Written By Nuggets & B.Hanson
The tale of Valgar begins in the Final Days of the First Great War. Across Universe Zero, Sentient Life watched as the last debris of conflict petered out, and without a single word exchanged to the other races, all began to hope. Their hope was singular–that one day, there would be someone who could help them regain the knowledge that was lost by what felt like Decades of War. The sheer strength of this shared longing and silent prayer manifested in a golden singularity, a force that transcended the boundaries of time and space. As it grew, it inherited the collective wisdom from Generations upon Generations of Leaders across the Sentient Universe.
At the beginning of the final battle of the First Great War, our Golden Singularity ascended to the Higher Planes and took root at the seam of reality. There, it began expanding into a new realm, fueled and nurtured by the power of the cosmos-shattering attacks between the Primordials and the Architect. Eventually, as the fighting halted and the flames of war cooled, an unprecedented event occurred. This Singularity, later coined the Seed of The Divine, began to grow and take shape within itself–until, at last, a fully formed man emerged, without the slightest idea of who or what he was.
Years had passed, and the unnamed man had wandered through realms visited by only a few. He spent most of those years contemplating; “Why do I not tire when night falls? Why do I feel neither hunger nor thirst? From where do I originate, and what does my fate bring me towards?” His mind began to wander as he had, eventually leading him to the brink of insanity. Shadows danced at the edges of his vision at night, while the scorching rays of the universe’s stars sent false images of shade and sanctuary to his weary mind. That is, until one fateful night, when his mental exhaustion finally caught up with him and he blacked out.
When the man came to, it was night , and he was wrapped in ragged cloth. Surveying his surroundings, he realized he was in the company of a blind old crone, a goblin nearing the end of her life. “Where am–” as he began to speak, the crone let out a startled scream. “Don’t scare an old woman like that! By the ground I walk upon, you almost gave me a heart attack…” And at this, for the first time in his existence, the man began to laugh, if only just a little.
The old goblin scoffed at the man, swearing in Goblinese. “Well, now that you are awake, I suppose that you have questions. To put your mind at ease, I have no means to kill ya. Found you passed right the hell out in the middle of the dirt–nearly broke my neck tripping over your big-ass head, by the way–but as tempted as I was, I couldn’t not help you.”
As the two conversed, the man began asking questions–both simple and complex. He began learning from the old crone, following her teachings and becoming somewhat of a disciple to a “street-smart scholar”. As the years of travel passed, he kept asking “Why did you save me way back then?” Yet his teacher refused to answer–until it was the time of her death.
The now-aged Man stood beside his Master on her deathbed, remaining with her as she drifted toward the afterlife. “Dear Master… please, answer me one last question,” the man began. His master chuckled weakly and waved him off. “Yes, boy, I remember. You want the reason that I saved you all those years ago. All my life, I have believed in one philosophy: ‘virtue and love grant all retribution’. This is my last wisdom for you, my nameless companion, but not my last gift. As my final moments draw close, I grant you a name, best befitting your desire for wisdom. Stand Now, dear Valgar, and walk the world for the rest of Eternity where you belong.”
And so, with a knowing smile, Valgar’s mentor released a final breath–and was gone..
And with his mentor’s final breath, the now fully realized deity obtained his first true wisdom: Death comes for all.
Centuries passed as Valgar the Wise, as he came to be known, watched over sentient life with little to no interference in mortal affairs. After the death of his mentor, he discovered that his aging had ceased entirely. Yet, he kept feeling a strange pulling sensation, yanking him in certain directions. On more than one occasion, he’s had to stop himself from walking off of cliffs when deep in thought , as this insistent pull ensnared upon the Poor God.
Eventually, Valgar felt particularly curious–curious enough to follow the strange pulling sensation. As the god trekked forward, an unfamiliar sound reached his ears: a thunderous ringing followed by a scream and an overwhelming essence of dread. Cresting overtop a large hill, the site before Valgar rocked his very being; he had stumbled upon a Monstrous Hunting Ground. Bodies littered the floor around his feet, blood pooling around severed limbs and dismembered cadavers. In the distance, there were two creatures: a young human man cowering behind a fallen log, and a terrifying Elder Dragon, its teeth coated in crimson Viscera. With a low growl, the dragon spoke. “Reveal yourself, you vile worm! You dared to come for my brood whilst I was away, and deign to think I would allow you to get away with it?!”
Valgar noticed the venom in the Dragon’s words. He also noticed that the young man was wearing an iron collar. ‘… the boy is a slave!’ thought the god.
