This is but a fragment, more to come
Elder Gods
“The winds at the top of the world are cold. They rip through your skin with a tenacity found nowhere else.”
A mountain. Cold, covered in snow. Wind snatches the white powder here or there and swirls it about in the moonlight. The world lies somewhere off to the east, hidden beneath a thick blanket of cloud.
“These are the places where the elder gods return, to bask in the places they once ruled.”
An altar, long fallen into disrepair. Implements of sacrifice lie forgotten. Chants to Baal, Zeus, Odin, the sun in its myriad names, forgotten gods worshipped by trembling servitors ring out. Perhaps it is a trick of the wind.
“No, do not ignore these things. There are still those who command much power, though forgotten. Man has made myths that’s gods spring into being when first imagined and believed in, and vanish when the faithful forget. These are not those gods. They have taken, and accepted, many pseudonyms throughout the ages but they know who they are. They will bide their time, take their pleasure where they can, leave man to his own devices.”
Columns obscured by snowdrifts stand silent watches over the roofs they once supported. Timbers long rotted lie crushed beneath marble and hammered bronze. This is the façade, a cavern opens into the mountain. The stale air is redolent of the old spices, the old incense. The priest are frozen, mummified by the harsh air. Waiting for the return. Waiting.
“There are others, however. Some never accepted the worship of man. Some obscured themselves from all but the insane. Some sought out scholars of every age and tested them, never finding any civilization worthy. Some isolated themselves. Some forgot themselves and ceased to be. But the most terrifying are those who forgot themselves and remained. They are shells, shells with no guiding principles and limitless powers. They are those to fear.”
A thud in the night, a footstep in the empty hallway, a breath along the back of your neck.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
I awoke with a start, the room was cold and the candles had burned out. I stumbled out of bed and edged my way to the light switch. Nothing. No switch. I began to panic but then remembered the dimensions of my new room. Three steps to the right, four forward, on the wall to the left. I flipped the light switch, clenching my eyes shut tightly. Slowly opening my eyes I realized that the power was indeed still out.
“I have to find that flashlight.” I thought. I slowly worked my way to the nightstand and felt about for the light, finding only my cell phone I flipped it open and began to navigate by the dim light. It was better than nothing but not by much. It took almost two minutes to find the flashlight. Eventually it turned up, under a pair of dirty jeans, a shirt, and a shoe, all heaped together beside my bed. With the more powerful illumination of the small flashlight I glanced at the alarm clock by the bed. Blank. No power. I sighed heavily and picked the cell phone back up, just in time to see a low battery message flash up, and the screen to go blank.
Damn.
I plugged the phone into its (dead) charger and shuffled groggily down the hallway. I had just passed the bathroom door on my left when I realized I had no idea where I was going, or why. I stood in the hall for a moment, staring blankly ahead. The flashlight died.
“I hate this place.”
“The winds at the top of the world are cold. They rip through your skin with a tenacity found nowhere else.”
A mountain. Cold, covered in snow. Wind snatches the white powder here or there and swirls it about in the moonlight. The world lies somewhere off to the east, hidden beneath a thick blanket of cloud.
“These are the places where the elder gods return, to bask in the places they once ruled.”
An altar, long fallen into disrepair. Implements of sacrifice lie forgotten. Chants to Baal, Zeus, Odin, the sun in its myriad names, forgotten gods worshipped by trembling servitors ring out. Perhaps it is a trick of the wind.
“No, do not ignore these things. There are still those who command much power, though forgotten. Man has made myths that’s gods spring into being when first imagined and believed in, and vanish when the faithful forget. These are not those gods. They have taken, and accepted, many pseudonyms throughout the ages but they know who they are. They will bide their time, take their pleasure where they can, leave man to his own devices.”
Columns obscured by snowdrifts stand silent watches over the roofs they once supported. Timbers long rotted lie crushed beneath marble and hammered bronze. This is the façade, a cavern opens into the mountain. The stale air is redolent of the old spices, the old incense. The priest are frozen, mummified by the harsh air. Waiting for the return. Waiting.
“There are others, however. Some never accepted the worship of man. Some obscured themselves from all but the insane. Some sought out scholars of every age and tested them, never finding any civilization worthy. Some isolated themselves. Some forgot themselves and ceased to be. But the most terrifying are those who forgot themselves and remained. They are shells, shells with no guiding principles and limitless powers. They are those to fear.”
A thud in the night, a footstep in the empty hallway, a breath along the back of your neck.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
I awoke with a start, the room was cold and the candles had burned out. I stumbled out of bed and edged my way to the light switch. Nothing. No switch. I began to panic but then remembered the dimensions of my new room. Three steps to the right, four forward, on the wall to the left. I flipped the light switch, clenching my eyes shut tightly. Slowly opening my eyes I realized that the power was indeed still out.
“I have to find that flashlight.” I thought. I slowly worked my way to the nightstand and felt about for the light, finding only my cell phone I flipped it open and began to navigate by the dim light. It was better than nothing but not by much. It took almost two minutes to find the flashlight. Eventually it turned up, under a pair of dirty jeans, a shirt, and a shoe, all heaped together beside my bed. With the more powerful illumination of the small flashlight I glanced at the alarm clock by the bed. Blank. No power. I sighed heavily and picked the cell phone back up, just in time to see a low battery message flash up, and the screen to go blank.
Damn.
I plugged the phone into its (dead) charger and shuffled groggily down the hallway. I had just passed the bathroom door on my left when I realized I had no idea where I was going, or why. I stood in the hall for a moment, staring blankly ahead. The flashlight died.
“I hate this place.”