He should never have opened the door. The shop was closed, any sane person would have turned the strange man away before letting him speak. He should never have let him speak.
One last request, he had said. It won’t take long. Now he was working the bellows as though trying to summon hell itself. The man stood over him, watching the process closely. He needed a blade capable of killing an immortal. The look on his face made the smith’s laugh die in his throat. He coughed as he had told him such a thing was impossible.
The strange man strode past him into the room, placing a large bag on the table. There is a way, he said. You craft the blade, I will perform the spells. He looked the smith in the eyes, his hands resting on his daggers. No stopping, no matter what.
In the hours since the smith had watched his shop turn into a catastrophe. Each spell the man performed made the metal change and shook the walls until every fixture rattled. He did not stop, though the liquid metal was like nothing he had seen. He waited in silence as the blade cooled, the muttering of incantations causing the shutters to clatter.
The look on the man became evil as the smith removed the blade from the mold. Each strike at the anvil made another part of his shop break. Still he dare not stop. The chanting grew louder and quickened. It grew so loud he couldn’t hear his own hammer. His head felt like it would split in two.
It took him a moment to realize the chanting had stopped. The smith looked up into the strange man’s eyes. He looked even worse when he smiled. The man shoved something off the anvil and reached for his new blade. Buttercream yellow, the blade was only as long as a hand from wrist to fingertip. He laughed, pocketed the blade and turned to leave.
The smith began to follow and protest until he nearly tripped. He looked down at the floor to see a body. In his shock he missed the man’s departure. The body had a hole where there should have been a heart. Gingerly and with dread he turned the body over, screaming at the sight of his own face.
Corbin stood over the chest he’d come so far to find, the dragon dead behind him. It had been a fearsome battle, and the knight had many injuries. Still, it was over. The treasure was his. His lord would be happy. But he, himself, had an itch.
He wanted to know what was in the box. His lordship had rather sternly reminded him of his place. It was not for him to know. It was a rarity only those of noble blood could appreciate. He was to leave it sealed and return with it quickly.
Corbin popped the lock with his sword and the lid flew open. Hundreds of tiny luminescent creatures with gossamer wings poured out. There were so many that the room became too bright to see. As the light died down he could see the stream head out of the lair.
A few remained. One floated to land on Corbin’s cheek. He yelped as it bit him, panic rising as his face began to grow cold. His strength left, and he fell in a heap beside the chest. A glittering caught his eye. The fist sized blue stone calling his name was the last thing he saw.
Kevin crept as quietly as he could towards the beast. It was a youth, but no less dangerous for it. A light puff of smoke issued from its nostrils as it snored. In the waning daylight a faint gold shimmer covered the creature’s bronze scales. This was it. This was his dragon. If he could tame this magnificent beast, he might finally be free.
Only the bravest warriors and the dumbest stablehands tried to tame a dragon. It was impossible in their infant stage. The young dragons had no control over their fire for the first few decades. Though retaining much of its feral nature, dragons became far more sedate and even cordial after a couple hundred years. Armed with an enchanted collar, if a tamer could get it around the neck there was a high chance the dragon would suffer the saddle. At least that is what everyone said. A beast around 100 would respond well to offers of food. This dumb stable hand was ready.
All Kevin had to do was get the collar on it. At least that was the most important step. Once the collar was on it couldn’t breathe fire. Then all he had to do was convince it not to eat him. He had yet to come up with a plan for that. If he could get the saddle on it he might stand a chance. He just knew there was no turning back now. The knight he served, a baron’s son named Martin, would have noticed the missing saddle by now. Martin had promised him knighthood. However over the years he had come to realize the role of Page simply meant slave to the knight. All or nothing, he thought.
Somehow he had reached the dragon’s head without waking it. There was no time to stop now. Almost without thought he draped the spell worked chain over the dragon’s neck. As soon as the metal touched its hide the collar wrapped itself around and fastened tight. The beast was awake in moments and Kevin sprang away from it, landing in the dirt.
There was a long moment in which the two simply stared at each other. Kevin could not read anything in the dragon’s expression. He took a step towards it and waited. The dragon did not move. He tossed the side of lamb at it and the best did not take its eyes off him. He took another step, then another. The beast did not move one muscle. After many tense moments he arrived face to face with it. A deep scar split the dragon’s face from the left brow to its jawline. It only served to make the dragon’s stare more intense.
