Sebastian
Demons are not born, they are created. Walking amongst us; feeding on our fears and feasting on our failures. Demons care not if the light of day fades, darkness serves no master.
Sebastian’s first memories were of water. Held under by a tearful mother; choking, so much water..... Sebastian stared into the darkness and it kissed his soft skin. He found no panic, only need. For the first time an outstretched arm was not hitting him, he was safe; he was home. When the jerking of his body stopped his mother retrieved him from the water. Her face much different than moments before, Sebastian’s mother tried quickly to dress the child; leaving him alone and presumably dead in the nursery.
Death embraced him but as not as a victim, as a solider. His fortune cast in the water that day. Sebastian was just one year old. His mother abandoned the house sometime after dinner when his father came down the stairs with his son on his hip, asking if he had been fed yet. She never returned. It was raining, it could snow and she would never return.
Sebastian’s young life could have been summed up as “unfortunate”. His father blamed him for the sudden departure of his wife, drinking until there was nothing left to drink. Eventually Sebastian was farmed off to a spinster aunt just dying to “help out”. Sebastian’s Dad did not look back as he left his solitary tiny suit case at the door.
“No, I won’t go in, it’s better this way; thanks Eileen”. Yes, better; the boy was strange and dammit; he was only thirty one and life was yet to be lived.
Sebastian watched as his father spoke to the strange lady with the red lips. They parted company on the doorstep with forced smiles and awkward hugs. No kisses, no string of words, not even a downward glance for him. His small hand placed in hers, it felt sticky and hot and she was not home. Processing this information, being invisible and cold soon became instinctive. The box that contained his world was equal in size to him.
The helping out didn’t last too long. Bounced from well -meaning family to family, he learned quickly that darkness grows inside and out.
At the age of eleven Sebastian burned the local school to the ground because the teacher wouldn’t give him back his ball. People could just fuck off.
He threw what he could in a satchel one night and climbed out the window under cover of darkness. The darkness would protect him and keep him safe. Doubt and hate his blanket and pillow for the following ten years.
You can argue over what led Sebastian to the Moran’s house that faithful morning; the light of his soul offering him a soft place to fall, or the darkness twisting the knife even deeper.
“Patrick get out here quick, we got a dead one”.
Mrs Moran didn’t tend to do hysterics but she wouldn’t have a corpse on her property.
Patrick moved with the speed of a sloth, reluctant to leave the shade and the cold beer that had been recently opened.
“Ah relax woman, would ya. He’s not dead….yet”. His eyes searching for the rise and fall of a chest as the sun broke crookedly across the yard.
“You pull that leg for me and between us we’ll get him out of the ditch”.
“I’ll not be touching no smelly drunk man Patrick Moran, short of yourself”. Maggie threw her arms off her hips and stormed off. “The fecking cheek of him to even ask” muttering as she walked up the haggart. Her daughter Sally stood watching. “I’ll help Dad, we can’t leave him there”.
“Thanks petal. Now, are ya right? On my count; one, two, three; pull”.
Sebastian came hurtling out of the ditch, sending all three of them flying. Landing as awkwardly as possible across Sally, he first found her eyes. That moment, the moment that brought him to her; would last an eternity with him. He didn’t notice what colour her hair was or indeed what she was wearing beneath his heavy body. He fell, all of him; into her eyes and never wanted to be found again.
“Get off me ya great oaf”. Sally hit Sebastian a hard slap on the shoulder and rolled out from under him.
“Not from around here are ya?”
Sebastian never had difficulty finding words or actions and here he was hardly making eye contact.
“Egh no, I’m passing through. Working where there’s work and ya know…. moving on”.
Sally fired a look to her father that was determined and pressing.. “Dad?”
“All right, all right. Look we could use a bit of help on the farm. We don’t pay much but the bed is dry and the food hasn’t killed too many before ya. Don’t suppose you’ve and experience with horses?”
Sebastian was low on funds and feeling rough. A dry bed and hard work would be exactly what he needed for the next leg of the journey. “I can ride; I’m a hard worker sir; thank you”.
“Just one caveat” Sally interrupted. “For God’s sake have an auld wash; me mother will have a fit”.
Weeks went by. Mrs Moran was not impressed that her daughter was spending time with this vagrant. Though he was a solid worker with good manners there was something; she could feel it. Once washed the bold Sebastian could pass for human, strikingly handsome human. His past was a mystery, he never talked much either; she didn’t particularly like him.
