Why were kisses so much sweeter, after a bad dream? An embrace was never long enough, when fear surfaced — any amount of comfort, a piece of heaven.
Tonight, that comfort came in the form of strawberry arepas and hot chocolate for a troubled little unicorn. For her, nightmares were rare, at least as long as Star had known her. But like any dream, they deserved to be heard. Wasn't that what Papíto's big ears were for, after all?
As it turned out, they were quite good at receiving Yuri's tender woes, all carried by a warm, milky cloud from her precious lips to his ever-reliable cranial satellites. So much had changed in just one year. But the changes to come were the biggest of all — the most uncertain of all. And such uncertainly proved difficult for a child to adjust to in such a short time. But she would never have to do it alone.
After their gentle rendezvous, Star washed and blow dried the nightmares from his little unicorn's hair. Into her soft strands, he braided teal and purple dream ribbons, and then slipped into bed with her. Far too big to fit, with his legs crammed up toward his belly. But it made the perfect cove for Yuri to nestle into. He held her tiny frame in his long arms, snug and safe from any further nightmares. And as her heavy eyelids rolled closed once more, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.
Over the last few months, my life has set me on an odd, yet enlightening path. I have learned of my past--that I am a Chosen Primordial, part of a collective race of protectors meant to save this world from evil--and given the task by the deity Lumos to ensure that demons do not swallow this world whole. While I was given some information on what it meant to be a Primordial, I was not told all of it--that is, until I traveled to the wintry north continent of Afisk.
An odd disturbance had garnered my attention immediately following my arrival. When I consorted with the Pig Primordial clan, they told me of some strange occurrences of necromancy bringing the dead back to life as mindless slaves. However, while the Pig, Rat and Horse Primordial clans have maintained their peace treaty, it is clearly the meddling of one of the clans, and I know for a fact that Ragnar is behind this. He is of the Horse clan’s lineage--his daughter Nayru is all the proof we need of that--and his devious means to his wicked ends know no moral boundaries. My accusation has sparked outrage and distrust amongst the clan here, and a summit has been called. Despite the clan leader, Arianna, urging me to safeguard her daughter, Korrina, I have more pressing matters to attend to.
A long time ago, back in my homeland in the west, a wayward Primordial left the instability of his home in the frigid north to join the ranks of the Mercenaries’ Guild. Despite his inability to hold his own on the battlefield at first, my brother and I lent our support to the young one. I’ll never forget the look on his face as I made my case for him to join the Guild, and our persuasion allowing him a place among our ranks.
I never questioned Jareth’s origins--not out of indifference, but out of respect, and he gave me the same respect whenever my situation was brought to the forefront. Jareth has been by far the most selfless, giving life I have ever met in all my days. He has devoted himself entirely to every cause he has chosen to stand for, and while he is by far one of our most inept fighters, his defense of my cause from the very beginning has rooted a deep bond between us, solidified by our mutual respect and goals.
He is of the Rat lineage--and this is his first time on his homeland in nearly ten years. He left a boy, terrified of putting one foot in front of the other, frail and weak, but resourceful as hell. He returns my chief tactician, and while he still could polish his form on the battlefield, he fights fiercer than any creature of his size I’ve ever seen, and he has yet to reach his state of Primordial Awakening. That’s a little unfair to him--thus far, only myself, Marcus, Leonardo and Asha have reached that state, and considering we are now a group of seven, it’s nothing to be ashamed of, although I hope this return to his homeland is what triggers it.
I suppose, however, I write this with the hope that I even make it that far. As it stands, Asha, Jareth, the young Korrina and I are all trapped. While on our way towards the underground crevice where the Rats nest, we were ambushed by Snowshifters (the nickname Arianna gave those walking corpses), and during our fight, they pinned us in by sheer numbers, driving us towards an odd, giant cave with runic markings adorning the walls and the floor. Why the zombies lurk outside as opposed to just swaming this place and ending us is beyond me, but regardless, our powers are all useless against them; they don’t feel pain, so burning them with my aptitude over the domain of Fire is pointless, and Asha’s domain is of Spirit, to raise her own army of the dead. With all the corpses currently under someone else’s control, it’s impossible for her to use her most potent powers.
While Asha sits frustrated and Jareth and Korrina bicker over a situation all of us are powerless to overcome, I am making the most of our situation. We are all alive, and despite how impossible cutting a swath through the horde of undead seems, a safe haven from them is welcome. I can’t help but feel that some of the symbols here along the walls are connected to the Primordials, however, and this feeling of dread and wonder creeps upon me as I explore this cavern further. It seems less like a cave and more like a never-ending hallway meant to swallow all who walk in it in the mythos of Primordials. Perhaps this is some fanatic human tribe who could not survive the cold? The floors, a succinct marble etched in the designs that run across it, is oddly pristine, with no blemishes in the upholstery, blood, or signs of struggle. You’d think the direct border between utopia and hell would at least look the part, but even back near the entrance, there’s not a scratch on any of the pillars...
