The Empty Throne: An Original Fantasy Quest

You are. You have always been. You will always be. You are deathless, and unchanging. You are numbered among the Count of the Airs, and so may stand before the Throne at the center of creation. You are one of the ruling powers, a servant of the Lords of Heaven, a vassal and steward of the masters of the world. You fear only the touch of cold iron.

You are one of the Balthazim, the Lords of the Air.

At the dawn of time, you and your siblings rose dripping from the nothing-broth of creation's afterbirth, and together understood in your bones that you would not always be -- that someday you would die. As one, you knew fear.

So you slew your father and bound your mother in creation's blazing heart with his bones.

The first act of all time was foul murder.

Yet that was only the beginning. There was strife among the murderers, for each among you, hands warm with a father's blood, sought that stolen divinity. The strongest carved out great lordships for themselves, seized entire concepts and ideas as their domain, and struggled with one another for mastery. Six eons of war followed. Creation burned.

After an epoch of struggle, one power emerged triumphant. With strength and perfect violence, she seized the empty throne of god. Her dominion and her concept overcame all others, and she threw up a golden court in the center of creation -- a city called Heaven. This victor sits now and always in the center of everything, in a seven-towered temple which bears her name upon every stone, on the Empty Throne above the Upper and the Lower Airs, and her hand is over All Creation. In her eyes is the Knowing, which she stole from the cold corpse of her father.

Her name is She-in-Red. Mortals call her Destiny. She is always, and will always be so. This, she has foreseen.

Beneath her serve the Lords of Heaven, the Upper Airs -- the proud Lord-in-Gold, the cold Lord-in-Ivory, and the grim-faced Lord-in-Iron. They are always, and shall always be so.

Beneath them are the ten thousand spirits who rule the ten thousand things, from the blades of grass to the ticking of the hours. They are the Court of Heaven, the Princes of the Lower Air, masters and makers of this stolen creation. No laws govern them, and no rules hold them, save strength and fear. Each seeks to win status and power at the advantage of lessers, to seize a new dominion, to grow in glory and status. Each dreams in their heart of the Throne so long lost to them, and hopes against hope that the usurper might be usurped. The pieces in their great games are the lives and days of mortal men, and their chessboard all the earth. They are always, and shall always be so.

So it has been. So it will always be.

You are one of these powers: a Prince of the Lower Air. You have no destiny, for you erased it long ago. Walk the world incarnate, or amuse yourself among the mortals. Learn ancient secrets, or bring empires toppling to their ruin. Incite mortals to worship, or fear, or both, should you so desire. Beware your kindred, for they are many, and they are merciless. Flee Heaven's red wrath with every breath, and know always that you will fail, for Destiny sees all things. Seek ascension, or redemption. It matters not which, for both are equally distant.

Claim, if you dare, the Empty Throne of God.

---

The Synod of the Hours sits and orders between themselves all the days, under the stern eye of He-In-Gold. They have split time into many Ages, ordered down to the very second and set to the moment. Heaven is timeless, but Creation's end has already been written. Alas! The Synod guards their stolen Word jealously, and none but they may ignore the running river of cause and effect. When the ennui of eternity overcomes them, as it must, and the Princes of the Air ride forth into Creation, they are bound to live as mortals do, from moment to plodding moment. Into which Age do you stride forth?


[] The Empire of the Snake: "When the world was white-hot and new-made, and the Word still hung in the air, and the treason was still fresh, the eldest awoke, and found creation already marred." It is the Dreamtime, the dawn of the world. The continents lie untouched and virgin, and the boiling oceans lie wild and untamed. The first mortals, the Yan-Yaboth, have woken to a creation still smoking from the wars of the powers. Golden-winged and many-limbed, the Yabothi have formed the first empire of the world, and forge wonders which will be weapons in later times. The Yabothi have cut the skin of the world and sail the skies, and their cities are vermillion and proud, great crystals of ruby which sit unmoored above the mountains. All else that lives is slaved beneath their heel, and they have proclaimed themselves the Lords of Creation. Such arrogance will be their undoing. In later eons when their cities are dust, those who follow after them shall call them the Empire of the Snake -- for that terrible Lord of the Air to whom they swore themselves, and who grew fat upon their worship. The world is young, and so magic is stronger and the earth more malleable. One Air in particular rules this Age, a tyrant over the dawn of days. All others who operate in this Age do so at his allowance. Many younger mortal races toil in the service of the Yabothi, and these slaves pray day and night for salvation. Themes: Freedom, Exploration, Magic, and Glory

[] The Holy Hundred: "...And it is said that when Heaven closed her eyes to us, and the sins of our forebears were repaid tenfold upon creation, and death spilled forth from the Walls of the World, then mankind appealed in desperation to the Powers, and our pleas rang in the halls of the Airs. Though the High were dumb to our plight, and cared not, there were some among the Low who paid heed, and answered the call when all seemed lost. And for this we swore ourselves to them, and a hundred holy cities studded the world." The Empire of the Snake is no more, and out of the darkness of the Black Years has emerged a single survivor: mankind. Man has inherited this world from those who came before, as Destiny desired. One hundred and nine holy cities dot creation, each sworn to the service of a different Power. Yet it is not an age of peace, for the new masters of mankind are jealous lords indeed. Grudges long stilled in Heaven wake to new bloodshed on earth, and whole armies march now to the whims of the Airs. Through their mortal servants, the Balthazim compete ruthlessly for dominance. Men walk with Heaven's might upon their breasts and fists, and heroes are born now of which later ages may sing. In such an age, when Heaven walks unclothed upon the world, when mere mortals might call the mountains to shake to their roots and the Princes of the Air lead their holy hosts to war -- in such an age, anything is possible. The Wars of the Airs rage here in earnest. The Balthazim may now call upon many mortal Avatars, with the greatest blessing entire cities with their gifts. Yet these mighty mortals are no mere pawns -- and their wars may reshape creation itself. Themes: Struggle, Mastery, Worship, and War.

