In far ancient days, the world was but one continent, a vast expanse of land named Pangea. Pangea was ruled by great beasts of foreign forms: reptiles of myriad shapes dominated land, sea, and sky; gargantuan amphibians patrolled swamp and stream; the dinosaurs- the terrible reptiles- would not yet claim the world by dominance of sheer size or strength, but they had nonetheless arisen from primordial roots and had, against all odds, begun to conquer.
In those days, the noble bipeds, the theropods- small in stature though they were- wielded force of claw and acuity of wit to build up homes, villages, cities- and wholesale culture- in their own image.
As those earliest foundations were laid, an ancient, wicked spirit overtook the hearts of many, stirring them to bitter conflict, driving species and tribes to vie for control of territory and for superiority in the newly-sprawling social system. Alliances were formed: the aerial pterosaurs joined the theropods; the crocodilian rauisuchians joined their cousins, the phytosaurs; plant-loving dicynodonts joined with the gentle-natured prosauropod dinosaurs. Fierce bloodshed compacted alliances ever-further into two simple sides: the carnivorous predators, against their prey- and what treacherous carnivores dared to defend them.
Thus sapient beings regressed to feral instinct as monstrous predators vied for dominance, and their prey for survival. The battle between them was brutal and horrific, with myriad sapient species driven to extinction by an onslaught of teeth and claws.
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As Pangea was drowned beneath torrents of blood and tears, some few preached of peace- of the noble, holy spirit of Mìr. Among them was the Most Venerable Elder, the righteous theropod Dilectus. With fervent prayer, masterful oratory, and the aid of hundreds of valiant soldiers, the Great War was finally brought to a close.
Compacts forbidding predation upon sentient life were signed and all alliances dissolved into one binary split: all Pangean tribes, as one, against every barbarous carnivore that refused to change their ways. Soon order reigned and civilization bloomed in Pangea, once more. At the heart of the continent, in the new capital city of Spero, a new government- composed of representatives of every sapient tribe in Pangea- was formed. The Continent was split into regions, each with their own High City to govern them.
It had been nearly a century now since the end of the Great War. Pangea was finally at peace.
But far in the shadowed corners of the content, where the tendrils of order scarcely reached, prayers of another kind were being prayed: imprecations to a dread god against Mìr- his hated enemy, and against Mir's master- that which the foul darkness hated above all else- Agápe, love. The embers of the flame of an ancient evil still blazed in the hearts of some; the great demon that had driven the decades of violence before had never died, he had only been regaining his strength.
In those remote regions where there were hardly any ears to ear, a cry was sounding: Singulus, the Ancient Wyrm, lives! In his name, war- war, more awful than any ever before- was coming. Pangea's peace was coming to an end.