#rokuhale

    Rokuhale, known in his beginning simply as Roku, manifested as a demon not long after the realm Abana was first formed. He found himself born into a land of ruin, revenge, and regret. He watched his friends fight to the death for the amusement of ‘higher beings’. He smelled the rot of bodies in the Pit and heard the wails of innocent people tortured for eternity. He tasted the ash that never left the air. 

    His first true willful desire as a demon was for change. That desire never went away. It haunted him just as the eyes of his charged victims haunted him. When he spoke to his fellows in the Pit they reflected back his desires, his will.

    One day he could simply not take it anymore. He snuck and fought through the Pit toward the place where souls came down. He then began to climb.

    He climbed for years, one hand over the other time and time again. His fingers turned to blood and then to bone. He knew nothing but pain as his muscles snapped and ligaments tore.

    He finally found himself clawing his way through roots and worms until his hands encountered blades of grass. He pulled his way up, not bothering to rest before he was walking.

    He searched for the Place the Gods Reside. He climbed mountains. He dragged lakes, rivers, and oceans. He inspected forests, combed deserts, and dug through snow. 

    When he found Their Palace in the glimmering eye of a pale hawk he collapsed through the Door, landing before Life herself. 

    “Who are you to come here?” She asked, looking at him as one would to an odd trinket. 

    “I am Roku. I have come from the Pit to beg for godhood.” Roku said and winced when the gods around him scoffed. 

    “You are bold, demon.” Life crouched to gaze at him closer. “But just finding us does not grant you the privilege of godhood.”

    “I will do whatever I have to.” Roku kept his eyes on the ground.

    “Then there shall be trials!” Life clapped her hands. “Cirvat, Havanet, and Zentu! Come forward. Give this demon its trials!”

    “Bring me the heart of a pure soul.” Cirvat, the goddess of travel and movement, commanded with eyes narrowed in amusement.  

    “Defeat the Leviathan that resides in the deepest waters.” Havanet, the god of the hunt, intoned as his voice echoed across the hall.

    “Find me a flower that grows in death.” Zentu, the god of death, whispered in a heavy rasp.

    “Complete these trials, demon, and you shall be fed drink from the fountain of divinity.” Life smiled down at him, her kindness distant and cold.