(cont'd)
With a loud roar of pain, the yeti swung his paw around to claw my brother’s face off. However, he missed by just a hair’s breadth away from the skin of Creer’s nose. Creer swung again and threw the yeti against the wall. The yeti struggled to pull himself up, but was knocked down.
Creer towered over him, cracking his knuckles loudly.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said as the yeti pulled a paw back in a feeble attempt to strike him.
“It’s over,” Rubin said. “You’ve got him.”
“Wonder where dad went,” Creer said.
“He’ll be pissed. Either way, we’re both going to go up the river when he finds out-”
Rubin never finished his sentence, when suddenly the yeti sprang up, with sudden and frightening agility, and latched on to Creer’s throat. Creer let out a muffled scream of surprise. His left arm instantly landed a punch in the creature’s stomach, but he held on. On instinct, Creer’s two hands shot up and grabbed the neck of the yeti, and pushed him away from him. And then…and then…
Rubin watched in horror as his brother’s throat was torn right out of his neck. Creer was killed instantly, his eyes still open and his hands still clenched around the yeti’s neck, as if unable to register the fact that he was dead.
With a merciless fury, the yeti tore at Creer’s dead body, ripping the arms off of his neck and tearing his limbs off two at a time. He then proceeded to disemboweling and dissecting the remaining body. This was too much for Rubin.
In a rage, Rubin hurled the stone he’d found in the mines at the creature. It sailed harmlessly over his head, but the creature looked up. And then, as if it had only just noticed Rubin was there, the yeti stood up immediately and went bounding down the hallway. With his only intent on tearing the wretched damned creature to pieces, Rubin took off after him.
They reached a dead end, and the yeti turned back to face him. Rubin’s eyes were of death himself.
“Why are you chasing me?” The yeti asked, in a voice sounding so human that Rubin was stunned.
“I-You killed my brother…” Rubin could only say.
“Wrong,” the yeti replied. “Not your brother. Definitely not your brother.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are like me in this: we have nothing in common with these humans.”
“Bullcrap,” Rubin said. “Tell me, what are you? Yeti? You don’t look at all like-”
“I am a goblin half-breed,” the yeti replied. “A troll.”
“You don’t-”
But then he stopped in midsentence. The yeti had stepped into the light to reveal a face that Rubin had grown to recognize. It was his father, with white fur all over him, and a belt with a sword strapped to his side.
Rubin was shocked. All his anger instantly melted away into confusion. “But…” he whispered. “Why…how…”
“Why I killed Creer?” the swordsman asked. “Why? Because he’s not your brother. And I’m definitely not your father.”
Rubin couldn’t believe it. “But…then who are you?” he asked. “If you’re not his father, then who…”
Just then, they heard the blare of horns and alarms outside.
The swordsman stepped forward instantly. “No time, no time,” he said. “They will be here. And they will kill both of us, because they will find out…”
“Find out what?” Rubin cried. “What is it they want from me?”
“If they find out you’re not a sehirian, they will kill you,” The swordsman said. Trembling, he placed his fur-covered hands on Rubin’s face, and, in the light, Rubin saw his father was crying. “Go. Now. I have protected you long enough. Now you must go. Follow your destiny. Take back what Sehira stole from you. The village in Ender, I know a man there, go to it! Go through the forest. Avoid the desert.”
“W-will I ever see you again?” Rubin whispered.
“I dearly hope so,” his father said. “There is so much I meant to tell you. Everything that you know about this world is about to change.”
“He’s there!” A loud voice boomed across the hallway. “Stop! You traitors of the crown.”
Rubin’s father gave him one last look. “Go!” he cried. “Save yourself!”
Sobbing, Rubin ran down the hallway and out of the door, just when he heard the clash of blades and the screeches of the ice bolts flying through the air. Not looking back, he ran through the line of the trees, and into the dark forest and unknown.