His body moved before his mind had the chance to weigh its options. Valgar threw himself before the Elder Dragon and began to plead with her. “Oh Great Elder Dragon! I come before you bearing no ill will or intent of harm! I come bearing the gift of knowledge. The boy you so desperately search for is not the one responsible for the loss of your brood! My heart breaks for your children, truly! But forcing this pain upon another mother, will that gain your children back?!” This gave all three of them pause. Valgar had no intention of screaming accusingly at an Elder Dragon today–yet here he was.
The Elder dragon brought her face uncomfortably close to Valgar, her eyes filled with rage and pain as she stared at him. She then reared back her colossal form and threw her head back with a mighty roar. Yet this roar was not one of rage or aggression. It was a roar of anguish. The Elder dragon spared the two men, but with the caveat that if she ever found either of them within her borders again, they would feel her wrath a thousandfold.
As the two walked, the Young Boy spoke of his master and the cruelties he had endured– the Slavedriver killed his mother and sisters, and worked his father to near death before selling him off to another slaver. Valgar’s blood boiled at the thought. That a man could use his acquired knowledge to subjugate others sickened him, twisting his stomach and darkening his mood. It wasn’t long before the pair heard a voice approaching. The boy’s eyes widened in panic; “That’s the slavedriver! I need to hide–please, don’t let him find me…!” he begged. Valgar said nothing but motioned for the boy to conceal himself in the nearby brush. No sooner had the young slave reached his hiding place than the Slavedriver broke through the clearing. “You! Old Man. I am looking for a bout of lost property. Have you seen anyone around here lately?”
Valgar shook his head, wordlessly denying the claim. The Slavedriver’s expression twisted in frustration and he snapped at the god, unaware of who he was speaking to. “Then you are useless to me!” before stomping past them, heading straight toward the grieving Elder Dragon. Valgar was tempted to warn the poor fool of the fate that awaited him in that direction…
…Yet Valgar thought for a moment and decided that, sometimes, the wisest choice was to not say anything at all.
Centuries had passed, and Valgar had learned all there was to learn from both the Wise and the Foolish. Yet, ultimately, it was all for naught, as an unknown cosmic force or forces began tearing the universe to shreds. He watched as celestial bodies–planets, asteroids, and the like–were wrenched from their places in their respective systems and hurled violently into the inky void of space, aimed at some unknown target. Valgar knew a war when he saw one, and he understood that whatever horrifying powers were clashing could erase him with ease. Then, he saw something he didn’t expect to see.
A shape drifted through the void, slipping in and out of view, weaving between the stardust nebulae in the coldness of space…. A Primodragon.
The divine smiled, marveling at how a creature of such magnitude could drift so gracefully through the cosmos, yet just as easily turn him into a mere snack and not even realize it had killed a being too small to acknowledge existing. But this Primodragon was wounded, its colossal form slowly drifting past the cosmic battlefield. In a moment of compassion, Valgar reached out, beckoning towards the creature, hoping that the two would be able to escape the chaos of the conflict, if only for a while. To his surprise, the creature came.
As the two drifted away from the chaos, Valgar found himself lost in thought, reflecting on the few deeds he might be remembered for. For the first time in a century, he opened his mouth and spoke.
“I… feel as though I have wasted my potential. My wisdom has been squandered. If only a second chance would rear its head and grace my presence, I would make something of myself. I would guid those who need and reprimand those who abuse the strength of their wisdom…” As his voice trailed off, doubt crept in. He feared his voice would mount to nothing, meaningless echoes in the void. And for the first time in his life, he felt fear for himself…
A flash of light, and the sound of horns…
Valgar felt an immense pressure crash down upon him. It felt as if he were being unmade, or… Deconstructed. It took every ounce of his divine strength to keep the very fabric of his being from unraveling, each cell straining to resist dissolution. The pain he felt was nearly indescribable, like trying to rationalize the smell of the color seven while it beat the tar out of itself. Then, deep within his soul, something etched itself into his essence. As the agony finally began to subside, darkness overtook him, and the Deity fell into a catatonic slumber for ten thousand years. It was only when the familiar yanking sensation pulled in the back of his mind that he jolted awake. He found himself back in the place of his birth. A realm he called the Divinae. Yet he was not alone. Surrounding him was swirling golden energy, seemingly moving with an undeniable purpose. And as Valgar’s vision adjusted, he bore witness to the first sight of this new universe. The birth of a brand-new deity; a god that would wisdom and guidance. The wisdom and guidance of an experienced old man in order to become their best possible selves.