A dim light further in beckons me. When I once again have the time to collect my thoughts, I will return to my journal. That being said, I can’t help but feel an unnerving air of mystery surrounding this place, and I can only hope I can begin to unravel the mysteries of these runic markings.
It is said that some are born great, some achieve greatness, and others have greatness thrust upon them. It’s difficult to discern which of the three I fall into. As I write this, I’m keeping watch of our campsite in a canyon out in the Aryat Wastelands while the others sleep.
I’m a Primordial. The exact meaning of the term has been reintroduced several times to me over the last year, but when I first asked my mother so long ago, she simply explained it as a being above the scope of humanity, a blessing by the gods to reflect the stages of evolution in sentient life. Such a definition has helped humble me, and give me the perspective I need to use my talents in the aid of those less fortunate than myself.
However, when my family met him, everything changed, and my understanding of the world and the true nature of the relationship between humanity and the Primordials would become crystal clear to me.
He operated under the guise of being an emissary of peace. In reality, he was Ragnar, king of the Northern Tribes, a man with such a grip over the Afisk northlands that he was free to leave it to pursue the destruction of the other three main regions of the country.
He seemed like a kind, soft-spoken man at first, with a steadfast heart and a passion for unity of the Four Regions. He fed my father lies about how his mission was to gather travelers and head around the country to lead a summit at the Apex Maw, the center of the tragedy that befell humanity hundreds of years ago, in order to forge a peace treaty that would give humanity its greatest hope against the demonic forces that continue to threaten its survival.
His real mission was to assassinate Primordial families he believed had potential to birth the Chosen Primordials. To that end, he made many subtle but now all-too-clear attempts at both my own life as well as my brother’s. Food poisonings, mapping out the region in enemy territory--but worst of all, manipulating my family to believe that their allies, the tiger clan, were their most bitter enemies, all in an attempt to further his standing with high-ranking individuals in Primordial society.
Leonardo, the heir to the clan’s fortune, and my former best friend, was the real target for this treachery. His father and Ragnar had also grown close, bonding over their mutual desire to drag the Four Regions away from this senseless idea of war over opposing ideals. He had fed both our families false information about trading routes and ideas about the summit that ultimately drove the two apart.
Soon, conflict erupted, and blood was needlessly spilled. Raids became frequent, and it became a danger to leave the walls of our settlements. Leonardo and I became bitter enemies, and while we have since worked out our differences, I don’t think either of us can ever return to the way we once were.
It ended with less than ten survivors from both sides and Ragnar’s mysterious disappearance, and most of the survivors died not long after. I assume assassins sent from Rangar’s tribe finished most of them off. Regardless, after my brother Darius and I sought refuge in the Mercenaries’ Guild, we spent roughly four years there, training ourselves in the art of battle until infighting amongst guild members threatened to destroy the Guild entirely. Darius and I agreed that I would take a faction of those most loyal to my vision for the Guild and leave the Chisow Wetlands in the west to attempt to see if the southern kingdom of Dolakhan would accept us with open arms.
Suffice it to say, that was not the case, as affiliation with the Guild got us into hot water fast, and we were exiled from the land. Most of us left at this point, but the few who stayed loyal to me helped me build a small settlement outside the kingdom on Mount Gnass just east of the city. That settlement grew with time, and during that time I got to know many wonderful people; it was the time Jareth, my most faithful companion would describe as “the golden year”.
That peace would soon be interrupted when word got around that Ragnar had sought court with the King, a Primordial named Amadeus. Try as I might, I could not sway the King away from Ragnar’s grip, and again, much blood was shed in the wake of his twisted lies.
It was at that point; after being reunited with Leonardo, my brother, and various other Primordials, that I had my near-death experience. In a fierce battle that pitted the Guild’s might against Ragnar and the kingdom’s armies, I had sustained a grave injury that slowly but surely drained the life from me. I was certain I had died that day, but I met a mysterious being in a dream; the deity Lumos. He explained to me the truth behind my bloodline, and the true extent of Ragnar’s threat to the world.
Primordials are said to be a race that transcends human limits and can perform impossible feats of strength and speed, as well as taking on animal form. In fact, Primordials are the last line of defense against beings so terrible they are purged from the havens of the afterlife to walk the mortal realms again. We are the protectors of mankind, a race created by Lumos himself to ensure the cultivation and survival of humankind. At first, I didn’t believe such a possibility could exist, but as time passed on, I came to realize how true those statements would ring.
