Genesis

The first feeble glimmer of light stirred here, and reality has been aflame ever since. What was, we know from it; what is, grew from that root; and what will be—our inevitable dissolution—burns amid its fires. The Seal is called many things, for it is the beginning and end of all. Nothingness begat nothingness, and so it was throughout the time before time. Our realm is not the place of wonders that gods and other manipulative things would have us believe. All comes from somewhere, be it natural or arcane, and all of creation knows its boundaries. But such is not the case with the Seal. From whence it came or how it fell unto our world, none—not even its first children—can say. It is that it is, and that is all we, with our feeble minds and intervals, can ever know. A shining beacon in the endless, starless night of oblivion, the Seal’s glow lit the darkness, revealing its infinite possibilities. Eons passed like drops in a river, and the first light never flickered nor diminished, nor did any spark or whisper join it in the darkness. And so the moment came and went without thought, and reality entered a new age as the Seal was joined by twin radiant motes of its own creation, barely perceptible candle flames amid its great brilliance. In a way of understanding, these were the first lives, fundamental essences learning for the first time what it was to live. Through ages untold, these motes slowly came to know motion, playing over the surface of the Seal even as they drew sustenance from its power. Countless millennia saw these flickers wander and dance, little more than sparks upon the sun, beautiful but trivial. Their endless, unthinking lives knew only the simplest of sensations, and reveled in the cold of the void and the warmth of their Seal. Then it happened again, and the motes were joined. A slight puff of life expelled dozens of new motes forth to orbit the Seal, and the First discovered that they had grown. Larger and faster than these new lives, the First collected and consumed their siblings, and grew greater. Slowly they discovered control of their forms, and the first deliberate shapes began to appear amid the Seal’s radiance. Perhaps in response, the Seal unleashed more and more of its motes, until there were too many for the First to hunt and consume. Gradually these new motes began to grow as their elder siblings, and life spread across the Seal. Thus, a distinct progression began in the time before time. There was the Seal, those newly created, and the First, who braved each new and evolving state of being. Through the epochs, the children of the Seal grew in size and complexity and ability. The motes began to take on favored forms and gradually became as great animals, wandering and feeding, exploring and interacting. The First, as the oldest and most powerful, became leaders and predators, adding the ever-advancing essences of their lesser brethren to their own, and in so doing growing always greater. Life was as a spiritual wilderness in this prehistory, and the first impressions of emotion—of companionship, and fear, and wonder—came to form. And what followed in pursuit and avoidance of these sensations was thought. Having spent untold eons together, what were once motes and the first of the Seal’s creations became brothers and the greatest of its children. With minds came power, and as they realized their needs the First unwittingly reshaped the power of the Seal to provide. Painting new wonders in the ancient light for unknowable spans, one of the First happened upon a strange sigil, and meaning came into being. Symbols and meaning emerged through the following age, the First spinning across the Seal, journeying among their lesser kin, and venturing as far from the light as they dared in discovery of new concepts. Eventually, as its brother had discovered the power of symbols, the other made its own discovery, reshaping itself and uttering the first intelligent sound. With speech came the potential for new knowledge, and the words of the First rang through an eternity that could no longer be called empty. Reaching into the depths of itself, the being that had once been nothing more than a mote crafted the first word, a name for itself, and came to be called Ithys. And for his brother, who had been his companion for all that he knew, he lovingly crafted a second name—Asmodeus.
