Greed - The First Sin

Prologue

Many centuries ago.

          "Must we go to these great lengths, Master?" Atrok adjusted his black and red mask, staring at the man who lay on the soft hay. His legs trembled with anticipation, he was very excited for what was to come of this, not in a good way, although he did not want to say that in front of his Lord. This was the one person he would ever bow down to without a moment of hesitation or an ounce of reluctance, and he did not want to show any signs of weakness. He wanted the Lord to be proud of who he chose as his first disciple, especially now.

          The storm had ceased, the village had been eradicated. All life that was left was the Lord and his two pupils. However, that was soon to change. Atrok glanced to his side, the boy was kneeling by his master's side, his face buried in his hands. Atrok wanted to do the same, but for that would be disrespect as the first chosen pupil of his master's. He had to stay strong.

          "You both have the magic to carry on my legacy. I may not be there now, nor for another thousand years, but I will be there. One day, I will come back. And I promise you, my children, if you wait for me long enough for us to reunite, we will only know clear skies, and happy, innumerable days." Atrok knew this wasn't possible, he and the other had the means to live on, but the Lord did not. Although he had harvested more than double their energy combined, his soul simply didn't speak the right way.

          He heard a sob and he turned his head, the boy crying next to him. How peculiar the choice was. He did not doubt the Lord or disagree, but he didn't see what the Lord saw in him. Perhaps the Lord saw potential, perhaps not. Atrok was sure that he would end up a disgrace, he would simply be a traitor or a coward. The boy had a strong gift, but Atrok thought he would be more useful as a pawn, and not a student. He was not adept at learning, nor was he mentally stable, which caused him to defy command often.

          He looked back at the Lord, watching as his chest rose and fell slowly, and unevenly. Blood dripped from his lips, and all Atrok could do was watch, and do nothing. For this was not a battle wound that Trouok could bind and heal, this was a wound inflicted by time itself. Trouok and Atrok had ways of manipulating and bypassing this, but alas, their Lord did not, for his soul spoke a different tongue than the air he breathed, the air did not understand what he was saying. He had the power to force it into submission, much like a man and a sheep, but men and sheep can never reach an understanding, much like thy Lord and the stubborn air around him.

          A horrible cough escaped the Lord's lips, hissing through his stripped and dry throat. Any water that he drank would be regurgitated, causing him to meet a very slow demise through dehydration. Possibly even more agony filled Atrok, knowing his only purpose in life was dying in front of him, and he could not do anything to cease the pain in which the Lord suffered.

          "Master, we will not disappoint you." Trouok's voice sounded hollow, and unsure, as if he was not completely convinced of that statement. Atrok did not blame him, for he himself questioned whether he would make the Lord proud, without instruction. But soon, they would have no instruction, the untimely demise of their Lord and mentor shall leave them without a guide in life.

          He reached inside his fur coat, taking out the small stone and looking into it. The stones which Trouok enchanted should have helped them find someone who whispered with the waves and commanded the torrents. They needed someone who guided the water, for it was rumored the magical properties of water helped heal any wounds the mortal vessel had. The stones had indeed found people who spoke with the waves, but they did not have the soul power to command the water, and these were deemed useless. Few in the world had the power to command the elements, the stones had brought them to those who couldn't.