Everyone wants to be a hero. That’s certainly what it felt like, anyway. Young men and women poured out into the wilds in waves, risking their lives to beat back the enemy. Little boys and girls went to sleep at night to stories of legendary heroes, of shining pillars of strength and power. But of course, in every story of heroes, there must exist the villains. And, unfortunately for Dharen, this night his own villains had arrived.

It began with the piercing sound of horns. A clarion call that split the air. But it was the sounds that came afterwards that etched themselves into Dharen’s mind, that set fear worming its way into his heart. It was the sounds of the dead and the dying. It was the harsh, guttural shrieks and screams that were met with battle cries. It was the weapons ringing against one another, sending pealing echoes reverberating off the walls of the cave that Dharen’s people called home. The sound of crackling flames that lit wooden fortifications ablaze.

His fear worked its way down, and to Dharen’s shame, manifested itself as a stream of liquid running down his leg. Yet amidst the chaos and amongst the horror, Dharen Awakened to his soulseed. Time slowed to a crawl as ornate words scrawled across his vision.

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Fear can be many things. To those who have not yet tasted its poison, it can kill. To those who have survived its touch, it can save. Cloak yourself with your fear, that you may never be found. Arm yourself with terrors, that you may strike where others are weakest. Lose yourself not, child, for the fears of this world are merely the prologue to the next.

Congratulations! You have gained a Seed of Fear!

Nature’s Boon Granted: Shadow Raiment (Common) Rank 0 - Softstep

Shadows and darkness have always been a source of fear. Coalesce the shadows around you to bind your feet tightly and grant increased stealth.

You have received a Natural Boon of Fear. Spirit +10, Agility +3, Endurance +2, Luck -1.

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Name:

Dharen

Race:

Ankul

Affiliation:

None

Spirit:

11

Strength:

5

Agility:

8

Vitality:

5

Endurance:

7

Wisdom:

5

Charisma:

1

Luck:

4

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Dazed by the influx of new information, the young boy momentarily lost sight of the chaos around him. He gazed wondrously at the symbol of his Awakening, a tiny gem of roiling, effervescent shadow that had replaced a small portion of the flesh of his left shoulder. Yet all too soon, the horrors of the world around him rose up to beat him back down as a familiar sound cut across the din of battle.

It was a scream. Not one of war, nor one of anger. It was the sound of grief manifest, a crystallization of anguish. It was the subsequent sound of stunned silence that followed. And most importantly of all, it was the sound of his mother.

With a sharp intake of breath, a chilling cold began to emanate from the gem-like Seed now emplaced upon his shoulder. Tendrils of shadow weaved through fallen debris, looped around roaring fires, and climbed over bedraggled bodies. They coalesced at Dharen’s feet as he instinctively utilized his newfound Boon, Softstep. He recklessly ran towards the sound of the scream, shadow-bound feet making hardly a sound as he went.

Too distraught to capitalize on his new stealth ability, the boy simply charged through the detritus and remains of the village that he called home. Eyes wide with fright at things both real and imagined, he ran onward. Ever onward.

A nearby cry of pain brought him back to his senses as he approached his family’s shelter. He quickly dropped into a crouch and sidled up against the thatch wall of the hut. He held himself to the shadows as he listened, body taut as a drawn bowstring.

Soon, he was able to make out the sound of the foreign invaders speaking to one another. Though he was unable to understand what they were saying, it could only be something unspeakably horrible. Dharen risked a glimpse inside and caught a sight that would remain in his nightmares forever: his mother, teeth bared, raising a rough-forged dagger against the enemy. Behind her, his father lay collapsed. Already, the slight glimmer of life in his low-grade soulseed could be seen fading away. A pool of crimson found its way from underneath him, stretching out across the stone floor.

He watched as his mother lunged for the nearest enemy and, with laughable ease, was run through by a shining steel blade. Tears streamed from his face, as a sob forced its way from his throat unbidden.

