Like all societies, religion was ripe within the Zealan Empire. For centuries the Elder Gods, three brothers who held the keys to salvation, were worshiped as the truly divine, those that watched over the world and offered paradise or torment when life ended. When the Empire began to crumble in what is now called the Immortal Wars, so too did religious beliefs and practices. Mankind had ascended into a seat of power they had never wielded before, why did they need of gods? They had touched the substance of the Oroborous, they had transcended beyond earthly limitations. They could be immortal. In their darkest hour, their faith faded; for they had greed, and they had power; for they questioned the gods, and how far they had come.

It can be said that the Elder Gods disappeared when humanity was on its knees. After fifty years of civil war, the Orks threatened to extinguish the last breath of the Empire. And so humanity turned to its great magicks, to play the Hand of the Maker, and pull forth from the Oroborous a creature of their own dreams - yet their worst nightmares. In that moment, the voice of the Gods were lost. Yet, amidst the Empire spiraling into demise came the voice of a new cult, one that heralded fealty, compassion, and love. The Mercian Gods.

Five centuries later...

Mankind has once again returned to the lands of Zeal; the lands of Eridan. What are these strange temples that dot the land? What are these names murmured in ancient scripture? As faith in the Mercian Gods wane in the face of defeat, ancient names are whispered once more. The Elder Gods.

Phantasmal. Chaotic.
From the void that is the universe danced the colors of the Oroborous,
The possibility of the impossible; the essence of all creation.
Perhaps this chaos lasted seconds, or perhaps it spanned eons.
There was no time, for time was a concept not yet born.

A Voice Within.
The voice of order. That the pitless void might take shape,
That the Oroborous birth life and the universe become form.
The first desire, the desire to live; to know; to create.
And controlling the infinite of the Oroborous was He.

The Eldest God, the First Immortal,
The Fount of whom all existence flowed.
He had no name, for names were a concept not yet born.
He danced across the infinite, unthreatened as Creator,
The Caretaker of the Oroborous.

From endless darkness, the birth of time.
He traveled the expanse of space, from infinite,
To the infinite. Yet amongst it there was no other.
And so His tapestry was begun, and with it, the second desire.
The desire to share – to love – to breath existence.

To the Oroborous He returned, and from it he molded his desire.
So were born the Hands of Creation, the twelve spirits of life.
And He said onto these beings, the lesser of His divine,
You, the Spirits of Eria, who complete the essence of my creation,
You are poetry without sound. You are the life of my universe.

For eons time passed and barren was the expanse of darkness.
And He said onto the Spirits of Eria, His eternal companion,
Through you shall I create, for each of you shall be,
One with my creation. From His hands came reality, and instilled
In each spirit was thought, emotion – the birth of the universe.

A Universe of shape, sound, law; substance. The Creator was no more.
For his spirit had become the Eria, the Hands of Creation.
A voice instilled, the Choir of Twelve; We the First Children of creation
We are the Guardian of the cherished divine. We shall be solace onto the universe,
Yet we shall not be the only. The All.

And the Oroborous was brilliant with color.
And the universe was at peace. From the tailored bodies that
Touched their creation, came the infinite of color.
And through the multitude, two shone the brightest.
Yashain and Yeresse

And for eons, the heavens were quiet.

Warmth, the presence of the sun; the Eria again touched
The light of the Oroborous. From its brilliance did their hands fold shape;
Their mouth gave breath; Their eyes gave vision; Their will gave life.
From them came the Earthmasters, the first of the Great Awakening.
And to them the Eria gave the greatest gift – the gift of creation.

Lush and splendid were the lands of Ctesiphon; the birth grounds.
Here the Earthmasters shaped forest and stone.
Here the secrets of Magick and the gifts of creation were born.
Here were built the great cities that reached to the heavens above.
And here, all was lost.

Gifted were the Earthmasters, for truth was their name.
From their hands towered the pyramids; the obelisks; the cities of old.
Unrivaled was there control and open was their bond.
For centuries they ruled the world of Terra,
But avarice would be their undoing.

