With the primordial cataclysm concluded, one might assume a time of healing, a period of quiet convalescence for the wounded world. Well, one would be profoundly and utterly wrong.
For they arrived, drawn from the void beyond the stars by the scent of primordial power, these upstart claimants to a vacant throne arriving in the wake of the first disaster. These lesser divine entities found a broken world and four races of potent, malleable beings, ripe for patronage, manipulation, and conscription, and so began the War of the Claimants: a free-for-all of a thousand ambitions, a brutal, multi-front conflict of ideologies and divine will. The Four Progenitor Races and their descendants became the currency of divine power, pawns in a devastating game played on a continental scale.
Yet, the original races were not the only pieces on the grand board. This period, known as the Ashen Age, also saw the terrifying rise of the New-Born. Unnatural creatures, known simply as the Risen, were wrought from the chaotic energy of Kuros and the concentrated will of the new gods, shaped to serve as unique instruments of their creators.
Fortunately or unfortunately the Ashen Age did not end with a decisive victor, but with an exhaustion that permeated even the seemingly boundless divine. The pantheon of Claimants realized they were shattering the very world they sought to claim.
Therefore, a fragile, silent truce was struck, a divine stalemate that persists to this day. The gods retreated to their respective domains, their influence now more subtle, channeled through faith and ritual rather than open warfare and direct manifestation.
They left behind a world forever changed, littered with the ruins of failed divine ambitions and populated by races who now fight their own wars, often forgetting the godly masters whose echoes still guide their hands.
We are all, every one of us, children of that war. Our hatreds, our alliances, our very natures were carved not in the first disaster, but in the bloody, ashen centuries that followed.
_Excerpt from "On the Scars of Ofoni: A History of Divine Meddling" by Philip the Mad Sage_
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"Sure, why not."
Her expression changed slightly, the light in her swirling eyes dimming to become more somber.
"The new gods appeared," she began.
"Drawn to the broken reality like moths to a flame. And like those before them, they fought among themselves for dominance, their struggles shaking what remains of the foundations of reality."
Femi's brown eyes were partially on Melin's shimmering figure, and partially gazing around as they moved. Trying to see the ending of the path they were taking, a path that seemed to spill into nothingness.
O boy, I really hope this undercover spirit no dey carry me go hell.
"Some allied in fragile pacts of convenience that lasted barely a hundred years."
That statement, drew Femi's attention again. 'Barely hundred ke?' he thought 'Is that not double of what I might live for?'
Melin continued, her luminous form gliding soundlessly over the path, unaware of his thoughts
"Some schemed in realms hidden from sight, others partook in slaughter, a few dined and jubilated the new grounds in citadels made of stars. And the rest just simply died to those schemes and battles, screaming as their divine essence scattered to seed the land with strange miracles. This age was known to us as the War of the Gods, but I have known humans to call it the Ashen Age. For it left the world covered in the ashes of fallen divinities, bringing a blanket of despair that smothered the world for centuries."
Her words, conjured vivid images of epic battles between towering deities whose limbs were as large as mountains and whose blood were lava, and the cataclysmic fallout of that battle.
Oh, so that why this place has two suns.
"During the war," she continued, the temperature around them growing colder with the tale, "the gods needed soldiers. Vast armies of the faithful to clash upon countless battlefields with the followers of other gods. They needed champions, mortal vessels of immense power, to carry their banners into mortal realm."
Melin's voice dropped so low it seemed to draw all the light and sound from the surrounding white path beneath their feet, pulling even the silence in. Femi instinctively leaned closer, his body tense with a nervous eagerness.
"So, they used the four races".
Femi's eyes narrowed slightly at implications sank in. "But...wait, why use them? Are they not weaker than them...what would be the point? It doesn't make sense for these so-called beings of such immense power, to rely on…..."
"Mortals."
"Right, what would be the point," she echoed, offering what looked like a shrug that sent ripples of light cascading down her form. "Think of it this way, why fight for yourself when you can send someone else to bleed in your place? Why risk your own divine essence when you can expend the countless, renewable lives of mortals?"
