641. Abbadon

Abbadon sits on his tall marble throne overlooking the last great city the last powerful ruler of a once great civilisation where there had been beautiful buildings filled with joy now only haunting ruins and piles of stone remain barely lit by the dying red sun above No tears streamed down his face as his midnight eyes are cold the old man's only warmth comes from the large white jewel embedded in the head of the tall onyx staff held tightly in his withering right hand He had originally arrived in peace to learn when the world was young and full of potential clothed in pure white robes that glowed the people welcomed him though he was a sorcerer and for centuries they prospered with his wisdom and magic Though he was wise he was not all knowing and his lust for more power started the great war in his attempt to end the conflict with a series of spells he only succeeded in bringing rains of fire and death With their dying breath one uttered a curse that Abbadon would age but not die stripped of most of his magic and strength doomed to roam the world alone until its end His only companion is the freezing wind biting his tattered black robes every gust is filled with the screams of his victims so he can never know any rest or sleep Even when the world finally ends and his physical form is no more his spirit will be forced to endure bringing corruption to all who hear his whispers offering to feed their own destructive lust for more knowledge and power so he is not the only one to fall into darkness