 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
The |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Legend |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
of |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Azaroth |
|
|
|
|
|
|
My name is Azaroth, and I am known abroad as a god to warriors. But I am not known here as such. In this magical land, I carry no weapon. Since I surrendered the sword of Masamon, I have not been able to wield any weapon in combat all these many years. But my friend, Solran told me that in the years since my disappearance I have come to be worshipped as a god. From armies going into great battles of conquest to young adventurers going on a quest, they all pray to Azaroth to give them courage in battle. My price to pay for having wielded that sword. The sword of a god. And in the minds of men I have become synonomous with the god who fashioned that great weapon. Poor fellow. The great masses have forgotten his name completely, even in the temples of his own state. Only my name is on their lips. The sword that stole my life so completely that I could not be parted from it for an instant. The sword that made me less of a friend than I could have been. The sword that changed my character and placed me on the side of evil.
But then I was a young man with no eyes to see. Blinded by the sword of the god who gave me my greatness. Those were the days of glory. I doubt even now that I would exchange them for anything. As an old man it gives me something to remember. The glorious days of youth. A young warrior who fought many battles and also enjoyed spending time in a far eastern empire ruled by the priests who made the sword. Treated with deference and respect. And yet also hunted by those who sought the sword for themselves. The great sword of a god given to me by my friend, Solran. Who really wanted to wield it for himself but gave it to me. The sword which Solran keeps hidden deep within his locked vault. Never to pick up because he does not want to surrender himself to it's power. And yet in my own lifetime that sword has made me into the god of warriors. Without it, I should have long ago been forgotten. I guess my character and the sword became entwined. Inseparable like a carefully woven tapestry. It changed me but not completely. Some of me was still there to influence the outcome of events. My friendships with Solran that I never wanted to betray, and with a winged dragon who sacrificed himself to save my life from the seekers of Masamon. I held the sword. I held its power. For better or worse we were firmly wedded until the day I met Zenaida. To marry her was my heart's desire but to do so I had to lay down the sword of the gods. To surrender it to Solran. Never to take up a weapon against my fellowman again. To go into a far country and live simply in a land of mist and shadow. |
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
I could never take up a weapon again, for if I did Masamon would return to me even from the depths of Solran's vault. So I am a warrior without a weapon. A god to warriors who is a man of peace. A peace reinforced by my attachment to the sword. A sword that could return to me in an instant if I ever thought to take up arms in battle. As long as I draw breath that sword is mine hidden deep in the vault of my friend. Through the talents of a fair maiden, the sorceress, Zenaida, I have managed to stay hidden all these years. |
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
With the sword I served my friend, Solran, And also with the sword I would betray that friendship. For you see, at the time the sword controlled me. Solran himself could not see the changes that went on inside me until it was almost too late. I fought not only for my friend, but for his enemies. It was his enemies that set me on the throne as a god-king of a far eastern empire, with riches and glory few men have ever seen. |
|
|
|
|
|
Until Solran conspired with the fair sorceress, Zenaida to have the sword of Masamon returned to him. Zenaida cast a spell on me, but she also fell under my spell. She fell in love with me and I with her. And love is the greatest magic of all. The price of her love was my separation from the sword. And so I traveled a long way with a band of friends to a land sheltered by mist and shadow and there I surrendered the sword to Solran. My days as a warrior over forever. With a spell was Azaroth hidden from the world.
Zenaida bore me many children, though only my daughters survive. And so I am now an old man and wait upon my friend Charon. The immortal god, Azaroth ready to leave this realm and cross the river Styx. But the wood elves promise that I will be taken to Valhalla to join my beloved Zenaida. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
 |
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|