And, now, we leave him there. Rubin was a good guy. He was very brave; a talented, proficient swordsman; a novice in the arts, and fluent in three languages. But, as he was running, a new fear had crept through him. It’s the kind of fear of being alone. His brother had just died before his very own eyes at his very own father’s hand, and now even his father was probably dead. Worse; his own people were now trying to kill him. But we’ve got to give him the credit for being brave, and sticking to his path, even through a situation like that.
Now, a word about me. I was an orphan, being raised on the streets of the town Kean off of the work of my hands. What I could not make, I grew. What I could not grow, I stole. And, what I couldn’t steal, I…well, you get the point.
Anyways, I was minding my business one Saturday, when I saw a man standing among the people, just walking around. I’d seen him many times before, actually, but this time he caught my attention. I’d been looking around at the other peasants milling about, looking for a potential steal, when my eyes fell on him. Sure, he was poorly dressed, and looked to be about forty, what with his dark beard and hair streaking grey. He wore the typical peasant clothing; a shirt and pants made of cotton, both of which looked like they were “just his size,” and a leather belt to pull it all together.
I surveyed him for a while, and my opinion of him slowly changed. From a first glance, you’d barely notice a difference from him and any other ordinary peasant. But, at a closer look, I saw how strong he looked; how, even though age was starting to take a toll on his skin and hair, he carried an aura-like air around him, with an energetic look in his eyes. His walk was like that of…like, well, a noble. No, not even that; like a king. His structure looked firm, and his neck held inlaid muscle.
He saw me watching him and gave me an acknowledging smile. I instantly forgot I was planning to rob him, because, when he smiled at me, it reminded me of that look my auntie used to give me before she died. It was a look of love. Not husband-wife affection, mind you, but more of…the way a father looks at his son. I at that time didn’t know who he truly was. But I found him very different, and so I ran up to meet him.
I found out his name was Orrin, and that he lived in a quiet area near the town of Ender. Naturally, I followed him back home. Then, he adopted me as his brother. Of course, this was complete irony, as you’ll read later, but, at that moment, I was dumb as a brick, and didn’t try to figure out anything else about the man. I just followed him and did what he told me as if he were my older brother. We travelled around a lot; selling and buying products off the market and selling items we’d occasionally find to merchants.
Living with the man, I found out that he was very merciful, and compassionate; all those great high king qualities. He’d always stop by near beggars and offer them what food he could spare. When I caught a thief one day in our house, instead of turning the poor man in, Orrin gave him what he tried to steal as a gift of goodwill. That young man eventually became one of our close friends. Orrin had a great reputation among all the people of the land, both great and small. Some even offered to elect him governor, but Orrin refused and gave the position instead to Gary, the man who’d tried to steal from our house. Gary had gotten a job from one of the chief merchants in the town, and had made off in a great amount of surplus. He gave much of his wealth to the poor, and followed Orrin’s example. When Orrin offered him the opportunity, he was also inclined to reject, but, after thinking it through, reluctantly accepted the position. The people, who also knew Gary of his exploits, followed him around. They didn’t follow Orrin, as he’d pleaded them not to. Thus, Orrin became like a secret hero; in the hearts of many but yet seldom spoken about.
I followed along with Orrin, as he allowed me to because I hadn’t known him for what he’d done. I myself was pretty hopeless as well, suffice to say.
Anyways, I wasn’t too surprised one day when Orrin and I found a boy about my age slumped near our well one evening. The boy was cut and bruised. He looked like he’d come from the capital of Sehira, or Roa. He had the tan of skin of the sehirians who lived in that region. But it surprised me that Orrin looked like he’d been expecting this boy.
“Jason,” he said (that was my name.), “Go get me some water. From the back storeroom.”
I hurried off to do his bidding. When I got back, I found Orrin had carried him into the house and had him laid on the bed. I immediately set the water down and ran over.
“Is he still alive?” I asked.
“Barely,” Orrin said, “This child had been through a lot. But he may survive.”
He rose up. “I’ll have to get some stew. Tell me when he wakes up, Jason.”
