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The Story
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Every Game has a story behind it.
In the beginning, there was only chaos. This Chaos was a mingling of many creatures, each beginning where another ended. Chaos was everywhere and nowhere, as it was and was not. There were no such things as opposites, and yet there were only opposites. In other words, it was a very confusing place.
But then, something began to change. It seemed as if something was trying to crawl out of this eternal entity. Centuries passed, and Chaos grew more unstable with every moment. At last, a small hole opened within it. From this rift emerged a creature unlike any other, known today only as Roulares. This being looked down upon the Chaos and knew its time was over.
As He watched, Chaos crumbled. From it emerged many creatures: the strong Imp, the quick Mouse, and the elusive Goblin. Roulares looked upon them and feared for their survival. And so, He created a world for them to live in. He looked upon what He had made and named this world Barp.
Three creatures appeared at His side, joining Him in the search for every being still drifting in the remnants of Chaos.
To these three, Roulares granted the gifts of speech and thought. They descended to the world and multiplied. They would become the ancestors of the sentient races... but that is a story for another time.
As decades and centuries passed, the population of Barp grew. Eventually, Roulares saw that the work had become too great for Him alone. He returned to the world and chose a group of strong and wise warriors from among the sentient races those who lived longer than their kin. He called them the 'test immortals'. After many trials, He renamed them the 'true immortals', blessing them with eternal life, just like His own.
The Age of Sundering
For countless ages, Barp thrived under the watch of Roulares and the true immortals. Kingdoms rose, races flourished, and the echoes of Chaos faded into myth. Yet even the brightest stars cast shadows, and among the immortals, shadows began to stir.
Some whispered that the power gifted by Roulares was too great for mortal hearts to hold forever. Others claimed that Chaos itself never fully died... that a sliver of its old hunger still pulsed within the world, waiting for a mind to tempt.
Whatever the truth, three of the immortals turned from the path they once walked. Their names were struck from tomes, erased from shrines, and forbidden from mortal tongues. They began to call themselves the 'Tri Divinity' - gods not by creation, but by conquest. They demanded worship, tribute, and fear. Their influence spread like a sickness, twisting beasts, stirring war, and dimming the once bright flame of hope across Barp.
When all seemed lost, a single immortal rose against them.
His name was Fizban.
Unlike the others, Fizban had never sought power or glory. His stewardship had always favored the weak, the wandering, and the unwanted. When the Tri Divinity declared dominion, Fizban defied them. The clash that followed tore the skies, split mountains, and scarred the fabric of magic itself.
In the end, Fizban prevailed - but at a terrible cost.
With the last of his strength, Fizban sealed the Tri Divinity away in a place no mortal or immortal has ever found, vanishing with them. Roulares mourned His most loyal immortal, and after tending to the shattered world, He departed to places unknown. He has not been seen since. The kingdoms rebuilt. And for a time, peace returned.
That was twenty years ago.
Since then, rumors have whispered through taverns and temple halls alike. Travelers speak of a cloaked figure wandering ancient places. Some swear they have seen a man with Fizban's eyes on lonely roads. Others claim to feel a faint ripple in the world's magic... as if a great power is straining against its chains.
Whether Fizban survived his sacrifice remains uncertain.
Whether the Tri Divinity still dreams of returning is feared.
But the people of Barp have learned a truth deeper than any myth.
This world does not belong to gods, nor to immortals, nor to ancient powers born from Chaos.
Barp belongs to its people.
Every sword raised, every journey begun, every tale carved into dusty stone or sung by a fire - these shape the world far more than legends of old.
Now, in this new age of uncertainty, the stories of Barp are no longer written by immortals.
They are written by you.
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