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In the beginning, there was only the Void. Absolute in its nothingness, it was devoid of all things. Light and dark, warmth and cold, love and hate…all things were equally absent in the Void.
When the Old Gods came into it, they found despair in its utter bleakness. A creeping melancholy settled upon them, and in time would have been their end. To guard against this, they created many things to distract them. They surrounded themselves with diversions, things to please and amuse, but they were never enough in the looming presence of the Void. So they created more and more things, until eventually the Void was hidden from their sight, completely eclipsed by Creation, and it was to their liking.
There was one place, though, where nothing could be created, and through which the Void was always visible. The Old Gods called it the Black Gulf, and they never strayed too near it. Nevertheless, it held their attention and consumed their thoughts, for the Void could not be ignored, even with the many splendors of Creation all about.
From the Black Gulf the Nameless Ones came. They were strange and alien, older than the Old Gods, and far more terrible. They poured forth, a writhing, flapping, chittering horde. The Old Gods stood against them, but they were few, and the Nameless were many. Gods and Nameless alike died in that battle, but while the Gods’ ranks dwindled, the Nameless seemed endless. One after another they fell, until the Black Gulf itself choked on the bodies of the dead. For a time the Nameless were trapped on the far side, barred entrance from Creation behind a wall of carrion. The Gods had earned a momentary respite, but it was not long before the Nameless emerged glistening, having clawed their way through muscle and bone and viscera to enjoin the battle anew.
Many times this happened. The Old Gods would push back the Nameless and seal off the Gulf with the bodies of the deceased, and the Nameless would undertake the grisly journey back, to renew the battle once more. The Nameless were relentless and the Old Gods were failing, their numbers greatly diminished. Finally the Gods came to a grim realization. When the next lull came, the few that remained retired to a dark and secret place, and there they engaged in acts blasphemous even for the divine.
They forged the Fell Weapons.
Tempered with the darkest passions of their creators, the Fell possessed the will to fight and persevere, even should their bearers fall. They bore names; names like Trinfendel, Periffon, Noc Tis, Cebbeline, and Mabross. And they were given a purpose: To maintain the corpse-wall that separates the Void from Creation.
Soon after, the Nameless Ones burst forth again. The Old Gods awaited them. Droves of Nameless died on the ends of Fell Weapons and Creation itself was draped with gore. Ultimately, though, the effort was in vain; the Nameless truly were without end, and the Old Gods were overrun. Their bodies fell into the Gulf and there came to rest atop the heap of Nameless, sealing the Gulf one last time.
Their bodies became a world, and it was called Naur Tier. From their moldering flesh, new life sprang. And as Man prospered atop, the Nameless clamored below, clawing and scratching at its underbelly, dragging themselves ever upward. In time, just as the Old Gods did, Man will lay himself down to defend Creation. And should he forget the lessons of his forebears, he is forgiven, for the Fell Weapons remain, and they remember…
When the Old Gods came into it, they found despair in its utter bleakness. A creeping melancholy settled upon them, and in time would have been their end. To guard against this, they created many things to distract them. They surrounded themselves with diversions, things to please and amuse, but they were never enough in the looming presence of the Void. So they created more and more things, until eventually the Void was hidden from their sight, completely eclipsed by Creation, and it was to their liking.
There was one place, though, where nothing could be created, and through which the Void was always visible. The Old Gods called it the Black Gulf, and they never strayed too near it. Nevertheless, it held their attention and consumed their thoughts, for the Void could not be ignored, even with the many splendors of Creation all about.
From the Black Gulf the Nameless Ones came. They were strange and alien, older than the Old Gods, and far more terrible. They poured forth, a writhing, flapping, chittering horde. The Old Gods stood against them, but they were few, and the Nameless were many. Gods and Nameless alike died in that battle, but while the Gods’ ranks dwindled, the Nameless seemed endless. One after another they fell, until the Black Gulf itself choked on the bodies of the dead. For a time the Nameless were trapped on the far side, barred entrance from Creation behind a wall of carrion. The Gods had earned a momentary respite, but it was not long before the Nameless emerged glistening, having clawed their way through muscle and bone and viscera to enjoin the battle anew.
Many times this happened. The Old Gods would push back the Nameless and seal off the Gulf with the bodies of the deceased, and the Nameless would undertake the grisly journey back, to renew the battle once more. The Nameless were relentless and the Old Gods were failing, their numbers greatly diminished. Finally the Gods came to a grim realization. When the next lull came, the few that remained retired to a dark and secret place, and there they engaged in acts blasphemous even for the divine.
They forged the Fell Weapons.
Tempered with the darkest passions of their creators, the Fell possessed the will to fight and persevere, even should their bearers fall. They bore names; names like Trinfendel, Periffon, Noc Tis, Cebbeline, and Mabross. And they were given a purpose: To maintain the corpse-wall that separates the Void from Creation.
Soon after, the Nameless Ones burst forth again. The Old Gods awaited them. Droves of Nameless died on the ends of Fell Weapons and Creation itself was draped with gore. Ultimately, though, the effort was in vain; the Nameless truly were without end, and the Old Gods were overrun. Their bodies fell into the Gulf and there came to rest atop the heap of Nameless, sealing the Gulf one last time.
Their bodies became a world, and it was called Naur Tier. From their moldering flesh, new life sprang. And as Man prospered atop, the Nameless clamored below, clawing and scratching at its underbelly, dragging themselves ever upward. In time, just as the Old Gods did, Man will lay himself down to defend Creation. And should he forget the lessons of his forebears, he is forgiven, for the Fell Weapons remain, and they remember…