A small, tattered book lays open. The parchment is worn, and old. The symbols within at first seem nothing but graffiti, slashes of dark colour, splodges of ink. Looking closer, some letters start to make sense. One there looks like an Abyssal rune. One there looks like an obscure ancient letter. If one were to have the correct means, the right way of deciphering this strange text, this is what they may readÂ….
Snow. Snow, the hammer, and the forge. How many years have I travelled the planes? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? Not once have I penned my thoughts, written down the chaos. But I wouldnÂ’t have done that, not then. The beginning seems the best. ItÂ’s been so long since IÂ’ve thought of who I once was. I donÂ’t remember that man, only snow, and the hammer. I was hunting with a dwarf, and she mentioned a warriors burial. Gerta, she was called. A flaming pyre, weapons across my chest. That feels right. Why? There is another, who enjoys the hunt. A lizard, but something more, he almost seems to be made of stone. It lets me fall easily into the old ways. Company of monsters.
My mind and body have been ravaged by powers, time and time again. What do I remember now? Everything and nothing? Once, I was the mindless puppet of a mad god. A forged engine of destruction. I fought for my freedom, fought for my mind. I was a monster, in the company of monsters. The ogre, the goblin, the troll. Those are the only companions I remember. There are others, flickering shadows that make me remember nothing but hatred and betrayal. A kagonesti male. A half-fiend woman with a whip. A succubus with empty promises.
Then came the spiders. The spiders did not rule me, not this time, but I was one of them. We unleashed madness on the world. The titan released, rivers of fire poured through the skies. Perhaps that is the cause. Being so close to his madness, it has changed me.
Things are not as they were. I used to be a warrior, I used to have the blackest heart, a thrall to the dark powers. But now I am a Cager. Or have I always been one? It feels like a home, of a sort. For decades I have walked the planes, and now I come to their centre. The possibilities are astounding. The planes ripe for the picking. Fresh materials to work with, fresh beasts to kill.
Malus is my name. It is the name I remember, the name I was given, but the name I have killed for. It is my name, now. But it is time for something new. Other titles I have held. I have been called Lord, I have been called thug. Now, I can only think of the forging. The making. The weaves of energy connecting the multiverse. A new power flows through me, now. My muscles fail me, but my mind is sharper than ever. The secrets of the verse are being revealed through me, through theÂ…source, whatever it may be. I can channel it.
Chant has it, thereÂ’s a group of cutters in the city. Godsmen, some call them. They say that the multiverse is a forge, and weÂ’re all ascending through the powers. That seems fitting. I have been shaped, hammered, burned and remade by gods and monsters, titans and mortals. But now I shall forge myself. It is time to be reborn again.
Malus Darkforge is born.
Malus Darkforge
