Krim lore

When Krim got his so called powers, it was not what everyone else had thought. In that stone room, he had found the single most powerful object in the world, but he had no idea how to use it. Or maybe he couldn’t. 

Krim was not a god or demigod by any means; he was mortal, like everyone else.
But he was something more than that. Krim was the embodiment of something bigger. An oracle, agent, or messiah of sorts. He inhabited these powers, of a once existing ancient god. But this god was dead. Gone with the last of the civilisation that built that temple. With no god to represent, Krim was merely a harbinger of knowledge. Krim himself had no powers, aside from those angelic wings sprouted from his back, far too big for his liking.
But what Krim failed to realise was just how much this mysterious language meant. He soon learnt that he could use this new-found knowledge, and despite being a previously struggling reader, he became a researcher, spending hours with his head in as many as four books at a time.
They contained long past teachings, and made up only a mere fragment of the forgotten times. The more he read, the more he noticed it in the world around him. In his gear, in those books, carved into the bricks of crumbling buildings. 

But no one Krim encountered seemed to be able to read the mysterious language. Krim was the only one who knew, and it was his duty to find out everything about it. The more he read, the more the skill came naturally to him. And with more reading, came more knowledge.
He learnt about power boosters, and the ability to make stronger potions. Unable to master this on his own, he transferred the knowledge to Warpus, and with this, they were able to create some of the strongest potions in existence. 

Krim was amazed. He had never seen such power.
His ability to read to read this ancient language gave him a step up on everyone.

Soon he spent more and more reading, learning about different spells and ancient arts.
He had never known just how potent potions could be, and that made him wonder: what if someone could inhabit that power without the use of potions?
It was impossible, it turned out. Krim nearly killed himself trying, and unfortunately, he ended up disintegrating his parrot, Soda.
That was the first time he realised that maybe this power was too strong, and that maybe it would be for the best if Krim returned it. He ran back to the temple, weaving his way through the maze of rooms to reach the chamber. 

Inside it was a command block.
Krim tried touching it, like he did when he first found it. But the object rejected him, ejecting red light. Krim tried so many different things.
He set up rituals, tried using chants, offering blood. Nothing worked, and Krim was stuck with this role. Then he tried using the block itself. Maybe if he could harness its power, he could use it to take it back? But no matter what he tried, he couldn’t do anything. The block responded only with red light. He couldn’t move it, break it, open it, or even work out what it did. At this point it was entirely decorative. 

Defeated, Krim left. He felt unworthy. Why should he be the one to have this ability? It wasn’t like he liked reading books anyway. They were so stupid. His self doubt became stronger, building up into a rage. He kicked over a nearby shelf, hearing it land with a muffled crash, before he picked up a book, studying the title.
He couldn’t read it though, he was too distraught to concentrate. He glared around the room. All around him books, cursed with the most forbidden of knowledge. Krim was angry. Why should this exist? Such an evil power. No one deserved this amount of strength. Before he knew it, he grasped the flint and steel in his hand, and in seconds, the whole place was alight. Krim left that library behind, vowing to never return. 

Upon arriving home, he created a room of obsidian. Somewhere he could practice where no one would get hurt. He tried to expand upon his already existing knowledge. In theory he should be able to create magic out of thin air, but every effort bore nothing.
He took to observing his surroundings, watching how magic worked. It seemed like everything he saw, used some sort of focus point, or vessel. Enchantments worked through the books, the magic held in each letter. The soul speed he had seen Warpus use so often were tied to the very boots it was used on. Even potions, didn’t come out of nowhere. They required components. 

Krim learnt that nothing could be created out of thin air. But maybe he could try using items of his own.
The first he thought of was an ender pearl. He watched how the endermen teleported, noticing how upon slaying, they always dropped the strange green orbs. He tried to concentrate, using the pearl as his vessel. He had painted his arms in runes, his skin becoming pages for the book that was his brain. He thought of Warpus, and how he wanted to teleport to them. He tried to picture their face, or where they might be. But no matter how much he tried to think, he couldn’t get it to work.

Krim didn’t give up hope yet, though. He tried to imagine Spawn, picturing every valley and river.
Then he envisioned their old bunker. The fences that lined the front, the flowers that grew outside, the intricate patterns the brick made. Every aspect of it, he visualised. His head felt like it was about to explode, every vein on the verge of popping. Right when he felt he had reached his limit, he opened his eyes. He was there. And the ender pearl was gone from his hands. He had somehow managed to teleport himself miles from Piss in Ton, all the way to Spawn. 

But holy shit, it hurt. 

He collapsed to the floor, not caring what he’d lie on. Within seconds he was asleep, the magic much more taxing than he had anticipated. 

He kept searching though, and regrettably, he found nothing. With no library to reference, the spells were gone. 

All he had left were those potions and his once-a-month teleportation. 

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End.