Tributes

Prologue

Thunder boomed over the castle as the storm gods mourned the loss of one of their number. They were making their sadness known to the god whose power reigned in the land. It was not a personal slight but instead a simple message that a god had departed from the world. Which one did not matter to the ruling god, but the sound of their sorrow added to the already heavy and gloomy atmosphere of the castle. The rain which poured making a mist around the castle, making it a truly fearsome sight.

Dark and grey, the castle loomed ominously in the mountains, built to scare away any souls who were too weak to deal with the creatures within its stone walls. A maze of magic corridors and doors which sometimes changed where they led. The castle was the court of Tyreol, the wolf god of war, destruction and hunting. His court filled with beings of magic and earth. This was his home and his domain and it's featuring seemed to echo the powers he wielded.

The wolf god was currently looming in one of his many private rooms. Looming, despite the fact, the god was sitting on a large leather chair next to a roaring fire. Even had he not been a god, Tyreol would have been a force to be reckoned with. Standing taller than any human man, he towered over all others. His broad shoulders and well-toned muscles only making him appear more like a giant. No sentient being could look at him and doubt his power. He was strong enough that even gods of a higher status than Tyreol were wary of crossing him.

A few had tried in the past only to be met with pain. Only one had managed to gain his forgiveness. The others were forced to watch as their kingdom fell in blood and flames. Tyreol had destroyed the cores of their powers and leaving them shells of themselves. A god without power was a god doomed to fade.

Despite his strict and fierce manner, he was not a monster, though many would assume so. He was firm but fair. Only when he had lost all patience was he close to being the killer of gods. The wolf god was simply not one to be trifled with, nor was he one to suffer for fools. He ruled over his land possessively, striking down any who refused to obey him, who refused to worship him as the god he was.

His patience was running thin at the moment for one simple reason. Tyreol was bored. He was bored and everyone in the castle knew it. It seemed to echo in the air like a bad omen. The gossip of the castle silent for once as people waited for when the wolf god finally lost his patience. Something which would happen if nothing was found to entertain him.

"Master?" A voice called softly. Tyreol looked up as one of his servants cautiously entered the room, the door creaking slightly as it shut. The humidity in the air making the wood expand slightly.

It was Heilan, Tyreol oldest and most loyal servant. A man who had served since his ascension over 5000 years ago. He had a slender build and long green hair. The unusual colours showing he had fae ancestry, but his purple eyes marked him as part celestial too. An unusual mix but one which had proven useful over the years. Tyreol had repaid Heilan's loyalty with his own and kept him safe from those who disapproved of Heilan's existence.

"Yes, Heilan?" Tyreol greeted wearily, patting his thighs, wearing an indulgent expression. The god had been reading a book, not that he was paying much attention to the content. Much of it blurring as so many stories seemed to do now. The stories felt all the same. They had different names and different places, but the tale the same. It was making him feel old, or older than normal anyway. Gods lived for such a long time that occasionally they got tired of the world around them. Tyreol was aware dimly that unless something changed, he was in danger of fading soon himself.