The dragon let out a low growl as Kevin continued to its back. He could see its muscles tense as he placed the saddle on. The enchanted straps did themselves up and the growling intensified. Kevin braced himself, counted to three and hopped on.
He had barely enough time to grab hold of the saddle handle before the beast took off. The dragon sped through the clouds with Kevin screaming. They flew over the mountain it had taken him a week to get to in a few minutes. It dove into the woods to weave around trees, with Kevin barely hanging on. They flew up into the clouds again, higher and higher until the mountains became small dots. Kevin clung to the beast, shivering in fear. After a time the beast slowed, allowing Kevin a moment to breathe. He kept a firm grip on its neck as it plunged back down towards the earth. As it neared the tree line an arrow shot passed, barely missing the dragon’s shoulder. It roared and landed on a rock ledge.
Kevin recognised the banners as the search party led by Martin went below. The group all had the same grim look. Except for Martin. His face wore a look of malice. Kevin shivered at the thought of being captured. The dragon looked from Kevin to the group and back. He still couldn’t read its face. He stood frozen in place, waiting for a miracle.
Martin was shouting with joy all the things he would do to Kevin when a mist began to rise around the group. A few of the men were spooked, and despite Martin’s best efforts, the group fled the area.
Kevin watched Martin leave. Only then did he notice the dragon billowing smoke down into the small gully. The collar had fallen off during the flight. The beast turned to stare at him again. He stood and froze. What now? The dragon cocked its head and waited. Without thought, Kevin strode to it and hopped into the saddle. A new home.
Loryn sighed as she laid her head upon the stone. The cold soothed the throbbing, which only let in more memories. The girl’s face, their cries, her failure. What could she say? The many valid reasons she was too late to save them wouldn’t bring back their homes. The runner had arrived half in a fever. By the time he was able to tell her what happened she already knew she was too late. She had torn through the forest as fast as she could, hoping to at least arrive before the enemy left. Luck was not with her. She arrived in time to see the smolder of what used to be a happy town.
Loryn left them to their grief. There would be much to do in the way of repair and recovery, and it was evident the gold was gone. She quietly withdrew, intending to head back to the outpost she had been at before. The spring hunting had made it a crowded place. She needed to get back to the woods. The forest was her home. Despite the need for them, heroes are not generally well paid. She felt a brief moment of bitterness when she thought of the town. Leveled now, but they’d once known comfort. It was a feeling she hadn’t known since childhood.
The bitterness grew to form a tear. The unwanted daughter, the smallest page, the traitor, the exile. Just once, it would have been nice to be the friend, the lover. Loryn had settled for the hero, the one loved by those who benefit. The one sent on her way when the dragon was gone or the crisis averted. Worst still was the one blamed when disaster was not stopped. The one who failed to prevent every danger. Loryn knew how fast the hero could change to scapegoat. She took her leave before the mob formed. And as always, it was back to the woods she went. She tried to sit up, managing to get on her elbows, content with the slight lift in elevation.
This time, however, was different. The troll that sprang from the bushes just outside the town took her completely by surprise. Trolls were not common in that area. They were certainly not known for stealth. At the time it happened she had no time to puzzle it out, all her focus had been on surviving. Trolls are quick, despite their size. It had taken her by surprise, giving her a deep gouge in her thigh and knocking her into a tree. Though she had won, she was badly hurt. It was odd enough that she considered going back to the village to warn them.
Now, however, it was beginning to strike Loryn as more than odd. It had been no ordinary troll. Something tugged at the back of her mind, a detail that made a chill run through her. The beast had smiled. The thought of a troll with an emotional register disturbed her. It had smiled after scratching her. She traced the wound through her leg. It had already shrunk to the size of a small paper cut.
Loryn sprang to her legs, dizzy and frightened that feat was even possible after the beating she’d had. Her breath took on a low rumble and she lumbered forward on unsteady legs. She had no idea what was happening, the pains coursed through her so quickly she barely had time to register them all. A blinding pain shot across her jaw, echoed in her lower back. Raising a hand to her mouth she felt with horror her lower canines grow, piercing her upper lip. She gingerly lifted and removed it, only to let out a mute scream as she felt her insides come out through her tailbone.
