In the silent starry void there was only Laurelin.
A being mere mortals would classify as a Goddess, she had blonde hair that was, somehow, also silver and sparkled like the void through which she traveled. Her garment, such as it was, also blended well with her surroundings, deep blue and cascading with stars, it was a gift she wore to protect her from the cold darkness of the void, on her long journey. She sought something new, in the vastness of space untouched by other Divine hands or darker powers. Something she could call her own. Something far from any other disturbances in the cluttered Multiverse. Something...unique.
Time has little meaning to a being like her, but it still passes, and much of it flowed past as the Multiverse continued to turn and churn beyond her sight. Eventually, in that massive black void of swirling stars, she came upon a sphere of black stone and earth, alone, listless in the vast empty vacuum. A planetoid of considerable size, far flung from whatever star system it had formed from, it was vast, cold, and empty. Laurelin's beauteous visage finally turned up in a smile.
It was free real estate.
"Galdurath."
She spoke but a single word, a single sound that should not have been able to exist in the vacuum of space, let alone travel through it, and yet, it did so. For there was one dear to her who had now waited quite a long time to hear her voice.
He appeared as a stereotype made manifest. Where her skin was golden bronze, his was shifting shades of blue. Where her garment was simple and flowing, his own was a leftover of his mortal beginnings, an Artifact possessing great and useful magic, which manifested as finely tailored blue robes with golden trim and shifting arcane patterns imbued into the now divinely enhanced weave. Their communication with one another had long transcended words, and thus she understood just how long she had taken. How much he had missed her presence, and how sorry she was for taking so very long. Time had little meaning to them, but it had still passed.
Now though, the wait was over, and their reunion began in earnest. Before things could turn lewd or romantic, they descended to the mass of rock and stone she had discovered, and Galdurath found it to be suitable. Into the long-frozen core of the planet, he placed the relic he had spent much of their time apart crafting, though he had long since perfected it. Mortal minds might have dubbed it a Genesis Engine, but Godly minds worked differently. They did not seek to constantly assign names to things, the engine was simply a tool, a device which reignited the planetary core, and began filling it with magic.
Like a master weaver with a loom, Galdurath wove lines of magic power around their new home. Divine magical energy which he had long since pumped into the device was now spent in creating an atmosphere, and beyond that, a magical shield that would protect their burgeoning world from the random ravages of space. No meteors would impact their home, no alien species on star treks would find them, their world would be safe, hidden, and sequestered in solitude, free to grow and develop with their guidance.
Laurelin watched her husband work, utterly enamored by the display. The shifting lines of magic blended beautifully with the stars, and once the atmosphere formed, she began her own work. Where she walked, life began its gentle stir: forests broke free from the dark dirt and stone, seas of salty filled water poured from her hands and soon glimmered with the light of the stars.
When the pair again met at the crown of the world, Galdurath finally spoke, an easier feat now that there was air which could carry waves of sound. "What name shall we bestow upon our new home, my Love?"
The Goddess paused in her creation of cooling caps of ice upon the planets northernmost point, and thought. Knowing he had time, Galdurath imbued his magical shield with the life-sustaining light of a Sun, a light which would never fade, and which would, for the sake of his sanity, run on a standard twenty four hour cycle, equally splitting the day hours, and the night, gradually shifting forever between each.
Amused by his continued creation, she finally said, after several shifts between day and night, "Arcadia."
Galdurath made a face at her. "Not exactly original, but if you desire it to be so, so shall it be." He then turned to look at the planetary core, and uttered the name with the power and purpose of a God.
"We dub thee...Arcadia."
With the basics set into motion, the seas, the skies, the mountains, the two Gods finally took their ease, and on that northernmost point, finally ended their long time apart. The footsteps of a God leave a mark on such a world, therefor it follows that coitus does much the same. Galdurath had plenty of centuries with which to plan their reunion, and his Laurelin was quite receptive to his efforts. Thus did Arcadia bloom, a paradise nurtured by the touch of the Gods as the spark of life quiet literally rolled across the entire planetary sphere, several times, before they finally, truly rested.
For an age beyond reckoning, Arcadia knew only that gentle embrace, the genuine love of two beings on a level of power not often seen, alone and undisturbed. But it could not last, nor did they intend it to.
With time, somewhat familiar creatures began to roam freely across the grasslands and clustered in the deep glens of the world’s forests. Those who began their existence as minor cells began to grow exponentially. Some, nurtured themselves on the remnants of Laurelin's passing tread. Others, nurtured themselves on those who preferred eating her flora. Green kingdoms flourished, and a natural cycle of flora and fauna was established.
