Time. Time is a fickle beast who would see us fall
And laugh again like she laughed at our fathers passed.
Her hand does pluck the strings of everything we do
And she is not alone in her cruel, meddling ways.
Through emotion and our own wanton selfish acts
We cut a path through life that has only one end,
Invisible to all save our own mortal grace,
Inspired by the web weaved through all our waking days.
Many walk on, undaunted by this final truth
Until the telling is told by their aching bones
And, weary, they lay down to take their final rest
Terrified of all they ignored until too late.
But this is not the road for every living man.
Some hesitate to walk at all, ever in fear,
Where others, undaunted, sprint for the finish line,
And precious few choose eternity over fate.
What follows is the story of a man who did
And the trials on his quest for most eternal life,
The blood he spilled in the name of selfish desire
And of a warrior who would oppose him so.
But not always were these two men destined for this
And like all things there story has a humble start
Of soldiers singing songs of glory great,
Before diving in to disaster down below.
But wait. Before we even come to talk of this,
Let us speak again most fondly of our mistress, Time.
Her nails tapping loudly on her looking glass
As she, unentertained, so wearily looks on.
Upon it's mirrored surface, these two men stand tall,
Of different times and different motives, ways and thoughts,
Who, by her grace alone, could be remade as gods
And see all of their petty, mortal concerns gone.
On one side, large, powerful and feline, he stood
Firm of feature and clearly too of iron will.
Handsome and Adonis-like with his rusted skin.
His name is Morrovore and he wears passion's guise.
Here, he works the fields as Mistress Time looks on,
Before dipping her finger in the polished glass,
And stirring up his lifetime to please herself the more
Making him a soldier, wars fires in his eyes.
The other man, a carpenter before this change
Would carve beautiful works of artistry in wood
Was changed as the ripples of fate washed over him
Erasing everything poor Udulo would be.
In his place lay a child near a broken home
Tears streaming down his distraught and disheartened face
Before Mistress Time waved the sorry boy away,
Deeming the soldier's tale more interesting to see.
The years of Morrovore's reign lost to us all.
Only tales of his strength and cruelty remain
To remind us of his most dark and heinous fall,
From legend to terror in the space of ten short years.
His most meteoric rise to head of state,
Then tainted by betrayal of the common good,
Mankind's spread across the bright and distant stars
Arrested as his greed for power became clear
He was opposed and cast down by more loyal men
But he escaped with many shamed and loyal kin,
Each the equal of any great warrior then
Fated to become murderers, every one of them.
These Void Ravens, pirates and villains to a fault
Wealthier, more savage than you'd care to imagine.
It is in this state that our story finds it start,
And on the world Apollo, war torn skies open.
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