“Al-righty.” Orrin was no fighter. He looked like the type who worked the field all day; hardly a swordsman. He was no literary monster either. But he did know street smarts. And he did know what kinds of plants to eat what not to eat in the forest (None of the plants in a forest are edible. The ones that are host appendages that can kill you. Speaking from personal experience here.).
He woke up, alright. I called Orrin, who walked back in with a bowl of mushroom stew inside. He set the bowl down and knelt by the boy’s side.
“What’s your name?” the boy asked. “Who are you? Where am I?”
“Ender,” I said with a grin. “Welcome!”
“Thanks,” the boy managed. He really looked sick. “But I’m looking for someone. Do any of you know Escobar?”
A look crossed Orrin’s face; one I’d never seen before. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do. How is he?”
The boy coughed. “I’m his son, Rubin. He told me to come here to find…someone…”
Orrin straightened. “Then, you’ve come to the right place. I am that someone, Rubin Sybounheuan.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me before, Orrin? You know a sehirian named Escobar?”
“I did,” Orrin said in a grave tone of voice. “Is he…?”
“Yes,” Rubin said. “He’s gone. The sehirian guard got to him.”
Orrin sighed. “It would come down to this. May you rest in peace, old friend.”
“He told me you’d explain everything,” Rubin said. “And I need answers.”
“As do I,” I said.
Orrin waved me off. “I’ll explain later, but I must first answer Rubin, as he is…” he cleared his throat. “…of more importance at the moment.”
“Thanks for letting me know that.”
But Orrin continued as if nothing had happened at all. “Rubin, you’ve probably figured it out now: you’re not the son of Escobar.”
Rubin nodded slowly. The poor guy looked like he’d been placed on a tripwire three miles above the world. Cuts and bruises dotted his body. I wasn’t too thrilled about travelling through the forest again, after taking an inventory of his face and arms. I wouldn’t be surprised if he came up with a few scars from whatever he’d gotten himself through.
“Then, if Escobar is not my father, who is he?”
Orrin took in a deep breath. “You’ve read your history, hopefully. So, tell me; in the family tree of the deity Oblivion over Klymaestra, who was the one casted out of his seat of power and moved to the mines of Preusia?”
“Arnulfo, but-”
“And who was the one he’d come into contact with, prior to his escape from his brothers?”
Rubin, never good at history, had to think through, as he’d studied over the line of reigning powers in Klymaestra. Then, his eyes brightened. “The cave troll Abe Altiery!” he exclaimed.
Orrin nodded. “The legends have it wrong, though. Any ordinary troll would’ve crushed Arnulfo and simply would’ve eaten him for dinner. But this one was different. A hybrid between…”
“…goblin and troll,” Rubin finished, the realization dawning on his face. “A were-goblin!”
Orrin nodded. “The were-goblins were more human than anyone ever could know. They could transform from their monstrous forms into human-like bodies, providing the proper cover and defense to live among the natives, who were more human.”
Rubin nodded. “And, Escobar…”
“…was also a were-goblin.” Orrin nodded. “Yes, that’s correct. Escobar, a direct descendent of Altiery, was elected from among the civilization of were-goblins to properly care for you, continuing his ancestor’s legacy. He snuck in the sehirian palace, and disguised himself as a general, and killed off the general and his family, but left one boy alive.”
“Creer,” Rubin whispered. “Creer was the only one he spared!”
“That’s right,” Orrin replied. “Escobar just couldn’t bring himself to kill the boy, who was too little and innocent. But then something happened.
“The sehirian guard found something out of place among you, and they started to investigate. They appointed one boy similar to your brother and replaced him, in an effort to investigate on Escobar more carefully. Of course, Escobar realized what was happening a bit too late. The sehirians came for him, but not before he killed Azi; the boy who was impersonating Creer.”
Rubin was trembling now. “What about my brother? What about Creer? Do you know what happened to him?”