Ihys and Asmodeus created the foundation of reality. Sculpting and inventing from the light of their world, the Seal became as a fountain of creation. The First learned to make all that they wished and wanted by drawing on its limitless power, and wonders never before imagined took shape as elements, islands of reality, and creatures shaped from lesser motes. The First were not alone during this age, though, for while they were the first, others followed their paths. From the ranks of the younger motes grew vital forces synchronous to the things Ihys and Asmodeus created, majestic and wild beast spirits, and new personalities akin to the First. These beings gathered upon the islands the brothers created, the greatest of them even learning to shape the power of the Seal themselves. The brothers created wide and recklessly, and destroyed with whimsy. Although this satisfied them for a time, both began to favor their own playgrounds and types of creations, making and remaking the same forms, refining and developing shapes as they pleased. Slowly an order to things emerged and creations began to take on uniform characteristics that pleased their makers and made them worthy of names. In this time the scaffolding of the first stars and planets was formed and the First knew pride in their work. Then clever Ihys made a discovery that would forever shatter the serenity of these early epochs. He created a new life. Having sought only to make a minute and simple creation move, Ihys channeled a portion of himself into his creation. Wondrously, the thing did indeed begin to move, but without its creator’s command began to explore and root about of its own accord. Curious, Ihys long watched over his creation, delighting in its discoveries and feeling its joys and fears. After a time, learning all he cared to, Ihys destroyed the thing. From it rose a flicker or light, a mote not unlike that which the First once were themselves, which darted back to join with its creator’s being. Fascinated and excited by his innovation, Ihys shared his knowledge with his brother and lesser kin. Creation took on a new vigor in the age after the First learned how to create new life. Countless creatures were molded and abandoned or destroyed, while whole races rose and were obliterated at the whims of their makers. Islands of reality were sculpted as menageries where new beings could live, thrive, and—eventually—reproduce on their own. Sanctuaries of life came to radiate far from the Seal—which slowly began to be lost amid the wonders it had produced—and the First, and indeed all their kin, knew the pride of parents and masters. Yet soon invaders came, and the First discovered that theirs was not the only reality. Slipping through gaps in existence came the primeval fiends, the lords of Chaos, and the masters of the elements, each discovering the worlds orbiting the Seal and seeking to claim the potential and power there. Other visitors came to explore the realms of the First as well, beings claiming origins similar to Ihys and Asmodeus’s younger brethren. These travelers brought knowledge with them of spheres beyond the Seal, strange and wondrous realms filled with primal beings and more frightening dangers. Yet the First had little interest in leaving the Seal, though many of their kin wandered out onto the planes, most of whom were never seen again. Even in the light of such revelations, eons continued to pass, and the First created and watched over their worlds. Upon their islands, the beings progressed—either by slow natural changes or outside intervention—until they, too, became thinking things and came to know awe for their creators. In this age, the children of the Seal first came to know the adoration of lesser beings and came to be known as gods, mantles which they would wear for all time after. As the gods created whole races of obedient servants and knowledge of the First and their kindred spread from world to world, reverence and soon true worship spread between the islands. This adoration meant little to the gods, though, as their creations were in truth nothing more than pets and playthings, diversions that, upon their ends, returned their borrowed motes of spiritual life back to their creators. Yet, after eons of creation and ages of coming to know the hearts and minds of his works through their prayers, the efforts Ihys had himself begun came to trouble him. Seeking out his brother’s counsel, Ihys shared his concerns. Asmodeus smiled, comforting his twin, and explained that such was the way things were and had always been. They alone were the inheritors of the Seal’s power, and the wonders they created were theirs to do with as they pleased. Life flowed from the Seal, and from it to them, and from them to others—such was the order of reality, the order they had known for all time. Thus, they should no more regret the insignificant nature of their creations than they should mourn over the light cast by the Seal or the might of their own fabulous powers. They were the First, and all others were less. Slowly and reluctantly, Ihys agreed, but he had seen change in his countless centuries, and wondered if he might again. Thus, the First shared his concerns with his lesser kin, most of whom agreed with Asmodeus. But among them too were those who shared his sympathy. Inspired to know his thoughts were not, this time, unique, Ihys visited his favorite world. There he looked over those works that had long pleased him the most, and saw the wonders that were both his and not his, the creations of his creations. He saw the progressions of shapes he had imagined in countless ages past come to living form, and evidence of his briefest musings transformed into foundations of ideas he had yet to conceive. He knew compassion, and pride, and wonder at his work, feelings he had scarce imagined before. Reaching out with his being, he touched all the creatures of his First World and warmed them with his pleasure and gratification. Then he shattered his creation. In a moment he annihilated that which pleased him most, destroying every one of the thousands of beings upon the sphere, and in so doing felt the pain, terror, and betrayal of each of his countless children. And as the minute things died, he spiritually cast off his possession of their life sparks, granting them a choice they had never before even thought to possess. Droves of these tiny flames returned bodily to him, accepting the unknowable wisdom of his act and remerging with their creator. But there were others, and in them Ihys witnessed a miracle, a truth of existence which he had refused to even dream. Hundreds of the essences of the First’s children scattered among the spheres of creation, some joining with his brother, other seeking out his myriad other kin, and still others drifting away into the dark to find their own paths. Warmed by the essences of his creations who truly revered him, and full of pride for those who had sought to be more than his slaves, Ihys knew a delight like none he had experienced before, and journeyed to proselytize the truth of their work to his brother and all their brethren. And so a schism split the gods—one that would never heal.


