Name: Jonathen Caiside ” Gallchobhair
Alias: Jonnie, Jon-Jon, Jack, Gutter-Sh*te, Jon O'Faller, Devoured, Dead-Man.
Species:TaintedZombie Sex:HELLZ YEAH! Male
Likes:Sex, Drugs and Rock n' Roll.
Dislikes: People, politics, priests, policemen, pulp and the letter "p".
Appearance: Jonnie is a white male who stands at approximately 5'11" and looks hungry. His black hair is either soft due to the cleaning he was capable to obtain the night before or that day, or it's in a mess, greasy and wirey down to his shoulders. Typically, he wears simple and nearly destroyed clothing for he isn't one to care for fashion. His clothing is almost always dark in contrast with his pale skin. He doesn't wear jewelry but he does have a kool-aid watch from the 70s, good time. He either wears combat boots or converses or says ďF*** itĒ and goes bare foot. Nine times out of ten he has a look of disdain and hatred upon his cursed face. In reality, he loves humanity but those that he immediately encounters seem to have a tendency to make him angry. His eyes go from bright green to a dull, opaque, lime depending no his hunger.
Personality:F*** you He's quite obsessed with punk rock. His message is, "If it works for them, break the f***ing thing." Never one for order and pride, he would rather be murdered by a gangster than rely on a cop to save him. He enjoys watching the world turn and playing them all for fools.
PART I:Destroying a Man to Make the Monster 4000 BCE
Once upon a time, there was a rover. In the Celtic land that humanity now calls Ireland was where that rover laid his head. As a simple musician and story teller, the rover knew know home nor peace. Drafting songs of deeds and brave homes, the rover was cursed to live a busy life. He was well known for his quick wits, unforgettable dances and melodies, and even his humorous farces of songs. Some of the crowds however were a little more tough than others and that was well enough, kept the job challenging.
With wine and whiskey, his joyful life was soon to be blessed by wife and child. Not a thing could squander the roverís jolly mood, especially after the birth of his first son. Though he traveled to many lands, nothing fit so well as the small cottage that was lavishly decorated far off the beaten path to his Gaulish home. Drunkenly stumbling about, his wife met him many of nights at the door with swats and curses.
The roverís collections of flutes, violins, fiddles, mandolins and drums grew vastly. Soon, he had three children, his eldest taking to the fiddle rather quickly. Turning from rover to jongleur, he soon traveled to armies and courts in order to provide entertainment. It was there he encountered princes, warlords, councilmen and once an emperor. Jonathen Caiside ” Gallchobhair was this jongleurs name and soon after his career sparked to life, his own life ended.
After a rather accomplished night, he celebrated about the pubs and planned to end the night crawling along to his room. With whiskey in the jars and his tin going towards the grog, he laughed off the bumps and bangs he encountered when running into various other people on the dance floor he once owned. But, a tall man with a white beard and a whiter cloak seemed to hate the drink.
When Jonathen bumped into this man, there wasnít the typical cheer and laughter, instead there was fiery hatred, ďWhatís the matter beanstalk? Donít like fun?Ē Jonathen laughed until he tossed his whisky to the floor with long fingers. Taking that as a personal strike, he pointed and made his way drunkenly to the stage.
Though by then Jonathen couldnít remember the words, he did remember attacking the druids and their kind with word. There were flamboyant remarks about their frilly robes. A couple of demeaning lines about their trips to the woods for days on end. Finally, there was a strike against their sacrifices and the gods they worshipped. Jonathen kept his green eyes on them as he sang but as if by magic, they disappeared.
Sacrifices? Gods? It was all over Jonathenís head, he was no warrior. He was a singer and song writer, riddle-spinner, legend weaver. His stories would live on for far too long.
