Kiln-Fired Ceramic DM

[Zhaneel]

My husband, BSF, was just telling me about this discussion and your dryad story. I would really like to read it if there is a way we could arrange that and if you don't mind some random person on ENworld reading your story. I just finished a story about a satyr leaving the countryside of Ireland to see what a big city was all about, and I would enjoy someone elses thoughts on how the fey would fit into modern society. Please let me know. I am looking forward to the showdown between you and Mythago

Umm... I'm flattered.

On the one hand, I'm an author and therefore love having my ego stroked. On the other, there is fear of someone I don't know (no offense) in that there are always stupid stories of stories stolen.

So after thinking about it, I'm pretty cool with it, providing you aren't some person who wants to steal my stuff. Which I doubt, but hey, can't be too careful.

Toss me an e-mail. It is this username at Gmail.com

I may edit this later to make this e-mail addie go away, 'cause I'm not sure how public I want it.

Zhaneel

 

[mythago]

Given the spirit of the forum, if folks want to post a few interesting photos in this thread, I'll see if I can work them in when I get around to filling the outline out in a few weeks.

Weeks?!

BTW, I do think the first part of your saga is publishable. (Not that there's anything wrong with the other two, just that they're not as stand-alone.)

 

[Zhaneel]

On the publishing note:
Most magazines tend to prefer shorter works (5k or less) so the first story fits well there too. I would second the recommendation of editing/polishing the first entry to be sent off for publicaton.

 

[Sialia]

Thanks.

In truth, I haven't been able to bear to look at them since the competition ended.

I know there were some problems and some good parts--but the whole experience was so intense, all I can think about are the problems.

And I secretly fear the excuse "it was the best I could do in 72 hours" --which was fine for the competition-- is actually an inability to go back and do the thing properly, given worlds enough and time. I know it's not inability--it's unwillingness--but the fear is there all the same, and fear is not a rational thing.

There are a lot of things I've done that were powerful as rough sketches, but die under polish. It's hard to know where to quit--it's hard to know which rough jagged edges actually contribute to the texture of the piece and are, as they say, not to be considered a flaw or defect.

I decided to let it lie fallow for a while. I'm hoping I will be able to open it with fresh eyes again at some point and see what is really there, as opposed to all of that iceberg invisible below the surface. I have to be able to see it without the rules of the competition holding the frame in place, and without all the little subtle hidden conversasitons I tucked in to it with specific board members. I have to see it without remembering what was going on in my life that made certain things want to be written about.

Given all that, for a while I thought I would never go there again, but BSF's story showed me a twinkling of light that leads in that direction.
If only real life would let up on my just long enough to breathe for a round . . .

Mind you, without real life beating on me, there would be nothing to write about.

 

[Zhaneel]

Siala, I can relate. Having written the dryad piece back in August, it wasn't until recently that I was able to fully edit it, and that's without the competition rules in place.

But I know I'm going to work on "The One" and even maybe "It's Elemental" I think there is a salable story in each. And I'm always looking for those.

Zhaneel

 

[BSF]

Casting Raise Thread

Alrighty! (Yes, I realize that alright really is not a word.)

I am gaining enough distance to look back on my stories and find ways to rip them apart and put them back together. I'm not sure I am quite ready to revisit Cleansing. I want to, bit is a story about a psychotic and I don't want to go there mentally right now. If I rewrite a story right now, it will be something else instead.

Eeralai and I were talking about writing this morning. She got up to go check on our son and make sure he wasn't quietly summoning in dark things from beyond space. Something slapped me in the face about Delusional. Mythago's comments in the story judgement include the excellent point that a demon like Lou should have been able to mess around with a booking record and keep Darren out of jail. Duh! In retrospect it seemed silly and was enough to relegate the story to an interesting background piece in my head. But there aer aspects of the story I enjoy and I keep thinking that if I could fix some of the flaws, maybe it would be worthy of a rewrite.

How well would a correction work? How do I fix the fundamental flaw of Lou's power not springing Darren from jail? What if I had Dr. Clayton pass off Mythago's critique as a reason why Darren is clearly full of dung? What if I had Lou then tell Darren that he, as a demon, can't touch legal documents. Maybe Lou has a cousin on the devil side of the fallen angel tree that handles documents. Maybe Lou can go chat with somebody in Hell for a bit and call in a couple of favors. Would that work? Would it be too contrived?

I know there are secondary issues that would need to change after that. I'm good with that. Heck, I would probably need to go through and revise my informal "style guide" for that storyverse. It is a subtle thing, but the demons in Rainmaker and Delusional have names that phonetically begin with "Lu". That was a conscious decision and one I would need to change around since Lucifer works much better for a devil than for a demon. If I am going to differentiate between the two, perhaps I should have a different style for each? Alternately, perhaps Lou can't touch legal documents because Lucifer is the one that has powers over legal documents?

I'm thinking as I type. Gee, is it that noticable? The point is that I might be able to get away with Lou not springing Darren from jail because he can't touch legal documents. That's a different demon/devil schtick and he won't go there. Would that work? Could I make the story better by doing that?

Then I just need to figure out how a real psychiatrist would go about declaring somebody legally sane to stand trial.

Does anybody have any thoughts? How about advice? Is the story worth correcting? Would it be interesting to read a tightened up version? Or am I better off leaving it as background material for the Rainmaker storyverse that keeps grabbing me by the shoulders and telling me stories?

 

[barsoomcore]

Number one: I would research criminal psychological investigation. How is it conducted? What kinds of decisions get made? Is it the psychiatrist who declares the suspect unfit for trial? Or do they just provide evidence and the DA makes the call? Or what? Does it vary from state to state?

Find out.

The story's DEFINITELY worth working on.

And the simplest explanation of why Lou doesn't spring Darren from jail is that he DOESN'T WANT TO. Give him some reason to keep Darren in jail, and you're all good.

Is what I think.