Orrin shrugged. “Who knows? Probably locked up somewhere; the poor kid. But we can’t do anything about it. As I said; Creer was replaced at an early age, so he might not even know who you are.”
“Oh, man,” I said. “This means also that they’re gonna come after us too?”
Orrin nodded solemnly. “Afraid so, brave warrior. We can’t stay here without endangering the other people living here.”
“Wait a minute,” Rubin said. “Why do the sehirians want to kill me? And why did Escobar try to protect me with his life?”
Orrin grinned at him. “Because you’re a direct descendent of Oblivion.”
We finally packed our things completely and headed out while it was still dark. For some reason, I felt as if we would never ever see our home again. But I was used to the thought, since, for me, the real adventure was outside. Rubin was also healing up well, and recovered completely before we’d even entered the forest, which was amazing, even though I’d seen my share of amazing things.
“I have to free Klymaestra from under the grip of Sehira,” Rubin said.
Orrin grinned. “You’ll need a band for that.”
“Then, I don’t suppose you’ll agree to come with me?”
Orrin glanced at me. I shrugged.
“Why not?” I asked. “It’s better than doing all the boring stuff we do,”
So, there we were. We’d successfully formed a band of three people. But I knew we needed more than that. Orrin and Rubin knew it too.
“How are we going to find more people?” I asked.
“By the standards,” Orrin said. “You need a reputation first. All band leaders need one. Thing is, you’ll need to earn it.”
“Okay,” Rubin nodded. “Sounds easy enough. I’ll earn it by killing bandits and sehirians.”
Orrin grinned. “The old guerilla style? I love it. Let’s be off!”
“I heard of an old villa near the town Mullod,” I said, trying to remember what I’d heard from local gossip there a few weeks ago. “An old lady there spoke about a bandit camp not far from it called the Kutsmob Bosteb, or ‘The Menace of Matching.’ It’s a rather small bandit camp, though, as it only just started out.”
Rubin nodded. “Perfect,” he said with a grin. “But do you…”
“Don’t worry,” Orrin said with a grin. “We can take care of ourselves.”
“Alright!” I said with a grin. “Let’s go kick some Matching behind!”
And now, while we, the brave adventurers that we were, set out to conquer further lands, something else was happening. Back in Roa, in the palace of Sehira, the great king Eliameka was on his bed, coughing with every breath the he took. Doctors and physicians had been sent to find out a way of healing him and couriers stood around his bedside. The master physician bowed before the king.
“My lord,” he said. “We have found out the source of this disease and are expelling it out. You will recover shortly.”
But Eliameka waved him away. “I need the divine help of the gods,” he whispered. “Yours does not assure me.”
He looked to the servants. Among them was one of fine stature named Hazael, with his head bowed like the rest. Eliameka gestured to the man, and instructed him; “You, go inquire to the prophet Gabriel whether I will recover from this wound or not.”
Hazael went to meet Gabriel, taking with him as a gift forty camel-loads of all the finest wares of Sehira. He went in and stood before him, and said, "Your son Eliameka king of Sehira has sent me to ask, 'Will I recover from this illness?'"
He answered, “Go and say to him: ‘You will certainly recover.’ But the Lord has revealed to me that he will in fact die.” He stared at him with a fixed gaze until Hazael felt ashamed. Then, the prophet began to weep.
“Why is my lord weeping?” Hazael asked.
The prophet met his gaze. “Because I know what you will do to the people of Klymaestra. You will tear down their cities and set fire to their homes, put their young men to the sword, dash their younglings on the ground, rip open their pregnant women, and burn their dwellings to the ground.”
Hazael responded, “How could a nobody like me accomplish such a great feat?”
“The Lord has shown me that you will become king of Sehira.” Gabriel replied.
Then, Hazael left Gabriel and returned to Eliameka. When the king asked him, “What was his response?” Hazael replied, “You will certainly recover.”
