startled, the hunters waved their arms, trying to fend off the bird, their weapons temporarily forgotten. The gur bird extended its sharp claws, mercilessly tearing the uninvited guests to pieces. The fearsome cries of the wounded and dying merged with the sound of flapping wings in a horrendous cacophony. Then suddenly, through the rising crescendo, one fatal sound broke through - that of flesh rent by sword!
Convulsing in its death throes, the gur bird plummeted to the temple floor. For a moment her lifeless body lay still, then a light breeze blew and a delicate, barely detectable waft of lavender filled the room. Before the eyes of the astounded hunters, the bird melted away like smoke, leaving behind only a handful of ashes.
The hunter by whose hand the brave bird had perished replaced his bloody sword in its sheath and rushed to the altar, the others following close behind. The white stone of the altar was carved with runic inscriptions, over which dim rays of light played, revealing first one set of symbols, then another, so that the inscriptions appeared to ripple. When the strangers stepped up to the altar, they were seized by an inexplicable panic, a fear that made their knees shake. Their hearts beat so loudly it seemed they must surely be heard outside the temple.
Suddenly a light so bright it hurt the eyes and swallowed up the darkness burst forth from the depths of the altar and soared upwards to the dome. It pulsed like a fountain, spattering light in all directions. A stone fell from the walls, then another, and another, until the edifice was seized by a mighty shudder, the earth heaved beneath the feet and great boulders began to tumble, forming deep craters in the temple floor. The surviving hunters fled from the scene of horror. They ran without a backward glance, while all behind them crashed and crumbled with a great howling and groaning. In a few minutes great Guuchar was a ruin, burying the corpses of the hunters and destroying forever the place of the Chosen’s magic rituals.
When the Chosen learnt of the calamity that had befallen Guuchar, they were gripped by a wave of indignation. The Council of Elders summoned all to the Grand Assembly, where the Chosen debated long and hard what to do, how to coexist with their ignorant neighbours. How were they, whose food was spiritual, to go on accomplishing and creating, when they were surrounded by creatures whose only concern was to fill their bellies and breed more of their own kind? Then the most ancient sage, Kallvgur, stepped forward and spoke: “As the great God Bolivakhar created us, as he gave us strength and power, as he sent us to a world of true bounty, so we, who merely stand in his shadow, shall not make so bold as to decide our own fate. We shall turn to our protector, and may he decide what we must do… he will not forsake us…”
The Silent Wasteland, always deserted, seemed to come alive that night. Wherever one looked stood the Chosen, stock still. Today they would set out, leaving forever a world that was no longer their patrimony, their home.
The God Bolivakhar, having heard the pleas of the Council of Elders, gave the highborn race leave to choose any world, which would be at their complete command. Wearied by their importunate neighbours, the Chosen selected a far away, unexplored world with the beautiful name of Lurial. Now, lined up as one on the dry, Silent Wasteland, they waited…
When the bright star Angoli rose in the night sky and the wind had died down, a thick fog descended on the Wasteland. The fog spread, painting out the horizon, obliterating all obstacles and joining earth and sky. As if on command, the Chosen raised their arms and listened. They heard a voice, distant and indistinct, which spoke just three words: “It is time”. In the dim twilight, in the space where sky and earth were one, emitting a whitish luminescence, there opened a portal - an arched gateway, beyond which the unknown beckoned … One after another, moving steadily and smoothly, the Chosen climbed an invisible staircase and entered a door leading to a new life. They left in utter silence, without so much as a farewell glance at their former refuge. They were departing for the distant world of Lurial, leaving others in charge of the wonderful World of Faeo...