The World Tree
Back before anyone can dare to recall, there was an ancient tree. It grew from the earth and water in what is now known as the Atlantic Ocean. This ancient world tree breached the heavens, the great canopies reaching out to cloak Gaia in everlasting life and fertility. Many of the ancient people revered this massive guardian and sent their dead out on rafts towards the great being so they could be carried to the afterlife by the faeries and gnomes that inhabited the tree itself.
However, over the years, the guardian began to fade. As a deity long forgotten, it vanished without anyone noticing. The children of the world tree now cover the lands they can, trying to preserve the life-giving energy of their great predecessor. From time to time, a random leaf or twig will fall out of the sky, completely out of place and time, as if the ancient guardian still existed. Some of the more superstitious people even keep these leaves or twigs are trinkets or arrangements in the home, as a symbol of good luck or some other such things.
One such person was Mordekai Dylan. He was a ragged sort of man: patchy beard, messy black hair, dark bags around his eyes and pale skin. He always wore shirts that were too big for him – larges and mediums and would hide his hands in the sleeves if they were long enough. The only pants he ever wore were of the sweat variety, from light gray to black. He always kept to himself, and was often considered insane with all that he blabbered on about. Aliens, magic, government conspiracies – nothing was free from being a topic of sorts.
And so one day, as he was walking the metropolis of New York on a particularly cold day, he felt something hit his head. It was considerably odd, as there was nobody around as he could see. Being the late morning, people would be in their offices, working, so it isn't like anything could have thrown anything at him. His rationalizing worked for a moment until he heard the sharp clank of a small piece of wood behind him. He turned sharply to try and find any mischief-makers, but found none – instead, he spotted a small, barren branch lying on the ground.
He looked one way, then the other, trying to find the origin of this twig. He saw nothing but empty street, lonely road, and a plastic bag blowing across the avenue up ahead.
'What an odd thing,' he thought to himself as he stared at the wood in his hand. His errands were complete, and he had no more reason to be out, so he hurried home. The railway was the quickest way out of the metropolis, and he soon found himself above ground as the tram took a steep incline up out of the ground.
His home was medium sized, several miles from the city. The tram took him most of the way, but he walked the last mile and took his sweet time walking along the side of the road. He could not help but look up at the sudden gathering of clouds in the atmosphere and he sneered as if he had caught the whiff of something foul. Not foul as week old rubbish, but foul is in evil or unnatural.
He hurried into his home as he could not take any more and closed the heavy door behind him, dead-bolting, padlocking and stopping the door to keep it closed. He headed into the empty living room, arranged many different items around on the floor, and began talking to himself. His shoes and socks had been removed, as well as the large coat he was wearing on his outing. He tried to recite things he had read in books that would cause magick to come forth. To anyone who was able to see him now, he looked like he was pretending to be Harry Potter by himself.
"Come on," he growled, "work, you stupid thing!" As if he had angered the very spirits of the world from abusing such a sacred artifact, thunder boomed and his lonely home seemed to shake from it. Lightning cracked outside and struck the road outside of his home. He attempted to rush out, but found himself kissing his door as he had forgotten he had locked it in the drunken feeling of adrenaline.
As he came out of his dazed state, he undid all the locks he could find on the door, ran out of the door in little more than his shirt and sweatpants, branch still in hand. He tripped as if the grass rose up to grab at his ankles and fell face-first into the dirt. He refused to give up, practically crawling and running up to the giant hole the lightning had left in the street. He misjudged the distance and found his hands reaching for empty space. And so, he fell into the abyss…