 

[tadk]

Story inspired by Ceramic DM images June 2005 Round 1

"Titanium and Nets"
CW Kelson III (Tad)
Copyright © 2005
Started 06.15.05
Finished on 06.20.05
For the
Ceramic DM Contest round 1
June 2005 edition Practice Run

Stone please explain
Why your silence makes more Noise than thunder
Bones, is it sane
To obey me and the flesh you're under
"Iron Flower" by K's Choice

The stones glowing as a furnace, in the heat of destruction, they are testimony to fear and greed. The swath across the meadow backed down into the rocks slowly cooling from reentry flames. The gutted remains of research facilities and housing complexes targeted from beyond their sight bore the witness of no survivors. Mop up crews circled, crows in black and gunmetal, waiting for the temperature to descend to life sustaining levels.
Brick, mortar, steel, glass and asphalt all mixed and scattered across landscape made desolate with multiple Kinetic Kill impacts. Iron missiles, medieval in construction, dropped from high enough causing One Hundred Percent Fatality among the researchers, families and bio-constructs in the target zone.

The local government officials were playing it safe. By their taking the road of least confrontation, minimal risk to their own personnel, and using artillery to wipe out the illegal, by their rule books, facility. Once the bombardment was over, a matter of milliseconds for the simultaneous arrival of the projectiles, and the area cooled sufficient to preclude the necessity of life support gear. Then and only then did the armed and armored troops move in to ensure total eradication of the threat to the status quo.

Across the continent, on a last minute junket, the brains behind the now smoldering ruins sat in a coffin hotel, watching the activity as it unfolded. Alerted when all the mainframes went off line, her Loa Ochosi Vee, informed her of the attack as it was unfolding. Brought into the linkage as the projectiles unfolded in the troposphere heading for her home and life dream she watched it happen. Taking in the action and noting the encrypted signals from the circling aerial forces, if it were not for this emergency meeting to arrange additional funding avenues she would be watching her own death fall towards her at murderous velocities. The scant minutes it took for the attack to occur was over and shock set in. Everything and everyone at her facility was obliterated. All of them turned into vapor along with the reinforced buildings. Now there was only her, Ochosi Vee and the few others on the trip with her.
With a sigh, and a request for mild sedation to hold the tears at bay for the death of her lovers, friends and colleagues, she gets back to her business at hand. It is even more important to arrange for positive equity flow with the physical research gone. Were it not for the protective aegis of Ochosi Vee all would be lost. But in the time it took the attack to unfold he had stripped all the systems of data, wiping them more surely than the attack could have. As well as transferring them into off site alternate holding platforms. With that action they were set back, not devastated in an total information loss.

Leaving details to Ochosi Vee to pass along to the others in the local retinue, she climbed out of the tube, straightening the dress outfit as well as her hair. Long, straight, black as night so unlike the trends for wintry pale in complexion and hair tone, then again the sheer height a factor in standing apart of masses. As well as being taller than the majority of city dwellers. That coupled with singular intelligence and will to drive made her an enigma in these time. But now she has no time to waste in sentimentality. Trusting to her Loa to track her moods and adjust her hormones as necessary via the implants she headed back to the venue where the meetings were taking place. It was time to get a move on and make things happen to ensure her survival from this point on.

-----
The distant lights from the port shone meekly on the overhanging clouds. Reflections from spots, clubs, entertainment and establishment districts adding their neon and argon energized contributions.
The Box, four cornered parasail inflated with ground emplaced gas lasers, started to lift off. The acid like hiss and ache of oxygen vaporizing under the heat and glare of the lift off lasers that are filling the air around the pad area covers the ambient nose levels. The Box, a squat and ugly conveyance, grumbled its way up into space while terawatts of energy were used to boost the payload of a grand of souls up towards the distantly geosynchronous station where their trips would truly begin.

The near space craft had lifted away from the flat pad it had been loaded on. Residual heat devils danced in the dust and trash swirled around with convection. Two figures scurried across the inner edge of the walls enclosing the space. Ducking into recessed doors, the laden shapes shed outer clothing and moved deeper into the complex. Making their entry after illicitly disembarking from the Box, they had a window of opportunity to which they intended mischief. They were there striking at the heart of the local regime responsible for the destruction of habitats as well as the death of innocents, guilty of only being born in the blighted nation.

One male, one female, flit from corridor to corridor, their guardians watching over them, diverting attention from monitors, spoofing electronics and confounding potential observers. They went so far as to start adjusting the orbits of surveillance satellites when they would come to long halls with open glass and expanses.

Long minutes pass during this imminent structure hit that time seemed to stand still. Only soft padding tabi accentuate the severity of the situation. If found out death or worse was the only good result they could hope for. With many things much worse than death being the most likely outcomes, still risk was worth it to bait the lion's within their dens.

Far past where people tread, down into the labyrinth that the upper floors all supported, they came upon the magnetically safe and sealed vacuum locks. With quick looks around them, and at the far limits of their protectors reach of influence, they placed the specially designed explosives along the door frame. Once in place they moved around the nearest corner and waited for the timer to count down. The blast shocks through the enclosed concrete halls. When the two infiltrators looked around and saw the massive metallic door swinging out and open.

Dashing inside they see the wreckage caused by the explosion. Still by timing it for a slack period only a few people had been inside and luck had it, none had died. Obvious concussions and disorientation visible in the staggering technical experts

Inside the two got to work, liberating data that longed, in their worldview, to be free. Linking freestanding cellular connections, the mainframes were opened wide to all the peoples of the world who were able to get a connection. Once in place, the entire series of storage mediums was ripe to being plundered by the still sovereign peoples of the world while the technicians could do nothing about it in their dazed state. Once it was in progress the two saboteurs made a hasty retreat delving deeper into the structure to outrun the certain to arrive enforcement arms of the government.

-----
So quiet here, she thought, peaceful and placid. It is just the place to raise a new clutch of Ent-Tigres. As she looked around, slowly walking, her eyes noticed that there was plenty of room to hunt. There was more than enough space for them to fight, to breed and to have obstacles to aid the training in the purpose. There is time enough to raise a clutch or three before they would be needed on the front lines.

