| Copyright © 2007-2008 Richard H. Fay |
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In elder days when the cosmos was young and the ancient gods fought amongst themselves, two great
armies clashed with a dreadful din. The ravaging horde of Gabel-gogul met the gleaming legions of
Shebbeth-ra on the seething ash plains of Balaktu. Both sides craved dominion over a fledgling
universe. One wished to bring darkness, while the other promised light.
The dire conflict tore the land asunder; distant mountains crumbled beneath the terrible weight of
war. Many mighty titans fell on that field and littered the land with their shattered mortal shells.
The fierce battle continued both day and night, until acrid dust filled the blackened sky and the rivers
and streams ran red with blood.
As a gore-stained sun rose on the third day, Shebbeth-ra rallied his army once more. The spears of
light finally drove back the darkling mob. A phalanx of stalwart giants pushed relentlessly through
the enemy lines. Knowing full well that the day was lost, Gabel-gogul strode through his routed
ranks and called for single combat with his foe.
Shebbeth-ra gladly answered the challenge. The fraternal enemies fought with a thunderous rage.
Sparks fell like rain from their burnished armour. Their polished swords flashed like lightning in the
dismal murk. Equal in both skill and determination, neither gained an advantage over the other.
Spear shafts splintered and hide-bound shields were battered into uselessness as the ferocious fray
wore on until night fell.
Hoping to find favour in the lengthening shadows, Gabel-gogul attempted to strike his foe from
behind. Shebbeth-ra avoided the treacherous blow and hewed off his brother's head. With their
captain's death, the vile army fled. Shebbeth-ra's legions then scoured the land, removing the foul
pestilence once and for all.
Shebbeth-ra felt pity and remorse for his inevitable act of fratricide. Wishing to honour his brother's
remains, he burned Gabel-gogul's body on a blazing funeral pyre. He prayed to the great Creator for
forgiveness, then let the wind carry the ashes across the countryside. Sad but content, Shebbeth-ra
returned to his golden hall in the clouds, thinking that his task was truly done.
A small piece of Gabel-gogul's ebon heart survived and became buried by the sands of time. His
malice endured and polluted the ground above. Evil entities gathered about the spot, cursing the
countryside for all eternity. Black thoughts and fell deeds troubled those unlucky enough to settle the
blighted land. Nothing will ever grow, and lives will never prosper, where the malignant shard of
Gabel-gogul lies still.
armies clashed with a dreadful din. The ravaging horde of Gabel-gogul met the gleaming legions of
Shebbeth-ra on the seething ash plains of Balaktu. Both sides craved dominion over a fledgling
universe. One wished to bring darkness, while the other promised light.
The dire conflict tore the land asunder; distant mountains crumbled beneath the terrible weight of
war. Many mighty titans fell on that field and littered the land with their shattered mortal shells.
The fierce battle continued both day and night, until acrid dust filled the blackened sky and the rivers
and streams ran red with blood.
As a gore-stained sun rose on the third day, Shebbeth-ra rallied his army once more. The spears of
light finally drove back the darkling mob. A phalanx of stalwart giants pushed relentlessly through
the enemy lines. Knowing full well that the day was lost, Gabel-gogul strode through his routed
ranks and called for single combat with his foe.
Shebbeth-ra gladly answered the challenge. The fraternal enemies fought with a thunderous rage.
Sparks fell like rain from their burnished armour. Their polished swords flashed like lightning in the
dismal murk. Equal in both skill and determination, neither gained an advantage over the other.
Spear shafts splintered and hide-bound shields were battered into uselessness as the ferocious fray
wore on until night fell.
Hoping to find favour in the lengthening shadows, Gabel-gogul attempted to strike his foe from
behind. Shebbeth-ra avoided the treacherous blow and hewed off his brother's head. With their
captain's death, the vile army fled. Shebbeth-ra's legions then scoured the land, removing the foul
pestilence once and for all.
Shebbeth-ra felt pity and remorse for his inevitable act of fratricide. Wishing to honour his brother's
remains, he burned Gabel-gogul's body on a blazing funeral pyre. He prayed to the great Creator for
forgiveness, then let the wind carry the ashes across the countryside. Sad but content, Shebbeth-ra
returned to his golden hall in the clouds, thinking that his task was truly done.