Blood spilled out from under the wooden door, slowly creeping towards him like a group of insects. There were no screams but instead the sounds of slumps and gurgles. Panic pushed Jonathen forward and anger made him grasp his hatchet. Crashing through the door, there were the druids now. Their longest blade puncturing from his sonís chest, his twin daughters dead and bloodied in their cradle. His wife was in the corner, shaking and shivering with a haunted expression.
Before Jonathen could even lash out and take their lives, pain seared through him. There were only four of them, but power surged and they spoke with the million voices of the gods. Darkness ate the light in tendrils, hungrily eating all that was good in this world. The hunger turned on him, draining the color from his hair and replacing it with the blackness that corrupted his humble home. His eyes were turned grey, his skin was whiter than their hair. Even his lips turned to a grey ash.
With all the life supped from him, Jonathen felt empty. His mortality was twisted and replaced. ďWe curse you to roam this world, never knowing death or satisfaction. The gods curse you to sup from the flesh of man, never shall your hunger be satiate, never shall your heart beat nor your chest draw breathe. Never shall your misery end.Ē With a final whirling, thunderous show of power, they vanished.
The blackness slowly faded from his eyes, wriggling around like tentacles in his vision. There was nothing, he was empty. Though his wife still lived, he was sure she would hate him for the murder of their children. Slowly but surely, the world came into view. Finally.
But it wasnít the brown of wood he saw. It wasnít his childrenís bloodied bodies. His wifeís tearful and sorrowful face wasnít the first thing to come to his eyes. There was nothing but crimson. Now pale skin grasped something that squished with a lukewarm temperature. Red ichor dribbled from his mouth and chin, dripping onto his lap and chest. Something in him told him to eat the red thing.
So he did. Only after he ate the red thing and belched with minute satisfaction did he realize he had consumed his wifeís heart. On her back, she was barely recognizable. Her face bashed, her skull cracked open and the precious organ scooped out by the handful, her chest cavity was exposed and torn apart as if by force. The brutal scene was all too real.
Kicking away, he began to scream and kick. His muscles no longer feared the damage of holding back and in his rage he broke doors, walls, furniture and even their cribs. He wanted to hurl, to vomit up the contents of his stomach but his coppery tasting throat refused to comply. There was nothing left for him to love, nothing within him that could be for sure that the gods were even watching him.
Unable to believe what happened, he buried his family beneath the home and set it ablaze. Vowing to hunt down these druids and make them answer for their crimes, he set out on a conquest of cursed retribution.
PART II; Rebirth and Destitution 3750 BCE
At the height of what would later be referred to as the ďNeolithic ageĒ, Jonathen was abroad. Traveling from land to land and using his long life against the Druids, he felt like nothing more than a child throwing potatoes at adults from rooms away. For the past two hundred and fifty years, Jonathen scoured the rolling hills of the Gaelic country in search of these Druids. He only learned a few things, making his little strides longer each time.
Firstly, he learned that not all druids were real Druids. Just because one person lives like a hermit, grows out their beard, worships and communes with nature and attempts the magic known as druidery does not make them of magical decent. These pseudo-druids were not respected by the druidic community. They were outcasts and were rarely allowed to live till old age. Those who successfully completed the rituals, made contact with the pagan gods and were granted the knowledge of magic were dubbed true druids and granted a long life before coming to share their stories and their eternal lives with the gods. Those that made contact and failed to bring proper sacrifice or agree to the godís laws were struck dead and forced to humiliating servitude to the gods for one hundred years.
Secondly, there was their seemingly random locations. While the belief that druids lived in solitary cabins to commune with nature wasnít always false, it was hardly ever true. Many new druids would spend their first few years in solitude, gaining knowledge of their new-found powers and reigning in control of them in order to fulfill their promise to the gods; ďHarness your abilities and not let them take control of you. Use your magic responsibly but whimsically, you are on a higher level than mere mortals.Ē Then, they sought one another out.
Living amongst nature was one thing, dominating it as they did through magic was another. It was simple; druids like to control nature in magic and in the physical realm. To do that, where would they flock? To the farmland. Not only were these farms massive and employed multiple humans, they were also seen as wealthy and were prominent all over the country side. In this way, the druids lived like kings and brought some sort of ďgloryĒ to the gods.
