Origins, Awakening


Trespassers, intruders, thieves and many vilified mortals, coming to this place.

This place that They have claimed and wept over.

They were all the same, however, either scared out of their skin by Their consorts, or to vanish into the lands beyond the shrine, and be slaughtered by what guarded them.

They could no longer control the colossi. The fragments of Their own essence now acted upon their own as Their consorts could. Did the imprisoned feel it were hopeless, or were They not prisoners, and revelled in Their freedom? It was uncertain to Them, They knew not of Their feelings, only knowing Their own pain. An eternal hurt that made Them lose their trust in mortals, casting them out long ago. They gave them not knowledge, not a soul, but the essence of them, the heaviest reward that became Their downfall. Oh how foolish They felt!

But they felt no regret for unleashing pain to compensate their own- what was lost was something They could no longer reclaim while the mortals had it. However, they grew angrier by the many others who came to Them, seeking their guidance. It amused Them, the very few who remembered Them, asking for a favour from the broken god, one that has been twisted by centuries of imprisonment. It warped their view on the mortals, and whenever they asked for a favour, they would either spirit them away, or worse, set them up for death. Had Their past possessed the ability to see Their current being, they would onlook with disgust.

A group once came, with horses and masks, desiring power. When the ear-shattering bellows of the incomprehensible anger didn't frighten them away, and the shadows the mortals did not fear, they chose to let them have what they want- in the form of their wrath. They would make it a game amongst Themselves, a twisted game that they would play with the humans, to see how long these five mortals would last before another colossi were to befell upon them or when they realise They had set them up. And even then They wouldn't let them leave.

Once their bodies grew lame and death stiffened them, their souls were Theirs to claim. The souls they would toy with when suffering as a mortal wasn't enough. But the ones slain by the colossi were only trapped in the essence of Them, the ones in the shrine engulfed by the consorts of Dormin, to become another.

It only further stigmatized Dormin's name, further distorting who They were, what They had done for the mortals, but They no longer cared, the humans were selfish creatures. They were selfish as well- They longed for resurrection, longed for revenge, but They felt it was for naught. Once the games grew tiresome, They decided to slumber, to no longer answer, to meditate and to have the anger subside. For a timeless slumber the sword's presence waned.

Until that fateful day…

Though they slept, there were some that could still hear; They were all around these lands, but restricted, bound by rules. They could feel another presence coming nearer but it was strange, not one but two? A tumming of footsteps, what were they? What could they want? Maybe it were another small herd of animals that somehow managed to make it so far… they weren't as selfish or desirable as humans… they would seek shelter, or water from the basin in this place, and then leave.

A horse. Could they be of the ones before? No, that were merely two centuries go. But the footsteps of a human lingered, sandals crunching underneath the loose rubble. They were at a snail's pace, but why? There was the sound of something rustling.

Below them a horse, a young man, carrying something, laying it upon the alter, removing its cloak… Their consorts materialized from the ground, from the world of the dead, acting as Their eyes, to drive this mortal away as They slept.

There they saw a horse, a red-haired man, and a woman lying upon the alter. Her garbs were ceremonial. Were he to carry out some ceremony? But why here of all places… The young man's eyes lingered upon the maiden, silently gazing in solitude, but turned as his horse bucked and whinnied. He gripped the hilt of his sword, unsheathing it, pointing it towards them. The sunlight above reflected upon the sword, enveloping it in a soft light, and the consorts vanished. That was when Dormin awoke from Their slumber, gazing down below with Their unseen eyes.

Thunder.

"Hmm?" They began, carefully examining the intruder. "Thou possesses the Ancient Sword? So thou art mortal…"

The sword… They've waited so long… Tales of Their own essence being that of utter importance to many… ceremonies, many legends, all weaved in favour of something more mortal. A sword that vanquished "him", a sword that were made by the humans, a sword made by a god to defeat this devil. A surprise that the garb the man wore bore the sigil of the past, mayhaps a remnant of Their own that they stole as well? There was no excitement however, they knew what he desired. The maiden upon the funeral alter says all, but They wanted to be entertained by this mortal. It's been so long since they spoke.

"Are you Dormin? I was told that in this place at the end of the world— there exists a being who can control the souls of the dead." he began, staring into the brightly lit hole of the shrine's ceiling. There was a long pause.

"Thou art correct… We are the one known as Dormin…" They responded courteously.

Out of many tales They have heard bastardizing Them, this one they found disappointing. He was correct, but They felt it to be plain. Maybe he were flattering Them in order to better receive his request… The young man turned to the woman upon the altar as he spoke.

"She was sacrificed for she has a cursed fate." He turned around, his gaze upward, pleading. "Please, I need you to bring back her soul…"

A request as ancient as the sword itself, but one they had the very power to do so… well, not in this current state. To fetch a soul lost in the outside world while the gate was locked was an arduous task. And this request was rare, as mortals have long stigmatized death, claiming it the ends of their means when it befell the young. It amused Them, humored them, but the laughter that echoed along the chamber walls was condescending.

"That maiden's soul? Souls that are once lost cannot be reclaimed… Is that not the law of mortals?" they asked mockingly, but then continued. "With that sword, however… it may not be impossible…"