so... not a continuation of the "in-BIO-tweens" but instead a narrative expansion on the theme. please to enjoy
Vikor eyed the King who sat on the throne of Grayskull. His long golden hair tied in what appeared to be parek-narr tendon, laying gracefully across his muscled chest like a napping housecat, yet the face under the hair seemed discordantly agitated. He could see jaw muscles clench and unclench in the aftermath of his great tale.
"What troubles thee, King of Grayskull? You are bothered, no? Why does my tale trouble thee so, so assured of thy place art thou. None may challenge you, correct? With an army this grand" and he gestured at the assembled hall of heroes here to greet him "why does one little nigh-immortal evil and a list of taudry cohorts upset thee so?"
"What truth have I of your words, Vikor? You arrive in my court, with a tale best described as grandiose, to be fair, and likely a lie if only due to the scope of your knowledge. How does one man possess such vast knowledge of such cosmic occurences, especially over ages?"
"Because, dear King, I am a Knight of Procrustus."
"A Knight of Procrustus. We art the very first Holy Order of Knights pledged to the savior of our world, The Core Holder Procrustus. Long hath mine Order slaved to preserve Eternia in all her glory. Long hath we suffered to do this, for many and potent art the enemies of our land, and numerous art the threats to the Core Holder.
Long ago, in the Ages before Ages began, the mighty Creator Crab preyed on the oceans of the cosmos. As he ate and ate at the bits of the Universe now long forgotten, he shat four vast and wonderous giants out open the mystic jelly that was Primordia. Those giants were brothers, of a kind, 700 Handed Gaz, Pinevus the Babbling Maw, Scalex the Horror of Fin and Fang, and Procrustus the Might Master. Each shared a vast amount of potency for recrafting the stuff of Primordia as they would, derived thus from thy collective father Crab. Each claimed for thyselves a domain, one carved by Gaz from Ice and Wind, one carved by Pinevus of Wood and Earth, Scalex' purchase was of Water and Smoke... but Mighty Procrustus just roamed his brother's land. He claimed no space for himself, and was unsure of how best to use his might.
As the Domain of each brother was refined and exacted, Procrustus saw the birth of beings, small and helpless, each in the image of one of his brothers. He longed to be adored so as these early mewlings adored his siblings, but with no place and no potency to call his own, he had neither material nor mental focus to bring about such splendorous things. To show his good will though, he gifted each of the species his brother's wrought with a fraction of his own might, his indomitable will to be and be free.
Where the domain of each brother's place rubbed edge 'gainst the next, there was friction. The elements they chose combined in strange ways, and each forged new substances. Procrustus was endlessly fascinated as Earth and Water created Sludge and Sand, Smoke combined with Air to form Cloud, and Wood and Ice forged Labyrinth. 'Twas Sand that yeilded the first evil. In those days, evil and goodness were twins suckling at the same teet, only later would they cleft themselves free and become opposites. But Sand yeilded the Dune Bug, and 'twas his empty heart that first conceived of Unmaking that which was.
His Heinousness first attempted to end the reign of the Decent Brethren by destroying the core of Primordia. All this mass of elements and giants sat upon a miasma of jelly that had been pressed and compounded into an iron shell. The Dune Bug knew that if he consumed this jelly, the iron shell would collapse on itself, and he himself would grow in potency to match the Brothers. On the surface, his armies attacked the Brothers. Gaz fell first, and the People of the Glaciers wept tears which froze on their cheeks. Next fell Scalex, whose dying mass forced the waters to drown whole portions of the land. Pinevus died in a terrible inferno that scorched even over water and ice and carved labyrinths most foul onto every land mass and e'en in the Subternian kingdoms.