"Mmm...true," Femi nodded slowly. "If you put it that way it actually logical."
"See, even if the races were weak compared to the new gods, they all had the profound ability to grow, to learn, to adapt, to become… more. The four races all had something unique, a core trait that attracted the various, hungry gods to them, for instance."
"The Uruks and Humans were the most favored." Melin began to elaborate, " The Humans, even with their short lives, had always found a way to burn bright, and that made them the most sought-after and also the most disposable."
Melin sighed as if recalling something.
"A single human generation was just long enough for a god to cultivate a fanatic following and spend it entirely in a single suicidal campaign. Gods of conquest, civilization, fire, and plague all found fertile ground in the ambitious, fearful hearts of men. Truly th..."
As they walked through the endless, eerie expanse of the Mares, Femi, while listening with one ear, noticed something vast and simply hard to imagine moving sinuously at the far edge of what his eyes could see, gliding through the deeper darkness beyond the path, its scale so immense it defied his comprehension.
"I...i.. hope I didn't just see a galivanting whale in that place just now," he murmured to himself.
"Did you say something?" she asked, head tilting in curiosity. Her attention momentarily pulled from her history lesson,
"I saw something moving in the darkness," he confessed, with slight unease coloring his tone as he gestured vaguely towards the darkness. "Something... big."
"Oh, that," she said, her tone dismissive and light, as if he'd pointed out a stray cat. "Don't be worried about it. It is just another inhabitant of the Mares." Her glow flickered softly, as she gathered her thoughts. "So, where was I...."
I need to find myself out of this place fast. Femi thought as he stared back at the dark expanse.
"Yes... So, as I was saying, the Uruks were a prize most coveted by the more militant, and straightforward of the deities. What god of battle would not desire an entire race filled with relentless bloodlust yet bound by an internal code of honor? They were the perfect soldiers, their culture already oriented around strength and battle, their societies built for war."
"Deities of war, strife, and destruction vied for their souls, offering them eternal glory and a righteous outlet for their inherent fury. Their personal struggle for honor became a struggle for divine approval, their great tusked champions became mortal blades for scheming gods."
"These were just some of the reasons the gods wanted them. Yet, even that wasn't enough for some of them." She suddenly stopped and turned fully to face Femi, her luminous form blocking the path ahead and forcing him to also stop and give her his complete, undivided attention.
" Femi, during the long exhausting war, some gods grew impatient and frustrated with their mortal servants' limitations, their needs and their weaknesses," her voice became low and serious.
"So... they created their own soldiers, custom-made monsters you might call them, born out of pure, malicious will." Melin stared at him with sure intensity he wondered whether she would bite him. "They were called the Risen."
Femi tilted his head, his whiskers twitching. "What are those, if I may ask?"
"Well, wouldn't you like to know," Melin said, her smile returning, though it now held a more dangerous edge. "It a good thing that's the very reason I brought you here."
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As Melin finished her tale, the last echoes of her words seemed to ring in the silence of the Mares, lodging themselves deep in his head. Making his face settle into a contemplative look as he processed the torrent of what he had learned.
Right now, his mind felt like an overfilled cup, threatening to spill over with revelations of fallen gods, eternal wars, and the precarious existence of the mortal races.
"So, first of all," he began, in a measured and careful tone, as he tried to assemble the fragments into a coherent picture, "you're telling me that, all those..... creatures you mentioned are part of the risen race."
"Yes," Melin answered easily, as she made two chairs shimmered into existence, looking to be made from the same faintly glowing, solidified light that composed her own form. They were elegant, high-backed things, seeming both substantial and utterly ethereal. Femi took it as a sign to sit down, and he collapsed onto one of the chairs, the weight of everything finally overcoming his stamina. He was so preoccupied he failed to release he was sitting on a chair that had just materialized from nothing.
Melin sat down on the other chair opposite him, her eyes never leaving Femi's face, watching his every reaction with a keen interest.
