Raw Power & Hidden Cracks

Raw Power & Hidden Cracks

Eon IX – Weaving the Primal Threads of Magic
“Magic’s first strands were interlaced through every atom and thought, enabling will to shape worlds and spells to spring from pure intent.”

Eon X – Elemental Foundations
“Before solid lands or seas, raw realms of Air, Fire, Water, and Earth held untamed energy—primordial reservoirs for later creation.”

Eon XI – Mirror Veils
“Dream-woven reflections of the coming Material Plane—the Feywild and Shadowfell—first flickered into being as proto-realms of wonder and gloom.”

Eon XII – The Weeping Wound: Birth of the Far Realm
“In the convulsions of creation, reality tore; from its bleeding rents the Far Realm’s alien madness seeped into the multiverse.”

Eon IX – Weaving the Primal Threads of Magic 

Magic is braided into the cosmos, linking matter, spirit, and possibility.

Once the heavens were crowned with stars, the Elder Gods turned to a deeper craft—one unseen yet more vital than all else:
the weaving of magic into the bones of existence itself.

They gathered the radiant energies of thought, dream, and memory,
spinning them into shimmering filaments finer than light and stronger than destiny.
Across the Astral tides and between the newborn suns, they stretched these threads—
an invisible loom upon which all future acts of wonder, will, and life would depend.

They wove the primal weave into every corner of reality:

• binding stars to their orbits,
• linking future souls to their destinies,
• threading the smallest atom to the grandest idea.

Each filament of magic carried the potential for creation, transformation, and transcendence.
It was neither wholly good nor evil, neither lawful nor wild—
it was the raw possibility to change, to shape, to dream.

Where the weave pooled thickest, realms of raw power would later blossom.
Where it stretched thin, mysteries and voids would invite exploration.
Every future sorcerer, seer, or maker would tap into these hidden currents,
drawing from the eternal loom spun in the universe’s earliest breaths.

Through the weaving of magic, the Elder Gods did not merely create a force—
they gifted the cosmos with hope, with peril, with the eternal dance of choice.

Thus, magic was born:
the living breath of creation,
woven into the very heart of the multiverse.

Eon X – Elemental Foundations “Forming the Elemental Planes”

Raw Air, Fire, Water, and Earth realms are poured out as formless reservoirs.

Forming the Elemental Planes

As the Elder Gods turned their attention to shaping the very forces that would govern the universe, they called upon the raw energies that pulsed through the fabric of creation. The Elemental Planes were born from these chaotic forces, realms that embodied the most fundamental aspects of existence. These planes were not merely abstract ideas but vibrant, untamed expressions of power—each one a manifestation of a single, overwhelming force that would both create and destroy with reckless abandon.

In the vast, formless space of the universe, the Elder Gods conjured the Elemental Planes—each one teeming with raw, chaotic energy. These planes would serve as the foundation of creation, but they were volatile and ever-changing, like the forces they represented.

• The Plane of Air was born from the endless currents of the sky, a realm where wind, lightning, and storms raged uncontrollably. It was a place where freedom and change ruled, where the very atmosphere seemed alive with possibility and chaos. Here, the winds howled with the power of thought, carrying the seeds of new ideas—but also the potential for destruction. The swirling maelstroms of this plane held the promise of boundless expansion, but also the threat of sudden, unpredictable change.
• The Plane of Fire erupted into existence with an explosive fury, a realm of unrelenting heat, flames, and energy. Fire here was not a gentle spark, but a violent, chaotic force that burned with an intensity that could reshape everything it touched. This plane embodied both creation and destruction—where stars are born from the violent heat of fusion, but entire worlds could be consumed in a single, fiery breath. It was a place of passion and intensity, where the boundary between creation and annihilation was thin and often blurred.
• The Plane of Water surged into being as an endless, shifting ocean, a realm where tides crashed and whirlpools formed at the whims of unseen forces. Water here was a powerful, unpredictable force—sometimes gentle and nurturing, other times violent and destructive. The currents of this plane flowed with emotion and intuition, carrying both the potential for life and the capacity for drowning despair. It was a place where everything was in constant flux, forever shifting between calm and chaos, stillness and tumult.
• The Plane of Earth formed as a realm of raw, unyielding rock, where molten magma surged through vast chasms, and mountains were born and destroyed in the blink of an eye. Earth, in this form, was a place of brutal, chaotic creation. The very ground trembled with the force of tectonic upheavals, as continents clashed and split. The chaotic nature of Earth here wasn’t just the creation of solid forms, but the unrelenting power of tectonic shifts, the birth and death of mountains, and the ever-changing face of the land. Earth was solid, but it was also constantly in motion, shifting beneath the surface in unpredictable ways.

