A tale of light and three of darkness
Origin of Blooddance
Walks With Sun, has just been killed by a group of soldiers, bent on vengeance. They have no qualms hanging him from a tree. As his life slips through his fingers, he thinks of the actions that brought him to this point.
Like all children Walks With Sun was born with all the hope new life brings. His parents had purified the home, and spent much time discussing what was important to teach, and what was not. Hope is a flame, it can fanned into a self sustaining fire, or can be snuffed out, leaving wisps of smoke waving in the wind. Walks With Sun, had his snuffed out
They came for him when he was eight, to the residential schools, to, “civilize”, the inhabitants in the Wilds of BC. At first the people seemed kind, and claimed to follow a merciful god. Until the day he spoke one word of his peoples language in class to his friend. The kindness turned into something ugly, as his teachers taught him wisdom at the end of wooden stick. He was strapped for telling the stories of his people, beaten for hiding sweet grass under his bed. This people who claimed such peace did unpeaceful, and unspeakable things to children.
In this the spark of hate, and the blackened flame of hatred ignited in his soul. His people valued kindness, and care for their fellow man. He did not see the sense in giving kindness, to people who did not understand the meaning of the word. The hatred caused the wounds of the soul to fester and rot. Until the day he met Hawks Feathers.
He looked into the young mans eyes and said, “Your hatred is a sickness that destroys the soul. I see in you the potential to become a great healer. These newcomers suffer from ignorance, there as children who have killed their first bear, believing themselves mightier than their deeds. Yet among them are those who come to learn, to understand, and raise their voices with ours to help end the suffering both side are causing” he said in a calm voice.
Walks With Sun, wondered why this man had taken and interest in him, and asked.
Hawks Feathers smiled sadly, “My children died from one of their sicknesses, and I have no one to pass my knowledge and magic on to. You are a young man filled with promise, but first you must learn the way of peace. For what I have to teach is not to be used in hatred, or anger, it is meant to be used in the service of others no matter who they are. Promise me, you will do this and your education will begin”
Walks with sun agreed to these terms, in time his hatred slowly slunk back into the darkness where it belongs. Unfortunately it is easier to hate, than it is to love. As a man, he tried so hard to live up to the expectations of the now deceased Hawks feathers. He couldn't hold on, the spiritual oppression of his people weighed them down like a mountain.
The last straw was when his parents were late to returning to the reserve. The soldiers were beating them, in their zeal to impress their superiors, with the order they kept. Walks With Sun could no longer take it, the blackened flamed of hatred turned into a raging forest fire, and he turned the magic meant to teach and heal, to inflict pain and kill.
The soldiers beating his parents were choked by roots and torn asunder by wild animals, who seemed to focus only on the offensive soldiers. This was not enough he would have his pound of flesh, the raging fire of hate, became all consuming as he turned his magic on his supposed masters. Their guns backfired, hallucinations caused them to kill one another in confusion, their horses trampled them under the weight of their anvil like hooves.
Things did not get better, with dead soldiers on his hands, rather than take it out on him, they took it out on everyone else. Which lead to more killing, until he killed a high ranking soldier, leading him to become a fugitive in the eyes of his people, and the eyes of the soldiers.
He ran but they had numbers, and in a month they found him hanging him from the tree he now dangled from. Unfortunately his broken promise to Hawks Feathers, had more dire consequences. As his soul departed, a demon, a writhing black mass, wearing the mask of man, held him in his icy grip,
“Be at ease my child, the darkness you brought to the world was exquisite, your broken promise is my delight, for now your soul belongs to me. You will arise each night from a grave, hungry for murder and blood as you did in life. You will be my agent until your second death where you will dwell in the darkest parts of the nether realm, never to see the light of day again”
As the demon placed his hand on his head, his skin slowly rotted aways, his once strong hands now became bony shadows of what they once were. His eyes glowed red and sunk further into their sockets. His once bright garb turned sickly and took on a rotting appearance. His hair became tendril like moving like a angry breeze passed
“You name was one of light and peace, you are cursed to forget it, and I now rechristen you Blooddance, slayer of the innocent, purveyor of sickness and hate. Now go forth and carry on your grizzly fate. I will wait in the depths of the darkness for you”
So the Evil Ghost shaman set off on his grim task, wishing he had listened to the old man more when he was alive.
Origin of Voidsong the Sharp Elbows
Troy Hester, dipped the paintbrush in the red liquid, and started to paint the walls of the small cabin in the woods. Each stroke revealed a happy looking house, until one saw the outside, and the four graves, one for each life he took. His white skin glows a ghostly colour against the light of the oil lamps. He kills for pleasure, for relief, a twisted fantasy that will never be fully realized. His long buck knives, are the tools of his trade, the paintings in blood are his calling card for the dead and living.
It is said you reap what sow indeed this is true, Troy was foolish enough to leave his revolver on the kitchen table. The youngest who had gone to the outhouse, a boy of ten, had snuck into the dwellig and now held the heavy cannon in his hand. Troy was yanked out of his fun with a simple click of the hammer.
