(The Monk; The Halfling; the
beginning of a tale; grapes, the tragedy)
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T |
he lone shadow sat upon the unadorned gray cloth, the cool breeze playing with his unkempt locks of shiny ebony hair, casually tossing them in front of his crystal-blue eyes. The figure didn't notice. Indeed, upon a closer inspection the man seemed not even to breathe, so rigid was his posture; so fixed was his concentration. He was blocking out his senses and seemed a likely candidate for any sort of attack. The person walking up the hill knew better.
The approaching individual was a halfling, a race reputed to be perfect thieves and spies, due to their naturally high dexterity, and their unusual upbringing. Descended from fairly short-lived creatures that had once lived in comfortable holes in the earth, and dens in the largest of trees, there wasn't a halfling that had once ever attained a life's ambition. They lived completely carefree lives, wanting only to share a warm fire, and drink and eat at their leisure.
Physically, they grew no more than three and one-half feet tall, with small, pointed ears that could hear a fly at over one hundred paces. Their eyes saw fairly well in the infrared spectrum, being able to see heat patterns in complete darkness. The elder halfling’s usually sported a very large paunch, proof of love for the easy life. A few of the halfling youths, not content with their established lots in life, sometimes struck out on adventurer's roads, to satisfy their ambitions. Then they, in turn, could sit upon a warm hearth, and retell stories to wide-eyed babes of horrible monsters and treasure galore.
And so, tucking their thieves’ tools under a maze of folds of cloth that adorned the miniature pickpockets, they set out on the road to find their fortunes. Thieves tools, a collection of snippets of wire and metal pieces, some hooked, others bent, and all at crazy angles, helped the potential cutpurse in picking locks to doors, windows, chests, or anything else that just might need a lock to protect it!
But despite their somewhat casual attitude towards thievery, most Halflings do not go in search of wealth. It is the actual adventures that they love. To tell the tale of the time that the furious dragon nearly scorched their hide while they stole away its most precious treasure could only be the best thing to ever happen to him (or her), at least in the eyes of those reckless beings.
The approaching halfling had seen adventures similar to that one, with this curious individual meditating at the top of the hill. And he had full confidence that he would really get to steal something that belonged to a dragon someday. He had traveled with his companion for several months now, and he could say, and he often did, that he knew the shadowy man better than anybody. What had started out as a matter of convenience had surprisingly turned into real friendship... if he could claim friendship to anyone. And it certainly helped to be associated with this stranger.
As he crested the grass-covered hill, the halfling was surprised to see that his friend had stirred, casting a glance and motioning the smaller man towards him. Seeing that he wasn't bothering his companion, the halfling, Todrick, broke into a grin and increased his strides, no longer trying to conceal his approach.
The shadow now stood to his full height, and groaned slightly as he stretched his arms over his head, getting the kinks out of his stiffened muscles. Todrick knew how long his friend had been sitting on the meditation cloth and had halfway expected him of not being able to rise at all.
"Well, so you can still move," taunted the halfling.
The other man just smiled, making his thin eyes seem even smaller. Then, as he continued to limber up, the man replied back, his voice still carrying much of the foreign accent from across the oceans. "Now Todrick," (he pronounced it 'Tod-lick', which annoyed the halfling so) "...If you meditated more, then you would be able to sit for greater periods of time as well. A half-day is not so long."
Half-day! I can't sit for more than five minutes, thought the other, but he retorted, "Oh, go smoke your hole!" Something which caused the yellow-tinted man to glance back at the halfling, amused despite himself.
The halfling was, of course, using an old saying of his people that dated back a few centuries, even before the Evoked Devastation that had so radically changed the face of Erin-Tal. The phrase referred to when Todrick's ancestors had at one time lived in those comfortable dens in the earth, or the bowels of a gigantic redwood tree...but intended or not, the monk had caught the other meaning of the halfling's phrase.
"By the way," continued Todrick. "You aren't tricking me into believing that you can't say my name right. I know that your father was from this country! You had to have grown up knowing how to speak our language with him around."
"You never met my father," the young monk laughed back. "Oh, you're right. I did indeed learn a lot from him. When I was six, I knew every curse word backwards and forwards, and the slang I spoke would hardly be 'proper'! In fact," now Talanon was looking at his own feet, "it was really vulgar!
“And it is something my mother never forgave. I embarrassed her by spewing a stream of curses at the prince...” Talanon stopped again, the embarrassment burning his cheeks.
Truly curious now, Todrick glanced at his friend, grinning from pointed ear to pointed ear. He really looked the part of the joyful cherub now, as his curly brown hair framed his exited face. Todrick leaned forward and spoke to his friend. "And..."
"Well, when do you think I learned to become a warrior?"
"Uh, you mean..."
Talanon sighed deeply, knowing full well that he was in a knot tied by himself. Finally, he continued his story. "The young prince was put in his place by a foul-mouthed, half-breed, child barbarian, and his loss of face was more than he could stand. The full weight of his 'dishonor'...” The youth paused, clearly uncomfortable with the word.
