The ticking clock stretched each moment like a blade drawn too thin, its rhythm echoing faintly in the quiet room. The sunlight crept through the windows, painting long, slanted shadows on the polished floor. Sanguinius ran a hand along the edge of his wings, his patience steady but not untested.
He closed his eyes and sighed.
Time, he knew their meeting had been arranged by Malcador, and that it was still early in the morning, especially for a mortal who must have gone through all the festivities, and there were still a few minutes for the meeting´s arranged hour, but waiting for it was still…
"Lord Sanguinius, I have Lord Melkor here, shall I send him in?" Azkaellon of the Ikisat questioned as he slid just enough of the door open to speak.
"Let him in, Azkaellon." The Angel said calmly as he rose up to his feet.
What entered the room seemed far too much like an average human, not Nostraman, just an average mortal. His height was unremarkable, his brown hair common, though his eyes, a mix of gold and emerald, stood out as something carried a large suitcase with his right hand that was covered by his rich cloak of eighth legion colors.
"Lord Sanguinius," he said respectfully, putting the case on top of the table between both sofas. Even unremarkable as he seemed there was a clear easiness he carried himself before the Primarch. Almost as if he did not care about that fact. "I thank you for this meeting."
"No need to thank me, Melkor," the Angel said with a bright smile, something that seemed to put Melkor slightly uncomfortable.
"Interesting," the Angel thought.
Melkor opened the suitcase, revealing two objects within. One a box, the other a book. One covered in skin fabric and smelling of industrial paper, the other of carved wood. One was certainly his brother´s, the other, however, was far too simple to be.
"Your brother asked me to give you this," the mortal said, grabbing the book with both hands and putting it on the table on the Primarch´s side. It seemed somewhat heavy in his hands, almost like he was lifting a heavy stone, however for the Primarch it was like a pebble. He extended his right arm, and carefully brought the book closer to him and opened it.
"There is something that concerns me about you, Melkor." The angel said, his voice soft and yet melodious, a masterful control of its tone. Still his eyes glazed at the open book reading it while he talked with the mortal.
"And what that may be?" The mortal replied, carefully studying the Primarch´s poise. He had dealt with other Primarchs before, and had come to have enough experience to determine the Nighthaunter´s feelings through his physical expression, even if lacked the highly acute senses to see the micromovements of his muscles.
There was an anticipation in Sanguinius, the barest sense of curiosity behind the deep gaze of his amber eyes, fed by both the book in his hands that Melkor truthfully did not know what contained and the being before him. His poise, elegant and perfect in a manner far too natural compared to Fulgrim, was slightly leaned into the book or him.
This was what told Melkor with somewhat certainty what Sanguinius´s current mood was, he was curious about him, deeply so, and his eyes were the greatest tool to know that. A Primarch´s mood could and did impact the pigment of their pupils, some more than others. Curze and Corax´s would hardly ever shift and if they did they were imperceptible to any but their brothers, but Sanguinius´s eyes shifted like the waves of his heart. They might be usually amber, but their depth changed much depending on his mood, so much so Melkor knew they could reach the palest tones, and perhaps in anger the deepest blood, though the last was more speculation than proved.
"My brother, as you sure know, is very distant, distrusting even, to all, especially mortals. Yet you managed to gain his trust. So much so he put you in a position to prove yourself to his wider legion and indirectly fit in better within the webs of relationships of the Legions even without being an Astartes."
"You wonder how I obtained your brother´s trust?" Melkor questioned. That was a question Fulgrim had asked so long ago, a question he could and did expect from every single Primarch, and even Legionary. How had the dreaded Nighthaunter, a creature so terrifying, isolated and seemingly distrusting that this simple mortal doing what he did seemed not unlikely but impossible.
"No." the angel calmly replied, unbothered by the fact he had been interrupted. His gaze never slipping from the book, flipping its pages, reading its contents. "How you gained my brother´s trust is irrelevant, it just proves how wonderful you must be, behind the layers of formality you insist to retain with me."
"Would you rather I dispense with formalities?"
Sanguinius's amber eyes flicked up from the book, a soft smile gracing his lips. "Formality can be an uncomfortable cage. If it weighs on you, Melkor, set it aside. I do not mind."
"It is also the only thing stopping me from being punched by your presence…My Lord," he added a few seconds after, as if on purpose.