It was at that point that Lumos also explained the key to the Primordial Awakening, the ritual which grants each Chosen Primordial immense power over their destined Domain. My own was, oddly enough, my “death”, and concurrent rise from the ashes. Up until that point, I was a dragon unable to create fire. Using the weapon Novem as a focus, I was able to learn the art of pyromancy, and as my bonds with the other eleven Chosen Primordials grow, as does my mastery over my awakened powers.
Since my Awakening, my life has been akin to an intense dream-like state. Truthfully, I have my doubts that I am any more than Lumos’s plaything, an idea given form by the deity’s immense power as a form of entertainment in the afterlife. I have had many adventures, and witnessed many of my comrades go through their own trials and tribulations.
I have found everything from family to love, my ancestry and my strength. Moreover, I have found my purpose; to stop Ragnar from fulfilling his ambitions.
I have traveled throughout the Four Regions, meeting and recruiting each of the other eleven Chosen Primordials to our cause of stopping Ragnar from reviving the demon lord Umbrias. From what I was told in my adventures in Ragnar’s homeland of Afisk, several hundred years ago, the first “cycle” of Chosen Primordials fought against the original onslaught of Afterlifes that were hellbent on destroying all of existence as revenge against those who judged them unworthy of safe haven. Prime among them was Umbrias, a terrifyingly powerful demon who orchestrated the cataclysmic event that forged the Apex Maw at the center of the country, both a testament and a tomb where the original twelve Primordials were victorious over him in battle.
I certainly hope that the twelve of us have what it takes to triumph over the Afterlifes. Certainly, even getting to where we are has been hell; I can’t count the number of times I thought I was going to die once again, and I’m sure all twelve of us have fought through hellfire and brimstone to ensure our own survival. However, despite the lack of bonds forged with our newest companions, Diana and Clare, and their lack of mastery of their domains of Nature and Mind, respectively, I truly believe that we will all unite and stand victorious at the end of all of this. I just hope that we will not stand over a mountain of corpses.
I should probably end my drabble here. My shift is almost over, and it’s time for Marcus to relieve me of my duties so that I may get some much-needed rest. Hopefully we can make some good progress towards the Apex Maw come sunrise.
He wakes up, shaking, breathless; the confined walls of this small apartment suffocating him. So he gets up. Exchanges his shorts to comfortable pants (jeans? slacks? he isn't thinking right now) and puts on his boots. Of course, he grabs his favourite hoodie too, slipping it on as he jumps out off the window.
He hears the satisfying crack! of his legs as he lands on the ground. It was a good six storey leap, heh. It would've killed a normal person, yes. But not him. He hums, counting to ten before his bones healed up, and he was on the move again.
He doesn't have a destination in particular. He just needed to get away. Away from the nightmares that haunt his sleep. Away from the regret that comes with each memory of that incident. Away from the longing for her to come back. Damn it. Damn it all.
He needed to be alone. This city-- though its a nice, small one whose activity dwindles drastically during the night, it still is, well, busy. So he runs off to that forest nearby. The presence of nature and absence of human life calms him down. He doesn't know why.
April hadn't been herself lately. She thought she had pushed that love bullshit to the side. She thought that maybe, just maybe, she had gotten over the aspect of it. But no. She was sucked back in. Even if April would constantly tell herself that this certain superstar wasn't someone that made her head spin. I'm not in love, I'm not in love. She constantly told herself that. She told herself that she wasn't going to tread those waters. "I'm perfectly fine," April told herself but of course, that little voice in her head told her otherwise. Told her that it wasn't enough to persuade her little mind.
A whine left her lips, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. Her hair was bundled up into a messy bun that was non-strategically placed on top of her head. She huffed and puffed so childishly but she was so conflicted. Why her? Why did he had to catch her eye? He didn't even notice it and April wasn't about to let him know. That obsession would start and she'd fall right back to square one. Following him... sniffing him whenever they'd be in the same room. Standing right behind him. That was the kind of girl she was. She was crazy, obviously so.
It's just a silly phase...
I'm going through.
A phase. It had to be this. He wouldn't notice her even if she said hi. He seemed to be the type of guy who liked 'em blond. And she... was not that. That made her angry. It infuriated her. No------she shouldn't be mad. "I'm not in love," She scoffed in amusement, or at least she tried to. Her thumb was suddenly between her lips, nipping at the skin nervously. She was in for it. In for some trouble. It wasn't going to work. None of this was. She was a fool. Foolish little April Mendez. She let herself go and there was no reeling her in. This guy had her. No matter how hard she tried; he was going to keep her without even trying to look in her direction.
