[Aterrizar]Genesis

[Scrasamax]

The magic of Earth is dying. It cannot be mistaken for anything else, it has been in decline since the end of the dark ages and the birth of the renaissance. Logic and reason, law and order are slowly eroding the mysticism and romantic fantasy of old. Amid the asphalt roads, and churning automobiles, the tedium of the 40 hour workweek and the intolerable stress of a world seemingly bent on self-destruction has given birth to a spiritual malaise that devours the vitality of that which is fantastic.

This world is no longer friendly to the small creatures of whimsey, the sprites and the faeires survive in tattoos and cute animated features, while the elves, and the dragons, the unicorns and griffins are driven deeper and deeper into shrinking pockets of unspoiled innocence. Mages and other creatures of the old days endure, but they too are declining. What hope does a vampire have against the CDC, and forensic labs, what harm does the werewolf pose in a world of armor shredding high velocity rounds? What is magic in a place where cell phones take pictures, play music, surf the internet and the like. The spirit world is fading, and there is no escape from the extinction that looms on the horizon.

It is during this bleak time that the arch-mage was born. He rose in skill and power, and strove to survive in a world that was bent on the destruction of his kind, to eliminate the dreamers and the idealists and replace them with drones and consumers to feed the great machine. The Arch-Mage sought the secrets of mortality to save his soul mate from the slow erosion of the soul that comes from vampirism, and sought to save his friends those who were of the old blood, the elves and the mythical beasts, the other magi and those who looked to the future and knew in their hearts despair.

During his training, the Arch-Mage tutored under a magus whose name is long since forgotten, one of the unfortunates undone by the melancholy that was overtaking the earth. His training was mighty, but came at a terrible price, for the Arch-Mage lost his sanity, and became magnitudes greater in strength of sorcery. It was only his bond to his soulmate who kept him from blowing away like the seeds of a dandelion in a strong breeze.

It was from his love for her, terrible and stronger than the light of the sun, that the Arch-Mage performed what is considered his greatest deed, the creation of the Realm, a place outside of the Earth, unbound by the hate and despair that infected the populace, dragging them down into spiritual degredation and utter desolation.

The Realm was small at first, less than a dozen miles across and it was mostly medium to light forest, with a castle, and a river. The woods were almost devoid of life, and it was a very quiet place, idyllic in nature. The temperature seldom changed, and the rains only fell at night, but it was synthetic and overly organized, but it was a begining.

[Scrasamax]

Around the feet of the castle, perched on the banks of the river, a village began to grow. Once constructed, the castle was empty, unsuited to the occupation of humans. The Arch-mage sought humans from the earth, those who sought as way out of the world that wanted to devour them as a vehicle consumes gasoline and oil. They became the servants and the staff, and their families came also. They farmed in the plesant climate, and had children, and for a time it was good. There was happiness in the realm, and there was growth too, for the extent of the wonderwork was becoming manifest, like a living creature, it was capable of growth and change.

The new denizens, lupines and fae sought the edges in wide eyed wonder, and the realm grew. The forest grew deeper in the south, in what in ages later would be known as the Deepwood, while to the north it grew flatter, opening into the central plains, while the mouth of the river was found, and there was the shining ocean, both bright with the light of the sun, and as dark as the mystery that lay underneath.

It was the Springtime of the realm, and much grew during those days, while there was still regular traffic with the Earth realm. As the realm grew, drawing upon the primordial essence of the nether, the unshaped possibility and chaos, it became less orderly, less artificial. The seasons began, with the climate remaining temperate but there came winter, and spring, and the heat of summer and the dazzling colors of fall. More animals came, some as pets, others by accident. Insects and rodents by accident, and the hounds and horses, hawks and other pets on purpose.

Conflict arose when some of the villagers, remembering the democratic way of life they came from, dissented with the rebirth of the Feudal system. They took up their belongings and moved to the mouth of the river, remembering the ideals of freedom and democracy looking upon the ocean. The village of Riga was born, and from it sailed many small ships, fishermen and pleasure boaters alike.

There was peace. The Rigans prospered on the coastal home, and the deniznes of the Castle too prospered under the protection and care of the Arch-Mage.

[Scrasamax]

from Earth, of the Blood of the Arch-Mage there came another mage, less in power, but greater in a different understanding for her knowledge was that of the great universities of the old world. She was named Ivy, the first daughter of the Arch-Mage, who would later be exalted in her deeds, and become one of the first to bear the mantle of divinity in the new realm. Ivy, the green mage was a student of all things that lived and moved, and she was displeased with the emptyness of the realm.

From the old world she brought many things. There were brought forth trees and plants that the great one had not brought. For a forest can not exist as oak alone, but there is needed the elm, and the birch, the holly and the poplar, the shrubs of the forest and the mushrooms to grow in the dark places. animals low and lofty were too brought. The maker had been wrapped in the shapping of weather, and the lay of rivers and the birth of the ley lines that would feed this new creation to concern himself with the stocking of fish in the rivers, and birds in the sky. The wolves raised their muzzles to the silvery moon and howled their songs, and for once they were not discordant and sad, but they were a song to joy, in their new home under the silver moon.

A faction moved to the north of the Castle, of the newly named Fenost village. There, away from the sight of the Arch-Mage and the loyal men of the new realm, they raised a tower of black stone, and were wicked in their planning. They were fae of the dark sort who had claimed goodness to gain entry and succor from the dying earth. Once hidden away they planned mischief and ruin, to destroy the arch-mage and his family, and to usurp the realm for themselves and their unseelie kin.

The first battles were fought between the fae and the humans, a battle for the fate of the realm. The Satyr fae were lead by the monsterous Rabban. He was a satyr of great size, seven feet tall with horns nearly four feet across, and muscled like a barbarian of fantasy. He strode across the field of battle, and with his great axe, he felled many stout warriors, and would have claimed the field in victory, and the wives and daughters of Fenost as his spoils had not the Arch-Mage taken the field against him.

Rabban, unbound by the restraints of the Earth was mighty as a god, and stronger than heaven and earth. The Arch-Mage was the creator, and could not be challenged for his own realm, and Rabban was slain, and his followers were defeated and cast to the wind, their Black tower was razed to the ground. Many of the satyrs who had joined Rabban prostrated themselves before the Arch-mage and begged for mercy, which they recieved. The rest were hunted, and were given no rest until they submitted to judgement for their deeds, for their hearts were still wicked, and they had done evil in a palce that was to be untouched by evil.

[Scrasamax]

The Nether is largely empty, as the constant flux quickly breaks down anything that doesnt have a natural system of order, thus only large inhabited realms are able to endure in the soup of primordial essence. There are small islets of creation that float about, and on occassion, these islets intersect, or collide. Such things are common among the lesser realms, as more massive realms, such as the bloated mass of Earth often simply rip these wandering islets to shreds and absorb them in the manner of an ameoba consuming a smaller organism.

When lesser cells converge, a seperate phenominon occurs, Parallax storms. These storms form at the boundary where two cells collide, and merge, and are surrounded by black storm clouds, and struck through with jagged purple lightning. This lightning is especially dangerous to fonts of magical power such as magic items and spell casters with saved spells, as the bolts are drawn to them. In the vicinity of the storm, stone softens, and water takes on a strange sluggish texture as the two islets 'ooze' together, rather than slam together like two icebergs, shattering and crumbing under the sheer force of the impact.

After a few days, the storm abates, and the physical laws of nature again hold sway, the two realms now one continuous whole. The Arch-Mage, in one of his less common discourses believes that the Earth Realm formed by a similar process.

It is by this process that the nascent Midlands gained its first neighbor, D'Hara.