He noticed Todrick looking at him with a definite question on his face. Talanon saw it, but waved the look away. "His 'dishonor' fell upon my entire family, for my mother was the prince's cousin. She was barred forever from the castle. As for myself, the immediate gossip was that I would serve out the rest of my life as a servant. It was fully enough that they had let us live there at all, they thought, mostly due to the way that they felt about Occidentals."
"'They?'"
Smiling sadly, the monk replied, "The Asians... The people of my land."
"Oh," replied Todrick, in a smaller voice. He could feel the disappointment flowing from his friend, but didn't want to push it too much.
As they were picking up the remains of Talanon's camp, Todrick once again steered the conversation back to Talanon's tortured past. The monk continued again, but his heart was not in the tale. The reason soon became evident.
"My father's position was Erin-Tal’s trade emissary. Well, his position demanded more status than the Asians would normally give him. He was gaijin, which roughly means barbarian in common. But more than what it means, it is the status of the phrase that really counts. My entire family is gaijin, including my mother, but most especially my sister and myself. Even my cousins feel the burden of my parent’s marriage, and our mixed bloodline."
Todrick was nearly at a loss. He had never heard his friend, his mentor, speak for so long, and had no idea that his pain ran so deep. Since meeting his strange young friend, for Halflings lived a shorter life span than humans, he considered all humans young, Todrick had learned only recently that his mother’s people considered Talanon a half-breed. Even beggars were held in more regard than him, or any Occidental. His mother's country, Quaranel, was where the young monk had lived until recently. The other part of his soul came from his father.
Talanon's father was the infamous sailor, Captain Jonar, who had finally bridged the gap between the two continents. The celebrated captain then married the royal princess Cry'sn to seal the trade agreement of the two lands. The newlyweds even fell in love, for Talanon's mother eventually sailed to this land with her husband, nearly forsaking her heritage. Now, she serves as the liaison between her land and the new community called Clu-Jan. Clu-Jan is located on the southwestern part of Erin-Tal, just north of Jun, the trade island that had so reshaped the history and the future of this continent.
Sadly, Jonar perished in the western sea, saving the fleet by distracting the giant squids that had attacked the ships. He sacrificed both his galleon and his crew, thereby allowing the rest of the fleet to escape. By the time the wizards and priests could continue the battle, Jonar's ship, The Explorer, had vanished in the furious storm. Spells of locating finally found the ship in assorted fragments, with the bulk of it down in the murky depths of the angry ocean. Several bodies were found, but the majority of the crew and Jonar had disappeared.
All of this flashed in the thoughts of the multi-classed thief. But despite all that his friend had gone through, Talanon appeared none the worse for his experiences. And yet, one thought still crept in the halfling's mind. "Just what did the prince say? It must have been truly horrible to have earned your temper."
Sighing one more, Talanon picked up his robe that he wore when adventuring, and began to roll up his mat that he had sat on. Todrick, not getting an answer, dismissed the question as too personal, and set about helping his friend. As they walked back down the hill, and out of the forest, the young monk once more continued the painful tale. They stepped back onto the dirt road, the only road on Jun outside the town of Jun-A-Ta, and continued walking towards the setting sun, towards the city.
"The prince used to taunt me, whenever he wanted. I learned at an early age, however, that this might be normal. Therefore, his words often fell on deaf ears."
"What was 'normal', Tal?"
The monk looked extremely sad as he replied to his ever-curious friend. "The people in my land are so bound up by their own righteousness, that they forever fail to see the truth, sometimes when it is right in front of them."
That was not an answer, Todrick mused to himself, and after a few moments of walking down the dry, dusty road he said so to the teller of this tale. But, the man only shook his head and replied something about hoping that Todrick would never find out what the answer was. The halfling had figured out that it must be something called ‘prejudicial’, but when he pressed Talanon about it, the monk refused to answer.
The youth was depressed, Todrick knew, and as Talanon had first instructed him all those months ago, misery loves company. But, if problems are presented to a friend or loved one, they began to lessen, simply by sharing them. 'The negative energy of sadness is repulsed and weakened by the positive fires of joy’, he had once heard the monk say.
Todrick still didn't understand it much, but he had learned that it does help to talk about some things. Of course, he reasoned, few things bother carefree Halflings! We mostly live for the moments! But they still care for their friends, and even for their non-halfling friends.
The pair passed several farmers that were heading towards town to display and sell their wares, from clothing to food. Todrick saw a particular tasty-looking bunch of grapes and when he knew Talanon was back into the story and not paying much attention, he snagged it skillfully from the unsuspecting peasant. Talanon, however, without missing a syllable in his tale, deftly slid a few coppers in the palm of the vendor to pay for the now missing fruit.
