Prologue: The Tale of the Cursed Ones
This is a tale that has been told since the dawn of time. It has been passed down from generation to generation of True Namers and Truth Seekers.
It begins with the void.
In the beginning was the void. There was nothing but void. Sound, light, even time did not exist. But the void itself was not empty.
In this void was chaos and promise, a swirling, tempestuous miasma, with no form or purpose.
Into this miasma appeared the Cursed Ones. They were travellers of immense powers, godlike beings who knew the power of True Names. Yet these gods were not compassionate and kind. They were not all-seeing or all-knowing. Cruelty was their left hand and Wilfulness their right, and as powerful as they were, they were also Blind to much Truth. They were the god of Pestilence, the god of Darkness, the god of Murder, the god of Malice and The Nameless One.
Why did they come to the void? Who might know what forces could compel such beings? Yet come they did, and found the void crushing in its solitude and depravation.
The Nameless One spoke and said, "Let us take the miasma and create for us a world for us to infest and it shall be our plaything." The other gods agreed and bent the miasma to their terrifying will. From the chaos and promise, they created the World. They raised mountains, tore valleys, bled seas and filled the void with air. They filled it with strange and wild vegetation, and they Named this world Ashervi, whose True Name is Omocha.
Then The Nameless One said, "Let us fill this world with all manner of creatures, that they may multiply and give us pleasure." And the other gods agreed.
Into this world, they breathed life and its promise of hope. Creatures both magical and mundane filled the skies, the waters, the land; even the dark recesses of dirt and rock and the fire that boils beneath the ground were filled. They gave each species of creature a True Name. And the Blind Ones were pleased.
The Nameless One Spoke again and said "Let us make for us labourers and task masters, that they may cultivate this place for us, so that we may pursue our own desires and not be weighted down with responsibility." At the last, the other Cursed Ones laughed in glee and bent to their work.
Thus did they create the first seeds of their own demise.
They created the First Born, the Elder Children, Named the Magi, and gave them power over True Names. Tall and fair, long lived and gentle, but powerful and fearsome in wrath or Naming.
Long did the Magi labour. They learned to use True Naming. They observed the limitations of power and potential inherent in their bodies. They discovered a means to augment their powers by weaving seals with the light and a powerful voice. Yet the world continued to grow wildly and without direction.
More helpers are required, thus spoke the Magi to the Cursed Ones.
By now, the Blind gods had begun to bore of the act of creation and wished to be left to their indulgences. Thus did they in their arrogance give at the last the power of life to the Magi. Long did the Magi confer in private until they ascertained that they did not truly possess the power to use that last gift. So they sent a messenger to the god of Darkness and spoke unto him and enlisted his aid in the creation of the Last Born, the Younger Children.
Named the Mundanes, created only by the power of a single god, the Younger Children were strong but short lived; in compensation they were given the ability to quickly to multiply. They were set to work the soil and tend the animals, or be their food.
Soon, the Cursed Ones grew tired of their sport on the mindless creatures of the world, and turned their suppurated eyes upon the Magi and Mundane. And thus did they seal the path that all Namers tread.
Thus did they set the road that the World has travelled and has yet to travel.
For as they brought torture and nightmare upon the Magi and the Mundane, they were blind to the willful defiance that began to emerge from their creations. For what is more basic to Life than Hope and the drive to survive? The Magi and Mundanes began hiding their True Names to separate themselves from the Cursed Ones. Yet in their carnal pleasures, the Gods were oblivious, driven by their need to sate their desires.
When the beloved daughter of the Chief Elder of the Magi, heavy with the family's first grandchild, was taken from him by command of The Nameless One, The Chief Elder's heart was turned to dust, his mouth filled with ashes and his belly burned with fire. Weeping and burgeoning with rage, he scryed upon his True Mirror the fate of the Cursed Ones' and found the time to be pregnant to bursting, but could not be achieved in isolation. After many long nights of discussion and debate, the Magi sought out the leaders of the Mundanes.
Having been subject to the heavy, even if reluctant, hand of Magi task masters in the past, the Mundanes were understandably sceptical. The Mundanes by now had even hidden their species Name by calling themselves Human. After long deliberation and argument the Children of the Blind and Cursed gods joined in a reluctant and suspicious alliance.
While the other Magi and Mundanes continued their horrific slavery of terror, a small band of chosen Magi and Mundanes would seek the True Names of the Cursed Ones, in order to seal them. The Magi were Named the Seekers; their Mundane contingent, warriors of reknown and great in innate and martial skill, were called the Order of Saints. This was the beginning of what is known to the Magi as the Seeker's Quest; the Mundanes know it as the Fall of the Saints. Far and wide were they destined to wander, chasing each little rumour run to ground, each whiff of fancy captured and collected. And long did they travel, out of the minds of the Mundanes, who assumed the Magi had abandoned the plan as impossible and cursed all the Elder Children, tall and fair. Even the hope in the eyes of the Magi faded.
One day, forty generations after that first fractured alliance, out of a blazing dawn a beautiful lone Magi woman rode into the Magi citadel, riding in the company of two Mundanes of the Order of Saints. The Magi woman was to become known to all Namers as the Child of Golden Hair. One Saint was a human warrior who had hair that blazed like a coal-fired blade, whose hands could sunder rock and flesh alike; the other was a green skinned thief with hair as black as ebony, silken voiced, who could call green flames from the skies.
