- Messages
- 19
Azrakar sat upon his throne. It was almost time.
He turned his head towards his servants. They were mostly dark orcs, the kind that lived beneath the ground. The scarlet flame that wreathed his black form occasionally formed a crown. Sometimes it was a cloak.
"They shall arrive soon."
The guards trickled out of the throne room. He could not clear the entire mountain, but if The Descendant couldn't deal with a few orcs then they were not worthy.
The Prophecy would not be stopped by a few guards.
His kingdom had been crumbling. Hundreds of years ago he had slaughtered an order of demon hunters.. It had been a true cocophany of chaos and despair.
They had used the sacrificial power of their deaths to curse him. Azrakar had paid in blood to hear the prophecy, but knowing had only made it harder to maintain his patience through the centuries that followed.
Now that the moment was here, it was difficult to contain his anticipation.