[] The Ban of Heaven: "And She appeared to the assembled princes in all her glory, crimson-smoking-starlight-splendor, and Her voice was as the burning of many swords, and her words were a law like crystal, and when they had set there was great wailing and gnashing of teeth" The Wars of the Airs are at an end. By order of Heaven, the Lords of the Air may no longer interfere directly in the lives of mortals, or walk in their truest forms upon creation. Only a few Airs, those most favored by She-in-Red, are permitted to solicit mortal worship. In this age, more than any other, men shape their own futures. The Powers must be subtle, slow, and cautious, but the rewards are great, for the kingdoms of men have grown wide and far under Destiny's gaze. Many nations now people the world. It is an age of warriors and crowns, of fealty and nobility, of adventure and strife -- and the legends these mortals tell have a power of their own. Direct worship and warfare is now forbidden, but the human population has grown so great that subtle influences and power plays may go unnoticed. Themes: Manipulation, Politics, Opportunity, and Ambition

[] The Lords of Creation: "I did steal my destiny — though not from the creator — and despite what some have said, I hold it still. White-hot it shines through my fingers, lighting the way to all my days. I am eternal, but please trust me that there is no mercy in eternity. I am no demon, though I once bore witness to the death of such a creature, and stood as his confessor. I have never slain a Lord of the Air -- though if I ever did, I would not honor him by wearing his face. Above all, I was and am now a man. My heart beats still. Pull it from my chest, if you can, and hold it close. Hear it beat forever." On a day when the world held it's breath, nine mortal children were born beyond Destiny's gaze. They are always, somehow -- if slain, they are merely born again in new flesh. They have become priests and queens and emperors, and long ago they came together and declared themselves the Lords of Creation, enemies of Destiny and of Heaven, opposed one and all to the Lords of the Air. Their empires will stand ten times ten centuries, the Synod admits, an age of gunpowder and steam and gold, and they will die by no immortal hands. Destiny averts her eyes -- perhaps in shame, perhaps in fear. It is a still Age, an unchanging Age, an Age where man rises shaking to spit in Heaven's eye. The Balthazim tremble. Somehow, nine mortals have gained immortality. They oppose Heaven and all it's works. But deathless or not, they are men still, and between the moving and clashing of their great empires, there is room for the Princes of the Air. Themes: Stagnation, Empire, Immortality, Rivalry, Theomachy

[] The Age Unnamed: "The twilight king drew new breath, and there was war at the Walls of the World, and many things were undone, and the stars, as had been foretold, returned at long last, and the skies were painted red with their breath." The nine are no more. The Bone-Bound Prince has arisen, though who he is and whence he came frustrates the Synod still. Some say he seeks the Empty Throne, though this is madness. Creation burns. Illness and chaos wreck the lands of men. Much that once was is now lost. Nations crumble into nothing and all make war upon all. Creation winds towards a terrible finality. Yet, all chaos breeds opportunity. The Ban of Heaven wavers, though through inattention or design none can say. Lesser Airs seek refuge in Heaven, or avoid this Age altogether, yet for the boldest among the Balthazim, there is opportunity here, at the end of all things. This, it seems, is the end of days. Many terrible prophecies reach their full conclusion, and unknown things walk the world. A bill long unpaid comes due. Themes: Reckoning and Ruin


The Princes of the Air are many and mighty, and their shapes many-angled. What you were was devised before the days began -- but that design was destroyed by your hand. You claimed your sphere with bloody hands, wrote your own purpose into creation's bones.

Yet, still, there is an unchangeable quality in you, a temperament, a form, a calling, a nature older than nature.

Do you hew to your dead father, and the cold chains he laid on all things to be, or are you your mother's child -- and if so, can you hear her screaming in the dark?

Either way, do you feel any guilt?

[] The Wild: You are your mother's child, red in tooth and claw, wild-eyed, boundless, feckless, tameless and masterless -- one of the living powers of creation. Rising tides and gnashing teeth and the boiling of blood are all your spheres. To you is given the matter and mew of creation, what things are and how they have been. To name the living powers, merely raise your eyes to the world and behold them in their glory: the yearning grasses, the blazing stars, the imperious mountains and the shimmering lakes -- and see the Daybringer in his radiance. You will be one of the numberless, merciless, and cthonic Airs who govern the physical world of creation, and so rule the flesh which walks it. You spurn the Court of She-In-Red.

[] The Law: There is something of your father in you. You are a ruling power, a jealous and tyrant thing. To judge, to weigh, to balance, to divide and master -- this is your way. It is said often in Heaven that the law binds all things, and who living could deny this red truth? To you are given mastery, dominion, subjugation, imposition -- the way things should be, and the way they will be. The greatest of the airs cleave to this dominion of dominions, by which creation is mastered. Time, Death, Justice and Pride are all counted among the Airs of Law -- and of course, this is the house of Destiny herself. You will be one of the high and terrible Airs who govern the hearts, minds, and fates of mortals, who have beaten creation into shape and bound it fast with ten thousand rules.