She screamed and a roar issued forth. She reached behind her to feel her tailbone lengthened, covered with stretched thin skin, fur coming forth at the end. She collapsed, rolling to her side and crying. An itch began to crawl along her skin. She fought the urge to scratch, but gave in and met a short by coarse layer of fur.
A snapped branch in the bushes took her attention. She turned to gaze at what looked to be the oldest troll in existence hobbling towards her. His face had a look of concern, which just increased her fear. Trolls are savages, yet he seemed to approach her as though she was a wild creature. He stopped beside her head and peered down into her face.
“This should not have been possible. We need to have a conversation, my child.”
She froze as she heard the sound she feared most. Her companions stopped as well, Koza drawing his wand. Idiot. The elves were almost out of the woods. Any magic let off now would reveal them.
The buzzing increased. She motioned them forward and the elves carried on. Her eyes scanned all patches of ground, but she could not pinpoint its location. She prayed for luck.
As they topped a ridge an incessant clicking assaulted their ears and they abandoned stealth for survival. The entire group raced for the river. All they had to do was reach the boat.
The clicking surrounded them and the ground began to shake as the beetle-like creatures emerged from below. A thin clawed hand snatched at her as she ran past. The elves ran faster as the scent of the riverbed came closer.
She heard a scream, quickly drowned out by the damned sound of the Coliika. While small the sheer number of them threatened to engulf them. She kept her eyes forward and focused. The boat, it was their only hope.
One of the others let out a hysterical laugh ahead. When she caught up she saw the boat was in pieces. Her stomach dropped as the Coliika sprung up around her. Before she could scream, the things set off at speed towards a series of bangs. She raised her gaze to Koza, atop the hill, firing off the wand. The Coliika followed his spectacle. He yelled at them to leave before disappearing into the woods, bursts of magic trailing behind him.
She was unsure how they made it out. She watched the spot Koza had stood on before the others led her away. They were told they were lucky, the Koza was a hero. Koza was her friend, and now he’s gone.
Gunter examined the horizon from his current spot. He was traveling to the city on a mission from his father. The merchant wished to expand his business and had decided to send one of his sons to establish a shop in a city on the far side of the mountains. It was to be an arduous journey, and Gunter was the only son who volunteered.
Gunter was eager to set out on his own. The young man was in need of an adventure. He felt stifled beneath his older brothers, both successful in their own industries. He wanted to make his father proud and set out at once. Though familiar with the forest he crossed through, he had not been as far as the mountains, and was excited for the journey. His father had been dubious, as Gunter had never really shown himself responsible. However, with no other options, he allowed his son the chance at independence.
When he arrived at the base of the mountain, the locals tried their best to turn him away. They told him that the mountains were cursed, and any who went up were not heard from again. Strange music could be heard from time to time, floating on the wind from those peaks, and there were several occasions the weather over the pass was completely different to the weather over town.
Gunter thanked them for their concern, but fearing further delay, he continued on. A few of the locals accompanied him to the base of the mountain before leaving him to his journey. He traveled along a small road for many hours, which gave way to a dirt track before turning to rock entirely. He was unused to the physical exertion, having led a very comfortable life as the son of a wealthy merchant. He did not regret his choice and was confident of reaching the next town with ease.
As night fell, Gunter decided to make camp on a large shelf jutting out from the mountain. He was still low on the rise, and the wind was barely noticeable. After a small meal he retired for the night, sleeping soundly with the sounds of the woods to soothe him
When he awoke, his eyes landed on a figure seated across the now cold fire from him. Gunter jumped up in shock. The ridge he lay on, while low, was simply too high for a man of his advanced years, as the stranger was quite clearly elderly. His visage was not welcoming. His back was bent, and all of his skin sagged. His grey mane stuck out in all directions. His beard was just as unruly and hid a smile that was far from comforting.
His tattered, oversized robe matched his hair and seemed to billow with a wind that was not present. His eyes, however, were his most striking feature. Deep blue and impossible to read, they stood out vividly against the grey visage. When he was able to tear his gaze away from those eyes, Gunter noticed the harp, half as tall as the stranger’s torso, which the man kept close to him. Made from silver and tinged with a blue sheen, the strings appeared to glow in the morning light.
