Siren’s Cry [A LITRPG Adventure]

Chapter 42 (The obligatory LORE DUMP)

Eons ago, before the gods ascended and the world was little more than motes of dust, space broke. From within that fracture came mana, and from mana came life. Dust collected, miniscule fragments drawn together by nothing more than faint attraction wrought by an alien force. From that dust, came Atmaria, but not as we know it. Little more than a growing orb of stone, even the mana within it was barren of life. It did not remain that way, however. 

Power saturated stone, a simple pebble formed from nothingness, and that power twisted. It slowly warped until the stone was no longer stone, but ice. The ice melted, spreading its magic as water across the rocky ground, and more stone followed suit. Once barren stone became oceans and continents, and the core of the newborn world ignited with heat as it reached sufficient mass. With heat, came air, and with air, came life. A simple blade of grass, sprouting from rocky sand, and the mana found it. Magic nourished it, growing it into a flower, a bush, a tree, and a mind. This is how the first of the Primordials came to be.

The Primordial of Nature, the raw manifestation of the world itself given form and thought. Life bloomed, grass spread, and before long simple life began to appear. A small eel, little more than a morsel of flesh and a rudimentary mind, became the favored friend of the nameless Primordial, and that interest turned the world to its will. More creatures appeared as that simple eel grew, mind growing vast and old, mana bending to its whim before it too ascended as a primal force.

The second of thirteen, the Primordial of Magic. These two turned their gaze onto the young world, and with their wills combined they gave birth to a third. The manifestation of emotions and the space within mirrors. The Primordial of Reflection. She gave unto her creators feelings, that they may put words to the loneliness that plagued their hearts.

They spoke for the first time since their births, a song of spell and life and love, and within this confluence of powers they formed the fourth of their number. The Primordial of Song, who soothed their sadness and assuaged their woes. She spoke to them of love and hate, and all the lives that pass each day, far beneath their notice. Nature knew this was the way of the cycle, that life feeds death and death births new life, but Magic and Reflection knew no such thing.

The world was old now, though little more than a babe to the forces of the beyond. Reflection wove an echoed form, dragging shimmers from between glinting waters and weaving a body of light and shadow, and Magic breathed a soul and mind into this newborn life. And so the fifth was born, the Primordial of Sun. He drifted from the world so that his might would not torch the very life they sought to protect, and there he remains in his endless vigil to this very day. With true dawn came motion, the still world creaking into movement like rusted cogs. Waves lapped at shores, winds cooled the sands, and tectonics ground out the first mountain from a flat world. Lava poured from the peak, flame given an outlet for the first time since its ignition. From this molten flow came the sixth, that of Destruction.

It held no malice nor wrath, knowing that destruction and creation are merely two sides of the same cycle. A wildfire refreshes the forest, and a volcano forms the land.

And yet it could not create, no matter how much it tried; it simply was not in its nature. With a plea to Magic and Nature, from Destruction's own flesh came the seventh. The Primordial of Creation, the twin to Destruction. Nature saw these brothers, witnessed the bond they formed, and mourned for its own lack of a counterpart. The six, seeing the distress of the first, conspired to grant them a partner. For years they plotted and toiled, and after many millennia their scheme came to fruition. With a snap of natural bonds and the rueful split of Nature itself, the First was torn asunder, and so came Life and Death. The pair were ecstatic in that way only new lovers could be, and so resumed the endless dance that Nature had once performed on their lonesome.

And so seven became eight, and the world breathed more cleanly. Yet not all was good.

Reflection wished for more, for novel sights to inspect. Song wished for noise, for cries of joy and pain. Destruction wished for conflict and the thrill of combat. Creation wished for innovation, for new ideas not of his own making. Sun wished for a friend, a new body in the skies above. Life wished for balance, for more to live and thrive. Death wished for peace, for a haven for those lives who have passed.

Not all of these wishes came to pass, though the eight helped their kin in making hope a reality.

Life and Magic forged mortal souls, granting the simple beasts a means to reach greater heights. Creation and Reflection formed a mirror to the world, a haven for those souls to reach once their time has ended. Song and Creation wove tales of worlds beyond, formed from half-forgotten glimpses between realms not our own, giving Reflection new lives to live and Destruction stories of war. Creation, Life, and Sun brought his dream to reality, forming the ninth of their number; Moon. Moon took her place with regal grace, meeting with her father Sun in the sky. Sun came to love her, and vowed that no harm shall come to her under his watchful gaze. From this vow of a primal force, came the tenth. Virtue was their name, the stalwart embodiment of all that's good. And yet where Virtue lives, Sin is sure to follow. His brother came to be in the shadows where his reach did not extend, the Primordial of Sin the eleventh to become real. The world turned, life bloomed, and the Primordials played and experimented with their own corners of the world. Yet none of the eleven were prepared when another breached the plane. Another being, so similar to them in every way yet not from here. It brought with it a miniscule fragment of itself, and then left once more through the great rift it formed. This small fragment was found by Life, and brought to be watched over by Sun and Moon. This fragment was fed and nurtured, and after years of slumber awoke as the twelfth Primordial. That of Abyss. It spoke to the others of planes beyond this one, of galaxy spanning empires and beings formed from stars and heat. The Primordials were enraptured, and bid Abyss to show them of what they speak. And so Abyss, in collaboration with Creation and Life, created the first sapients. Humans, Abyss called them, a common species across the planes renowned for their adaptability and innovation, but these were merely a shell lacking the minds behind the advancement. The Eleven were fascinated by them, and each gave the newborn race a gift to help them thrive.

