In the times long forgotten, at the joint of the Second and the Third Divine Eras,
A celestial misfortune occurred, when the Demiurge, once two unparalleled entities in harmony, still bore the shared name of The Great Ones. Alas, this harmony was not eternal. More and more fragile it grew as One of The Great turned distant to the creation and the other One alike. Eventually, the One who remained true, gazing upon the second throne, found it to be abandoned. Upon it rested a message from the proditor - this world is thine alone, for I no longer am amused by my staying here.
The original and faithful creator mourned, yet could not tolerate the empty throne for long. "Thou pleased to leave, and so be it. Yet I shall grant no way back," He spoke and thus, cast down the deserted seat. Fortunately or not, the traitor did not reconsider his allegiances for the second time, and the now-sole Demiurge remained alone to guide, polish, and oversee the world.
And as that what must was happening, many a terrified creature hastened from out of whichever confines and directed their gaze into the sky. Lo, the heavenly chair was descending upon them from above! Though once a great being, some silently rejoiced at what they perceived to be the fall of the second creator, wondering if their ambitions would at last gain the chance to come fulfilled.
Alas for the insolent, the Demiurge sent forth His manifestation, their hopes made futile. It was a flaming shape, clad in armor the color of dried blood, that was adorned with jagged plates and keen ends. The voice of the blazing soul was an enraged growl and the hum of fire combined.
"I, Dagahr the Ireful, hereby proclaim: The Great One is no longer. Henceforth, only The Greatest One remaineth," resounded the declaration through the world, from the center and unto that which is not finite. And as it boomed, his flames split, a lesser part turning into a volatile, wrathful shard cast forth like a comet of fury. And for a fleeting moment, the Sol of Day appeared to be dim. The Great One was no more, so was His throne.
His mission fulfilled, the induced rage sated, and so he departed for the beyond whence he came, leaving the trembling world behind and returning into the sanctum of His self. Unaware, as he knew no need to be aware, of the misunderstanding he sowed with his words and appearance. One that would cost the local mankind great many a suffering, great many a death.
Yet as the dust began to settle, the creation was graced with the new era. In lamentation, yet with renewed resolve, He sculpted, He altered, He pondered, He changed. "As Dahrit possesses its primal Khran, so shall now life possess the aether of its own - to animate the inanimate, and to stand apart as a force, not independent, yet free. May Khroduhtkhran exist and thrive, and may it stir in the amounts not finite there where it must, in Khroduhtkhrangahr, as the Khran of Dahrit stirs in the Gahr of its Family," He spoke, and creation obeyed, splitting into a new realm.
"Ye, o tools of My will, whom I graced with the name of gods, shall no longer wage war upon thine kin. From now on the Divine Family of Khroduht shall preside over the Dakhr as its three Greater Lords, while the Divine Family of Dahrit shall remain as its four Lesser Lords. And the Fifth of ye, Dahrit, the one who stood above and ruled over the Khran of thine, shall exist no longer, for we need not abundance," proclaimed The Greatest Lord. Thus was the divine dominion established over Dakhr - matter animate and inanimate, Khroduht and Dahrit.
And many other a decree did he utter, far too many to recite. Yet alas for man, he wist not of the divine matters not. What was a celestial wonder, to them was a horror, the one and only true mark of doom to await. They wailed and wept, snuggled and bid farewells, as the world shook of its change, the declarations of The Unmatched reverberating through the lands and heavens alike in a cataclysmic rumble. And the least lingering of a moment was begged for by each more than anything was ever before. Breaths were held and eyes were shut, as living awaited the end.
Those faint of heart and of body frail were taken away by the fear alone on that day.
Yet, the change settled in, the rumble grew silent, the tremble turned still - the Second Divine Era had dawned, and the doom happened not.
Although many rejoiced, it brought little relief to most, and while some were giving thanks to the skies for heeding to prayer, the torment of others only turned greater. They dreaded the return of the mighty being, whose voice was so filled with anger that they could hardly discern what he told, dreaded the return of the all-encompassing quake, and dreaded whatever else could happen next.
"Tis not a mercy, tis a prelude unto doom!" preached a man in a robe. From place to place he wandered, knocking on many a door, speaking many a word, his fretful heart hoping to save himself and the rest. "The Lords are now fallen to madness, Dragah alone remaineth our hope!" he cried, misnaming his hope, "He delivered us from one, and thus may He cast out the rest!" he persuaded himself.
"Trouble us not, for thou art thyself a madman," said many a voice, "be not a fool—Dragah is the devil incarnate, no less!" countered some else. And yet, "mayhap thou tellest the truth," answered another. And the more replied yes, the more were willing to follow. So, ere long, the man became the speck of light for the trembling hearts, who gathered around him akin to moths.
