Theobroma: Child of Fire and Blood

ONE

ONE

Once upon a time, in the Age of Legend, lived an ancient and powerful beast of Chaos. With awesome might, the creature rampaged freely, destroying at will. Unchecked for uncounted ages, this Old One roamed through land, sea and void; traveled between planes, dimensions and worlds; churned primordial soups and rent landscapes asunder. Neither mortal nor immortal could catch, tame or kill one as clever and powerful as she. By turns, the destructions of the monster seemed indifferently random, hungrily specific, or as furiously gratuitous as the unbridled wrath of the elder gods themselves. Still, there would always be those who would pursue, attempting to challenge her prodigious might. Everywhere the fearsome beast would go, something would follow in its broad wake, even if only Death.

One day while in the midst of ravaging the surface of ancient Tarakk, the beast of Primeval Chaos found itself weary and decided it would disguise itself, fluidly reshaping great sinews and making shadowy aspect solid, so that hidden it might rest a while. The folktales of several cultures reported the great beast’s extreme weariness to have been induced by its partaking in a drinking binge with the elder god Coyote himself, having his sport as irrepressible trickster.

“You don’t appear to be at your best,” Coyote shouted as he materialized in a flash of purple atop the head of the great galumphing hulk.

In the form it wore that particular dark day, the top of the monster’s leathery back reached some forty feet above the ground. Tremendous, clawed feet crushed everything beneath them as eight huge legs thicker than any tree on the planet drove them thundering into the ground before propelling the huge creature bounding forward again. It took note of the immortal’s relatively tiny figure through three of its dozen eyes before deciding to acknowledge him.

“Why do you presume to have knowledge of me?”

“Oh, I watch you from time to time, dear sister,” Coyote replied. “You wear different forms in different places, but I always know when it’s you. Even if we weren’t family, you really throw yourself into your work.”

“So?”

“So, you keep running that way and you’re likely to run into Phoenix.”

She dug her hard claws into the rocky ground, skidding to a halt amidst a billowing cloud of dust. The creature’s heavy breathing began to create a thick fog that wafted slowly downward to mix with the rising dust. Her many eyes locked onto The Trickster without even an instant’s attempt at bravado.

“The Destroyer is here?” the beast asked in terror. “Why? Why here? Why now?”

“Destroying upstarts, creating new lifeforms, burning, blazing, resurrecting…something. Giving mortal lives meaning,” Coyote shrugged. “Who can keep track? Keep going that way, though, and you‘ll likely find out for yourself.”

“Unfortunate timing.”

“Oh? Where are we going?” Coyote asked, a hint of excitement in his voice.

“Anywhere,” the beast answered. “Everywhere.”

“You mean, you’re just running? There isn’t even anything chasing you?”

“I run from nothing!” the creature roared. “I just like running.”

“Well, I like drinking,” Coyote said, taking a swig from a fluted wine glass that suddenly appeared in his hand. “It holds the same potential for Chaos without all the effort of crashing about. Try something different and join me.”

“I‘ve neither time nor interest. I would be left alone.”

“You seem tense and irritated,” Coyote said. “Sounds like you could really use a drink.”