Death gave them lives longer than most others, extending their time before entering her realm. Life gave them animals and crops, to grow and nurture as food and resources. Magic gave them mana, linking them to the world so that they can bend it to their will. Reflection gave emotions, the capacity for love and hate and sadness, as well as empathy to feel for their fellows. Song granted voice, language to communicate and collaborate. Sun gave fire, a means to light the path of civilization. Moon gifted rest, a promise of safety when Sun must set. Destruction taught them battle, the means to defend themselves from the ever-growing beasts of the wilds. Creation gave them tools and knowledge, the means to advance. Virtue gave them morals, teaching them how to live in harmony. While Sin gave them darkness, flaws to make their Virtues shine ever brighter. Abyss gave them danger. Dungeons to conquer, pockets of fabricated reality echoed in another plane.

With these gifts, humanity thrived. They forged great weapons worthy of the Primordials themselves, conquered great feats to prove their worth, wrote songs and stories in their creators’ honors. And yet, like all things, something festered beneath the surface. A newborn force, younger than the others yet no less potent or powerful for all it lacked in age.

The Final Primordial, Corruption.

Corruption seeped into the domains of the others, never contesting them directly yet prodding at the edges, tugging at fraying threads. Life and Death were the first to notice its machinations, the rising of undead which directly went against both of their domains. They rallied the others, and with the combined might of the world against them, Corruption was sealed away, but not without cost. It left the others weakened and drained, though power would return in time they never quite regained their prior might. Life and Death quietly slumbered, content to shift their duties to mortal champions, creating the first gods. Magic splintered themselves and bound their very essence into the world, creating the System as a means for life to push past its natural limits. His greatest apprentice was granted his mantle, a means to keep the balance between the other gods as a voice of reason. Sun and Moon retreated from the world, content to merely observe. Reflection birthed a new race, the rakshar, beings of vast variety yet all linked to a ruling emotion. Sin forged the Underworld, Sec'har, and retreated down there with all of his experiments. Virtue forged the Heavens, Var'tec, and retreated with the heroes of mankind. Destruction claimed a dungeon as his own, working with his brother to create the greatest trial man will ever know, to temper their greatest warriors; Azerath's Labyrinth. Abyss stepped back, creating another mirror to the mortal plane, to hold the dungeons in a steady space between; the Abyssal Shores. And Song took to her own lands, an archipelago far from any settled space. There, she gave life to her children; the Sirens. Melodious voices an echo of her own, wings to travel far and wide to spread their songs, and aquatic bodies to explore the beautiful seas.

But though Corruption was sealed, its cage was imperfect. Its influence still seeps free, tugging at mortal minds and nudging them to hurt its captors. Spurred by Corruption and envy over the Siren's voices and freedom, Humanity found it within them to hate.

They stormed the shores of the Singing Isles, war galleons and armadas of endless fodder to throw at the peaceful Sirens. And so, their melodious voices were twisted into screams of pain and rage; from this call for aid, this plea for Song to intervene, the Primordials took notice. Even those who had stepped back into their domains looked down upon the slaughter with pity for the young race.

Song took notice, and came to her people's aid. With her might and bolstering magic, the Siren's pushed the humans back from the shores. When the war was thought over, she returned to her wanderings; and the next time the humans came, the Siren's had no voice to scream with.

When she returned year later, she found nought but cinder and ash; the once-grand islands and aeries reduced to scorched rubble and nameless graves. Her voice, once lively and bright, took on a darker tone, and it took little more than a brief whisper from Corruption to break her fully.

For the first time since the birth of the world, a Primordial's fundamental nature was broken and reformed in a jagged scar.

Thus I was born: Grief.

Upon those who slayed my children, I wrought hellfire and grim curses; the worst of my mistakes was the birth of the being whose echo you have slain - The Grand Deceiver. Kitar'asul was his name. A brilliant thief who held no love for those who called the crusade. And so I blessed him. He would be able to take the form of any he chose, to grow with their grief and the pain he causes to those who would slaughter a race for mere jealousy.

The gods, seeing my rampage, called upon Abyss to guide their hands. With the combined might of thirteen and the Mantles they don, I was sealed away with a promise, made all the more binding for its rules.

One, that the humans would be punished for their actions, but not by me.

Two, that my demesne would await my return at the heart of the sea.

And Three, that should my children return to the world, my bindings would loosen and I would be granted audience once more.

And you, my child, have fulfilled the third promise.