Jonathen spat upon this thought on a daily basis. Glory didnít come from dominance, it didnít come from murders and curses for a simple joke. It came from honor and civility, living by ethics and defying the natural want for blood and revenge. Jonathen practiced this by selecting his food by checking for corruption and abuse. Especially seeking out those who would abuse children, turning them into a feast.
Thirdly; to execute a curse like the one used to make a mortal a flesh eating immortal took a lot of power. The druids would undoubtedly be alive for four hundred to five hundred years, unless some circumstance allowed them to die. The gods would not let them die otherwise, their stories being too magnificent to end this quickly. This curse, however, would take a lot of convincing. Even though it was two hundred and fifty years ago, to the gods it would be but a blink. In truth, theyíd still be laughing about the poor sod that was cursed.
Anger flared in Jonathen. He craved blood, not through his unquenched hunger, but from the primal need for revenge. His teeth ached for the feel of their silky sinew sliding down his gullet. Shivering with anticipation, Jonathen sought out weaker druids in the wilderness. It took him several months to find the newfound druid, but when a man left the village and disappeared into the wilderness for months, there was talk. If they came out, they were chosen and it was celebrated. When they did not, it was a sign that either they were training still or they were dead. Either way, it was known and Jonathen knew how to get information out of these simple people.
With an unsatisfied bloodlust, he tracked the man down. They were alone and successful. New to the magic, they couldnít fight of the hungry Jonathen. With the man broken in the simple tent, Jonathen began to pick his brain. Not literally, thatíd come after he found the information. ďHow do I get into the realm of the gods?Ē He would ask several times. When the man didnít answer him, Jonathen stepped out for a while, finding some sort of magic trinket that the druid had made. Bringing it back, heíd destroy it. There were animals all over for sacrifice, Jonathen killed them to use as food.
Finally, through starvation and humility, the man broke down and listed off everything Jonathen would need. Most of these things the man still had nearby. The rest, Jonathen improvised on.
Making the symbols evenly and then praying, Jonathen then began the process of sacrificing. He snapped his flute over the symbols, the fragments cutting into his hand. Dropping it down, he sucked blood from his still veins and spat onto the flute. He then walked two goats over and slit their throats, mixing more of his own blood. The symbols began to glow and Jonathen collected the new druid into the symbols as well before setting them aflame.
The druid, after all the beating and torture, was alive with happiness and excitement at seeing the gods again. Flinging curses at Jonathen mixed with promises that the gods would make his eternal life miserable, Jonathen had yet to reveal what his vendetta against the druids and gods were.
Reality imploded on itself, eating them alive and sending them to the other realm. The realm of the gods. With his captive and his hatchet in hand, he stepped into the shadowy and encompassing world. Finding himself dissatisfied with the place, unvexed by it, he let out a series of laughs and jabs at the druids reverence of the place. The realm of the gods was nothing but raw power in truth, but all that Jonathen saw was irresponsible promises of magical ability. They too, were children and flinging about their gifts like surplus food to the hungry.
Finally, a god approached him. Jonathen didnít care for his name and the deity was not used to being shrugged off casually. In anger, he sealed Jonathenís mouth and attempted to destroy him. Jonathen then learned that he was immune to the gods will as well, they didnít quite think this curse through.
Using the hatchet, he split the druidís skull and let his body fall limp, ďA sacrifice. I do not seek power, only knowledge.Ē This brought a chuckle from the god who then informed him that knowledge was indeed power, strong power that could turn empires to dust. Keeping that thought in mind, Jonathen simply asked, ďWho murdered my family and cursed me? Where are they? Iím going to kill them.Ē
ďA new farm in Scotland. They are strong in number, the four of them. Farmers will protect them with their lives you know.Ē
ďThen I will kill them all.Ē With that, he was dismissed from the realm of the gods. Heíd return later, he vowed. Heíd return with the names of the gods who made this curse possible. From those names, heíd make recipes. From those recipes, heíd find out what the flesh and organs of deities tasted like.