Dr. PorTashia Wagonner, PHD, took her time surveying where she and her precious cats would relocate. Since the agencies opposed to them had located her previous facility and ensured no one survived that had been there. She was on the run, loose in the world at large and hunted for her views on biology and on evolution. Free to think any thoughts not caught up and rounded for evidence, the land was not free in spirit, or in body in the least. Tight controls back in the homeland had taken deeper and deeper root.

Eventually the intelligentsia and ecologically motivated had moved out. Some headed north, most went south and became the de facto economies of the many small islands. Some like her retreated to the depths of the woods, the few untouched places left since the melt down of boundaries in the years preceding her birth.
Others like her had set up shop in foreign countries, or in disassociated portions of the mainland, or in small islands down in the sea to the south. But even being off the mainland did not guarantee their safety.

Still the few like her fighting for her own life and to retain the ability to help others, rather than to be focused on the eternal here and now. Looking towards the future, since her past, and the past of her old comrades, was cut short by death undeserved. This was the hope she had deep inside her hearth as she looked out over the placid waters.

------
Heel
Sit
Stay
Good Lass
Good One
Now
Search mode
Acquisition
Target, upload in progress
Waiting, complete
Hunt Seek Intitiate
Bounding away the big she Ent-Tigres took off, hard wired and soft coded processes running in parallel to instinctual reactions. PorTashia riding along within the LoaNet linked to Comm. Nodes scattered through out the pseudo-feline's form.

The target fled not knowing what form the pursuit would take. Armed and armored against most of the current SOTA attack forms, offline now to prevent worms and Trojans from getting a lock on his location. He was pleased with how the hit went off. No unexpected surprises, the target was soft compared to most that he had to infiltrate, simple in and out smash the lives and grab the bundles designated as Priority. That done in minutes, more muscled used that his usual. Once inside his Ablative armors; while reacting to incoming fire, easily took the low caliber retaliations from manned and unmanned sentry. Once he was inside the target location it was pathetically soft, no internals to speak of. Almost like taking on civilians in their native habitats of diners, stores and shopping complexes. No challenges at all.

The large hunting female eventually started running the prey to ground. It had been a long chase for her. Mostly designed for static defense, her breed was best in close along with indoor situations. Pursuit over long distances is not a forte of large tigers, which were the stock from which the Ent-Tigres was evolved from. Still being able to run at Sixty KPH for hours at a time tends to suffice in short wet work actions. The time between infiltration and the target making it out of the complex and when she was on the trail was under ten minutes. While this was plenty of time for him to get several miles into the surrounding wilderness, but not near enough time to get out of her reach.
Staggering along the waters edge, Desperation sending the hunted into the water. Hoping the giant thing after him could not swim.

Down below the surface, titanium reinforced Teflon grown claws flickered in and out. As steel laced body weight carried the eager killing bio-machine to the now almost drowning victim. The last bubbles explode in atavistic fear and reaction as the giant cat opened wide and displayed nearly four inch long ripping and tearing incisors all the way back in the jaw.

Oh love
Forgotten
Long time past
Hunted Drifts
Into the Iron
Flowering
Under the pick
Of greed

The lyrics come from the speakers inset into the accessories. Fully accoutered in black and gold, like some prehistoric bumblebee given legs and made waif-emaciated with arms, legs and waist. The young lady made her way down the highway etched into the store fronts. Always the one encroaching on the other, in a constant struggle for domination and so far the streets are winning the war.

She takes her time, searching for the exact location mentioned in the texts she had located. The directions, and signals, are not helpful. Interference exists even in this age and day as a factor. Still a touch of time spent, a moment of connectivity and she finds the entrance to her destination.

A moment of checking, an overview look from her Loa, and into the entrance she goes. Massive stairs lead downward into the bowels of the cityscape complex. At least a dozen flights worth of rusted steel to navigate. Only one way to find out for certain the voice in her implants reminds her, only way to make sure is to go down there. Thankful for the company she has, her sure feet make their ways down the endless stairs, around the landings, and down still more stairs. Until finally she had reached her destination. Located miles below the surface of the world, hidden from human and electronic surveillance.

Here, farther underground than in any other place on Earth, save perhaps the oldest of mines, Dr. PorTashia Wagonner, PHD, looked at the handiwork of her people. A self-sufficient community, hidden from sight. The future of humanity, guarded with the mantle of Mother Earth.

 

[Berandor]

Kiln-fired Ceramic DM story
Pics used: Ceramic DM Spring 2005 (Late Bloomer), Round 1 Match 1

Indian Summer
by Patrick “Berandor” Pricken

WARNING! This Story Contains Adult Material And Language! Proceed At Your Own Risk!

In the summer dusk, Lake Chattawanooga was a sight to behold. The water glistened golden in the sun’s dying rays. Small waves rippled in concert with the trees, dancing to an unfelt breeze. A romantic watcher would have declared the sight to be of otherworldly beauty, but someone versed in these things would have disagreed. The lake had an unnatural air about it, all right, but it was not one of beauty. To such a person, the lake would have appeared to be watching, waiting…

»Come on, Debbie. It’ll be fun!« Chad repeated for the sixth time about as many minutes. There was desperation in his plea, even though he tried to hide it. Lyle sympathized with his buddy; fortunately, Annie had taken the news much better.

»All right,« Debbie finally said with little enthusiasm. »I guess I’m in.«

»You guess?« Lyle said, ignoring the angry look Chad sent his way.

»I’m in,« she declared. Chad gave her a supportive kiss on the cheek, and then stowed her belongings next to the camping gear on the bed of his pickup truck. A few moments later, they were on their way to a weekend of camping, swimming and roasting marshmallows – or if it went the way the boys hoped it would, a weekend full of skinny-dipping, consuming alcohol and joints, and sex. To achieve this end, they had told the girls that Chad’s uncle Norman would accompany the four when in fact, Norman’s only participation consisted of two bottles of vodka hidden in Chad’s backpack.

