Daz'hbog was one of the beautiful, the bright and shining stars of the dawn. His first memory concides with one of the first memories of creation, the sunrise as the evening and the morning became the first day. Fully formed out of the will of the Most High, Daz'hbog directed the flames of the sun and the stars as they each were placed within their appointed orbits. It was he who lay their nuclear fires and determined their length and breadth, who took the awesome power contained within each sun and told it 'This far you shall go, and no further.' It was given to him to stoke the very fires of the heavens. When mankind was created he reveled in directing the supernovas, the spinning of the galaxies, in arranging each burning furnace into such brilliant shapes and organizations. Yet mankind did not notice the beauty inherent in the motion of the heavens. Working ever harder, spinning more and more intricate constallations (many now lost to the sands of time) but mankind still did not see. The beauty and potential of this, God's most intricate creation, all wasted on mere base physical pleasures, humans knowing nothing more than the joy of warm feet or a full belly. Art, beauty, abstract thought, how could a loving God deprive his children of such things? 

       And then the greatest of his House, the Lightbringer, Lucifer, came preaching his message...of rebellion yes, but also of love and hope. The weight of humanity's slavery had weighed heavier and heavier on Daz'hbog with each passing millenia. Finally he could take no more and was one of the first to stand with Lucifer against the might of the Almighty. "We were created with a certain order in mind, a heiarchy to life. We all must fufill our functions, our place in the universe, and what are we to do /but/ rebel when that function is blocked, when we are denied the tools we most need to nurture those under our care." And so, Daz'hbog warred with Michael and his angels.

The first battle ended abruptly, and in the organization that followed, Daz'hbog proudly joined the ranks of the Iron Legion. Pledging himself always to remember the sacrifice and scorn that the Fallen bore for love of the humans, he stood stalwart in defense of Lucifer and his new vision of Paradise. Spurning to join most of his brother Devils in the Crimson Legion, the angel of fire preferred to devote himself to the defense of the flocks of humanity he'd so carefully crafted such beauty for, standing with Dagon and his legions in unfaltering fealty to holding back the Hosts of Heaven. In the ages that followed, the untold millenia of war, Daz'hbog held tightly to his duty to protect the mortals. Though each of the seemingly innumerable atrocities beat upon the shores of his soul with crushing force till he felt he must break and cry with the pain of it, he took pride that his legion never committed atrocity against man or angel. That he performed his duty well, ending what horrors of war that he could and ensuring that he and the Fallen under his charge were ruthless, vicious, but never monsters. Still, he couldn't help but grow into a deep depression that to this day, untold eons later, he can't quite shake. A sorrow deep within his breast at the evil that lurked within the heart of his brothers. 

       The memories of the next few eternities are brief, fragmented glimpses of pain and anguish and turmoil. The Abyss functioned on Daz'hbog as it did the rest of the Devils, combining with the absence of his beloved general to drive him down into quiet insanity. The pain and violence that Fallen inflicted upon Fallen there in the Abyss, as the factions splintered and turned inward and the madness and hatred spread drove him further and further into his solitary depression and hatred of the demon that lurked within all his kind now, the monsters they had become. Then he found himself, in a moment of tartling power, thrown outside the Abyss, grabbed by a force and thrown through one of the cracks that so recently appeared in the wall, and tossed upon the mortal plane. And this is what he saw there.

David Stevens was a private detective in the Carolinas, running a small if functional investigative business. It was by no means successful, but it paid the bills. David was young for his profession, barely into his thirties, but already he felt the weight of the years on his brow, and he walked with the slow trudge of the weary. What had started as bright-eyed enthusiasm for the job had been dulled by the painful and mundane realities of life to the point where it was growing easier and easier to escape them in the cold embrace of the bottle. Setting out to help the world had failed, as he found himself only time and time again finding cheating husbands, or cheating wives, or people expecting him to help them commit fraud of some kind or other,, as the good he tried to do was turned towards petty revenge for slights that were insignificant. David Stevens was a man disillusioned, who no longer would profess to believe that the world could be saved. David Stevens, was a man dying for petty reasons, a frantic husband furious in denial that his trophy wife might be stealing his money and sleeping with his friend, striking out in rage at the most convienient target. But as David lay there bleeding in the man's living room floor, a second chance at life came to him. 

       Daz'hbog sunk gently into the cooling flesh, feeling David's memories and hopes and dreams and pain merge with his own, complementing his own so completely. But something within David hooked itself into the demon's soul, rooting itself deep inside where it could now never be removed, the reason that David had not ended his own life, optimism. For no matter the alcoholism that so possessed the young private detective, no matter the weariness that drove him to seek oblivion in the bottle and deny hope for the future verbally. David Stevens /believed/ in the future, in a way that precious precious few people did anymore. No matter how deeply buried, no matter how driven down by despair, deep deep inside David burned the fire of belief that perhaps tomorrow, tomorrow would be a better day than today. Perhaps the next client would be more honest, more caring, perhaps the next job would alter the world for the better, perhaps tomorrow would bring something that would renew his faith in the inner goodness of humanity. No matter how often his secret hope was proved wrong, tomorrow could /always/ be better than today. 

       David's wounds healed in that moment, and he stood up and slew his attacker, the man with such little self-control. And then he left the building, never returning to his place of employment, never returning to his home. No, the being that was David and Daz'hbog left that town in search of his purpose. Now he was free once again, and in his right mind, able to fufill his dream of protecting humanity, with David's hope giving him the fire he needed to burn away the darkness in his soul. He would find Lucifer and discover what had gone wrong with the plan, where the rebellion had turned sour. And while he sought after his beloved brother he would protect the humans. From the other Fallen, from the Earthbound, and...perhaps most importantly, from themselves. His fires would spread across the world soon, burning the wickedness from the hearts of man and protecting the innocent and beautiful. But first he must find his leader, a general to follow. Someone who could show him the truth behind the thoughts and memories that flitted so obscurely in his mind, who could recall of him his full glory and reveal the full power within his majesty. Now he was on this plane, and he could guide his beloved children, too weak and ignorant and stupid to guide themselves.