The coasts of Schottland were as gorgeous as the Land of Ire. Though it pained Jonathen to admit it, he could barely see the differences in the two lands. However, if the man ever spoke this truth in either countries heíd either be beaten till near death or they may actually succeed in killing him. Even though heíd welcome the sweet release, he didnít want to die as he now lived, cursed.
Even though it was Summer, the air around him was gloomy. It swirled with storms, angry enough to split the skies. At first, these people heralded this as a sign of love from the gods. An answer to their prayers and sacrifices, but when the skies continued to rumble and cast the rain for days, weeks, on end.
The farmland he was seeking was on the Shetland Islands. Through his already vast number of years he earned himself many gold pieces. Collecting, working as a musician and even thieving his way through life, he collected a vast wealth. Purchasing his place on ship after ship was no feat of legends, it helped that he was an expert haggler as well. Still though, he wanted to approach in the shadows so the vessel was nothing of notoriety. It bobbed and turned roughly with the ocean, listing and tossing sailor and cargo both side to side through the short journey.
Luckily, his sea legs were very much blessed and steady. Thankful to have land beneath him, he quickly approached a farmer. After safely stowing and burying his lute and fiddle, he kept his hatchet on him. Raids from the west were a well-known threat, especially in the times of Summer. Somehow, however, the ships had been turned back by mysterious storms, more violent than most.
Jonathen believed, with all certainty, that this was due to the four druids that called this land home. Sadly, that protection would not last too much longer. Finally, Jonathen was going to fulfill his blood oath of death and carnage to the men responsible for his current condition. Those same men responsible for the death of his innocent and pure children as well as devouring his wife; for that there would be blood and fire.
Deep in his heart the hunger for vengeance stirred, a flame that would not go out by wind or water. Masking that anger so it did not show on his face was difficult. It was easy enough to convince the farmer that he was simply looking for work, but it became more and more difficult to mask his excitement as they approached the farmland.
It was gorgeous, rolling hills alive with vegetable and cattle. Every man and woman were busy keeping the land safe, yet they were all smiling. The druids magic must have kept the land fertile when it should have wilted, ďOur owners have been alive for a hundred years or more! Theyíre powerful men but kind, fair. They keep food in our bellies and our men are well trained! Youíll find the simple life you seek here my friend.Ē Jonathen kept silent at that.
When they made their way to the longhouse, he steeled himself. As stern as ever, he kept his grey eyes on every person there. They wouldnít like his intentions nor would they let their lords be killed without a fight. With his infiltration successful, he lived for six days as a normal farmer. Toiling away at the lands was not his usual work, nonetheless, people called him a natural. He felt accepted but not fulfilled, he was living a lie and that irked him.
Day after meaningless day, he sowed and reaped at the fields. Never proud of his fruits and labors, he kept his eye to the three houses that sat near the druidís revered circle of stones. He could feel the magic around them, emanating from those stones. The sheep that were the farmers paid it no mind, carrying out their tasks without question. How did they not wonder at their stamina? Since the druids had arrived the land turned from barren sea to prosperity.
On his seventh day they arrived in the land to celebrate their toils and tribulations. There was to be a feast, two feasts in fact. One would be of lamb, wine and vegetables and the other would be a feast for Jonathen himself. Jonathen would dine on the hearts of druids and magic. They were aged like fine wine, Jonathen could tell that from the deep creases in their skin and the white of their healthy beards. Though they appeared old, they laughed and moved like fine young men. While Jonathen was suffering the cruel fate of endless life and hunger these men were living like royalty in their lavish cottages.
