The young Ernest Fairchild had awaken to quick scribbling, looking down from the bunk bed, he found himself seeing Mr. Smiley writing in a notebook. The book seemed to be dark and ripped. He saw Smiley writing in it with an uncharacteristic gentleness, and was curious. "Hey big bro, what the hell you writing?" The masked godling gasped at the sudden question from his adopted younger brother. "What the hell Ernie!?" Smiley was usually relaxed in his tone in how he spoke to his 'group' but he had sounded spooked, and this made Ernest laugh. "Come on, don't tell me you forgot about the bunk bed, asshole. Now tell me what you're writing!" The young psycho-in-training jumped down from the top bunk cackling, lunging for the book, Smiley quickly jumped out of the way clutching the book like a football. "Ernie what the fuck! I'll tell ya alright! stop being an idiot you brat!" Smiley Brandished the book and opened it up and gently offered it to Ernie. "This, my cocky sidekick, is my journal on my life." Ernie scoffed "Didn't think you could exist beyond me."
Smiley rolled the beady black dots that made up the eyes on his mask "Yeah, yeah whatever kid, just cause you can make things 'happen' doesn't mean I didn't exist." The banter was cruel but not unusual between the two. Smiley however continued his explanation on what it was. "This is has been with me for a very long time.. Too long most would say." Ernie rolled his eyes, he knew Smiley could be quite flamboyant, and theatric if given enough attention. "Look, Ernie, I'll tell ya what this is all about, but first I'll warn ya, I was an absolute sissy when I first began writing in this." Smiley jokingly warned. Ernest smiled at the warning and accepted the challenge. "Fine read your stupid diary 'Ms. Smiley'." Smiley angrily retorted before reading the journal. "Fuck off, you're lucky I'm too tired to kick your stupid ass, you disrespectful little shit." He ruffled his hair and began to read.
Freshly formed from his creator god, Yth'Nyll dressed dapperly, he was a lesser god from the black beyond. Despite his own Insidious nature as a being formed from a sleeping god's cosmic turnings, he saw humans and felt love. He saw humanity, Dark age in culture and writing only allowed to those of noble birth, while selfish had lead to the funneling of wonderfully tragic stories. Comedy, Tragedy, and those simple, he had saw all of their imagination and the romantic side of humanity. Unknowing of what he was, Yth'Nyll would watch them, taking the form of a merchant, seeing the plays, their tragedies and their meanings. The love not of the beyond but of man was deeply rooted in the writing, and this deeply influenced him to study humanity in a more personable matter. Traveling from home to home he would hear the whispers of Beasts that would take advantage of the women in the night, so he made it his goal to teach the women cantrips to cast misfortune upon those that had to attempted to be beaten by the husbands, the sons, and the brothers. That whomever had loved these women to be able to find themselves interrupted by heroic arrivals, Simple right? Magicks based off desire and will, Magicks made to protect. However where ever Yth'Nyll would go he would witness worse and worse crimes. Hoping each day that perhaps he would see some gentleness that he had been promised from such stories.
He had saw something that broke the innocence in the young god and awoke something cruel in his head. The first time he had felt Hate. Hate for someone who would destroy someone's life just for their own desire.. What is desire? How can someone's nature be contrary to their own fantasies? Do humans fantasize about evil or good? Yth'Nyll mind had processed what he had witnessed. A cruel act on a loving couple for desire. A theft done to a lonesome artist for greed. Why. But the crime that made him rethink his passive role in the lives of the weak was what he had witnessed to a kingdom. Two kingdoms that had been at war for decades had called a ceasefire and began discussing peace, but instead of pushing for peace, the mercenaries hired to fight against the kingdoms, killing the men, taking advantage of the women.. He shook with rage, a cold anger. Humanity allows this, the cruelty they fetishize, the pain they adore. The torment they deserve.
Yth'Nyll laughed. He was a god. And if he was going to bring fantasies to those who deserve it, he must create despair for those who had taken it. So with the godling's mask on, dressed politely he had finally broke. Considering his passive nature his peers, greater than him, assumed he would just sulk in some corner lamenting such fates as 'tragedies'. He wasn't the god of tragedies, he wasn't the god of sadness, and he certainly wasn't the god of injustice. He was the god of sensation, the god of emotions, the god of fantasy. As cruel as humanity is, he will protect them from themselves. Dressed as a merchant, his yellow mask in hand, the other an iron club. He walked off into the night. A cathartic rage, slowly being replaced by a feeling both alien and intimately known to you. Utter destruction.
To be continued