Glyphs of Scythar

In the continent of Scytheiri, peace was everything. Life flowered and the races of all kinds worked together, making trades and building homes. The scholars reigned while leaders shook hands and signed treaties. Merchants traded and seas were calm... Until The Para'ji took place. On that day destruction pounced from the shadows, breaking its ancient chains. Plague swept through life, banishing green. Newcomers came from different islands and continents and battles raged.
Chaos spread and Scytheiri shook! The ground moaned and cracks split the precious land. They said that the Glyphwarders did it, casting a curse upon Scytheiri, using the power of the ancient Gods. Glyphwarders refused, claiming that the power of their Gods has faded, for they couldn't summon the ancient power. Chaos maimed at bonds and blame grew into a heavy burden onto the Glyphwarders' shoulders and they were cut down and swiped from existence. The Glyphwarders were soon forgotten, along with the ancient Gods.....
Centuries later, Scytheiri was no more. The Humans and Elves struggled, but managed, to put their feet on the ground and make roots. Only papers and tablets of distant scholars remained to piece together history.
It took years for towns to be made. More passed for cities. The Para'ji became a distant but scarring memory to the races. A mark of the cataclysm everywhere.
Now, as people settle, competition, greed, and other things the gods tried to fight against, sprouted and flowered. It even became an everyday occurrence.
What remained of Scytheiri, Land of Peace, became Scythar, Land of Pride. New gods were idolized and worshipped, twisted versions of the Ancients.

But now these New Gods went silent and darkness creeps upon civilization. It is up to three to save Scythar from this upcoming darkness.
One who must believe,
One who must fight,
And one who must care.