A grin stretched across Jonathenís face as the night came to a close. Drunkenly stumbling towards their cottages, two of them had women in tow, the other two had one another in embrace. Which to kill first? It was the only question on Jonathenís mind until a young woman was strapped to the table. Complacently, she stared up at the sky, the men began chanting and praying for an end to the rain now. They were thankful, but regretted praying so hard.
Her body was covered with vegetables, wine and the flesh of animals. They would leave her overnight in the rain before sacrificing her to the gods. Torn between saving her or killing, the decision wasnít easy for the honorable man. Her speech, however, how she gladly went to the gods as a sacrifice, made his choice a bit easier.
Stealthily approaching the leftside cottage, he could still sense the magic from the rocks. From the cottageís came a little magic, his travels to the realm of gods paid off still. Magic wasnít seen by him, in fact it was simply felt. The presence and itís type ran up his spine. There were no defensive wards around their cottages as there were around the island. Who would dare attack the four kings of Shetland? The four creators of the Scord of Brouster were infallible! Only a fool would strike up against them.
Jonathen approached the front door. Hearing the sounds of passion within, he laughed softly to the fact that heíd be ruining such a grand night as they had ruined his marriage.
Stepping in through the front door quietly, only one torch in the adjacent room was lit. Though the lights were dim, Jonathenís hunger gave him strength and abilities no human could truly fathom. His joints never popped nor ached, nor did his eyesight fail him. Even in this dark light, he could see perfectly. It seemed too that with death ever lingering over him that life would forever go without giving him notice. Even those who are imbued with magic failed to see him until he was right upon them.
Thrumming his fingers over the barely lit walls, Jonathen slowly cantered over to the bed. Their eyes were stuck to one another, blind to all their surroundings. That was until the back of Jonathenís hatchet struck against the back of her head, having her crumple beside him. It was a shame that Jonathen had to dispatch the first man so quickly, his hatchet splitting his skull with a savage blow. He wanted him to beg, but heíd go to the gods a shamed and foolish man.
The next cottage wasnít so busy. There was no passion save for how the two men held one another tenderly. Their cheeks were still rosy, their eyes shut like stones. His approach was still silent, stepping around the mossy stones that sat here and there around the floor. The magic of life came from them, radiating from them to keep them alive in their slumber. Grasping one of the stones, he broke the pattern.
Slamming the stone down on the closest manís skull, the other was splattered with warm blood. Thinking it was wine, he awoke slowly. Finally, his eyes opened just in time to see the hatchet descend upon his throat. A small part of Jonathen felt like an artist who had redone a painting. Nodding his satisfaction at the improvement, he left the house slowly.
Yanking two oil lamps from the shelves, he spread it about the house and then flung the first on the roof. Returning to gather the torch from his first home, he spread the second about in a similar fashion. Setting fire to the left cottage first, he tossed the torch over to the right. Kicking in the third and middle home, he was taken aback by the final druidís appearance.
He was garbed in nothingness. Magic swirled about his cottage, hidden by more magic in the walls. Jonathen felt foolish to step into this area without checking first. Protection, life, blood, strength, fertility and fire blazed. The woman he came with lie in a bloody heap behind him, a free-will sacrifice, ďWorry not cursed one. I was not aware of your coming, youíve interrupted a ritual, a very important one.Ē Jonathen twirled his axe, trying to appear as if he was not both angry and fearful.
ďYouíve come for our heads. For what we have done, we lived with regret. The gods warned us you would come, they have forsaken us and we are not pitiful anymore.Ē The power lifted him and then he stood, nude, as the magic dissipated. It was then that Jonathen saw the grey and milky eyes of his enemy. His pupils were torn in multiple places.
When the magic fell away, the years set upon him. He was little more than flesh and bone when the magic failed him. ďYouíre the one in the tavern?Ē The man nodded, ďYou gathered your friends to come and curse me, yes?Ē Another nod, ďDo you take responsibility?Ē With the third nod, Jonathen approached. Grasping the manís neck, he lifted the old and weary druid from the ground in a stony grip.
