He came to the world in darkness. Triumphant chanting filled the cold night as air cut his lungs for the first time, cold wet air filling lungs millennia old yet newly born again. He had risen from the ashes of death again, where he had lain in dreaming sleep for thousands of years. And he was hungry. He was not the great dread Old One, the high priest of the immortal Elder Gods, but a servant. His task was to prepare the way.
He looked down at the shriveled husk beside him, so recently a man, now a burned out lifeless shell. Only death could pay for life, and to awaken the high priest himself would cost much. He looked appraisingly at the worshippers surrounding him for a moment. Not nearly enough. Still, he had three hundred years to spread the word and terror and dread of his great master’s coming. Time enough to kill…time enough to feed…time enough to raise the master from his deathly slumber.
Author’s note: This may turn into more later. Those of you who know me know I’m a HUGE fan of Lovecraft, and I’ve been wanting to contribute to the Mythos for some time now. Here’s a start.