Then, in the dead of night, when all the couriers of the king had departed to their homes, Hazael walked in and threw a large piece of wet cloth over the king’s face, so that he suffocated and died. The next morning, when the king’s attendants discovered he was dead, they panicked and the city of Roa was thrown into turmoil. Hazael chose this moment to step up and rallied the people against the remaining house of the king and those loyal to Eliameka. Then, the throne of Sehira became under Hazael’s control.
Thousands were gathered during the great coronation of Hazael. The sehirians flooded the streets and rooftops of buildings. On a balcony overlooking the entire crowd stood Hazael’s chief adviser, Cerberus, who readied himself as millions of eyes fell on him.
“My fellow Sehirians!” he boomed, and the crowd screamed back at him in response. “We are victorious! The question now is: who will receive the throne?”
As Hazael stepped out from behind the panel, he felt the roar of the crowd as their eyes sighted him. He felt the tremors in the ground as the crowd chanted his name; “Hazael! Hazael! Hazael!”
“That’s right!” Cerberus shouted above all the other voices. “Your dignitary! Your superior! The one who freed you from the yoke of your oppressor!” The crowd was deafening now, and their screams echoed off of the walls. The vibrations intensified as Cerberus finished his line.
“HAZAEL!”
As Hazael looked down at the screaming sea of people, he saw the flashes of glistering sunlight as the sehirians waved their weapons in the air, chanting his name as they screamed. A shiver ran down his spine; one of excitement. Now was his time.
“My good people,” he said, and the noise instantly died away. All was silent, except for the ringing and throbbing pain in his ears. But he ignored it, as all eyes were upon him. “The time has come now! Sehira has been known for its victories and vast lands. We are a world power.
He clenched his fist. “But we are still plagued with the parasites of other nations feeding on our borders! We need to rise above that! We need to wipe them out completely!
He threw up his hands as if to receive the crowd. “Give me your power! Give me your might! Give me your loyalty! And I will use it to conquer the rest of the nations; to purge this plague and disease amidst our being! And I will never betray you!”
The crowd had started to chant his name again. Now it intensified. With thunderous applause.
“There,” I said. “There it is. Our little ‘Menace of Matching.’”
“Doesn’t look the part,” Rubin observed.
He was right. The area was pretty much empty (just a clearing.) save a few tents and weapons and other belongings scattered around a campfire. In short, it looked more like a little temporary camping spot, instead of a bandit hideout. Now, when I saw weapons, I don’t mean tribal primate weapons like stone hammers or sling shots. That was the only indication that we were dealing with actual bandits. There were some curved brass scimitars, a few iron axes (steel weapons were used by bigger bandit groups or higher classmen.), and a few green lancer spears. The camp itself was right next to the ruins of an old stone monument site or something.
We approached cautiously. Not one single soul was in sight, even when I stepped into the clearing. Orrin stepped around me and went to the opposite of the campsite, peering into the ruins, dark because of the late night. Rubin followed him, as we investigated the tents and their belongings. Nothing, no traps at all.
“That’s impossible,” I said. “No bandit would ever be stupid enough to leave all of their things in the middle of a clearing without first trapping it in some way.”
“Perhaps they’ve rigged explosives?” Rubin suggested.
“No,” Orrin replied. “I checked the bushes. If they’d buried them underground, we’d be dead already. No, this is something different-”
He never finished his sentence. Because I saw dark shapes appear out of the forest. They’d come out of nowhere. Out of the bushes. Out of the simply thin air. As they stepped closer, I saw that each wore red robes overlaid with steel armor plating and swords.
“Magicians,” Orrin said. “I thought this camp was too easily defended.”
“Man,” I groaned. “This means we can’t use any of their loot, since it’s specialized for magicians.”
One of the tallest magicians chuckled. He had thin slanted eyebrows, and small almond-shaped eyes. “You have trespassed onto Caston Territory. Don’t bother struggling…we’ll give you each a free decapitation.”
The other magicians chuckled darkly as if it was really funny (which, in a way, was, depending on your state of mind.). We drew our swords.
“There’s too many of them,” Rubin said. “They outnumber us at least three to one.”
