Creation of the Crescent

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//* Hi everyone. This is the tale of how my fantasy world was created and the main character entered the world. I'm considering using it for a prologue, however its still useful if I do not - I have some ideas bouncing around. Feedback is appreciated. Some of you may notice a few old ideas of mine flung in as well. Thankyou *//


The world was a dead ocean that had won the great war between land and sea in another, far off age. Previous life such as fish and birds had been washed away in the Age of Water – now only one being remained on the great planet, and he took the form of a glowing crystal that hovered over the seas.

The crystal named Tristoph glowed with phosphorescent blue light. He took the light and sent it forward over a tumbling tide and the waters became a sprawl of silt and soil. Pockets of land burst from the water, carving the ocean up until it was an arc in the seas – it became like the old moon in its crescent stage. A convex curve. Lightening came from the demoniac skies and blasted Tristoph’s creation with one powerful blow. Bits of the Crescent broke away and flourished. These were islands: concentrated paradise.

Like a colossal eye, Tristoph watched his Crescent for several millennia. He battled the Sky demons until they became weak. A new Sun was born out their dead souls. Plant life and vegetation spawned from fertile soils on the islands, they became lush and plentiful. The crescent however became barren – Tristoph’s creation had been cursed by the Sky demons to grow nothing but rock. Crude, orange rock.

Tristoph’s light was fading now, his existence had been a pathetic one. His Crescent was a dead land. His last act was to split himself into two. One part seeped over the Crescent and imbued itself into the orange rock, making it glow like Tristoph once had. The other part died off and solidified into a steely blue stone. It rose up into the sky and became the new moon, a celestial light in times of darkness.

And so the wicked Sun and pure Moon were equal and opposite, ever warring and ever constant. Two forces: good and evil. Their quarrels affected the Crescent below and soon their powers combined and a magical entity formed – a force who could make and destroy life, powers of both good and evil – of Tristoph and the Sky demons. He named himself the Boatman, Master of the Crescent.

Around him he created the immortal Wizards, his servants. And he balanced these with the female Wysards. Wizards and Wysards would be one at times and this would populate the bountiful islands. The Boatman was a dictator, and all creatures were beneath him.

But Tristoph was watching, always watching, he cursed the Boatman and his damned children for their arrogance and despotism. The spawn of the Immortals’ would forever need his other half. To wield magic they would be forced to absorb magic from his brain child: the Crescent. The orange rocks which he had imbued with himself were sources of magic. All Wizards but the Boatman himself would need the magical rocks to use the magic.

The Sky Demon’s grew angry with Tristoph, it was an insult to the race of Wizard to be reliant on old rocks. They told the Boatman to create a powerless being, one that would never know the secrets of Magic-Rocks or Magrocks as they were now called. Their purpose would be everlasting slavery, to mine the Magrock and present it to their Wizard Masters. They would be nameless and only bare a branding number. The right to a name would lie with only Wizards, and thus only the named could absorb the Magrocks, only the named would rule.

To ensure Tristoph never interfered with their Wizards again they corrupted the moon and it lost its blue and became a dull, lightless grey. Tristoph’s soul left it and flitted through the Crescent, waiting for a vessel. He would need a human body to be born into – then revenge would come. After a thousand years of waiting, he found his vessel. Tristoph entered the womb of a mother and was born as slave Two Thousand and Eight BT. His parents called him Kwin, a substitute for his true Earthen name.

And thus, here Kwin’s story commences.
Last edited by Swires on Fri Jul 27, 2007 2:49 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Previously known as "Phorcys"
Witherwings Harry Potter RPG




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That was one of the coolest things I've ever read. I'm reeally not just saying that. You created an in depth world and you really made me want to read the rest. You're a really good writer and now I'm gonna see your profile to see if I can find the rest. :D

~Pol
I used to rule the world, see it rise when I gave the word, now in the morning I sleep alone, sweep the streets I used to own

-Coldplay, Viva La Viva




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The world was a dead ocean that had won the great war between land and see in another, far off age.

See should be sea here I think. Also, I'm not entirely sure what you mean by the "great war between land and sea". Maybe it's just me, but perhaps that part could use some elaboration?

He took the light and sent it forward over a tumbling tide and the waters became a sprawl of silt and soil. The land sprawled around

The repetition of sprawl makes that part read a little awkwardly.

Over millions of years Tristoph watched the Crescent like a colossal eye.

Maybe it's just me, but that part was a little confusing, because at first it's hard to tell whether the Crescent is a colossal eye or Tristoph, although I'm sure you mean Tristoph.

Crude. Orange. Rock

I'm not entirely sure that the way this is written really does anything. It looks kind of weird, really. I think it would read better if it were separated by commas instead of periods.

Immortal’s should be Immortals', I think.

There were a few spelling mistakes and other similar errors like that, but nothing too majorly wrong with this. All in all, definitely a very nice write- an interesting, well-thought out creation story. Good job! :)




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Thanks guys for your input. Ive edited a few of the points bian' made. Poltergiest, I really appreciate your comments. More feedback welcome.
Previously known as "Phorcys"
Witherwings Harry Potter RPG



Turn your demons into art, your shadow into a friend, your fear into fuel, your failures into teachers, your weaknesses into reasons to keep fighting. Don’t waste your pain. Recycle your heart.
— Andréa Balt