Kizrak the Tyrant

Kizrak the Tyrant, a champion of Rallos Zek, settled down for the night on a bed of concrete in Oggok, shunning creature comforts. In the damp cold he lay, surrounded by dark stone walls with no blanket, no light. His only solace came from the pinching plates of armor under his back.

As he did every night, Kizrak closed his eyes and relaxed his mind so he could properly focus on his prayers. Having had an affinity for his god for hundreds of years, he found it easy to sense Rallos Zek as he prayed. He fancied that, on occasion, he would have dialogues with his god.

As the clammy world around him faded from awareness, he felt himself fall into a state of ethereal openness. He freed his mind's voice and began his prayer, asking Rallos Zek for the strength to continue to help any chosen warriors find their way to the Realm of Heroes through worship and war.

As he recited the prayer, he felt something out of the ordinary. In his mind, the vast universe that Kizrak prayed into began to close in on itself. He felt a strong presence. A booming voice crashed through his subconscious. It was Rallos Zek himself.

"There is no longer a place for mortals in the hearts or minds of the gods! The insolence! The arrogance of those that prayed to us and then dared to enter our homes and attempt to kill us!" the God of War bellowed. "We turn our backs on you foul mortals. We gave life. We imbued our children with our own powers and we answered prayers. Well, no more!"

"My almighty Warlord, what is your will? What would you have me do?" Kizrak asked through his thoughts.

"There is nothing to be done. We have chosen to ignore the prayers, the sniveling, the begging," Rallos Zek roared. "Mortals believe themselves powerful as gods, so much so that they challenge us. Us! So be it. If they are so powerful, they have no need of us! Henceforward, the prayers of our despicable children on Norrath will be ignored!"