He Who Reigns, The God of Vola

[Unspeakable Evil]

They stood in lines, the slaves. Lines that ran up the sides of a huge stone step pyramid stained with the sweat and vomit of the millions who had come before. There was no blood, however, for that was carefully burned at the top. No trace of blood could be seen here on these unholy grounds. Blood belonged to the Great One - to Nangros - to he whose name may only be spoken here.

It was the last thing they were allowed to speak, and a blessing that he permitted his people as a parting gift. Men, women, children, it did not matter. One by one they were leaned over the sacrificial fire, and their throats were slit. Ropes and rigging lifted them from their feet and held them upside down over the flames while their blood ran into the black fire that burned in the altar. Yes, he allowed them to scream. He allowed them to pray to him too, and to beg for his mercy. Anymore, though, that was a rarity. If you stood in this line, then you knew that there was no mercy to be had. This was your payment for the privilege of walking this land, and it was a one-way trip.

Black smoke filled the air from the corpses cooking over the altar. They couldn't scream with their throats slit, but the still wiggled and struggled as they bled out and cooked simultaneously. Most didn't live too long, only minutes at best. Others struggled for some time, those with the most blood in them. The strongest. Watching what was coming was the worst part for most of the people. Many died when their throats were slit, before they had a chance to burn. Those were the lucky ones. Sometimes the ropes burned through before they were dead, and they fell into the fire. Nangros' Priests laughed when that happened.

The stench of burning flesh always filled the air of Dwalkin, and the skies were always filled with black greasy smoke that fell on everything. The city was dirty, and it stank of death.

At the very top, sat the throne of Darkness, and in that throne sat the Dark Lord himself. Expressionlessly, he watched the proceedings. Long ago the pain and suffering had once pleased him. Once the screams of horror and the crying and begging and pleading had been music to his ears. But no more. Do anything long enough, and it became boring. So had this endless parade become boring for Nangros.

But there was still the power.

Red hot and bursting inside of him, the blessing of Hu glowed like an ember in the darkest of nights. It flowed out from Nangros, into his Blood Guard, who had become tremendously powerful as a result. They were his living batteries, and he kept them fully charged at all times. He could draw on them at will, and when he did not draw upon them, (as was almost always the case anymore), their power gave them incredible strength and durability.

Yes, the power was addictive. And so he watched the sacrifices to him, and listened to the crying and begging, and let it continue. But all the while, what he really craved was a decent contest. Were there none on this world who could stand against him? Of course there were not, for he had slain any who were even a threat. Which was why he now pined for a challenge. Something more than those cowards in Daroon who hide behind their magical shield, or the fools in Cosvel who threatened him with the power of the "Gods."

What day was it, he wondered. What was the date? Was it time yet for his old enemies to return? Had a hundred years yet passed? They wouldn't be much of a threat to him now, of course, but they were better than nothing.

[The Keeper of Precepts]

He took one step forward following the line of sacrificial humans that had been forced to bare their blood for Nangros' pursuit of power. Some called it a delightful honor. Standing in the shadow of the great throne of the Unspeakable Evil himself, it felt like a terrible plight.

He was not there. His body may have been there, at the base of the great throne only yards from becoming just another unwilling victim of Nangros' bloodletting but his mind was not. His mind was wondering. His mind was tracing his steps wondering what had brought him here in the first place. What was he trying to do? Why could he not have just accepted it and let it go?

It was only a fortnight ago that he had received a letter from the King on Cosvel. It was a letter that requested he design an appropriate menu and prepare a few samples for tasting. He was invited to partake in the competition to become the chef that would prepare the meal for Princess Salishia's sixteenth birthday.

It did not take him very long to be caught in a frenzied fit of excitement as he rushed around the kitchen. Slicing vegetables and smashing fruit into pulp for the calix. He stuffed the oven and cried for more air from the bellows when the fire was not hot enough.

His wife was preparing the fricken and the vegetable side dishes to go with it. She was busy slinging knives about the kitchen and screaming out demands to the local scribe who was busy composing the menu or a list of things to retrieve.

The scents that wafted through the windows and opened doors was mouth watering to say the least. Many friends and family had gathered around those same windows and doors to observe the wonderful chaos. To take in the scents that brought a deep desire to the pit of their stomachs. They anticipated the grand re-opening of the tavern if only to catch a bit of table scraps from those same succulent dishes.

But all of that disappeared when one of the guards under the control of the Unspeakable Evil had pushed him forward, "Keep moving infidel! You'll soon find your purpose."

He took a few steps forward. His toes were now touching the base of the great tower. His last moments on this godforsaken planet were drawing near.

[The Keeper of Precepts]

He raised his head. Sullen eyes beheld a dismal view. Beneath him all hope had already been lost. The line of people appeared to be never ending. Every last one of them appeared to be lost in their own dreams. Lost in whatever dimension that would protect them from their very real fate.

He remembered is vividly. His wife was chopping up a fricken. She had typically done very well chopping any sort of meat. She had come from a family of butchers. Perhaps due to all the excitement on this particular day, she slipped. The 'tiger paw' technique for cutting fricken she had been taught had slightly failed.

Her hand seeped with blood. They rinsed it with wine as best they could before wrapping it tightly in a piece of cloth. The cloth had soaked through after only a single turn of the hour glass but the next it had shown signs of healing.

It was on that next day that his wife left him. She left from Cosvel to Forwell heading back to her families business that had moved outside of Forwell to the Dragon's Roost. As her Uncle had told it, things seemed better there. Her Uncle had grown a few succulent fruits that were to be used in the meal for the Princess.

Hours passed as slowly as he was chopping caught in a slight depression. As day turned to night and three days passed there was no sign of her. His wife had not returned. It was common trip for the couple. Forwell had offered the couple some of the best resources to work with despite its turn for the worst over the past century.

So he had gone looking for her. He had traveled to Forwell as well. He had talked to every wanderer he had come across from Cosvel to Forwell. Every last one of them had been a dead end. It was not until he had reached Forwell, and his wife's Uncle that he had learned of her fate.

Her Uncle had told him, "She was still bleeding when she arrived. I gathered the things you had requested and that I had told you off in my letter. Before she had left; however, I urged her to change the bandage. So we did. We were walking out of the Roost when they came, when they came from the sky. A Lord Harvester and his crew from the black ships had begun to survey the Roost. The new bandages, covered in the flesh blood had made her out for someone worthy of the unspeakable evil's hospitality. They took her to Dwalkin..."

So he set out for Dwalkin. He had no idea what he was going to do. He had not thought that far ahead. They took his wife. The one person he had been able to rely on throughout this worthless existence as long as he had known her. Since they were children and their fathers had done business together. They had kept each other safe until they were wealthy enough to move to Cosvel and make an attempt to start a family.

He was going to demand answers? Why could this, this 'man' take the lives of innocent people and not have to answer for his crimes? Why could this 'man' steal the happiness away from everything he had touched and never know pain himself? Why did no one do nothing to stop? Nangros was going to pay!