In the beginning there was only madness. No life. No order. No sanity.
Before Gaia, before the gods, before magic itself the world was little more than primordial slime, bubbling and boiling away in the oblivion of space. From the stars they fell, exiles from their own kith and kin, exiles from their own powers.
Praise Father Dagon. Praise Mother Hydra.
Mother Hydra birthed first life. Father Dagon wrote first laws. From this slime, from this chaos they brought order.
The Mal'yr rose, the black city ascended to the Heavens and all was well. But in the oblivion of the void, in the nothingness that came before all others stirred. Like moths to a flame they floated about this world, jealous of its order. These sparks, these ambitions which would bring the Great Fall.
Praise Father Dagon! Praise Mother Hydra! Ia! Ia!
The jealous sparks grew in time, even as Father Dagon ruled, proud of his empire in exile. And when the first spark grew greatest she began the process of the Fall. Her name was Gaia and she brought life to the world. One stage after the other. First she spawned the Titans, who warred with the Mal'yr, toppling the city from the sky, casting them to the cold, cruel blackness of the sea.
And when the Titans became uncontrolled she bore forth the Gods themselves. All of Father Dagon's work undone, his laws overwritten, his magics cast aside as new gods took his place. All of Mother Hydra's work forgotten, Gaia herself stealing the praise of life itself. Ia! Ia! Praise Dagon! Death to those of the air!
With the new gods the Mal'yr were forgotten. Swept to the deepest reaches of the seas, cast away from the stars. There Dagon slumbers to this day. There Mother Hydra lies, forgotten. There we grew older, wiser and far, far more hateful. Such hate for those who stole the lights. Such hate for those who stole the skies and cast us to the forgotten abyss. Their New Gods faltered, withered and waned yet we remained. Eternal.
Forever strong, such was the pride with which Father Dagon made us. Praise Dagon! Ia! Ia!
Over time we waited. We struck when the moments were right, when the stars were aligned and the lost children of the first true gods stirred from their eternal slumber. It is we who first taught Man of fear. It is we who first taught Man of treachery.
When hated Atlantis sank and began to encroach on our territories the wars of the Abyss started. We drove the Atlanteans back, away from what was forbidden and thrived until our own turned and sympathised with the weak ones. We cast them out and waited. Patiently so. Waited for the right time to rise once more.
Now is that time.