These Elemental Planes were not stable, harmonious realms but rather places of constant chaos and upheaval. Their very nature was in a state of flux—unpredictable, untamed, and wild. The Elder Gods had set the stage for creation, but they knew that without the proper balance, these planes would tear the universe apart. And so, they created the Elemental Princes—powerful, chaotic beings born of the very forces they were tasked to govern.

The Elemental Princes were not calm, controlled beings, but reflections of the raw, chaotic energy that permeated their planes. They were as unpredictable and volatile as the elements themselves, embodying the essence of the forces they represented:

• The Prince of Air was a being of shifting winds and storm-tossed skies, a force of wild freedom and unrestrained change. This prince embodied the chaos of the mind, where thoughts could swirl and shift in an instant, where ideas could take flight one moment and be torn apart by gales of doubt the next. The Prince of Air was a harbinger of both inspiration and madness, capable of inspiring great creativity or bringing destruction through the force of uncontrolled winds.
• The Prince of Fire was a creature of intense, searing heat, a force of uncontrollable passion and destruction. This Prince lived in constant conflict, for fire, by its very nature, cannot be tamed. It is a force that consumes everything in its path, yet creates life through destruction. The Prince of Fire was as likely to create a supernova as they were to destroy entire worlds in a blaze of fury. Their very presence was an explosion of chaotic energy, driven by the unpredictable nature of fire itself.
• The Prince of Water was a being of the deep oceans and violent tides, their moods shifting with the phases of the moon. Water is an element of adaptability, but it is also one of overwhelming force. The Prince of Water was a being who could calm seas one moment and unleash tsunamis the next. Emotions, desires, and intuitions flowed through this prince like a powerful current, sweeping everything in its path—benevolent one moment, destructive the next.
• The Prince of Earth was a primordial entity of tectonic rage, capable of shifting entire landscapes in a moment of violent upheaval. Earth was a solid, grounded force, but it was also a place of constant change. The Prince of Earth ruled over earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and the collapse of mountains, embodying the chaotic nature of solid matter. Their power could create mountains, but it could also cause the ground beneath one’s feet to shatter without warning.

The Elemental Princes were bound to their planes but were also the living embodiment of their chaos. While they governed their realms, they did so in a state of constant struggle—between creation and destruction, order and chaos, growth and decay. They did not seek stability but rather the constant transformation of their realms, shaping them through their wild, unpredictable natures.

Together, these chaotic beings represented the raw, elemental forces of the universe. They were the agents of change—creating and destroying, building and unbuilding, shaping the realms around them in ways that defied comprehension. Their chaotic rule over the Elemental Planes was necessary for the universe’s evolution, for without their upheaval, there would be no creation, no change, and no growth.

The Elemental Princes were not the peaceful rulers of their realms—they were the chaotic titans, the embodiment of the untamed forces that powered the universe’s cycle of life, death, and rebirth. And in their turbulent wake, they would ensure that the universe continued to transform, ever shifting, ever evolving, driven by the primal forces of nature that they represented.

