From the prompt: "(none)"
"A Little Intro"
The game was simple, really. Find a victim, lure them in, have a little fun...then kill them. The details were up to each individual player, of course. Details � times, names, places�such a fuss. No one else bothered with it. You did it yourself and it was all your own creation. You could make yourself into a new person each time, live in a new world and have a whole new life. Well, if �life� it was you could call it...
The Gatherers were bored. They wanted new fun. Another new game...
The solution was simple. The Gatherers could work together, a first in thousands of years of history. They would play a game, a game unlike any other. The first of its kind, and certainly not the last. This would be fun. And last a long time...
The different worlds: Air, Earth, Fire, Water, Dark, Light...and Shadows. Home of the Gatherers. They were shut out of the others but they always lingered by, watching, waiting. Shadows trickled past the edges, always, and they could slip in for a bit of fun. Earth was by far the most interesting. It had what all the others lacked: humans. Such entertaining creatures. And their souls lasted for so long...
Humans didn�t know about the Gatherers. Not really. But no, deep inside, within the depths of every heart and soul of a human, they knew the Gatherers existed. In the shadows of the night, imaginations ran wild. Those little things the humans saw or heard, a forest goblin behind a tree, a demon lurking in the burial ground. Those eyes one felt watching when he knew no one was around. The evil tales to frighten children at night, the beings wreathed in superstition, they were all pale, petty imitations of the real thing. Nothing compared to what all human souls could see, the root of all evil: the Gatherers. They were a man�s first bringer of fear, the first source of that primal terror that had existed since the dawn of mankind.
They brought fear, oh yes, and they watched.
Not stared.
Watched.
Dozens, scores, hundreds of pairs of eyes, eyes that had seen all since the dawn of time. They haunted the shadows, hundreds of seemingly bodiless pairs, whispering and watching. Words were power, and they kept theirs low.
Out of the darker patches of shadows extended a single hand. A single skeletal finger stretched out, tracing a line in the air.
A pair of eyes, ancient and golden and filled with the cunning of a crocodile, smiled.
�Kenaz.� The word was barely whispered when there was a hiss and a spark.
Some of the Gatherers drew back from the offense, hiding deeper in the shadows as the fire was formed. It rode atop a torch, garishly bright and out of place in the land of shadows, held by a skeletal hand.
The Ancient...indeed, he fit his name. Bent over double in the stone tunnel, and obscene parody of an old man, thinning white hair falling in straggly patches over gnarled shoulders, skin blotchy and mottled, he was the oldest. Some sort of fabric hung off the frame of the excuse for a human body, and he gazed at all the other eyes.
Those golden eyes � oh yes, they were his � smiled. He laughed. It was a heartbreakingly beautiful laugh.
He turned, sweeping out the torch in a grand gesture, with surprising grace for such an old man of his appearance, causing the Others to draw back.
�My fellow Gatherers,� he began. His voice was as beautiful as his laugh. �We have chosen, and we will call another.�
He spoke above the constant chorus of harsh whispering that was the song of the Gatherers.
�So now we call and name.�
The flames flared suddenly, causing further withdrawal along the walls of the tunnel. The Ancient reached out into the darkness, the flames calming as he pulled his hand back in. Wrapped in the knobby, skeletal fingers was a knife of bone.
The Ancient released the torch and stooped to the floor of the cave; the torch stayed in mid-air as it still held. All around him, the Gatherers watched and whispered. Power, raw and primal energy, began to rise, prickling through the air and causing all present to shift, adjust.
There was the sound of bone against stone. The whispering went on, all eyes on the Ancient�s every move. He carved the first symbol into the floor. The power was heightening, reaching the second level.
Still watching, still whispering:
The Gatherers.
Body creaking, floor chipping as he carved:
The Ancient.
He lifted the knife. Brought it down swiftly. Blood, too bright and vivid to be real, and completely inhuman, spilled forth. The power was just now on the threshold of hearing. With the bleeding finger, the Ancient began to stain the letters, invoking them one by one.
�Kenaz.�
There was a definite low throb of energy in the air, just as loud as the whispering.
Three more stripes of the dripping fingertip.
�Ansuz.�
The noise was louder, just barely matching the whispering. All eyes were fixed on the Ancient.
�Dagaz.�
The power�s volume rose up a notch, the flames of the torch dancing higher. Eyes still watching.
�Sowilo. Teiwaz.�
The level of noise was considerably loud, and yet the Ancient could still be heard.
�Othilo. Nauthiz!�
The deep hum shot to a sudden high-pitched shriek. The torch exploded, throwing light to every corner and crag of the gloom as the power peaked. Eyes disappeared as soon as light hit them, destroying the shadows they lived in. The force of the shriek was shaking everything, rocks tumbling and sliding, the power tumultuous. The Ancient was sprawled on the ground, protecting his carvings and remarkably calm amidst the chaos. The ground bucked and roiled beneath the shriek, backed by the hissing whispers of the Gatherers.
The torch clattered to the floor, the light snuffing out abruptly. The eyes of the Gatherers reappeared as the darkness rippled through the tunnel, settling, the whispering returning to normal.
The Ancient joined the others once again as a pair of eyes. Those eyes smiled as a blue glow formed amongst the shadows. All eyes were on it, on the mist that formed, a tall spiral beneath it.
Directly over the carving, the blue mists swirled and twisted, wrapping and weaving around themselves, solidifying.
Becoming a body.
A boy�s body.
A boy standing in their midst, eyes closed.
The Ancient drifted near. The eyes were watching closely, appraising the new youth. For a moment, a pair of skeletal hands invaded his spotlight, slipping a necklace over his head. Letters were quickly carved in and sealed.
The boy opened his eyes and lifted his head. He spoke for the first time.
�My name is Chadstone.�
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