To most they were those who lost their mind of fret, yet they were united. And thus, in their unity, they called their faith Dragahtism, establishing an enclave in an eastern town in Zaltghagahr, where it arose. And all the more united they stood, and the most followers they possessed when upon the coming of night of that day the people first witnessed the sky to grow infallibly dark. The first midtahdrahk had been the worthiest proof Dragahtists gained.
And yet, as time passed, the memories of the cataclysm faded more and more, and the repeated phenomena caused fear less and less, so did the favor of the masses wane. Less than half a century later they once again were shunned and shamed, treated merely as madmen who replaced one another, and the only who joined them were those faring alike. Eventually, the organization began to live up to its name.
Once a haven of hope for the terrified turned into an abode for those devoid of sanity. And at last, about eight hundred years before the dawn of the next era, a rather predictable surprise had occurred - one of the Dragahtists received an epiphany. Or rather, a cruel mockery from his twisted mind, that he had mistaken for one. So enchanted was the self-proclaimed messiah of Dragah with his visions that the fervor of his sermon paralleled the one of the founder of the faith.
The strength of his delusion alone was enough to bring the sect of Dragah to unseen heights, yet this exactly became the ground for his incoming fall. His beliefs sowed unrest and instability, turning men fretful with the promises of doom and the necessity of submitting to their lord, lest his ire might fall not upon the mad gods alone, but on them alike. He preached of humility, preached of the virtue of suffering and resilience, preached of the mankind's insignificance, and to the amusement of those who looked down on him, people believed him and followed him. And though entertained, they could not tolerate his presence no longer, for it had cost them too much - the stability of their regime.
Dragahtists resisted ferociously, defending their messiah. Alas, what is the power of a disorganized mass compared to a system built with the sole purpose of suppressing it? Many a plant was irrigated with liters of blood on that day, fateful for the sect and its followers. Once again was a sorrow born in the fight for the right to sow fear and suffering and for the right to be subject to this pain, a never-fading tradition aimed at the destruction of oneselves.
Though the resistance, the messiah was seized, his body strapped to a stake placed above a heap of dry branches and grass as an executioner with a burning torch stood by his side and waited for the order of the judge. "Yesas is found guilty for the disruption of public peace and stability. For these transgressions against society and state, he is subject to execution. It is to be carried out with no further ado," declared the judge.
Alas, the agony of the messiah merely stoked the flames of his aspiration. As twelve of the most promising disciples of his glared at the executioner and the judge, they vowed to spread his words far and wide with no concern for the risks and the costs it may cause. After the crowds dispersed, they gathered in a place where Yesas used to hold meetings and made decisions on their destinations, deciding that six of them would head towards the same number of notable cities in various parts of Zaltghagahr, and the rest would head towards places of lesser sizes.
And so they did. Unhappily for Dragahtists, the majority of the twelve disciples met a fate most unnoteworthy. Though mayhaps their actions held an effect in their times, they eventually turned to be significance least considerable. Or at least so compared to the effect one of them had, and for this he thanked the favorable circumstances.
The names of the other eleven were forgotten by all in the end, yet one stood apart - Paolo. Seven hundred and fifty years before the dawn of the Fourth Divine Era, the fortunate disciple was arrested for heresy akin to the rest of the most promising students of the messiah, and yet unlike them, he was noted by a man whose wit in politics and desire for benefit proved stronger than the effect of tradition or principle. This man was a lord of a major city, whose name was Marak. Upon hearing of a Dragahtian preacher making his way into the local prison, he decided to pay him a visit and to discuss religious matters with him. Seeing the vulnerable position of the confined man, Marak did not fail to see the opportunity for using him to reach his own goals, and made Paolo a proposal he could not refuse.
Ere long, the disciple was set free and, marvel at it, received not only a permission for preaching, but funds to establish a proper church as well. All in exchange of multiplying the power and influence of his new lord, and in exchange for canonizing him. Thus did the name of Marak the Benefactor begin to exist, and along with it was born the Church of Dragah.
The dream of the messiah and his most successful student came true, alas what was the price? Even in those times of old, magic was advanced enough to carry out an atrocious ritual, one that would shape the history of a single man and the whole region alike. Paolo first and all members of the Church of notable ranks, along with many a more were forced to wear a leash of the kind most short - the life-binding enchantment. The force of this leash seized the heart of its victim with self-tightening ropes and handed the free end in the hands of the caster and those whom it may concern via two uncomplicated ways: it demanded a constant reapplication of a counterspell, lest the victim's blood core shall be destroyed, and provided a spell that could activate the said effect at the whim of the caster. This tool of power was polished into a tool of hierarchy through the introduction of multiple levels for both the enchantment and the spells connected to it. And upon the decision of Marak, the glorious ability to stop the heart of even the greatest of the Church would be preserved for the greatest of lords - himself and his descendants. And the ability to do so against the lesser ranks that would come to be, was to be given out to lords submitted to him based on their title.