For her daughter however; he was the blood pulsing through her veins. Milking cows one day Sally found herself dreaming of his chest. The curves of his muscles and arcs of his face….
“Hello”
“Christ you lifted me”. Sally jumped spilling the bucket of fresh milk all over the linder. She was blushing and nervous, Sebastian must know what she was thinking. Surely it was written all over her face.
“Sorry, I was just passing, seen the dog”…. Now he was blushing.
She couldn’t take it any more… she reached up with both hands and brought his face down to hers. Sebastian hadn’t known emotion, or much kindness in his life but Sally was his Ophelia. He was drunk on love from the first day he met her. In that stable Sebastian and Sally promised to be together forever. Forever; it turns out, is not long for some.
I’m pregnant” the words tumbled out of Sally’s mouth. Her lips made shapes; syllables and sounds so gentle she whispered. Sebastian’s body absorbed the information like a boxing bag.
“Jesus Sally, I,…….. I love you”. It was all he could manage, the words wouldn’t come. He nodded his head, that’s how it was and they would overcome together – somehow. Sally’s expression was panicked; this was real fear he was seeing.
“You and that baby is all that matters; we can do this as a family”. Sebastian never had a family; this was his life turning around at last. There was nothing he couldn’t do for Sally.
They took each other hand in hand and walked into the little kitchen to tell her parents.
Initially the Moran’s told them they would disown her; “the shame”, eventually coming around to the idea. Agreeing to hide Sally while she had the baby, no doctors; no visitors. Sebastian lost control over the pregnancy; her mother was in charge now.
A month before the birth, possibly the happiest Sebastian had ever been. His rough hands carving intricate detail into the cradle that would soon hold their first child, Sebastian took a moment to reflect on his life. Pots of paint at the foot of his bed, how he hoped he would need blue. He looked over at the drain they found him in just less than a year ago. How perfectly different his life was.
The screaming wasn’t what scared him, it was her eyes. Gone was the sparkle, the magical light. Her mother was frantic. “We’re losing her, baby’s stuck.”
Sebastian with all his strength pulled the lifeless baby from Sally’s twitching body. Pressing on her belly, he heard her hips crack. She died there on the bed, the baby soon after. It happened in a moment, he was powerless to stop it.
He couldn’t look at her, his son; their son was being placed in her arms by her silent; judgemental mother. The brutality of life illustrated in blood on the cement floor of their bedroom; all this suffering for love.
More than Sebastian could take. More than any human could take; Sebastian simply stood up and walked to the pier. There he chose to follow into the darkness those that he loved. Roads that would never cross again, lives that could never be re lived. Sebastian was thrown through the line deep into the shadow world and into the claws of AzzRath. His bitterness would be watered and fed, his hatred of life nourished.
There is nothing quite as deliberate as death; darkness asks for nothing except all of you.
ADAM -
His head hurt - he needed a drink. The sheets strangling him; he fought his way out of the soaking bed. Naked and eyes searching for underwear he steadied himself against the bed. Waking up next to Cara, the smell of her freckled skin, the way she curled her legs around his. Christ; what did she see in him. He let her down at every opportunity. One drink and he’d be grand. Just one he thought, to stop the shaking and the devil rising in his chest.
That day started like most but ended with his life. It was the Spring of 1912 and Adam was in love and in debt.
He may have been drunk last night but he was stuck to his word.
“One last job and I’m out Tony, that’s the deal”.
“Sure, sure; you’re always out”.
“No, this time it’s different. We have plans; better than this. I can change, for Cara”. Adam’s eyes telling Tony all he needed to know.
“You’re a dreamer Adam, dreamers die broke; now throw some light on this map”.
Fate doesn’t care what your plans are; it’s selfish, punctual; waiting for you.
Adam never felt the bullet as it burst through his chest. Watching his blood splatter on the expensive, floor length, crushed velvet curtains, his instincts were not to run. No pain, no noise, save for the gurgling in his mouth as it filled with blood. He could not shout; he could not escape. Metallic lips and dizzy head, he slid to the ground; hot blood pulsing quickly through the gaps his fingers tried so desperately to plug. His blood; so much of it he knew his fate. He closed his eyes and thought of Cara. Blood pooled around him; he reached out for help that never came as life slipped from his body.