-

As soon as Billy Mulligan had told them of the lake, Chad and Lyle had known they had to take the girls there.

»It’s Cherry Central,« Billy had told them in a confidential whisper. »You get the girls out there, give them a little something to drink, and let nature do its work.«

Chad and Debbie had been together for three months now, while Lyle and Annie were approaching their half-year anniversary. The boys agreed it was time for the girls to put up or shut up. It wasn’t any religious reason that held them back, or either of them would have respected that and moved on to a different girl. In fact, both girls enjoyed kissing, and Lyle had even touched Annie’s breasts, but that was as far as they would go. And it had to change.

Lake Chattawanooga was a wildlife resort about three hundred miles away from Nowhere, Indiana. The ride took almost five hours, and by the time they got there all four were tired.

»I have to pee,« Annie said when the four-wheeler approached a gas station.

»It’s not far anymore,« Chad interjected.

»But I have to pee now.«

The gas station was of the kind you only see in horror movies. Dirty, rundown, a place where being abducted and killed was part of the service. Annie dashed into the store and came out with the bathroom key even before the boys entered. Debbie had stayed in the car.

»Look at that, man.« Chad pointed at the store. »This place is so… small. I wonder if they got beer?«

»You can’t buy beer«, Lyle whispered back. »And besides, we’ve got the vodka.«

»Man, relax. A little beer will soften the chicks up. Then we go for the hard stuff.« Chad took a six-pack and strode to the counter in his quarterback swagger. An old Indian said behind the desk, watching them solemnly. The man took a look at the beer.

»One-eighty,« he said.

»Aren’t you gonna look at our ID?« Lyle asked while Chad shook his head resignedly.

»Why should I?« The Indian replied. His voice was old and rusty from too many campfire stories and perhaps too much pipe weed. »I can see you underage. But if you wanna kill youself with firewater, then be my guest.« Turning to Chad, »Where you headin’, son?«

»Over to the lake, just a weekend of camping with the girls«, Chad replied with his quarterback smile. It was moments like these Lyle envied his buddy. Despite being in the swim team, he had never experienced the fame and confidence that came naturally to someone like Chad.

»Well, son, whatever you do, don’t head into the Indian reserve along the way.«

»Are there bears, or why? I’ve got a rifle with me.«

»Spirits,« the man said. »Evil spirits out there this time of the year. It’s Indian Summer.«

»Indian Summer?«

The man hunched forward, staring at the boys for a moment, before he whispered, »The month when they rounded up the Indians living here and killed them all. Listen to me, son. Stay away from the reserve, and you won’t get youself killed.«

»Where are you guys?« Annie asked from the door. Chad flashed his smile again.

»Just getting a little something to drink.« He held up the beer. Annie gasped, but said nothing.

-

The road led them through the woods. The cool shadows were a welcome respite after hours of driving in the sun, and the kids opened their windows to let in some fresh air. After a few minutes, they passed a warning sign. A dirt road led away from the road next to it. Chad backed the car up. The sign read, ‘Indian Reserve. Do not Trespass.’

»You know, the old man in the gas station told us of this reserve. He said it was the most romantic spot of the whole lake.«

»But-« Lyle began. Chad interrupted him.

»Yeah, I know, Lyle. We promised not to tell anybody what he said. But Debbie and Annie can keep a secret. Right?« The girls nodded.

»Still,« Debbie said. »It says, ‘Do not Trespass.’«

»U-huh. And you aren’t allowed to drink at seventeen.« Debbie looked at the beer can she held in her hand, and blushed.

»Well, now that’s settled…« Chad started to drive down the dirt road.

»Are you sure-« Lyle began.

»I’m sure, fish boy. This will be a night to remember.«

-

At first, the dirt track led through the woods, but then all of a sudden the trees gave way to a magnificent view over the lake. They stopped for a moment and got out of the car. They were at the edge of a cliff; the lake was roughly a hundred feet below. The road lead down to the lakeshore with only a few trees separating it from the cliff. The kids got back into the car.

»Chad,« Lyle said, «please drive carefully.« Chad only laughed in response, while the girls seemed a little perturbed.

They got down in one piece, though, and Lyle immediately forgot the Indian man’s warnings. The place was beautiful. Even the girls agreed. The road ended in a small clearing, just big enough for two tents and a fireplace between them. A wooden landing stage lay at the end of a small trail, reaching out into the water. The girls gathered firewood while the boys set up the tents. Chad postured with his rifle, and then they all stripped down to their swimsuits and headed for the water. The boys were the first to jump in.

»It’s cold!« Chad cried.

»Pussy. It’s wonderful.« Lyle felt the cool water around him, carrying him. As insecure as he sometimes felt on land, he was in his element now. »Come in!« he shouted to the girls, who were walking along the wooden planks rather than running like the boys had done.

»No, wait!« Chad said. »Before you get in, you’ll have to do a routine.«

Annie and Debbie looked at each other for a moment, and then they started a small cheerleading routine, spelling Chad’s name. The boys were mesmerized by the juggling flesh. Chad punched Lyle in the ribs.

»Tonight is gonna be so cool!«

-

It was a clear night. Stars shone down upon the kids, twinkling with glee at the happy couples. The first vodka bottle was half empty, and Chad was passing around a joint, as they all sat huddled around the campfire.

»If the stars could speak, I wonder what they’d say,« Annie said, looking up. She strained her neck, and then fell backwards to the ground, laughing. Lyle lay down beside her.

»They’d speak of your beauty.« He could see Annie swallow, and he was gripped with the sudden knowledge that tonight, he would have sex with her. »I love you,« he whispered, and then he kissed her.

»Look at that fire,« Debbie said.

»Yeah. So?« Chad was bored. He laid his arm around Debbie’s shoulders, only to have her shake it off for the third time. He started to think she was gay, or asexual. He was quarterback, dammit. And worse, he could see Lyle was fast approaching second base.

