Weaving - Fear
Our story began a long, long time ago. Pieces of it wash up on the shore of history like the remains of a shipwreck. A scene of a man darting through rain-soaked alleyways in the dead of night. Panting nervously, he peers out from his hood, anxiously searching for something amongst the moonlit city streets.
He does his best not to trample sleeping beggars, far too cold, wet, and hungry to take notice of his panicked stride. After a great deal of searching, the man clumsily slides to a stop and breathes a shaky sigh of relief. He looks at the dilapidated wooden door marked with a faded symbol. A symbol he has come to dread. After a cautious moment, the man works up the courage to enter only to find the cold iron handle locked from the inside. He contemplates calling out, but before he can open his mouth, he hears a quiet unlatching sound.
The man steps inside the now unlocked door to find an empty and dark stone room, bedded in an uncomfortably thick silence. The only light is a thin moon beam cast into the center of the space from a hole in the deteriorating roof. The man, ever nervous, seems to expect this. He steps into the center of the humble room and waits.
“You’re late” speaks a steady voice from one of the room’s dark corners.
“I apologize, there were complications during today’s council.” The anxious man does his best to keep his composure, as he turns to face the voice. The man’s own voice was deep, and he articulated his words carefully, giving the impression of nobility. However, he could not match the authoritative tone of the thing in the corner, nor could he keep the tremble of fear from his voice.
“With all your influence you can’t even manage to conclude a meeting on time. What good are you to me if even a task as simple as that is beyond you.”
“Again, I apologize. It is a difficult time to be a ruler.” the regal man responded, in a carefully defensive tone. A long silence filled the space. The anxious ruler swallowed, his dry throat clicking audibly. After a time, the thing in the darkness spoke again.
“Hm.” the voice gave a single casual laugh. “I suppose that is true. Regardless, do not leave me waiting again. When I call, you come.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
Another uncomfortable pause formed within the cold room. After a time, the man decided to risk a question. “Why did you send for me?”
“You are to withhold rations from your people for 11 days” The darkness instructed
“11 days?! But they will starve! It will be mayhem!”
“Do not pretend to care for their wellbeing.” The presence reprimanded. “If you possessed half the stomach that one of your status should, it would be no more difficult than lifting a finger. The others will ensure you remain unharmed in the fallout. Do not dare question me again, for you know the consequences.”
The man gave a quick, fearful nod. “Gods help me” he muttered quietly to himself, then winced at his choice of expression. It was an old habit which did not serve him well in present company.
“Gods?!” laughed the voice. “You still pray even in the wake of my destruction? I use you as a tool to dethrone the heavens and you still believe they hold your salvation? I am not sure if I am impressed or disgusted. There are no gods. All beings are mortal under the coil. Fear is your only god. Pray to it. Pray to me.”