Well may you ask, "How did this world take its form?" Why
of all the worlds in creation, has this one its strange properties, its
diverse and motley collection of creatures, cultures and lore? "The
answer," One whispers, "lies with the Titans."
These original progenitors were there near the Beginning--if not
actual witnesses to the creation, then born with it still echoing in
their ears. Stamped with the earliest energies of the universe, they
wished nothing more than to continue as creators themselves. Thus they
bent to the task of shaping matter to their will: hammering and heating,
bending and blasting. And when matter proved less challenging than they
liked, they turned their tools upon themselves, reshaping their minds
and reforging their spirits until they had become beings of great
endurance. Reality itself became the ultimate object of their smithing.
Yet, along the way, they sometimes erred. In cases of great ambition,
mistakes are unavoidable.
The one we know as the Elder Titan was a great innovator, one who
studied at the forge of creation. In honing his skills, he shattered
something that could never be repaired, only thrown aside. He fell into
his own broken world, a shattered soul himself. There he dwelt among the
jagged shards and fissured planes, along with other lost fragments that
had sifted down through the cracks in the early universe. And this is
why the world we know resembles an isle of castaways, survivors of a
wreck now long forgotten. Forgotten, that is, by all but the One who
blames himself. He spends his time forever seeking a way to accomplish
the repairs, that he might rejoin the parts of his broken soul, that we
and the world alike might all be mended. This is the One we know as
Elder Titan.
