Nothing begets something begets nothing. A field, perhaps infinite, of something; formless, functionless matter. Above, fertile nothing; a vault of pitch black. The only thing that illuminates this desolate world is the golden radiance of living purpose.
Armies wage war here on this infertile turf, each husk laced with gold. Three-armed javelin throwers break formation to evade a wheel of certain destruction. Self-drawn chariots charge into a wall of blades. A barrage of bombs pelts the battlefield. Bird-things pick the fallen bodies clean of gold. Once the bits of golden purpose do not animate it, fickle matter crumbles back into its base inert form.
Three golden gods—parts of a whole, enemies by nature—work in the three corners of the world. Unending, they instill purpose into nothing and pour their creations into the ever-thirsting maw of war. Their servants bring back looted gold to animate new bodies with, new bodies to be strewn back onto the battlefield.
- At the Cauldrons of UNN, dough cooks, worked from empty dust. Endless hordes spill forth from the pots and beasts of war congeal on the froth of colorless concoctions. UNN spices the broth with life-giving grains of somber gold.
- At the Forges of ZAL, ore to be smelted is willed into being. Devious weaponry is wrought from never-steel, and impossible alloys are bent into armored behemoths. Into these creations, ZAL hammers in animating bolts of blooming gold.
- At the Looms of IFE, wisps of nothing are spun into fiber. Sewn soldiers are stuffed with tow, while fliers take to the sky on wings of dead felt. IFE’s careful hand embroiders verdant gold purpose on each of their servants.
A world locked in a cycle of creation and certain destruction. Even the gods are driven by purpose rather than instinct or intellect. In their conflict, neither one will—or can—prevail, as this is the static dynamism of this world.