Introduction
Pharindor, I have failed you.
My name is Tomlin Calistor. I am, or was, the Keeper of the Gods. My age is no longer known to me, and I fear that loss will be in vain. Very few who yet live know the truth of things, and it was to remain that way forever. It has not. My charge was discovered, discovered by one seeking blessings and favors. Discovered, and then released.
I record this now, for my life is coming to an end. I wish to leave it, in the hopes that perhaps if fate should be kind enough, there will be someone who comes forth with the power and courage to right the folly I have failed to stop. Long ago, before the nations of Men existed, before the fae elf set foot on this world, before even dragon kind had begun to prowl her surface, there was a kingdom.
The world was primal, fresh, and completely unexplored. Through great and powerful magic beyond the likes of any sorcerer who has drawn breath in a thousand years, the people of Pharindor came to this realm. You see, Pharindor was their first home...a home they, we brought to ruin. Here we came, through the eons and beyond the stars in ships of glass and star fire, faster than the light of day breaking the night's grip. We came, but a few of us. To start again, in a world we had not destroyed with our impetuous agendas.
The motive was pure...but we were set in our ways. It did not take long for us to create a new populous, to engineer great feats of magic the likes of any who read this could not fathom if they were to witness it themselves. A few of us saw the impending disaster, we saw the doom of our former world befalling our new home, but in a much more terrible light. The ability to work the mighty fabric of reality at our command, we warped the very skies and earth to our minds. One could not tell where one's desires and one's world began, except to see it collide with another's wishes. The world was being shaped and reshaped by Gods, over and over, and as one decided that another's wishes did not suit him, he changed it.
We were mad. Mad, and dreaming, and doomed. A few of us, fearing for our own survival, and thinking firstly of ourselves, gathered to form a covenant. A bond by which our collective vision would drown out the others. It would give us all the power, consolidated among the eight of us. We decided to do this, we must collectively alter the very rules of reality, such that our will would be the only will to shape things.
We had to be clever, since we were no more powerful than any other of our people. We decided to trick them. Since it was impossible to separate fantasy from reality, we led them one by one into another world. A small, false world. A mirror of Pharindor, where all that existed was the will of those trapped there. Forever trapped they would remain, unable to tell that they were no longer real, but imaginary...such was their power that they no longer needed to be real, and in so doing sealed their own fates. We poured ourselves into something concrete, in order that no stray thought or careless whim could release our brethren from their eternal prison. It was an orb, filled with uncountable mirrors and in each mirror another Pharindor. Forever there, would they dwell, seeing only reflections of their will, and of the real Pharindor.
You know some of the most powerful of my people as Gods, they sometimes hear your thoughts and wishes, and even trapped, their will is strong enough to smite your foes and heal your sick. Some of them you might think would be good to have among us. You are fools. When you hear of their realms, which you unwittingly travel to by leaving your bodies to visit. Your souls go and dwell in the illusion with them when you die, giving them strength. You feed them all, and while they serve out their eternal sentence unknowing of their prison, you gradually feed their power. That, however, was of no concern.
Not until the orb went missing. Indestructible, there is but one way to release the Gods from their sleep. One way to merge all the realms of heaven and hell, and bring forth a chaos unlike any your mind could fathom. It was necessary, you see. In order to make the illusion real, their had to be some link to our reality. I will not write of it here, in case it falls into the hands of this foolish enemy. But as it has been nearly seven days since its theft, my time is almost up. On the final minute, I will die. When that happens, the orb will shine bright as a star, sending light into the heavens to point any who would rescue it in the right direction. It must be looked after, once it is recovered. How that is done, I could not tell you, for I have failed in its keeping.
I do hope these final words are not in vain, for your world's sake. My people will lay it to waste on wit and whim until the very stars shudder, and then they will do as they have always done, and find another reality to master. Swift journey, my time is up.
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Breaking Faith
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Breaking Faith
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