The night watchman was taken aback at the sight of a halfling, clutching a rabbit in one hand and a walking stick in the other, accompanied by a little girl of about five years old.
"Halt!" he called out.
"Who goes there? From whence do you come, and where are you headed? I spied you emerging from the grove."
The pair complied. Despite his injury, the halfling summoned a smile and deftly shifted his walking stick to his other hand, waving his empty hand in greeting.
"Good eve to you, town guard. May your watch be uneventful. We were merely out hunting rabbits. I realize it's a tad late, but I am Paliborn Quickand. I arrived in your town only this morning. The little one beside me is the niece of the renowned seer, Widow Black of Harova, a fortune-teller and healer of some repute. You must have heard of her. They are camped at the fairgrounds, just down the road. I was fortunate enough to be invited to dinner, and thought to bring the meat."
"How could you not know the infamous Rabbit Killer, Master Angor?" chided the young girl, affecting a grave expression.
Paliborn could not help but chuckle, while the watchman grimaced.
"The Rabbit Killer? I am not familiar with this. Whatever it may be, I do recognize you, little one. Pray, make your way to your tent and avoid straying too far beyond the grove's borders."
After putting some distance between themselves and the watchman, Paliborn burst into laughter.
"The Rabbit Killer, eh? That's a good one. Only, it was you who slaughtered the poor creature."
"Indeed not. I simply shrieked in terror."
"Alas, the poor beast was likely frightened to death," quipped Paliborn. Then, his demeanor turned serious. A silence fell between them.
"Why are you so frightened, Eli?"
"I do not know. It became very dark, and I felt like I was suffocating."
"Eli, we may have just met, but you can trust me. You do know that, don't you?"
Again, silence. The streets were deserted, illuminated only by rare oil lamps hanging from poles. The main street was the highest point of the town and paved with briquettes. Amidst the creaking of Paliborn's sturdy leather pig-nose boots and the girl's trembling, he had to stop to catch her whispered words.
"I know, Pal. It's just...just...the nightmares. Sometimes they become more frequent."
Paliborn bit his lip, and the girl trembled once more. He tenderly brushed her cheek, feeling its icy chill, and removed his leather vest, enfolding Allendra in its warmth. He was beginning to sense that the girl had a mysterious ailment. She seemed to be attempting to reveal the source, but an invisible force appeared to be holding her back. Paliborn didn't push the issue; solving mystical cases demanded patience, precision, and time.
As they arrived at the tent, Allendra slipped inside quietly, while Pal slowly settled onto a wooden bench outside. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed his cane stick aside and drew out his hunting knife to skin the rabbit. He winced with each movement, his aching body still feeling the impact of the day's events. It was as if he had emerged from a battlefield, battered and bruised. Pal was no stranger to dodging fireballs or lightning bolts and alikes, but the unexpected sonic boom had caught him off guard. He coughed and spat out blood, but breathed a sigh of relief as he realized he was still in one piece and breathing.
"Thank the gods for Zachary, the God of Fortune," he muttered to himself.
With practiced ease, the halfling separated one of the rabbit's legs and set it aside for the black cat, Belize.
From within the tent, the little girl's voice called out.
"My aunt is gone. She wouldn't just leave. I think she must have trusted you."
Pal nodded understandingly. "Is there a cauldron, Eli?" he asked.
"Yes, I'm bringing it. I'll gather some other materials as well."
"Fantastic. Bring some salt, spices, ladles, forks - anything that could be useful. I also have a few magic powders in my pouches. With a little bit of seasoning, our meal will be legendary."
* * *
From the depths of the shadows, the witch woman kept a watchful eye on her nephew and the halfling who had arrived at the tent, some thirty yards away. At first, she toyed with the idea of joining them for dinner, perhaps to scold Allendra for tardiness and disobedience. But as she beheld the girl's serene and guileless expression, the witch's heart ached. She resolved to leave them be and let Lena be alone with her thoughts.
