His Grandfather puffed on a pipe, and thick smoke mixed with and the heavy vanilla scent of tobacco would fill the room. He would drink scotch out of a mason jar, the smelly kind that made Thom's toes curl, as he talked about a paradise stolen. A land of joy and learning, values and principles, decimated like ashes on a fire.
Danustran was beautiful, nestled high in the mountains by Basin Lake, which was always filled with cool clear mountain water. Grandfather described the castle, just as his father before him had described it, built of heavy stone into the mountain, an almost impenetrable fortress, although there was no need for such security from outside forces.
"Ha!" he would shout. "He certainly fooled them. They should have had people protecting themselves from the evil forces at play within the walls. He should never have been able to take it all. Every last cent the town had!"
Grandfather's raised voice never scared Thom, in fact, it only made his little body shake with the injustice of it all. If only he was old enough, if only he was there. He would never have let it happen. He knew it to his very core.
"It's human nature to be greedy. This town was doomed to failure! Such idealism leads to naivety, and let me tell you, they were naïve and ripe for the picking. It never occurred to them that the coins that lined the vault were disappearing. It was a year before the first person noticed!" his Grandfather would continue in a growl. "It was Joth himself, a prominent member of Arum's council, and your ancestor, who first became suspicious. He asked the King about it, but the scoundrel lied. He told of a neighboring village who needed help, and they were struggling to repay. King Arum convinced him that everything would be fine. If only he had been stopped him then!"
That was the family shame. Joth had watched it happen. He let the excuses slide. He should have known better, for if he did everyone's lives would have been so much different.
Anger always filled the room as Grandfather talked of Joth. It wasn't uncommon for him to fetch another drink. The extra one Thom never told his Grandmother about. Thom secretly liked hit when he hit that fourth glass, it would loosen Grandfather's tongue, and the stories would get wilder and more intense. On the best days, they would look at maps, and talk about the council would find in the following years after their departure of Danustran.
As Thom got older, they planned a trip of their own through the mountains to that fabled town, their proper home. Maybe together they could figure out how Arum had secreted away the money, and redeem the family name. Together they could find the fortune and rebuild the town. Right the wrongs and begin the lives they were meant to live there in that very place where everything had been taken from their family.
Grandfather had told him that when Thom turned twelve they could leave on their quest to fulfill their destiny. Thom dreamed of it every night. His mother would roll her eyes and encourage him to focus on his studies, or play with friends, anything but Danustran. She had grown up hearing the same stories that had captured Thom's imagination, but she had also watched as family members destroyed themselves pondering the same questions that she could see rolling around in her son's head. It was a sickness. She did everything she could to distract him, but she knew in her heart she was too late.
When Thom was two weeks shy of his twelfth birthday, his Grandfather died.
They were in the shed, just the two of them, pouring over maps and timelines for the trip they had planned only weeks away. His Grandfather looked pale, but shook it off as he was questioned. He made a low guttural sound deep in his throat, and his body gave up. Thom caught his Grandfather as he fell, dead. Thom stumbled to the floor, crushed under the weight of his hero. He screamed at him to wake up, but he didn't. He screamed for help, no one came. The shed was too far from the house for anyone to hear, and his Grandmother learned the hard way not to interrupt them when they were talking about their trip. As the body began to cool Thom finally managed to wiggle out from his Grandfather's dead weight, and walked to the house to get his grandmother with his tear stained face.
They cremated his Grandfather body, and they put the ashes on the mantle in a plain black urn. Thom argued that he should be taken to Danustran, but his Grandmother would hear of no such foolishness. In fact, she forbid the name Danustran to even be said in the house, saying she had enough of that foolishness while her husband was alive, she wasn't going to hear about it now that he was dead!
His mother said the same thing. Drop it. Forget about it.
He was 16 the first time he ran away to Danustran, but was caught at the train station before even leaving town. He was better prepared when he was 17. He almost made it there, but slide down the side of the mountain, and was forced to hobbled home black and blue.
It was nothing compare to what his Mother did to him when he got back.
He joined the army. Nothing else interested him, and in the army there was a chance to redeem the family all honor as well as a chance that he could quench his thirst for adventure, a seed had grown and blossomed with each story that his grandfather had told. He tried to forget Danustran, he tried to put it behind him.
It was when he was in a small town in France he came across an antique shop. He found an oil painting, a portrait of King Arum, with the traditional 'A' stamped into the frame. It rekindled the flame, and he felt compelled to complete the mission that he and his grandfather had longed to undertake years before.
He's scoured every town he went to, every antique store, thrift shop, and second-hand store. He paid close attention to online sales, and added to his collection regularly, watching it grow. It filled every corner of his apartment.
For the most part, things were inexpensive, people had forgotten about Danustran, about their artistry and mastery. The artist names dropped out of history. Paintings are sold at a fraction of their true worth, the art market depending more of the recognition of the name then the talent of the artist. Bitterness filled his heart.
With each artifact, Tom hoped that he would crack the code of where Arum hid the gold. There had to be a clue somewhere. That much money could not have completely disappeared without a trace. It was impossible.
He was 34 when he actually entered the town for the first time. He walked through the abandoned streets, filled with anger and sadness. He brought a metal detector ran over every inch of the town. He looked through the castle, but he knew that it couldn't be there; the council would have found it. He walked the perimeter of the town, there was nothing that he could find that would lead him a step closer to solving the mystery.
Disheartened he left, but he never gave up, the forgotten town always the back of his mind. Desperate that one day he would put his hands on the stolen treasure.
He never imagined it would be a couple of kids who would beat him to the punch.
https://www.wattpad.com/130497142-legend%27s-quake-chapter-1-who-knew-a-fire-was-the
A Villain is Born
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