The Magi woman summoned the Elders of the First Born as the Saints summoned the leaders of the Last Born, each calling to their own kind. Strange and fey were these newcomers, who announced that they had indeed discovered the True Names of the Cursed Ones. What an uproar was there when they declared themselves ready to spellsay The Great Seal! By wit and will, they reforged the pact between Cursed Children, as bitter as it proved to be, and began to weave the Seal.
The Nameless One, who could not rouse his fellows from their debauched daze, sensing a shifting in the Patterns of the world, raced across the face of Ashervi, only to discover all the Cursed One's children in the convulsions of rebellion.
The Nameless One feeling the first pangs of fear, raised creatures of nightmare to fall upon the defiant creatures as he endeavoured to wake his pestilential compatriots. The Order of Saints leading the Younger Children in their multitudes, and the Magi, with their power over True Names, threw back each assault. Yet with each new clash the children of the Cursed Ones fell back with fewer numbers, ever shrinking towards the golden haired Seeker who wove the complex spell in a design drawn in light, bolstering it by a haunting voice.
Now swollen with fury, the fully aroused Blind gods breached the last defence. The two Saints who led the Mundanes barred their path, defending the Magi woman. Fearsome was their battle, and although outnumbered, the two Saints held their ground against the Cursed Ones. When all seemed lost, when the Bright Haired Saint was stunned to the ground by the combined blow from Malice and Murder, when it seemed that The Nameless One would break past the desperate Green Fire Saint's flames of resistance, the Child of Golden Hair completed her design and softly spoke the True Names of the Cursed Ones. Each syllable burned into the light woven Great Seal.
The spell shook the foundations of the world; many a mountain became valleys, valleys mountains, oceans drained to deserts and plains into oceans. To this day the Namers have known this as the Rebirth; the Mundanes have named this The Breaking.
As it gained power, the Cursed Ones began to fade. Chains appeared as from air, wrapping their unbreakable links across the visages and bodies of those foul beings, strangling them relentlessly. The Nameless One swore to return and exact a terrible vengeance, choking a laugh that this eventuality had been foreseen. Feeling their powers being drained into the Seal, Malice and Pestilence summoned the last vestiges of strength and cursed the victorious rebels. They vanished from the world, leaving their curses to take hold and ravage the World.
The Curse of Great Death slew the Mundanes in their millions, blood pouring from every orifice as their organs melted. Yet the Curse of Great Death paled in comparison to the curse cast by the god of Malice.
The Curse of Hatred fed the seed of suspicion in the Mundanes. Over the Saints' protests, they accused the Magi of plotting to rid Ashervi not only of the Cursed Ones, but the Mundanes as well. Crazed with grief and fear, the Younger Children pounced on their allies.
The valley, soaked with the blood Magi and filled with the corpses of those struck down by the Curse of Great Death, is known to the Namers as the Valley of Betrayal, or the Valley of Blood. The Mundanes remember it as the Valley of Atonement. It is barren to this day; neither can any good thing be found in the haunted poisonous mists, nor does the air clear of the oppressive stain of malice.
In the ensuing chaos of death and treachery, the Saints rallied their Order to defend whatever Magi could be found. The remaining Magi Namers wove the True Name of Wind on their kin, and together with the Saints, fled across the vast spaces of Ashervi to their isolated strongholds in mountain, forest and grove. There, stunned by the magnitude of death and loss, the Elder Children conferred. Long into the night and the next day did the Magi consider their path. Little did they know that the way had been laid long before this tragedy had come to pass.
The Saints, tired and heartsick were told to go their way and prosper; that the only seal left to the Magi, with their depleted strength, could only shield their citadels from the Mundanes and prevent discovery. The spell had no way of discerning friend from foe. The Magi had to harness their skills in safety for the day that The Nameless One claimed would soon be upon them, when the Cursed Ones would return. As with any cloth, no matter how well made, the weave of The Great Seal would unravel someday. The Magi declared the Saints as True Friends, and many tears were shed as the long time companions, the Bright Haired Saint and the Green Fire Saint bid farewell to the Child of Golden Hair. The Magi faded before their very eyes as the last thread was tied off.
The Saints parted ways, hoping to find solace and safety. Their parting was not as filled with tears, as the two had been rivals in both love and skill from the very beginning, and only at the end had learnt and earned the respect of the other. And with that respect also came a pact and promise: to not engage the other in battle, and to be friends once again. They were determined to find seclusion from the world to heal, to train and to wait, so if that day ever did come about, that the gods would return, that they be there to guard them.
The Bright Haired Saint led his people to the north, into the lands of snow and ice. There they trained far and wide, cleansing their spirits with their deeds as much as with the frozen winds of the mountains. Eventually, prospering under the friendship of one of the mightier northern lords, the Order grew into a force of good. Few were the conflicts where good and evil were involved that did not see their flashing blades fighting for Justice and Mercy. Yet all this time did they remember their oaths, preparing for the return of the Cursed Ones.
The Green Fire Saint turned south with his followers and allied himself to a Southern warlord. This warlord was clever and ruthless and burned with ambition. Through trickery and treachery and the support of the Green Fire Saint, the warlord forged the tumultuous south into an Empire that has lasted a thousand years. And so did the followers of the Green Fire Saint come to be known as the Hellbourne Clan and forget their honour and pacts of the past.
The First Born faded from the minds of the Last Born.
And what of the True Names of the Cursed Ones? Who would dare speak them aloud for fear of summoning the very Blind Ones into being? Who would record them for others to read and know for the same fear? As with the millennia, they too have passed from memory.