For the witch woman, it was another long and restless night, filled with troubled musings and self-recrimination. She had long struggled to reconcile her conscience with her deeds. With a host of unresolved thoughts and emotions weighing her down, she made her way to the town's only tavern, the Red Wing Inn.
The inn's ground floor was a single hall, with a central staircase, a bar counter on the opposite wall of the entrance, a door to the kitchen behind the counter, and six tables arranged about the room. Four of these tables sat empty, and it was another typical, uneventful night. When the Harovian woman sauntered in, the single men in the tavern twirled their mustaches and snickered amongst themselves. She was known to drink to the point of oblivion and was usually accompanied back to her tent by a lucky man who had managed to catch her eye.
"Your usual, Innkeeper Caleb," the woman hollered, as she took a seat at the farthest table by the window, away from the occupied tables.
With a grunt, the innkeeper brought her a pitcher of wine, an empty glass, and a bowl of crispy fries.
"Wouldn't you like some bacon with that?" he offered.
"No, that will do," she replied.
"Enjoy it," he said with a forced grin as he took the copper coins from the table and retreated back to his duties.
The woman savored the crimson wine as she fished out the letter from her robe pocket. With a deft flick, she broke the seal, feeling the weight of her fate as she unfolded the thin, quality bamboo paper. The aroma of cherry blossom wafted to her nose, a scent that could only come from the Qui-Sartry Mountains, some four hundred kilometers from Adylle, where she was now.
"Why must you always hide behind letters?" she murmured, tracing the ink with her finger.
"Dear Lena, or should I call you the Widow Black of Harova?" She scoffed as she read on, her eyes narrowing. "I shall not prolong this conversation, for we have reached a crucial juncture. Your indomitable will has surprised me thus far, but you now stand at a crossroads. Either you bring the child to the Souburn Wizarding Towers by mid-spring, or follow in the footsteps of those who enslaved you. Know this, whatever your decision, there shall be no reward waiting for you at the end. Indeed, fate will guide the child towards her destined path, regardless of your choice. You and I are but brief sojourners on this journey, so I implore you to make your choice wisely, using your free will, and shun the Shadows that seek to consume. With sincerity, Elaphar."
She downed a glass of wine, feeling its warmth spread through her body. "No reward at stake, fate will take the child in the direction she will go one way or another?" She repeated and scoffed. "We're nothing more than a stop on her path?"
She reached for another glass, swirling the spicy wine before taking a long sip. Ah, it seems we are on the precipice of the end, my esteemed wizard. Our overlords have drawn their final aces, have they not?" She was angry. "Three and a half years," she murmured, her voice bitter. "Three and a half years of playing with me, of drowning me in nightmares." She slammed the glass down, feeling its vibrations shiver through the table. "You, all of you, are cut from the same cloth, toying with me for three and a half long years, as I suffocated beneath the weight of my own nightmares. And for what? Is it because I am naught but a lowly pawn in this grand game of yours? Pray tell, whose turn is it to make the next move?"
Her throat burned as she took another swig. "Free will?" She scoffed again. "When have I ever had free will? In Xaurus, where they tried to burn us alive? During our migration, when we hid in shitholes to protect our heads? In the cursed streets of Barnachia, where I suffocated with fear? In Anthedia, where I was nothing but an appetizer to the high society parties?" She shook her head. "You've been playing with me all along, haven't you?"
With a steady hand, she poured another glass and tossed it back, relishing the fiery heat of the spices that set her senses ablaze. Her eyes glistened with tears, whether from the taste or the memories that flooded her mind, she could not say.
"The single moment of liberation I ever savored was when our paths crossed with my master. Those were the nights he instructed me in the dark arts, imparting knowledge of the forbidden." 'For everything, there is a cost,' my esteemed mentor whispered. 'Can you endure the toll?' he inquired, his gaze piercing my soul. He warned that there was no recourse once one had embarked upon this perilous course. Back then, I was unable to fathom his warning, but now I do. Yet, do I truly comprehend it? Is the price worth paying? And if it is, what then?"
