Post by Mrdamage on May 12, 2020 8:48:26 GMT 10
The rolling streams water was clear and fresh, white squauls bubbling around moss capped rocks which jutted out of the waters in random places. The forest, tall and green encrouched on either side of the stream with beams of sunlight striking through its thick canopy creating a beautifull, glittering effect where it touched the rippling waters. The place was a picture of serenity and calm. The streams banks widened near a cluster of rockies and swirled around them. Just beyond, the water was deeper and calm, and a bank was formed by gravel and sand.
A boy of seven sat in the calm waters and quietly sang to himself and played, his brown pants and simple shirt sitting on a rock at the bank. He made a hollow ball with both hands clasped together, flooded it by immersing it in the water then rapidly raised it whilst squeezing to create a small geyser like ejection of water. Behind him, the water began to ripple and swell upward quietly, slowly morphing into an upright humanoid figure. As the shadow of the elemental shimmered over him, the boy turned startled and his eyes widened in shocked amazement. The elemental raised its arm and without warning it exploded violently, the waters forcing their way down the boys nose and throat. The shock to his system as his lungs filled with water killed the boy and he fell back in the water.
The boy woke up. He was naked and lying on the bank of the stream. He coughed up a large amount of water as his vision focused. Above him crouched a strange figure, cloaked and hooded in a strange black shimmering cowling. The face was nothing more then a shadow. The boy went to scream but the figure raised a long withered finger from its boney hand and held it close to the darkness that was its face.
He heard a slow echoing "shhhhhhh" that chilled him to his bones and he stopped. The boy watched the figure, who seemed contended to do little more then watch him back. It extended its boney hand and reached toward his face. Moving only his eyes, the boy watched the hand get closer, long fingers splayed. The hand was little more then bone with what appeared to be dried leathery skin stretched over it. Large darkened clawlike nails protruded from their ends. The hand moved to touch the hair on his brow, but stopped short before making contact. It moved its hand slowly to one side of the boys face then back again, carefull not to touch, almost as though stroking his hair.
"Bren? Bren-don, where are you?", called a woman nearby from the forest, it was the boys mother. The black cloaked figure looked up with frightening speed as it retracted its hand. With a blood curdling howl it leapt into the air and was gone in a shimmer of blackness.
Blane woke with a start yelling. "Mother!"
The archive attendant spun around with a start. As Blane slowly calmed and looked around, he noticed he was in the Threshold archives. A volume in front of him with a candle illuminating the pages. He rubbed his eyes. He saw the attendant who said nothing staring at him.
Blane groaned, the hour was late. He eyed the attendant and asked.
"Dont you ever go home?"
"This IS my home."