In the centuries that followed Arcadia’s initial flourishing, the planet teemed with new beginnings, yet both Gods sensed that something greater awaited. Their partnership had created an entire realm, but in their hearts, they craved an heir, another who would share in their joys and burdens, an echo of their bond to guide Arcadia forward.
So it was that Laurelin felt within herself a stirring unlike any other; the spark of a third Divine presence. In time, she bore a son whose birth shook the very world with his cries. Though no mortals walked the land yet, the creatures that roamed the forests and skies paused in silent reverence as the usually invisible weave of ley lines crossing the world became visible, a chorus of cosmic energies that celebrated his son's arrival. Galdurath, joy shining in his azure eyes, held the newborn deity in his arms while Laurelin gazed upon him with wonder.
They named him Dagorion, a name woven from threads of possibility, carrying a hint of conflict yet unkindled. From the moment he opened his eyes, a curious gleam lit his golden gaze, as if he already beheld the boundless potential lurking beneath Arcadia’s tranquil surface.
While Dagorion slumbered in infancy and Laurelin and Galdurath focused their attention on their beloved son, in time, sentient mortal races, free-willed beings who could appreciate the beauties of Arcadia and add their own sparks of creativity began to come forth from flora and fauna both. Their biological patterns drew inspiration from countless other worlds across the Multiverse, copying certain archetypes while infusing them with Arcadia’s unique magic.
Laurelin’s dearest creation, the first and most closely bound to her lifegiving essence. They formed from living trees in Arcadia’s oldest groves, giving them slender bodies, sharp senses, and a deep attunement to natural magic, and the source of it. Laurelin sensed them immediately, and the gentle beings quickly became her favorites forever more. Some elves preferred the bright sunlight and open fields, developing lighter complexions and an affinity for tending the natural world. Others gravitated to caves and deep delves within the earth, their skin darker and their arts more focused on the forging of metals by means of magic. These 'dark elves' as they would come to be known, became fast followers of Galdurath, but they were not his favorites, for there was another template of sentience he had woven into the fauna of the world, with the hope that one day, they would grow into what he knew they could become.
From the quick-witted primates that flourished in Arcadia’s canopied jungles, Galdurath encouraged the growth of a new race that valued curiosity and adaptability. Humans, ashe called them, possessed shorter lifespans than elves but compensated with bold ambition and an eagerness to push the boundaries of possibility. Galdurath hoped these mortals would learn from the mistakes of other worlds, evolving beyond any flaws their ancestors might have known. He had made them smarter, but more predisposed to compassion and ingenuity than violence and a near-constant need for reproduction.
Though elves and humans were first, they were by no means the last. Feline folk both slender and mighty, bipedal lupine tribes who hunted their large prey in packs, rabbit-eared and near-human looking beings who became fast allies and friends of the elves, humanoid ursine warriors who preferred to hunt and live in the cold climates of Arcadias mountains, and feathery avian folk with wings and hands both soared or stalked Arcadia’s wilderness as time passed.
Each subgroup evolved from the template of forest and mountain creatures, walking upright, speaking with a single common tongue taught to them by a often disguised Galdurath soon joined the growing global community established by humans and elves. These races inherited both bestial instincts like hunting, tunneling, or swift flight, and the capacity for reason and culture. Over time, the so-called 'beast races' diversified even more, but with the guidance of their Gods, the humans and elves welcomed each without pride nor prejudice, overjoyed to welcome new members into what they saw as a global family focused on progressing their collective technology to make all of their lives comfortable, happy, and easy.
Born of melding bloodlines between elves, men, and the more beast like races, centaur folk soon appeared as well with combined torsos of elves and men, but with powerful equine, leonine, or otherwise lower halves, blending speed and strength with eloquent speech. These genetic mixes ended up preferring to roam Arcadia’s vast plains in nomadic caravans, believing that freedom of movement was life’s greatest gift.
Along Arcadia’s coasts and coral reefs, sentients formed from the fauna of the oceans thrived as guardians of the seas. Some were like humanoid whales or dolphins, while, with time, others again blending the ever abundant elves and humans with seafolk traits became colloquially known as merfolk. They formed underwater cities from living reefs and possessed an innate gift for controlling water magic. Some merfolk embraced more adventurous lifestyles, venturing onto land in search of trade or alliances while others remained in the depths, content to reign in the watery deeps, but always they kept the peace, unwilling to be the first of the races to sow discord.
