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Library: The Tale of Agita


Author: agita
Date:Dec 31 2005

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.