A small piece of Gabel-gogul's ebon heart survived and became buried by the sands of time. His
malice endured and polluted the ground above. Evil entities gathered about the spot, cursing the
countryside for all eternity. Black thoughts and fell deeds troubled those unlucky enough to settle the
blighted land. Nothing will ever grow, and lives will never prosper, where the malignant shard of
Gabel-gogul lies still.
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Foul deeds breed diabolic consequences. Loss of hope and faith leads to the rejection of all that is
sacred. Strife and misery give rise to black despair. Days of abject sorrow give way to nights of
profound dread.
The dark thoughts stirring in the minds of evil men are finally given tangible form. Pouring forth
from sulphurous cracks in the earth, Hell's vile progeny roam over a scarred and weary land. Waves
of pestilence and death follow in their wake. The unquiet dead then rise from their mossy beds to
exact a terrible revenge for mankind's unholy folly.
Lucifer’s host marches beneath a pale crescent moon. Mortal armies fall like stalks of grain before the
reaper's sharp and deadly sickle. Demonic witchery breaks down stout walls and sturdy towers.
Lofty seats of power and might crumble to dust. None are left to stand in the way of the vile mob’s
malignant chevaucheé.
Noxious smoke and flaming brimstone fill the still midnight air as the pillaging horde puts peasant
cot and village croft to the torch. The weak and the small flee into the quaint parish church, protected
by its blessed stone walls. The damned pound ominously on the inviolable sanctuary door, while the
innocent within pray for heavenly intercession.
In answer to the desperate pleas for divine aid, a shining paladin of light appears out of the desolate
darkness. A holy avenger rises like a new sun from the ashes of ruin. His flaming sword and
burnished armour flash like beacons of hope in the choking gloom. Astride a strong destrier barded
in silver and gold, heaven's bright champion sets out to challenge the fell host.
Determined to keep safe the last remaining bastion of goodness and light, the stalwart stands like an
immovable rock before the onrushing tide. The lone horseman waits until the ravaging devils are
almost upon him, then he spurs his mighty steed deep into the thick of the savage fray. Black blood
boils on the keen edge of his fiery blade as many a foul foe and undead fiend fall beneath his mighty
blows.
Routed by the victorious paladin, the vanquished demons retreat back into the endless ebon abyss.
The walking dead return slowly but surely to their mouldy graves, not to rise again until Judgement
Day. Satisfied that his work is done, the angelic warrior brandishes his weapon in triumph then
vanishes into the mists of time.
sacred. Strife and misery give rise to black despair. Days of abject sorrow give way to nights of
profound dread.
The dark thoughts stirring in the minds of evil men are finally given tangible form. Pouring forth
from sulphurous cracks in the earth, Hell's vile progeny roam over a scarred and weary land. Waves
of pestilence and death follow in their wake. The unquiet dead then rise from their mossy beds to
exact a terrible revenge for mankind's unholy folly.
Lucifer’s host marches beneath a pale crescent moon. Mortal armies fall like stalks of grain before the
reaper's sharp and deadly sickle. Demonic witchery breaks down stout walls and sturdy towers.
Lofty seats of power and might crumble to dust. None are left to stand in the way of the vile mob’s
malignant chevaucheé.
Noxious smoke and flaming brimstone fill the still midnight air as the pillaging horde puts peasant
cot and village croft to the torch. The weak and the small flee into the quaint parish church, protected
by its blessed stone walls. The damned pound ominously on the inviolable sanctuary door, while the
innocent within pray for heavenly intercession.
In answer to the desperate pleas for divine aid, a shining paladin of light appears out of the desolate
darkness. A holy avenger rises like a new sun from the ashes of ruin. His flaming sword and
burnished armour flash like beacons of hope in the choking gloom. Astride a strong destrier barded
in silver and gold, heaven's bright champion sets out to challenge the fell host.
Determined to keep safe the last remaining bastion of goodness and light, the stalwart stands like an
immovable rock before the onrushing tide. The lone horseman waits until the ravaging devils are
almost upon him, then he spurs his mighty steed deep into the thick of the savage fray. Black blood
boils on the keen edge of his fiery blade as many a foul foe and undead fiend fall beneath his mighty
blows.
Routed by the victorious paladin, the vanquished demons retreat back into the endless ebon abyss.
The walking dead return slowly but surely to their mouldy graves, not to rise again until Judgement
Day. Satisfied that his work is done, the angelic warrior brandishes his weapon in triumph then
vanishes into the mists of time.
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