The monk paused ever so briefly as he paid for the grapes, sensing something amiss. He stared intently at the peasant, the monk’s eyes finally settling on the other’s chest, where a lump could be seen, as if something was under the vendor’s tunic. But finally, the monk shook his head, clearing his thoughts, and moved on, giving the other a curious smile that the monk could not, or would not explain. The farmer missed the entire exchange, for he was concerned as to why he was given the coins. He was therefore somewhat astonished, and glanced up in surprise at the adventurer. The peasant began to protest that he was an honest businessman, and charity was not welcome. Then, the monk shook his head, smiled an innocent smile, and pointed at the still-departing halfling. The farmer’s surprise was complete when he saw the grapes disappear into the layered folds of cloth that draped over the small frame of the little halfling.
He was about to cry, "Stop Thief!" when he saw the odd skin-colored man jog over and continued talking to the halfling and at the same time, gesturing back at the vendor, motioning him to keep silent, by raising one finger to his lips. Looking down into his palm, he saw the remuneration that the taller man had given him, and decided rather wisely not to complain. And as he saw the pair make their way to the town, the vendor was struck by the surface similarities between them.
In fact, when glancing at the two, most people shook their heads and laughed, because the smaller man tried desperately to imitate his powerful and wise young friend by appearing just like him. The monk was dressed in a flowing, brown robe over what was homespun clothing, stitched casually when small rips and tears had appeared on them, either by accident, wear, or weapon. He also wore leather-hiking boots that had once belonged to his father, and he walked with a confident stride that rang of its humility. The only item of interest on the monk was a simple wooden staff that practically reeked of old age and care, but when it was studied closely, the item had a much newer appearance; it's intricate carvings magical in nature that told tales unimagined in Talanon's native tongue.
The halfling looked like a smaller version of the monk, at least at first glance. But his clothes were of the finest quality (the rough texture like Talanon wore had been extremely irritating!), his boots were undoubtedly magical in design, and his staff was carved much like his friend's, though of only plain wooden stock.
But that is not what immediately set them apart. Where Talanon's robes were concerned, they flowed evenly, showing the world a simple man. But the halfling was a thief, and a talented one at that. His robes had many hiding pouches within them, and they held other more interesting items as well.
Spell components.
Most of these items were held in pouches, leather boxes and bags for quick access. If not for their ingenious designs, poor Todrick would rattle and shake with every step. However, the obvious care that was put into the shape and usage of each holding item negated that effect. So now, poor Todrick could move as silently as a cat in the moonlight.
The halfling was not only a pickpocket, but it appeared that he was a sorcerer as well. In fact, up to this time, in the combined histories of the schools of magic, Todrick was the only known halfling illusionist/thief ever.
Ever!
The reason is quite clear, actually. Most Halflings are not taken very seriously, nor do they take themselves solemnly. Plus their exceptional dexterity make them naturals for thieves, scouts, and spies, and subsequently, this is how they are raised. Not surprisingly, due to their somewhat casual attitude on nearly everything, Halflings have made poor magic-users. Illusionist schools, and their magic’s, are an even more demanding group than those of normal wizards, for they rely almost totally on illusion, not offensive spells to survive. Those that become successful are few and far between.
But Todrick wasn't your normal halfling. He was typical with his style of living; his adventuring was just roads to another experience. But his hunger for power was not. And, illusions came easily to him, for he was a quick learner.
The young halfling had originally studied with Sen-torianna, one of the most famous of the tutors in the ways of becoming magi. She had been training would-be magicians and necromancers for the last four hundred years, and was one of only three living people to remember the actual devastation that had so twisted the very being of this planet. She was a legend among her fellow elves, and the waiting list to be her student was very long and impressive. In fact, some of the students who wished to study with her could very well claim to be a master all in their own right.
But Sen-torianna had grown increasingly more impatient with Todrick. He had quickly mastered those spells that she knew about illusions, and those bearing illusion-type charms, but he had failed at the simplest of other types of spells. Finally, when she walked into her chamber and found the youth easily casting those kind of spells centering on the phantasmal energies that even she had trouble casting, she knew which direction Todrick's path lay.
So, with a formal letter of blessing from the elven mage, the young Todrick became the first halfling to ever attend, let alone graduate from The Yelistan, the much sought after school of Illusion. He had traveled three days to the secret college, located just west of the floating city of Tora. That trail alone was a tale worth telling.
Realizing that he might have disrupted the monk's train of thought, the elusive thief asked again just what the prince had said.
The young mystic's face grew wistful as he looked up into the blurry, storm angry sky, now ironically reflecting his tragic past. "The prince made a fatal mistake... He said something about my mother."
"And?"
"And, don't say anything about an Easterner's family. To we Asians, family is everything. Honor is everything. The two are inseparable. To insult someone's family is... it’s like defecating on your best friend's dinner, only worse. Much worse. The prince was deliberately insulting my entire family, because I was gaijin."
Todrick nodded his head, accepting, if not understanding his friend’s explanation. As the two were setting their sights on entering the town some mile or two away, Talanon paused momentarily, testing the wind with his senses. Something was wrong; something was affecting the very balance of the area. If only he could figure out just what it was...
