Weep, my child, for the old gods. For they built themselves a domain of might, and the prison they now slumber within.

Lament, my child, for the new gods. For in avoiding their prison they consigned themselves to madness.

The gods are immortal, this is known yet rarely comprehended. Their existence is eternal, yet they were once mortal as you and I. Their domains blossomed from their very core, expressions of self and intended to enforce their Will upon the world. Their domains grew and thrived, for the path of godhood is one of eternal growth, never one of loss.

First they named a concept, an image of reality upon which they represented, for which their power would be built upon. Be it focused upon themselves or a change to reality outside, this became foundational. A single action or idea, an attribute that they claimed for themselves. The assurance of cold steel, a promise of defense, death itself or the end of the universe. In this way they became demigods.

As their intent for the world was made manifest, anchored in speech and their own image, they began to see the shape of the path before them. A treasured artifact, brought into full being with themselves, or an ideal manifested upon reality, the Domain made manifest as a bridge between the real and the surreal.

As an aspect of them was brought to light, which they defined themselves within. Foundational pieces of reality which they themselves associate with. The existence of monsters in the darkness. The comfort of a hearthfire. That all will die in time. They tie themselves to reality, establishing their connection to infallible Truths which they can neither cross nor comprehend crossing.

As their authority over all flourished, they set themselves a place, to establish their court, the role in which they take in the story of reality. Will they be a mighty hero, or the King Under the Mountain? The Monster in the Shadows, or the Noble Sword of the True King? Do they hold court in the palace under the waves, or are they a wanderer of the roads, never content to settle down? They gain much power from acting within their role, or within their kingdom, but lose it when straying beyond their bounds. Reality knows to listen to them when they appear within their place, yet outside of it they are baseless and weak.

Their dominion was established as they reflected upon the facets of themselves. Kings may be cruel or merciful, warmongering or peaceful. Swords may be ornate or simple, status symbols or instruments of war. Monsters may prey upon the innocent or the wicked, or pay no heed to such trivial things.

As they donned their mantle, so too did they obtain their supplicants. Be they mortal or natural, the supplicants were their servitors, their actors where they could not be. The mercurial winds of change or a society of priests; the sunrise itself or the beasts of the wild places, they would seek power and be granted it by the mantle of the god, serving as extensions of the being’s own will and with a fraction of their might, and in so become dependent upon the god for their wellbeing.

The gods are immortal. They are eternal. Yet they grow, and change.

Though content to exist into infinity, these gods began to grow bored, stale, they began to learn and change, only to find themselves chained. They could not act upon their learnings, they could not hope to relieve the monotony of their being, for they found themselves within prisons of action, with all the might and freedom in the cosmos to act in a uniquely singular way.

They were prisoners in the roles, in the Domain, which they spent untold eons crafting to fit themselves perfectly.

Yet it is no less a prison for that it is one they made themselves.

As their Domain grows, it becomes ever more restrictive, building upon all that they were and all that they are. Yet while gods are eternal, their thoughts are not. Their minds grow and change as well. What began as a mere slight dissonance between their thoughts and Domain grew and grew, until they were at war with their own being. Their Truths no longer seem true, their Anchors hold them back instead of steadying them, their Places feel more like a prison than a home.

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Acting contrary to their Domain would not harm them, save for some extreme examples, but it would deprive them of much of their strength, and once one has tasted omnipotence what could losing it be called if not harm? Their enemies waiting to pounce, their duties demanding they stay in full strength, their own homes deeply integrated with their power and dependent upon them to simply exist.

Thus the Old Gods were left with a few simple choices. They could continue the war between their present and past selves, torturing themselves as they acted in ways they did not agree with, yet were forced to in order to maintain their strength and thus their responsibilities.

They could choose to deny their past selves, falling from their heights of power and either only occasionally taking up their old role when needed and otherwise existing as eternal, yet mortal beings, or outright breaking it and forging anew a new godhood. These gods would inevitably find themselves locked in a similar situation in time, however, as their values and core self continued to drift.

Or, they could surrender themselves to their own choices, wholly embodying their Domain without a hint of their true personality evident. It is debatable whether these beings are even properly conscious, as by all metrics they are more akin to a shell, acting as its station demands yet with no true being aware of its own existence. They are in a state of eternal slumber within their own body, acting yet entirely separate from their own being.

Now the New Gods were clever. Many saw the folly of their elders, and sought to avoid the same pitfalls. So they created domains with flexibility inherent to their very being. Their anchor was their freedom, their truths were that of experience and change, their places were those of wanderers and explorers, always learning and finding new locales. Their facets were that of multitudinous expression, and their supplicants were tasked with self-expression and personal growth.

And it worked, all too well.

Never could these new gods find a comfortable role to fill, never could they grow complacent with their lot in life. They could not settle into stable relationships with the titans of eternity which were the old gods. These New Gods were too chaotic, too unpredictable. They would be wrathful one moment and overjoyed the next with seemingly no connection betwixt the two. They were at war with their old selves just as surely as the old gods were, but these new gods found their domains pulling them to change the values they held dear, to be different and to develop even in ways they may not have preferred. They became incapable of permanent decisions, for permanence is anathema to their domain.

Perhaps worst of all, they became incapable of settling into complacency, incapable of losing themselves to a domain and familiar role within the cosmos, for there is no familiar role to be found when their being must change with each passing century, there is no domain to be lost into when it must be found anew each millennia. Instead, those who succumbed to their nature became insane, forever being forced to reconcile the need to change their core self constantly with a mind which did not change nearly so rapidly.

And so is the fate of all who seek to build their domain, to establish their godhood. To build the perfect suit, an existence tailored perfectly unto yourself such that every last stitch is perfectly in place. It fits ever so snugly and is ever so comfortable. It is perfect in every way, unchanging and eternal, and provides power and wealth, security and purpose. Nothing could ever change it, could ever mar it.

But the wearer will. First, a single stitch is uncomfortable and is ever-so-irritating as the wearer grows. Then, as they seek to scratch their itch they begin to move and pull against the suit in ways it was never meant to stretch, further aggravating the wearer.

In time, there is only madness or oblivion for these eternal entities, driven to slumber from the pain and boredom, or insanity from change and paradoxes.

So weep, my child, for the old gods. For they built themselves a domain of might, and the prison they now slumber within.

Lament, my child, for the new gods. For in avoiding their prison they consigned themselves to madness.