Chill mist descended upon the small hamlet just north of Shing Jea monastery. Bitter wind danced through the blades of grass and ripped blossom from its sanctity upon its tree. Ripples grew and vanished all over the large pools as the murdered blossom landed within.
A tiny boy sat by the edge of the pool, hunched forwards. His form almost blended with the mists, giving him an ethereal outline. In Cantha, the mists were known for their special properties. The gods dwelt in the endless mists, their realms all stemmed from this one place, as did the world of mortals. Should the mist become so dense, it was possible that one could be swept up and taken to the gods world, and to an early grave.
In the hamlet, down at the bottom of the hill, a single man stepped from the near silent inn. Looking up, he saw the boy, sitting in the hunched position so close to a pool of bad omen. Taking a small band of cloth from his belt, the man wove it around his forehead and eyes, allowing his vision to more easily notice the realm of spirits.
He moved hastily, yet in silence towards the boy. As he neared the boy, he stopped. The child was alive, his body gave of strong pulses of life-force, yet his chest barely rose or fell. Closing the last few paces worth of distance, the man grabbed the back of the boy's tunic and pulled him around.
Horror crossed his expression. The boy had only half a face, the right side of his head was skeletal and decayed. Recoiling from the boy, the man began to utter the words that would call a spirit from the mists to aid him.
A hiss escaped the cursed child as it shot forth, leaping upon the ritualist and pinning him down. Digging its claws into the man, the monster began to drain life force from its victims very soul. Blood pored from the man's chest as he drew his terminal breaths and closed him eyes for the final time.
Once the life had fled from his victims body, the boy leapt up. His skin grew over his skull once more and he looked down at his bloodstained hands. What have I done? His head screamed as he raced to the water, immersing his hands in the cleansing water. When he raised his hands from the icy water, the blood was untouched.
Oh gods. What have I done?
Pain raced up his right side towards his head. He fell backwards, his face burning. Blood trickled down the side of his face as his skin fell away from his skull. NO! He contorted in pain, twisting and turning, animated by some deathly force. Dragged beside the corpse he had just slain, he touched his victim.
Bones twisted and muscles tore. From the centre of the corpses chest burst a creature composed of malformed bones and muscle tissue, a bone horror. A gurgling roar tore from the creatures as it turned and head towards the village.
The boy, now with his skull concealed again, let a wail of pain, sorrow and pure hatred tear from his lungs. Tears raced down his cheeks. He had unleashed undead upon his village, soon his family and friends would be dead.
Taking the knife he had carried since he was a boy, he brought the the blade in towards his chest. His blade halted inches from his heart. Light raced across the blade, breaking it into a million tiny fragments.
He fell to the earth. His flesh melted from his face once more. The possessed child raced forward, his claws growing from his fingertips. It would appear he was joining the hunt.