Story Prt. 8

For two days he lay in the streambed, wondering if life would ever be returned to him. Slowly the noises of the forest came back to him. Squirrels were heard again to skitter through the branches overhanging his apparent death bed. Birds sang their shrill songs of morning at day break. Animals began to approach him. Birds at first, able to flit away on the odd chance that he should twitch at their presence.1

His hand shot out from the crumpled form that was his body. A bird was its target and its aim was true. He cluthced the bird and ended its life in the same grip. Placing the tiny beak next to his dry cracked lips he inhaled the poor creatures last dieing breath. He let the tiny corpse fall from his grasp, splashing softly in the water, dipping down to do further damage to itself on the rocks below, before bobbing back to the surface and slowly sailing down the river.2

He could again feel life flowing in his veins, he could not yet move voluntarily, but he could again feel the earth beneath his body. Sensation was returning to his withered form. He could now taste the acrid stench of death in the air, both himself and the gryphon had been rotting here for two days now. His nostrils flared at the scent in the air. He needed more life in him. He turned his head into the stream so that he could gulp down water, feeling the presence of the river algae flowing by in the fluid. Slowly with more and more imbibing he was able to lift his head out of the water. When at last he could drink no more his body was again sated wth life once more. He rose with trepidation to his feet.3

"Those fools said death could not be defeated, I, Azuroth have proven them all wrong. I have completely harnessed the power of nature. Death now has no hold over me," he cackled to no one in particular. He walked through this copse of trees marvelling at the amount of his own blood that was present on his clothes. He could not deny that his vision had altered. He no longer saw things as vibrant colorful objects. The world around him had taken on a grey pallor, all the colors were muted almost out of existence. He walked over to the gryphon, upon picking up his staff, he felt pity for this poor dead creature, he placed his hands over the eyes and mouth of the creature. Muttering blashemous dark words, "Muerta Nova Dai-aka, Hyro Mepppp, Rahhhhhh," he drew the last syllable out and placed his lips to the cup of his hands on the gryphons mouth, infusing the creature with a little bit of his stolen life. The gryphon startled as a newborn, tried to stand, clinging feebly to the hope that it still had power over gravity, and fell to its knees. "Not yet, fine steed, not yet. But soon all your power will be yours again, and all my power and more than that will be mine again." The gryphon still dazed squawked at him, with no recognition, and yet at the same time recognizing authority. The gryphon didn't know this man but he knew his station and to Hyro this man was life. Hyro knew this man could end his new life as quickly as he had given it.4

Instinctively Azuroth knew some of the powers now at his command. He could raise the dead, in whatever form they may be. Though there were always limitations he knew, and his were that he needed contact with the body he would be ressurecting. Thus his thoughts of going to a graveyard and raising an army instantly were quelled even before they began. He knew that any of his soon to be horde could be 'released' from service as it were. There essence returned to him, he need only say their name with the proper focus of thought in his mind. Thus he could call his creatures to him and they would come! Would they ever, or it would be the end of their sickly new begining. He knew he passed on some of himself to all his creations as well, so he knew that all his horde would know who was master and they would serve him with zeal.5