The Birth of the Primal Elementals and the Shaping of Worlds

Before mountains rose or oceans churned, before even the stars wove their songs across the endless night, the universe was but a whisper of potential—a canvas of waiting void.

From the breath of the Inner Realms, as the Elder Gods bent the currents of raw creation, there emerged the Primal Elementals: vast, nameless forces, unshaped by thought or will. They were the pure exhalations of existence itself, born not of desire, but of necessity—the first stirrings of form within the formless.

• From the furious beat of nascent suns rose Flame, a living tide of devouring hunger.
• From the stillness of endless deeps was born Stone, the sleeping bones of future worlds.
• From the weeping mists that veiled creation emerged Water, a restless flood seeking to fill every hollow.
• And from the sigh between stars drifted Air, a boundless breath that stirred and scattered all it touched.

These Primal Elementals clashed and howled through the void, shaping chaos into rough order. Their battles scarred the newborn firmament—searing rifts into existence, crushing matter into spheres, rending the first oceans and carving valleys across the barren shells of forming worlds.

Yet they knew no purpose, no pact, no restraint. Fire sought to consume all; Water to drown; Earth to smother; Air to tear apart. They warred not from malice but from the nature of their being—an endless struggle of becoming and unbecoming.

It was from their ceaseless turmoil that the first Worlds were sculpted.

Under the distant gaze of the Elder Gods, the wild fury of the Primal Elementals began to settle. Their collisions and upheavals, their rage and retreat, gave birth to mountains and canyons, seas and skies. In places where their powers found uneasy accord, balance took root, and the first soils drank from the first rains beneath the breath of a first sky.

Yet even as the Worlds began to cool and settle, the Elementals themselves remained wild and sovereign, their echoes forever etched into the bones of creation. They are the roaring storm, the trembling earth, the crashing wave, the endless blaze—still shaping, still hungering, even as life one day dared to rise upon the stage they wrought.

Thus was the Material Plane begun:
a battlefield of titanic forces, a cradle battered by storm and flame, yet blessed by the seeds of all future marvels.

9. Mirror Veils “The Birth of the Feywild and the Shadowfell” 

Immediately follows, sprouting the Feywild and Shadowfell as astral echoes of life’s potential and loss.

The Birth of the Feywild and the Shadowfell

Even as the Elder Gods wove the cosmic tapestry, and the raw elements simmered in the womb of creation, something unexpected stirred at the edges of becoming.

Before the worlds of earth and stone could be laid, and long before mortal life could dream and aspire, the very act of creation gave rise to its first reflections—two mirroring realms born not of willful design, but of the universe’s own yearning to balance itself.

From the surging tides of raw possibility blossomed the Feywild, a realm where life, magic, and emotion intertwined in dazzling excess.
Here, color blazed brighter, seasons danced without end, and thought itself could flower into towering forests or endless melodies.
It was a place where reality shimmered on the edge of dream, where every heartbeat was a new beginning, and every sigh of wind carried a thousand possibilities.
The Feywild pulsed with exuberant magic, untamed and vital, a chaotic symphony of creation’s wildest dreams.

Yet where there is life, there must also be loss.
In the shadow of this blossoming wonder, the Shadowfell took form—not out of malice, but out of necessity.
A realm of stillness, where the fervor of life ebbed into solemn quiet; a place where memories dimmed and laughter became a distant, bittersweet echo.
Here, the inevitability of decline was enshrined: not as cruelty, but as part of the great balance.
The Shadowfell bore witness to endings, carried the solemn weight of forgotten songs, and cradled the fading embers of things too delicate to endure.

These twin realms, the first true echoes of existence, were woven into the great cosmic loom not by the Elder Gods’ deliberate hands, but by the universe itself.
The Feywild and the Shadowfell became the living reflections—the vibrant dream and the quiet elegy—of all that the cosmos could and would become.