The vendor was still counting the money the strange, young man had given him when he felt his skin on his chest suddenly becoming quite warm, and very uncomfortable. He reached up and scratched what he supposed was an itch under his tunic; obviously it needed to be washed, when he gasped in pain. His fingers had brushed the charm he had recently bought from his brother, and it responded with a sudden, stabbing sensation. As he pulled aside his tunic, he was shocked to find the bauble that he had bought was slowly imbedding itself into his very skin. The item was an unusual black-green trinket with an off-pink jewel in the center, and every time he touched it, the talisman sank lower and lower beneath the surface of his infected skin. In a panic, the farmer grasped the chain around his neck and yanked hard on the metal links. The result of that action was that the chain snapped off the item, and the charm smoked and sizzled even deeper into his chest. Numbing pain now gave way to unbelievable agony.
His shriek filled the sky.
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When the howl pierced the air, the monk with dawning horror finally knew what was amiss. He turned on his heel, and dashed for the mound he and Todrick had just crossed.
Todrick, upon hearing the cry, stopped walking, and turned to see his friend bolt towards the crest of the foothill.
“I knew it!” In near disgust, he picked up his own walking stick that he had dropped in the confusion, and trotted after the impulsive monk. One day, I hope I can teach him patience, he muttered to himself, already breathing hard from the exertion. Halflings aren’t built for this!!!
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“Quickly sisters! It’s nearby!” Skl’a said hurriedly, her bulbous eyes darted this way and that, nervously jumping at the land-based shadows. Her depth perception was shot, she knew it, and now so did the others. A grayish-sheen coated her warty brow, as she broke out into a neurotic sweat, offending the very bushes they crouched within.
“Did you hear that? It’s feeding, and soon, so will we!” K’kla cackled with undisguised glee. She fell back into a intricate finger dance, toying with her hair as it dried uncomfortably in the hateful sun. K’kla, the youngest of the trio, silently hoped that she would come unblemished out of this, for the sun was a slow death to such as they. The item that they had been searching so hard for was now reacting to the presence of the weapon that the third in their trio now held.
The third, Bri, larger than either, and therefore leader, gave a look of alarm back towards the two green-skinned creatures such as she. “Quietly, you fools. The humans may have their damned Guard nearby. We won’t get TR’Kyanar so easily with them about!” She toyed briefly with the trident she had conned away from Wek-yna, the Merman sergeant. He would have her head speared upon it if anything happened to his prizes, supposedly a gift from Poseidon himself. “Remember. Hit and flee!”
The other two nodded back as they drooled uncontrollably, now fully awake after the cooling period had warmed off. Though able to breathe air for a short while, they longed for the cool depths of the seawater and of the lair where their hatchlings sat, surrounded by the sealionesses. Of medium height, sickly green in appearance, and ugly beyond imaginings, the seahags were the picture of all that could go wrong in nature. They therefore despised beauty of any kind, thinking that they were in fact, the lovely ones.
Bri sniffed the air, cautiously. She thought something was different, but she couldn’t find anything to support her growing uneasiness. Her limited senses were betraying her, and lulled the hag into a false sense of security. Plus, the other two mothers present were making her fidgety as well. She smacked the back of the heads of her brethren, eliciting a squawk from both. With a movement of her head, and a three-clawed gesture, they knew that it was time to reclaim what once was theirs... and to feed.
***************************************************
As Talanon rounded the top of the small hill, he saw the peasant thrashing about on the ground, screaming pathetically. The monk stopped only for a second to register three things. First, the sight of the man he had so recently met, who was now dying. Pity filled his heart at the vision of the farmer, and the attack he was having. Second, he saw the peddler’s family rushing to their father and husband from their residence, which was located just off the beaten path. And third, he saw green-grayish monsters descending from the patch of woods on the opposite side of the road. Swearing one of his father’s favorite epitaphs, the mystic darted down the hill to protect the farmer and his family.
A few moments later, the halfling puffed to where the monk had just been, saw the exact same things as his friend, and knew that more help might be needed, if not for the two adventurers, then for the peasant family. So, the halfling reached into his many pouches, and brought forth a handful of assorted spell components, the most noteworthy one a dash of flash powder. Quickly, Todrick spoke an incantation, and threw his hands wide apart in the air as the last of the inflections was spoken.
Massive flashes of light and sound plumed outward, as the first part of the pyrotechnics spell went off. As the conjuration continued it’s loud, boisterous display, Todrick resumed his strenuous jogging, knowing that in the midst of the upcoming melee, he wanted to be next to his impulsive, young friend. After all, he reasoned, he probably will need me.
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“Daddy!” Johnny screamed out as the youngster dashed to his father’s side. The boy fearfully saw his father’s crimson-stained fingertips, and at once noticed the feeble attempts his dad was making in trying to dig the alien device out of his chest. The child could see his father’s life’s blood as it frothed in his mouth, where it bubbled and ran down to soak in the ground. The black piece of jewelry that his dad had gotten from his Uncle Robert sat smoking and churning as it slowly melted into the spot that had once been his father’s chest. Unseeing, the eight-year old boy grabbed his dad’s shoulders, and shook him, desperately trying to wake him, to do something. The child called his father’s name over and over, like a prayer to some nameless being. So immersed into this selfless act, the boy failed to see the shadow fall over him.
