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History of the Rift
In the Beginning
There is a place that exists between seconds; between thoughts and between worlds. A Rift in time, where forgotten ideas and unfinished dreams collect like pooled rainwater. Where unfinished spells and undone nightmares gather when pounding hearts break their hold in other realms.
Such a place is called the Rift. This convergence of unused forces, power, and magic began to unravel and consume itself; these volatile energies needing inhabit lands and invades souls rather than stand alone. Eventually, the magnitude of pure power grew so great that it began to pull pieces from other dimensions. It pulled in souls, too. It warped them in the passage, twisted their bodies, infected their minds - they were broken creatures, those first few, fused together from stray thoughts and bits of flesh. The first four souls to survive such distorting extraction sent the first of life into the Rift. And they were powerful. That which had mutilated them, had also freed them: their veins ran hot and throbbing with sheer strength, and for a time, they seemed to use it for good. The lands flourished, flowers sprouted in their wake, trees rose tall and mighty, and the nights were as star-light as they were velvet dark. The new souls pulled in were less destroyed; the Rift left its mark on them, too, but they had nothing on the Gods. And for a time, the Rift was in balance. Bit by bit, it lost its grounding. The light lost its traction. The shadows grew teeth. Absolute Power Corrupts Absolutely
These gods, the four warped souls imbued with more power than ever imagined or intended, now were surrounded with life that appeased the Rift’s purely powerful pull. Thus, they began to twist even more—or, perhaps more aptly, the faults the Rift had cracked into them became more apparent.
Vjanta, the Tigress and lone Goddess of the Rift succumbed to greed and manipulation; gone was her unparalleled control of creation. Lost was her instinctive command of all around her. So her claim over the southern Rift crumbled, shadows taking over as she gorged herself on power and manipulated herself into more power. Rezso, the Wolf God, sank into shadows of his own creation. The mists of his western realm turned to silver acid, melting and mutating away his sage wisdom and knowledge that had once pervaded his mystical throne. Instead, such understanding morphed into mutated shapes and sickly shades. Caevoc, the Crocodile God, was driven mad by the very endlessly flat landscape he presided over. The protection he once provided the life he had inspired was hidden away by the magical mirages and tricks of his lands. So the god twisted and writhed, cloaking himself in illusions and lies as he sought more power to replace what he had lost. Vourib, the Bear God, lost sight of his once proud strength and infallible truth. Instead, he drowned in the bloodied waters and was cast alone in his frozen northern realm. Unable to see the very life he had drawn into the Rift, he grew feral and vicious. The great strength that had defined his hold over his kingdom became untempered as he lost his sanity, plunged into wild ferocity. Thus, all the beauty and light slowly was sucked from the Rift by the god’s combined greed. Shadows took over and the only light left was an eerie neon glow as greedy as the gods’ power; it leached all other light and preyed upon magic. Deliverance or Destruction?
The later souls that were pulled into the Rift after the gods, and thus were not quite as mauled or exposed to its wild and ferocious power, saw the changes in their land and their deities. At first, they pleaded with the divine beings—such loyal and devout apostles unwilling to believe their beloved gods would turn their backs and withdraw their protection.
But, as the shadows encroached and the light faded, it became clear to these original mortals that they were abandoned for greed and deluded by hope. So they prayed; they sent their thoughts, hopes, fears, and magic as far outside the Rift as their powers would allow. They asked for help; for deliverance from this forsaken fate. Somewhere, somehow, such invocations were heard by other gods. Gods untainted by wild power; gods destined for divinity rather than pulled into it. These Helovian deities answered the pleas, pulling the hearts of each warped Riftian god’s land out of their realms and into Helovia. Thus, it removed the power—and, some hope, would have cured their gods. Yet, that was not to be; for, to ensure the end of these gods’ greedy sickness, the Helovian deities and mortals alike murdered the Riftian gods in great battles. The great dieties were struck from their thrones in this world. And so the Rift began to fade: godless and heartless, the very earth bled out its magic in a slow and painful death. Rediscover
Alas, that was not the end of the Rift. No, it is much harder to kill gods than one would think. And a small piece of each Riftian deity survived and amalgamated into Kisamoa (or Kaos). This immortal creature had a single purpose pulsing through his divine soul: revive the Rift.
So, embodying the feral power of the Rift and its dead gods, Kisamoa struck down the Helovian gods in retribution and destroyed the land. He opened a Portal to the Rift, once more flooding it with life and magic. Though some parts of the Rift were lost as it was dying, much still remains. The Rift is still sick, however, and only time will tell how it heals. |
Late Freeze, 1174
August 2018