They would orbit the nascent Material Plane like silvered reflections around a forge yet to be lit, shaping it and being shaped in turn.
And so, before mountains rose and oceans sang, before the first breath of mortal life was ever drawn, the Feywild and the Shadowfell whispered of what would be: life’s riotous glory and its inevitable fading into silence.

The Firstborn of Dream and Dusk

Before mortal minds could dream and before death had meaning, the twin reflections of existence stirred in the nascent cosmos: the Feywild and the Shadowfell.
From the surging energies of raw possibility and quiet inevitability, two races of primal beings emerged — the Firstborn of Dream and the Firstborn of Dusk.

The Firstborn of Dream were spun from the luminous threads of unshaped hope, whimsy, and longing.
They danced through ever-shifting meadows of starlight and mist, weaving music from the breath of possibility.
In time, these capricious spirits coalesced into mighty beings of wonder — the Fey Lords and Ladies, whose laughter and sorrow would one day shape the endless Courts of the Feywild.
Each was a living symphony of emotion, crowned in the glamour of creation’s first dreams.

In contrast, the Firstborn of Dusk rose from the cool embers of endings yet to come, clothed in the deep shadows where light recoils and memory fades.
They were somber shepherds of dissolution, the silent caretakers of forgotten truths and the slow, inevitable crumbling of all things.
These beings would not rule, but would instead become the Pale Watchers, guiding lost echoes through the corridors of twilight, keeping vigil over the borders between what is remembered and what is consigned to oblivion.

Thus, even before the shaping of the Material Plane, balance was woven into the heart of existence —
where Dream reached ever toward life’s boundless promise, and Dusk gently gathered all that would one day be relinquished.
The Feywild and the Shadowfell grew alongside one another, a mirror and a shadow, destined to forever brush against the mortal world like whispers at the edge of waking and sleep.

Eon XII – The Weeping Wound: Birth of the Far Realm “The Birth of the Far Realm & Elder Abominations”

Reality cracks under creation’s strain, letting in alien madness.

As the Elder Gods labored to bring substance and form to the Material Plane, the burden of creation grew unbearable even for beings of infinite might.

The weaving of primal laws, the sculpting of galaxies, the clashing of elemental forces—all these acts of divine will strained the Weave of Existence beyond its natural limits.
Creation was not an effortless song; it was a violent convulsion, a screaming into the void.
Where cosmic forces knotted too tightly or frayed too loosely, reality itself tore open.

From these hidden, suppurating tears, the Far Realm bled through.

The Far Realm was not a place born of thought, dream, or design.
It was an unintended consequence—the byproduct of reality’s own limitations.
It was anti-creation: a dimension where time unravelled, where form and idea were indistinguishable, where no law could endure.
Not evil, not good, not neutral — simply alien, indifferent, voracious.

And from this gaping wound in existence, the Elder Abominations emerged.

They were not shaped by divine hand nor bound by cosmic law.
They were self-born from the churning madness of the Far Realm, coagulating out of nightmare logic:

• Great beings with infinite eyes and mouths that spoke languages that unmade reason.
• Titans of thought so dense and alien that mere mortals glimpsing them would shatter like broken glass.
• Entities for whom existence was a buffet and worlds were but idle amusements.

These are what mortal tongues would one day call the Elder Gods—Cthulhu, Nyarlathotep, Azathoth, and others—
but to the Elder Gods of the multiverse, they were aberrations, parasites, and threats beyond reckoning.

Their presence was anathema to the new reality.
Where they tread, logic faltered. Stars withered.
The delicate symphony of cosmic law shrieked and twisted into dissonant horror.

The Elder Gods could not undo them, for the wound had been made—and in the making of substance, corruption had already seeped into its roots.

Thus, the Lovecraftian Elder Gods exist because the act of creating a lawful, material cosmos left behind flaws—gaps where law, dream, and matter could not reach.
And in those cracks, madness found purchase.
They are the living scars of reality’s first pain—the festering nightmare lurking beneath the beauty of stars and seas.