“Perfect. Lunch and a snack, all at one sitting!” cackled the thing.
Gray she was, with open sores upon her skin that oozed forth a foul-emanating stench the like Johnny had never dealt with before. He had been raised on a farm, and had smelled all types of decay, but nothing quite like this. The boy was used to the odors from the wastes of the animals, to the rotting food that he stirred up in the compost pile that was used to sustain the still-fertile ground. The ground was rich in other areas as well, thanks in part to the active volcano on the isle, though it hadn’t erupted in his lifetime. But it had during his father’s...
Cold anger swept into Johnny as he realized his father was dying. He knew the evil item on his dad’s chest had everything to do with it, and he knew, without knowing, that this beast that now towered above him was responsible. His scared, haunted look was quickly replaced with one that made the hag regard the boy with mock seriousness.
“So ye want revenge, do ye, man-child? ...For your sire?” she chuckled ever so mercilessly.
Johnny nodded, slowly, as he inched a few steps to his left.
The seahag became lost in delicious amusement as she continued the torment of her meal by persisting in the stalking game. For every step the luscious morsel took away from her, she easily maintained the distance, smacking her lips, and involuntarily causing her body to emit even more of the noxious odors that already were having an effect on the boy, though he was fighting it. The pallor of his skin was a deathly white, but Skl’a could sense a fever coursing through his veins. His veins! So close was she to him that she could actually hear the blood pounding through his strong, yet tiny heart. So close she heard the tendons of his arms stretch and relax. The hag nearly swooned from such ecstasy.
So lost in her raging emotions, Skl’a didn’t notice the boy twist suddenly. Then a new sensation filled her as she felt cold, rough, hard metal enter her stomach as she was momentarily driven backwards. Then she became lost in both the pain and nausea that followed. Skl’a sank down to one knee, and braced herself on one clawed hand, reaching out instinctively.
Johnny felt a brief sense of joy at seeing the monster cower in agony as he continued pushing against her, the pitchfork he held now firmly imbedded within her. However, he didn’t anticipate the speed of the beast as the hag lashed out in pain and anger. All too quickly, the boy felt himself hanging in the air as the seahag stood up so fast he didn’t have time to register the movement. All too suddenly, he couldn’t breathe as the hag tightened her grip on his neck.
Skl’a studied the human whelp with a detached point of view. Her anger displaced the injured muscles and kept her moving, despite the human’s forked weapon that the boy had jabbed into her. “Child, ye will die befor’ I even takes’ out this damned stick. Takes’ comfort tha’ soon ye will be w’ yer sire!” Still grasping the thrashing boy with her right arm, she began to work the pitchfork out of her abdomen.
The boy saw a movement directly to his right, and thinking that the other monsters were coming in for the kill, he closed his eyes tightly, praying to Demeter, the Goddess of Agriculture, to be merciful, and let the end be swift. Johnny therefore didn’t see, but rather felt the jolt that went through the beast. Suddenly he was on the ground, landing with a whump that took the breath even further out of his body, the impact making his eyes snap open suddenly. He saw the monster bowled over by a man with long, black hair and ferocious blue eyes that looked like they were weapons all of their own.
Skl’a screamed with renewed pain as the newcomer smashed the pitchfork even further into her own body. Suddenly, the man twisted her left arm painfully behind herself, causing the hag to lose her balance. She felt herself being turned about, and she toppled backwards, the human landed on her chest, and smashed his opened palm directly into her face, destroying her nose, sending sharp, jutting bone fragments deep within her brain. The hag, uglier now, even if such a thing was possible, was dead before the concept even registered in her brain.
Talanon continued the momentum he generated, somersaulting over the horrid remains of the now dead monster, and nearly landed on the still-twitching fruit vender. At the last second, he twisted about, and finally settled down very near the gasping man. He desperately wanted to administer whatever help he could, and the monk was torn between that duty, and the other that presented itself before him. The mystic crouched next to the still-suffering man, placing a cooling, comforting hand on the injured man’s forehead, yet never taking his eyes off the approaching beasts. Sudden concern for the boy arose as he recalled his own father’s teachings about these creatures.
“Down, lad!” he ordered, and the boy, used to his parent’s commanding tones, dropped back to the earth. He started to rise up and watch this hero, but the man in the brown robes shook his head as he stood boldly against the other two monsters that still approached. “Don’t look at them, child! To completely see them could be your death!” This was so true, for Talanon remembered tales of experienced seamen that had forgotten that basic message. One of the seahag’s weapons was that their total visage was a natural weapon. You literally died from fright if you view them completely, and that selfsame visage transmits to your brain or soul. The men had died of ghastly fright moments later, expressions of fear and disgust etched forever on their features.
