The Origin of Stitches

The Origin of Stitches

It was a cloudless night in the realm of Delirium, as high in his tower the dark wizard Mephis set about his evil work. “Certainly it will work this time!” He exclaimed as he added the finishing touches to his greatest masterpiece, the light of a fire his only companion. His intention was, as it had always been, to breathe life into the lifeless. This time, however, he was not working with a human body. No, humans, it seemed, were beyond even his power. Instead he chose, this time, to try to bring life to the abomination upon the table in front of him. Formed of the stitched together remnants of so many hunts, many of which he himself had gone on, preparing the bodies from the moment of death, this particular specimen was built from the remains of three foxes, two wolves, and a cougar, all sewn together with netherweave thread. An impressive collection, admittedly, but no less an abomination for it, even if it did hold a sort of macabre beauty.
With the last stitches in place, Mephis set cut the thread, setting his needle aside. “Now, my creation, is the time I shall grant you life!” He said wickedly, spreading his arms wide over his creation. “Goddess of Death, hear my plea. Give me the strength to breath life into this, my greatest creation. I implore all the forces of the underworld, come forth, and create life where none now dwells!” The room was silent, unchanged. Slowly, he turned, disappointed. “Another failure.” He said miserably, walking slowly toward the door.
Suddenly, all light in the room was extinguished, quickly replaced by an eerie blue glow. “Mephis! I have heard your plea.” A booming voice called, seemingly from everywhere. “I shall grant you your desire. I shall put a life into this abomination. Never shall it age, no weapon of man shall be able to harm it, and no force of magic shall be able to stop it.” The voice boomed, the sounds of wicked chanting filling the air. Smiling wickedly, Mephis turned, wanting to learn the secrets of the dead. All he saw, however, was a smile even more wicked than his own, and a blinding flash. Then all he knew was blackness. “Your will is done, Mephis, your creation shall live, an abomination for all eternity. May you learn from this, and never again meddle in the affairs of the dead.” The voice said, slowly fading away.
The blue light dimmed, the warm flickering of the fire replacing it. Mephis lay on the floor, unmoving. A gentle breeze blew through the window, stirring his robes slightly. Still he did not move. Already the stench of death began to permeate the room, though it came not from the creature upon the table. It seemed that Mephis had, with his final act, been taken by the spirits of the grave. Slowly, the creature on the table stirred. Barely a twitch of its fingers at first, followed quickly by a gentle fluttering of its eyelids. Slowly, it opened its eyes, taking its first look at the world, seeing nothing but the ceiling at first. “Wha where am I?” It asked in a soft, raspy sounding voice, confused. “Wait, I know where I am. I I’m in my tower, but not where I was a moment ago.” It looked around again, quickly seeing a body on the floor. “Oh no. What’s happened to me?!” It exclaimed, looking down at its own, hideous body. What happened is exactly what you asked for, master. You wanted to bring life to us, so you have. A horrendous chorus of voices grated in his mind.
“How could this be? I, I did not seek this. I sought to bring life into you, yes, but not my own.
We needed a human sacrifice to bring life to us. You were the one taken, as punishment for your deeds. You are now one of us, those you killed to further your work. The voices continued, overwhelming poor Mephis. Never shall you sleep, never shall you rest, and never shall you know eternal slumber, though you now dwell with the dead. Such is your fate, master. We hope you are content with what you have wrought.
“Bu, but who are you?” Mephis stammered, his will faltering at the onslaught of the voices. He could already feel himself slipping away, losing himself in the sea of minds he now dwelt among.
We are the remnants of life which you sought, we are the sea of consciousness which all dead inhabit. We are the stitches of reality that bind the living and the dead. They called out, consuming him with their overwhelming strength.
“His soul torn from his body, his mind cast adrift amongst the dead, his body cast aside to be feasted upon by scavengers, Mephis became the being now known as Stitches. No harm can come to him. Never shall he die. They say that in his countless years of life he acquired new magics, magics far more suited to his new body. They say, also, that he has the hunger of all those creatures of which he was created, a hunger for living, breathing, struggling meat. Of course, that couldn’t be possible. After all, no being has the power to devour another alive.”