The Woman who Bottled Oblivion

There once was a young girl. She worked tirelessly at the temple to Yhiraam, the Dominion's supposed 'war-god'. It was terribly lavish, characterized by an almost ethereally white stone bearing a red shimmer, sharp, geometric statues of towering warriors of legend, and at the altar, Yhiraam's helm, situated atop a pile of gold and steadily wilting flowers. Yet in all the luxury, its tenders were orphans who had little, and whom the temple gave little but promises of rewards into adulthood.

Day in and day out, soldiers, policemen, their spouses and their children and their loved ones would filter in. They were grimly silent, almost like a funeral procession, each casting what they could into the growing pile of offerings and issuing hushed prayers before hurrying off as to not overstay their welcome. To the shrine maiden, she never felt particularly welcome.

The gold was just... rotting, there. Yhiraam's agents would occasionally come by, scoop it into bags and carry it off to line the glutton's depthless warchests. Sometimes, her mind drifted to the heresy that he might not miss a few of those coins.

As she tidied about the altar one night, the light caught the pile of coins just right--and she couldn't resist any longer. She was hungry. She was tired. She reached into the pile, feeling the pristine gold sift through her fingers, and took a modest handful. Yet wherever the coins passed over her skin, she felt... tingling. Searing.

She howled, as her skin began to boil, dropping to her knees before the altar and clutching her arm. In her bleary gaze, she caught what looked like a pair of crimson eyes behind the visor of the helmet, looking down on her with quiet disdain.

...

She stowed away in a caravan, seeking to leave the Dominion's Jewel and the mountains altogether. She hated the cold, thin air. She hated the people, hollow and careless and always concerned with alien things. She hated the Dominion, towering so high above that she couldn't make out the faces of the people at the top who were responsible for her suffering.

But above all else, she'd learned a lesson from them, one that she could not put into practice here. There was no room for more divinity so close to the heavens.

Through the summer, she traveled, slotting herself in as an unassuming drifter among sympathetic caravans, until she arrived at the village of Sishai. There, in Sishai, she settled down, taking up an unoccupied home and starting her work as an apothecary. The work was steady, and she made just enough to feed herself, but she always wanted for more...

A year in, and she looked at her arm; still scarred.

...

She emerged into the town center, holding aloft a thick mason jar, sealed tightly, its cap adorned with meaningless symbols. She called for the attention of the village, gathering its curious occupants.

"My friends, my friends! While I was out late last night, I happened to see something in the woods..." The jar roiled and shuddered, as if something within was straining against the cap. Yet all that they could see was a bottomless void within. "It was watching me, and I could feel the hunger within it. I was forced to capture it, as I could not destroy it. I fear I merely got lucky; if I hadn't caught it off guard... I don't know what would have happened."

The small crowd shuffled and muttered, each trying to get a good look at the jar. Worried murmurs slowly spread throughout the crowd, and listening closely, she could hear that her plan was working.

"It is difficult to keep this creature locked away... it's quite powerful. I'll do what I can, but... I fear what it could do to the world if released again."

...

She sat in her home, looking at the empty jar, a toothy grin splitting her usually warm visage. She traced her fingers along the runes at the top, proud of her work. It was only a matter of time—

A knock came at her door. As soon as she heard it, the jar flashed, the darkness swallowing its air again. She set it on the table and opened the door, to find the village's leader looking down at her.

"Miss, I'm here to ask about the jar." She nodded, replying a quick 'of course' and opening the door and allowing him through. He walked up to the table, scrutinizing the abyssal depth of the jar from every angle. He brushed his fingers across it, finding the glass terribly cold... "I've never seen something like this before... I can't express to you how grateful I am that you caught it." He rose to his full height, looking over to her. "Do you know what it is?"

"Well, to be honest sir, I don't know. But I know from the effort it took to get it into this jar... it was something of immense power. I consider myself a mage of some skill, but I nearly died trying to get it in there. I could feel it grasping at my soul... I fear it's some kind of wraith, something that hungers for the souls of men."

"Well." He cleared his throat, sparing the jar another glance. "Is there any way we can help you?"

"Well..."

...

Swathed in elegant robes, she emerged from her home, which had been festooned in all manner of charms and symbols of prayer. She was carrying a far more elaborate vessel, glass intricately shaped with protective sigils and sealed with a particularly advanced locking mechanism, a far cry from the simple jar that the void had once been contained within. Inside, a swirling, umbral chasm of gnashing teeth and scraping claws, making every fervent effort to escape its prison.

She could not believe how well it had worked. People had come from all around, hearing tell of the demon in a jar and wishing to see it for themselves. Travelers passing through Sishai were pressured to give to the woman, that her efforts might not go unrewarded or, worse, that without enough resistance, the demon might eventually break free. People all the way in the Dominion had heard of her and, more importantly, of the demon.

She fed the fire at every opportunity. Every so often, the jar would get larger, more complex, and the demon inside more luridly detailed in its cosmic horror. By now, the jar had become quite heavy, difficult for her to lug out and parade to her adherents.

She set the jar down in the city center with a huff. How had it become so heavy...?

Tourists, drifters and townsfolk alike had gathered, drawn by the promise of an important announcement. "Friends, friends, observe! The demon had nearly broken free, and I was forced to transfer it into a new vessel. Day by day, it grows larger and larger... and recently, it has acquired claws! Throughout the night, I can hear it scratching and scraping against the enchanted glass..."

A chorus of gasps and whispers, as the claws dragged across the glass, giving off a particularly unpleasant screech.

"But worry not! I will ensure that it remains securely trapped. I work tirelessly to try and discern an end to this creature, but I still need your assistance! Please, if you have anything to give; gold, charms, even magical textbooks that might have an answer, I will certainly have a use! Visit me at my home, and I will be ever grateful for your offerings!"

...

Again, that grin.

She settled into a comfortable chair, the void in a jar laid across her lap. She regarded three bowls, each brimming with glinting coin, jewelry, protective charms and enchanted sundry. She had expected someone to catch her out by now, and was beginning to worry about the weight of the gold she'd have to lug when inevitably run out of town.

She affectionately brushed a hand across the glass, and exhaled sharply, releasing the illusion spell that she'd been keeping up. Just a moment of rest, before the next charitable soul would arrive.

Yet, as she gazed into the jar... the smoky dark inside did not clear.

Trembling, white-knuckled fingers clutched the jar, attempting to banish an illusion that did not exist. Her eyes went wide, feeling the jar shifting against her, claws rapping against the inside.

A knock came at her door.