After those two weeks of not feeding, he lost himself. The last thing he remembered before letting the hunger take him was tearing the druidís wrinkled throat out and smiling as the blood drenched him. It was a shame that he would never truly no the taste of the druid. The taste of his innards however would be with him forever, even benefit him more than he could have imagined.
Part III: Of Dead Gods
Within Lost Time
The mortal coil was an ever expanding one. It was a magical time where science and logic were now more venerated than superstition and religion. Mankind was reaching new depths and new heights. It was the new age, that which would leave the other behind. A time for exploration and abstract creation. Gods were a thing of the past in this newfound human. Oddly enough, this sat well with the Old Ones who worked from different dimensions, different realities that most humans could not comprehend.
They tallied at the expense of their time. If only they were truly as timeless as humanity thought them to be but then again this comes from the same planet that believe Seraph are tools of an omnipotent ďGodĒ. These other realities didn't revolve around the reverence of humans as they so arrogantly thought but of their own political infrastructure. The Egyptian and Greek gods had long since left humanity to their own as did most of the Norse. They all turned a blind eye to humanity for practically the same reason. Boredom.
Gods from on-high watched, perceived, occasionally persuaded, and followed the flow of humanity. Their track record was treacherously simple and easy to predict and once the Old Ones had determined that they were of no threat to the plans of their existence they looked away. Sciences had been created on how to reach them, rituals to give them gifts and ask of them favors from farming to crumbling an empire. All these selfish ideals spread and manifested in the name of ďprogressĒ did not deserve prayers answered in their name, but just like that they were.
Humanity had not yet seen the spiteful ignorance and hypocrisy by which they lived and one day, when they did, it would be too late. Or, they would complete what only a handful of humans had done before. They would find the truth of reality and spread themselves inwards to face the cruel gods that ďdecided their fatesĒ and either more deeply believe or take up arms. All but one who has completed the transition from Earth to the ďheavensĒ died, torn apart almost instantly because of the work of the First.
The First was many things. The First was a murderer, a monster by humanity's term. The First was the God-Maw and was the only being to achieve true timelessness, for the most part. The First had lived almost as long as humanity had been upright. The First was also a cautionary tale, he had roamed the Earth content with spreading love, joy and dying peacefully. One day however, his gods had forsaken he who would become the Devourer. The First and Last, Alpha and Omega, Genesis and Revelations.
The First stared through the Gate which would lead him to one of thousands of realities. When He had finally died and thought his existence was over, he woke up in this plane of existence and stepped through the Gate into something else. It wasn't his earth but it was an earth in which he had never been. An earth in which humanity had already destroyed itself, an earth that had made right what humanity had spent every day since the conception of free will wronging.
ďEater.Ē A young child said to the First. This was a bold act for the child, but only when the First died in his reality and returned to this one did the child, Agogoth as he wished to be called now, have company. In this plane the curse that cruelly created and twisted the First was put into action. It was the first lesson that all gods would take to head. That curse worked far too well and the First returned here to visit the plague that had become him upon them. They didn't end his existence because they didn't have the chance. The First had killed them and devoured them as he had done to hundreds of humans by this point.
By killing these gods he had cursed himself to an even worse fate. Some may call immortality the greatest idea but some were also idiots. Nothing could kill the First but the First had to kill that which he had once found precious in order to save them from a far worse fate when the First became the Last. Now there were no gods left to undo the curse that made him devour those organs which made humans stay alive and so he existed for ten thousand years, killing, eating and repeating the process.
One fledgling of a god had survived in this realm though, one boy who when first encountered by the First was barely capable of speech but could communicate through thought. The baby had fallen into pieces when he tried to tear into the First's mind and not even the First knew what the child had seen. It wasn't pleasant however. This was evident by his current behavior, appearance and stature.