Sanguinius smiled. That bright, sincere smile that lit entire rooms, a smile that was uncomfortable to Melkor. It was too honest.
"You wouldn't be the first to feel uneasy in my presence," Sanguinius said softly, his tone more understanding than amused. "Even my brothers find me... unsettling, at times. But it is rare to see a mortal handle it as well as you do. Still, would you humour me?"
"If that is what the angel wants." He said smiling, shrugging. "However, don't regret it later."
"I doubt I will," the Angel replied as he closed the book and put it back on the table, his tone almost indicated he knew that to be true.
"I must say, that was a welcome surprise. You can say I enjoyed it very much."
"What was it?"
There was confusion in the angel, confusion clear as day, something that must have been done purposely. "You are unaware of the book´s contents? Did my brother not tell you?"
"I am trusted, yet I am not him. I know not what passes through his mind at every moment."
"So you know at some moments."
Melkor froze for a moment and then smiled and laughed. "Well played, Hawkboy… Well played."
"Hawkboy. That is a new one." Sanguinius smiled.
"I can make educated guesses. Just like I suppose you make educated guesses on what Horus will do or how he will react when you two are together. Sometimes they are correct, sometimes they are wrong… In my case most of them are wrong but close, and sometimes I land on the jackpot"
"Then make a guess," he said, the weight of the moment softened by the levity of his invitation. It was too great to refuse. "What has my brother gifted me?"
A grin spread across Melkor's face, mischief dancing in his eyes. "If the Angel so desires," he replied mockingly, his words tinged with a faint Nostraman edge.
He leaned back slightly, as though addressing something painfully obvious. "It's a book, something he wrote. Now, I just have to think about what he'd want to write… and then what he'd be willing to share." Melkor's tone grew deliberate, almost as if he were teaching Sanguinius an elementary concept. "And of course, who he chose to give it to."
"Yes… why did my brother choose to share this with me? Why not Fulgrim, or Horus? Why me?" The question was soft, a tempered even, but the curiosity Melkor had noticed was there.
"Perhaps it is because he respects the Angel? Perhaps it is because he loves the Angel. Or perhaps… it is something far different."
Sanguinius tilted his head, intrigued. He was enjoying this,the theatrics of it. Both knew the exchange was more genuine than manufactured, turning the simple question into a shared discovery. The unspoken answer hung in the air, adding an unspoken tension.
"I had never considered myself among Konrad's list of beloved brothers," he said with a faint smile. "Tolerated, perhaps. But loved?"
"Oh, I know he loves you," Melkor said, crossing his legs and resting his hands casually. "But for a reason you won't like." His tone was casual, yet carried a weight that invited curiosity. "Still. He gives a book to his beloved brother, one he believes to be the only one with the right to judge him. That simplifies things, doesn't it?"
"And why wouldn't I like the reason he loves me?" Sanguinius asked, genuine curiosity lighting his expression, a faint smile playing on his lips.
Melkor raised a finger, wagging it slowly from left to right. "One question at a time, dear Angel," he said, his mischievous smile never wavering. "One question at a time."
"It is a book about the things you both share, or perhaps… About the one thing he was created to be."
"Created to be? Sanguinius tilted his head slightly "A monster? An unrepentant bringer of terror and death, what he claims our father made him to be?"
Melkor grinned slightly. "A judge. The bringer of order, the keeper of the scales."
Sanguinius froze for a microsecond, his Primarch physiology betraying the brief hesitation, a pause imperceptible to most, but glaring to him. "A judge? Konrad? The same brother who condemned both murders and petty thieves to the flaying knife without caring for the difference."
His mind was whirling. "Konrad always went on about justice, but he never exercised it properly." Still, Melkor was right on one point. The book was one indeed about justice, about laws. Konrad had written indeed a codex on law with more punishments than flaying or torturing.
"So my answer is a book about law, most likely with personalised details."
Still even with the thoughts coursing through the Primarch´s mind, the soft measured smile never left the Angel´s face. "Well guessed Melkor." He said softly, pushing the thoughts on his brother aside for a moment. "Square on the mark."
Melkor feigned a bow while still seated, a course for the little friendly game they were both playing.
"Still as before, I wonder, why do you say I won't enjoy the reason my brother loves me?" Even though the Primarch was clearly curious, the only thing that would indicate that would be the course of their conversation. His voice remained the same, angelic, wonderful and serene… No, the edge of his wings did seem to be slightly curled, now that Melkor looked at them again.
