In the Beginning, Thera was without form; a void.  A nothingness permeating
from all about caused a chill, and an eerie feeling flooded the expanse of
emptiness.  The feeling became thick, and fog started to roll about wildly,
forming together and creating thick clouds which swirled about the formless
sky, intermingling.  Wisps waved to and fro, causing patterns to rise out of
the myriad.  Blues, blacks, reds, greens, and other various colors formed
from the ones, and gave life to it all.

  The clouds seemed to transform themselves into shapes;  shapes of palaces,
shapes of thrones and of riches, of warriors and of nature.  Out of the
formless mass came shapes of nature;  trees composed of clouds grew out of
a formless ground;  lightning bolts arched over the cloudscape, and
it began to rain.  Water fell from the clouds, and pooled among nothingness;
oceans so deep that no land could be found beneath them.  Then out of the
clouds was formed a sun;  it melted away part of the water, and brought
land to the surface.  The sun shone brightly upon the land, and warmed the
water, and all was well.

  The clouds loomed above still, and formed a moon;  black and decripid, it
cast shadows upon the land, adding darkness to Thera, and concealing all
that was to be seen.  The sun shone brighter, a bastion of light in the
sky, and held the darkness at bay, and revealed a lush earth;  a Thera
formed in the union of dark and light.  Still, above all, loomed a cloud;
a cloud that came to be known as the Dark Mists.



  A vast green field spread out under the sun, its emerald tint shining
brightly under the setting orb overhead. The sounds of birds and crickets
could be easily heard;  one of the first signs of life upon Thera.  The vast
expanse seemed fairly wide open, but four figures stood stoicially, their
silhouettes contrasting the light.  One, a man shrouded primarily in black,
had a menacing visage.  About him the birds did not seem to come, nor the
crickets chirp.  The grass withered beneath his footsteps, and plants wilted
under the touch of his finger.

  A second, a small grey figure, seemed much the opposite.  About her the
animals seemed to find shelter, and to her paid homage.  Energy seemed to
radiate about the grey-elf, casting vibrance to all about her.  Slowly,
mumbling a few incoherent words under her breath, she raised her hands to
the sky, and toward her from the heavens seemed to flow a channel of pure
energy;  a vertical pillar connecting her to the sky.  Her eyelids fluttered,
her body shook suddenly, and she fell to a heap on the ground, getting up
slowly.

  The third figure seemed similar at first to the female in build, but there
the similarities ended.  In contrast to the disciplined, restrained movements
of the grey-elf, this darker-skinned cousin seemed to move quickly and
violently.  His eyes looked about him quickly, watching all sides;  and
especially his back.  He stood nearly six and a half feet tall, with a pale
face and a grim smile.  Two onyx orbs seemed to hover within the sockets of
his eyes, occasionally flaring a bright red, as a he released a sadistic
laugh, breaking the silence.

  The last person seemed somewhat oafish;  his large, fur-covered body moved
in an awkward manner, making it rather surprising that such a disjointed
figure could move so swiftly.  He stumbled about chasing after rabbits in a
haphazard manner, tripping over imself more than once in the process.  He
ran around, laughing and giggling, often causing stares from the more stoic
figures that were nearby.

  Time passed, and the four became accustomed to their visages.  In their
own manners they each walked toward one point;  a triangle formed of three
rods, layed on the ground.  A rod of gold symbolized the light in the world;
one of onyx to symbolize the darkness, and a third of granite to symbolize
the stability of balance.  Slowly, all four made their way into the large
triangle, and nodded at one another.  And disappeared.

  And so it was that the Gods were created;  Styx Barvakis, Lord of the Dead.
Xyza, the Source of All Magic, Thrym the Toothless Bandit, and Awrathre the
Bringer of Armageddon.  Together they were the pantheon of immortality that
ruled Thera, and held the Dark Mists at bay.

 Time passed.  A year, ten, a hundred, a thousand.  Nobody knew.  Nobody
cared.  It really didn't matter.

  Cities rose and fell, civilizations were born and then withered away into
legend and lore, to be told of by the fire to wide-eyed children.  Heroes
became the champions of peoples, and dragons their foes.  Stories were the
driving force behind a simple and untamed land.

  "They shall know the secrets," said Xyza.  "It is part of Thera, and it
should be shared with them."
  "They cannot understand the magicks.  It is unfathomable to their simple
minds.  Some may begin to grasp what they have been taught, but they can
never truly understand it.  They would be dangerous.  Far too dangerous."
  "Nay, Aegnor," replied the grey-elf.  "It is my right to show them if I
wish."
  "You must not.  You cannot do such a thing, or you put the entirety of
Thera at risk.  You know not what you do."
  "I do, and I have done so already."
  "They shall perish, to the last."

  And so the Crusaders of Valor were formed, to fight against the Archmages
of Arcana, in their belief that the magic of the gods was unfit for mortal
hands, and was a great threat to the stability of Thera.
  And chaos reigned uncontrolled in Thera, and the Enforcers of Law were
created to put down the unruly tyrants.
  And so the dark was supreme in the Mists, and death was commonplace.
Disease and famine were a part of existance, encoured by House Ancient, the
secretive killers who used fear as a weapon.  And so House Life was formed
to promote health and healing in Thera.

  "A purpose to each, and an enemy.  And so shall the balance remain."
                            -Aegnor, 'The Balance of Life'

  Turmoil within the heavens was not unknown to the Pantheon.  First it was
Aegnor;  overcome with the grief in knowing the fate of the world at the
hands of uncontrolled magic, he abdicated his throne, and was succeeded by
Julive.

  And then Imrazor, Lord of the Grey Havens, went mad.  Rumor told that it
was due to the manipulation of Styx, or that it was due to Awrathre.  It
shall not be known to mortal minds the truth of the horror of his attempt
at destroying Thera itself, but the fear that it can happen again shall
forever loom overhead.

  ".. the Heavens rained lightning which struck about like wildfire,
      causing explosions that  threatened to rock the very fabric of
      Thera,  as well as  House Crusader.   For their  lack of honor
      Julive would pay, at the hands of Styx.

      And so sundered  from the Pantheon was Julive,  but not before
      he could beg aid of Awrathre.   And it was granted,  and House
      Crusader and Julive were saved;  but they had suffered greatly .."
                                  -Maradis, Enforcer of Law

   .. And so is Thera. A world ever changing, it's deities warlike
      and  quarrelsome.   It shall  ever change.  It shall ever be
      different.

      Once a river has been walked in,  it has changed, and become
      another river.   The same river cannot be sailed twice,  and
      especially not so while above, menacing, loom the Dark Mists ..

-Written By Maradis for DarkMists.-
          (c) 1996