Many tales ago, there were a pair of Raksha, abound in the Wyld, who often shaped together, such feelings as love were alien to them, but one could have said that they had gown used to each other's presence, easily playing their stories off each other with a familiar ease. Sufficed to say, when a interloper blundered into their narrative, they united to put the offender down. With him at their mercy, and his Heart in their hands, they demanded to know what in the name of the Shinma he thought he was doing. The other replied that he had come from the Garden of the Primordials, driven away by foul exalts, and riven of the wonder, now wandered as a lost soul, his story one of bleak mourning.
Wonderous? That sounded impossible to the pair, what wonder could be found in so staid and fixed a place? What of the wonder of their narratives, uninterrupted by anything so blaise as fixed concepts. But the other continued, he told them of Dreams, and the bounty of the Soul, the delicious feast of mortals, weaving grand designs around them to convey his message. The pair were intrigued, and headed for the Gates, and shaped existence beyond!
Assuming a story of a prince escorting his bride-to-be through mysterious new lands, the pair appeared in creation in what they would come to discover was the East, and wandered where their whims and the road took them, the Prince defending his Bride from the hostile locals where they encountered them, though for whatever reason, their time was actually relatively peaceful, many of the smaller towns they visited opting to stay out of their way and hope they went away, Soon
. So it went, On and on, and indeed, they discovered the succulent feast that creation offered, sharing the tastiest morsels of soul, virtue, and dreams, which was everything the Beggar had claimed, no wonder he had been so dour, to have lost such a thing! It continued, and is the way of the raksha, they eventually grew bored, and began new tales, which was not as easy as it had been in the Wyld. Things from their previous tale kept interrupting their new stories, friends, enemies, they did not just vanish with the pair were done with them, and rose agains and again to vex them. Eventually the pair came to a solution, and became rival warriors, competing to lay waste to as many elements of their previous tale as possible. If these things would not vanish, then they would be removed. Of course, raksha are immortal, and backtracking was only a matter of time. Once all that could bother them was dead, the pair became Scholars, and spent many seasons beneath a mighty Tree debating the motic chaogeopolitical ramifications of raksha feasting on souls on the Garden its self, and when they tired of that, they once more returned to civilization, this time in the mask of mortals, travelling merchants.
That was when everything changed.
One day, while browsing a market, one merchant turned away from the other to examine some bauble, and the other picked up a knife, mischief glinting in their eyes. Then they drove the blade into their partner's back, with a laugh. The one stabbed stiffened, trying to clutch at the blade embedded in their back, then fell. Pulling back her hood, the slayer waited for her partner to get up, laugh, and share in a joke well played, they had does as much, many times, in the wyld, but never since coming to creation. Yet... he didnt rise, and she knelt, oblivious to the commotion her act had caused, and the near riot of people fleeing the market. She reached out a hand... and he vanished in a snap of unravelling potential, leaving her alone.
It took some time, for realization to dawn, he wasnt playing, he was gone
, his existence ended, and would never begin again.
And it was amazing. Potential bloomed in her mind, not merely any story, but the greatest story, a unending tale, where not only could the hero fail, but it was likely, the world would not bend to their will, chance was a enemy, ever looming. She set off in pursuit of this true story, even returning to the Wyld for a time, to start anew, weaving a new tale for herself. This time, when she took form, it was a permanent one, for she no longer had any desire counter to that of pursuing her True Story, no reason to ever return to the Wyld. Becoming a Shaped being was a small price to pay towards that end.
A mortal could have told her; its called Life.
Upon returning to the Garden, she headed for a city called Nexus, which she had heard, formed a veritable fountain of possibility, a place were even raksha could live, where adventure abounded, and power flowed like water. The reality was somewhat less awe inspiring, but it suited her purposes, she easily established herself in a immodest home, took the name Fyr, and began building a reputation, which was not hard. Humans came to see her for the spectacle of it, revelling in the spectre of danger, and it was not hard for her to pick out a pretty girl, and woo her away from her dashing young lover, and he, bless him, challenged her to a duel. The result need not be elaborated on here, as it doesnt matter, but this is how she started, how her tale and reputation began in this new form. In time, the gawkers thinned, though there were always those who would be interested. In their place, came lovers, a ppearently that first woman gave rather glowing reviews of their encounter, and before long, dissatisfied lovers from all over nexus came creeping to her door at night... and on their heels, irate husbands and wives, often all too eager to defend their honour.
It was a good start, but as Fyr well knew, it was merely a prelude, a basis, a Origin. What matters is what one builds from it.