As his eyes came to rest on the harp, the elderly man began to speak. A low rumble in the air met his words, as he introduced himself as The Lord of the Mountain. His voice, he said, commanded the winds, his moods shaped the clouds, and his temper could flare the wildest storms. He had guarded the mountain for centuries. Gunter backed toward the mountain, unsure if he believed the man, but wary all the same. He told Gunter not to fear, it had been many years since the last visitor, and he was eager to hear Gunter’s tale.
Gunter explained his father’s mission to found a new shop in a city over the ridge. The Mountain Lord seemed amused by the young man’s loyalty to his family. He told Gunter that though he can cover the mountains in a fog so dense none can see through, and storms so violent the very ground is torn, he had a longing for companionship. He had met many travelers over the years, though few he could say he was fond of. To amuse himself, he began to invent games to play with them.
As the old man spoke, the day brightened, and the land took on a vivid hue. Gunter was very afraid. The Mountain Lord stated that he is a fair man, and so each game, while different from the last, can be won by travelers if they are determined enough. He invited Gunter to play such a game with him. If Gunter won, he would give him his storm harp. Gunter’s eyes fell on the instrument again, and he thought of the price it would fetch in town.
‘This is no ordinary harp.” The Mountain Lord explained, “with it I control all weather on the mountain, it will bring gales wherever you summon. This power I would give you freely…if you win.” Here the old man smiled. “But, if you lose, you will remain on this mountain forever.”
Gunter hesitated, as he did not trust this elderly man at all. He also feared this game would delay him longer than his father had patience for. He went to speak his mind, but the elder man interrupted him
“Or, you could leave, though I would be very upset if you did”. The air crackled as the old man spoke the last sentence. The air grew cooler, and Gunter’s fear rose. He accepted the old man’s invitation as thunder began to rumble along the ridge when he clapped his hands.
“Excellent! The game is simple. All you must do to win, is to make it from one side of the mountain pass to the other, a journey you were already making anyway. However,…” the old man leaned forward and his smile deepened, “the mountain very much wants you here, I imagine it will try to confuse you.” The laugh the old man gave was so sinister Gunter was left feeling cold despite the heat of the sun. The Lord of the Mountain disappeared.
Gunter sat immovable for a time. He heard the words of the locals returning to him. Why had no one mentioned this mountain spirit? Perhaps none of them knew, and he wondered if any of them had ever been up the pass. As the sun reached its noon point, he realized he had not yet broken camp. Whether for this odd game or his father, he needed to continue. He packed up what belongings he had and started up the rise.
As the afternoon wore on, Gunter spotted a small goat looking at him from a boulder at the mouth of the pass. The grey shaggy thing watched him intently as he passed beneath the ledge it sat on. Gunter felt unnerved by the beast, though he could not have explained why. The terrain grew rougher as he walked, and he paused as the road before him split, one path becoming quite narrow as it rose higher towards the peak, the other continuing level as far as the eye could see.
Gunter had not been advised of a split and was debating between the two when the earth began to vibrate. Small rocks began to bounce and dance around his feet. Fear caught him and when several larger rocks came crashing down, he realized he was experiencing a landslide. He had heard of such things, but it had not prepared him. He watched helplessly as the land itself made ripping noises, though one sound could be heard over it all.
The shaggy goat began to bray, and Gunter watched as it took off along the rising path. In his shock, he followed it up, and the goat seemed to slow down for him. Gunter dodged boulders as big as his torso that crashed around him. He ran as best he could in the small beast’s wake.
The goat led him to a cave high up the mountainside. Gunter huddled in the cave, tense and fearful. He was terrified the cave mouth would be covered, or the ceiling collapse, but going back outside was simply not an option. The fierce wind howled, but he could now hear the ground as it removed its top layer, shedding rock as though it were a blanket. It seemed as though the mountain would crush him and continued for what felt like an eternity. Gunter closed his eyes and thought of home.
All of a sudden, the noise stopped. Gunter opened his eyes and saw that the goat had disappeared during the slide. He also noted he could see light again. The land looked far too bright in the afternoon sun. He gathered what had not been lost in his mad run and took in his surroundings. The landscape had been badly torn up. He looked for a way down, failed and resigned himself to the steeper path.