“You’re right,” I said, brandishing my saber. “We’ll have to make more coffins.”
But as soon as those words left my mouth, I found myself knocked to the ground, with a magician towering over me. Yelling, I grabbed my saber and swung at his legs. But he was not there anymore. He’d jumped to one side, and was coming at me with a stab. I swung to meet his blow, but the contact never happened. He’d feinted to one side, but I was too overstretched to do anything as his blade connected with my shoulder.
It wasn’t too deep of a cut, but still felt like someone had poked me with a branding iron. I let out a bellow in pain and lashed out at him. But he wasn’t there. Then, I felt a wall of something smash into me, knocking me to the ground. My saber flew out of my hands and landed somewhere in the bushes. Glancing back, I saw Rubin on the ground as well, his hands tied behind his back.
That left Orrin standing. Orrin, with his fishing knife. He was the only one of us who didn’t pick up a weapon from the pile. I and Rubin-our weapons that we’d used were from the camp.
Orrin was the only thing in the way of the nine magicians, who were grinning wickedly. “What are you going to do with that little knife, old man?” one of them asked.
“Enough that neither you nor any other sorcerers could ever conjure in a lifetime.” Orrin said.
The one in the lead laughed. “I saw the look on your face when we attacked.” He said. “That look…not one of a mere peasant. And that stance…not even the elite of the sehirians know how to perfect it. No one without years of training in the ways of the swordsman could ever even learn the way to deflect our blades. And yet you somehow escaped unscathed without even lifting an eyebrow. I knew there was something different about you.”
Orrin laughed. “You don’t know a thing about me.”
And then he attacked. I’d never seen anything like it. He actually attacked. Orrin. And he executed an array of thrusts, slashes, jabs, and parries so fluid and so in sync with each other, and did it as if it seemed like second nature to him. This was Orrin, the man I’d known for years, who never once during my stay ever pick up a sword to fight. This was the Orrin who never ever picked a fight with anyone, and, if he did, always ended up being the one on the ground.
The magicians, too, seemed shocked by the ferocity of his attack, and some couldn’t dodge it. In one smooth motion, Orrin had cut down five of them. The other four spread out around him in a circle. The two in the back tried to flank him with their attacks, as did the one in the front. The lead magician himself hesitated to engage the old man. (If I do say myself, I’d been living with Orrin for about ten years, and he was somewhere between fifty and sixty years old now.) This action may have very well saved his life.
In an instant, not breaking the rhythm of his attack, Orrin swung his body around, twisting it as he swirled his blade. Up, down, up, down it went, severing the limbs of the three magicians one by one, and loping off their heads as if decapitation was as easy as cutting through vines. In the next second, all three of the magicians and their severed body parts were scattered in a bloody circle around Orrin, who was still wielding the same fishing knife.
The lead magician stared at him in disbelief and shock, then terror filled his face, and he fell on his knees, shaking with fear, his sword clattering on the floor next to him. His eyes looked like those of a frightened rabbit’s.
“Please,” he begged. “Let me live.”
“Lay down your sword and go!” Orrin said.
The magician didn’t need to be told twice. He immediately took off into the green forest, leaving his sword on the ground.
I stared in awe at Orrin, who was wiping the blood off of his blade. I was completely amazed. Of course, as luck would have it, this was just the beginning of a rapid turn of events and other nasty surprises along the way. But it still shocked me. I always thought of Orrin as an old-timer farmer type who couldn’t wield a sword, and not as a grandmaster in the art of the blade. And yet, when I saw him slashing away at the magicians like it was no big deal, somehow he fitted the role perfectly. And then my view towards him changed completely. I’d thought of him as my brother, but now I started thinking of him as my own father.
Rubin was not stunned at all. I guess it was probably because he hadn’t known Orrin like I had, and thought that he was some kind of retired war hero or something like that.
“Orrin…” I started. “How…”
He smiled. “Don’t ever judge a book by its cover.” He said. “Remember that. It could save you in the future.”
