Malarik the Caster
Ok lads, strap yourselves in for the most amazing story told this side of Lore. This is a tale of adventure, where one lone hero battles against the odds, questing for many years, across many lands to full fill his destiny. This is a tale of action, where our hero must fight for his very survival, relying on every tip and trick he can to succeed on his quest, lest he perish amongst the ranks of those lesser, who failed where he shall prevail. This is a tale of honour, in which the very values of our good kingdom of Greenguard thrown into question, where chivalry, knighthood, brotherhood, honour; where the makings of the spirit of the worthy are tested in the ultimate trial of the human will. This is a tale of deception, not only of the mind, but of the spirit, the very soul that must be tempered into the weapon that will traverse the perils of Lore, at no cost too great, for the benefit of none but all who he meets. This is the tale of Malarik the Caster.
It was long before any of the havoc began, when Lore was peaceful, after hundreds of years of prosperity after the elemental war. In these times of order and harmony, chaos would grow. A being of noble will and pure spirit, would lose something very dear. For to lose what one had fought for for so long was to fail. To fail was to throw into question an entire life of hardship and labour for a goal. In this state, the want for more would grow, a lust for power, to never again let the mistakes of the past once more haunt him; to never again hear the voice of her in his mind, whispering, begging him to unite them once more, to end his ceaseless mission, to cry forth for the wish of life once more. Never again would he allow the mistakes of the past to be held against him. Never again would he fail.
It was then, that being, far greater than anything on Lore, awakened. It slumbered for Aeons, stirring every so often as to watch the world it oversaw. It watched the rise of humanity into the great age of technology and hurrahed. It watched it reach out towards the stars and wept with joy. It watched it fall back into anarchy and wept. Now it watched, as a power to rival it; a malevolence filled with darkness and hatred; beyond that, filled with evil. This being, the force of which all of Lore held in balance, below which the Avatars pulled at the reigns of creation. It stared into the void of reality and consciousness. From it it pulled at the soul threads of eternity, using its very essence as the basis for a vessel, that shall be its harbinger, its herald on the plains of Lore. It pulled from the greatest of heroes; the knights of yore, the starship commanders of yesteryear, the guardians of the elements, the greatest magicians and warriors and soldiers and leaders. From these threads, it wove. For years it wove, crafting a being beyond which any comprehension could allow for an acquiescence of understanding. Within the void, the being spun with the looms it had used to create the fabric of existence itself. It wove in right with creation; here would be a vessel unlike any other. It would require the powers of old, fused with that which had not yet been seen upon Lore. It would pull from the ideas of all, the thread that had yet to be spun, and from it weave a masterpiece of true imagination. In left, it wove with destruction; this vessel would be its horseman, and would need the power to stand against the tides that it would be sent to stop. Not only must it fight for its existence, but it would fight for the sake of all existence. Should this vessel fail, the fates of all would be sealed. This could not be allowed to come to pass. A base was chosen, the greatest pilot from the Lore of Old, and from him the cast was made. In him, the power of existence, of destiny, the force above all, would rest, until great need awakened them. Harnessed from Creation, imbued with Destruction, woven by Destiny, the Hero of Lore would be all that stands against the oncoming tide, that the force of Doom would be unable to break. He would be the beacon of hope, a balm in the crucible of terror that would grip the lands of Lore.
It was only when Destiny had felt that it was time, it was only when he was nearly complete. It was only when he had been gifted with the tools to fight the oncoming wars, that he was ready for the final piece. In him, Destiny did grant a blessing. In him, he was gifted the final powers of destiny. He should never fail, never be broken, never again. The hero of Lore would not break. This was the work of destiny, to never again allow another creature of sentience the means with which to seek out the evils of Doom. Should he ever fall, the light of destiny would rewind the fabrics of time, pull the threads to the beginning of the quest, and grant him the ability to enact the will of Destiny. He should not fail in his mission, He shall not succumb, He shall not falter, He shall prevail.
With this gift, the forces of Destiny were felt on Lore. New powers, forces beyond anything seen in aeons were stirring. As the vessel of destiny awoke, he smiled. He did not open his eyes. Today would be a day of good fortune. Today, he would begin his journey. Today, the prophecies of Destiny would begin, for today, the Hero of Lore did open his eyes. The tomes of Lore would know of his deeds. The archivists of the Kings for generations to come would scribe the tales of his quests. The people of the lands would rejoice at the sound of his name, an utterance a prayer to Destiny. In his actions, the world would be made a better place, free from the chaos of the Doom. In him, would there be a solace to be found in the ocean of malice, the force that he would keep at bay. It was on this day that a hero was born.
"It's the perfect day for an adventure. Great things are coming my way... I can just feel it!
You know how the story ends...