When the young Dagorion finally was introduced to the flourishing community of that truly golden era of peace, he found himself surrounded by a kaleidoscope of mortal races, each forging small communities near fresh rivers or deep within forests. Though many worshipped Laurelin, giving thanks for growth and nourishment, just as many turned to Galdurath in search of arcane knowledge, or grateful for the knowledge he had imparted upon them to make their lives and survival among the elements easier.
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As the years passed in the northern realm of the Gods, Dagorion grew into his divine gifts. He walked among mortals in various guises, observing how they lived and thrived. At first, he admired the ways they competed: wrestling for sport, racing across fields, honing archery skills, even staging friendly tests of physical strength. While some basic weapons had arisen to combat the more violent creatures of the natural world, the sentient races had yet to turn them on each other, though Galdurath knew that day would, inevitably, come. Laurelin chose to believe otherwise, unwilling to give up her faith in their beautiful creations. She could not conceive of a world where their creations, those she saw also as their children, in a sense, turned on each other in violence. Here, she argued, things would finally be different.
Dagorion reveled in these contests of skill, as they made his blood ignite in a manner he had never experienced, and could never get enough of. In them he saw the spark of progress, mortals pushing themselves to new heights of strength and skill. Yet, over time, a restlessness took hold in his heart. Winning a contest of strength or an archery tournament only satisfied him briefly, for his skill was unmatched and soon the clever mortals began to easily see through his disguises once his skills were recognized. He craved something deeper, more visceral, a challenge that would raise the stakes, quicken the pulse, and ignite the soul.
Meanwhile, his parents remained enraptured in their own blossoming paradise. Laurelin continued to sow new seeds of life, as the flora of Arcadia grew ever taller, and its many cities became even more connected. Galdurath obsessively tested the boundaries of magic, refining Arcadia’s ley lines and weaving more advanced protective wards around the planet. Their love for each other, and for the world they had built, was so profound that Dagorion’s budding discontent went unnoticed for far too long.
Bored by peaceful contests, Dagorion sought darker amusements. He wandered the outskirts of mortal lands, whispering to the more predatory beastfolk and stoking their ancient instincts to hunt and battle for territory. He visited leonid warlords, urging them to expand their domains or risk being overrun by a more ambitious rival tribe of wolf men or bear folk.
A flicker of unsettling darkness accompanied him. Laurelin was not blind to her son, for he tried stoking discontent among the elves and humans as well, albeit with less success. From distant eons of cosmic wandering, she finally recognized his growing darkness as a vestige of the evil that had dominated onee of the oldest and largest parts of the Multiverse, one from which she had taken her own name, now forever lost in the evil shadow of its Dark Lord.
Dagorion, enthralled by the adrenaline of battle, eventually crossed that line, and committed the world's first murder. As the blood stained his hands and the visceral shock of seein someone cut down in what would come to be known as combat filled his eyes, he embraced his savagery, finally eagerly believing he had found his purpose. He and those who followed him, mostly members of the beast races, but no small amount of humans as well, also engaged in the act of murdering those who were weaker than they, simply because they could. The power, the excitement, th depraved sense of superiority it gave them opened them to the cosmos's natural darkness, which had been all too eager to flood the peaceful world for ages now.
With this influx of violence, the depravity took hold. Mortals who embraced Dagorion’s teachings and methods found themselves twisted by darkness, losing the gentle shape Laurelin had blessed them with. Their forms grew monstrous, reflecting the violence within, and soon other, darker, and all too familiar patterns associted across the Multiverse with monsters began to form as well. Orcs, goblins, trolls, and other warped races began appearing in Arcadia’s dark corners, reveling in pillaging, bloodshed, and murder. They established primitive war-camps in sunless places, devouring those they conquered in body and mind, heedless of how sick and depraved such things were to those with morals instilled by the Gods.
Upon discovering the atrocities arising in her beloved realms, Laurelin was horrified. Galdurath, equally dismayed by the surge of departed souls arriving in their northern abode to reincarnate, came in states of terror or despair, and he finally confronted Dagorion. Yet, once he did so, he found his once curious son was barely recognizable. Renouncing his old name with a scornful laugh, he claimed a new name, Dagorath, the God of War, a new identity fully aligned with chaos and bloodshed. In a final act of defiance, Dagorath empowered his monstrous champions to a new level of proficiency.
