A slow fog moved through the forest. It was not uncommon, the trees would hold the condensation, and a cloud of water droplets would form. Of course, unaware of the science behind it, many had considered it to be an omen of some great evil at work. Most likely the very real demons that haunted the forest, led by a part-demon druid, had done nothing to remove that mistaken image. The slight fog that now crept around the legs of the forest's many inhabitants, like a silent white snake, was not haunted. It was a natural phenomenon, which did nothing besides annoyingly shill one's feet, or occasionally make your ankles wet. The greatest danger that it posed to the humans that occasionally did foolishly visit these forests was in distracting them from the far greater dangers that haunted these woods, a demonic possession that had begun to take root in the deep greens and would soon grow into a very real threat. And yet, there was something particularly chilling in this fog, that seemed to rise from the very depths of the earth. Like an echo from times long past, held only by the long-decayed corpses that had once filled the plains like rows of corn. Their flesh devoured and reproduced, through natural and normal processes, to feed the plants. And from those plants had grown a massive forest, fed on the blood and flesh of the fallen, slain by their warlord. Perhaps it was from those ancient roots that this unexpected chill echoed through the forest, a memory long forgotten, and better left that way.
Gravel scraped against bone, and dirt was funneled through ancient crevasses. The earth trembled and shifted, slight tremors slowly moved through the ground. The mist seemed to ripple, like a pond with a stone thrown into the middle, white waves slowly moving outwards from the center. Small birds fled, taking to the skies in a rush of wings and feathers, sudden bursts of sound piercing the ominous silence. And then, covering everything as thickly as the fog covered the ground, an impenetrable stillness. It was as if the very oaks that had stood on this land for hundreds of years were holding their breath. The sun was partially blocked by the branches of the canopy up high above, casting the entire scene into a perpetual dusk, every dark shadow turned into an ominous figure by the sudden suspense. The bustling forest animals ceased in their tracks, their senses telling them that a predator was near, their little hearts beating, their bodies strained to run at the first sign of danger.
And only then do you realize you've been holding your breath.
A massive sigh goes through the forest, an almost audible release of tension without cause, Birds touched down on their branches once more, the ripples shown to be nothing more than the movement of shadows over the surface of the white blanket of fog. After the silence, the sound of insects crawling through the grass just out of sight is almost deafening, filling the air. Flies buzz, bees visiting flowers to deliver nectar to the hives. Small creatures of every kind went about their daily business, hunting, or avoiding the hunters. The cycle of life, continuing uninterrupted after such a bizarre moment. And it even seemed that the fog was clearing away, slowly seeping back into the Earth, or, more accurately, dispersing into the air. Nature had a funny habit, sometimes, of coinciding with man's feelings.
Each of those gathered was relieved, although inexplicably. In their own way, each had felt as if something had awoken that should have remained asleep. Something old, something vile and perverse. A thing that had been swept under the proverbial carpet, hidden away from sight and mind alike, buried under a mountain of corpses, lies and broken dreams. A memory older than the forest in which these new beings stood, unaware of the many eons that had gone past before them, and the many horrors that they had held. Blissfully ignorant of the bloody past from which this future had grown.
Of course, then everyone realized that Creed, who had been lying below the surface of the fog, was no longer there.
