Prologue: The Secret of Stones
Taren dragged his body along the floor, dragged only by the strength of his arms. He had spent months...no, years building the strength of those arms. He now wished he'd spent more time emphasizing his now useless legs, instead. His arms had the power to drag his shattered body along though, so he used the tools he had. Forward. Keep moving forward.
He had used a focusing exercise to ignore the pain. The crystal lodged in his belly was not staunching the flow of blood as it flowed out onto the broken earth, but instead seemed to be moving occasionally to keep the wound fresh. He could feel it drinking in his life essence as it did so. Could it be drinking some of his bodily fluids? A preposterous thought, but these were preposterous times.
From nearby he could hear the cries of others, and the steady crunch of footfalls on loose gravel. One of them was coming, then. Taren ignored the sound and focused on the task at hand. He knew if he stopped moving, he would die. If he could reach some of the supplies in the infirmary, he could heal himself. Twenty more feet. He could do that. Focus.
He realized that he could still feel his legs when a great weight suddenly fell upon one, causing him to cry out in agony. When his vision returned, he realized he had blacked out. He had been kicked over onto his back. He was much weaker. How long had he been out? He could feel more than see the shadow above him, blocking out the sun. He knew who it was, regardless. He tried to speak, but found he no longer had the energy.
Taren was a realist. There would be no escape, now. All that remained would be to determine the manner of his death, not the avoidance of it. As the previous three men and one woman who held his position had done, he had made preparations. His contingency plan was not terribly subtle, but that word had never been used to describe Taren and with good reason. The conflagration centered from his body would burn anything within ten paces to a cinder. Crystals or no, they would all die together. He just had to utter the trigger phrase.
He mustered all his remaining strength. They were close enough, now. All his effort, guided to purpose. Focus.
"At the Sufferance of the Spellmason...", he uttered, barely more than whisper.
Nothing.
Taren expected a sudden burst of pain, a flicker of fire...something before the end. It took him a few seconds to realize that his contingency device had failed to do anything at all.
"Poor, poor Taren," came the deep baritone of his rival. "Did you truly think me that much of a fool? That I didn't know of your mark of office?" Taren felt something wet on his cheek. He had been spat upon. "Shall I pass my water upon you? I always hated you, you imperious, condescending know nothing! You actually thought I wanted the title you threw at me? An honor, you called it? No more shall I be bound by your petty rules. I have a NEW master."
Taren focused his eyes. The traitor had stepped aside, and now something bigger than a man hovered above him. Taren's eyes finally resolved what it was, and he gasped in terror.
"You're....you're an abomination!"
"I prefer the term Aberration, actually. And yes, I am. And you let me walk right in through the front door."
"Who....who ARE you?"
"Oh, very clever. Shall I reveal all my plans and identity to you, so that the Blue Tyger Legion or some other well-intentioned marauders can use the most trivial of spells to question your corpse? Very well, I'll tell you who I am. I am the LORD OF OBLIVION. Commit that to memory for the few seconds you may enjoy it. Done? Good. Because I. AM. HUNGRY."
The last thing Taren saw was the jaws...the enormous, illogical jaws... as they grew wider and wider, until at last the blotted out the light and surrounded him. His final curious thought was to ponder how it appeared to be larger on the inside than it was on the outside. And then he was gone, leaving the last of his family an orphan.
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