Asmodeus raged. Taking his brother by the arm, he showed Ihys eternities of effort come to ruin. Upon each endless sphere, they found new realms of madness and horror formed by Ihys’s loosed creations. “See, brother,” Asmodeus sobbed. “See your wonder, the damage you have caused.” And Ihys saw. He saw that which he had created reduced to cinders, insane beings abusing his beloved works, creating and recreating things beyond his imagining. And Ihys wept. Returning to the Seal, Asmodeus whispered to his brother of forgiveness, and why their might was theirs alone. He reminded his brother time and again of how his action fed the mad things that lurked beyond their worlds, and how every age forevermore would bear the scar of this one act of chaos. When Asmodeus finally left his brother, Ihys lay broken and tormented upon the Seal. Long he suffered, for never had he or any being known chiding or regret. It was one of his lesser kin, a being he had long ago coaxed from the Seal, who finally came to Ihys. Brilliant and warm, this fair mote thanked her creator, for several of the essences of his world had sought shelter with her. She promised to protect those Ihys had released among the spheres, and with them continue his great work. Yet Ihys’s heart was not so easily drawn from the shadows. He decried the mote’s words as ignorance, for there were things that she did not know and would never possess the strength of mind to discover. To this the shining mote agreed, but also claimed that there was much beneath the greatest gods’ notice that she had long ago come to accept. She had traveled her lords’ worlds and reveled in their wonders, both glory and despair. Such, she claimed, was the way of all things, and marvels should not be left uncreated for the shadows they might one day cast. And so she departed to tell others of his greatness. Long Ihys meditated on what the burning mote had said, her words tempering Asmodeus’s accusations. Finally, he rose, believing again that he had done something wondrous. Venturing from the Seal, he spoke to the droves of lesser gods who had heeded the words of the shining mote. Upon discovering that his brother had not reconsidered and now corrupted others with his radical ideals, Asmodeus flew into a rage, racing to his brother’s side and tearing him away from his growing congregation. Furious, he threatened and pleaded with his brother not to violate the order they had made, but Ihys would not be dissuaded again, and espoused the beneficence of freeing their creations. In his ire, it was Asmodeus who struck the first blow, the first act of violence between deities. Shocked and wounded, Ihys recoiled and fled, as did Asmodeus, distressed by his own actions. Yet lines had been drawn among the lesser gods, and while the First retired, a war began. Much was created and destroyed in this first war between order and chaos. Those caring nothing for the conflict departed, crafting strange domains far from the Seal or journeying into the beyond, never to be seen again. Champions rose among the followers of both Asmodeus and Ihys, but none more zealous than the mote that had come to Ihys in his grief, a gentle yet passionate goddess called Sarenrae, who became his right hand of Ihys in the battle against tyranny. None can say how long the war between the gods raged, but on an insignificant world far from the Seal, between the flickering and dying of godly motes, Asmodeus and Ihys met. Both had suffered much since their last meeting, seen whole worlds of their creations lost. Each paused upon seeing the other, and finally Ihys offered his hand, hoping to find room in their reality for both philosophies. Full of sorrow, Asmodeus reached out with one hand to pull his brother close, while with the other he manifested a great spear and thurst it deep. Shocked and betrayed, Ihys gasped and stared deep into his brother’s eyes as his vital force gave way, exploding in an eruption that rocked all creation and shattered the world of their battle. Souls and lesser deities were washed away in the blast, and all creation knew instantly of Asmodeus’s terrible act. Knowing loneliness for the first time, Asmodeus, too, shed the first and last of his tears as he floated through the dying embers of his brother. It was Sarenrae who discovered the wounded and brooding Asmodeus, and in that moment of fury the goddess discovered something beyond order and chaos—her own sense of right and wrong. Sarenrae leveled her burning sword at the murderer, demanding he yield. With a blink, Asmodeus awoke and quenched the goddess’s blade, taking her by the throat. Looking deep within her, he saw fear, and insignificance, and weakness, but also the truth of the age. And as the goddess prepared to join her master, she was shocked to feel Asmodeus release and address her. “Your war is won, Pale Orphan. I leave all of this to you and your ilk. But you will see me again, for I alone remain to guard the old truths. And I will wait for the age when all you have wrought and all for which you have fought turns to sweep you away. Then all of you will see what I have lost, and what I will make mine again.” And so Asmodeus departed, along with the greatest of his champions, to a harsh realm far from the Seal and the young gods. Here, nine lost souls lingered and roamed. Collecting and holding them close, Asmodeus shaped his new realm into a fearful pit, a cage to house and torment these souls and those that would inevitably come, to stand forever as a monument to the old ways. He called it Hell.