The Faith of the Seven

More a theory of the universe than a religion of ritual and ceremony, the Seven Realms Theory—more commonly known as the Faith of the Seven, or merely “The Seven”—is the oldest belief system currently still practiced, which is all the more remarkable in that it worships no gods. Adherents believe that the world is composed of seven primal elements, and that to understand and master them is to understand one’s place in the universe. In this, it is more natural philosophy than religion.

According to the Seven Realms Theory, the seven elements, the building blocks of existence, include the four elements of antiquity—air, earth, fire, and water—along with light, shadow, and verdance. It is believed that each of these primal elements springs from an eternal source on a distant elemental plane, and that the world is composed of the interweaving emanations from these seven sources.

The Storm
Air swirls down from the Storm, a realm of endless turbulence. A realm with no above or below, all is weightless motion and howling pandemonium. There is no ground apart from the uppermost reaches of the Mountain, which oftentimes become havens for creatures that have become stranded here through some mystical fluke. The lack of real estate would be problematic enough if it weren’t for the nearly constant electrical storms churning through this plane’s vast skies. Alchemists who follow The Seven claim that the purest adamantine is formed here when a lightning blast from The Storm knocks loose a chunk of The Mountain and sends it hurtling into the material world.

The Furnace
The source of all fire, the Furnace is a realm of perpetual hunger and endless heat. Salamanders and efreeti vie for control of the blasted landscape and semi-solid coagulations of magma constantly slough off and reforming into the larger land masses. No mortal can survive here for more than a few agonizing seconds without magical protection. It’s said by some that whatever energy is left in a wicked soul after death is drawn into the Furnace, and becomes fuel for its eternal fires. Some cultists have used this as twisted reasoning justifying the propagation of evil, reasoning that without the Furnace and its output of heat and flame, the world would freeze and die.

The Mountain
A realm of absolute stability and unbending rigidity, the Mountain is the source of all earth. It is densely packed and mineral rich, but jealous of each stone atop and within its fathomless body. Even the air inside its few entirely enclosed caves and tunnels feels dense and heavy to outsiders, making the native creatures here especially hardy compared to the denizens of the material plane. Change happens most slowly here, and making even a tiny mark on the original landscape is a most difficult task.

The Fountain
Water flows from The Fountain, a fathomless ocean with no shore and no sky, where merfolk empires rule vast stretches of sea from floating castles grown from coral, and krakens swim in schools for protection from the larger predators that occasionally swim up from the Deep. Despite its dangers, the Fountain is largely a place of quiet contemplation, and mortal sages who take the proper precautions may find the journey well worth the time and expense for just a single afternoon spent in a triton monastery, riding the currents through this infinite hydrosphere.

The Beacon
The source of all light and positive energy, radiance blazes from the Beacon, and it is wonderful. A realm of limitless promise and joy, healing magic cast by good-aligned priests is drawn from here. It is not, however, a safe place to visit—any mortals who found a way to the Beacon would be instantly consumed—in orgasmically pleasurable fashion, it should be noted—by the plane’s radiance. Many religions have adopted a form of the Beacon as the inspiration for their form of heaven.

The Deep
The Deep, the origin of all shadow and darkness, lies in decay and sorrow. It is the source of all negative energy, and thus the wellspring of undeath. Visitors here would wither and die before undergoing rebirth as undead. Indeed, one of the strongest arguments for the Seven Realms Theory is the curse of undeath unleashed on Archaiad at the end of the Age of Legends—adherents label the Necrofont as the Deep breaching directly into Fartherall, vomiting undeath into a world unable to absorb it.

The Garden
Life, according to the Faith of the Seven, is an element, and not the opposite of undeath. A better term than “life” would be “verdance”—the primal life spark that compels growth. The Garden is the source of all verdance, and it overwhelms. Not a plane so much as a pure and primal life force, left unchecked, the Garden would grow over, in, around, and through itself until destroyed if not for the other elements keeping it in check. Conversely, none of the others would be able to survive without the Garden giving it life. When this delicate balance is maintained to perfection, all the world is right and perfect. But when an imbalance occurs, natural disasters befall the world of man, their magnitude in direct proportion to the imbalance. An earthquake is venting an overgrowth of Mountain, a flood is excess runoff from the Fountain. Visitors here would experience unchecked bodily growth—hair and nails would sprout and bloom, as would muscles and warts and gastrointestinal bacteria, everything alive swelling and bursting with unstoppable, cancerous growth until the poor visitor bursts into a trillion smaller living things, which then undergo the same process.