The Spark of Divinity (a Fan Fiction)

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It's about time for me to pony up Cucumba's back story . . . so here it comes. I don't know how often I'll be able to write in it, but it will give those who write about him an insight into his past and perhaps his future.

The first installment is under construction, please post comments in a seperate thread.

And now, our prologue:

Darkness.

It was everywhere, and it was everything. Chaos was the only order. From these gulfs of madness came the old ones. They swarmed through the universe, consuming all they tuched with madness and strife. They ruled in the dark and chaos for untold millenia and the bridges between their relm beyond the edges of the dreamscape and all other places, spanned into the worlds we now call home.

However, just as they surplanted the nameless elder gods before them, a new order was arriving.

Darkness, in it's true essence, has never been all black. Absence of light renders those who wallow in it blind, but to those who's senses extend past such surface absentia see colors of rare and exciting quality. Colors that cannot be wholly or partially understood, or described by our feeble vocabulary. Still, these colors are there, and out of the blackened gods, one stood as a veritable rainbow of these terrible colors.

He was the gate and the key, the door to a thousand worlds, and untold number of whens. This being was called Cucatoth. And he shimmered with all the splendors of things best left unknown and buried in ancient crypts long forgotten. But that is a luxury we have now, and in the time of this tale, he lie awake with all eyes open. It was through his power that they moved about as they pleased, and took what they would from those who could not oppose them. And so the other elder things payed him homage, and made pacts and terrible alliances with him. For without him, the bridges that spanned the gulfs were closed.

And so it came to pass that a pact or an alliance, one whom's terrible consequenses of breach are not known even to this author, came to be called upon. And the nature of this calling was DOOM.

From the darkened colors of madness and chaos, a spark of divinity fell into the wells of infinity and took shape as a dark herald of the wrath of a horrible thing that lie in places between places.


This spark is where our tale begins.
 
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H. P. Lovecraft - excerpt - The Doom that Came to Sarnath said:
There is in the land of Mnar a vast still lake that is fed by no stream, and out of which no stream flows. Ten thousand years ago there stood by its shore the mighty city of Sarnath, but Sarnath stands there no more.

It is told that in the immemorial years when the world was young, before ever the men of Sarnath came to the land of Mnar, another city stood beside the lake; the gray stone city of Ib, which was old as the lake itself, and peopled with beings not pleasing to behold . . . but not much is written of these beings, because they lived in very ancient times, and man is young, and knows but little of the very ancient living things.
From the blackened colors he wakened, and he was given the spark of divinity from that which had called him into being. It festered in it's hideous colors that cannot be described, and shifted shapes and hues in maddening patterns with mild hints of what may lay inside its grotesque mass. He was immune to the madness however, for his sight could see many things. And he was blessed with one eye which could see all things. This was a gift from his master and creator, a tool with which he was to carry out his function.

And thus were the first thoughts that entered his mind.

Then came the all encompassing knowledge. For with this tool came terrible wisdom; things that should never be sought, let alone understood in vast detail. Deep within his mind this detail burned, never to be removed, for he was now a servant of the mad old ones, and he should share in their splendid wretchedness.

So it came to pass that all doors were made open to him, and all paths layed clear and unveiled.

There were unforseen consequences within this creation. For there was one door that could not be opened, and when he looked upon it, the horrid mass told him only that there was one when where neither of them shall ever see.

"When shall it open," he asked.

"When the stars are right," intoned the horrible thing that lie on the edge of the dreamscape. It's terrible voice was not one voice, but the voice of thousands, each with horrible deepness and echoing from the dreamscape and the well of infinity, each seething with hatred so powerful mere mortals would die, if not be driven utterly insane by hearing it.

This door, however, is the subject of another tale.

Then the horrid thing showed him many things in particular, leading him to gateways and thresholds that showed a time when the horrid mass would be asleep and inert, when other gods would rule, and showed him creations of this god. Their history of war, and battle were made his to understand, and he was given ample time to study each aspect. For to them, time was nothing but clay to be sculpted and changed at their whim.

This was the power of his master.

"I have learned what you have asked of me, and I have mastered it. For what purpose have you shown me these things."

"You have learned these things to bring DOOM."

"Doom? What must suffer your wrath by my hand, my master," he asked the ancient, old thing.

"Fools in the land of Mnar. They have angered Bokrug, and destroyed his people in the holy city of Ib. I have been wakened in my great slumber, for I was once, and I will be once more. So I have reached back to here, when I was strong, and created you for your singular purpose. Those who oppose us cannot comprehend that even if we lie dead, we are. Thus it will be that you will lead his dead onto this city of fools and ruin it. You will smash the idols of their gods, break their sanity, and tear open those who do not flee at your armies' vanguard. But first, you will deliver them a message . . . "

Wordlessly, he left his master, and wandered for the first time and the last time from the great hall cut from curiously colored stones, and hewn into shapes that defy euclidian geometry. He could not fear the outcome of this task, for he had already seen its conclusion.

It is said on the brick cylinders of Kadatheron that the people of Ib were terrible to behold in their hideousness. They had great eyes that pushed outwards, as if great pressure were built up in their skulls. Thier skin was as green as the lake they bordered, and the mists above it. Their pinched, flabby lips hung unaturally from their faces in a perpetual pout. Thier ears defied description, and many had attempted not to capture these details. They were further alienated by their inabiltiy to utter sound. The cylinders also say that these things came one night from the moon, descending on clouds of green mist. It is also written on the papyrus of Ilarnek that they once discovered fire, and lit them to celebrate on many occasions. During these celebrations, they would dance beneath the gibbous moon horribly before their idol carved of queerly hued, monolithic stone to music that none could hear.

Not much is written on the people of Ib, for man is juvenile in the grand scope of time, and he has not seen that which has been blackened . . . but of the doom that came to Sarnath, much is speculated.
 

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