Ancient of Days

He rests his back against a dry twisted imitation of a tree that’s nothing but branches and thorns as the hot desert sun scorches the ground around him. The desiccated tree giving the sparsest of shade, the Ancient is tired but resolved.

As men do when they feel the ache of years in their bones he wonders how his life led him down this road, whether or not he is still willing to pay the price. Power he could have, wealth beyond imagining he could have, women and pleasure he could have, but for what? Seasons come, seasons go and all things born must again die. Soon, my time will come soon, he thinks to himself longing for his ending like a desert traveler longs for water.

His abused skin is brown and dry flecking off in places, his bare feet calloused and aching. His stomach is stuck to his spine practically atrophied, how many months since he last ate anything? He takes a deep breath and centres himself in the present. I am tired to the bone, he sighs under the weight of his burdens.

No man has ever been as tired as he yet the road is long, narrow and twisted ahead. If you have a destination, any road can take you there, and the Ancient of Days gets up and walks deeper into the desert plains.

The walk through the plains is enlightening, empowering, debilitating, soul-wrenching, painful and more.

At times he tasted madness and embraced it. Laughed as his mind is twisted into pathways no mortal flesh can take without breaking. He lets his mind fragment and break as he walks through the lairs of nightmares, sin-eaters and horrors no sane human mind could survive.

The Ancient of Days is blinded by a glimpse into the Universe as he gazes into the many eyes of the Eldrich Shub Nagaroth, his eyes bleed his mouth foams as he is completely broken by divine knowledge his mind cannot hold. Thankfully, he forgets these truths in the next moment left only with the awareness of his amnesia and the mercy behind it.

The Ancient of Days travels paths were old things lay sleeping, where the banished remain stranded, where the guardians watch the gates of the world against higher beings. Seeing many secrets, seeing much of the problems to come and some solutions scattered here and there. If only there are those strong enough to seize them, those strong enough to wield them, those strong enough to put them down when the time of calamity has passed.

The Ancient shivers as he finds himself at the mouth of a cave on the side of a mountain having forgotten what transpired within. Sharp winds cut between the Ice Mountains fast enough to leave marks on steel, the distant horizon dark with foreboding captives his eyes. Madness intermixed with sanity left only with the knowledge that he had been shown something that broke him, but no memory of what it was. Grateful for the reminder to stay humble, the reminder that though he may have walked this world and others for over 6000 years, so many things are beyond him still.

Leaving the mountains he travels the paths between paths through the Frozen Desert

"Hubris is a sin I will never commit with you by my side." He says into the cold night air of the unnamed land he finds himself. Unnamed because this is virgin land that has never known a living creature. None but the Archæns can live here, maybe some elementals but they don’t count. Archæns are one of the oldest most powerful native races of Gaia.

Well, probably not the most powerful, but certainly the oldest.

"Why have you come Ancient human?" A voice layered in many voices sounds in his mind. These creatures that are beyond human understanding understand so much.

"I am but a servant of the Trinity." The Ancient of Days says as he falls to his knees and wonders how much more sorrow he can take.

He suddenly feels parched and a light rain falls, water pooling in the white sand between his knees. He cups his weak hands into the small pool and brings them up for a sip. His weak arms trembling as he slurps at the water.

Archæans are patient and stoic. Knowing no hunger, pain or even death as we know it. "A calamity comes," he says after a few more sips as the cold sand in his dry throat is loosened.

"And we will weather it." The creatures say in the many voices of the wind.

"We need your help. I've come to ask." He says and starts weeping.

Have I not seen enough death? Have not enough calamities come within my time? My people are long since extinct, their ways are long forgotten in the unmerciful maw that is history. My deeds in trying to prevent just this event are myths and legends, cautionary tales about a man who wonders the seven worlds and never dies, never Ascends.

The Archæans conference as he weeps silently, his shoulders shaking as creatures as old as Gaia herself look on him and silently speak across distances that span worlds.

"Choose 12. We will give you 32 years. Choose 12 and bring them to us. We will temper them into the proper tools. Choose not for physical strength but the strength of the soul. We will watch the gates. Gaia will prepare new worlds for the downtrodden and destitute, the Three will breathe life unto them and havens will be formed for the meek and weary. At least then a remnant is guaranteed to survive," they said as one.

"The 12 must not be powerful enough to Ascend when you bring them, but prepare them well. Ask the other elder races for help. You have more allies than you know."

The beautiful creature disappears as though it were mist in the wind, leaving a slight scent of burnt stone in the air.

The Ancient of Days, servant of the Trinity, servant of the Universe, Forsaken by Death gets up on his feet to continue his journey. His mind whirling as ideas and plans battled in his mind.

His feet take him towards one of his children. His son Malachi, 'almost as ancient as he himself' he thinks to amuse himself. Of course, Malachi is only 2431 years old, 32? Not sure, but it is already long enough for humanity to forget his name. He is simply known as the Wanderer now, also cursed with life, but less burdened. Yes, the boy will help him with his plans, he still has friends among the races.

The Ancients' friends all died, his few acquaintances among the spirits, the dryad, the fae, and the dragons. The immortal races, but even many of those left him, Ascended through the Gates into the higher realms to challenge themselves, to be the small fish again in a new world after having been too strong to remain on Gaia.

The Gates have been a one way trip since the beginning of Order, but now, with the Chaos the Gates will open, and the creatures of the higher worlds will come to glut themselves and Gaia would be covered in blood.