Monday, February 7, 2011
The avarice so nice...
A lone figure rushes through the almost empty streets, peering into buildings, tunneling through moldering piles of trash. Looking, looking... always searching for a goal, THE goal. The best, the only prize.
As he searches, he takes the time to corrupt the creatures of the village, be they spirit-like Embodiment, lowly sneevmole, or cannibalistic cave creepers and death widows. He grasps their heads in his dirty-yellow hands, brushing his fingers over their eyes, whispering softly to them. Entracing them. Converting them. Swaying them to his side, corrupting them as their souls slowly, irrevokably become his.
As he releases each creature, their eyes glaze over and a greedy, hungry rage fills them. And fear. Fear of failure, fear that they will find the Hero, the SoulWeaver, and the PrettyPretty Girl and NOT stop them from following their new Master. The figure flings them away from him, disgusted that he has to take time from searching in order to create stumbling blocks in his pursuers' paths. But he knows that they are the only things that lie between him and his enemies. So he takes the time. And he searches. Somewhere, surely, is his prize. He needs only to find it.
He is rushing through the streets, and muttering all the while:
Wheel so fine, so fine to grab, to take and hold; hold the prize, to grasp, so nice to grasp the wheel, so nice, so hungry the power that consumes; power so much, so much, so sweet; sweet power, pretty power, power that devours, dream your power, power your dreams...