Day 506: BEGIN

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506 days after a wizard cursed the REALM…

Current Version:

Some people would say a toad’s voice doesn’t travel as far or as fast as it once did. For these people, nothing can ever be as good as their imagined mythical past. But in truth, we are living through the age of Peak Toad Voice.

In fact, when Mister or Miss Toad uttered the words, “Beware the Apocalypse Beast that guards the Enduring Portal,” those words floated on the breeze, far across the landscape, to prick the ears of the Apocalypse Beast herself and past her through the Enduring Portal on a journey that transcended all of time and space.

The toad’s voice floated so far back in time that the present-tense narrator was barred from following, and had to pass the narrative baton to a past-tense narrator for the next phase of the story.

In the beginning was the REALM, with the Folk on its surface and the Subterraneans below. The sunlit land produced food in abundance. The underground dispensed rare metals and gemstones. Trade flourished. Peace flourished. An oral tradition of storytelling flourished. In communities both above and below the ground, all needs were met and all people were accepted, included, and cared for.

Denizens of the REALM regarded words as magical. Carefully ordered words could raise spirits, elevate consciousness, or impact the physical world.

All words were honored and cherished, but the best words were championed by Wordlers. There was a Wordler of HAPPINESS, a Wordler of CAKE, a Wordler of RIDDLES, a Wordler of MUSIC, and many others who created art and spread joy to all.

Even the less popular words were celebrated, although they often had different shades of meaning that they would later accrue.

POVERTY was the word for a circumstance where, during a poor harvest, people would share what little they had so that everyone got enough. In such times, a Wordler of POVERTY ensured the most equitable distribution of resources.

WAR might refer to an argument between two siblings about which of them loved the other more, which might devolve into roughhousing and a few knicks and bruises. A Wordler of WAR made sure that such squabbles always ended in hugs, apologies, and healing.

DISEASE was the word for the mild cold symptoms that signaled an elder’s graceful slide toward DEATH, which itself carried the same meaning as REBIRTH. The Wordler of DISEASE provided comfort to the sick, while the Wordler of DEATH celebrated the entirety of an old life and the anticipation of its renewal.

Into this utopia tumbled the toad-croaked words, “Beware the Apocalypse Beast that guards the Enduring Portal.” The warning shook the ground and rumbled across the sky.

The Folk paused their hunting, farming, and basket-weaving. The Subterraneans paused their mining, gathering, and building. The gods had spoken, but which gods? Whose gods? What acts were being commanded of the people, where was the path being laid for them, and what would be the price of straying from it?

Disagreements arose. Above and below the earth, the Folk and the Subterraneans divided themselves into cliques, groups, and cults. They began to hoard resources. They began to fashion weapons. They practiced arcane magics that used words to tear open the fabric between worlds.

Before the Chaos Wars, before the tumbling of monsters and madness into the REALM, before the arrival of the first humans, long before the Pact of the Wordlers and the founding of Wordler Village, and centuries before an infamous wizard’s curse, there was a moment when the former utopia still might have been restored.

Two armies faced each other across an open field while their leaders gathered for one last attempt to broker a lasting peace. The Wordler of TRUST, the Wordler of MEDIATION, the Wordler of RESPECT, the Wordler of RESTRAINT, and the Wordler of LOVE all took turns building bridges of dialogue to diffuse the waves of hostility and violence.

They almost succeeded.

Until the heavens opened for a second time to emit the final message that the future Mister or Miss Toad called out to the departing Pooka: “Good luck!”

Warriors on both sides of the battlefield took the same meaning from these words. The gods were on their side, spurring them to glory, and demanding that the heretics on the other side be offered up as blood sacrifices.

So began the first war of the REALM.

None of this will ever be relayed back to Mister or Miss Toad, or to the Pooka on his way to confront the Apocalypse Beast, or to the Elven mathematician astride her clockwork squirrel, or to the Steampunk Faery, or to the coven of Crowhead witches.

This secret history, for whatever value it might hold, is being offered exclusively to a select group of readers to ponder and to keep.


Web3 Draft:

  • Listed on OpenSea
  • Listed on Rarible

Revision Notes:

To be added.

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