The path did level out after a few hours, and Gunter carried along at a brisk pace. As the afternoon rolled on, the path grew less clear, and a mist rolled in. It started as a light haze, but by late afternoon the mist was so thick the path was obscured. His progress slowed considerably, as he crept along unable to see more than a meter in front of himself.
Straining to see, Gunter spotted a light in the distance. He watched as it appeared to float towards him, before stopping to hover before his face. Bewildered, he followed the light when it took off in the direction it had come from. He was thinking of the goat, hoping this was similar help. When he began to stub his boots on tree roots and walked directly into a tree, he knew the light had led him off the path. He also knew he could not find the path again on his own, so he helplessly continued to follow the little bobbing spark. He feared the light a trick, as the light increased pace the rougher the terrain became. Gunter knew if he lost it, he was lost, as tried his best to keep up.
As night fell, another light appeared through the fog. The bobbing light stopped in front of a parting in the trees, and Gunter realized the fog was dispersing. The light, he saw was the moon. He had not realized how much time had passed as he wandered through the mist, and he was excited when he realized where he was.
Looking through the trees, he could see he had reached the other side of the mountain. The pass lay below him, and if he went carefully down, he would be able to reach it by morning. Gunter almost yelped in excitement, as he saw how close he was to his goal now. He made the decision not to make camp, but to ease his way downwards, the moonlight making the landscape easy to navigate.
As he descended, he thought he could hear the faint sounds of music. He could not place the tune, nor see where it came from. The music reminded him of something. As it rose in volume, he began to think of home. He thought of the woods he grew up in, and the smell of the kitchens at home. The music’s sweet melody took his memory back to hauling a yule tree home, and the happy faces of his family. Gunter began to weep softly, as he thought of the pride his father was sure to feel for him, and a vision of himself in charge of a shop made of a state of bliss he had not felt in many months.
Just as his vision saw him head of his own estate, Gunter heard a sharp crack, and watched as a fork of lightning landed beside him. In an instant the vision disappeared, just in time for Gunter to see he was about to walk off an overhand of rock. The music roared into a wild thrumming of strings and cascades of rain as the thunder and storm winds gave off a racked as though at war with one another. Gunter lunged for a nearby tree, clinging for all his strength as gale winds threatened to rip it from the ground.
The storm rose around Gunter, howling and buffeting him against the trees. His fingers were white and cramped, his muscles screaming with the strain of hanging on. His last vision was of the old man, The Mountain Lord. He appeared as a giant astride the huge thundercloud he rode. His hair flailed in the wind and his eyes shone with the fury of the tempest. The man began to laugh, a vicious sound of grating rock echoing in all directions. Gunter’s hands lost their grip, allowing the wind to hurl him into the rockface. Then all he knew was darkness.
Upon waking, Gunter was seized by the light. The sun shone so bright the landscape appeared pure white for a moment. He was startled by how quiet everything was after the chaos of the night before. Looking around, he realized he was still on the ledge, the tree broken in half on the ground beside him. He felt stiff and cold, but euphoria flowed through him as he sat up slowly, which mingled with triumph when he saw how close to the edge of the pass he was. Not even the sight of the Mountain Lord watching him could dampen his spirits. He got up slowly and began to laugh.
“I won!” Gunter exclaimed, “I made it to the other side! Now for my prize!” and he held out a hand to the old man, with his eyes on the harp. The Mountain Lord only laughed in response and pointed over the ledge to a dark spot on the ground
Gunter felt his heart sink into his chest. He hesitated but looked to where he was pointing and saw what appeared to be a person on the ground below. He followed the old man down to the figure, not fearing a fall, as he feared what he would see when he arrived far more.
Gunter looked down at his mangled body in horror. His body was bent in strange angles, and the ground was dark beneath it. He could not take in what he was seeing. He did not feel dead, and yet there he was.
“Some people,” said the Mountain Lord, “cling to life so much, they miss the moment of their own death.” and then he laughed. The old man disappeared still laughing, as Gunter looked at his body with dread, realizing he would never leave the mountain.
He stood frozen in place, his feet unwilling to move even an inch more. He was closer to his goal than he’d ever been, yet the task in front of him threatened to render the last six weeks a waste.
