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Come 'ere traveler. I don have much but ters gruel on ter fire, eh? Aye, that be soundin good to me, ay, aye! Ya seem lonely, and cold. Could a poor merchant such as meself interest yer in a story, eh? Aye, here we go.....*twinkle sounds* (voice change from pirate...to idk gentleman? You take yer pick!)
Always the runt, the most unloved, the most hideous among his former pride, Macbeth was neglected at birth. He felt desperate, lonely, and hungry, but strangely…having a sense of…wait what’s this? Power? Yes most certainly Macbeth did have lots of power. After all, none of the other lions in the pride got to listen to the witches or demons that floated around.
So Macbeth listened. He listened to the stories of yore. Battles fought, and won. Evil and Light colliding in violent struggles. Then they told him how to rise to power, how to be loved. They poked at his most tender cords until he collapsed and was nothing but a vessel for evil itself.
Drawn like a puppet with frayed strings Macbeth soon became delirious and controlling. He became obsessed with that forest yonder, even though rumors say there were demons in there, and so there were. But not physically, they ar-were demons of the mind. They play tricks on you, they do-DID.
Now, I don't know what you have heard, but this is the truth. Macbeth...his condition became worse. Soon he marched right in the main den, sometimes even into the King's private den. He demanded to hold an extreme position of power, one not held for years because of its danger. Oh no! Of course it wasn't dangerous to the pride. Dangerous to the officer of that position. I think you have heard of it, Dark Shaman.
Rejected for more than a year Macbeth soon turned to other means of achieving what he wanted. A place in the pride. That's all he ever wanted really, to belong. Maybe if the pride wasn't so cruel to him what followed wouldn't have happened... I don't think we will ever know.
Next Macbeth became even more extreme. He began practicing the Dark Arts, without permission of course. Lions went missing, not just from this pride too. From all over the prides were losing their best members to a dark force. We call this time the "Dark Ages" and I'm sad to say it was literally dark.
Finally after two years of waiting, practicing, and oh, careful patience Macbeth emerged again. He was strong this time. He had secretly, over two years, converted a hundred of the best lions across the land as his dark army. Referred to as the "Hundred Lost Souls" I believe, if they had souls left. For they were merely shadows of their former past selves, irreversible damage had been done to their brains. You don't want to know what.
A bloody war followed as Evil and Light clashed once more. Grievously inured, Macbeth deserted his army, left them to die. He ran to the darkest corner of the world. To the forest of the demons. Taking with him only a select few, he vowed he would come back. This time with his own pride, a strong one. A Dark one.
So fine traveler, you must never, ever, EVER enter that forest, over there. Or are you already in it? Too late.
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