The remaining two seahags paused a second, eyeing the dangerous newcomer. Neither one suspected how Skl’a had died so suddenly. They only knew that she had, for both had heard the sickening, wet, fatal crunch. Plus, they had seen her topple backwards with the man standing defiantly a moment later. Skl’a had been a full birth mother a few years ago, reaching her maturity shortly afterwards, so she was no weakling some mere human could do away with so quickly. The leader, Bri, motioned the other forward in a sweeping gesture meant to trap the brown-robed man between the two. She brandished the gleaming trident, it’s tips coated with a dull glaze. The other hag evidently preferred to use her natural weapons - her claws and razor-sharp teeth.
Just as the smaller hag started her movement, a brown rolling ball crashed at her feet. She glanced down, to see a smiling, cherubic face framed with brown, curly hair. He opened his right palm as he finished an elaborate movement while speaking softly. There, a sparkle of color suddenly blazed forth.
“Here!” he cried out suddenly, invoking the last of the incantation. The color of the gem in Todrick’s opened palm was a deep, crystalline red, like the color of blood. Though it was a small ruby, it was still flawless in it’s size and shape. After Todrick’s incantation, the stone rose to right in front of the hag’s oh-so-ugly extended nose. There it hung in the air, spinning faster and faster. She watched, fascinated despite herself. Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed the halfling had rolled between her feet. Just as she was turning to find him anew, the gem exploded. Massive plumes of fire, hot and wicked, enveloped the unfortunate beast. The fireball rolled out for ten feet in every direction, consuming everything. Todrick grinned despite himself as he ran to motion the farmer’s family backwards, and readied another Chromatic Orb spell in case Talanon needed his help.
Bri’s surprise that the odds had suddenly shifted against her pack was no greater than the complete astonishment that she now stood alone against skilled warriors. Though not used to this unusual type of fighting, the seahag had defeated whole groups of cowering humans before, and she wasn’t about to let one half-sized morsel and another leaping meal stop her from what she and her warren needed so desperately. “TR’Kyanar,” she thought miserably. She took a half step towards the still-twitching human that lay in the dirt, but the brown-robed human shuffled to stand before the other, depriving her of her prize.
“TR’Kyanar!” the hag screamed, aware that she would have to work very hard to get the item. She felt that the chances were getting less and less that she would make away with TR’Kyanar, for she had seen the light & sound display the halfling magician had apparently done, not to mention his exploding gem spell.
“Wh- What was that?” Todrick asked, keeping his gaze averted, yet standing before the farmer’s family, who were attempting to help the fallen man.
“Unknown, but she wants something,” the monk reasoned, yet never taking his eyes off the monster. So not to let her ability to kill with a glance affect him, he kept his vision out of focus, a trick he had learned back in his homeland. It was a fairly common lesson learned when you dealt with sprites and good dragons. It was rumored that some spirits could take your very soul if you gazed into their eyes. “Maybe it wants that ghastly thing in this poor soul’s chest. See to it!”
Paling ever so slightly, the halfling asked back, “ME?”
At that point, the hag rushed the monk, stopping any retort he had planned. Bri stabbed this way and that, trying to score even a light hit, wanting the poison on the barbed tips to do the work she needed to do. Yet the man easily evaded her every movement, his arms and torso were like the waters that spawned her, ever flowing in all directions. His feet continually shifted, keeping himself balanced. But the monk didn’t attack her back, despite the many openings he saw. He wanted to find out exactly why this man had to die, and he knew this creature could tell him what he needed to know. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the slightest idea on how to communicate with her.
The sea hag darted left, impossibly fast, but faster still was Talanon, who jabbed three times successfully with his left hand. The monster evaded right, but walked straight into the monk’s smashing foot, which caught her on the chin. A soggy squish was the result, and the hag staggered backwards, screaming and clawing, opting instead to now use her hands rather than the trident. Desperately trying to keep this strange human at bay, both her arms and her body stayed in constant motion. Twice she thought she had him as her unbelievable speed assisted her in grasping either his clothing, or one of his arms. But the human either twisted away, or was able to redirect her grab. It didn’t seem like strength was so much his ally as it was the sheer fluidic movement of his entire body. The hag could find no purchase at all where she could utilize her superior strength.
Todrick would rather be battling the monster than attempting to dig around in the remains of the peddler. But what made it that much worse is the pitiful man wasn’t dead! The Halfling had just started poking and prodding, when the farmer moaned and grabbed the adventurer’s hand. Todrick gave a startled gasp and stood up a little more quickly than he probably would have preferred to do - in case anybody would have noticed - and started to walk away from this sight.
The peddler’s inhuman moan caused the miniature pickpocket to look back at the man, where he saw a courageous sight. The young lad had grabbed the discarded trident that Bri had dropped in her conflict with the monk, and was approaching the pair, determined to be of some help. But when the boy approached the battle, the trident began to glow a soft green. When that happened, the fatally injured farmer moaned and jerked, movement blurring underneath his bloody tunic. Both the boy and Todrick looked with some astonishment at the sea creature’s weapon.
“Tal!”
But before the monk could reply back, a hoarse, bubbly voice spoke with authority.
“Give it to me, child, and yer sire shall live!”
