In the vast sprawl of Dsa Domu, there was a sound that filled even the most stout hearted with dread. In the deep canyons between towering edifices of stone and ironwood, where shadows dominated the twin sun’s light, the people hurried about their business for fear of the soft repetitive click clack noise. This innocent sound forebode a seemingly innocuous meeting with a bent elderly man.
His skin was parchment thin and folded with innumerable wrinkles. His hair wispy and white, almost fragile in the soft breeze. The close he wore was always a generation out of fashion, clean but worn, dusty smelling with a hint of lilac. Inevitably when he spoke, his voice would be like metal scrapped across toast, asking you for new of his wife. His kind eyes would draw you in, and you couldn’t help but want to help him, for he was clearly lost and confused. You would take him, searching street and alley, the soft click clack of his cane accompanying you as you forget your fear. Your errand. Your very life.
And then you were gone, another lost soul, consumed by Abahl. Some thought him the soul of the city. Others thought him simply a lost soul who has forgotten the path to the Ghost Gate. I know what he was. A Horror who consumed the souls of his prey to grow his own power. It took me years to find him and shackle him to my soul, ending his reign of terror. I only prey that when I die, he is dragged with me to the womb, where our souls entwine can strengthen the chains that hold Goliat at bay.
~ From Taubha’s Lesser Book of Names