"Are you sure you wish to hear it?" Melkor said. "I know you won't like it."
"How can you know how I will react if this is our first meeting?" the angel replied confident and yet measured.
Melkor didn't seem impressed by this, almost as if knew far more than he let on. He knew more than he let on, but how much, the Angel would never realise.
The mortal sighed. "If you say so. I'm only telling you because you are the Angel, if you were anyone else besides you and Konrad I wouldn't."
"Not even to Horus?" The Angel asked, he had to ask, Horus was the best of them, if this mortal didn't tell him and yet told him… He knew something, something he'd want to know in time. If it was accurate or not was for him to determine, especially concerning his best friend, but he had to know.
"Especially not to Horus." The exclamation in the mortal´s tone made one thing clear. It was not a lie, and he knew something. Did he know more about his brothers? He certainly did about Konrad, he claimed to know about him, and was liked by Fulgrim to a degree, a minor one but still.
"You and Konrad are two sides of the same coin."
That was definitely something the angel had not expected. A start not unsurprising to him, but whose spoken words indicated the mortal knew a lot, and that was surprising.
The mortal´s tone became heavier, somber. "The Monster and the Angel, seeming opposites that in truth are the same."
"You claim I am the same as my brother?" Was Melkor implying what Sanguinius was thinking, did this mortal know of the…
"You are the same as Konrad, at your core. You may not share his propensity for justice, Corax shares that with him, the obvious but slightly inaccurate counterpart, but you share something much deeper. You are his symbolic twin."
"And what do you mean by that? Symbolic twin?"
Melkor smiled "I appreciate the fact you're holding yourself back"
"You noticed? I thought I had been subtle."
"You were. I just spent too much time with your brother to not notice."
The Angel had been slowly restraining his aura since Melkor mentioned it at the start, making it easier for him to speak without restraint. Still the fact that he noticed was remarkable, no mortal he had interacted with for long had noticed it unless he did it abruptly.
"Still, I am sure you know what you mean by symbolic twin, but if you insist. You are the same, monstrosity and humanity intertwined. He chained humanity through his monstrosity, you chain your monstrosity with your humanity. You are the glorious angel, the light, he is the monster, the darkness, two things that cannot exist without the other. Inseparable sides of the same coin. And all the while both of you share the same gift, the same curse, foresight." The tone was deliberate and measured, seemingly impartial, like a distant analysis, yet the Primarch couldn't decide if he meant what he thought or not. His face was an effective mask, he was implying enough but never confirmed it.
Was he implying that he was aware of the curse of his bloodline? The defect in his genetics that had passed to his sons. Still he could simply refer to his rage on the battlefield, he was feared on it. A monster in it like his brother was, just in a more direct manner. Where Konrad fought in the dark, his every move feared yet monstrously precise. Still he felt an inkling it wasnt that.
And just as concerning as that, he was aware of his foresight. However that could be attributed to Konrad, still it was worrying. How much was he aware?
"I told you you wouldn't like the answer."
"So… My brother loves me because he believes I am his symbolic twin?"
"No. He trusts you because of that, he however loves you because you are you. Sanguinius, the Great Angel, the one who never cried out his actions as simple bloodlust but understood something more was there. The one who can relate to his curse. Because even then, you never abandoned him, even if you were never there."
"I see." The Angel said finally, as he leaned on the sofa bringing a wing up and stroking it with his hands.
"That is why," Melkor continued, finally grabbing the wooden box that remained unopened. "I brought this. The book was Konrad´s gift, this is mine."
The Primarch grabbed the box. "You came here with a gift of your own for me?" Sanguinius questioned. "Because I was with Curze even if I was not there?"
"We both want the best don't we? Can't I thank you for your role in it, even if you were unaware? After all, you had no obligation."
This was… Surprising, but to refuse a gift honestly given wouldn't go well. So he smiled serenely.
"You didn't need to," he said, putting the small box beside the book on the sofa. He would check what it was at a later point. "But I thank you nonetheless."
Even though Melkor kept his face as impartial as he could there was a glint of happiness in his eyes. He must have really wanted Sanguinius to accept his gift. Still the Primarch would not leave him with nothing. After all, Melkor already had a dark feather, serving as a pin to his cloak, what about adding a white one.