She took another long sip.
"This time, I shall enact my part for the last time, and oh, what a grand spectacle it shall be! It is now time to prove to you all that I am the sole protector of this child, and that no one has the right to decide her fate but me. You played with me, toyed with my life, and now you shall suffer. I shall make you taste the bitterness of your actions, and you shall pay the price for your arrogance."
Suddenly, she rose unsteadily to her feet, swaying as if drunk. The wine had taken hold of her, robbing her of her balance and clarity. She stumbled towards the door, desperate to escape the suffocating air of the tavern.
A man at a nearby table, lured by the tales he had heard of this mysterious woman, stepped forward to offer his help. His eyes gleamed with a lustful hunger, despite the warnings of his companions.
"Shall I escort you to your quarters, my sweet lady?" he slurred, his breath reeking of cheap ale.
The woman attempted to shoot the man a stern glance, but her drunken state undermined any attempt at intimidation. Shrugging off her failed attempt, she flung open the door and staggered out into the street. The man, grinning and babbling, trailed after her like a lost dog.
Determined to escape his advances, she pressed on, her footsteps echoing down the deserted alleys. The woman strode down several more blocks without casting a backward glance, until she reached a desolate and shadowy alley. With a resolute grimace, she leaned against the wall of a dark, dead-end street, the man closing in on her with predatory intent.
Rough hands groped at her breasts and buttocks, and she began to mutter in a disturbing, throaty language. The man recoiled in disgust, but his desire pushed him on despite his unease.
Suddenly, a pale, ominous light radiated from the woman's hand, striking the man's phallus with a searing energy that left him writhing on the ground, foaming at the mouth. His body convulsed in spasms, as if seized by some otherworldly force.
Helpless and trembling like a fish out of water, the man lay in a pool of his own vomit, while the woman turned and strode away, a greedy smile etched upon her face.
For the first time in a long while, she felt confident and empowered, her genes wired for avarice and ambition. Without a backward glance, she continued towards her goal, the echoes of her victim's screams still ringing in her ears.
* * *
Paliborn and Allendra reveled in a sumptuous evening, savoring a delectable rabbit stew that tantalized their taste buds. The little girl's joy knew no bounds; it was, perhaps, the happiest day of her life. They nestled by the roaring fire for hours, enraptured by the halfling's amusing anecdotes and captivating tales of his travels. Paliborn even toasted marshmallow candy over the flames for Allendra, a unique dessert made from flour and sugar that delighted her palate. The halfling promised to impart the recipe's secret one day.
"The Qui-Sartry Mountains and Quartry Settlement are a realm unlike any other in Illuthar, Eli. It's a place apart, a hidden paradise awaiting discovery. Imagine ancient cherry trees that have stood for a millennium, towering plane trees and poplars stretching to the heavens, colossal mushrooms thriving in hidden mountain valleys, and hot springs bubbling with life-affirming energy. Oh, to be there now. And that's not all; vast caves, labyrinthine sinkholes, and subterranean rivers snake through the depths, unseen by the sun's rays. There are waterfalls that plummet hundreds of meters, colorful algae and herbs that provide the foundation of my secret spice blends. I have voyaged far and wide, Eli, and seen much of this world, but no place exudes such vibrant vitality as the Qui-Sartry Mountains."
"I concur, Pal, I intend to explore every inch of this world, and the Qui-Sartry Mountains hold a special allure for me. May we venture there together one day?" Allendra mused wistfully about the future.
"Why not. Fate may yet grant us that privilege," Paliborn replied, infused with the same fervor.
"Promise?" Allendra's eyes sparkled with anticipation.
"Promise," Paliborn affirmed, grinning from ear to ear. "But now, it's time for you to retire, Eli. It's long past midnight, and you need your rest."
"Okay, Pal, but tell me one more story," the little girl implored.
"Of course, my little fairy lady, but only if you're snug and settled in your bed. Let me see now, what tale shall I recount? Ah, I know, how about an ancient fable, long forgotten by most, of one of the most formidable creatures ever to roam this land. Master Sarcastic related it to me once, and I'll do my best to channel his storytelling prowess." Paliborn paused, mulling over the details.