They would come to be known by the decent, life-loving races as the Demon Lords, commanders endowed with slivers of Dagorath's divine power, who set entire civilizations ablaze in their war paths.
Realizing the existential threat posed by these Demon Lords, Galdurath formed an elite cadre of spellcasters known as the Arc Wardens. These chosen mages, warriors, and scholars stood at the forefront of Arcadia’s defense. Under Galdurath’s guidance, they tracked each Demon Lord’s rise and unified the mortal races to purge the abominations, with great success. Each conflict saw the Arc Warden's skills grow, and their methods of killing Dagorath's abominations became more practiced and methodical. Under the threat of death, their technology, powered by Galdurath's will and his follower's ingenuity, advanced rapidly, using magic as a base power source to create new and wondrous things. Artifacts of war, yes, but also indoor plumbing, sturdier building materials, and devices that could send spells to ranges far beyond those that mortals could reach on their own power.
Heroic adventurers, those with skills in certain types of magic or weapons, began to answer the Arc Wardens’ call, forging permanent alliances between elves, humans, beastfolk, and merfolk to vanquish the infernal armies. Though many lives were lost, the Arc Wardens managed to destroy each Demon Lord within a few years of their rise, restoring a fragile peace for a time. Yet every victory left scars on Arcadia’s surface, and on the hearts of its people, and their weeping Goddess.
Unable to bear the ongoing carnage twisting her most cherished creations directly caused by her beloved baby boy, Laurelin withdrew in a deep depression to the far northern pole, into the etheral complex that mortals revered as the Divine Fortress. Enclosed by glacial peaks and hidden behind swirling magical auroras, it became a sanctuary where she could grieve and reflect. Her presence in the mortal realm grew all but nonexistent.
Meanwhile, Galdurath took more direct responsibility for Arcadia’s future. He reasoned that by advancing magic and technology, mortals could better protect themselves from Dagorath’s twisted outbursts, and once a Demon Lord could rise and be felled within a day, he hoped that his son would see the foolish futility of his actions, and renounce this senseless bloodshed. With this goal in mind, he encouraged the Arc Wardens to refine spellcraft, build grand cities brimming with arcane marvels, and improve their capacity to fight monsters. The power of flight was soon achieved. Magically powered ships began soaring the skies, and regularly rained down spells and martially skilled adventurers onto wandering hordes of monsters.
Though she had retreated in despair, Laurelin could not entirely ignore the mortal's cries for help. Driven by compassion from the genuine pleas of her favored races, she gifted certain priests and chosen adventurers with healing miracles and enhancement magic, blessings that empowered heroes to stand against monsters and other terrors.
Over the course of many wars, heroic adventurers, often times aided by Laurelin’s holy spells from one of her 'clerics', drove back each successive Demon Lord. Over time, adventuring became both profession and entertainment, with the Arc Wardens codifying official ranks and bestowing ever more grandiose insignias within their hierarchy. There were, after all, numerous foul monsters in the world now, and the strongest of warriors should not be wasted wipining out tiny goblin nests, when fresher adventurers could do it as well, and gain more experience as a result.
To better organize the constant flow of would-be heroes, the Arc Wardens established the Adventurer’s Guild. They laid out six core tiers of advancement, each reflecting the adventurer’s skill, magical aptitude, and overall contributions to Arcadia’s defense. The lowest and first of these tiers was bronze, where fresh recruits were given simple tasks like gathering herbs and ores for potions and weapons, or wiping out nests of smaller monsters.
Next was steel, by far the largest rank, this was where those with average skills that were unlikely to ever really advance ended up. The majority of adventurers journeyed and formed parties at this rank, and often they formed guilds within the Adventurer's Guild of multiple steel ranked parties, with which they could handle larger forces. Above them were mithril ranked adventurers, those who had true potential and never stopped advancing. They had the drive and luck needed to survive dangerous quests, and they did not know fear, thus they delved ever deeper into monster hordes, sometimes perhaps a bit too heedless of the dangers they could discover.
Adamantine adventurers were considered the elite, and were often granted titles or lands under an Arc Warden's domain. They were largely tasked with training bronze parties into steel ranked ones, and with them leading said parties, kept their domains safe from the ever encroaching violence seeking monstrosities of the God of War. Above them were runic ranked adventurers, genuine heroes who were often blessed by one of the Gods, fearless and well equipped, their experiences hardened them into monster killing one-man armies. They tended not to form parties, and if they did, only did so with other runic or adamantine ranked adventurers, and usually not for very long, though there were of course exceptions to that rule.
