Monarchs

Zachariah Sterling

However, every once in a while, some lost soul thought they could be humanity's savior.

This time, his name was Zachariah Sterling.

Zachariah was always the noble type. Chivalrous and honest, brave, with his intentions always being good. He was the help-an-old-lady-cross-the-street, charitable and gallant type.

Zachariah was growing restless. He couldn't stand seeing the people he loved, or even the people down the street, living in constant fear. He knew what had happened to people like him in the past, what would happen if he spoke out. So he kept his thoughts a secret.

He began to form a plan.

Slowly but surely, over weeks and months, he amassed the funds to achieve his goal, picking up odd jobs here and there, stuffing the coins into a bag that he hid under his floorboards. He did every job he could find, from mucking out animal pens, to babysitting, to shopping for the disabled. He picked fruit and sold it, he fished and he hunted and sold his catches. He kept little for himself, preferring a rigorous diet to keep himself in shape.

Zachariah practiced with his sword, facing those who would spar with him, occasionally paying a tudor to help him, when he felt he could spare the coins. At night, he often fell over in bed, bruised and cut and sore, after sparring for hours. He developed calluses and his pain tolerance h. He became toned and strong and lean. Over the months, He became deadly.

Winter came, and he began studying magick. He was scared of magick, as he knew nothing of any of the arts. He sought knowledge, but he did not practice. He spoke to no one about his plight, fearing the questions they would ask; "Why does he need to know magick? Why has he been studying the blade?" Questions that, if he answered honestly, would kill him.

He perused all of the books he could find, taking in as much information as he could. He read until his eyes burned, and his head hurt.

Day by day, he spent all his hours doing one of three things: Working, practicing his swordsmanship, or studying. He often decided to forego sleep to pursue his goals, pressing on through the exhaustion. He fell asleep reading often. He burned himself out time and time again, trying to learn too fast.

Once he began practicing, he devoted more time to his magick than his blade. He did not let himself grow lazy with his sword, he simply did enough to maintain his skill level. He struggled, as he had no tutor.

As the holidays arrived, there was no work to be found. Zachariah was now studying fervently, as his only dedication was to grow his power. To become strong enough to kill gods. He grew his power, slowly, slowly.

Mastering one element at a time, he harnessed fire, the tides, lightning from the skies, the very earth beneath him. He amassed many scars from the elements, becoming less and less afraid of what they could do.