Tip-tip. Two brown dunnock birds fluttered and chirped as they tapped their feet along a windowsill. They wore no panic as they perched in front of a monocle - suit wearing gray tabby cat. The gray cat hummed a sweet melody as he sat dipping his quill into a glass ink bottle.
"Ahh… I believe it is time for a new story to begin. A tale of the ages they will call this, so gather round as I tell this tale. A tale that hasn't finished and has barely begun." The cat said to the birds in a hushed tone.
As he spoke, he proceeded to write.
"I believe a prologue is needed. And what better way to start a story than with history. As you know, all things are doomed to repeat. I wonder what it'll be this time." The cat said, while pondering the future. "Prologue —ah, almost forgot, let me add 'for readers who do not care for the past, skip to Arc I.' Ok, where were we…."
Gods rule over universes. Born from nothing and said to be un-killable. This universe is ruled by an entity named The Mother. A god of beauty, love, and fertility. With a passion for creation, it is said that no two worlds of hers look alike. Though I would be lying to say there isn't another. A lesser-known god, said to wreak havoc on people's lives. The bringer of war from whim. The Child God.
The world where our story takes place is Draghar, a world of endless possibilities, gifted with experimental runes pushing the limits of existence. These runes gave power to beliefs, superstitions, and magic. If enough people believed in it… worshiped it… Then it turned into law.
After 892 years of war, conquering lands, and fighting demons and beasts alike, humans reached an era of peace. The Church used this time to establish the sole religion in worship of The Mother. A religion that oppresses the existence of other ideologies. With 600 years having passed, people came to forget about the old ways. The ways were magic-like wonders ran free. And in time, the world progressed, pushing toward a new process of evolution, one that slowly took away people's freedom.
Though The Church had its grip on the world, they were not the only controller of it. For the lands had picked their keepers long ago. With each land's name dedicated to its family's conquerors.
Secluded behind forests, rivers, and barricades, one land in particular rose in rebellion. A rebellion that shook the world as they knew it. For the family of Roastin knew that The Mother wasn't the only god to pray to, they prayed to The Child. With promises of riches, power, and ascension, The Child sewed thoughts of war in Roastin's citizens. And they craved more.
Clashing of weapons. Whistling of bullets. Explosions of magic. Seeing the power that belief wielded, other lands took up arms, conjuring up new beliefs. Worship of the old beasts for physical abilities. Worship of trinkets and talismans for personal gains. Worship of the five elements for control of the world.
… Again, war waged on. Only when the bodies began to tower over the homes did the world look for a cure. In reason, The Church had released a decree, "The people of Draghar, the dangers of these heretic beliefs are known. It is time! The Mother has blessed us with guidance. United under one front, we can and will bring peace to these lands. United under one God, our prayers will ring true and bring us to the light. Flock to your temples and pray. For, from this day forward, the blessed knights of Arinia begin their march. Those who convert will be spared. Those who seek impurity, the evil, will be cleansed from this earth."
With months turning to years, the combined prayers of the lands turned belief into law. A law that when a child turns of adult age, a marker will be placed on their soul. The first maker was named Ostus - the mark of the mundane, people incapable of learning magic. The second was Mactus - The mark of the mages. Those devoted enough could tap into magic preset by The
Church. The last marker, Gaftus - the least common marker. Giving the possibility to obtain various gifts of The Church's approval. In theory, there exists another… an invisible one per-say. Voistus. The mark of one cursed to a heretic's fate. Those chosen by this marker have been given the displeasure of living outside The Mother's Law, or so they say.
With lands built anew, taking many forms, a new story unravels. One that will once again stretch tremors throughout Draghar, bringing forth a new epoch into existence