Prologue: The Portents
In a place removed from time and space sat a darkened room dotted with stars, some large, some small, some bursting into novas. No windows and no doors were visible, but there didn’t need to be as the Creator and his Stewards could come and leave as they pleased, in a blink. Two winged beings paced around the room in a circle, treading a perimeter around the floating globe in the center. The two kept an equal distance between each other. If one slowed, the other slowed. If one quickened their pace, the other did likewise.
One of the celestial beings was white winged with silver tips on his feathers. He wore a golden robe with white and silver embroidered leaf spirals winding around the hems. His eyes were a warm blue and his hair was white blonde tight curls close to his scalp. He had a strong jaw and muscular arms. Power emanated from him like a ray of light and life. His beauty was the sun, a radiance that the inhabitants of the world around which he paced needed to survive. They took him for granted, but he didn’t care because he did not seek glory. Only the Creator deserved glory.
The other had dark wings, but with dots of full silvered feathers scattered through the ebony. His raiment was dark as a moonless midnight with sharp, copper colored lines reaching from the bottom of his robes up towards his chest, like trees in the dead of winter. He glowed softly, creating no light, but seemingly reflecting what his counterpart put off. This did not make him weaker. No, for he was of darkness and death. Of shadow. Straight black hair fell to his shoulders, framing a pale face with dark brown eyes. The denizens of the night often worshiped him as did some seafarers as they believed it was he who controlled the tides. He should not have accepted the accolades, he did nothing, he was just a Steward. But he did accept them and he craved more.
He wanted Gamdrea, the floating globe of greens, blues, and browns, to be his, and his alone. It was this that led him to speak.
“Dun, must we continue this constant battle for Gamdrea? We are locked in an eternal stalemate with no end to this war in sight.”
“I had not known we were at war, Roon,” said Dun, without missing a step.
“Of course we’re at war, we are opposites, we will always be at odds.”
Dun sighed, he knew that these types of feelings broiled within his brother. His brother had always been chaos, while he had been content. However, in his heart Dun was bored, it was a failing that he had never been quite able to purge from himself, so he asked, knowing that though the happenings of the world may ebb and flow, there would always be balance, “What do you propose?”
Roon smiled, he had not thought this would be so easy, but then, his brother had always enjoyed a good game, “We need to add some pieces to the board of Gamdrea, to tip the scales. Some for me, and some for you. Our forces are balanced in the world as it is now, but adding the unknown players will allow one of us to gain the upper hand once and for all.”
Dun stopped walking. So did Roon. All living on the world of Gamdrea knew something colossal was happening as the heavenly bodies stopped their progress through the sky, and the world stilled.
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“Are you suggesting we steal souls from another of the Creator’s works?”
“Steal? No,” said Roon, “They will not be here fully, only a piece of them, we will not affect their world, but they will affect Gamdrea.” Roon said this, but he didn’t know for sure what would actually happen. Nothing like this had ever been attempted by any of the Stewards of the worlds.
“We should, perhaps, ask permission,” stalled Dun.
“Bah,” said Roon, “the world I have in mind has billions of souls, they will not miss a hundred or so, and we will only be borrowing them.”
“And what will the victor receive? There cannot be a day without night, and there cannot be night without day. Destruction of one is the destruction of the other.”
This made Roon pause, what his brother said was true, “We are currently equal, thirteen tics of day and thirteen tics of night, the victor will increase his tics by five so that he will have eighteen tics and the loser will have only eight tics, showing the truth of the power divide, no longer equal.”
“And what will that serve?”
“For you,” said Roon, “longer to shine and give life growth.” Roon sneered at that, “For me, longer time for the dark to grow and spread, more for my favored to increase their power.” And perhaps, he thought, shift the balance for the other stewards of the night as well.
“And what constitutes victory?” said Dun, intrigued and willfully not seeing through his brother’s deceptive mask.
“We begin with a number of souls and allow them to grow at their own pace to become our representatives. The strongest of these will be our champions. When there is a clear strongest, we set our champions against each other. The victorious champion will determine the fate of Gamdrea.”
Dun thought for a moment. There would still be balance whoever won, not an equal balance, but not every world had an equal balance. The final decision would not be up to the brothers, but to mortal souls who had no real stake in Gamdrea’s life, that didn’t seem fair, but then life was rarely fair. It would depend on the souls he chose and those that Roon chose. It was difficult to think that his brother would leave his fate in the hands of a mortal, but if he would make that gamble, so too would Dun. Afterall, as a Steward he and his brother were supposed to grow their world, not let it stay in a state of unchange for eternity.
“The rules must be clearly delineated. You and I cannot personally take part.”
“Of course,” said Roon, successfully hiding a smile. “We will draw the plans and rules up before the first are chosen. No need to go into that now. As for us not being directly involved, I agree, but we do need representatives to explain things to our soul pieces.” Roon waved his hand and the stars near him coalesced into a new shape and a jet-black wolf with glossy black and razor sharp wings appeared in Roon’s hand. It was a Wyverwolf. In the sky that Roon currently reigned, a new constellation appeared and the people of Gamdrea feared, for such portents often meant great change, whether for ill or good.
Likewise Dun waved his hand and a pure white feline with soft silver wings appeared in his hand. The Spielcat lazily glanced at the wyverwolf in Roon’s hand and gave a soft sash before curling up and falling asleep in Dun’s hand. He gazed at her lovingly, while the wyverwolf howled in outrage that he had to share the sky with the hated creature in the other celestial’s hand.
Roon smiled at his bloodthirsty avatar and representative, and whispered into its ear. As soon as Roon began to speak, the creature stilled and cocked its head to the side. The wyverwolf’s mouth curved into a semblance of a smile as it processed its master’s words.
“Shall we commence?” asked Dun, walking forward once again and returning the heavens to motion.
“Yes,” said Roon, being pulled back to walking by the universe, always before destined to follow his older brother. He would change that. “Yes, let us now lay down the governing rules.” The two walked and spoke into being the Book of Rule, all of which only they would know the whole of.