He plucked a white plume from his wing and approached and leaned into the mortal. With the feather in his hand he delicately fitted it beside the raven one from Curze´s cloak.
"My brother is terribly proud of that cloak." He softly spoke as he leaned back into the sofa "I knew you were trustworthy the moment you entered the room with that feather."
Melkor froze for a second. "Did you…"
Sanguinius nodded affirmatively, smiling that bright smile of his "If you already have that one might as well have the other."
The mortal seemed to be transfixed with the feather pinned to his cloak, just besides the raven one.
"And this is to me? Not to your brother, to me?"
"Yes, it is to you Melkor," he said standing up, with grace as natural as the morning sun. Melkor stood up as well, mirroring the angel.
"I thank you for your time, Melkor. I am glad my brother has someone like you by his side." He said slowly leading him towards the door. "Would you consider joining me for a more extended period?"
Melkor tried to not act surprised before such an offer, however to Sanguinius´s eyes he failed in that, however he quickly recovered.
"A generous offer, Lord Sanguinius" he said, the ornate door opening in the same breath, the blood angels on guard visibly moving to attention. "But I am afraid I will be needed on the Nightfall to accommodate the remembrancers. I doubt they will feel comfortable enough without a relatable face in there."
"Oh yes. I can imagine. Then at a later date perhaps"
"At a later date then. Advise my brother well." he said, the smile on his face covering the fact that he moved closer, too close. His breath on Melkor´s ear.
"Be careful with your words. I am glad you are with my brother, he needs the wisdom you possess, but have care." The angel extended his hand.
"I will," Melkor replied, grabbing the Primarch hand for a handshake. It was comically small, the mortal's hand, as if it had been engulfed by the perfect angelic palm.
After this Melkor left, his task accomplished better than he expected. After all he left with a feather of the great Angel tied to his cloak, bound beside the raven feather, like the pin the dark plume was being used as.
.
.
If the Angel had been a joy to meet, uplifting and awe-inspiring,the Lord of Iron was the opposite. Oppressive, silent, suffocating. Speaking to him felt less like addressing a man and more like addressing a machine, cold and unyielding.
The chamber was dimly lit, the glow of sparking wires and humming machinery casting jagged shadows on the walls. Perturabo did not turn to greet him. His massive frame loomed over a half-finished automaton, his hands moving with exacting precision, as though Melkor's presence was of no greater consequence than the tools on his workbench.
Still, Melkor waited. He raised his cloak to shield his face from the occasional burst of sparks, his stance steady despite the oppressive air of the room. Years ago, he might have faltered, awed, or been intimidated by the Primarch's overwhelming presence. But not now.
Konrad had shocked him. The Nighthaunter's fear-inducing presence had clutched at the edges of his mind, threatening to unravel him. Fulgrim had shamed him, every gesture of the Phoenician a reminder of his own imperfections. The Angel had awed him, his very being radiating warmth and power that felt almost divine.
Perturabo… Perturabo was different. His presence was suffocating in its own way, like a wall of iron pressing down on the room, but it lacked the shadows of Konrad or the brilliance of Fulgrim. He was solid, unyielding, like a statue carved from marble, flawless yet lifeless. Even his aura felt mechanical, devoid of emotion or artistry, a reflection of the uncaring precision with which he approached all things.
And yet, there was power here. Not the chaotic, fear-soaked power of the past Konrad, but something sharper and more focused, yet misdirected, almost as if he was in self-denial of a crucial part of himself, a power that could awe anyone… Anyone but perhaps him. He had been with the Nighthaunter, interacted with his peers for too long, to fall into unbound awe before another.
Perturabo continued to work, his back to Melkor. The silence stretched, broken only by the soft hiss of machinery and the faint hum of electricity. Melkor tightened his cloak, the twin feathers intertwined as the pin they never were, and he waited, unmoving. If Perturabo had any intention of speaking, it would be before the closest to an equal he could be, and not an irrelevant tool.
Eventually he stopped, putting his tools to his side with surprising carelessness. Almost as if he did not care about them at all.
"You're still here." He said, turning towards the mortal, his cold purple gaze meeting the surprisingly unflinching amber of the mortal´s eyes.
"I have a job to do, Master of Olympia."
"Then do it," he said, slowly moving from his improvised utilitarian workshop to his chair sitting in it like the Tyrant he was, Tyrant of Lochos and Master of Olympia, and beside the arm of his chair was a glass of clear white liquid, most likely Olympian wine.