The two adventurers turned with surprise back to the remaining brute, which stood confidently, her hand outstretched towards the boy. In fear or loathing, the child took a step backwards away from her, and the glow of the trident diminished, as did the nerve-induced responses from the boy’s father. The hag started at this, and held up her other hand in a gesture of peace.
“I’ze tell ye truthfully, boy. Yer fathair will nae’ die, but ye must acts quickly, er’ the magic within yon talisman will surely kill ‘im. Only I can control my’se trident. Together they’ze can saves ‘im.”
“No,” came the scratchy voice of the injured man, startling all except the beast, who kept her gaze steady with the boy, who began to cry softly, hearing his father’s voice when he didn’t think that he ever would have again. “Johnny, step away... f-from me. I’m dead, that’s fer sure,” the boy’s father spoke softly, blood bubbling from his mouth as he did so.
“Tal, the trident... and the item...”
Nodding his head, the monk acknowledged his friend. “Oh aye, they’re connected somehow. And this creature knows how.” A sudden deadly look came into the mystic’s eyes. “And she’ll tell me what I want to know. Won’t you?” he asked the water creature, who nervously glanced back at the monk.
“Remember human,” she began tensely. “He will die if I don’t take TR’Kyanar from him.”
“But he won’t be truly alive, will he?” Talanon asked with venom, clenching and unclenching his hands.
“True,” acknowledged the monster with a sickly grin.
“How do you know this, Tal?” Todrick asked hesitantly, with his hands on his deadly twin daggers, ready to draw them if the monk failed in his plan, whatever it was.
“My father taught me many of the sea’s legends. If I’m correct, this jewelry is taping into this man’s heart, drawing forth the life from him. He will be controlled by it for some time to come,” the mystic replied with hatred, the evil before him making his own soul recoil, and he was becoming consumed with the need to destroy - to set this wrong... right again.
The hag chuckled deeply, smacking her lips with confidence. She had the human’s right where she wanted them. “And there’s nothin’ ye can do ‘bout it, man!”
“No?” questioned the halfling with a faraway look in his eyes.
Both the monster and Talanon looked at Todrick as he knelt beside the suffering man, and here compassion showed on the halfling deeply. He was not a callous man, far from it. It’s just his own morals were slightly different than everybody’s. The thief, with grief evident in his adult eyes that showed the world a man despite his childish size, raised both hands before him, the twin blades catching the sun’s rays for an instant.
Down they swooped. One plunged into the peasant’s abdominal and ripped upwards, where the other entered into the man’s right eye, clear to the hilt, and lodged itself into his brain. The farmer twitched momentarily, then died, his face relaxed, and at peace.
Shock settled in quickly for the area. The boy looked up at the adult who still sat beside his father. The lad’s tears had dried, even as the thief’s began to start. Talanon had shuddered at the viciousness of the strokes, and yet, he approved, knowing that the magic before him was out of their hands, and therefore, unreachable. But as the sheer violent nature of the incident settled into the monk, he relaxed slightly, momentarily forgetting the creature before them.
The hag refused to believe what had happened! The half-sized morsel had thwarted her plans. Now all was lost, for the blood and life force gained by TR’Kyanar was now oozing out, and was now useless. Rage filled her once again, and despite the odds against her, she darted to gather the human child in her strong arms. At the very least, he would provide a meal for her.
The monk turned slightly as he sensed the movement beside him. Cursing himself for a dullard, he was already beginning to launch an attack, when he felt a whistling breeze by him. Rolling and twisting away and down to the ground, Talanon narrowly avoided the three separate crossbow shafts that suddenly buried themselves into the body of the surprised sea creature.
The monk moved his head towards the crest of the hill, and there on the road, sat four armed men on horseback, with three other men in similarly clothed garb standing beside the great warbeasts. Recognizing the green tunics and the symbol of the everflowing tree, Talanon stood, and waved at the Guard, Jun-A-Ta’s soldiers, watchers and defenders of the island.
One of them, a man both Talanon and the halfling knew personally, raised his empty crossbow in a salute back to them. Captain William O'Donnelly was a harsh man, but fair, and he held his men’s respect. Neither a good man, nor evil, he was surprisingly kind nonetheless. He rearmed his weapon, and stuffed it back in his mount’s side bag, one designed for quick access to the bow. Having done that, he urged his horse down the hill, towards the two campaigners.
“Well met!” Talanon said, clasping William around the forearm in a brotherly handshake.
“And fer yerself, warrior! Ye’ve been busy, it seems,” replied back the captain, looking around at the grim scene. His face grew hard when he saw the young boy sobbing on his father’s corpse. “Tell me what happened here lads. The Duke’ll wantta hear of this!” The captain issued a couple of commands to his men, and they gently lifted the body of the farmer, and bore him to his home, where his family stood nearby, with the exception of the boy, who blankly watched all that was happening. The weapon of the seahag was taken as well as the item around the man’s neck, which had mysteriously detached itself from within the farmer’s chest. It looked fairly non-descript now, probably the same way it had appeared to the vendor before this incident.
