Triafota

In the beginning there was naught but Dynamism, the Wyld, that chaotic forge of creation from which all that exists has sprung, roiling in an ever-changing mass in the darkness. At some point in that timeless eternity, an entity was born in the chaos and, as its purpose demanded, in the instant before it was reabsorbed by the Wyld, it spun itself into existence. This being was the Weaver, stasis, and from the moment of its birth it set about plucking forms from the churning chaos before it and spinning them too into existence. Thus the world began.   Yet, the Wyld, infinite in its possiblity, was finite in its quantity, and so the Weaver's creations, by their very existence, stole fuel from the fires of change. Until, that is, entropy was born. That great elder dragon, father of all its kind to follow, devourer of the tapestry, the rot that wore away at the first creations of the weaver, the Wyrm, set to balancing the metaphysical trinity, despite the weaver's fury.   Time passed, the Wyld conceived, the Weaver created, and the Wyrm, with flights of dragons at its side, devoured the stagnant and the stale, returning them to fire so the cycle may continue. But, enraged by the holes now growing in its once-perfect design, the Weaver plotted to expunge the influence of the Wyrm from the world. Thus she sculpted the first of a new race to walk the world, different in every way from the dragons that soared the skies, three daughters to lead a war of vengeance that would rock the world to its core.   The Lady of Light, Queen of the gods, Daughter of the Weaver, stood before her newly born people and brought to them a message from her mother. They, the gods, were to rule the mortal world in her honor and build there a civilization to last an eternity. The first conquest of their new empire was to be the dragons' nests, the beasts therein to be exterminated to the last.   The Dragon war was long and brutal, but in the end the gods were victorious. They built their grand palaces, formed cities, and gathered human worshipers to their temples. The Wyrm was sealed away, its influence naught but a nibbling at the edges of the world, far cry from the great feasts of yore. The gods buried their weapons of war, willing themselves to forget the past, and lounged in their finery. All that was left to them was to enjoy the eternal sunlight. And then, one day, the Lady of Light disappeared.