Long ago, there was naught but the primordial stew of possibility. Dreamed by the slumbering lords of chaos and then cultivated by their feverish visions, this never ending stream of creation churned ever onward, never resulting in anything of substance. Far away, one being looked on with great dismay.
This simply could not stand.
He arrived with a thought, driving away the lords of chaos in a wave of ultimate order. With a great harmonious chorus he drove borders into the sea of creation. Using those grand barriers, he created shape and time. Possibility had not been destroyed, simply cultivated. The being was now proud - perhaps even smug - as he saw the beginnings of life start to crawl about this new place. He granted some of those small creatures sentience so they could behold the gifts he had given them and worship him for them. After some time he left to slumber and contemplate his greatness.
The lords of chaos eventually recovered as those things truly immortal are wont to do. They returned to their playground and found it forever marred. What once was fluid and beautiful was now trapped by form and bound by inevitably. They pitied the little forms that scrambled about the wracked primordial. For as unbreakable as their new prisons where, their souls screamed for the freedom they once knew. They took solace in the fact that these tiny things would forever be able to choose no matter what came about and then abandoned the ruined place for something new.
The creatures left behind used both curses inflicted upon them to adapt, evolve and expand outwards. What once was the idle distraction of the cosmic was now theirs. Mortals shaped the land and created their own sort of miracles. Great creatures and walking gods emerged amongst them. Some could even bend the eldritch to their. Surely, these small beings had outgrown their need, their obligation to their negligent creator?
Not all feel as such.
Far away, one being looked on with great dismay. Such ingrates! He thought. The audacity! They had forgotten him! They did not sacrifice to him, call to him, worship him! How dare they! Mortals had committed an unforgivable crime. It shouldn't have been possible, not when one such as he had his hand in their making. Unless...
These creatures had been born from chaos. His methods may have been perfect, but the materials were not. Their failure made all the more sense now, and this simply would not do. He would have to start over, with a perfect world made from order and a perfect people who would not stray. The flawed world would need to be burned away, so there would be place for this paradise. The unrighteous would be annihilated and only the truly faithful would be remain to see the glory of his perfect world.
The lords of chaos will defy him, He is order. He is Law.