A few minutes later, after the tale was told, the captain nodded his head. “Aye, ye did good, lads. But, what o’ the boy, ‘nd his family? What’s ta happen ta them, eh?”
Todrick shrugged his shoulders in a callous way that shocked his friend. “Why should we care? We’ve done what we could. I wish the farmer was still alive, but he’s not. That’s the way of things here in the realms. Survival.”
“Todrick! Not even you could be this uncaring about these people’s plight!” swore the monk, truly appalled.
“What would you have me do, Tal?” the halfling answered back sadly but quite firmly. “Take in the boy or his young sister over there? Marry the woman? Tend their fields? I’m not a farmer, nor do I have the inclination to learn to become one.”
“But-”
Sighing loudly, Todrick, the elder of the two by way of life’s experiences, brought his hand up in a measure of peace. “My friend, you can only live one life, the best you know how. And we did save this family. The responsibility is not ours.”
“The halfling’s right, warrior,” spoke the farmer’s wife, approaching the trio from the direction of her home. “I would thank you, sirrah, for all you have done. Now, leave us to bury our husband and father.” She smiled her sad smile, one that spoke of great understanding, and loss. She was a young woman, maybe beautiful or radiant once, but the hardships that she and her family had faced had aged the woman beyond her years, yet the monk could only see the spirit within. As she turned to leave, she glanced back at the trio, wanting to say more, but turned without speaking again. “Come, Johnny,” she called.
The lad walked past the monk, his head down, still leaking the tears of his grief. He glanced up once at the people who had fought for him and his family. His eyes shone with pride, and the monk remembered the boy’s fighting spirit. He felt he had to do something, to say something. Nothing the man knew could begin to comfort a boy who had lost his father, and was now facing a hard road ahead. A road that he was currently walking, age being the differing factor, yet that wound hurt the monk in ways he couldn’t begin to comprehend. Nothing could comfort except...
“Well done, lad,” Talanon said to the boy, who started and looked back to the monk.
“Pardon, m’lord?”
Kneeling beside the youth, the monk lowered his face to where the boy was taller than the mystic. “I couldn’t have defeated the one creature without your help. And when she was defeated so easily, it intimidated the other two. That allowed my magic-using friend to surprise one of the remaining monsters. We could not have succeeded without you.”
Johnny stared uncomprehendingly at the monk for a few seconds, and as he remembered what happened, the boy flushed with embarrassment, and tried to pull away.
Talanon, seeing he was reaching the youth, persisted. “You were very brave, John. Much braver than most people would give you credit for,” the monk spoke truthfully. “What’s your family name, lad?”
The youth drew himself up proudly as he responded. “Bromwell, sair!”
The monk looked over at the boy’s mother, who stood watching the pair with growing interest. He nodded. “Yes, a goodish name. You will do your mother proud, I’ve no doubt. And I know that you will have no trouble honoring your father. You must take after him a great deal. I’m certain he was a very brave man, right?”
The boy nodded, eyes wide, wearing the smile that only proud children can wear when compared to their parents, and they in turn thought the world of them. “He was the bravest man I ever knew,” little Johnny’s voice broke, and once again tears welled up within them. “Except for you, m’lord.” Then the tears did start running again.
Talanon patted the boy’s shoulder as he stood. “I doubt that I am worthy of such high praise, young one. I accept it humbly, but only...” here the monk paused, uncertain if he should continue, and yet he felt very comfortable walking down the current path he now was trodding. “Only if you agree to become my pupil... to learn what I know, to study what I will teach you and your family,” the monk added, nodding to the widow.
The youth moved to stand beside his mother, overcome. Then when he felt her touch on his shoulder, he looked up to see her face smiling down on him. She consented to the monk’s wishes by nodding once.
“I- I accept, m’lord. Will my sister study as well?”
Talanon nodded. “Only if it doesn’t interrupt her chores. The same can be said for you, for you will have to work that much harder now that your father has passed. Are you up to it, my lad?”
The boy nodded enthusiastically.
The monk turned to leave, but suddenly appeared to change his mind as he walked over to stand beside the farmer’s wife. He handed her a bag that jingled with its odd shapes within it. She gasped, but said nothing. Yet the monk could see the disapproval in her eyes.
“This is not charity, my lady. This was part of my share of recovered treasure from my last campaign. The demands of my faith and beliefs insist on this. I always donate what I don’t need to various organizations, including needy families. Would you deny my rights?”
For the first time since the monk had met the woman before him, he saw moisture forming in her eyes. The proud woman did not cry however, but stood majestically, gripping her son with a fierce grip. “Thank you, m’lord,” she said humbly, and started to bow before him.
The monk caught her chin in his hand, and raised her gaze so she saw him as an equal. “Nay, Mrs. Bromwell. I am no man’s lord. What you see is what I am: A simple man. My name is Talanon of Stronghelm. My closest friends call me Tal.”
Smiling brightly, the lady nodded. “Very well, Talanon. Perhaps you would allow me to make you some dinner in return for your kindness.”
“I would be honored,” the monk responded, truly flattered, with his thoughts speculative on the future.