Unable to help himself, he broke his way past the hut’s threshold and leaped upon the back of the nearest invader. With a viciousness he did not know he possessed, he sunk his teeth ferociously, animalistically, into the invader’s neck. Its serrated edges ripped cleanly through his opponent’s flesh, and a burst of metallic flavor flooded the boy’s mouth before he was flung onto his back. Then, with a look of rage, the invader sliced his blade across Dharen’s chest.

A burning pain unlike any he had felt before ripped its way across his breast, but in truth it was nothing compared to the pain of loss he already felt inside. As a seeping cold spread itself further from the black stone in his left shoulder, he collapsed. Suddenly, he realized the bitter cold was spreading throughout his whole body. And as the invaders retreated with their wounded comrade in tow, he understood the truth: he was dying. The villains he had always heard about had finally come. The humans had arrived. And when humans come, Ankuls always die.

With that understanding came not forgiveness, nor a grudging acceptance. Instead it invited a desperate, impotent frustration. The helpless frustration of a child confronted with a terrible reality. And, like many a desperate child, Dharen reached out for something older than himself. Tears ran from his eyes like twin rivers, mixing with the torrent of blood flowing from his wounds.

“Please…” he sobbed. “Anyone… Please help us.” He pulled himself out of the hut at a torturous pace, his talon-like nails scrabbling for purchase in the earth. Finally, he found himself once again surrounded by the smoke from the nearby fires. The last of his strength fled, his face planting into the dirt. As the mixture of muck, blood, and tears painted itself across his face, the smoke surrounding the boy began to eddy and whorl.

A man-shaped form took shape in the hazy air. With a twitch and a swirl of smoke, the shape of a Ankul took its place. Another, and the Ankul became a horned demon. Then, a human once again. The man pushed out of the smoke, and kneeled in front of the dying boy. His face lay hidden behind a blank, gray-slate mask.

With a soft-spoken voice that belied his dramatic entrance, he spoke gently. “I have heard you and am prepared to offer you a choice. I can give you and your kind a chance. I can give you the chance to become strong. But to do so, you must make a sacrifice.”

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You have received a Divine Offer!

Pledge yourself to the Faceless One and receive a Sacred Item?

(Y/N)

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As the details of the transaction and the sacrifice filled the boy’s mind, he hesitated for a brief moment. Steeling his resolve, knowing that he must act before his quickly-encroaching death stole away this chance, he spat out his acceptance. The words choked out through a mixture of his own blood and that of the invader he had earlier bitten. Crimson liquid slipped from his mouth and down his chin.

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You have pledged yourself to the Faceless One!

Sacred Item received:

Faceless Mask

The mask of the Faceless One has soaked up the amorphous ambiguity of its creator. It yearns to transform, to shift from one form to the next.

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The man, who Dharen now knew to be called the Faceless One, slowly gripped the edges of the mask upon his face and pulled. The mask reluctantly stretched from its perch, bits of flesh tenaciously holding connection. With a horrifying sound, the connecting flesh snapped and the mask pulled free.

The Faceless One reached out his hands and placed the mask upon the boy. With a horrifying shift, the mask shrunk and latched onto his face. Tendrils grew from its edges and sank themselves into his cheeks, through his forehead, and even latched onto his lips. The mixture of Dharen and the invader’s blood began to soak into the hungering mask, and with it began a transformation.

Bones shifted and creaked, bursting from the skin. They elongated and grew, an Ankul’s small stature changing to that of a human as Dharen screamed in a new agony. Muscle and skin formed and wrapped over the bones. New flesh padded the surface of his body, all of who he was before now hidden underneath. And finally, the boy felt the last vestiges of his mind and body being pulled deep inside, hidden within his new one. Just before losing consciousness, his vision shifted into a dazzling array of colors. Then, he saw one final message.

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Racial transformation completed. New race: Faceless Human. Warning: Current mind does not have the strength for new body. Mind suppression imminent.

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