»No, I mean, look at it.« Debbie hunched forward, her dark tresses falling in front of her face. Suddenly, Chad knew he would not have sex with her tonight. Again. »Look at that piece of coal. It almost looks like a tiny man, or a pupp-«

A sudden gust blew sparks into the air, dancing, falling, landing on Debbie’s hair. In between breaths, the hair went up in flames. Debbie shrieked and batted at her head, which seemed to only incite the flames.

»Oh s**t! S**t! S**t, man!« Chad cursed. Lyle sprang up and watched in horror as Debbie’s hair was burned to a crisp. Debbie was running left and right, screeching all the time.

»Do something, man!« Lyle shouted. Chad grabbed Debbie and pinned her arms down, while Lyle beat a towel at her head. Together, they managed to douse the flames, and soon after, Debbie stopped struggling. They laid her down on a blanket. She was trembling vehemently, howling in pain. Her face and head was blackened and blistered, and puss leaked from the burns.

»Oh God. Oh God, oh Godohgod.« Chad paced around the fire like a caged tiger. Lyle held Annie in a tight embrace, catching her tears on his breast, while looking down at Debbie’s twitching body.

»We have to get help,« he said. »Chad!« Chad looked up. »We have to get help.«

»Yeah, you’re right.« Chad pulled out his cell phone and dialed 911, before he looked at the display. »No connection. No goddamn freaking connection. This piece of s**t modern technology has no freaking connection!«

»We’ll have to get her to the gas station. There has to be a phone.«

»The gas station. Right. Yes. Good idea. Let’s get her there.«

Carefully, they lifted the blanket beneath Debbie. Her moans grew louder. Quickly, they laid her on the truck bed.

»I’m staying with her in the back.« Lyle climbed the ramp.

»Me, too,« Annie said, and joined him.

-

The pickup sped along the track, veering dangerously close to the cliffside. Debbie’s howls were getting weaker. Annie held her hand and told her to hold on, help was underway.

Suddenly, something hit the windshield. Chad tore at the steering wheel, and for a moment the truck moved sideways along the track. Then, the car sped forward again and crashed into the woods. Lyle was thrown off the car, whereas Annie smashed against the back of the diver’s cab. Glass shattered, wood splintered, and Debbie stopped howling.

»Chad?« Lyle stumbled to his feet. His head hurt, and his vision was blurred. From where he stood, he could see the quarterback sitting upright in his seat. A tree branch the size of Lyle’s leg had punched through the windshield and into his breast. He was very dead.

»Lyle? What happened?«

»Annie? Are you okay?« Lyle reached the truck just as Annie managed to stand up. She seemed unhurt.

»I suppose. Did you see what happened?«

»I don’t know. There was a white shape-«

With a loud thunking noise, the white shape landed in the back of the truck. It was a huge white tiger, and it looked right at Lyle, who felt himself frozen to the spot. Annie shrieked and stepped back, coming up against the cab. The tiger turned around and took a slow step towards her.

That’s when Debbie started howling and twitching again. The tiger jumped. Annie shrieked again. The tiger landed right next to Debbie’s head. Lyle shook out of his fear. The tiger opened its maw and bit down.

»Annie,« Lyle said with forced calm. »Come here.« Annie shook her head no. Tears were running down her face. Rending flesh and breaking bones mingled with Debbie’s howls. »Come here!«

Annie took a step forward. The tiger did not react. Another step, and another, and then Lyle pulled her from the bed. The tiger looked up, its white fur crimsoned with blood.

»Run!« Lyle took Annie’s hand and pulled her away. They stumbled onto the dirt track. Lyle hesitated before running downwards, Annie in tow, towards the shore. Towards the campsite. Towards Chad’s rifle.

Leaves rustled. Lyle turned his head, and he saw a white shape darting through the woods.

»S**t.«

»What is it?« Annie asked in between breaths. »It’s here, isn’t it? Oh God, we’re gonna die.« She began to cry. Her steps faltered. Lyle pulled at her arm. She stumbled and flew against him, toppling them both over. Lyle felt his leg scraping open, he heard Annie cry out, and he saw the tiger come out of the woods.

He forced himself to stand. Annie lay on the ground, crying. Her left ankle was broken; the bone was visible through the skin. The tiger advanced almost languidly, its tongue cleaning bits of blood from its snowy fur.

»I love you, Annie.« Lyle bent down and picked up a stone. It lay heavy in his hand. The tiger watched him cautiously. Lyle took a step backwards, and another, until he stood at the edge of the cliff. It was twenty feet to the lake below.

»Hey, Garfield! Yes, you, the fat cat in the lousy fur! What’s it gonna be? Are you gonna attack or what? You yellow bastard!« Lyle gestured wildly. The tiger watched him, and then turned towards Annie.

»Oh, no, you don’t!« Lyle threw the rock. The tiger dodged, and Lyle picked up another one. The tiger growled and hunched low.

»Yeah, that’s right, pussycat. Come and get me.« Lyle could feel his heart racing. »Annie, get the rifle. All right? Get the rifle, Annie.« He lifted the rock to throw. The tiger jumped. It crashed into Lyle with the force of a sledgehammer. Lyle was pushed back. His right arm was slashed by razor-sharp claws. His left grabbed the tiger. Lyle fell over the cliff’s edge, desperately holding on to the tiger. Something pulled at his arm, and then he only held a handful of fur.

»Annie!« Lyle shouted. Then he hit the water. His vision blacked out for a second. As the cold water numbed his pain, he could see the cliff above him. A shadow was coming towards him. Jumping. Falling. Diving. Bursting through the water’s surface. It was the tiger. It swam towards Lyle, malevolence in its eyes.

Lyle dodged a claw and dove under the cat, coming out behind it. Before the tiger could turn around, Lyle was above it. He slung his arms around the animal’s throat, wincing at the pain, and then tightened his grip. The tiger bucked, it turned this way and that, but Lyle held on. His lungs were on fire, but he held on. Finally, the struggle ceased, and the tiger lay still in the water. Lyle let go and swam upwards. He broke the surface gasping for air. With his last amount of strength, he swam to the rocky shore, pulled himself onto a flat rock, and lay panting.

