OHM/WRY PANTHEON NAME: AEUUMAXSAARA
Ohm/aksara/ekaksara/omkara/ a-u-m /ova/ oum / aum ./ ova ova ova um
the whole of truth
Latin for aeon/eternity/life = aeuum
History of the Core Pantheon
The Before Era
There is the BEFORE.
And who knows what came before the BEFORE, but after came the Titans. And then the gods.
So what was happening in the Before?
It seems a kind of crisis of scale. Big bangs all bang and collapsing at the same time.
And a lot of failures. A lot of pieces. A lot of false starts.
Gods without a rulebook. Punks. Pioneers. The Wild Wild West.
Might makes right.
Severe isolation... nothing.
Like a sandbox, everything was being created, but nothing stuck together after the rain, a sort of melting unstable reality.
Titans and the Before gods lived in the few stable places, safe from these things.
A few sparse islands, caves, little holes and dents in the piles of wrecked and amateur creation parts.
Kind of an ocean of impossibly fast-moving events, beyond the realm of logic, but not the forces of these before gods and their titans.
They could reach into the ocean like a lightning bolt and produce grand-but-ultimately-clumsy effects with wildly immense repercussions begetting into possibly forever.
If the Void is solid and placid and definite in its nothingness, the Before's environment is more of an indefinite and constantly changing place with no clear lines and immense volatility.
It is in this time CHAOS emerged victorious, one of the strongest gods of the Before. A Prime.
But below the Chaos many things created voids of their own, locked away from everything else.
And so the many gates, the secrets, the knots, the things that held themselves together with that thing that pulled them apart. This is where the Before gods could design and pronounce.
The voids were not like the Void we know now.
They were the difference between a nuclear explosion and a lightning storm. A direction was enough order
in those days.
It was understood as a sort of true melody. An improvisation with no end but to experiment and seek the limits of their power.
For every time that they reached an end, a creative roadblock, their frustrations begot a law that they instantly despised.
These were the first Titans and they, for the most part, were treated as bastards and as soon as they were born, they were sealed in their own spaces, away from the important work of these artists of power. If there were limits to this, they thought them best discarded until some solution was found for those limits.
And so many titans waited in a no place behind gate after seal after clever lock.
The Before gods would twist another knot on these gates all the time, as habit took hold often after a good meal or a special event. And so it went for some time.
Then ? happened.
Then there were only the Titans.
Some who had never known the Before at all.
But many still knew, and some especially knew too much.
The keeper of the Old Gate.
The servants to the last rulers.
But where the Chaos had gone or how those of Before had fallen or gone away, none of them would say much about it.
It was there, in the Void, that they wished to forge their own new paths, and so the Before was left to fade from memory, for those who had the benefit of forgetting.
It was they who created the Void to make their own designs, free from the defects and pain of Before.
And it was that separation that birthed the first wild magics, eeking forever from the titans, the gates,
and the very materia that held together the Void, for beyond it was still what they knew.
[Some kind of title that feels fable/myth like]
[some kind of short intro that shortly explains that this is a story everyone knows, and no one knows where they know it from. A legend.]
At the end of the long war, four bastards rested at the hearth.
The first survived without a nick to their bone.
No family or friends lost. Untouched, except in the mind, and guilty of nothing corporeal.
The second had wealth and watched these hard years from a cushion in the tower.
They sent coin to the war, and the coin returned multiplied.
The third was not much more than a kid. An envious innocent in the company of amused and ready teachers. But the young thing had earned their ears through a series of distinct choices, of which few spoke of outside this circle. And no one but the child understood.
And the final bastard was the demon.
These four, the clean, the safe, the ambitious, and the horned, were friends from a long tradition.
It is ordinary for a demon to bind those from other realms and demand allegiance, and so three friends had done so long ago.
And it was ordinary for the rich to bind those around them in debt, and the three friends happily lived this way, the debt always forgiven.
And it was ordinary for a child to demand exceptional attention, uncompromised secrets, and favors they could not return, and the three friends happily fed the child, knowing that the child would never exploit this trust.
And it was ordinary for someone appearing so clean to be trusted most highly, and often given the final authority in deciding the fates of bastards.
They knew the same kindness, and any guilt of these bastards was absolved more quickly than the fire burns the wood in the hearth.
Yes. All four were friends, having seen centuries go by.
Here they waited for someone else, throwing little inky scrolls into the fire, turning the smoke all nature of colors. The demon would frequently reach their claws into the embers, and turn their wrist this way or that on some infernal mechanization.
Whatever it changed was invisible to the rest, though they knew its purpose.
A beacon into another place.
And so it was for days like this, the dirty cups and plates piling up, and all four remaining nearly silent, except for the tiny hobbies they carried.
The demon exploding an overly social rat. The child drawing a map to an unknown place.
Finally one night the fire seemed to spread outside the hearth, eating up the floorboards, smoldering the rug,
and causing the bricks of the smokestack to crack. The room felt as if it were suddenly made of electricity, everything jiggling and connected and arcing. The fire extinguished, but somehow a fire they could not see but still feel, kept spreading, on to the chairs, onto the four.
And then that too was gone, lifted, like a shadow, as if they were all on fire, but could not burn, but could not be on fire, but had to be.
Other than the demon, the four were never a big fan of these kinds of events, but they'd become accustomed to them, and so they continued to remain silent in their chairs and let it pass. And so it did.
Moments later they were back at the hearth and standing in front of them was a creature.
A woman but at the same time a shadow and a fire and something with scales.
She was a fan of things and carried on her belt, not one, not two, but hundreds of swords linked together by a complex web of woven sheaths.
These swords hung around her like an immense robe, each pommel betraying the great variety of them. Some glimmering. Some dull.
On her back she wore a crate filled with more swords. And on her shoulders chainmail sacks filled with ever more.
And her ankles and thighs, wreaths of blades still.
Her face no one can ever quite remember, obscured by a frame of ornamented handles and covered blades.
But her voice was unmistakable. Old. An accent you can't place, but know it when you hear it.
No one knows her name.
She greeted the four.
The four told them of the war, and she was pleased. She had seen many worlds, but on few did she have friends. Though what they did made very little difference in her view, she liked to see them happy and remembered the war had always meant to be long and satisfying.
They were quick to finish their story and then grow quiet, waiting for news from her.
They had, in all this time, forgotten a chair for her, and so they brought one for her.
When she sat it was clear that the skeleton under there was under a great weight.
Okay. She said. Let me tell you what I've learned.