The Prophet
"I will quell this resistance to our power lord Sordint."
"Excellent! You pleassse me greatly Itus." With an evil cackle Sordint exits the throne room.
"Issue a decree to all the guards and armies to kill every child under 1 year of age." You state to your loyal squire.
There is a bloodbath. The streets littered with the severed heads of babies. The wailing of mothers is heard from sunrise to sunset. Your name is cursed and reviled throughout the land. Fathers train their sons to kill you. Whispers of a rebel army begin to form.
This is all of little consequence to you. Human armies are no match for the power of Sordint's staff. Any army would be crushed by your legions of rockmen. No, truly the babies were the bigger threat. You just pray that one did not escape your executions. You grip the staff as if it's your own child, slowly falling to sleep.
"Excellent! You pleassse me greatly Itus." With an evil cackle Sordint exits the throne room.
"Issue a decree to all the guards and armies to kill every child under 1 year of age." You state to your loyal squire.
There is a bloodbath. The streets littered with the severed heads of babies. The wailing of mothers is heard from sunrise to sunset. Your name is cursed and reviled throughout the land. Fathers train their sons to kill you. Whispers of a rebel army begin to form.
This is all of little consequence to you. Human armies are no match for the power of Sordint's staff. Any army would be crushed by your legions of rockmen. No, truly the babies were the bigger threat. You just pray that one did not escape your executions. You grip the staff as if it's your own child, slowly falling to sleep.