For as their spires towered towards the heavens,
So to did their desires grow beyond bounds.
As masters of creation, so too did they try to create a universe,
One onto their own. To challenge the very Hands of the Maker.
Yet their fallibility was their failure, and to ashes did they plunge.

Desolate are the lands of Ctesiphon; the burial grounds.
Here the Earthmasters lay in eternal rest.
Here the secrets of Magick were lost and the gifts of creation rescind.
Here dwell the ruins of once great cities.
And here, the reminder of their greed remains.

Absence; tears of the heavens; sorrow of the Spirits of Eria.
Guardians without guardianship; the forms of thousands became their abode.
Violent was their demise. Yet, born were the wonder of the unknown.
A Shower of Stars. The Second Awakening, the Birth of All Children.
From the bodies of the Eria, life was born anew – yet their voice remained.

So were born the Final Creation; the Perfect Creation.
And the Eria said onto these beings, the children of their Divine,
You who complete the spirit of our creation,
You are wisdom, you are will. You are the life of our universe.
And in each was instilled desire, thought, emotion – free will.

Vast of shape; innumerable of size and dimension;
Blessed and cursed; divine and monstrous; To these beings
The Voices of Eria proclaimed with lofty tongue:
Thou shall know love and pain; Thou shall know honor and deceit;
Thou shall rise and fall, win and lose; And above all, Thou shall choose.

Brilliant was the light of the heavens;
Basking in its glow shown the paradise of Yashain;
And in its shadow glimmered the torment of Yeresse;
And so the heavens were aligned, and so creation reached its full.
And lost amongst the Children were the Voices of Eria.

When the Spirits of the Eria, the truly divine, shattered to become the life of all beings, creation as we know it began. Yet from their broken forms came things unknown. Pain, suffering, cruelty, and the torment of time. Life is thus a struggle that the Eria never foresaw riddled with conflict and choice. The choice to do good, or the choice to do evil. Yet instilled in men is the memory of life during the ages of the Eria, the paradise known to the Earthmasters as Ctesiphon.

In the tumult times that followed the death of the Eria, suffering filled the lands. Through the shadows of time rose three figures, brothers of a prophetical father who had glimpsed the glory of Ctesiphon. To each son he shared his secret that paradise could be born again on Terra. Yet, in conflict, each son heard a different story. So were born the Three Paths of Salvation, paths that men must walk to return Terra to the paradise known during the Ages of the Eria.

Yet only one Path can be true.

On each path a man’s devotion to salvation and paradise is tested. Both just and cruel, these tests can break the very faith of men. It is the task set before all Children that they must choose, that they must make of themselves what they wish, be it good or evil. To lead a faithful life and truly understand a path is to enter the domain of Yashain in the host of Saints those that followed the Path before you. To lead an unfaithful life, or to choose the incorrect path, is to be cast into the shadows of Yeresse and the bitterness of oblivion.

Faithful servants must choose one path to devote themselves. There are pitfalls and evils they shall encounter; they shall watch their brethren sucumb to sin and stray, or even choose to follow the other Paths that only lead to darkness. There is power in faith, but there is power in damnation too. Be careful not to see your own strengths and newfound faith as gifts from Yashain, for they can be gifts of a different kind. While all his power is divine – not all, is good.

When the Three Brothers founded their Paths and devoted their lives to their quest for paradise, they are said to have ascended into godhood. The Brother who leads the correct path is said to reside in Yashain, while the other two lay tormented in Yeresse. Others have since followed in their footsteps: priests, servants – even laymen who have devoted their lives to the Paths, eternally resolved the the virtues required of them. It is said that by following a path, a man may ascend to sainthood, to rise into the ranks and heavenly host of Yashain. Yet, to choose the wrong path is to be cast into the shadows of Yeresse.

A man must choose wisely, and save his own kin from damnation.