Only Mighty Procrustus remained, and only so because his journeys meant he had no home to ambush, no route to anticipate. He felt the death of each of his Brothers as he might have felt his own, and each made him weap tears of crystal tither and yon o're the realms of Primordia. As he traveled to each of the homes of his Brothers, he claimed a memento of each of them, that he might fore'er have a token of their passing. He learned at each stop of the terrible actions that brought the Blessed Brothers low, and learned of the foul plans of the Dune Bug. He flew into action as he realized he may be too late, and dove rapidly into the Primordian substance to reach the Core. He arrived just in time to stop The Dune Bug from breaching the iron shell. He grabbed up a handfull of the iron shell, and by reflex alone, cast it into a bronze curio, and sealed the Dune Bug within it. But in so tearing the shell, the jelly began to leak, and the core collapse. With thought to neither self nor task, he leapt through his self-made tear and took stand in the center of the core, holding her up with each of his mighty arms. He knew in that moment why he'd never taken up cause nor people, for his destiny lie here. This core would demand a might to hold aloft that none of his brothers would have borne. Only he was of the limb and the strength to perform this task.
In time, as he did not return, the now free peoples of Primordia fiinshed off the armies of the Fallen One and began to wonder at Procrustus' fate. They sent the mightiest veterans of the wars to see to the Fate of the Last Brother, and so they traveled downwards. Through fire and ice and labyrinth and water all manner of substance and amalgamation did they trek, and many perished on the way. When they arrived at the core, only four be their number. Mighty Procrustus stood, trapped but still mighty and still alive. Each of the heroes before him took a vow to protect their realm, which Procrustus renamed Eternia, as with his sancification of the pact, the realm would endure eternally. To seal the pact, he graced each hero with a token from the brother who birthed their people. The Glacierfolk were given a sword made from one of Gaz's teeth, the Merfolk of Scalex were offered a trident crafted from one of the bones of his pectoral fins, and the Minotaurs were granted a Dual Axe made from the eyebrow of Pinevus. To them all, Procrustus bequethed a sphere of energy, pure and vast in it's might, that someday, the gathered peoples of Eternia could empower an artifact of their own making, which he would by proxy, bless. For these boons, the heroes returned to the surface and undertook the forging of the temple of Procrustus, moving materials and manpower down to the shell where a vast palace was made for the mighty Primordial. This would allow him some respite, as it sheilded him from the reality altering jelly, and the scorching heat of the iron shell, as well as allowing him to temporarily adjust his grip without the imminent fear of collapse. He breathed a sigh of relief and this breath fell on the shoulders of each assembled hero, empowering their bloodline for all eternity with vast might both mundane and arcane.
It is this might which you youself, D'Vann, called upon when you made your ultimate sacrifice, and the might that makes each of your descendants able to call upon the crafted magicks of your sword. The sons of the Minotaurs express their might by creating new races of sentient beast from those they honor with their seed. The sons of the Merfolk pass along the ability to speak to and command the non-sentient beasts of Eternia. Each race, and her offspring, possess vast reserves that make them mighty, especially as they travel abroad in the universe and encounter those not thusly blessed. And to this day, each of the sacred artifacts exist, imperishable and indestructible.
Each of those heroes have trained son and daughter of their line, if they be worthy, to carry on the tradition of those who protect the Core Handler, and each recipient of those artifacts is pledged to his defense, no matter they're political ties. I was blessed to carry thy sword for a time King of Grayskull, but I passed it along to thy grandchild whence they were born as was my duty. This duty, and my father's dedication to it and his mastery of the lore, are what lead me to mine knowledge and mine conviction. I am here to help thee, for the Dune Bug has been resurrected, and the ages of imprisonment have made him anxious to taste freedom and e'en more potent that when last he threatened Eternia. This is his third escape from the binding of Procrustus, and I fear could be his last. This is why i beseech thy court for help... The Sword of Grayskull is the only device that opens thy castle, and within the heart of thy castle, amongst other things, lies that power orb that Mighty Procrustus gifted us with. Should the Resurrected One acquire that orb... I dare not even speak of the possibilities. But surely it would be the end of my people's Pact, and I will not allow this. I will NOT allow this!"
Grayskull sat still, contemplating the fullness of Vikor's tale... but no longer did he doubt it's veracity. He rose from his throne, and approached the barbarian, who, for a second, made flinch towards his axe. Grayskull reached out his arm, and after a stunned moment, Vikor recieved it in his vise-like grip. Their purpose, forever more, was mutual.
Prying open my third eye