Prologue
They
are not all true. The stories whispered carefully
while flickering campfires light wide-eyed faces, their jaws gaping in awe and
the songs sung boisterously through ale-soaked beards telling of heroes bested
by nothing more than the mere mention of my name, they are not all true… but
some are. Most, in fact, are undeniably
true.
They
are as true, that is, as mortals can know truth to be but I am not mortal and I
care not for their truth. Any legend has
its basis in truth but they do not understand my truth. They cannot fathom the deep dark meaning of
what truth is to me. They are right to
fear me but they fear me for the wrong reasons.
I am not the red fanged beast that stalks the night as they have made me
out to be. Nor am I some pitch-covered
monster from the slimy depths of the bog.
Still, I will not blame them. How
can they know my hunger? How can they
know what really awaits them in the darkness that is my name? I am alone… sometimes.
Their
fear and hatred now poison my existence but for ages the people loved and cared
for me. They even gave their daughters to
me… willingly. The rest I stole. Their greed and lust for power made it all so
easy until that one world-changing day. Oh,
I still feed on them. All I need is the
calling and they are mine. The Gods be
damned for making me wait, for making that cursed calling. Once I was a demigod. Once I swayed these poor mortals for my masters. I regularly sucked the life from their bodies
and the Gods claimed their souls. Now
all have abandoned me, even the gods I once served. I never knew why they needed the souls or why
they left me here alone. I only know
that I am here and I hunger still. Yet, I
am not always alone. Someone eventually speaks
my name.
Through
time, some unfortunate souls have discovered my name, though admittedly some fell
prey to trickery. They have called
me. The fools have actually called me,
thinking they had power to control me, thinking I would be their servant, or
just greedy for power or riches. Others
were just unlucky enough to speak my name unaware. Either way, I come when they call. I come when they speak my name. No matter who, how, or why, I come and for it,
they all end up withered and empty, lifeless husks. Whole camps I have claimed and held
spellbound. Everyone who hears my name will
fall under my spell, and then I feed and they wither slowly to nothing trapped by
the sheer lack of will unable to form their own conscious thought. Oh, what wonderful parties we have. I feed, they frolic while they fade, and we
all dance, dance, dance.
The
circles, perhaps you have seen them, inexplicable, turned to mere stone strewn mounds
over the ages. Through time immemorial,
they have made my forgotten temples a place for their rituals. They have turned them into something they are
not, something more than the unmarked graves of fools. Even so, who can blame them for not
knowing? If knowing the truth – my name
– means death, few will seek it. Only
the legends have drawn them. Yes, the
treasure is real and vast and it awaits you… come… call on me. The legends sustained me this way, until he
came; until he discovered my truth. Oh,
the truth is a hard thing to take, let alone live, but I am that truth. I am the terror in the twilight and beyond. I am death, long, slow, and unwarranted. I am… well…
I cannot say.
Do
you want to know my name? Only one has
spoken it and broken free of my spell.
Maybe he will speak it for you.
Maybe he will introduce us, if you are nice… or not. You should be nice though, for only he has
power over me, power to call and command me, power to leave my grasp at will,
power greater than my name.
This is his story as much
as it is mine. This is the tale of how
we met. This begins the legend of
our unique…
“arrangement”.
Yet, this story is not our own. It
is also the story of an unlikely group of individuals on journeys all their own. They are heroes in their own right, yet they
dare not think it just yet. For, though
they do not yet know it, they just happen to be heading in the same direction;
right into the lair of the…
Unspoken
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