"Hummmm." 'I will have to find a way to confirm all this information from somewhere else,' he thought. 'I can't fully trust this glowing woman, spirit, whatever she is. She could be weaving a tale for her own malicious purposes.'
Suddenly, a thought cut through his internal deliberation, as Femi's face contorted in confusion. "Wait," He leaned forward, the glowing chair surprisingly cool and strangely comfortable beneath him. "You didn't answer my second question with that your super story. He frowned wondering if she wants to play a fast one'
"Why am I here?"
Melin smiled, her shifting eyes sparked with open amusement at his frustration. She watched him from her own identical chair of light, a picture of perfect composure. It was infuriating.
"So, you're not able to piece it together?" she asked, her voice gentle, almost teasing, as if coaxing a child to solve a simple puzzle.
"It's not funny, you agreed to answer," Femi was frowning at her amusement, his shoulders tense with a building exasperation.
"Pardon me, It seems like you're having a bit of trouble understanding the scale of the tapestry you're now a thread in."
She then gestured again with a slender hand, and two cups of a strange, shimmering liquid, steaming gently, appeared in both their hands. The scent was unfamiliar.
"Enjoy."
After saying that, she took a sip of her own, closing her eyes for a brief second as she savored the taste, and sighed in quiet satisfaction. Meanwhile, Femi gazed at his own cup with deep suspicion, watching the opalescent liquid swirl of its own accord before he finally set it aside on the white floor.
But Melin didn't seem to mind his refusal of hospitality, and continued, her gaze turning slightly more focused, though the ghost of her smile remained.
"To put it simply, the world-shattering clash between the primordial titans Tamara and Korvath's eons ago created a unique, chronic energy that still resonates within the very fabric of this world, a resonance which, in turn, drew the new gods to this particular realm." she said, pausing to let the scale of the statement sink in.
"This lingering energy is the raw, untamed embodiment of their eternal struggle, with Tamara representing absolute order and Korvath's representing pure, chaotic disorder."
"As you said," Femi interjected, trying to steer her back to his pressing concern. "This ancient energy is still active, and it's been subtly influencing the course of the world all this time." He shook his head, his confusion returning.
"But it still doesn't answer the question."
He spread his hands out to his side in helpless confusion. "What does any of that have to do with me?"
Melin nodded, her smile enigmatic. "Be Patience," she soothed. "I am getting there. Some truths require the proper foundation to be understood."
"Remember, think back to the tale of the silbling gods," She leaned forward slightly, "when the time was right, at the moment of greatest need, Tamara's dormant energy activated, blessing the progenitors of the four races to counter Korvath's corrupting curse."
Femi's eyes narrowed. "I don't like were this is going."
In response, Melin simply waved her hand. The space beside her shimmered and coalesced, and a small, three-dimensional map materialized between them, hovering just above the floor. Femi's eyes widened as he saw the intricate, glowing details depicting continents he did not recognize and then seeing them shift and change, dotted with tiny glowing points of light that flared and faded.
"Throughout the long ages," she explained, her gaze fixed on the luminous map, "countless heroes and champions have been taken from their homes, from different realms and distant worlds, to be instruments in the hidden, eternal battle between the primordial forces of Tamara and Korvath."
She pointed, and a series of tiny, sparkling lights flickered across the map's surface.
"Even during the bleak and violent Ashen Age, when the new gods used the four races to clash bitterly among themselves, these selected heroes emerged from the chaos to fight valiantly, though blindly, on behalf of their respective sides, unaware of the greater war they served."
Melin's smile grew wider, but it was not kind; it was the look of someone revealing a delicious secret that would shatter the one hearing it and they knew it.
"A soul originally meant to be a combatant on the side of Tamara's order, a blessed champion of order to stand against the opposing power. But the board was shaken, and that soul, its thread and unique potential, was intercepted. Taken by another…. player, a new and ambitious power who wanted to join the battle and decided to claim their own piece."
Her luminous eyes locked with his, the full, terrifying weight of her statement settling upon him.
"You."