Queen Raven: Thanks for reviewing! But, here is the family. Celeste is Raven's mother. Arella is Celeste's sister and Raven's Aunt. Adena is... Adena is something else entirely...
Dark Shadows 01: Don't worry about it. Every writer has a different style. Though you should use some detail, you don't by any means have to add as much as I do. Adding a lot of detail sometimes even annoys people... so just do what you like!
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"We will descend into Sepulchrum of Mortis." Her voice was cool again, not a tear-stain breaking into the dark mistress's pale face.
"What?" Beast Boy asked, scratching his green head cutely.
Raven took a step back, surprise hidden deep within her dark dreamer eyes.
"The halls of the dead, deep within Azerath." Desparos answered, a questioning look at his mistress.
"Well nothing can hurt us if everything is dead down there." Robin reasoned slowly, catching a vague passing of something more.
"The caverns are guarded by Trigon's demons as well as fiery pits of lava, several enchantments of dark magic, and even some of the undead spirits themselves if the rumors are true." Raven stated bluntly, eying up her newfound mother. "There is plenty that can hurt us."
"Sounds like a happy place." BB tried a little laugh, despite his tittering nerves.
"Why do we need to go down there? What can we gain?" The surnamed leader of the Titans demanded.
Celeste choose her words carefully. "You know that Trigon was imprisoned before, by the monks?"
"Yeah, we have heard the story mentioned before." Cyborg recalled, his gears shifting.
"But do you know how it happened?" She delved.
"Do tell us, new mother of friend Raven." Starfire asked anxiously, her innocent beauty somewhat tarnished by the lifeless atmosphere around her.
A shadow of a smile flickered upon her face. "I was Celeste then, I am Celeste now. In such times there are far more important things then titles." Her violet eyes searched each face, locking eyes with Desparos for a breath.
"It happened many years before, before I was, before this world, before Azerath... It was a time of newness, a time of creation and chaos. The new inhabitants of the world had begun to form a culture in a planet called Quies. They were ruled by a wise man called Morion. He was young, but just and kind. For hundreds of years the people of Quies lived, and grew a religion. They worshiped Zinn, their god of knowledge and justice; and Annikki, goddess of peace and love. A selected order of monks were chosen to control the temples and worshiping of the two gods, for Morion was only one man, despite his magic, and could not do everything. For he possessed small magics, telling lies from truths, glimpses of past and future, gift of tongues, and the enchanting of blades. His people all loved him, and many woman came to court him. For Morion was a handsome man, with dark peach skin and blazing cardinal eyes. His hair was the deepest black, and he kept it tied back with a crimson band. Some records say that when he was deep in thought a few strands would fall loose into his nobleman face. For he had a long nose, smooth chin, defined cheekbones, wide eyes under long lashes, and a broad forehead. His life was much longer then any human, and age came slowly for Morion. Still, with all woman he had fallen deep into love with only one.
Her name was Azerr. She had fair skin and pale blue hair the color of the setting sky. Her eyes were shining silver, understanding and mysterious. It was said that she choose the company of children over charming men, and was often at the temples for Annikki, her patron goddess. Among friends her name was Maris, for she was calm and held the same lofty and merry beauty of the sea.
For years, Morion loved Azerr. Yet, instead of attempting to woo her like the rest of her suitors, he kept an intimate friendship, never pushing her. She fell in love with him, and they were married.
Yet, with all things, the greatness of the civilization seeded greed, happiness spawned anger, peace drew a cry for war. Still, Morion and Azerr ruled with a unchanging and firm hand. They kept order, through love and respect. Unknown time passed by in blinks for Quies. Ripples on the water, seemingly nothing to people who lived for thousands of years and aged every hundred or so. Then it happened.
Azerr became with child, and the growing darkness of the world faded as it rejoiced for its queen. Banners spun of rainbow and hawk tear's spread from windowsills, coins of gold and pendants of silver littered the streets. The sky rose in cheery plum each day, and set in a brilliant copper each night. Even the creature's of Quies, the hawks, great captors of the sky with gleaming blue eyes and ivory upon twilight feathers sang their song. The green and silver cats with slanted jade eyes and shining striped fur, long claws and ferocious fangs allowed children to stroke them in their happiness. Wolves, large garnet into gold animals with fire-spun fur and setting sun eyes howled their joy into the glassy moon each night.
Fate has a cruel irony.
The day dawned a deathly gray, sun forgetting to rise the day Azerr died in childbirth. Her son died within the hour, blue eyes gazing into his father once before stolen forever by death. That day, an indescribable shadow fell upon Quies. The hawks flew to the great blue and black palace of Morion and Azerr. They died at the marble steps, falling from the sky in hallowing perfection.
So far, to die before the final step.
Then the cats came, growling they approached the tall spires and windy halls of stone and crystal. Upon reaching where the hawks lay dead in their magnificent glory, the sleek creatures broke out into a ravaging fight with each other. Silver claw scraped green flesh as shining fang dug into emerald fur. The war between the powerful creatures broke the tall gate leading into the palace, killed the many guards, and stained the cerulean and onyx tiles crimson.
With great loss, comes great anger. With great anger, comes war.
The last to travel to the faded home of King Morion and Queen Azerr were the wolves. The wizened leader of the back trod up the broken steps and passed debris of columns and statues. He pad right up to the the bedroom they had shared, where Morion still weeped over his dead wife's rotting body and still son. The hunter turned, and held the king's eye for hardly a second. Garnet upon bronze, a sun rising as one set. The wolf reared its head and gave one mourning cry.
The waiting creatures at the bottom caught the call, and began devouring the dead bodies of crucified bird and torn cat.
And there will be death, and one great destroyer.
Morion watched as the pack ate the creatures, leaving with full stomaches and blood-stained teeth.
