The One that Was

In its primordial state, the world was not. There was no land to roam, and no beings to roam it. If there had been, they would have been known as the Firsts.

The Firsts weren't immutable beings, so alien to what we think of as life that no definition, had they been, could be applied to them. There was no time either, but had it been, it would have churned along lifelessly, witnessing an unchanging, absent landscape.

It is unknown why, but suddenly One Was. 

It did not live long, or at all; in fact, the one thing It ever accomplished was dying. Its life, perhaps snuffed out over Its own might, lasted an infinitesimally short time.

But, indoubtably, It Was.

Its body, indoubtably, Was. It rippled and cracked, and split into uncountable little bits and pieces.

Its Flesh fell, and defined the bedrock of the universe: the place which would be known as the Material Plane.

Its Blood bathed it, giving it life and thought: and thus, the Oniric Plane was born.

And its Thoughts, fleeting yet so incredibly, undeniably present waltzed around the newborn creation, granting Knowledge.

Finally, from Its Bloodless and lifeless Heart six being rose and pranced about, basking in the joy of existence.

It never had time, much less to appreciate its legacy: but for Its efforts, It is known as the Maker.