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The Rimless Wheel
In the time before the greatest war the world was in order. Everything was according to the way it should be, and if it were not, it would be soon. Things returned to the way that they should be before people even noticed that they were changed. The solars knew why the world worked. The world worked because there was a primordial who made it work, although none of them knew his name. He was the embodiment of cycle, so as long as he lived the war must by definition be eternal - or worse, that when it was over, nothing would have changed. The great wheel would have turned, and it would have ended where it was. The cycle had to be broken. And after that act was carried out, part of the first strike in a long war, the world was never the same.
And so the solars killed soul after soul of his, shattering each spoke and burning their bodies, until there was nothing left of the wheel. He is now a great part of the nature of the underworld; the essence of the broken wheel that cannot turn. He is the fetters that hold souls in their their dead memories, he is the anchor that holds the labyrinth to the underworld, the endless, pointless cycle of the Calendar of Setesh that holds the underworld in its meaningless loop. He is the memory of the damned that cannot be shed, and the pyre flame that keeps burning. He cares not for anything but the shattering of cycles, and the continuation of stasis. He views - inasmuch as such dancing mad gods have views - oblivion as the ultimate fulfillment of his goal, the end of cycles. The ordered, rational passage of creation, the mad, convulsive loopings of the wyld, these will all be ended by oblivion, and then he will be again in tune with the universe, a shattered rim motionless in an empty world.