Preface
The form is breaking.
Pain splintered through them all, like being ripped apart and then sown back together again and again.
We grow stronger.
We are intact.
But this form… it is… untrained.
Yet it retains strength, how can that be?
The answer lies near…
The eyes opened. The darkness of slumber was replaced by the darkness of night as a few stars could be seen through the branches of the tree.
Rising, he looked around briefly, his eyes already adjusted to the darkness. Lying on the ground, mere feet away, was the body he was looking for.
It was quite certainly the sorcerer who had made the mistake of creating him. He shook his head in mock disappointment.
How should we kill him? A voice said.
A Knife is always the most pleasurable, the feel of the blade hitting a lung, or heart, the soft cutting of the skin as if through a baker's pie. Replied another.
"Silence. All of you." He said in a hoarse voice, shaking his head.
He heard no more.
Stepping a few paces towards the sorcerer, he could make at the obligatory black robe, hood covered face, as well as a large pouch which he assumed held gemstones.
Why is it that these Sorcerers felt the need to create them, he wondered. They almost always took over the sorcerer's body and/or killed them. He again shook his head. It must come down to vanity, he concluded. The need to play God.
Although, he begrudgingly admitted, it did take some magical skill to create a shade in another body from one's own. It also took a lot of power, which is why the sorcerer was now flattened on the grown, unconscious.
He could feel the restlessness of those within him, they thirsted for their first kill. And he, not wanting to disappoint, started to contemplate his options.
Strangulation was always satisfying, and as one spirit had already mentioned before, so was stabbing. Though as he checked his person, and looked around, he could see no knife or sword nearby.
How about magic? A voice asked.
There was a hum of approval from the rest. They wished to use magic almost as much as they thirsted to kill. This would be doubly satisfying.
Perhaps he would collapse the tree on top of the man, crushing his body with a satisfying crunch, or perhaps he would raise his body of the ground, and throw it down a ravine, listening for it to hit the bottom like a tossed pebble.
Fire. One voice whispered
Yes. – Fire! – A blaze! The rest chanted.
"Silent!" he bellowed. His voice much deeper and louder this time.
The voices again went still.
He considered it. Fire. It was simple but elegant. He looked at the surrounding forest and considered a large, all consuming fire, a fire that would obliterate his creator and announce his birth unto this world.
He liked it.
Looking over the man lying prostrate before the heavens as if he were already dead, the shade gave him a mocking bow.
"Thank you for bringing me into this world, you foolish man. I may be your greatest mistake, but I will also be your most fantastic creation."
He would draw his power from the man's gems, it should be more than sufficient. He looked down at his own hands, which he just noticed to be quite soft, smooth, young…
He opened his mouth to say the words he wished in the ancient language, when a voice came piercing through his mind.
NOOO!
He lurched backwards, grabbing his head. The voice continued.
MURDERERS, MONSTERS, COWARDS!
Other voices in his mind replied.
I'LL KILL YOU- CUT YOU TO…- YOU'LL NEVER FEEL ANYTHING AGAIN…
"Enough!" He yelled, stomping his feet on the ground like a teething baby. "You will obey me!"
His mind went silent, and for a few quiet moments he heard nothing but the calling of birds and the wind in the trees.
Then, as one, the voices replied:
No we won't.
"You seem to be having trouble with your new form." Said a weary voice.
He had forgotten that the sorcerer was lying there in the madness.
"It will take some time getting used to." The sorcerer continued, rising from the ground.
He didn't have long to act, the sorcerer could soon regain his power. Using the power from the man's stones, he spoke the words he wished in the ancient language. But when he looked down at his hands, nothing had happened.
He frowned down at them like they were covered in dragon droppings.
"Oh dear." The Sorcerer said, down at the shade's hands as well. "Did your plan to vanquish me fail just now? How inconvenient."
Suddenly, he was thrown backwards hitting the tree behind him. He let out blood curdling scream as his arms were pulled backwards against its trunk at a physically impossible angle until he heard his left shoulder SNAP! And could see his right shoulder hanging out of its socket.
He was overwhelmed by the pain and the screaming of the spirits inside his head, hurdling curses at the sorcerer.
The sorcerer stepped forward, his face still veiled by the hood of his cloak, which for some strange reason the shade now noticed was not black at all, but a deep blue.
He could feel the man's eyes on him though he could not see them, as he came to a stop just a few feet in front of him.
"You will now have an important decision to make, brother of shade." A deep voice said, but the voice did not come from the sorcerer. Over the sorcerer's right shoulder, emerged a figure from the darkness.
How had he not noticed him before? He seemed as tall as the trees themselves. His muscular upper body was uncovered and his lower body was covered in only a simple cloth, but it was his face that was terrifying. The horns were that of your typical Urgal, but the eyes… Those blood dipped eyes, and the red hair that spilled out off of his chin and the top of his head. He was a demon if ever there was one.
"Or perhaps we should say, all of spirits within you do." This came from yet another voice over the sorcerer's left shoulder. This voice was higher, almost playful, though the look in her eyes held no joy at all, only thirst.
She was an elf, or at this point you might say, used to be.
Her eyes were the same shade of red as the Urgals, her long flowing hair the same color as well, and her skin no longer held the beautiful porcelain color of her race. It had begun to look grey, almost like she was beginning to rot.
"This offer comes once." A third voice, from his immediate left. A dark skinned man, now turned shade. The red hair and eyes gave a strong contrast to his dark skin "Accept and be bound, or-"
"-be torn apart." The sorcerer continued, lifting a brightly shining elven sword. "And returned unto the world from which I brought you."
He sword tip was directly on his chest, he fought hard to bring his arms forward, make some sort of resistance, but he was a fly in a web. Whoever this sorcerer was, he was powerful.
"How could you possibly bind a shade?"
The sword slashed across his chest. Birds from miles around took to the air at the sound of his screams. The sorcerer started to chant. It felt distant, like an echo from deep in a cave. He thought he could hear the other shades join as well, but it was the spirits within his form that he could hear the loudest.
We are being ripped apart! - Mutilated! - Torn! - SUBMIT! SUBMIT!
"What must I do?!" he found himself screaming.
The chanting slowed, but barely.
"Repeat my words exactly, swear your life to me." The sorcerer commanded.
DO IT NOW! a myriad of the spirits within him screamed.
Don't… one spirit whispered, so low he wasn't sure he heard it.
The chant of the shades was beginning to pick up again, he could feel his skin literally being torn in every direction, and the screams of those possessing the body reverberated in his mind.
"TELL ME THE WORDS!" he screamed.
The eyes opened. The darkness of unconsciousness was again replaced by the darkness of night as a few stars could still be seen through the branches of the tree above him.
He leaned forward. Surrounding him were shades of every race. He saw many red eyed elves, humans, even Kull's. There were shade wolves, and mountain cats, and even eagles. All looking at him like their next meal, but somehow domesticated. That sat at attention as if common household pets. They did this because their master was near.
"Welcome." The sorcerer said, standing with him in middle of the circle of shades. He raised his arms, showing those around him.
"What is this?" He asked.
"This is the instrument of chaos, and as such the initiator of change, and you…" the sorcerer said, surprising him by offering him a hand up. "You are the most important piece."
He felt the spirits within him humming with appreciation and lust, and one small, distant one that was barely there on the edge of his consciousness, screaming in horror.
Just a preface. Let me know if you think it sounds interesting enough to continue! Cheers!
Macurial