Gramayre is not a deity in the traditional sense of the word. Generally speaking, by traditional I refer to the singular entity with a particular personality and philosophy, granting special powers to those that adhere to their traditions. Instead, Gramayre is comprised of the collective consciousness of all the beings that have died within the boundaries of the Daragonian Realm.

Specifics and Explanations:

Gramayre is a sexless deity for several reasons. Comprised of both male and female consciousness. Acts as both god and devil, good and evil, yin and yang. We could say that Gramayre is most often referred to with female pronouns for sake of simplicity.

As the consciousness of the dead join Gramayre they sway her slightly out of balance, because their consciousness retains the same beliefs they held when they were alive. If too many beings of one particular philosophy die in close succession to each other, Gramayre can be swayed out of balance. To maintain the balance of Gramayre, balance must be maintained in the Daragonian Realm.

"The Gramayrean Paradox". Since Gramayre changes ever so slightly as the dead join her collective consciousness, unbalanced death in Daragonia can lead to dangerous imbalance in Gramayre. However, those doing the killing are most likely killing those beings that hold an opposing philosophy to their own. This is what generates the Gramayrean Paradox. By destroying opposing forces/philosophies by killing, Gramayre becomes unbalanced AGAINST YOU as the consciousness of those you have killed join Gramayre.

Since armies are gathered for fighting, many struggles broke out across Daragonia, until the vast majority of the Realm was engaged in enormous battles, from one end of the Realm to the other. Hundreds of thousands died as multiple armies took to the same battlefield, seeking to defend their particular god's philosophy. Magicians and clerics hurled spells as these armies of thousands of warriors and archers threw themselves against one another, believing that might makes right. In the end, the most common result was a handful of beings left alive, severely wounded and barely alive, slinking back to their respective homelands to heal and return to the same battlefields to eventually die.

Life in the Realm became a bitter existence, as the wars escalated even farther as many of the army's practiced total warfare. These armies wouldn't stop at the battlefields, but carried their killing into the homes of the armies they had just defeated. Entire races were forced to the brink of genocide. Soon this practice became common practice for all armies of Daragonia, many sacrificing the philosophies they were fighting to protect in the practice of total warfare. Entire armies disappeared into Death's cold embrace, followed closely by the philosophies they had fought so hard to protect.

Eventually, the warring gods began to disappear as their followers died off, so did their power, and eventually so did the gods. As the wars raged on, even the more successful armies met their end as they became so entrenched in their battles they had no time to tend crops, raise children, or even the most common rituals of self preservation. Disease spread throughout the Realm, and thousands more died. In the end, after hundreds of years of war, there were only a fraction of the once proud beings of Daragonia remaining, and they clung desperately to life. Unfortunately, the only life they knew was a life of death, war, and decay.

These survivors marched their armies, scant remnants of their once mighty numbers, into the grasslands of the heart of Daragonia, preparing to fight what would prove to be the final battle of their conflict. These armies converged at the centre of the Daragonian Realm, surrounding the soon-to-be battlefield on the eve of the slaughter with their camps comprised of thousands of archers, clerics, mages, and warriors ready for battle. As dawn broke the next morning, a scene that had been replayed thousands upon thousands of time in the last several hundred years of Daragonian history unfolded one final time and the armies swarmed into each other. Death reigned supreme that day as the warrior smashed through each other's ranks, the archers rained arrows from the sky, and the air crackled with the magical workings of the mages and clerics.

At the close of the day, only a handful of Daragonians survived, mostly mages and clerics. These ragged individuals closed upon one another, hardly able to comprehend the totality of the day's events. The small group of beings stood in a rough circle and simply gazed at one another, unsure of where the hatred that had been into them through the generations had began. Finally, one of them broke the silence, putting into words what each one of them knew in their heart. "Daragonia is dead. These past centuries of hate have killed everything that we were trying to defend. There is no life left here for us, but perhaps together, we can bring new life to the Realm."

These simple words tore through the hearts of each of the assembled Daragonians. The remaining clerics of the group travelled through the battlefield praying to their respective long departed deities for the souls of the dead. Together they began to gather the bodies of the last martyrs of the war, heaping them together into a small mountain of fallen men and women, warriors and philosophers. Again the silence was broken by the same being as they stood below, grieving for what had died there that day. "Join me. Take my hands and let us join in a common cause. Only together can we breathe new life into Daragonia."

Each of the figures successively joined hand, minds, and hearts and prayed to long forgotten gods to bring life to Daragonia. Just as the sun set, the prayers of the Daragonians were answered. With a flash of white light that lit the sky brighter than day, a brilliant glow settled on each one of the circle of mourners. With wide eyes and thankful hearts they listened to a sound like to other; the sound of every voice of every soul that had died within the boundaries of the Realm of Daragonia speaking in unison.

"We are the fallen of Daragonia, and we will answer your prayers. We have all fought and died in defence of what we believed to be sacred. There is nothing more sacred than life, and we have learned the error of our ways. Together, through you, we will bring new life to this place. Beings like ourselves that will take our places and learn from our mistakes. Come children of Daragonia, you will soon be with us." With these final words, the brilliant light outlining each of the remaining Daragonians intensified and began to flow outward from them toward every corner of the Realm. The members of the circle were given the power to see into a thousand other worlds, and into a million other minds.

Each of them taking great care to choose individuals that would give Daragonia the best chance of survival and the best chance at its second life. As each of the circle made their selections, a Gate was opened to these worlds, and the chosen ones were brought through it to found anew the Realm of Daragonia. With their final mortal minutes, each of the Daragonians breathed a sweeter air than any had breathed in the last several centuries; an air alive with new hope and innumerable possibilities. Secure in their decisions, the final martyrs of an ageless conflict joined their predecessors, and Gramayre was born.