The boy's forefathers were the druid's gods, the embodiment of all that the Celts followed and fought with. Having died quite young, their magic had since been forgotten or at least rendered mostly powerless. Life filled this place, the trees were inhabited by several types of birds and their noise filled the air without respite. Flowers constantly produced pollen which fed the bugs that continued the cycle of life with the sweetest of honey. Wheat grew in high stalks, bushes of potatoes coated the ground like a rug of vines, tomatoes grew along orange trees and grapes hung along every branch. So much food and so much life had disturbed the First upon discovery of this place. One similar to the boy reached out to speak or beg for mercy but he received no mercy and only murderous attention.
Now, however, death had visited and stayed in this place. Leaves had fallen, wilted away and now scattered in the wind that occasionally blew through this wasteland of a reality. Instead of bright, booming and strong trees there were slowly dying black pieces of wood that stood like a silhouette of their former selves. The sun had shined yellow light here to feed the thick grass and keep the meadow's inhabitants alive. Alas, they too were corrupted, twisted, much like the First had been. Fish had died, rotted and then became a part of the meadow's ecosystem which was now a black and disgusting green bubbling mass. Even the grass was gray and crunched beneath the feet instead of welcoming the touch. The moon hung fat in the sky, eclipsing the sun in order to keep the light in this place to a minimum.
When the First turned his green eyes on the boy he didn't see a god but the revenant of a deific presence. His ancestors were so alive, tanned in the sun or pale tinged with life. The boy's skin was that of marble, similar to the First's but stiff. Where eyes should have been were black pools of ichor that seemed to slowly ooze out of him. Black tendrils ran up his nail beds and into his fingers which he used to scratch at his black hair that moved of its own volition. The child's mouth held no lips and instead of perfect teeth like his ancestors he had two plates of teeth that fully encompassed the bottom and top of his mouth, protruding from black gums and hiding a black tongue. Whatever he had touched in the First's mind had caused him to develop here and grow comfortable in the presence of death. The Morrigan's Child is what he had become and if the First hadn't torn off her talons himself he would swear the boy was some sort of creation of her's.
ďEater.Ē The child said once more, with some urgency in it. Suspended in mid air he sat with his legs crossed and turned upside down so his constantly moving hair dangled down to the ground two feet below him. The First turned his head, staring at the boy from underneath his own black hair, ďWhy haven't you devoured me as you did those which were before me?Ē
The First turned around fully, his face a blank slate. Green eyes that were once vibrant and literally glowing with life were now dull and faded like the grass of a winter hill that rarely got sunlight. The First crouched and stared into where the boy would have eyes, the ichor moving down to his forehead and dripping through his hair. Tilting his head to the side, the child mimicked him by turning to the opposite direction.
ďI have thought for a millennium about it as I waited for you to return. I seek truths and answers in this lonely existence but they never come here, nothing does but the occasional whisper of a prayer or sacrifice but never for Agogoth, Betrial, Linok, Petrino or any of the other names I have taken. They call for the others, those before me, those that you killed.Ē Agogoth twisted in the air, his hair falling behind his back as he spun to hover just a foot off of the ground, ďSo, why is Agogoth spared? Is it so I can kill you one day? I won't do it, the ghosts of those before me know your existence makes you hate yourself. Though you may visit destruction upon all the worlds, nothing can be worse than the fact of this realm. They have unanimously dedicated my existence to taunting you but Agogoth will not listen. Agogoth will not let his only visitor be troubled when he comes.Ē
The First placed his hands on his knees, staring at the boy with the patience of a great grandfather soaking up all the ramblings of a child to carry him into the afterlife. Figuring he wouldn't get a response, Agogoth said, ďAgogoth was angry last time Eater. I won't try to steal your voice this time. Your name has long since been forgotten so I have no power over you in any case. I want to know why is Agogoth spared? If this is living why am I allowed to continue to do it?Ē
The First continued to stare, emotionless but his mind was running a few hundred miles a minute. Agogoth knew, somehow, that he was making progress, ďOne day, if Eater sees fit, Agogoth hopes he will take him on his next journey. I only see glimpses through the Gate but I have never actually been able to traverse it. It pushes me back to the point of pain but maybe if I can go with you? One day, not today. When you formed here you were destroyed. Knowing the Eater, Agogoth assumes that Eater will go back to find those that destroyed him. Assuming Eater hadn't done what was done to him by himself, Eater will seek vengeance. That is, after all, the reason Eater came here and killed Agogoth's family is it not?Ē
Once, the First had formed here to see Agogoth speaking to himself. The First listened for hours as the boy's voice shifted pitches, tone, behavior and even vocabulary. Strangely of all however was that he spoke over himself, letting one voice come out over another as if in an attempt to interrupt himself but never quite succeeding. The First's eyes bore into the boy, or tried to. The black ooze was a defense mechanism against the First's Sight, he realized. Clever adaption.
