《Chronicles Of The Storylord: 12th Chronicle - Origin》Prologue: The Grand Tale

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I awoke in the Void. The Void is nothingness, yet at the same time it is chaos, so it is inexplainable in its existence. There is neither darkness nor light, and time appears to not exist or else its perception is warped, as there is no sensation, no feeling… nothing.

But is it truly nothing if I am here? And how do I know these facts about the Void? I look deep into myself, searching for an answer, but only find three facts. One: I am but a fragment of a old, old soul. Two: It is time for the Tale to begin once more, and Three: I am the Tale and the Tale is me. I ponder on this knowledge for what seems like aeons, as I attempt to form ideas with this new-found knowledge, sparse as it may be.

I know that I must create the Tale, that it is my purpose. And yet, how? How do I create this grand idea without anything at all. I am merely a soul, floating in the emptiness of the Void. I start to envision my grand creation, no, my universe as it shall be.

First shall come the Talespinner, he who spins the thread of the Tale from the Primordial Chaos, the Beginning and End. Second will be the Songweaver, she who weaves the thread of the Tale to bring forth the fabric of Space, mistress of the Great Expanse. Third, the Painter of Souls, who breathes life and emotion into their masterpiece, and his brother, the Dreamwalker, creator of ambition and purpose among all life in the Tale. Lastly, shall be the Keeper of the Archive, the Guardian of Knowledge who shall safeguard my - and all the Tale’s - memories until they are needed once more.

As I feel my soul split into the five Entities that shall nurture and protect my creation from all that wish to harm it, I say the words that all Origin Deities must say, once in their lives…

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“Let there be Light.”

And there was light.

As the Storylord faded, his progeny did appear, just as he had envisioned them. Bowing but once, to the space where he had resided, they turned away from the flame that glimmered and gleamed with every color in existence, and many not, before each began their grand creation to form and shape the newborn universe.

The Talespinner, using the five’s unique ability to control and shape the Primordial Chaos as a part of the Storylord, created a spindle of Time to take the primordial essence and make of it thread, the center of the Tale soon to be. With the power of Space, the Songweaver sang into being a loom, with which to form the basis of the Tale, shaping the great wheel with eight spokes. Each spoke a world to be, they would support the innumerable lesser worlds that would soon spring into existence forming the ‘rim’ of the wheel. The Painter then reached out to the emptiness, searching for the wisps of essence abundant in the multiverse known as ‘truesouls’ mere wisps of energy and power, without any taint of a God’s touch, the very base form of a soul, nurturing them with it’s strength, to bring forth the first souls of the Tale. These he spread among his sibling’s creation, to be the basis of life in this realm. The eight strongest were passed to his brother, the Dreamwalker, who did naught but touch them before sending one to each of the core worlds, where they would eventually develop into the first Deities of the Tale.

The last of the five did nothing while his brethren worked, for while they instinctively knew what was required of them, he on the other hand, did not. Most, if not all of the knowledge of their maker was known to him, and as he pondered, he realized he would eventually forget what he knew, that it would fade away with the passage of time. Struck with an idea, he created a simple tome, bound in starlight, that contained all his knowledge, and would do the same for the entirety of the beings encompassed by the Tale. He called it the Archive, for it was the sum of all the knowledge that was, and would ever be in Tale.

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Overjoyed, he looked up to see that he was alone, the others fading away, the Talespinner and Songweaver having joined with their works, the Dreamwalker splitting into innumerable shards before spreading throughout the Tale, and the Painter of Souls fading and dissipating, to become the soul of the Tale itself. All that remained was a single, Godly avatar of each, bowing before him. The Keeper took a breath, the last remaining dregs of power left by his brothers and sister joining together with all the power he could muster, and placed at the center of the wheel, creating what would become in the future, the Realm of the Living Myths, the home of the Gods, or simply, the Core.

Weary, and exhausted from this colossal effort, he waved his hand at the avatars, saying with a sorrowful voice, “Go, and guide them in their early days. My siblings have given themselves and everything they were to this grand creation, much like our Creator. I, too must soon sleep, so I shall leave you with these words to guide you: Know that this world, like all things is but a story, and that all the stories are true.”

Saying so, he crossed his legs and sat beneath the flame, Archive in hand. The four newborn Gods and Goddess stared blankly, trying to comprehend, before staring at each other with questioning looks, as they could feel that with those final words, a qualitative change had come over the universe, defining it.

So began the Grand Tale, and now our tale can truly begin.

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