Nightworld

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whose Famous Monsters of Filmland exposed a fascinated twelve year old to a gallery of monstrous creatures, demonstrated their wonders while allowing him to laugh at them, and set him on the road toward creating his own monsters as an adult.

Thanks, Forry. This one's for you.

Part I

DAY

Rasalom went to the mountain.

He is calling himself Rasalom these days because it seems he has always called himself Rasalom. It is not his birth name, the one his mother bestowed on him. He discarded that one back in the First Age when it was customary to keep one's True Name a secret. But he has used Rasalom so long it almost seems like his True Name.

From here atop Minya Konka, through a break in the clouds, much of what is now called China spreads out four and a half miles below him in the darkness. His birthplace is not far from here. It is bitterly cold on the mountaintop. Gale-force winds shriek and howl angrily as they swirl the frozen air about his naked body. Rasalom scarcely notices. The power within protects him, the ever-growing power, fed incessantly by the delicious woes of the world below.

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