Thus far, this is all I've come up with for a story of the beginning of the world. I've had second thoughts about it, but this should do for the time being.
This is the world of living, breathing creatures. We of the fairy race are the oldest beings to inhabit this planet. However, conquest and war have pushed us back into tales of myth and legend. We have been forgotten.
We were once a thriving race; tribal in some regions and highly developed in others. We ruled and maintained Nature. We were its masters and it was the life-giver. However, as mentioned before, wars and conquest of other races pushed us into the tales of storybooks and long-forgotten legend.
One particular event was engrained into our history, its name forgotten, but its infamy living on. A group of the 'Other Race' as we called them, rose up against our kind and enslaved us. Many were killed, and many more died from broken-heartedness. Those who could escape did, disappearing into the thick forests and clefts in the high mountains. It was during this time of hiding when our arch-mage, Onelak of the Northern Mountains, created an object which opened a rift to another world. Such was his success that when he stepped through the rift, he found himself on untainted and untamed soil. Summoning his nearest compatriots, he sent them out to inform those of us who had survived that he had found sanctuary: the ultimate escape. From all corners of the world droves of the fae swarmed to his keep in the high mountains. One by one they were all led into his laboratory and stepped through the rift and into the world beyond. Thus our kind escaped the murderous enslavement of the 'other race.'
In the new land, known as Lunara, we, the scattered and broken few who had run from bondage, thrived. No, we did not develop as we had before, but we lived as a band of survivors. We developed a culture far beyond what we had had before, and honed our skill of the arts into that of greatest historical legend.
This land of Lunara was completely unknown to the Other Race. Being the last of those who passed through the rift, Onelak disabled his creation and the portal was destroyed.
Centuries passed. The fae aged and a new generation sprang forth, unspoiled and healthy in the new land. Far away, on the other side of creation, the land we had inhabited before grew stale. The Other Race eventually killed itself from wars fought against its own kind. Onelak had since died and the tales of our emmigration had reached a state of ancient history. Although all of the fae thrived in the new world, there were those who sensed the spirit of the old world, and felt a need to return. The old world had grown stale. Nothing was as it should be, they felt.
One, a worker of magicks, named Alara, was the first to actively attempt ways of reaching the old world. She and her apprentice, Sama, both pored over the ancient tomes, reading the journals of Onelak and attempting to duplicate his creation. With some trepidation and a few flaws, they succeeded.
Indeed, when they stepped through their tiny portal, they found themselves not in the high mountains that their race had once left, but in the valley below, nearer the sea. But still they had arrived. They had returned to the world of their ancestors, and what a world it was. The plain, however bright and sunny it should be, was barren and more of a desert. The forests had shrivelled beyond belief and the hills had become rocky bluffs on which the creatures could escape the dust and heat. The rivers were poisoned and nothing else lived. Even the sun looked tired and worn, its red form rising and setting behind the clouds of pollution and waste.
This was the land to which they had returned. And this was the land to which they were destined to live since the beginning of time. However, they had abandoned it in the face of fear and had failed it. In return it failed them.
After a time of observation, the two fairies melted back into their portal, back to the world in which they were born but didn't belong. With their news, an uprising occurred. Many of the young felt Lunara a place to stay and to thrive. Others felt the need of the old world and embraced the mission to make it anew. Those who wanted to return to the barren waste were trumped and oppressed by the leaders of the band. They meant well, really they did. They only cared for the safety of all and did not see the need presented.
A few of those who wished to return began conducting secret meetings with Alara and her apprentice. Multiple trips were made through the portal and attempts at restoration began. But all failed to restore the thriving life to the old world. Finally, after months of experimentation and failure, a formula was concocted of gasses and elements which were suspected to restore the life on the world. Bottled in a single ceramic vial, the old-world fae snuck the concoction through the rift into the desert beyond.
It was a dark and windy night when the vial was broken. A night which many will long remember. Alara, being one of seniority, was given the task of breaking the vial. With the hot desert breeze on her face and the stars nearly blotted out by the reddened pollution, she raised a large rock, letting it crash onto the life-filled bottle of gasses.
Flaring from the broken pottery, a bright cloud of light caught the wind and began to spread. The wind increased, but grew cooler. The gasses touched the ground as they sped along and in their wake sprouts of green grew. Leaves uncurled from new stems and still the gas spread. They quickly reached the surrounding forest and as they touched the withered trees, these mighty giants soon straightened from their centuries of death and new life unfurled from their branches. Alara and her band ran northward behind the cloud, watching as the ground beneath it sprang to life from its long barren death. As the gas reached the edge of the northern forest, they spread up into the rocky crags and cliffs and disappeared from view.
Not able to keep up, Alara halted and declared the experiment a success. Giggling in giddy delight, these few tromped back through the now fresh woods. They looked up and found that not only had the ground become healed, but the sky also shone with the millions of stars as the atmosphere cleared.
Alara declared one tree in the forest as 'home base,' and the few fae that followed her flitted into its branches and collapsed in a weary, yet happy heap. Alara herself sat down and began formulating a list of provisions for survival and also started thinking of ways to convince the rest that the old world had indeed become the new. Return must be initiated. This world was theirs. They were meant to live HERE. Not there.
Morning came quickly and the sun, once red and tired, nearly flew up over the horizon as if the world it watched over was now a thing of delight to its eyes. Birds never before heard, sang the joyous song as they discovered the new land. Alara, her eyes long since drooping, woke with a stretch and a yawn and found herself high in the tree along with her tiny band. One by one, the fae awoke and lifted their eyes to their ancient homeland. Far to the north they saw high mountains, once rocky and barren and now capped with snow and even MORE barren looking, yet somehow more inviting. And off to the south and west they spied a sparkling blue field, which was soon found out to be a massive ocean. The Great Experiment as the few called it, had turned out to be a huge success. The land of their ancestors, they felt, was now a land of their own.