There sits a book – black, dusty, leather-bound and falling apart – on a wooden shelf and it tells of a fate far worse than mere death. It speaks of a poor soul recruited by the Gods for ages– not allowed to truly die, nor allowed to truly live. The knowledge of the being who is part hero and part villain had been lost and the whereabouts of the resting place of this soul long forgotten. No one in the last 100 years has this read book.. that is.. until that gloomy, rainy day..
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