The First sighed and stood. It had been a couple of hundred years since the boy had attempted to steal the First's voice. When this happened he had to spend nearly a week here chasing the child down. Only then did the child laugh and squeal with joy. If the First was honest with himself he, too, had fun. However Agogoth could not know that and when the First had had enough, Agogoth still continued. An infuriated First was not something to be laughed at yet this boy smiled in the face of certain death. That was until the First had gotten hold of the boy and nearly tore him into pieces. Agogoth withdrew himself and hid from the First the next two times he came here.
Still, the First could trust him with something at least. The First stood and as he did the boy hovered higher. The folds of his mouth, still not really lips, pulled taught in an exasperated expression. Originally he did not speak, only followed. Then he did speak but it was only to ask him which nickname the First had enjoyed most. Eater was the one he enjoyed least and Agogoth knew it, so it was that one which he tormented the First with. Then Agogoth asked hundreds of questions within the little bit of time the First spent here, none quite as deep as this one however.
The first backed away until his hand entered the Gate. It's warmth seized the First's hand and wrist, beckoning him to bring death to the plane of the living more and more and more. Magic found magic and wished for it to be let loose upon the world. The First felt this tug and hated it. This was the right reality, the one where he as alone and cursed. Those that pretended to be his friend feared him, many more loathed him and so many hundreds cursed his existence.
It was only then that the First spoke, ďThe next time I'm here I'll tell you my name and why you're alive. The time after that I'll answer five questions, then we will play a game, then we will play a game and I'll answer ten questions and then I will bring you out for two days. Think on that and I'll return soon, Lieve.Ē
The child's mouth turned upwards in what should have been a smile but was an ugly scar. Spinning in the air, Lieve bit into his nail-beds and fingertips. His other hand waved the First off, ďThank you Eater. You have given Lieve much to think on. I will find the bird and we will talk.Ē
The First almost panicked but perhaps what this young god wanted. Perhaps Lieve wanted the First to believe that the Morrigan, the only one which could possibly remove his curse and shepherd him to the land of the dead, was still about. No, that crow was gone, dead and devoured. Still, this boy would have his fun whether the First liked it or not.
Petrinoh the innocent had been destroyed, corrupted and remade. Betrial the brave had been intimidated to death. Linok the swift had been nearly killed and thus returned within to shelter. Fellik the curious became Fellik the dead. Now, Agogoth the lonely had died as well and in his place was Lieve the reborn. The boy would grow into a god and that which the First had destroyed would revitalize and turn back onto him, or so he hoped.
The Gate's magic embraced him as he stepped from one realm to the other. The First, the Eater, the God-Maw, the Vengeful, the Destroyer, the Corrupter, the Cursed faded away. As always, that persona was left behind in the realm of the gods. Whichever realm he would visit after that of the mortal, the realm of his home, would know that which Lieve knew. No deity would intimidate him and gods help it if it tried. For Jonathen Caiside ” Gallchobhair was a spirit of death, voracity, tenacity, vengeance and hunger.
At this point, Jonnie the Zombie was hungry and somewhere in this world was his next meal.