Lament of the Forsaken

The otherworldly being lying on the deck of the Sheviathon is both wonderful and horrible to behold. Gray-skinned and eye-less, this humanoid appears absolutely ancient. All around you, the dust of his comrades blows through the abyssal air that wafts past. Though eye-less, he seems to behold you within his attention. His voice is a mere whisper but it’s divine touch compels you to listen.

“You cannot know what it feels like to hold the love of billions in your very being and then lose it,” he whispers. “We were a good God, a fair god. One that wanted a better existence for our subjects. That is so far away now, it is but a whisper in a dream. We were shattered into thousands of pieces. Each of us with a tiny spark of the being we once were.”

“We tried. We tried for hundreds of thousands of your years to regain what we lost. We traveled across all the known worlds. We even touched the Far Realm in hopes that we might find an answer, a way to soothe this pain in our beings – a pain you cannot ever imagine.”

“We found nothing. Instead, we found a prophecy. We found a children’s tale of a band of heroes who would save existence from a devastating plan and an ultimate weapon. We found the architect of that plan – the Demon Prince of Undeath – Orcus – and we allied ourselves with him. He told us where to find you. He gave us the one greatest chance we had to find the relief in non-existence. It was a small chance, but worth everything we have to try.”

“I suppose it was foolish to believe in such a thing – even the Prince of Undeath himself didn’t believe it.”



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