The end of all of their troubles was nigh. Their hero was already supposed to have destroyed all of the resistance between him and the demon lord's stronghold. Already the incidents that had led to these turn of events were rendered into song and tale. The legendary tales of the feats of bravery and glory were all that remained at the end of it all and no one remembered all of the many thousands who had died along the way.
All of that sacrifice, all of that pain and struggle led to this. This, most momentous of days. The demon lord was going to fall, that was a certainty expressed in the hearts of all of the people. That hope grew into something that became a lot more than hope in the hearts of the people. It became their reason for living.
The demon lord and his hordes had oppressed the lands of the men for more than a hundred years.
The demon lord did not die. Some rumours spoke of the fact that the demon lord was actually one of the gods of the land. Some tales stated that a new demon lord was reborn every few years to fill the role of the demon lord. There were tales told that the demon lord was more a title than a single person.
There were rumours of other things, happier things. That the demon lord would be killed by a certain blade forged by the gods. This blade was entrusted to guardians to await the arrival of a true hero.
It was sung that the hero quested for the blade and wrenched it from the unholy tree that kept the blade from mortals. It was also sung about how he had gotten the blade blessed with gifts of great renown. It was said that the hero made the blessings true by quenching the thirst of the blade in the fonts of the primordial life that flowed from within the lands thus renewing the dying magic that had been bestowed on it by the gods of creation. It was said that the creatures that he had to face there was the match of the demon lord's generals. Still, he had prevailed and raised the brightest of beacons against the Demon Lord.
The last of the great labours of the hero was the gathering of the armies of the free people of the land. That was a task as great as any of the others. This was quite simply because the great fighters for the free would not acquiesce, to bow down before any other who would be weaker than themselves. Weakness would not be accepted. So the hero had fought.
He had to fight entire legions of great fighters without killing them to prove that his banner was the banner under which they should fight. He had fought till no mere mortal could last. He showed the brutes what grace looked like and the sophisticated what pure grit looked like.
When that was accomplished, he went and began to challenge the might of the demon lord. The war lasted over a year and for the first time in a long time, the war was not all bad for the men who fought for freedom. The might of the demon lord was potent but the might of the hero broke through all of the ranks of those who would do them harm.
The armies may falter but the hero never failed. He led the armies. He did more than lead. It was sung that he decimated the armies of the demon lord till nought remained for the others to fight. He was fierce and glorious in battle. He was more god than a man on the battlegrounds and like so many heroes of old he had names to match his glory. He gathered names like one would gather clothes and his fame spread till he was the light of the world, which incidentally was another name for him.
Now, it was said that this day was the day of the end. This was the day the Demon Lord would fall. The people gathered in the safe places that people gathered to pray, to hope and to wait. They waited for the news of the day when they would be free. Then, it came. Magic that ruled over space activated.
In over a thousand habitations, in front of all of the roving hundreds of eyes, a scene came stretched in a membrane of magic. This membrane stretched till everything in the sky showed what was to happen in crystal clarity.
They saw that this was a window into the palace of the Dark lord. The entire room was like any royal palace of any ruler. It did not look like a place from hell or ominous in any sort of way. It was actually quite tastefully decorated but that was when the people noticed that the magic was focusing on one single point and as that point came closer, it looked like hell.
This was hell.
A lone person stood amidst a pool of crimson while a shadow grew from the ground lazily. The shadow seemed to be dancing for the figure at the other end of the library.
It was not what they expected. This was not the spell of the hero. Of that it was certain. That was because all they saw was the face of their champion contorted with fury and battle lust. This was the fearsome face of the god of war. The people cringed in front of that face filled with so much hate.
The horrid spell was not still and moved to show another scene. It showed the broken bodies of those who were said to be the friends and loyal comrades of the hero. The hero alone stood, untouched except for that splash of colour. Everyone else lay sprawled on the ground dead and mostly in pieces that no longer looked anything like human bodies. These parts of flesh were simply lumps of flesh and nothing more. It was like the hero's friends were slaughtered like they were cattle in a butcher's shop.
The hero did not seem to care now that the people were dead. He stepped on the misshapen lumps of flesh that had been his friends and pressed onwards. He looked like a grim god, spotless in shining mail and armour while all around him was only crimson. His blade was kept at the ready though it was already too late.
The Demon Lord stood a few paces away almost as spotless as the hero. He was akin to a nightmare simply by sight alone, though it was more a sense of feeling than his actual appearance. He was tall, almost a head taller than the hero. His face and every inch of him was covered in black satin-like material that seemed to be more shadow than cloth. He wore a crown of simple metal with five small ornate points at the edges. He held a bastard blade whose metal was as dark as the night as well. It still had a presence that equalled if not rivalled the blessed blade of the hero.
Then instead of ending it all, the Demon Lord waved his blade aside in an almost careless gesture and waved at the hero as if greeting an old, dear friend. "Patience, my hero," said the Demon Lord with no emotion at all. His voice was not pitched strangely, nor was it in any way the same voice as what any had imagined the Demon Lord to have. His voice was nobler than any other voice and even the hero's voice seemed to be that of a savage's compared to this perfectly pitched baritone. It was almost as though he was not a Demon Lord but more an impeccable king among men. But he was no man. "I merely buried the others to make our talk a little more...how do you say it, a little more private? Yes, that's the word. I apologize in advance for any errors in my speech I haven't spoken to you animals for quite a while after all. Now we may talk in relative privacy."
In ages long past, there was a bored demon lord, a king beyond compare.
Whatever he wished, he did and what he did not wish, did not care to fruition.
He toyed with heroes and brilliant lights and wielded the world as he wished.
Yet what he sought none may provide for all eternity.
The Demon Lord, ruler of all, mighty above all craves something. A new flavour over the centuries. Sadly as he’d already tasted most and all of the emotions that he needed to for himself, he decided to well, not allow nature to craft some boring act for him.
So, he deigns it only right that for the story, the greatest in his mind, he might as well be the craftsman of the tale. So begins our story where the hero is crafted by the demon lord.
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