"I'm all ears," Allendra enthused, snuggling deeper under the covers.
In the ancient times, when the world was young and steeped in magic, there roamed a formidable being, known by the name of Astorius Phallanx Ophare. Astorius was a legend in his own right, a myth unto himself, for he challenged the very concept of time and the divinities that ruled over it. His eyes were the hue of the finest gold, his skin harder than the most precious diamond, and his scales shimmered in every color that basked in the sun's rays. His razor-sharp fangs and claws were the envy of all who beheld them, and his wingspan exceeded that of the largest sails that could be imagined. Astorius possessed both incredible strength and immense knowledge of magic. Astorius possessed both incredible strength and immense knowledge of magic. He could stop time, freeze lakes with one breath, and tear down mountains with one stroke. Everyone was afraid of him, and he of nothing. However, something was missing in Astorius' life. He had no one to continue his lineage. He was unique. One day, he journeyed to the realm of the gods, who cowered before his might and had no power to resist him. Astorius made an unprecedented request of the divine beings, seeking an heir to bear his legacy. The gods, who until then had been unable to find a way to halt him and trembled in terror at his approach, beheld Astorius' vulnerable side for the first time. They pondered long and conversed for ages, finally agreeing to his request, but only on one condition. The gods spoke, "If you will share your power with the creature you have created, we shall grant you the right to create anew."
Pal paused for a moment and continued;
"Astorius had grown tired of his solitary existence, so when the opportunity arose, he embraced it with fervor. He bestowed a fragment of himself upon his heart, and thus was born Piessa Garros, a being of towering beauty and strength who captured the admiration of all those who beheld him. Like his progenitor, Piessa blossomed into a fearsome mage and warrior of unparalleled might."
"As time flowed like a river, Piessa grew desirous of a mate to perpetuate his lineage. His father indulged him, and crafted Archia Meides as his bride. As time dragged on, stretching out like an eternity, this time Archia yearned for a younger kin. Thus, Iquarius and Phersah Metheus were brought forth into existence, and so the cycle continued. The initial progeny had burgeoned into a vast and sprawling family. Subsequently, their offspring multiplied in exponential fashion; what was once a meager dozen expanded to scores, scores gave way to hundreds, and hundreds blossomed into thousands."
"But as the years wore on, Astorius felt the sands of time slipping through his fingers, and he grew feeble and aged. Once elevated above the gods, he now dwelt upon the earth in a mountainous region of dizzying heights, far removed from all other immortals. Though his glory had waned, he found solace in the warmth and love of his children and grandchildren."
"Yet conflict soon erupted between Astorius' kin and the other beings that roamed the land. Driven by an insatiable hunger for conquest, they laid siege to Archia. Astorius, watching helplessly as his descendants fell one by one, was consumed by an all-encompassing rage. The gods scorned him, offering no succor, while humans colluded with his enemies to bring his bloodline to the brink of extinction."
"Enraged beyond measure, Astorius drew in a deep breath, and exhaled with all his might. He unleashed a tempest of such magnitude that it lasted not mere hours or days, but weeks and months. The very continent of Archia was frozen in its wake, every mountain, lake, stream, and valley forever preserved in ice."
"But the price of his vengeance was steep. Astorius, once robust and towering, was now a mere shadow of his former self, a frail and emaciated shell. He unfurled his wings and let out a cry that shook the very foundations of the earth. "If I were to take another breath," he bellowed, "the entire Aerkha Realm would be frozen solid!"
"And so it was that the gods and mortals alike fled in terror from his wrath, leaving Astorius and his kin to fade into obscurity, never to be seen again. Such was the final fate of the glorious Astorius, who had once ruled over all with a power unmatched and a heart that burned with an undying flame."
"Alas, this tale had no joyous end," commented Allendra in a mournful tone.
