Library: The Tale of Agita

So it was in the old days, when the mountains were young, the skies bright and the hearts of the living, mortal and immortal, pure in their ways, that great battles were fought. Legends were born, some glorious, some vile and wicked, that struckt fear in the hearts of the young. The story that was told of Agita, the Tormentor and the Conqueror of the Cinderheart, was one of the terrible ones. Even then, in those times long gone, Agita had spread pain and suffering across the lands, claiming victories in his own name, defying and defiling the sacred and the good. The story told of a man, born of a purebred elven maid, of a malicious seed, plunged inside the hapless and innocent woman by a insane creature of the warp, of which little is known, but it is said that it was a horrid abomination, without sense and intelligence. The man even from his earliest years was found often studying the books of power in the ancient cities of the Far North. None can say from where this tugging to peruse the dark lore came, but he was determined to find something there. Time went by and the world saw many changes and the man, Agita he was named, grew strong in the knowledge of eldrich secrets which he used to amaze people around him. He was seen listening to the stories of the old soothsayers and shamen, wise men and other men of Power. And then a troubling time came, none can say what set it in motion, for it was a long time ago, and little is known of all the powers waning and waxing then. But it was a time that the skies turned black, storms gathered and crows flew in circles, anticipating something, something evil. Then it was, that Agita marched to the forbidden temple of Cinderheart, place of demons and damned souls. The guardians keeping the beasts in check, that were held there, said to Agita that he should turn back, for they saw the dark gleam in his eyes and the deep grin on his face. Agita refused. He lifted his hand and from his mouth came words that brought destruction, oblivion and death to the guardians standing th ere and a great wail came from the temple-prison. Little can be said that really happened when he marched deep inside the now long forgotten place, what horrors he met, what deals he did strike... But one thing is certain. When he came out, he was glorified by the prisoners, following in his track and foul beasts licked his hand. He made his place there, in the secluded place of Cinderheart and soon a time of burning came. The spirits flew out from the temple ravaging the lands, crushing hearts and homes, bringing pestilence and war, destruction that none had witnessed for ages... The dark time did continue long, and Agita held dominion over great distances around Cindearheart. From time to time did priests of Burglefloogah come to Agita, asking for his devotion for the Frog-God. He said that he would serve the Demigod well, harming and bringing pain to the world, bringing forth hatred into hearts of men and all creatures of the world. And the priests were pleased everytime, giving him great gifts, bathing in terrible songs of praise. Also the demon-armoured l warriors of Azzarakk came to him, some joining forces with Agita, and some to try destroy him, for they believed that the destruction of Agita would release so massive amounts of energy that the whole of world would shake. It wasn't only the legions of darkness that turned their eyes on Agita and his minions. The templars and nuns, healers and the druids, knew him well and mourned for the curse he had inflicted on the world greatly. Plans had been made many times to purify Cinderheart and take Agita before Las, the Anvil of Justice. None had prevailed. But there was one man, who was nor a destroyer of Azzarakk, or a man of good. He was a great barbarian warlord, from the same lands that in which Agita was born, who had wrestled with the mighty frost demons of north, and defeated the strongest of them and made trophies of their hides and spirit-energy. He came to Cinderheart, the creatures guarding the lands around it yielding before him. Agita had long grown bored of the tormenting and warmongering, and had begun to study the texts he had read in his youth. He knew there was so much for him to still learn and he cringed in frustration that one day he would be gone, for Immortality was denied for him, so much had he defiled and he couldn't be trusted. But he had learned another way... And then the Barbarian came, gates splintering before his axe and hammer, not once stopping in dread to behold the sheer blasphemousness of the temple. Agita felt his coming and had begun his preparations. And when the barbarian came, Agita was standing in a circle of power, reciting a spell in a deep dark voice, that made the walls squirm and the air turn damp and rotten. The berzerker-king advanced and just after the final word escaped from Agita's lips the axe came crushing down. There was a mighty explosion of magical energy, the temple was completely annihilated and all the lands around it desolated. The barbarian-king survived miraclously, maybe because of the favour of the gods, or the sheer resilience of the man. But he didn't utter a single word after the incident. And a long, long, time after those times a small boy came to the ruins, not knowing why, or why he was so excited of the finding, but he knew there was something for him. Something that he was supposed to stumble upon, something that he was born for. Searching around for a day, two, three... He became very tired, and fell asleep amidst the fallen stones. He dreamt of a life with a meaning, life so rewarding that he could barely understand it, if only he would promise something. Promise to bring back the darkness once again. The boy, Viko he was by his name, had a heart black even then and it was no decision to make that promise to himself. The dream was so lifelike that when just before it ended a figure came before him standing tall and dreadfull, and Viko almost lost his mind and a feeble cry came from his mouth. The figure said that he was the boy's destiny. And the boy would become him. Viko woke and saw a blade next to him. It glowed red and when he wielded it he was filled with ancient majik. And an yearning of souls. Viko shed blood in the name he didn't know, being an instrument of evil, never really understanding why, but he enjoyed the feeling. He was at times a most happy boy, and later a young man, but then those feelings died as his grasp to the blade became more and more firm. A tool of destruction, honouring Burglefloogah, Azzarakk and Draen-Dalar, and all of the three smiled upon him. And he enjoyed great fortune, many victories, and inflicted a thousand deaths. Then the time came, that the spell was ready to work, the stars were aligned, the gods favoured Agita's cruel plot and the spirit-force that Viko had captured inside the blade that was Agita's focus of being was strong enough, Agita burst out from the body of Viko. The skin turned to ashen-grey, the hair fell out and eyes rotted from their sockets. And in those sockets two dark-blue suns flared into life. Agita was here again, not immortal, not living nor dead. But now he would have time, now he would have a new world before him, a weak world with not nearly as much power in it, for the time of legends was gone. But he was here now, and the world would once again whisper his name in fear.

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Library: The Tale of Agita