Bringers of the Storm: The Legend of the Stormlings
Gather ’round, brave souls, as we unravel a tale older than the oldest oak in Mystaria’s enchanted forests. Picture a time when magic flowed as freely as the rivers and the land itself seemed to hum with ancient songs. That’s where our story begins. Right in the path of where Stormlings started…
In the heart of Mystara, centuries ago, older now than time itself, the creatures and inhabitants lived a life you and I could only dream of. A world of wonders that would make even the most vivid dreams look like a bad sketch. Oh, I could go into every intricate detail and elaborate on every marvel, but that would take away from the essence of our tale. I would be taking away from the very heart of all that existed. The ones whose gifts were given to regulate the lands. For the sake of language and making things easy. These beings shall be known as the Stormlings.
They were guardians of balance whose gifts were woven into the very fabric of all the realms. Now, don’t get too comfortable; this isn’t just any old fairy tale. The Stormlings weren’t your average witch or sorcerer. These were beings of raw, untamed power, their essence woven into the fabric of the storms themselves. They were so deeply intertwined with the elements that they weren’t merely controlling the storms; they were the storms. Often found dancing with lightning, conversing with thunder, and whispering to the wind. The wizards might have been trying to decide what colour the mountains should be or where they went, but it’s the Stormlings that pulled them from the ground.
But time, as it often refuses to do (except in very rare cases, or when one is waiting for something dreadfully important or profoundly dull), did not stand still. Tragedy struck, and it struck so deeply that even the oldest oaks eventually forgot their roots.
The fate of the Stormlings remains shrouded in mystery. Whispers of an ancient darkness, a force so powerful it sought to consume all worlds and dimensions, hint at why Raiden now stands alone. This darkness, an insatiable void, threatened to snuff out every realm, leaving nothing but emptiness and despair in its wake. To protect the realms, the strongest beings from every dimension united to banish the menace to a place known only in fearful whispers. Banishing it to the Dark Lands.
The humans on Earth, still terrified of its return, guard a desolate wasteland of ice, believing they are keeping watch over its prison. But in truth, they should be focusing their efforts over a place where the darkness is really contained. Because that is the place where it is never truly subdued. Its essence lingers, tempting and corrupting any fool brave enough to seek it out. In its downfall, the darkness dragged Mystara and those who couldn’t flee back into its shadowy grasp, into a world where nothing, not even hope, dares to exist.
Raiden: The Last Stormling and His Unbreakable Bond
Raiden isn’t just a relic. He is the last of his kind, surviving a fate that devoured all other Stormlings. But why him? Why, when the ancient darkness sought to consume the realms, did Raiden remain alive? The answer lies, a little too simply in my opinion… in who he is bound to. While the Stormlings perished, their powers lost to the void, Raiden’s fate, bound by time’s cruel sense of humour, he found himself fated, bound and tied to an unbreakable vow. It anchored him to existence. His very survival is tied to a singular force, one far greater than any mere storm: her. His bond might not have been formed by choice, yet, like a river that finds its way around every obstacle, he found that somehow he had chosen her all along.
A bond not forged by choice but by fate, as inevitable as the thunder that follows lightning.
Raiden roamed the realms for centuries, alone. Forced to search for the one he was tethered to. Now, you and I might never fully grasp what it’s like to live for an eternity but let me tell you, it can turn even the mightiest of beings into a stunningly gorgeous yet ever-so-slightly brooding mess. Raiden, for all his grandeur and stormy intensity, is no exception.
He radiated a power that didn’t beg for attention but captured it effortlessly, that quiet, lethal confidence of someone who could flatten mountains with a half-smile. He could likely raise one with his eyebrow as well if he tried. The very air seems to hold its breath whenever Raiden speaks. His voice, a low rumble, carries the weight of galaxies, shaking the foundations of the world with its intensity. When he declares, “I go wherever she goes,” his words are not mere statements. He found peace in her arms, love in her heart, and no force shall keep him from her.
Raiden’s cloak, woven from the essence of night, stardust, and untamed oceans, is not merely an article of clothing. It is a tapestry of lost power and faded glory, alive with the echoes of a time when the Stormlings roamed freely. The cloak ripples with the ancient energy of storms long past, whispering secrets of the old world and the forgotten lore of his people. Some even gossip that it has a mind of its own, able to sway the fate of those who encounter it. If you believe the legends, of course.
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Granny Elara she had nothing to do with it... She swears
Of course, Granny Elara might claim some credit for most, if not all, of Raiden’s past if she thought it would lend to her cause. After all, who better to nudge fate’s hand than the one with a mischievous glint in her eye and a knack for ancient prophecies? There are rumours that she knew of Raiden’s bond before even he did, though she’d never admit it… If she even considered meddling with Raiden’s fate, it was most likely because she thought it might finally give her a wart or turn her hair white, the two things she’s convinced would make her a more “traditional” witch. She was, much to her frustration, wrong on both counts. Naturally, of course, she would never admit that either…
Until next time, may your adventures be wild and your mysteries ever so slightly less terrifying.