Tony watched from the big oak in the garden. The wet leaves made his little nose twitch when they fell. He wasn’t happy about tonight; his feet were cold in his paper thin shoes, wishing he wore his boots. He extinguished his cigarette and muttered “Dreamers die alone, sorry pal” as he walked off beneath the shadows of a street lamp.
Ever wonder about death? Looking back for eternity and picking apart every detail of how you got there. It’s not so great.
“That coulda gone better”. Pee greeted Adam when his shadow-self crashed through the line for the very first time. Adam jerked like a pig in a bag.
“Easy now kiddo, you’ll get the hang of it”
Where was he, a face he could not see, a voice he did not recognise? There was no pain only passing panic. He knew immediately he would never see the sky again yet all he wanted was whiskey. This expanded the definition of Hell.
Adam attempted to stand. Balance adjustment kicked in, Adam was adapting; looking. Other shadows appeared from the darkness. The place was devoid of colour and light. Tones of black of grey gave the place shape, frozen in the silence of emptiness.
“We wait, apologies; we like to see what’s coming in before we step out”. Bryan stepped forward and introduced the group.
“This is a tough day, you have my sincere condolences” reality slowly sinking in.
It pained Bryan, knowing the sentence imposed was eternal for this man; for them all.
“What’s going on?” was as much as Adam could manage as he looked down for hands and feet.
“You dead man” Pee summed it up. A collective laugh from the bunch soon dissipated. “Look, we gotta go and you gotta come with us. Deal with it dude, but deal with it another time.”
Adam wanted to get sick, he felt all the old feelings but nothing worked. “Oh god, oh god…Cara…”
Kerakin stepped in; Shadow to shadow.
“You don’t get it but you will. YOU ARE DEAD. Nothing matters, not Cara, not anything. You will never see them again. This is the land of shadows, this is home. Bad things lurk here, I’m the best you got so do not question me or it will end badly for you for the second time today”.
“Move out boys”. Pee admired Kerakin, slightly frightened of him at times but mostly inspiring.
Adam wanted another chance, or another chance to die at least. This time he wouldn’t be alone, he wouldn’t be the stupid prick left holding the bag. He wouldn’t get caught; he wouldn’t get shot. Screw money and stupid mates that tell you they have it all worked out.
“….but I never got to say goodbye”
“Goodbyes are a waste of a last breath” Kerakin didn’t entertain wallowing and Adam would not be allowed self-pity.
They moved through the darkness, like hot breaths through cold air, group members vanishing one by one until there was only Kerakin and Adam.
“You will rest with me tonight” Kerakin offered.
“As touched as I am by your offer, and I’ve no doubt I’ll be touched at some point…. I’ll decline; thank you. I’m dreaming, I’ll be waking up any minute now”.
“A few things” Kerakin needed to protect this one. He saw the markings; Adam had been chosen.
“Stay in the darkness. Yes, yes it’s all dark but you’ll work it out very quickly. That yellow thing you came through, stay away from it.
You are dead, this is it. Shadows can’t cry or turn back. Complaining is a luxury reserved for the living. I plucked you from the ground because the line chose you. You will see it one day.
You will learn it all in time, and time is all you have left. Navigating the darkness is not difficult. You no longer need eyes or ears; everything is easier here if you allow it to be”
Adam didn’t want to believe. “Fuck my life”
“You are forgetting you no longer have one. I’ll be back when light of day on earth hits the mountain top”.
With that Kerakin vanished into the black leaving Adam alone for the first time.
So the whole Heaven and Hell thing wasn’t entirely a crock of shit. Looking around him he really couldn’t “see” much. He supposed it would come in time. He was truly afraid for the first time in his…for the first time. He was NEVER going to be ok with this.
If Kerakin hadn’t found him that day it may have played out differently for Adam. The same could have been said for his life. Cross Roads, choices; paths. Every decision leading you to your death or away from it.
A physical body isin’t something you can just let go of overnight. Grief is usually reserved for other people, not for yourself. For years the darkness wrapped around him so tightly that he didn’t stir. Shadows need nothing.
“Get out of that shit hole before I drag you out”. Kerakin didn’t introduce himself.
Adam had no intention of coming out, he was dead; what was he going to do to him.
Even though his shadow didn’t breathe he felt like he was choking when Kerakin reached in and grabbed in. Heavy and hard he slid along the ground in front of this mighty warrior. “Feel God Dammit. Feel something”.