Finally, at the top of he hierarchy, but still considered lesser than an Arc Warden, draconic ranked adventurers were the final ace up the sleeve of every domain. Only usually appearing when a calamity class monster showed up, they were considered living legends, and often, led entire branches of the Adventurer's Guild. Once one reached that status, becoming inucted into the Arc Wardens was all but guaranteed, and Arc Wardens, or those with their level of magical potential, were considered draconic class adventurers by default. Naturally, their offspring were also typically near or at the same level as their forebears, and with time, special academies formed in Arcadia's largest cities to train these ridiculously skilled children into the next generation of living legends, often expediting their rise through the Adventurer's Guild and its ranks and being granted top tier items and relics from the start of their journeys.
Once again, time passed, and over millennia, this hierarchy fostered a functional, if stratified, society. The magically supreme became Arc Wardens, while the rest of the people, namey those without incredible magical aptitude, were relegated to the menial, dangerous, and darker side of their society. With power, came corruption, and Arc Wardens went from being defenders of the planet, to people who could ruin a commoner's entire life if they felt like it.
Remarkably, after a particularly nasty Demon Lord who'd reigned for forty years of darkness was slain by a party of draconic adventurers led by the most powerful Arc Warden alive, Arcadia entered an extended era of calm. No monstrous armies emerged to threaten the capitals, and the dreaded polar regions where Dagorath’s corrupt creatures once dwelled lay quiet. The world at large turned its attention to commerce, art, and technological progress under Galdurath’s guiding hand.
Human blacksmiths invented new steel alloys, elves honed magical horticulture that could feed entire cities, and beastfolk tribes safeguarded roads from lingering monsters. Draconic tier heroes faded into legend. Some believed the threat of war had truly ended, as the peacful era lasted for centuries.
Yet this peace brought unintended consequences. With no great battles to unify them and only smal groups of monsters popping up more and more infrequently, the mortal races gradually sank into complacency. The Arc Wardens, flush with wealth and privilege, grew preoccupied with maintaining their lofty status. Taxes rose, magical artifacts remained locked behind bureaucratic charters, and corruption festered in the guildhalls. Without epic quests to sponsor, local leaders hoarded resources for their own comfort.
As the centuries rolled on, a mounting disparity crystalized. Those born with considerable magic or resource connections enjoyed the privileges of advanced artifacts, easy access to healing, and comfortable city homes. Meanwhile, commoners, especially those with scant magical talent, scraped by in cramped urban districts or rural settlements far from guild protection.
Arcadia had once championed unity in the face of Demon Lords, but now wealth and status were concentrated among the Arc Wardens and high-ranking adventurers, leaving the majority of mortals vulnerable to exploitation. The gilded towers that had once symbolized hope became monuments to inequality.
Laurelin witnessed this slow rot from the solitude of her northern fortress. Her tears fell upon ice-bound ramparts as she recalled the dream she and Galdurath had once shared. Had they truly condemned their children to a life of hierarchical oppression? And yet, she saw no easy solution. If she swept down and revoked the Arc Wardens’ power, what new chaos might fill the vacuum of power?
Now, Arcadia stands at the brink of another pivotal chapter in its history, one shaped not by Demon Lords or monstrous invasions, but by the moral decay of a stagnant society. A hush lingers across the land, echoing with the faint memory of battles long past. Even Galdurath, ever the optimist, senses that Arcadia’s magic-laden brilliance rings hollow when so many remain excluded from its fruits.
Laurelin, unwilling to see her creation slip further into cruelty, contemplated a drastic measure. She recalled her and Galdurath's wanderings in the broader Multiverse, where lost civilizations sometimes found salvation in an unexpected traveler or a revolutionary concept from beyond their world. Perhaps an outside influence could jolt Arcadia awake, reminding them of their original ideals and bridging the gulf between the powerless majority and the privileged few.
With that final resolution, the Goddess of Life stirred from her hidden domain, a glimmer of resolve shining in her sorrowful eyes. Her divine mind drifted across the far reaches of space and time, as if calling forth a champion unsullied by Arcadia’s rigid hierarchy, a brave, kind soul who might inspire hope rather than merely enforce order, and change their decaying society for the better. Yet, in her deepest heart, she hoped they would not just shake the foundations of this new, and to her perspective, modern Arcadia. She also hoped for a soul that would bring redemption and balance to her long lost baby boy, and with that wish in her heart, her divine gaze settled upon the Sol system, and third rock floating around its Sun.