Technically I'm going to add on to this story eventually but I'm putting this into the contest.
The young man walked over a hill. Yes his name is Merlin, but no He's not old yet. Also he isn't a wizard yet. His black hair fell over his eyes and looked like it hadn't been combed in a long time. And indeed it hadn't, for Merlin was what the people of his village called a wanderer. He wandered with no aim. He had sky blue eyes with tiny flecks of silver, and pale skin. His parents had feared for their son as he didn't play with the toys he had. He just wandered around the house. His parents loved him with all their hearts, but Merlin was a cold boy. He rejected and neglected his parents, though often it is the other way around. His skin grew pale and when he reached adulthood he left the house. He wandered the village and the surrounding area. Until he came to where we are now.
And as he came over this hill we see him on now an old and withered birch tree began to creak. It seemed as if the tree was singing an message. A message that cried out to all wanderers that passed by this withered tree. The message was this, “Oh wanderer, oh wanderer, weather young or old. Listen to this song that warns you of harm. There is a grove where great power lies. And there is also a monster that boils within. Please turn back, or you shall find, this great evil that lays inside.”
Unfortunately hardly anyone can understand what old withered birch trees say. And Merlin was not one of the few who could. This wanderer, in between young and old, he did not listen to the song that warned him of harm, his heart weary and cold. He came upon the evil grove and was aghast by what he saw. In between the many trees was a pillar made of quartz, and resting upon that vile pillar of evil and hatred, was a wand. A curved pitch black wand with gnarled roots for a handle, the grip almost as black as the tip.
Merlin felt something come from inside of him, a power as black of the night. His greed took form, a shadowy figure, it moved Merlin's hand towards the wand. The greed for power too great Merlin clasped his hand around the dark object, and felt power like no other. The power surged up his arm and throughout his body, and for the first time in a long time, he laughed. A sick and raspy laugh, in fact if you had been on the other side of the hill you would think that the cicadas had all been turned into men and were trying to create an rock band.
While he laughed he looked at the wand, an evil infatuation in his eyes, but then his eyes shifted to the pale hand that was holding the wand. Only it wasn't pale. His hand was crisp black bone, the muscles and flesh melting away from the fiery power of the wand. It is still to this day unknown which hit the ground first. Merlin, or the wand.