Silence hung in the air, as Troy picked up the knife watching the boy, who with trembling hands now held the balance of his life. The boys face was a mask of anguish and grief, squeezed the trigger, where the bullet embedded in his brain.
Troy stood beside his body in horror, he had never believed in the afterlife. A fairy tale told to those, so the end would not fill them with terror. As he started to walk away, a tendril of sickly shadow wrapped around him searing his wrist with frost. He was afraid until the sick seductive voice spoke.
The swirling mass of void and shadows, sickly voice echoed from behind the twisted mask of man, “Fear not child of the darkness, I have come with an most beneficial bargain. All you have to do is keep killing as you have, painting your profound murals of death, and I reap the darkened souls of those who will not be redeemed”, the creature born of the void said.
Troy Hester was intrigued, but even he knew the dangers of dancing with demons, “What will it cost me? I know such promises come with great cost, so out with it”, he demanded
The Swirling mass of shadow cackled, “All it will cost you is your appearance, in exchange for the power to move swift as icy wind does, to see into the darkness of souls, and behind you at the same time. To be strong like an angry animal, to wield blades with deadly intensity, that sings the song of end, for your victims”, it said from behind the twisted mask of man. Its long crook wrapped around his shoulder, making him feel dirty, and nauseated.
Troy Hester smiled, in spite of this, “I have to admit, my work is unfinished, and I have so many more murals to paint on the walls of the slain. I will say yes to your offer”
The swirling mass of darkness saw it would not take much to change this one, as it weaved its wicked magic Troy Hester began to change. There was pain in the back of skull, they eyes shut tight only to see his familiar corpse behind him. Long sharp bones extended from his elbow threatening to tear his very arms off. His legs became spindly and quick, his face now was a skull like visage, and his other on the back of his head a twisted demonic creation.
The swirling mass spoke one last time, “Go my favored killer, wreak death and destruction, and when you die again, I will allow you to torment the souls I have collected. Since you sang people into the void with the fury of your knives in life. Your name shall be Voidsong, singer of the nether realms”
So Voidsong left the little bloodstained cabin and off in search of new victims...
The origin of Sabastion Barghest the Amarock
The Inuit chief stared at the homely man tied to the post. He had tried hard to find forgiveness in this man. However not all things can be forgiven. Death was was to good for this man, he had a much worse fate in mind for this poor excuse of a man.
The Inuit people were familiar with death, the Artic was a cruel mistress, filled with the dangers of not just from animals, but the biting cold that froze the blood, chilling the bones. However this man brought old evils, murder and defilement among them.
His sins were most grievous, His daughter Graceful Elk, a wonderous woman of grace and dignity, forever scarred by this Sabastion Barghest. So great was her fear she could no longer leave the igloo, or tents. Her tears were so great, it was if she was trying to add to the great ice flows of their frozen homeland.
Sabastion was also responsible for the death of the proud hunter, Strong heart. The Inuit chief was pleased the day Graceful Elk had told him of her intended union to Strong Heart. Strong heart had helped her lead their people when he was sick. He never sought to take the leadership from the chief. Instead he gathered the villagers in prayer for him, and lifted Graceful Elk up, when she thought it was hopeless. Both were beloved by their tribe, for they imbued the values, laid before them by the creator.
Now those lives were gone and hope was stripped from them, like a carcass from a seal. He looked over at the weathered shaman and nodded. He banged his traditional drum, and began to sing from the throat, the sound was haunting.
The Inuit chief pointed to the western man, “You may look like a man, but act like a ravening beast, and as a beast you shall live. You will never lay eye on this tribe again, your curse will never be undone. By day you will live as human. As the night creeps in you will not find peace in sleep, you instead will turn into a creature reflecting your nature. Your hunger and thirst for violence will never be slaked, you will spread sorry and misery in your wake. You will be hunted to the end of your days.
A spectral howling came upon the wind, a spectral wolf in the rotting image of death, snarled, hackles raised in defiance. The wolf stared with glowing yellow eyes, deeper than the purest amber. The shaman continued to sing louder. The wolf rushed towards Sabastion Barghest possessing a part of his soul.
The change began with an increased heart rate, then the sick cracking of bones. Hair shot up through the skin, like hundreds of thousands of needles. He felt the sharp sting of each follicle. His face erupted in pain as the jowls and snout grew like a twisted version of the pinnochio. His hands turned into padded paws with razor sharp claws, as did his feet. A tail burst from the base of his spine, and his voice was lost with a single bestial growl. The ropes strained as his new body grew, finally breaking them when his ribs had reached critical mass.
The shamn stopped singing and the Chief said, “You will leave here never to return, every time you get close to us you will forget. The shaman that cursed you is gone from your sight. Happing hunting selfish man, and Amarock”
So Sabastion was set free in the new world, knowing the curse would make good its promise.