With the support of the powerful at his disposal, Paolo the Founder was able to employ a strategy much less humble and established the first branch of the Church, aside from its main body - Inquisition. With such methods he swiftly made Marak's city faithful, and the rest of the country soon followed in its footsteps. Those who longed for the merciful hope of salvation at the hands of who they considered a magnanimous deity bowed to Dragah and his champions willingly, and the rest did out of fear for the tools at their disposal.
Shortly after, the Church also split into its third branch - the Order of Mages. And along with it the ritual that seized hearts became the experience of many - of each who desired to practice magic without facing a law-approved death. At first the Order and Inquisition were subtle enough to not raise much fret in the local royalty, yet their influence and numbers steadily grew.
Marak himself was not enburdened with humility either and soon challenged the king of those lands. The hapless old man struggled and so did those loyal to him, yet they ignored the opportunity to rid of him while they had the chance to do so, and by then the influence of the Benefactor was already far too great for them to change their fate. The one believed to be saint had the support of the people and of the sorcerers - the previous lord was outnumbered, outsmarted, and outmatched in his own demesne. Ere long, the self-proclaimed greatest of lords became a sovereign in his own right, and named the country after himself - the Kingdom of Marak - intending to pass his name on to his descendants as well.
And so, the legacy of Marak the Benefactor became a constant presence for a rather lasting while, set by him and multiplied by those who came after. His Kingdom searched little military conquest, for it needed none. Instead, all of the Maraks resorted to spreading and empowering the hold of their vassal of a faith over as much lands as possible. Thus, over hundreds of years, one delusion stacked upon another and one lust for glory and might enlarged the other. Such was the way the Church of Dragah, along with its true masters - the dynasty of Maraks - became the undeniable and unmatched fist of religious and political power on Zaltghagahr.
Though, no doubt there is, even dogma is in no might to define how one perceives it. The Church was unified as a religion, yet divided in its interpretations. And while one could believe that Dragah, the mighty soul of ire, was their destined savior and the salvation would come, should they only believe a tad more fervently, should they pray a tad more often and genuinely, should they this and should they that… The other, at the very same time, believed that Dragah was but another tyrant, one they yet had to worship. For if he could cast down a throne from the heavens, who were they to hope they could defy him? Yet, to mention each an interpretation would be a list far too long…
Not without the assist of both the natural decay of truth with time and the schisms of how one perceives his faith, eventually few could still recall why, how, and when it came to exist. So did misinterpretation and dread before the divine turn into a reverental bow for what is mortal, however much the parishioners may convince themselves otherwise. Though the purpose for their coming into the Church, whatever the reasoning was, they nonetheless headed there, where they were desired to head.
And yet, the Demiurge graced the world with his gift of revelations more oft than once, and some were still granted the blessing of the chance to know the truth from the one who defines it. For the current moment, the bearer of this blessing was Vito, and standing in the abode of lies he felt not doubt but puzzlement. "How could anyone believe and follow that? Why do so many people trust this farce?" The youth had yet to indulge in the idea of peace and hope possibly attaining a greater stature than reason, and had yet to comprehend that at times to deny reason is the most reasonable choice of all.
The preachers of Dragah welcomed all, yet a weary soul of theirs could sense the futility of their attempts to lead the doubtful lad to salvation, and decided to not entertain his inquiry. So, Vito left the church with as little knowledge of the Tome as before.
Upon returning with none of what he sought, all of the effort and fret in vain, the wizard lost on his path arrived back at the library most disappointed. With more physical strain than before he forced himself inside the edifice despite the objection of the heavy door. He gave Murchello a fleeting and uninterested stroke when Raul greeted him. Yet Vito had only a tad more than none of the desire to waste the precious energy left any further, and merely bothered to hear those words that demanded his reply.
"What did your little quest lead you to?" asked the graybeard in the hope that the wizard's lack of enthusiasm was for exhaustion rather than lack of results.
A heavy sigh resounded: "Nothing." And so, the black-haired lad raised back to his feet, however reluctantly, and slowly strode to the private quarters of the library in silence.
As he was left alone and laying on the bed, he pondered to himself in apathy on the reasons of why he had refused to heed to himself in his unwillingness to search for answers there, where he had known would be none.
And so, a thought occurred to him, in his solemn rumination, that mayhaps the life itself was given to him to put effort into things that held little effect in the end. He consumed food merely to feel the demand of his stomach anew ere half a day passed. He gave in to slumber only to become in need of it again a mere daytime after. He studied magic and remained as far from his goal of not having authorities of various sorts hold power over his peace as before, if not further All of it took effort alike, and even to have leisure he needed to do something. Doubt it however one pleases, even idleness leeched his energy, for it only remains in one's reserves for a fleeting while, before dissipating with no trace. And yet, in the darkness of this woeful moment, a brighter idea occurred to him: if to even do nothing held a price of a kind, if all energy would eventually vanish into oblivion no matter the choice and circumstances… then mayhaps no effort was truly wasted at all.