"But it is but a chapter in the grand story, Eli. And who's to say it has reached its conclusion? Nay, the crux lies in its being forgotten," replied Paliborn.
"Be that as it may, pray tell, what were the beings birthed by Astorius called? Astorians, mayhap?" queried the little girl.
"Nay, fair lady, though that be a name not unfitting. The name they were bestowed with was none other than 'dragon'," replied the halfling with a sly grin.
"Dragons? Can it be that they truly exist?" exclaimed Allendra, her eyes widening in wonder.
"Once upon a time, they did. But now, they are naught but legend. Now, rest thy weary head, dear Eli. I shall keep vigil outside," said Paliborn reassuringly.
"Good night, Pal."
"May thy dreams be filled with dragons, Eli," replied Paliborn, his steps fading into the night.
On a starry night without a moon, the halfling sat on a wooden bench in front of his tent. Though he had rested, he was still wracked with pain. His gaze drifted to a flask of bright purple magical liquid tucked away in one of his pouches, but he soon relinquished the thought. "We'll save that for another day," he sighed. With the night dwindling, the coming day loomed, promising to be long and arduous. Retrieving his pipe, he filled it with tobacco and ignited it, inhaling deeply.
"Oops, I've snatched Sandman's pipe again. He'll be fuming this time," he chuckled, the corners of his lips upturning.
Closing his eyes, he envisioned himself lounging atop colossal mushrooms in the Qui-Sartry Mountains, staring at the heavens. The fragrances of lavender, orchids, honeysuckles, lithium, magnolias, and lotus flowers that grew in the vast valley intertwined within his thoughts. Above all, he yearned for the aroma of cherry blossoms carried by the gentle summer winds, ringing like a distant bell. As his fatigued body slumped to one side, his consciousness plunged into a deluge of memories.
* * *
The little girl lay in a slumber, as the halfling drifted into yet another alert sleep, while the woman wandered aimlessly through the desolate streets. Meanwhile, the young girl plunged into a dream teeming with mythical beings, while the halfling was engulfed by a sea of evocative memories from a distant past. The lights in the sky dimmed, and the world was plunged into a dreary darkness. The woman, whose robes had been blackened by some unknown force, trudged on through the bleak streets.
Finally, the little girl and the halfling found themselves in the same dream. Together, they perched atop a towering peak, surveying the wide and rugged expanse below them. They sat astride a scaly, silver-gray back, marveling at the breathtaking vista. The back wriggled, revealing massive shoulders and wings. The colossal summit stretched to its limits, and the shoulders on its back rose like towering masts, while the silver-gray webbed wings fanned out like great sails. The sound of her fingernails digging into the rocks reverberated in both their ears, as the gray giant took a thunderous step. Then came the eerie sensation of emptiness.
A free fall.
The gray giant soared through the void at a dizzying pace, and both of them felt their stomachs lurch as they plummeted straight down into the plains. They closed their eyes as they fell, but what they felt was not fear, but an intoxicating mix of excitement and delirium, which filled their bodies with adrenaline. They were courageous, they were joyful, and they were filled with hope. With trembling cries from their throats, which were drowned out by the roar of the wind buffeting their faces, they made their voices heard throughout the world, and they cried out wildly.
"This is what freedom feels like!"
As they neared the ground, the colossal being made a sudden dive before rising up again. Now they flew parallel to the hills, large and small, which resembled oil glands.
"It's a dragon!" exclaimed the little girl, pointing excitedly at the creature whose lofty shadow fell on the ground below them. Although they could not see the massive beast, they could sense its presence, and they continued to fly at a breakneck speed.
For the little girl, it was the happiest day of her life, and this dream was the crowning glory of a perfect day. However, like a sudden storm that shatters a sunny day, the sky abruptly darkened, and a chill settled in the air, as smoke rose from their mouths. They arrived at a hill brimming with frozen masses, where shadows, hums, and traces of blood dominated the landscape. Drop by drop, the blood flowed, as they followed the trail in silence.
