The Weight of Guilt and Sin

The old man shrugged, "Who can say for sure? I believe that after you made them, the three hundred scattered in terror. They cannot have understood what was happening to them. Literally they changed from human to something else. They would have fled, to different places, trying to find some kind of peace, driven by hungers and urges that they did not know.

"Some would have fled as far from the city as possible, others would have kept as close as they dared, unable to leave the only home that they had ever known.

"This one probably found the forest a good place to stay. It would have been full of food sources; limited shelter, and if it came to the edge of the trees it could even see the city. Maybe it is even one of those that dragged travellers from the road and killed them, or farmers from the edge of their fields. I do not know. But when we came here, I imagine it would have been able to sense you and it came to see just what it was that called to it's blood."

The king slowly turned his face from the creature and looked at the gardener, "Because of the King's Blessing?"

The old man nodded, "Yes. Or the King's Curse as they call it now."

"It knows that I made it."

"Yes."

The creature stirred, it's face twisting into a scowl as it struggled against whatever it was that held it, but still seemed to be unable to break the invisible bonds. It's mouth opened again, and it's breath hissed out into the air, smelling of rotten things. "Blesssing!" it said in a voice that was the movement of dead leaves.

"By the gods!" the king wailed, "It can speak! It knows!" His eyes flared with madness, the weight of the guilt that he carried fell upon his shoulders once more like an avalanche. All knowing seeped out of his eyes and he began to flinch, to twitch, the mannerisms those of an animal about to run.

Kharvenion sighed, bowing his head for a brief moment, then raised it and his aged grey eyes sparkled. He spoke in the forgotten words, moved his hands through the air and the king seemed to pause, to slow, then slowly folded back upon himself, collapsing to the floor asleep.

The old man looked over his shoulder, to see if there was anyone close enough to see what he was doing then smiled slightly, although there was no humour in his expression. He walked softly over the grass and stood before the being he had named a monster, staring at it with a depth of compassion that made it flinch. He spoke again in the strange language, moving his fingers through the air, then paused, "I wonder," he muttered, "Is there anything that I can do for you?"

"Pity me!" it suddenly hissed, "See what I have become! End my pain!"

"Bestial, but sentient," Kharvenion observed, "How aware are you? Are you capable of conversation?"

Despite being ensnared in the others magic, the monster managed to nod its head slightly, and whispered a sibilant, "Yes!"

"You are aware of what you have become, but can remember what you were?"

Again it answered with one word, "Yes."

Kharvenion nodded slowly, it was hard to imagine anything more terrible, there probably were worse things, but none that the creature before him would have appreciated. He moved his hands again, using more of the archaic language, pausing now and again as if to study the air around the creature and then suddenly he stopped.

"I cannot do this." He said it with a sudden realisation that shook him to the very core of his being, an emotion akin perhaps to despair in his words. "If I were to cure you it could change the full force of what is to come and that cannot be allowed!"