Kasyade; Kasdaeya; Kasdeya..
"69.12 And the name of the fifth is Kasdeyae; this one showed the sons of men all the evil blows of the spirits and of the demons, and the blows that attack the embryo in the womb so that it miscarries. And the blows that attack the soul: the bite of the serpent. And the blows that occur at midday, and the son of the serpent - who is strong. "
I specialize in demonology, angelicology, and I am Wiccan. Thats a more serious side however. I'm also a hardcore gamer, and going to college for engineering and religion studies. Enough about me.. Time to tell the tale.
Nobody honestly has recorded within the book of Enoch how Kasdaeya came to be. Angels and Demons don't spawn out of nothing; they all have a beginning. They all where human, or humanish at one point. All spirits are classified from pure emotion, righteousness or even how dark their heart is.
Nobody honestly has recorded within the book of Enoch how Kasdaeya came to be. Angels and Demons don't spawn out of nothing; they all have a beginning. They all where human, or humanish at one point. All spirits are classified from pure emotion, righteousness or even how dark their heart is.
Kasdaeye came from an Irish clan long ago; where Gaelic was the dominant language. He was a farmer, a drunk bar brawler, and a loyal husband and a loving father to four children. It was the time of ancient wars, clans where at a constant battle, trying to rule one another. He knew how to defend his family with a sword and he was equally talented with his fist. He was somewhat of a martial artist. Some could even say he created his own martial arts, for he was a patient well mannered man; with only one draw-back. His fury would rival that of Ares, of which month he was born as of well.
It was a dark night, the sky was crying of a fierce sin that was brewing in the small clan community; the Irish Nightstalker sniffed the air, for it smelt of something corrupt.. unfamiliar. He was on his way home from the bar, he and his few friends spent the night drinking and with games to pass the time. He held several loafs of bread and a few vegetables he gathered earlier. For some reason he's heightened sense of things got even higher.. He was aware of every little noise, every little scent that ran across him. He knew something was not well. He threw down the items he carried and he ran, ran, he ran home as hard as his body could carry him. The rain splattered against his face as he knew fate might just have something ill in store for him.
He sniffs the air once more.. Blood.. Blood of his family is damp in the air!
He races even faster, and he finally come home to find his house burnt to the ground; his crops looted and destroyed, his animals slaughtered and gutted, and even worse...
His family ripped to pieces and put on spikes to signal the rival clan has attacked.
He lost himself.. The ground beneath his feet is wet with blood as he stumbles over to his family on the spikes ..
He knows not what to do, his tears fall as heavily as the rain that pounds the world around him with ferocity. The howling wind only makes the injuries worse as it stings his face and body. He falls to his knees and his only words where the screams of a sorrowful man, and of a raging warrior with an immortal blood thirst.
The only response was the wind howling in his ears as he screams his pact for revenge against the savage rain.
Lightning cracks the sky has he rises to his feet, his chest heaving and his eyes glowing with a blood rage older than time itself.
He races even faster, and he finally come home to find his house burnt to the ground; his crops looted and destroyed, his animals slaughtered and gutted, and even worse...
His family ripped to pieces and put on spikes to signal the rival clan has attacked.
He lost himself.. The ground beneath his feet is wet with blood as he stumbles over to his family on the spikes ..
He knows not what to do, his tears fall as heavily as the rain that pounds the world around him with ferocity. The howling wind only makes the injuries worse as it stings his face and body. He falls to his knees and his only words where the screams of a sorrowful man, and of a raging warrior with an immortal blood thirst.
The only response was the wind howling in his ears as he screams his pact for revenge against the savage rain.
Lightning cracks the sky has he rises to his feet, his chest heaving and his eyes glowing with a blood rage older than time itself.
He must.. he must kill.
He picks his sword up, disregarding his shield, for he doesn't need it at all.
He marches to town, screaming at everyone to come to him. Barley anybody woke up, and this enraged the warrior who lost it all. He kicks down the doors, he walks to them and he slaughters them all.
They would never help him, so they do not deserve to live if they won't come to his aid...
Thats where his evil comes.. He slaughtered his townsfolk, every man woman and child. Every baby, every wiccan, every pagan, everyone in the town. No one stood in his way to stop him. He was powerful, more powerful than any. He burned his own town down. His clay-more in hand he walks through his burning town, his tears still falling has his hair flairs in the wind. He walks to his home and he slumps down in front of his family.. He buries them. Tears still heavy, his eyes where red with fury and pain. By the time he was done, the rain was done, the sun was out, and it was a new day. He strode to a field, with both his claymore and his hunting knife.. This field was beautiful, it remained in his mind as he closed his eyes as he remembers his family. He stabs his claymore in the ground, and he doesn't wish to be in heaven, he wants to remain in his own hell. So he can kill those whom are destined for corruption at his own leisure.
He will be Evil for the greatest good.
Or so the Legend goes.
He picks his sword up, disregarding his shield, for he doesn't need it at all.
He marches to town, screaming at everyone to come to him. Barley anybody woke up, and this enraged the warrior who lost it all. He kicks down the doors, he walks to them and he slaughters them all.
They would never help him, so they do not deserve to live if they won't come to his aid...
Thats where his evil comes.. He slaughtered his townsfolk, every man woman and child. Every baby, every wiccan, every pagan, everyone in the town. No one stood in his way to stop him. He was powerful, more powerful than any. He burned his own town down. His clay-more in hand he walks through his burning town, his tears still falling has his hair flairs in the wind. He walks to his home and he slumps down in front of his family.. He buries them. Tears still heavy, his eyes where red with fury and pain. By the time he was done, the rain was done, the sun was out, and it was a new day. He strode to a field, with both his claymore and his hunting knife.. This field was beautiful, it remained in his mind as he closed his eyes as he remembers his family. He stabs his claymore in the ground, and he doesn't wish to be in heaven, he wants to remain in his own hell. So he can kill those whom are destined for corruption at his own leisure.
He will be Evil for the greatest good.
Or so the Legend goes.