“You never told me you were…”
“You just never asked.”
I slapped my forehead. Of course! Stupid me for not asking. But I could care less. Right now, I suddenly had a few unrelated questions to ask.
“Alright, we killed the dumb magicians,” I said. “What do we do now?”
Having been raised on the street, I had full knowledge that every single town had its own share of troubles. And, since gossip was one of the many cancerous things that plagued the country, each town knew about each other town’s troubles. And, now, I had a feeling on what we were going to do next.
“We’re going to go to Anderhall,” Rubin said. “I remember that place. There are lots of stories there. We might be able to get a quest or two from them.”
“Rubin, you and I both know that we’re not exactly grade-A material,” I said. Which was true, as we’d both been taken out by two magicians in one blow. “We need someone to help us. So, Orrin, can you somehow train us?”
Orrin grinned. “I might be able to teach you a thing or two.” He said. “On the contrary, it will take much time, and time is what we don’t have.”
Rubin nodded. “The sehirians are after me now,” he said. “I might be a wanted man right now. But if we can get a large enough group of people, we just might…”
“Tell you what,” Orrin said. “Let’s kill two Kobolds with one hook. I’ll train you through the use of enemies whose whereabouts the towns will provide. That way, we’ll soon have you both strong enough and ready to lead and a small army to accompany you.”
“Alright!” I said with a grin. “I smell adventure! Let’s be off again!”
Anderhall took a whole day to reach. When we’d gotten to the city, night was falling. However, the town’s tavern was still open, and there were a few people milling about. We reported our success to the natives, and the word quickly spread. The townspeople began to pour out their problems to us. Orrin, thank goodness, sorted out the ones that seemed too difficult for us at the moment. However, he kept them nevertheless. It’s important to keep your options high when going on a large questing campaign.
Our first stop was at the Glowing Night Tavern, which was an abandoned villa south of Anderhall. Our task was to decapitate a screaming Haunted Bride, called Veronivaska the Bane of Shadows, who was a nightmarish creature gone mad and on a killing rampage. Orrin decided that this activity would best suit us at our starting skill level.
The haunted house was built on an open field with few trees except for the crags that surrounded the plot like a natural barrier. The moon rose high in the sky, and we could see owls in the treetops. There was little grass growing on the mostly dirt ground, with ominous scars of black charred ash all over them.
“Here it is,” I said.
Orrin turned to us. “Alright, here’s what we’re going to do. You, Jason, are going to prevent the creature from escaping. Rubin, you’re going to slay it. If anything goes wrong, I’ll be watching, and I’ll come save you immediately.”
I grinned. “Fair enough,” I said. “You two have fun; I’ll be helping myself to their loot.” They headed off into the house.
I, however, took the longer route towards the back entrance. They say that bandits keep their loot in their camps, dragons keep them in lairs, but wild beasts keep them in secret places, such as in the back storage room. And that is where I went.
The mansion had an overhang that stretched around the back like a balcony, and leaves and mossy vines grew near the sides, and hanging spider webs and ant nests were attached to it. A scorpion scuttled along the balcony’s edge, dropping among the stacks of hay and pots and pans that piled in front of the backdoor. I drew my saber, and advanced towards the battered rotted wooden door. I could hear rustling from within, as if there were thousands of creatures locked within the storehouse.
Slowly, I brought my saber up to the knob, and then pushed the door ever so slightly open. I froze as I heard the creak of a hundred-year old wooden door opening.
A moment later, I found myself pinned to the ground by a massive rogue wolf spider, staring right at his mandibles, only inches from my face.
With a yell, I rolled away from under the hideous creature, picked up a pot from the pile, and hurled it at the spider. The pot struck the spider in the eye, bruising the muscle. The spider hissed and stepped back slowly, stunned momentarily. This was all I needed.