The sun never rose that day, and not in the days after that. Neither in the eyes of their leader, or the wake of the leaving wolves. There are many accounts of what happened after that, but the truest one is that Morion went mad. He lost reason that night, under a eclipsed moon and fallen stars. He drove to bring her back, to cheat death from his Azerr. Black magic spilled in his blood, pouring from a deep scar in his soul. The red-eyed man killed many with blade and hand, and with every death his power grew. Yet, with every murder, a part of him died. By the time Morion had enough magic to bring back Azerr, he had lost himself.
Quies had fallen to war, the people disbanded without their just leader. They had killed each other to sate a pain that never left. Morion had died some time along his blood covered path, and humanity had died with him. He had become something else entirely, something that cared not life; but fed on destruction and pain of others. This thing knew that death, death was the only thing that cannot be tampered, cannot be frightened, controlled, or tamed. Death was final. Morion had died at last, his mortal heart stopping when he used his magic to destroy the small planet of Quies entirely. It was dead, he was dead.
Trigon lived.
He gathered up an army, of people from others worlds with greed in their souls. He found that men were so easily manipulated, with promises of power and revenge. Life became his game, every mortal a pawn. He found another planet, one that reminded him so much of Quies.
It was called Earth.
And of this planet, he vowed revenge.
So Trigon threw his army at the scattered forces of mortals, and slowly one by one, each city fell under shadow.
Yet, life has a way of fighting on against any force.
A few of the monks of Annikki and Zinn, the last survivors of Quies, banned together. They drew magic that opposed Trigon's own corroded power. They drew from love, from wisdom, from truth and peace. They bound it together with the pulse of life, the breath of the universe. With one monk for each trait, and the strongest, a monk named Theo, to bind them together, they forged a weapon. Into it went all these traits, but they were still mortal. The cruelty of the world had leaked into them, and it tainted the master blade. For only one who loved beyond life, drew peace from chaos, saw wisdom in confusion, and fought for justice could use the swords powers. Only one who knew the darkness by name and had tasted death could touch it. None of the monks could wield the weapon, and it lay still with brooding power.
Then they found someone, a young woman with dark violet eyes and light lilac hair. The monks took her in, and discovered that she was the only survivor from a city called Rome. Trigon had come, and one of his demons had possessed her only child, a small boy named Andros. She had been forced to kill him. Though she had forgotten her name, the monks called her Eve, for a darkness was in soul spawning from guilt, fury, and remorse; but her heart sought only peace to end the war, an ability to love with a shriveled spirit again. Her mind had been detached from this world after her hand had driven a knife through her own flesh and blood, and it had given her mind clarity. She wanted revenge, justice for Andros's death. They had found a bearer for the weapon.
Eve agreed to be the carrying for the weapon. So, on the sunrise of the 100th day Trigon had raged his battle with Earth, the monks drew Trigon's army away with combined magic, killing the forces of demons, mortals, and undead in masses. The demon lord himself was drawn out, as sunset stole across the ground in amethyst golden light. Eve arose to fight him. It is recorded that she wore a robe of pale silver, along with black armor of Roman mold. The sword was slung over her back, a wide-sword of over 4 feet in height. The hilt was made with a core of Quies crystal, strongest metal in all time. It was covered in a light coat of sheeted onyx and marble, melted and blending in the center. The blade was straight and balanced, wide surface as thin as a finger. It was a sparkling silver, the tip fading into a periwinkle blue, bottom a russet red. Elegant writing scrawled along the edge, reading blessing of each monk, then the last words of the master.
So was Eve, last hope of all life.
Trigon stepped to do battle, but his mortal soul so long diminished rose to stumble him. This woman, with strange eyes, light hair, and fair skin reminded him so much of Azerr. Eve had lived in a kingdom well-versed in war. She saw his hesitation, and with all the strength in her body she jabbed the sword into the demonic flesh of the underworld ruler.
She was swamped with pain, hate, and a great shadow that sought to attain her mind. For a moment, it seemed that Eve would fall into the black core of Trigon. But one word kept her going.
Hope.
Andros had once asked her why people lived in bad times. She had told him that it was because as long as there is life, there can be change. As long as there is a chance for change, there is a chance for good. It is hope that people live on, as necessary as bread and water. It picks worn spirits up, mends broken hearts, dries tears, and heals wounds. As long as there is life, there is hope.
As Trigon's power overcame the master monk's bind on the magic Eve made another one.
The fight for life can never end as long as there is hope.
So fight on.
With that she placed herself into the blade, and it penetrated Trigon, weakening him to a mere flicker of himself.
But Eve had given her life in the enchantment, so the monks could not complete the spell and kill Trigon. Instead they used their magic to send him far down, deep into the fiery pits of Earth.
The deadly blade, they hid so that it could never be found by any of Trigon's followers. They took it into the barren land of a dead planet. For it had been forged in the fire of Mercury's core, frozen with the ice of Pluto's glaciers, and welded with weather and wind. Life itself had carved the sword, and perhaps its magic could reawaken the planet. The last monks went onto the empty place, putting the sword deep below in the most destroyed cavern. Time passed, and the enchantments on the weapon allowed the planet to grow as the people were taught by the monks to fear Trigon, to tap into the magic of the blade without touching it. They were taught a spell and it said,
'Azerath Metrion Zinthos.'
Azerr, the sweet queen. Morion, the fallen leader and Theo the master monk. Zinn, the long forgotten god, and of Annikki, of peace and love, that was left undone.
Azerath was born, magic flowing deep in its inhabitants blood from the master sword buried in its core.
Buried in the Sepulchrum of Mortis.
The sword of life lies in the tomb of death."
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A/N- I thought we had heard enough about Celeste. I decided to change back to how Trigon and Azerath were created. Any questions, comments, random notes? REVIEW!