Centuries ago, our world collided with the demon realm. How or by what means no one alive now knows. All we know for sure is that the darkest parts of our world merged with the lightest parts of theirs. Gateways and crossings popped up all over the world, buildings and streets flaring into existence where none had been before or overlapping, overwhelming what was there. Demons crossed into this world from theirs.
We welcomed them. What else were we to do? They were already within our city-states, in the hearts of our territories, and they did not strike against us at first. They dismissed us as unimportant. Food animals. They wanted the sun and the light, for theirs was a world of darkness. They wanted the Guardian of Light, the power of our god to wield as their own and rule unconditionally in both worlds.
We'd always had our own monsters and mythical or even fantastical creatures, but we'd never accepted or even believed in their existence. Now we had to. They saved us. They didn't ask much in return. We'd fought together, died together, now they wanted to live together, as equals.
That was five hundred years ago.
The wars fought then, between one nation and another, one species and another, one religion and another, and, most importantly, one world against another, are called the Demon Wars. Everyone chose sides, sometimes many times, and on many sides. Those persons who could not adapt to work together to survive ... didn't. Eventually, and at great cost, we drove the demons from our world and back into theirs; shattered the Borderlands; but we could not fully rid ourselves of them. Many races were changed entirely or even perished in the struggle. Our world was broken, our god destroyed, but we won.
There was anarchy and chaos for a century, even after the wars, perhaps longer, we didn't really keep count. But slowly, one city-state at a time, the world stablized, as much as a world can that shares space and time with another.
Today, vampires and werewolves live alongside satyrs and elves and everything in-between, some obvious, and some not. The Borderlands still exist, shattered as they are, pieces here and there still clinging to life, places that attract the worst kinds of people, and lead, ultimately, to the Land of Darkness itself, the home of the demons and their Dark Court.
This city is called Waylon's Crossing. Unlike most places in the world, we're aware that we have alleys that lead into the Borderlands. We know they're there. And we accept them. We accept anyone who crosses between one world and another, so long as they abide by our rules, our laws. We know there is a dark side to our city, that there are layers and layers beneath what most citizens see. We watch and we stop what we can. We have to. There is a careful balance to maintain.
But I can sense something stirring. I can feel the unrest in the world, in the boundaries. I know that a change is coming, and it makes me uneasy, for I know not which way the scales will tip. The careful balance of the world begins and ends here. If we fall to darkness, we are all doomed.