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The darkness consumes a creator's dream. An island comes into being, swelling upward from the salt water in an indescribable rush. Mountains are thrown in a nearly impenetrable ring several hundred miles in circumfrence where the sand of the shore gradually becomes moon-kissed, mossy stone. The creator frowns in concentration, stirring as the loneliness of an unpopulated island becomes unbearable.

A thousand thousand years pass in the flicker of an eyelash.

In a secluded glade of a dense pine forest, a circle of humanoids clad only in their own fur dance around a fire, their eyes reflecting the flames as they whirl. Now and then a thick-maned head is thrown back to give cry to a full-throated howl, echoed by the pure wolf brethren speckling the woods or the mimicking coyotes. The deer and other prey in the area pause only briefly upon hearing the song, able to discern the difference between ritual and hunger after long centuries of co-existence.

Some hundred miles to the north, the pine trees are interspersed with oak and willow, ash and yew as the hilly land begins to level out. A few swift-footed elves slip in and out among the tree trunks and scatter across the branches, their laughter as silvery as the moonlight beaming down. Their homes are many and as varied as they, their whims ranging from simple to obscure. A farrier's hammer sounds occasionally through the woodland, and the low hum of a great bazaar butted up against the northern cliff is audible even here.

To the south and east of the wolf glen, short, stocky men and women live out their lives in relative comfort, though not as carefree as the elvenkin. Whole clans devote themselves to mining the various ores of the mountains, trading cautiously with their shy neighbors for things made of wood and rare fruits they cannot grow in their region. Now and again skirmishes break out between rival clans; though bloody, there are few fatalities due to their King's intervention.

The dwarves are shadowed also by massive winged attackers, dragons who collectively consider their rights to the mountain caves absolute. There are cries for peace between the two proud races, but to coexist without bloodshed is not easy. The dragons are mysterious, their habits unknown, their motivations as individual as they.

The creator rolls over in slumber, breath going quiet. The dream is changing. But it lives...