»F**k you, pussycat,« he said, coughing up water. »I’m in the f**king swim team.«

-

The night was almost over when he reached the campsite. The fire was burning low, but at least it was still burning. His clothes hung cold and wet to his body, and Lyle was aching for some warmth.

»Stop, or I’ll… Lyle?« Annie stood behind the fire, the rifle in her hand. »Oh my God, Lyle. You’re alive!« She let the rifle fall down in the grass and hobbled towards him, wincing each time she stepped on her ankle. Lyle met her on the way and slung her into his arms. Her skin was warm, almost feverish so, and smooth. So warm and smooth.

»I thought you were dead,« they said in unison, and then laughed.

»Oh, Annie.« Lyle held her tight, caressed her hair. He could feel her hands on his back, her heartbeat close to his, her body pressed against him. So smooth and warm.

He kissed her. She kissed him. Their tongues met and danced from mouth to mouth. His wet shirt was pulled over his head, her blouse followed. He stepped out of his jeans, she stepped out of hers. They were alive!

They fell to the ground, never leaving their embrace. Hands roamed, lips spent kisses everywhere. Soon, the fire was but a candle to their heat, and lust took control. When Lyle penetrated her, she bent her body to accommodate his, and they shared another kiss.

»I love you, Annie.«

»I love you, too.« Annie moved her back sideways, grimacing a little.

»Something wrong?«

»No. It’s just… my back itches. It’s all right. Don’t stop.«

»I won’t.« And he didn’t. After a while, Annie’s breathing accelerated, and he quickened his pace. She began to tremble. He closed his eyes, trying to extend the moment. She started to moan. To spasm.

»Oh, Annie!« He looked down at her, and then jumped up in shock. Almost her whole body was covered in black ants. They were everywhere. On her arms, her legs. On her breasts. Just now they were running all over her face. He looked into her eyes, hoping beyond hope that she was dead. She wasn’t.

Lyle stumbled away, unable to look, unable to look away. Her back had itched. And he had… he had – he fell on his knees and threw up.

He heard twigs break, leaves rustle. He looked up, and saw green eyes stare back. Out of the black woods stepped a white shape. The rifle lay ten feet away from him on the ground. He’d have to get past Annie to get it. Lyle looked at the rifle, and then he looked at Annie.

»Well, f**k!«

The tiger jumped.

-

In the summer dusk, Lake Chattawanooga was a sight to behold. The water glistened golden in the sun’s dying rays. Small waves rippled in concert with the trees, dancing to an unfelt breeze. A romantic watcher would have declared the sight to be of otherworldly beauty, but someone versed in these things would have disagreed. The lake had an unnatural air about it, all right, but it was not one of beauty. To such a person, the lake would have appeared to be watching, waiting…

 

[BigTom]

Ok, now that judging is over, here is the full version of my story, not hacked down in a desperate attempt to get it under the 5000 word limit.

“Enough of your riddles, witch! I came here for answers, not questions!”
Andor was angry with the witch. Not because she asked him riddles he could not solve, and not because she was slow in answering the questions he brought. He knew from his lessons that magic moved at its own pace. What angered Andor was the disrespect the witch showed him. Andor did not have the crown, but he was the rightful heir. Instead of speaking to him with respect, the witch mocked and chided him. She taunted him as one would taunt a child. Andor was only six months past the tests of manhood, but he had passed them. His hair was cut to hold a warrior’s helmet, and his muscles had begun to take on the hardness of manhood, if not yet the full bulk. He had already proven his sword was capable of cutting through armor when he was tested, although that had been metal tied to a beef shank, and not a true foe. Still, Andor had both the training and body of a warrior and he knew he was deadly. He would have her respect, or he would have her head. In the heat of the moment, he had stopped caring which it was.

The witch smiled at him. She had the look of one who kept a nasty secret and was about to delight in the pain its sharing caused. Then she spoke, her ragged voice cracking from age. “Youngling, if you come with foolish questions, I will give you foolish answers. You deserve no more. You have neither throne nor crown, and if you had prospects of gaining either you would not have come to me.” The witch cackled in a low voice, then continued, pointing at him with the withered claw that was her hand. “You want to know how to gain your father’s throne. The answer is simple. Kill your uncle and take it. Except your Uncle is a man who has earned the respect and loyalty of many good fighting men, while you are a boy whose friends are unblooded. So we both know the real answer to your question. You can’t take your father’s crown or throne. It is now beyond you.”

Andor gritted his teeth and held his rage. The throne and crown were rightfully his. On the day of his father’s death, his Uncle had arrived with many men and spoken many lies to the elders. In the end, they had given the crown and throne to his Uncle because they feared to do otherwise. Andor thought bitterly about his situation. He had been robbed, and could see the thief, yet he could not bring him to justice. Andor breathed deeply, slowly gaining control of the rage. He knew the witch spoke true. Yet he could not give up so easily. He would not be his father’s son if he abandoned his birthright so easily. Finally, he composed himself enough to speak.

“You speak truly, witch. I cannot fight my uncle and win. If I could I would. You know I come here to seek another way. I am barely a man now, and my friends are unblooded. But that will change in time. Witch, I ask you, can you guide me so that my future will hold victory over my uncle? Can you look into the future and tell me how I may defeat him and claim my birthright?”

