Darkness was replaced by light…and…water. He wasn’t under the water but then it was all around him, lifting him slightly and then receding. His eyes fluttered open to see an endless flat plane of white. And there was the water again. What sort of place was this?
He sat up and WHERE WAS HIS ARMOR?! THE SHIELD!!? His weapon?...The next wave splashed gently onto his lap and he now understood that he was on a beach. The sand swirled in the water, pure white and seeming to cast tiny motes of light from every grain. He turned. Further up the beach the flat plain of white smoothed by the tide gave way to small, fluffy, white rows of sand, sculpted by the gentle warm breeze. And beyond that the white cliffs rose into the sky, drawing his eyes up the mountain beyond them. A mountain that he had been taught of for many years – Mount Celestia. He had arrived at the Shores of Celestia. But that meant…
Movement caught his eye before he could finish his thought and he turned to see a man walking up the beach toward him. Marcus stood to find himself dressed in a pale fabric, dripping water onto the beach around him, each drop making a tiny crater in the fine sand before being erased by the next incoming wave. Every detail in every small thing seemed so distinct, so beautiful here. He turned to look at the man again.
He was perhaps a few years older than Marcus but then again maybe not. His face looked just a bit worn but whether by age, hardship, weather or worry Marcus could not tell. As he studied the face, he couldn’t help notice a familiar cast to it. But Marcus, always mindful of his duty to his Lord and companions, pushed away this as a trivial concern for the moment. This man was his only source of information for the moment and he had dozens if not hundreds of questions that needed to be answered. He opened his mouth to ask the first of these as the man drew within a few feet of him, but instead of a question, a simple statement escaped unbidden from his lips.
“Father.”
The man smiled more broadly, “Yes, my son. I’ve been waiting for you. But I hadn’t hoped to find you so soon.” Unprompted and unchallenged, the man stepped forward and embraced his only child. Tears ran unashamed down the face of the man as he clutched Marcus desperately in his arms.
For his part, Marcus stood shocked, warmed and bewildered by the powerful hug and yet somehow aware that he should be in intense agony from the ribs that were shattered within his breast only a few instants ago. But he realized somehow that this moment was both long in coming and would also be far too brief to squander. He returned the embrace.
Finally the man relented and held Marcus at arms length, studying him closely, as though meeting him for the first time and committing every feature to memory. “I could look upon you for days, my Child.” His smile faltered, “But I’m afraid my time with you is to be short for now. I wither inside not to hear the tales that you might tell me of your life but there are things that you must know and I’m the one who must say them.” His voice became that of a commanding father who required total attention and obedience from his child, “So listen to what I say now.”
“There was a time before the era of the Empire when bold men gained great power and ascended to become more than mere mortals. And these beings, these ‘gods’, would sometimes clash. The powers unleashed in these struggles are beyond your ability to comprehend but the damage to the world was devastating and, sometimes, permanent.
There were a pair of brothers, one as fiery and violent as the other was cold and conniving and both with hearts filled with evil. They came into conflict with the Sun Lord, Pelor and they fought. The power unleashed scoured the life from half a continent and, in the end, the hot-blooded brother was slain, his blood staining the mountains black with evil forever. His brother plotted vengeance but before he could take action all of gods were summoned by the Creator, Osirian, to answer for the destruction they had wrought upon his world.
Osirian could no longer bear to see them struggle across the landscape of his creation, destroying each other and the mortals by the thousands. He offered them a pact: They would agree to depart the Mortal Realm and never return. In exchange, Osirian would offer up his Soul, that which made him truly immortal, and each of them would become so. So it was that the gods left the Mortal Realm and Osirian passed beyond his own creation.
The gods were not content to leave the Mortal Realm unmolested of course and it took them little time to find a loophole in the Pact of Osirion. They crafted beings of pure magical Essence and sent them to do their bidding in the world of Mortals. These are of course the Celestials, Spirits and Demons. They taught the mortals to worship the gods and therefore supply them with more Essence that they might make more powerful and numerous servants and thus continue the cycle. This Essence was channeled to the gods when worshipers made supplications and sacrifices that resonated with a given god’s nature. Thus it is that by upholding the Law we channel Essence to St. Cuthbert.
Along the way, one of the gods found a way to subtly corrupt the rituals of others, siphoning off part of their Essence for himself. His vile servants infiltrated many of the other religions. When his treachery was discovered the retribution of the other gods was swift and mighty. His servants were hunted down and he himself was struck down and imprisoned in the bowels of Hell for what he had done. I’m sure you understand that I am speaking of Bane.
His imprisonment was never intended to be permanent. He lives forever thanks to the Soul of Osirion, and three-hundred years was deemed enough of a punishment for what he had done. Much longer and he could well turn insane and that would make him very dangerous indeed. Better that he emerge sooner and oh so very weak thanks to the debts owed to the minions of Hell in exchange for breaking him from his tomb. With so few worshipers he would have faint power compared to that of the other gods and at least he could be watched.
But the other gods did not anticipate the depths of his hate and desire for vengeance. They could not have guessed what he would do with the power he had slowly hoarded away for the last three-hundred years. He has not used it to benefit himself or craft new servants or to channel to his worshipers. Instead he has channeled every drop of it into the unthinkable act of bringing back a long dead god. He has brought back to life his brother, Bale.
And Bale was never a party to the Pact of Osirion.”
Marcus’ father paused to let all of that sink in and he looked for signs of recognition in the boy’s eyes. These eyes darted left and right as his brain worked on this incredible information for another moment or two. Then, “By the Mace of St. Cuthbert! Bale will walk the world again!” He looked directly into the eyes of his father, “The Blackpeaks! Those are the mountains stained with his blood! The rising of the blood from beneath the City was a sign of his return!”
His father nodded gravely, “Yes, my son. Bale was the essence of Destruction and Murder and every evil thing done in the Blackpeaks for the past dozen millennia has fed his power in his absence. Now he has returned and his Blood calls out for more of the same from all the creatures living and dead who have ever done evil within those cursed mountains. Those lands are his and so is the blood of those who dwell there.”
Marcus’ mind was racing with the horror that threatened to overtake him, overwhelm him. As he felt it all closing in around him, a small ray of hope pierced the flood of despair. “You say that he was never part of the Pact of Osirion…he can walk the lands of Men. But he can also be killed!” His father nodded with a wan smile.
His thoughts turned to his companions and he pleaded intensely with his sire, “Father, my friends are standing at this very moment at the heart of the place where Bale returns from death. They have no idea what is happening! I MUST return to them to warn them and to tell them what we must somehow do!”
Marcus’ father nodded, his face falling as he held back tears of pride and loss. “I know, my son.” He reached out to hug him but already Marcus’ form was becoming less distinct as he began to be pulled from the land of angels back into a world of fire and blood and despair, carrying with him the word of Hope.
As Marcus realized that he was going back he realized that so many questions needed to be asked. He had time for one: “Father! What do we do!?”
The man’s eyes blazed with intensity and he yelled a single word, “SURVIVE!”
Then Marcus was gone. Alone again on the beach with only the sounds of the wind and waves, the man whispered into the void left by his son, “Survive, my son, until the gods can figure out what to do…”
Aw shucks. Well, it's not always easy being a rat-bastard. But I try.