The Primarch seemed to sigh bored with this mortal, and drank a sip of wine, with an elegance that seemed uncharacteristic to him.
Melkor grabbed something inside his cloak, and approached the Primarch slowly, extending a folded piece of paper forward.
The Lord of Iron took the paper with an elegance that seemed almost unnatural, stiff, mechanical, yet impossibly soft. He unfolded it with the same care, his expression unreadable until a low chuckle broke the silence.
"My brother wants to hire me to rebuild his world."
The laughter swelled, rich and bitter. "He wants my Legion, as if we were a company of masons or laborers for hire."
The laughter died down just as quickly as it had come. "No," he replied.
"I won't have my sons expended as if they were tools for hire. Begone now, you´ve done what you had to."
Melkor did not leave.
Perturabo raised his brow, "Do I have to repeat myself?" The threat hang in the air for a moment, but Melkor didn't seem to care
"My job was not to give you his message. It was to convince you to agree."
He huffed in disbelief. Did his brother really trust a mortal to convince a Primarch? It was illogical. He hardly cared for what he would say, but he would humor him, just this once.
"Then tell me this, mortal. Why me and not Dorn?"
Melkor shrugged visibly. "Does the reason matter? He chose you and not the Pretorian."
"Answer the question." The words leaving his mouth as forcibly as a hammer blow.
"The answer is very simple. Perturabo." He smiled softly, Melkor´s golden eyes gleamed under the light, almost as if in his blood excitement and the understanding of danger coursed in the same moment. "I asked him to procure your talents."
"You?" The Primarch said slowly, his tone hard and heavy. His hand was tightening on the armchair. "My brother heard the words of a mortal saying to ask me… To convince me to go to the edge of the eastern fringe, abandon my duties in the Crusade and build…"
He got up, his fists clenched. "Why would I believe any word you say? Every word spilled from your mouth is a lie. He would never listen to a mortal, much less one asking this of me."
It sounded like bitter poison, each and every word the Primarch spoke. Almost as if he refused to believe what he heard. As if he denied the possibility of the truth presented to him.
So… He went back to his workshop, his back turned towards the mortal. Ignoring him, about the liar he was.
"No one is a destroyer" Melkor said, ignoring the uncaring attitude of the Primarch. "No one inherently craves destruction, no one desires to be unseen. What I told Curze to offer you was a chance to be more than a destroyer. The marvels you built on Olympia… You could build them-"
"No one wants them." The Primarch interrupted, his words like an immaterial strike.
"Curze wants-"
"You want… Or do you think you can deceive me? Is that what you´ve been doing with Curze? Deceiving him, using his madness and playing my brother like a fiddle?"
For a moment Melkor was stunned. No one, and he truly meant no one had ever seriously accused him of twisting Konrad´s mind, accused him of playing the Primarch like a puppet. Fulgrim had questioned how he had earned his trust, Magnus never believed he had until a smooth snow colored punch had struck square on his face thanks to the Nighthaunter. Sanguinius didn't care, but Perturabo.
This was not going how he´d expected. He knew he had to be soft with him, but he thought that preying on his desires would be enough. It clearly was not.
Still that did not matter… What mattered now was that in truth he was at death's door. With a single blow Perturabo could end him, and no one would stop him, here or in the future. For what could be said to Perturabo that he would hear? Magnus hated Melkor, Perturabo´s best friend was obsessed with Melkor, but he hated him, and no one else would even care to speak about this… No one but Curze, and no matter how it hurt Melkor to admit, if both ever clashed, it would be alone against the rest of his brotherhood.
And so there was only one choice. The truth.
He breathed deeply before replying. "Yes. Both of us want you to build the wonders of Olympia on Nostramo, at Thramas, at Memlock and at a hundred different worlds in the galaxy. I want it, because I don't care which of you builds it, if it's Rogal or if it's you, and neither does Curze. Yet Rogal will go to Terra, while you can have free time, if you ask."
"Finally, you manage to give me an answer worth hearing." He huffed. "If you think I have free time you are very mistaken. I was made to conquer the galaxy, that is my purpose, I am but a tool to father´s dream of unity. There is no such thing as free time."
"Then what will happen when unity is achieved? Will he discard you as a used tool? Will he throw you away and forget you as he has no more use for his Siege master?"
