The Empyreon Age
Long had he searched the outstretched landscape. And the longer his search became, the more fell victim to the Empyreon strugle for victory. Countless lives were lost for a cause to which they were nothing but mere puppets, ready to be sacrificed. It pained Azedor, until that faithful day that his failure struck as a sharpened knife, cutting trough the very being of his soul.
It didn't occur to him while searching for a way, it didn't while he was studying within the forest. But at that moment, lying down in the grass, the answer came. They came with the words of his former master: there is always a power above needless power.
The Orkfian gods alone could stop the latest wars.
Azedor called upon them. Muttering requests towards the clouds. Begging to give them the wisdom he needed, but it didn't come. He begged then for the power to vanguish the Empyreon race, but did not receive it. Then he stood up, his beard dancing in the wind. His crippled body stood as a silent mountain before an approaching storm. And he asked, with all his heart, with the memory of his people and his love for the land: “Mighty gods of Orkfia. I stand here, a single soul blazing in the middle of darkness. Please state to me that this overflowing darkness is not your will. Show me your will, show me a path.”
After those words a path was indeed shown. A path of ruthless lightning struck down from the heavens, incinerating the flesh that bound Azedor to the world of Orkfia. Sucking his soul up to a realm where the immortals lived.
The halls of origin was where he as a shapeless soul arrived. There where the feet of the gods who sat upon their mighty thrones. Words echoed from a place his soul eye could not see.
“On you bestowed, one willing for the ultimate sacrifice. Time and space bent to will that is ours, yours which is the punishment for those scarring our land. An eternal wait ensues those with the power of time and space. Bestowed, bestow upon them a power that will eternally occur.”
What happened precisely is unknown to all orkfiologists. It was only known that a pact was made. Turning Azedors immortal soul in something created with the power of space and time. The creation of his new existence shook the foundations of existence. Lines of time were ripped apart like simple pieces of paper. Back at the Empyreon age Azedor reappeared in the shape of a comet. An impeding doom hanging above all heads.
Written for Orkfia Classic.
Last updated: January 2013