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This founding myth of the world was shared with all players before the first session.
In the beginning there was silence.
Fermata. Pausa. Da capo.
Cautious whispers became clamorous voices,
harmonizing into the briefest cantus.
A deal was offered, a deal was struck.
From the exordium came the lands,
the first verse begat the creatures,
and from the chorus flowed the chaos.
The age was not kind.
Famine. Pestilence. Disease.
Until the Belle forged the land
under her regime of “Take, or die”.
But the drums of war did not beat forever.
The chorus came again.
The man of strings wielded new weapons.
Feudalism. Prosperity. Diplomacy.
The warlord was overthrown,
and the age of order ushered in.
But time beats all measures.
The orcs march to the rhythm of war again.
The elves retreat to their baroque kingdoms.
The dwarves hoard instead of selling out.
The winds of change are upon us,
and the chorus could come again.