The Tale of the Magic Sword radiates from the Immortals. Their influence washes over all realities, cleansing some, and crushing others. Their existence is bound to the Sword. It is their link to immortality... and their curse.
If you wish to know of the Three Immortals, then it shall be through me, for I am the Harbinger of their glory. I bring the Tale of the Magic Sword to humanity. I am merely a witness to their glory, though I have beheld it for thousands of millennia. As chronicler of this tale, I take wing as the white owl, able to see where others would never be allowed, from their keep on the Shores of Oblivion, to the furthest reaches of civilization. The Immortals allow me to tell their story, if only spread the word throughout the multiverse, and even unto your plane and planet. You may glimpse the Immortals glory, but you will only know them and their hearts if you listen well to me, my children.
The beginnings of things are often small, my children. As the single seed grows to a mighty oak- so too did the path of the Keeper begin as a single choice in an age long past. Once a humble king, he was manipulated into unknowingly unleashing the Dark One. All of reality was torn asunder as the Lord of Shadow was released from his ancient prison, having been bound only by the power contained within the Magic Sword. From that day forth, the King was cursed to be the immortal Keeper of this powerful key. He has been relentlessly compelled for millennia to find the Chosen One who will one day unleash the true power of the weapon and cannot rest until the grand design is seen complete with the Darkness bound once again.
To him the past, present and future of all life is transparent. In his lair on the Shores of Oblivion, with the Keeper and the Weaver, the Seer peers through his ever shifting mechanical gyroscope of lenses to peer into the multi-realms. His vast study of realities has culminated in this metal ringed machine as he has honed the properties of space and time to a discipline. His writhing tentacles constantly move, deftly searching his surroundings for information and understanding. He has a proclivity for truth and logic and is compelled to constantly seek it out. For he only believes what he can see. Both he and the Weaver are mysteriously bound to the Keeper, until the prophecy is fulfilled. For they both seem to exist as guides to the Keeper and help him find the answers he seeks.
With his seemingly endless supply of deft and delicate legs constantly ticking away at his gossamer webs, the Weaver is a bit of a dichotomy. The unease of his cold chitinous limbs is in direct opposition to his all consuming empathy toward all living beings. He is able to feel all distress through his webs of spirit, which are tied directly to the heart of all creations. He is not able to directly control anyone with whom he is connected, but he is able to wrap their consciousness in multiple strands of his warm webs and help them see compassion. He is the agent of fate for all of existence. He weaves the paths of all lives, softly leading them to righteousness. Both he and the Seer are mysteriously bound to the Keeper, until the prophecy is fulfilled. For they both seem to exist as guides to the Keeper and help him find the answers he seeks.
Little is known of this being but death and decay. Since the release from his ancient prison by the hapless Keeper of the Magic Sword, he has pulled all of existence slowly toward himself in a vortex of darkness and destruction. Any wayward soul that he touches is corrupted to their ultimate demise. He uses his followers, his acolytes of death, with no more regard than any other, for his existence is simply to end all things.