[ Printer Friendly Version ] [ Report Abuse ]
Chapter 1 : I, Deathstick
| ||Rating: 15+||Chapter Reviews: 5|
Background: Font color:
The wizards believe that I was created by Death, and they are partially correct. When Cain slew Abel, I was there, in his heart. When he picked up the broken branch from the ground and hit his brother, I splintered off the limb. No longer just an evil impulse, I now had a physical form. Cain couldn’t hide, though and was cast out. Literally marked for death, he wandered until put out of his miserable existence.
I lay, forgotten in the dirt for decades until I was found by a simple farmer. He was the first of many over the millennia who thought he controlled my power, but I controlled him. Death after death, I revelled in my power to corrupt the innocent and to lead the truly evil into savagery beyond their petty imaginations.
Passed from bloody hand to bloody hand, I grew in power. I could twist the most innocent with covetousness. They would want to take me from the hands of the evil and use me for good. Soon, though, they saw the chance to right every wrong and their vengeance was terrible. Tyrants are born through power and the belief that what they do is right. I gave them the power and whispered into their minds beliefs that they thought were their own.
From time to time, there came someone strong enough to cast me aside, or to hide me away. When this happened, I would bide my time. None could destroy me, for I am eternal. Even if they snapped me in half, my power would be in them still until I was taken from them by force. Then someone would find me again, suddenly whole and waiting for them: throbbing with a power they had never known before.
Men are simple creatures and they search for simple answers. The path to greatness lies through power, and I provide that for them. Those who seek me think they know what they seek, but they don’t understand until I tell them. Their innermost desires come to the surface. Lust, jealousy, wrath are all fuelled. I stoke the fires of their soul.
I know that this tomb, too, is temporary and the stone surrounding me will crumble away. The hand that holds me in death will wither and fade as the body crumbles. Someone will find me: either by chance or by following the legend.
My bloody path will never be stopped, not until the horn of judgement sounds. I am a simple elder wand, I am the evil impulse at the heart of every man, I am the jealous husband, I am the covetous neighbour, I am the tyrant who controls the lives of the small and weak.
I am the Elder Wand.
Other Similar Stories
by Alex Walker