Light changed, others began to gather. Energy built in the toxic circle was attracting attention. Adam seized his moment and lunged at Kerakin.
“Good, now again” Kerakin needed to charge Adam, he was weak and although this would draw attention Adams time would come and he must be ready.
“You wanna tell me why? Motivate me big guy”.
“Why? Because you’re gonna crawl out of that hole and do something that you didn’t do when you had a pulse. You’re going to matter you little prick.
Now get up, get up……”
IN THE BEGINNING….
In the beginning RogonÚl The creator forged the earth – A fairy tale to warm the heart of man as he slept; comfort in the darkness.
But in the beginning RogonÚl did not create earth; he created the void from which all things come. The empty void did not sufficiently display the glory of RogonÚl and so he called into the void and created light. With this light he spun the earth between his hands.
It took RogonÚl all of one day to create the mountains and seas, the deserts and valleys. It was as divine as it was glorious. As RogonÚl watched the first sunset and the first moon rise; RogonÚl was pleased.
Hundreds of years passed RogonÚl watched his creation grow and mature with the pride and joy of a youthful parent. He wrapped the earth in his loving arms and slept soundly.
That night RogonÚl dreamt of man – and beast. After all, what is joy if not shared? The magnificence of the earth could bring infinite worship for RogonÚl.
RogonÚl said:
“Faith, hope; love and harmony,
Sea, land and air,
You shall prosper you shall know my face,
Your voices join in prayer.”
And so RogonÚl created beast, plucking many blades of grass from the ground and giving them hot air from his lungs. The grass danced to a new tune of life and spread to the four corners of the earth. Creatures stirred in the water on land and in the air.
RogonÚl chose not to rest that night, reaching high into a tree and plucking the straightest branch RogonÚl snapped it in two. He repeated this with many trees and many branches until RogonÚl had a mighty pile of twigs. He planted these twigs two by two, taking care to mix them well.
“Children of earth; chosen by the hand of RogonÚl, go forward in the light”.
RogonÚl watched as the sun climbed over the mountain and cast its glow on the twigs. Row by row they appeared, men and women where the twigs had stood. Tears rolled down the face of RogonÚl and RogonÚl thought his heart would explode with happiness. His own image reflecting his glory on an earth he created.
Many years were spent creating insects and birds and fine tuning the cycles of the earth. Humanity lived in harmony. There was no evil in the world, nothing but happiness and worship. Alters and offering dedicated to his greatness.
A road without turns holds no curiosity. What was once his only joy in life soon became an itch to scratch again. What could RogonÚl do to make earth more of an experience for him, its creator? Fear of indifference turning into neglect; RogonÚl wrapped his hands around his beloved earth and slept once more.
The world was balanced and the people obedient. It was a fruitful and harmonious world; RogonÚl knew what he needed to do. The light of man needed to be clouded with a little darkness. For what harm could a little darkness bring?
Having slept on it for many years RogonÚl reached a decision. He would create a son, that glory may walk the earth. RogonÚl scoured the earth in search of the perfect maiden. He found her with the help of the North wind and the soft light of the waxing Gibbus moon.
RogonÚl plucked a single strand of hair from her head and thanked her for her offering. He then took a strand of his own hair, and the two were weaved with the thread of life. He reached in and placed the braid in the darkness. All of the light RogonÚl had seen, all of the beauty; yet RogonÚl wanted more. So RogonÚl asked the void for more, for what could be greater than good?
It is unclear how long RogonÚl allowed the braid to float in the void but he cupped it in his hand and carried it to earth some time after. Placing it at the bottom of a green valley RogonÚl waited for night to fall.
Beneath the blackest of moonless skies RogonÚl waited for the braid to find its breath, and as dawn approached the braid became man. Such was his beauty that RogonÚl himself was enraptured.
From the brightest skies falls the hardest rain. Deep ran the blood and loud rang the cries. Mercy on the tongues of every mouth, the world changed in the turn of the earth. RogonÚl looked on as fear and suffering seeped through the skin of the living. His tampering had poisoned a once peaceful world, worse still; his own flesh carried the cost.
As the centuries passed RogonÚl could see the earth was being consumed by the darkness raging in his son’s soul. Decade after decade conflicted by love; watching the very world he raised from emptiness drown in the blood of the innocent. RogonÚl stayed in the shadows watching the destruction of man.