Did he remember the words? Would it let him back out? The rock gave him as many answers as the merchant had. Same facial expression too. Find a way in, take the relic, get out alive. Very simple on the surface, yet his brothers had argued relentlessly about it, to the point the three of them had separated. He wondered if his brothers were also facing rock walls.
The merchant had warned him to be as silent as possible. The creature that guarded the relics was known to be fierce. He was not a wizard known for his battle tactics. Get in, get the relic, get out alice. He made the sign of luck over his chest and in a nervous hush, spoke the words of entry.
The silence was broken by a chipping sound as the crack formed down the surface. The rock slid open with a sound that set his teeth on edge and he gingerly went inside.
The darkness was complete. It took him some time to find the side of the cavern, which was surprisingly dry. He shuffled slowly, trying to make as little sound in this echo chamber as he could. The darkness eased the further he went. THe lighter it became, the higher the humidity rose. The air grew heavy around him. By the time the tunnel emerged into the cave his clothing was soaked through.
The room was cool despite the many torches and candles. It was also thankfully empty. The wizard went straight to work despite the many oddities littering every surface. Get in, get out, quickly. Speed was key.
The relic he was looking for was small, but somewhat easy to find amongst the many crystals. The coin-sized wooden pegs stood planted in a shallow tray near the window. Innocuous things, it was hard to believe the power they contained. He felt the pulse of energy emanating from them and slowly reached for one.
He had no idea why the merchant wanted it, less information the better. All he was concerned with was the keystone in the merchant’s possession. One keystone for one rainstick. He gently lifted one of the pegs, deafened by the shrieking that rose around him.
It began to rain in the cavern. The wizard quickly enclosed the peg in a box he had prepared for it. The rain stopped, the shrieking however intensified and was approaching swiftly. He had little time.
He put his head out the window and shuddered as he took in the drop. Trees and vines covered the rock wall down to the valley below. The first 20 feet were a freefall.
He could hear the rain spirit approaching. Making the sign of luck again he leapt from the window, hoping fervently this would be worth it.
The captain was at a loss. The smug looking face in the flame was right, though it galled him to say it. They were lost. The squall had seemed harmless at first. But now he was three men down, no direction and no vision through the spray. He needed the djinn.
“What do you want, I won’t let you out.” The captain would go down with the ship before he released this monster.
“Just a small request. When you return home, I want you to place my lamp on your mantle. No closets for me.”
The captain wasn’t sure what to make of it, but he was given no time to think. The lamp began to shut orders, which his remaining crew quickly followed. In almost no time the mist began to calm and thin. They made land with no further incident.
Later, as the captain left the inn he snickered as the sound of the lamp’s shouts faded away. The djinn could sit on the mantle there and wait for the next fool.
The knocking at the door caused her to clench her teeth so hard no more than hissing emerged as a response. She had just sat down. Twelve long days chasing and despatching an ogre, not even one minute’s rest.
She threw open the door and stood dumbfounded. Battered and wrapped in a series of bandages was the ogre. Her subconscious reached for her sword.
“I would like to hire you.” She nearly dropped her sword. Her mind raced between the realization that it was still alive, and that it could talk.
“I want you to kill the town mayor. My people are attacked by hired thugs regularly and I want it to stop.”
There was a weighted silence. She let out the breath she’d been holding and resigned herself to the next ten minutes.
I still don’t see how any of this is my fault. I may have made a few mistakes, but I hardly see how the destruction of Korstabin can be laid at my feet. There was no arguing with that mammoth they call a sheriff though. I have another hour to enjoy having a roof above me, then I need to leave. Where? Anywhere but here I’m told.
Worst thing was they never caught it. Now I’ll be out in the wilds with that thing. How was I to know it was in the vault? I was told the vault held a power, my informant left off the “-ful creature” part. Unlike me. The innkeeper has suddenly run out of food, so this creature will have to stay hungry for the moment.
I suppose I had better go get it. Someone will eventually report it to the council, and I want something to show for all this fuss and bother. And if the duke finds it before me, well, I may as well stay in the woods.
Notes: From this one I got a few interesting plot points I can work into other stories. If I need a random monster this can be its origin story. I also have a town destroyed by this monster I can use as a setting with a bit of history to it. The diary keeper can also make for an interesting side character too.
C.M. Wellsmore 