Long ago, before even the Old World was granted form, lingered an abyss of endless creation.
Far at the center of this chaotic mesh that could barely be described as reality, loomed God himself. A being of magnificent power, his form unfathomable and lost to time.
Lonely and seeking companionship; it was he who birthed reality. His creations, the Gods and the Ancients; it was they who were worshipped by their mortallic subjects.
And through this, was civilization born. Humanity, simple reeds of nature, were granted something to live for.
The land, the sea, and the sky coexisted as one. Truths and ideals led wayward souls down a path of righteousness. The cycle of life and death left to the whims of nature lay undisturbed for all of time.
Peace thrived throughout the world, for a time. With the protection of the Gods and the Ancients, humanity itself thrived without worry.
But it would not last, for it was fated to end.
Of those who thrived in peace, were those who sought greed and power. Sorcerers and devious clans who sought power at any cost, disturbing the slumber of ancient deities they worshipped in hubris; believing they no longer had use for such primal yet benevolent forces of nature granted form.
In their sorrow and anger, the Gods retaliated.
Why had those they sought to protect turned against them?
War ravaged the continent like a shroud, fracturing the world in two; those who sought to earn the favor of the Gods and end the conflict, and those who sought the destruction of the Gods.
Those seeking salvation, enlightened by the Creator, and those untainted by ambition escaped to the highest points of the world as their homeland drowned beneath them.
By bringing about their wrath, was the kingdom of yore left to be consumed by the waves.
Their rage so great, not even the Creator himself could quell them. He, who had sided with his creations, was left impaled upon the spire that served as his domain.
Exhausted and seeking slumber once more, the Gods of old returned to their havens of worship; their existence to be forgotten by all.
Above the waves, from the remains of the Old World was the New World born; consisting of eight islands rivaling the size of continents, dubbed the Great Sea of Aibas.
To the west, rest the territories of Esbur, Goze, Moubaia, Dalint and Kislevezo; Kislevezo sharing it's continent with Dalint.
And to the east, rest the territories of Fonteria Colia, Aerinumia, Beleuvia, and Duzil; the latter two forced to inhabit the same island.
What remained of that kingdom? None who remain know.
With its originator all but gone, it appeared as though the power of the Gods would be lost to time, drowned beneath the waves as those who survived sought to never pass on such knowledge to their descendants; lest they repeat their mistakes.
It too, was not meant to be.
Remnants of the Creator's power manifested within Mortals in the form of black runic-like markings, appearing upon the bearers flesh in clarity, before fading akin to a scar. Appearing at random and without much study, many believe that the power granted upon individuals can be narrowed down to bloodlines and family trees eroded by time.
Known as Seals, they became the new catalyst for a social hierarchy; a semblance of familiarity from the Old World. Valued above all else, those with a Seal were said to inherit upon power unlike any other, being able to wield magic and weapons with absolute ease. Those with enough willpower, would have their bodies transformed to represent a being they wished to embody, as the Ancients had once done long ago.
It is currently the month of May, Aibian Year 423.
Four long centuries have passed since the flooding of the Old World, and a mysterious disease taints the Great Sea.
Not unlike the way a Seal appears upon manifesting, the disease forms upon the infecteds body as a series of runic script; akin to a brand and painful to the touch, yet all the more foreboding.
Those afflicted fall terribly ill; before drifting away into a dreamless slumber, unable to be roused by those in the waking world. Awakening soon after, however, all traces of the diseased's personality would be nowhere to be seen; leaving only primal beasts thriving off bloodshed and carnal desires, their very forms twisted beyond recognition.
Without the Gods or Ancients to save them, and with them having been all but forgotten; the future of the Great Sea of Aibas remains uncertain. Rumors of a phantom ship that sails the sea in the presence of a crimson moon cause unease, whispers of abduction growing by the day.
Yet, it is said that one who bears the mark of the Creator himself, would be the one to restore clarity to the wayward sea once more.
One who bears the mark of a claw-like Seal upon their flesh, would act as the new Inheritor of Creation...