With another yell, I slashed my saber in the side of the spider, ripping through the thick fur and letting out a small stream of green blood. The spider, enraged, let out another loud hiss and rammed into me, determined to rip my head off with its sharp mandibles. It pushed me into the pile of pots and pans, and I collapsed on my back. Snatching the closest pot, I managed to drive its handle into the spider’s maw to keep it from goring me alive.
With a burst of energy, I threw the spider away from me, and grabbed my saber. The spider shot down, ready to pounce on me again. But this time, I was ready. I brought up my green-stained sword just as the spider leapt on me, and felt the blade slide through the skin and felt the hilt jam against the spider’s fur.
Trembling, I threw the spider to the side, pulling my blade out. The spider landed upside down, and bended its knees inward, dead. Wiping the greasy spider blood off of my blade, I peered inside the backdoor.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was so much gold stored inside that I could feel my eyes turn to amber. There were gold necklaces, gold coins, golden goblets, teapots made of gold and silver; you name it. I was almost speechless.
“Jackpot…” I said. “THIS IS SO AMAZING!”
“I know, right?” said a voice behind me, which nearly made me jump fifty feet into the air.
“Who are you?” I spun around; my sword pointed, and found myself face to face with a grinning Rubin.
“How did-” I started.
“I followed you!” Rubin said. “There wasn’t anything in the front of the mansion. We searched the whole area, and then heard you fighting in the back. So we came to investigate.”
“You and Orrin?” I said. “But where’s Orrin?”
Rubin looked behind him, as if expecting someone to be there. He looked surprised. “That’s funny. He was right behind me.”
I looked around the back. “Perhaps he took the longer way around?”
Rubin frowned. “No, I actually followed him here. I pulled ahead of him at the last second.”
I grinned. “Let’s just get some of this treasure and get back inside before-”
I heard a horrifying wail coming from inside the mansion.
I looked to Rubin. “That can’t be good.”
Rubin nodded. “Quick; let’s go!”
We hurried into the mansion. The house was much bigger on the inside. Three stories of rooms surrounded a massive living room with inner balconies and an overwatch in the center. And standing right on the overwatch was…
The most hideous, wretched creature I’d ever seen. It looked like a green gnarly old lady butchered up and stitched back together again. The claws on the monster were twisted and gnarly, and the teeth were sharp and looked like those of a saber tooth tiger’s.
“Yep,” I said. “This is our guy.”
The monster let out another loud wail, and jumped off the balcony. We scattered as the Bane of Shadows landed on top of the wooden table in the center of the room, smashing the old cracked clay pots and cups.
“I am Veronivaska the Bane of Shadows!” The screaming haunted bride roared. “Slayer of Azokimos and The Obliteration Band! Annihilator of The Seven Siren Brothers! PREPARE TO DIE!”
“Tempting offer, mind you,” I said with a grin. “How about discussing this matter over tea?”
Apparently the Bane of Shadows didn’t like the thought of tea. With another shriek, she jumped at me. Swearing loudly, I swung the hilt of my saber into her face, cracking against her skull loudly. With all the ferocity of a wild beast, she swung her claw at me, grazing my forehead just barely. I ducked around her arm just in time, bringing my blade to her leg. I felt it cut through nothing. The Nightmare had leapt over me.
Rubin, coming up from behind me, let out a cry of surprise as the dark object slammed into him. I saw the claws come on his face, as the monster tore at his cheeks and ripped his right eye out. Rubin staggered back, bleeding and slashing blindly with his sword using his one good remaining eye. But I charged right at the beast.
“You want death?” I yelled. “WELL DEATH HAS ARRIVED!”
I swung my sword straight at the small, bony neck of the Bane of Shadows. No way could she’ve dodged it. I felt the short pause of the blade before it followed through, loping off the head of the goddamned creature.
The body flailed for around half a second, spraying green blood everywhere. Some of the monster’s blood landed on my face and clothes. I stared in silence as Rubin groped around for his missing eye. He found it, and pocketed it with one hand, holding his bleeding socket closed with the other. We were silent.
“Let’s go,” I finally said.