His final narcissistic polishing of the earth could be the crack in the perfect glass. RogonÚl was distraught, a new plan would be forged and RogonÚl vowed to never interfere again.
..and so RogonÚl took the world in his arms for the third and final time. He fell asleep to dream of what may be; crying rivers of tears, as a plan to destroy his only son was formed. Despite of the love RogonÚl had for him, he must protect those who were made in his image.
Once more RogonÚl walked the earth seeking out the soul and shoulders that could carry the weight of the task ahead. In Norway, in a small town of Tromsó, RogonÚl found what would become the first guardian of the human realm.
Jan was a sixteen year old peasant fisherman. No extra flesh on his bones, his abs as rippled as the ocean he sailed up. The chop and froth of the sea was his love story, and he sang with it every night. RogonÚl came to him with the green lights of the sky.
Jan was standing watching the stars as the lights formed the face of RogonÚl. He knelt on the deck of the boat. “Your servant” he spoke to the great swirls of green without lifting his head. His blonde hair sticking to the sweat on his neck, he tried to keep his cool. He knew he was going to see some weird shit at sea but this was something no one would ever believe.
“Arise my child the time has come. A great dark force weaves the shroud of death around your bodies; souls know no rescue. Lay down your rod and take up my sword for the time has come to fight”
A cloud descended, carrying with it the sword of redemption, forged by the hand of RogonÚl himself. Splinters of wood flew as the sword cracked into the deck. Jan found his feet and took the sword in his hand, RogonÚl was pleased. “Do not think I shall leave you alone in this battle my child, I shall send a companion on the wind with the light of morning. Together you will defeat the darkness festering on this earth”
Jan stood up; head bowed; still unable to face the almighty. “By your command, I am an instrument o lord”. The lights faded, the sea became a moving creature again and Jan knew his life was changed forever. He slept that night a broken uneasy sleep as he and the boat turned for home.
AZZRATH
In the absence of fear; evil breeds.
Those who are condemned settle the shit pot they circle in, as they slowly sink to the bottom.
Bringing death to the world while they lived; they would bring it again through AzzRath. Laws were for the living to keep. They had an eternity to break them in the Realm of Shadows.
AzzRath, the original Demi God. A soul so perfectly corrupt it was masterful. RogonÚl created all, beauty takes on many forms. AzzRath was not kind or considerate. He was corrupt and jealous; he was always going to be on the wrong side.
No one pitied him; no one cast a sympathetic glance in his direction. Hard to believe an evil demi god could feel anything other than hatred, but feel he did. As he often gazed off into the night, all this power and he was still hungry and empty. AzzRath filled the void in his soul with the final screams of death. No one cared to fix him, no one dared try. He didn’t want to be fixed, he wanted to be fed.
AzzRath never knew the love of a mother or father; a family. Eyes that looked back on him were always full of fear. People cried “evil” and “monster”. The portion of humanity that flowed through his veins cracked and dried with the drought of love.
A water filled grave from which there would be no escape………..
Mmmm the smell of despair inflated the lungs and ego of AzzRath, Son of Darkness; Soul eater of Sluadhsíde as he watched the boat disappear on the horizon.
The killing went on and on, nothing oiled his gears better than the thoughts of entire villages silenced in death. He stretched, his neck creaking from the awkward position his body had lay in that night. Sleep was for the weak. He was constantly planning his next great victory over humanity.
Thinking of people dying wasn’t quite as satisfying as hearing their flesh ripped from their bones. Nothing compared to swallowing a hopeless soul, mercilessly and without as much as a flutter of remorse.
They fed him, they charged him. Spending a life running from death for it to reach out and grab you anyway. People should have just lived. The struggle was unnecessary. The bitter irony of life; how he loved it.
AzzRath revelled in it, conducting his orchestra of destruction over the earth. If he had a single flaw it was a simple one. AzzRath was overconfident, consumed with his own greatness.
Man can choke on water; he just needs to surround himself with enough of it……
AzzRath was part man, part God. And while he was not entirely mortal with the sword of Redemption he could be defeated.
Jan was introduced to his shadow guardian the morning after he received the Sword from RogonÚl. A white tailed eagle positioned himself on the stern of the boat. His polished, pointy talons gripping the hard wood; his golden eyes holding Jan’s gaze in the breaking light of dawn. From the moment they met they were the like a fine alloy, complementing each other; strength in the pair.
