Dawn of Primal Desires
The Shattering of Elderon
When time was irrelevant, when clocks had no hands and memory had not yet curdled into history, there came an age in Wardenfall's past now known only as the Dawn of Primal Desires. Read Full Text
This era, older than any scripture and forgotten by every written tongue, lives on only in the dreams of mad prophets and the whispers between candleflames. It is said this age did not begin with conquest, but with a rupture, a soft fracture in reality born not of force, but of feeling. Sorrow too deep, longing too wild, desire too pure. From this rift spilled the Primals, beings not of flesh or bone, nor even thought or spirit, but of raw emotion so dense it reshaped all it touched. They were not gods. They were truth without filter. Magic in its original, undiluted agony.In the Primal Expanse, Elderon had been whole. They had been the song and the silence, the storm and the calm. But in crossing over, they shattered. That is the tragedy of the Primals. The material realm cannot contain the fullness of their being. Elderon's essence splintered across Wardenfall, seeding the world with echoes. Mountains that hum with grief, forests that blush with joy, and oceans that churn with regret. Thus began the Shattering, not as war, but as heartbreak. Not as conquest, but as consequence.The world that bore them was not a world at all, but an ocean of shifting feeling, a realm where thunder could mourn and rivers wept in forgotten tongues. The Primal Expanse was a place only because the Primals believed it should be. There, intention sculpted existence. Grief could collapse mountains. Ecstasy could birth constellations. Architecture sang. Seasons breathed. Logic drowned in tides of sensation. Each Primal was a facet of this living storm, emotion made animate. They did not arrive in our world. They spilled. They wept. They screamed into being, dragging fragments of their realm behind them like smoke from a dying fire. When Elderon, the One Whose Heart Was the World, crossed into Wardenfall, it was not an act of will but a consequence of ache. They did not walk. They bled. The land did not welcome them. It recoiled, stretching and bending under the weight of their presence. Fire changed color in their breath. Wind spoke in forgotten lullabies. The rules of existence frayed wherever they lingered, not out of defiance, but because Elderon could not help but feel. Their sorrow could compress decades into seconds. Their joy could lift oceans into the clouds. Around them, the world did not obey. It responded.The Shattering
The Birth of the Realms
When Elderon shattered upon entry into the world, it did not break by accident. It chose division. To preserve meaning. To grant shape to a world not yet capable of bearing its full truth. Read Full Text
From this divine rupture came three beings, fragments of Elderon’s once-boundless essence. Myruel, the Veiled Flame, bearer of yearning and radiant passion. Kaethros, the Devourer, forged from ruin, wrath, and the hunger that consumes all things. Il’Vaara, the Mirror of Flesh, who carried sorrow, transformation, and the reflection of all that was and could be. These were not siblings. They were not lesser. They were Elderon, refined into facets, condensed into purpose.What remains of them in Wardenfall is not their form, but their memory. Like thunder glimpsed through glass. Like a wildfire caught in a mirror. Their essence lingers in shadows and miracles. Their diminished presence still dwarfs gods and demons alike. Yet it is fractured, scattered like starlight on a still lake. These realms were not designed. They were dreamed. Their foundation is not stone or law, but emotion solidified into reality. Wardenfall became the battleground of their echoes, where mortal will dances in the wake of ancient contradictions. The gods may preach purpose. The devils may promise power. But beneath it all lies the truth. That every realm, every prayer, every nightmare, is a scar left behind by the Primals. And even a scar, if deep enough, can reshape the world.
Elderon, the One Whose Heart Was the WorldTogether, they looked upon the infant world born of their descent and saw a truth. Raw emotion alone would not sustain creation. For a realm to endure, it must resist as much as it yields. Chaos must be met with structure. Passion with law. Hunger with purpose. The three Primals, though divine in essence, chose not to rule as tyrants but to set in motion the forces that would govern their legacies. From their sacrifice, the great planar realms were felt into being. The Feywild, the Abyss, the Nine Hells, the Far Realm, the Shadowfell, and the Astral Sea. These were not places formed by hands but by sensation shaped into permanence. They imbued each with echoes of their nature, yet allowed gods, devils, and cosmic stewards to rise as their proxies, to wield their emotions in focused, mortal ways. The Material Realm, Wardenfall, was shaped by all three. A convergence point. A crucible where balance teetered between creation and collapse. Here, the Primals left only whispers of their true selves, their power woven into soil, sky, and soul. Not because they were vanquished, but because to remain whole would destroy what they sought to preserve.
The Echoes of Creation
The Dawn of Primal Desires ended not in fire or flood, but in silence. The tear slowly closed, whether sealed by Myruel’s restraint or Il’Vaara’s introspection, no one can say. The whispers faded, the storms calmed. But the echoes did not die. Some say the Primals slumber beneath the sea or inside mountains, their breath felt as tremors or lightning strikes. Others believe they left, returning home, but left the door slightly ajar. What is certain is this, when passion burns too fiercely, when laughter shakes the heavens, or sorrow taints the tides, the oldest among us murmur one phrase in quiet awe, “The Primals remember.” And when the stars dim just slightly, or a dream leaves you in tears you do not understand, remember this, a whisper can become a scream. And all it takes is one tear in the veil for an age to begin anew.
