Prologue
The blazing inferno roars and quakes in the earth below. The icy blizzard whistles and shrieks in the sky above. Streams of magic flood and ebb across the land, shifting and changing the landscape along with it. In this world, nothing can live, and nothing will live, except for one group known as the 'Primordials'. They can take any shape they wish, exist where they please, but in bleak truth, have no more purpose than random specks of dust seen in the light.
However, their existence is a terrifying one. Whatever they may think of shall come into existence, and equally whatever they do not think of shall vanish into nothingness. Omnipotence is not a far shot from a proper description.
There are many primordials, but at the same time, there are few. The line between their individual existence and their total, conjoined existence is thin, transparent, and generally broad—all in all quite unclear. Not that it matters to the primordials, for they exist in harmony with each other. Each and every one of them share the same soul and thoughts, which are also the only thing of importance to them. They wander aimlessly thinking about whatever ideas may float along, never coming to a conclusion or opinion. They have only themselves to console and spend time with.
In this world of chaos, one curious primordial was out on a peaceful evening stroll, pondering about flakes of snow and how they glitter before being swallowed up by bubbling magma, when it stumbled upon something it could never have thought of thinking into existence. The most unexpected scenario possible in this unliving place.
Among the hellish red and chilling white shone a lively green, stretched across a thin expanse of land. From green grass sprouted even greener trees, with hanging violet flowers blossoming in the light of the blaze.
"Marvelous", thought the primordial, but to its horror, it could see the fire slowly creeping upwards and setting the meadow ablaze. It would not let this miracle burn to cinders, lest the whole universe turned unto itself and erased the very reality that it itself took for granted.
Needing only to halt the passage of time, the green would endure for now, and right there at that moment, the primordial called for its allies. Each and everyone lined up to view the spectacle before them.
"Beauty unmatched!", "priceless existence!", "eureka!": translated to the common tongue, this would be alike to what they commented upon seeing the meadow, relatively unharmed among the fiery turbulence.
They were all dazed by the sight, and in unison, they came to the conclusion that what they saw here had a meaning greater than any of them could imagine (or imagine into existence for that matter). They decided to call it "life", a concept not new to them, but it had always been more fiction than anything else. An impossible reality—a romanticization of the world they knew. But, here it was, helplessly vulnerable before them.
"How shall we go about preserving this life?" one asked.
"When we return the flow of time to normal, the fire shall seize hold of the green, and turn it red and black!" another one added.
The wisest and strongest of the primordials rose up and spoke.
"The rivers of chaos that run through the surface are the cause of all destruction. Unless they are repressed, life shall never endure!"
"Then what are we to do?"
"It is simple: we must only repress the rivers of chaos—send them deep into the rock and earth below, where they shall have no influence on the life above. Until the skies are bereft of eternal ice and the land spotted green and violet, we must uphold our newfound cause."
And thus together they had come to a unified conclusion. A goal to follow, but more importantly, a purpose. The Primordials together were so unthinkably powerful that sending the magical rivers down deep into the earthly crust was as easy as digging a hole in wet sand and covering it again.
However, the grave truth of their new purpose would rear its head when the wisest and strongest of all the primordials faded into nothingness. Alas, their own existence depended too much on the chaotic rivers of magic, and without the constant flow of chaos, eventually, all primordials were bound for nothingness. The strongest would go first, until no more primordials remained in this world.
"It can't be helped!" the second wisest and strongest primordial proclaimed. "Our existence is meaningless compared to even one single straw of grass. Come, let us fade into nothingness as we push the rivers deeper into the earth!"
Just as it said this, it too faded. One by one, the primordials would disperse, like scattering flower petals come spring.
When roughly half of the primordials had disappeared, the chaos already seemed to have died down significantly. The winds had stopped shrieking and were now only whistling. The inferno below had stopped roaring and was now only quaking. The flakes of snow had turned smaller and more fragile. The bubbling magma had turned darker and denser.
But sorrow hung over the still-standing primordials like a cold, wet cloth draped over one's bare body. In losing their comrades they began to lose themselves.
"For life, we must continue!" one encouraged, and together they rallied.
When almost all primordials but two had vanished, the land had quieted down. No longer was the wind whistling, and no longer was the earth quaking. The only thing left in motion was the primordials and the glittering stars above.
The oldest and frailest primordial was left along with the youngest and weakest of all. The old primordial had finally succumbed to the fading, and slowly but surely, was disappearing into the void. It spoke.
"Now we have completed our cause. To retain the rivers of chaos in their proper place, we have assigned the only one who can still remain existing without the flow of chaos to become the guardian of life. The youngest and weakest of our kind, you shall take upon our eternal guidance and protect all that is green and good."
As the scattering of particles reached its last remaining form, it seemed to weep in sorrow for all that is lost, but at the same time, it seemed to also weep in joy for all that is and will be gained, for the line was always thin, transparent, and generally broad—all in all quite unclear.
"You must roam this world alone now, young one. It will no longer be we, us, or they. Instead, it will just be I and me. Or rather, 'You'."
With the last croak of its breath, it said,
"Therefore you must never lose yourself, lest the world shall come to freeze over, and the rivers of chaos, in turn, shall also come back to the surface and wipe out all that lives. Farewell, guardian of life, keeper of all that is good—the last of our kind."
And as the last primordial was left alone in this new world, it could only look to the green meadow and hope for the future. For thousands upon thousands of years, it would roam hopeful, hopeful of life, hoping to see any advancements in the green. But, the lands remained blackened and ruined; albeit this time no snow that glittered above any scorching fires could be admired.
Its long solitude deprived it of the hope it once had, and being the youngest and weakest of all the primordials, it faltered against the tides of misery made by its own ever-lasting mourning. Therefore, in the haze of its own sorrow, it decided to freeze itself for eternity, so it would never mourn again, all the while keeping the bond between it and the rivers, so they would never resurface.
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
There exists a poem:
Upon this given earth lies dormant
King of all that can be seen and known
That monarch shalt forever lament
Mourning the past upon its ice throne
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Eons upon eons pass—
In a world where grass and trees are plentiful, where no roaring fires or shrieking winds exist to torment the surface, in a mountainous desert, in a dried-up valley where a river of water once flowed through, there lies a village. A village bustling with tradesmen and travelers; military and odd folk; kings and beggars. In this village, two destinies collide and entangle. An entanglement that will be regarded and discussed for all of history—and it all starts with one lone brooding mercenary in a crooked inn, pouring over old maps.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
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