Neither questioned the judgement of RogonÚl, their mission was simple: AzzRath must fall.
And fall he did, on the first day of the last month in the calendar year 101.
How do you ensnare the wind, hold back the ocean and push through the walls of time? By simply believing you can. The pivot to the plan was not the final act of killing AzzRath, it was containing him in one place long enough that they may kill him.
They sent word; whispers and gossip that the God of man was so deeply displeased with his only son that he was sending another to remove him. People were to gather to welcome the new arrival at the plateaux between the two mountains. A journey only the brave of body and soul would make. AzzRath would make it, and greet his sibling with the kiss of death.
“To thine own self be true” Jan let the words spin around his head. His father did not want him to take up this fight, for he would surely die.
Jan packed a little food and water, though his stomach was spinning almost as fast as his head. He made his way to the plateaux and slightly farther up he crouched behind the jagged rock face. He waited, moon and sun; the eagle close by.
Would he know AzzRath when he would appear, would he have the courage of his convictions. All these questions were answered when the demi god floated straight up the mountain and into the face of Jan.
“Oh simple fisherman how far from home you are”.
Jan ignored every word, no eye contact; it was action or inaction now – life hung on his next move.
The eagle watched from the sky, the moment AzzRath was sun blind he would pounce.
Jan; with the sword hidden under his coat, made his move; and stumbled. “Aghh” as his elbow crashed against the rock he couldn’t stop himself calling out. AzzRath chuckled as he watched the worm wriggling in the sand.
As Jan lay face down in the brown dirt he felt the shadow of the eagle cast long over their bodies. Talons out, the screeching bird distracted AzzRath enough to allow Jan to turn over. AzzRath felt the talons in the back of his head moments before the blade entered his chest.
The power of the sword threw Jan twenty feet, AzzRath lay dying on the side of the great Galdhøpiggen. The souls of the dead poured from his chest. Free at last and forming a great river as they cascaded down the mountain.
AzzRath fell backwards, the shock; the pain, the uncertainty. The talons of Jan’s shadow guardian so deep in his neck that he could not release himself; he fell too.
“Fix me father” AzzRath cried “Master, puppeteer; am I not your son? Where is my father? FATHER!! You abandoned me once, do not abandon me now”.
The agony echoed through the tops of the mountains, such was his pain. “What knew i of the beating heart, soft skin or gentle voice…. FAILURE! You have failed me father”. AzzRath lay dying, there was no mercy in the rocks; no mercy in the wind and Jan felt deep pity for the beast that knew none.
The gravel beneath his body was broken, millions of fragments of earth that once were whole formed together to hold him. AzzRath had never considered much about life before but he could not deny the delicious irony. Here on the side of a bleak mountain he was dying to live.
Minutes passed and great wind gathered. Jan could hardly hold his ground. His eyes and mouth choking back sand; wholly blind and brutally pounded he could not move. RogonÚl landed with such ferocious speed that the entire mountain shook. No one dared look upon the face of God.
Reaching down and plucking the dying body of his son into his arms, RogonÚl’s torment was real. Moving forward through the river of souls, cradling his only son, he whispered softly words that no one heard. The river made way for them, water parting in a great divide; silenced as he passed. AzzRath for the first time in his existence felt first-hand the love of a father.
With the shadow guardian fixed firmly on the back of AzzRath he had only one fate. The bodies disappeared through the Valley; golden souls still spewing from the wound; RogonÚl determined with every step not to fail humanity for the second time.
They say RogonÚl became human for that moment. In his weakest hour he forged a final plan; RogonÚl saving humanity and AzzRath together, the ultimate act of love. He built a separate world strong enough to contain the darkness raging in AzzRath. Protected by the souls that he devoured and guardians of RogonÚls own choosing throughout the ages.
The eagle a necessary sacrifice; would pre-succeed all other shadow guardians. The line would choose who to send.
Evil had a place, little bits of darkness would echo through the ages but true darkness would be contained in its own world; contained and fed the dark souls of the human realm. The balance of good and evil would often tip in different directions but the scale would level as long as the world’s lay separate.
Therein lay the challenge for AzzRath, and for almost two thousand years AzzRath waited, quietly building an army as the perfect opportunity would eventually present itself.
Play dead long enough and people will believe it.
