Immortals and Empires

Prologue

"If death is all about parting with body then immortality is about being dead when alive."

He dreamt of families, presents, weddings, celebrations, and in every single one he always felt happy. Dreams were a curious little thing. But when he awoke, he desisted the thoughts on sight, pulling at his strings as if to choke the memory of them into nothingness.

Immortals were never given mortal pleasures, nor were they permitted to chase them. All they were allowed to, all they should chase, was their one purpose, their one role. The reason why they even existed. And those reasons were as immortal as they. So beautifully ironic. The very benefactors of the mortal existence they had all craved, at least once.

As the Destroyer watched the sufferings of mortals, as he tore their souls to shreds, he only knew them to be fortunate.

Far more fortunate than him.

When your foes have lived for eternity, they begin to scoff at saviours who preach of nothing but felicity. What good is that when you're standing on the battleground against foes as formidable as time itself?

Yes, the people's Protector was an artist. A lovely one at that, but more importantly he was a defender, also as formidable as time itself. His foes, the ones truly opposing him and not the empires he defended, learnt not to underestimate him. But the others, those who fought him only because he led the empire's army, fell quickly under his wrath.

He desisted war but too looked down on pacifism. War was inevitable, so time should be spent not on foolish promises of peace that never lasted but on preparing for the next battle.

The people never thought similarly, always intent on enjoying the joys of the present. Never on their own survival.

As irritating as that was, the Protector did not attempt to change their minds, taking his own path away from it all. The people rarely ever saw him again, and many thought him dead, but when his words rang true and war arrived on their doorstep once more, the Protector was at the forefront of their army.

Once the wars were won, he disappeared once again, often never resurfacing until centuries had passed. Still, the legends went on to be told, a legend of a mythical warrior who seemed to only be summoned in the heat of war, dissipating soon thereafter.

One storyteller told the tale in a sad tone, then quietly explained that ever since she'd heard of him as a little girl, she'd felt only pity for this great warrior who only emerged in the devastation of war, never remaining to witness the recovery thereafter.

How lonely, she mused, how lonely his existence must be.

He always felt as if he was shielding a lit candle. Dim as it may be, it was still an ember in the dark, wasn't it?

Positivity could be very easily put out, and very difficult to ignite. So as you can imagine, being the Guardian of that was a rather challenging job. It certainly didn't help that his fellow immortals thought his mission useless.

Dream wasn't a fool. He'd faced that all his life.

"What's the point?"

He wouldn't reply when faced with that question.

Actions spoke louder than words.

He did find it ironic at times that his fellow immortals thought so when all of them lacked the very thing he represented. But even he found optimism challenging sometimes, and he had it woven into his nature, so he didn't fault them for their thinking.

He was a pacifist, a Guardian, and a warrior. He actively sought out peace in place of war, but if all else failed, war it would be, and any who thought him fragile and weak would be sorely mistaken.

He was a pacifist at heart, with the skills of a warrior, and the power of a Guardian. 

Start of Act 1: "blight bred in the cloudy"