A figure cloaked in darkness was treading the desolate streets, her pale silhouette barely discernible amidst the pitch-black night. The sky was devoid of any celestial light, as if the Prince of Darkness himself, Therion, had snuffed out every star and moon in the Skydome. With each step, blood trickled from her right palm, dripping onto the obsidian pentacle she tightly clutched. Despite the searing pain piercing her hand, she persevered, following the crimson trail leading to her destination.
With her eyes shut and her mind's eye focused, she floated through the air, tracking the blood's faint stream as it flowed from spot to spot. The drops led her to a hidden alcove nestled deep within the town's hill, where a red, blood-colored tent loomed. At its entrance stood a towering man donning a goat-headed mask. Unfazed, she presented the blood-soaked pentacle to him, its dark depths still hungrily absorbing any light.
With a grin, the goat-headed man stepped aside, granting her entrance to the tent's cavernous expanse. Blood oozed from every crevice, as an imposing black stone altar rose at the center. As she approached it, the woman squeezed her palm tighter, causing the blood to gush like a fountain into the altar vessel. The black stone transformed into a deep crimson, and ripples erupted across the surface of the red water, soon forming a violent whirlpool.
Out of the depths of the swirling vortex emerged a visage of unspeakable horror, its features twisted and malevolent. Its guttural voice echoed ominously throughout the tent in a tongue both dreadful and sinister.
The dragon, its form only discernible by the looming shadow it cast, approached the tent. It settled onto the ground beside the entrance, its presence filling the air with a palpable sense of danger.
The little girl grew angry, her voice rising in protest. "I don't want to go inside. Let's leave, dragon. Take us away, Pal and me."
The halfling looked at the girl helplessly, his voice caught in his throat. It was her dream, after all, not his. Why were they even here, at this mysterious tent?
The dragon shook itself, flinging the riders off like insignificant fleas. The halfling and the girl landed roughly on the ground, blood droplets splattering around them.
"I want to wake up!" cried the girl, her fear mounting.
The halfling lay still, his body frozen as he gazed at the tent entrance. A crimson light spilled out from within, writhing like a serpent. The sound of tribal drums pounded in his ears, the rhythm throbbing in his chest. Groans, roars, screams, and laughter echoed out into the night. It was a mad revel, a chaotic celebration that only the most depraved minds could embrace.
"Someone is taking a blood bath," the halfling thought, his mind racing. He couldn't stop the dark thoughts from surfacing, the temptation to explore this forbidden world growing ever stronger.
This was not his dream, merely a puppet in a grander scheme. As he watched on helplessly, the blood-red light slithered out from the tent's entrance, coiling towards the prone girl. Yet, she rose with an ethereal grace, almost as if she were weightless. And he noticed, with a sense of awe, that her body shone as brilliantly as the light itself. He peered at his own limbs, witnessing the same pulsating energy, dancing with vibrant hues of color. This was not his physical form. The girl shared a similar fate, both mere phantoms of themselves.
"This is the one," the halfling thought with a mix of trepidation and excitement.
"We are here, but not in flesh," he mumbled to himself.
"Remember, Pal. Remember everything when you wake," he admonished himself.
"This is no mere dream. It is different. There is something tangible here, yet otherworldly. It is a faint glimmer of what lies ahead on this mystical journey," he ruminated.
Meanwhile, the girl continued to glide, her silhouette pulsing with a kaleidoscope of colors before morphing into blood red and coal black. As she approached the tent, the halfling let out a mighty cry.
"No, I will not allow it!" he bellowed.
And with that, he awoke, falling off the bench onto the hard ground with a resounding thud. Despite his long life and boasts of vigilance and agility, Paliborn Quickhand had failed to avoid the impact second time that day. He quickly jotted down what he could remember in his notebook before the fleeting images faded from his mind - the starless, moonless night, a woman in a black robe, a trail of blood droplets, a blood-red tent, a goat-headed figure, a sacrificial altar drenched in blood, the glowing silhouette of red and black, the terrified girl, and the possessed spirit.