Something I worked up. A full page and three quarters of text hammered out without typos in half an hour. I'm happy with it.

The Tale of Sylas.

In the old times, when men with the proper aspirations and a certain amount of luck could make themselves as the gods, one stood foremost among them. A powerful warrior, he earned his right to stand among the gods in their domains. And so, with the newfound power that his title granted, Sylas gathered what warriors he saw fit to: those who showed extraordinary strength, courage, leadership and, above all else, honor. He held no respect or care for any that would betray anyone, even their direst enemy, and those that worshipped him were practitioners of direct combat, facing their enemies head on and crushing them with the will of their god that flowed through them.

Just as the light of a candle casts a shadow upon itself, so too did the shadows grow about Sylas's feet. Among the other lesser gods, there stood one who despised Sylas and his preachings. One who, in his way, was known by his worshipers only as The Beast. A foul creature, projecting itself as a living, breathing shadow upon the world, granting power to the usurpers, backstabbers, thieves and malcontents of the world. It was in his very creed to sow discord among humanity and the growth of those who worshiped Sylas was infringing upon his domain.

And so, he began to quietly insinuate himself farther upon the world, casting stable nations into civil war and discord that he might gather followers to his side and grow in power. This did not go unnoticed by Sylas and, on several occasions, he sent gleaming avatars of his will into the world, the great Battlehosts of Sylas. Where they strode on the battlefield, the hearts of men were lifted and they struck down the followers of the Beast. Even this action was not enough. The Beast had grown great enough in his power that he was ready to overthrow the one he was forced to call "brother" and claim his followers as his own.

As Sylas sat in his court, filling the Tome of Heroes one name at a time, a horrible cry reached his ears. The armies of the Beast had come screaming into their heavenly domains, headed by the Beast himself, charging to battle as a massive wolf of shadows and malice. Enraged that another god would attack him so, Sylas lifted his sword and let out a yell so fierce that it shook mountains down and shattered the stars themselves. At the head of his own heavenly hosts, Sylas led the attack against The Beast and his forces.

Though The Beast and his ilk had led the attack, they paled to Sylas's Grim Angels in pitched combat. Their gleaming blades struck the Beast's followers down in scores but, slowly, the fell as they were mobbed by a seemingly endless tide of bodies. In the very center of the battlefield, Sylas and The Beast waged their battle, surrounded by an ever growing sea of their dead followers. While his followers were weak, The Beast had grown stronger and grew to even greater strength with every underhanded kill against those that followed Sylas.

Sylas felt his edge in the battle slipping and drove himself along farther and harder. Though he struck hard and true, The Beast too realized that he was gaining the upper hand. As Sylas parried a blow, The Beast lashed out with its tongue, the point driving through Sylas's heart like a needle. Sylas dropped to his knees and The Beast turned, roaring out in triumph that he had slain his true antithesis. With its back turned, Sylas stood and, with all of his rage, leaped and drove his sword down through the skull of The Beast. As the holy steel slid through its cursed flesh, The Beast became a true corporeal creature. Black fires whipped at its form, destroying all but the skull which Sylas had impaled and the jaws parted in a long, lasting laugh.

In that instant, Sylas realized what he had done. Driven to desperation, he had fallen back upon his own creed. Even though The Beast had been his truest enemy, he had attacked from behind. He had used The Beast's distraction to his own gain. As the forces of The Beast broke and fled, Sylas slowly marched back to his great court, clutching the festering wound in his chest. His blade, now tainted with the blood of The Beast, was held tight in his other hand as he looked upon his works, feeling his mind starting to tear from The Beast's poisons.

Again, he yelled. While the first time it had been a proud shout, shattering earth and heavens alike with its ferocity, this was a mournful scream. All who heard it, of any domain, felt an incredible weight upon themselves. The world grieved, though it did not know why.

The poisons still spreading, Sylas turned to see his Grim Angels gathered about him and knew from their terrified looks that he was transforming. His flesh, once pure, began to blacken and crack. His muscles knotted and twisted, shattering his bones as they tried to reform. As he transformed, so did his Angels. Only the greatest among them, the first Battlehost of Sylas, the mighty Galaranth, remained unchanged. Knowing that he must halt the perversion of his god, the one he knew and loved most, Galaranth kicked Sylas back into his throne and clutched up his master's sword. As a tear fell from his eye, he drove the sword through his master's heart and sacrificed himself entirely, body and soul. With his death, the blade was purified. The power shot through Sylas, halting the transformation.

All about him, his Grim Angels stopped their transformations. Some reverted back to their original state, though many were now bestial and cruel. As soon as they saw and understood what had happened, they began to argue amongst themselves over what they must do. Those who had become pure argued that they must descend to the earth and again seek out those who fit their lord's wishes, gathering them and their power that through their collected strength, their god might be purified. Those who were corrupted argued that Sylas's new state ought not be corrected, but used. His own honor had destroyed them, they said. Why not forgo it and embrace the other tenets? Become warriors of unmatched ferocity and destructive power, leaders of great nations, and do so by any means necessary. Through that, Sylas might be stabilized and saved by their collected power.

As they stood about arguing, Sylas slowly moved his hands and pulled the blade free from his chest. As his boots moved on the floor, his Grim Angels were all silenced. In one hand, Sylas clutched the mighty Tome of Heroes. In the other, his sword. Holding both, Sylas looked among his followers and spoke. "I care not what you do," Sylas said, the tone flat and emotionless. He rose his sword and drove it down through the tome, the book exploding into flames. Hundreds of pages exploded instantly, leaving many more still in the binding. "I will not be whole until the heroes you find have filled this book."

The Grim Angels watched in stunned silence as Sylas hurled the book into the heavens, setting it there, ever burning, as a sign to all of them. As quickly as he had risen, Sylas had removed his armor and draped a cloak about his shoulders. As he sat in the throne, his eyes began to close. "Until then...I sleep." Knowing then that they were truly on their own, the Grim Angels of Sylas parted ways and began to seek out heroes in the mortal realm, building them up in whatever ways they saw fit that their names might be added to the tome, moving ever nearer to reviving their god and returning him to power. No longer as a god of honor, but as a true god of Heroes.