The witch stared at him for a long time, the look on her weathered face less amused. He could tell she was studying him, but he could not tell what she might be looking for. He felt uncomfortable under her ancient gaze, like a schoolboy caught doodling instead of writing. Finally she broke the silence. This time her voice was serious, if not respectful.
“Mayhap there is a glimmer of hope in you, child. You have at least started to find wisdom. You have half a man’s body, but you may have more than half a wit. You talk of the future instead of the present. Good. Thinking of the future is the first step to finding answers.” As the witch spoke, she casually picked up a glass sphere and began playing with it. It seemed to dance across her fingers and along her hand. Andor could not help but wonder if it moved by magic or simple dexterity. He found it strangely distracting but struggled to continue to hear the witch’s words as she continued to talk.
“Our futures are not set things, child. The future is ever fluid and flows where it will. All we can hope to do is read how the riverbeds lay and try to steer ourselves through the rapids. One misstep and you surely drown. Ride them out and you may have a long smooth journey. The question now isn’t how to sink your Uncle’s boat, but where the rocks are.”

Andor heard her words, but they were becoming faint things. They seemed to echo at him from a distance. What he saw was the sphere, dancing on her hand. He saw nothing else. Then he didn’t see the hand. All he saw was the sphere dancing its hypnotic dance and the void. Slowly his mind realized what had happened. While she spoke, the witch had used her magic on him. Without taking his eye off the sphere, he called out to the witch. “What should I do here? Where have you sent me?” The reply seemed to echo at him from a thousand different places. “Watch and learn boy.” So Andor continued to watch the sphere dance. Slowly, he began to see his reflection in the sphere. He got a strange sense of himself staring at himself. He saw himself, and then he saw himself seeing himself. Slowly, the sphere began to reflect itself as it reflected him, and he saw more spheres, forming into a large, roiling sea of dancing orbs, each reflecting him in a slightly different way. Then in each orb, he saw himself acting. In some he fought his uncle, and he saw how he died. In one his head was removed from his shoulders. In another he lay on the ground, his guts hanging from his belly and crows picking his flesh before life left him. Then he looked at the other spheres. In some he fled. In some he stayed and bowed to his uncle. He kept looking until he saw one where he was old. He lay on his deathbed as an old man, surrounded by men and women who loved him, with rings on his fingers and silk sheets. He thought to himself that that was a fine thing. He focused his entire mind on that one orb as it danced in the jumble, seeing how he might get to that place. He couldn’t get everything, as the orb moved and changed too fast. He did see enough to realize what he needed to do. The witch had been right about the rapids. Yet now he would need to steer at a bigger rock than any his Uncle would lay before him, and get around it. If he could surmount that one great obstacle, he could have smooth sailing for an entire life. With this realization, the spheres seemed to fall away and suddenly everything was light.

Andor’s people lived a precarious existence. They lived in a great village in a fertile valley. Yet danger lurked, for beyond the valley were the mountains, and within the mountains dwelled many evil things. Some a sword would kill. Others laughed at the weapons of his people. The people of the valley avoided the mountains as much as possible, and relied on the king and his men when something came down from the mountains to threaten them. Thus it had been for as long as the people of the valley could remember. Sometimes their kings won great victories and there was peace. Sometimes the kings lost and a great price would be paid to the invaders, be it gold, food or children, and life would go on. The one thing that was known of the enemy was that just as the valley had a king, so too did the mountain. No one in the valley had seen this king, or knew what it was, but the creatures that invaded talked of their king and laid down their lives for him willingly. The king of the mountain had never attacked the valley himself, and those who went to the mountains to destroy him did not return. Yet Andor knew that he could destroy the king of the mountain. For he had seen the future where he did. If that future existed, then the chance of victory must also exist. So he would follow that path and die or live well.

Andor spoke of his vision and his plan to the witch, and she listened intently. She did not interrupt him, and she showed neither approval nor scorn. In the end, she offered him counsel.
“Young Andor, son of Gilean, blood heir to the crown and throne, hear me well. I would have you live and I would have you succeed, although neither is likely. If you would succeed, know this. The king of the mountain dwells in a cave in a great canyon. If you would find this canyon, seek the echoes, for all voices on the mountain make their way to the king. Once there, you will have to overcome his guardian and enter his cave. There, you may confront the king of the mountain and if the fates favor you vanquish him. Carry with you an extra days worth of food and water, for where you must go that which may seem fair to eat may prove most foul, and the water may be more deadly than a blade at your throat. Hold forth your father’s blade that I may offer you my meager assistance.” Andor held out the blade, and the witch began to chant. Her hands began to glow with white fire, and the fire slowly spread from her hands to the blade. In time the chanting ceased and the fire dissipated. The witch looked at Andor, and he saw weariness in those old, shrunken eyes. “Hear me one more time, boy. My magic has gifted your blade with the ability to strike both men and monsters. Even spirits will feel its sting. But know that his gift can only last for three days. After that, your blade will be naught to the spirits of the mountain and you will surely die at their hands. If you would go, go now and do not look back. Go with my blessings, and may the spirits of the fathers watch over you.”

Andor left immediately. Along the way was the homestead of his friend Gerd. Gerd would take the tests of manhood after the harvest. Until then he worked as a farmhand for his father and studied the lessons the elders taught. Andor and Gerd had learned many lessons together. He stopped long enough to grab the supplies he needed and let Gerd know what he intended to do. If he did not return, he wanted his friends to know his fate. Armed with an extra skin of fresh water, an extra axe, and his father’s sword, Andor hugged his friend goodbye and continued towards the mountain.

Andor walked all day and half of the night until he reached the base of the mountain. He located a small cave at the base of the mountain and hid himself as best he could. There he rested. He awoke with the light of dawn. Andor’s plan was simple. He hoped to locate the canyon before night fell. He would find a place to hide and rest, and assault it by the light of dawn. His father had always told him that the creatures of the mountain scorned sunlight, and he hoped that was true. He doubted that it would help him with the king, but it might give him an edge on whatever guarded the king.

For most of the day, Andor climbed. The high ground would offer the best vantage point for finding where he must go. The climb was treacherous, for the mountain had many steep, rocky places. Andor was young and agile, and he kept his footing. At the end of the day he stood atop the mountain. He looked over the valley as the sun set, its golden rays lighting up the cloudy sky with an incandescent display of gorgeous red and gold. He could see the village and the land around it. The sight filled him with a strange sense of sadness. He knew this might be the last he would see of his home. He looked all around, and although he could see much of the mountain, he did not see a canyon. Tired and frustrated, he lay down beneath a boulder, hoping to remain hidden through the night. With light fading, he thought all hope for finding the canyon and the cave today were gone. He would have to hope to find it tomorrow before the magic in his blade faded.

