Xylianthra volume 1

Chapter 6 The Chronicles of Chaos

In the cavernous depths of the castle's dungeon, beneath the ancient stones of Avaloria, stood the imposing statue of Eldurath, the Chaos Prince. His voice, laden with the gravitas of uncounted ages, began to unfurl the tapestry of a time when the cosmos was young and wild. "Hear me, mortals," he intoned, his eyes burning with a fierce light that spoke of battles fought in realms long forgotten. "Before your Avaloria, before the age of man, there lay Xylianthra—a realm of chaos where gods and demons clashed in wars so fierce, the very fabric of reality was torn asunder."

"The celestial battles shattered the primal land into countless fragments, birthing the continents you now tread," continued Eldurath, his voice echoing off the damp stone walls. "In this cataclysm, the gods, fearing the rise of mortals whom they themselves had created, erected barriers separating their divine spheres from the mortal realms and the infernal depths."

Eldurath's gaze turned solemn as he spoke of the final acts of this ancient conflict. "As the barriers rose, sealing each realm from the other, we, the Chaos Princes, spawned our own creations—beings imbued with the essence of destruction and renewal, destined to break these seals and reforge reality. Among these were the orcs, born of the essence of my brother, Garoth, the Chaos Prince of Power."

He described Garoth with a mixture of reverence and warning: "Garoth, though the least of us in cunning, wields raw power like no other. His might is such that his mortal form can scarcely contain it; his flesh rends with the force of the energies he commands. Yet his ambition is boundless, seeking only to accumulate more strength, regardless of the cost to himself or the world."

Drak, listening intently, felt a chill run through him as he realized the significance of these revelations. Alistair and the princess shared a look of dawning comprehension, understanding more about the orcs' origins and the ancient forces that shaped their existence.

The statue of Eldurath then shifted as if preparing to impart a grave secret. "These beings, our children, are tethered to the fate of the barriers. Should they break, the realms will once again collide in cataclysmic fury. This is the legacy we have bestowed upon our creations, a task of monumental danger and inevitable confrontation."

As the echo of his words faded, the chamber was filled with a tense silence, broken only by the distant drip of water. "Prepare yourselves," Eldurath declared, his tone ominous. "For the tale I am to tell is not merely one of ancient history but a living prophecy, the unfolding chapter of your own destinies entwined with the primordial battle for the soul of all realms."

Eldurath's voice filled the damp air of the dungeon as he began his tale, each word resonating with the weight of ages. "In the era before your histories, when the veil between realms was thinner, gods and demons could traverse these barriers, though their powers were much diminished in the lands of mortals. During these rare crossings, conflicts were inevitable, battles that shook the foundations of worlds."

He paused, a shadow crossing his fearsome visage as he recounted a darker chapter of his past. "My father, whom I seldom speak of, was a figure of immense power and dread. In a battle that scorched the heavens and shattered the earth, he clashed with a god. The conflict was titanic, the forces unleashed incomprehensible to mortal minds. My father triumphed, but at a grave cost."

"The death of this god did not end with his demise. As he fell, a jewel from his divine crown broke away, plummeting through the realms until it embedded itself in the land of mortals. This jewel, radiant and cursed with the essence of a fallen god, became a beacon of calamity."

Eldurath's eyes glowed with a grim light as he continued, "Tasked with retrieving this artifact, I hunted down every mortal who dared to claim it. The jewel was forged into a crown by those who hoped to harness its divine power. But such power was not meant for mortal hands. Each bearer of the crown met a gruesome fate at my hand, leaving a trail of skulls and bones—a testament to the crown's curse and my relentless pursuit."