Genesis of Cremnophobia
In the darkest places, evil dwells. This is was, and thus had it always been.
Millennia ago, a young (for even the ancient were young, once) boy, whom we shall call Steven, set forth on a quest. Steven sought one thing above all else, knowledge, and so that was the goal of his quest.
Unfortunately, after several days of travel, he realized that he had no idea where he was going, nor, for that matter, how to get there. On such small turns of fate does Destiny ride, and on that day, it veritably galloped through his camp.
“Hey Destiny, wait up,” hollered Steven, as he gathered his belongings with haste. Setting out, he followed the spirit of Destiny into the mountains. Further and further he went, hiking in the maw of a great and desolate canyon as the jagged cliffs above grew as though they sought to blot out the sky.
Deeper and deeper into the Shadows did young Steven venture, for he had faith in destiny, and he had faith in the felling in his gut that told him to press on – or was it simply indigestion?
Striving forth, and maybe even fifth, Steven walked without feat into the heart of darkness itself, where a great and ancient evil lurked, in the deepest Shadows of the canyons’ reaches.
Sitting down upon a dusty rock, Steven wondered which way his Destiny had gone. While he sat pondering, the dark, closed in upon him, surrounding him, evaluating him, and judging him worthy of its dire and evil purpose.
“Steven,” came the voice, raspy with the feel of doom as though echoing from the crypt, “Steven, your Destiny and mine are one. We are of a kind, you and I, me of the past, and you of the future. I have lived these many ages, striking terror and feeding off fear. Now, the time has come for me to bequeath the power and step aside, so that another may continue the reign of evil, incarnate.”
“I like to write,” mumbled Steven, as he beheld the Shadowy form taking shape in the abyss.
“Yes, I see that, and that is why I have chosen you. You will, through your words, continue the reign of fear, giving it your own flair, and your own touch, creating your own reign of fear, which I shall call the age of Cremnophobia. For, you have it within your heart to be the best, a God amongst men, a King amongst commoners. Truly, you will rule them from your shadowy throne.
“I like the sound of that!” said Steven. “What must I do?”
“What you must do is write. Hone your skills, sharpen your literary weapons. Practice and study your dark art for the next three thousand years. Then, and only then, launch if forth upon an unsuspecting world. Make them tremble, make them scream in fear as you leave them dangling from the greatest of heights over the deepest of depths. From that fear you generate, you will grow stronger, and in the fullness of time, the world itself will be yours. Sharpen your quills, young King, for before you is a great and evil task.
Steven watched with interest as the dark bulk turned to vaporous tendrils, drawing in closer, and he felt no fear as the shapeless opposite of light became one with him, and his heart turned black, and with his Black Heart beating to the rhythm of the ancient evil (which he thought sounded pretty much like Disco) Steven embraced his destiny, stepping quickly to the driving beat as he danced the Macarena amongst the brooding cliffs, the cliffs that would be his true home, his seat of power, as the Shadow that he had become assumed the Godlike powers that would one day enable him to rule.
And rule he would. For millennia, he studied and practiced, haunting the great and ancient cliffs, waiting in the Shadows for his time to come. At last, he mastered the key to Cremnophobia, developing the magnificent literary gifts that would allow him to leave people hanging, as he prepared for take on his royal role.
“One day, one day soon,” he vowed after three thousand years, in the dawning of the internet age, as he stood atop his mighty cliffs, taking form as the mightiest of Shadows, as he set forth to become the Sovereign of the Malevolent Precipices.
It has nothing to do with Shadowgod, who we already know (from wildone's tale in C James's forum) was only a young boy recently (when he let a certain goat escape a nasty fate), and hence couldn't be the Steven described above....