Perturabo´s face had gone stiff, his fist clenching, his purple eyes shining with rage. This was angering him, but Melkor did not notice.
Suddenly, all that stiffness, that tightly clenched energy whirled like a raging tornado and the Primarch grabbed the mortal by the throat.
"I gave you enough chances to leave." He said, teeth clenched.
"You can choose to be a tool and have a tool´s fate. Perturabo." Melkor gasped, his voice ragged as he spoke through the crushing pressure. "Or you can prove yourself to be more than a destroyer, you can show yourself as a builder. Whether they applaud you for that now… or later."
After seconds that seemed like an eternity the Primarch released the mortal and spoke, his tone harsher than any before, as if the very mountains of his home were in his very tongue "Leave."
This time Melkor did leave. Still in the silence of his own workshop he couldn't shake the damn offer, or how infuriating Melkor was. The liar. One who tried to prey on his own desires. Who had the gall to do that, who did dare to hold his gaze unflinching. There was doubt about him. He had interacted with his brother for a considerable amount of time, he wouldn't have been able to hold his gaze otherwise.
He snorted. "Why am I thinking of this, it will amount to nothing." He thought to himself, returning to his workshop. As he went to grab his tools however he noticed the paper, the letter his brother had sent, with Melkor´s support. His support, how he had obtained a high seat on his brother's council was something that surprised him, how his brother tolerated him surprised him. After all, Konrad was not known for either patience or tolerance.
He grabbed it again reading it. Again, again and again. He, after all, had only done a cursory reading when the mortal had been here.
He grabbed his welder, lighting it for a moment, burning the letter with it.
"I won´t like the conversation with him. Receiving orders from him however will be worse," he thought before returning to his craft.
Clutching his throat, Melkor had left. His breath and the muscles on his throat aching immensely still he knew he had done everything there was to do. He couldn't force a Primarch to act, he would be a fool if he believed he could. He might speak with Curze´s voice officially, but when dealing with his brothers there was a simple, inescapable truth. His job was never to convince, it was to give that slight nudge through his words.
Akin to Greyhame when he found that most reputable burglar. When he gave that little nudge and a great adventure had started. His job instead was to give a nudge, what came of it, and just as Greyhame, he in truth had no idea what the nudge would end as.
.
.
The codex his brother had written had been a pleasant surprise. Something productive the now seemingly not so mad Konrad had decided to share with them. A book of law, one that was clearly meant for Nostramo.
There were several concepts written there that he hadn't seen in other places, especially not in name, sometimes he saw it in form. Still it was a book that clearly had had a lot of thought poured into it, and whose articles were more expansive than minute, especially concerning the punishments. There was much less flaying and psychological torment than he had expected. It could serve as a basis to many worlds and with some adjustments even to the wider Imperium, if their father approved.
Something that he honestly was proud of, his brother had done something that amounted to more than his destructive impulses. Something that could mark him in their father´s realm as more than a necessary monster.
He smiled. "I would have liked to have seen you this time." He said to himself, his face tired instead of the heavenly countenance one might have expected. "But I suppose it was hopeful of me to expect you to come with so many around."
Sanguinius extended his arm reaching for the wooden box, the mortal´s gift yet unopened and removed the lid.
He was met by a simple book. One with a title that spoke more of terran myth. He grabbed it, below it was a few pieces with various shapes, various shapes including winged ones.
He opened the book in its first page and in it was written, in slightly shaky handwriting, something that was clearly meant for him.
Sanguinius, everything in this book here is but my attempt to recreate to the best of my abilities an ancient terran roleplaying game. You will see in these pages creatures both of Terran myth, and those created in fantastical tales that may have not survived the darkness of Old Night. They are present with a single inviolable purpose, to present the player of this game I love, and many others I knew loved, a challenge to overcome, and tools for the game master to tell an inspiring story. Remember, the players may make their choice, but ultimately the game master is who decides their consequences. And there is always a game master, even if we don't see it. A dungeon master that could be called a workshop of games or stories.
Have fun playing this game, or storing it in a shelf somewhere to be considered sacred for thousands of years in the future.
Your brother's advisor and emissary, Melkor.
So finally its done. The exam made this take longer than i´d like. But here were are.
I am curious to hear you all. If you think i managed to portrait them properly and gave them justice.
I look forward toward´s everyone´s comments. See soon