Andor hid until nightfall. The light of the sun made it impossible to sleep, so he lay awake thinking of many things. He thought most of his father. His father had been strong and proud. Andor had spent his life trying to live up to that image. Now, in a strange way, he had both abandoned and vindicated it. To give up the crown and throne would have made his father ashamed of him. Yet to pursue the mountain king and remove that threat to the village was the noblest of all quests, and he was sure his father would have been proud of his bravery. His father had been a good horseman, but when the colt panicked and rolled, his father could not get out of the saddle in time. No man could have. His father had been dead before anyone could reach him, his chest crushed and his heart broken. That single moment had completely changed Andor’s life, and now very well might lead to his death as well. As the last light slipped from the sky, Andor tried to sleep beneath the boulder, hoping to awake with fresh inspiration.

Two hours after the light was gone from the sky, Andor was still unable to sleep. He lay on his back, looking at the stars and praying to any god that would hear his plea. The night was deathly quiet except for the occasional call of an owl, and the rare call of the wolves. As Andor lay thinking, he heard another of the calls of father owl. Then he realized he was hearing something else. An echo. The words of the witch came back to him then. Follow the echo. He waited. The next time the owl called, he listed for the echo, and he could faintly hear where it came from. After two more calls from father owl, he had a direction. It was dark, and this was the dangerous time to travel in the mountains, but Andor knew time was against him. The mountain was dark, but the moon and stars did shed some light. Enough, he hoped, to guide his feet towards the echo. Slowly, measuring each step, Andor began the long climb down towards the returning call of father owl. It was painful to move this way. Many times his ankle tried to twist away from him as soft gravel slid beneath his feet. Sometimes, the ground sloped in an unexpected way, and Andor had to fight to keep his balance lest he tumble down the rock face of the mountain. Yet, he persevered step after step, minute after minute, hour after hour. Finally, he reached out with his foot and found nothing but air beneath it. Taking time to let his eyes adjust under the pale moonlight, he saw that before him was a vast canyon. Andor knew he could go no farther this night. He covered himself in a thin blanket and covered the blanket with gravel to hide himself. He knew it wouldn’t keep the hunters that tracked by smell away, but it was the best he could do. Then he lay on the hard earth and slept a deep sleep.

The light of dawn brought Andor awake, feeling strangely refreshed despite the night’s travails. Now he could see what lay in front on him. The canyon was deep, but not impossibly so. Far below, the early rays of the sun glinted off of a small river that ran the length of the canyon. The side was made of solid stone, rough in its surface and full of holes. With caution and effort he worked his way down the cliff to the bottom of the canyon. Andor followed the river, thinking that the king was likely to live farther along it. It was Andor’s experience that rivers grew as they traveled, and he was sure the king would live near somewhere with a better waterway than the stream he saw.

Andor walked until the mid day sun beat down on him. He took a small lunch by the side of the river. He desperately wanted to cool himself in the river, but caution prevailed. Instead, he took time to observe the river. Soon, he realized that no fish swam in the river. The few things he saw move did not look like fish. They did not look like anything he had seen, and did not look like things he wanted to see. So Andor remained hot and uncomfortable, but stayed alive. So it was for another hour until Andor came to a bend in the canyon and, beyond, heard a low growl. He pressed himself against the wall of the canyon and slowly crept forward until he could see around the bend. What he saw nearly made his heart stop. For he was sure he had found the king’s guardian.

What Andor saw could only have risen from the deepest pits of hell. The creature was enormous, larger than the largest ox. At least a dozen appendages seemed to hang from the grotesque, bloated body. Several of these ended in heads, while others seemed to end in claws and a few in hands. The heads seemed to writhe around, watching in all directions. As Andor continued to watch, he could hear the creature talking to itself. Each head had a unique voice, but none were pleasant and none quite human. Some growled deeply, while others squeaked and piped like a poorly tuned flute. Andor knew he could not simply charge such a creature and slay it. He realized his only hope lay in trickery. Quickly forming a plan, Andor took a deep breath, puffed up his chest, and boldly strode towards the creature.
“Hail the court of the mountain king! I am Andor, a wizard, and I come to offer my services!”

All heads turned for a moment to observe Andor as he walked towards the creature. Some watched him intently. Others quickly went back to their routine, watching in all directions. One that looked much like a wolf seemed to watch him the most intently, and Andor realized it also smelled his scent. The wolf growled out “I smell only manling. I scent no sorcery.” A second head, this one looking like a mountain cat, purred in reply “Maybe not, but I don’t trust such decisions to your nose. The king should make the decision.” A third head, that of a dragon, surged forward, roaring out “men are food unless the king says otherwise. I am hungry and I would feast!” The cat replied, “Your hunger is greater than your sense. Be still!” The cat and dragon growled and hissed at each other for a moment, then a small, serpentine head wound its way forward through the writhing mass. It hissed a command “Silence all of you. I shall judge this one. Speak to me manling, and speak well, or you will surely make excellent dining for my friends.”

Andor quickly began talking. “I am a wizard from the valley folk, recently come into my power. The old witch saw me as a threat to her position and turned the villagers against me. So I come here to this court, seeking revenge against those who wronged me.”

“A likely story” hissed the snake head, “but we want proof. Show us some sorcery and we will present you to the king. Otherwise, dragon will slowly tear away your muscle while wolf savors your guts. Show me something manling, if you would pass.”

Andor spoke. “Demon, I know you come from the deepest hells, so I know you have their power. If you choose, you can be impervious to the touch of mortals. Only a wizard could touch you then. Make yourself so. I will come forward and grab the wolf’s snout. If I fail to hold it, you can strike me down. If I grip it, my claim is true. What say you?”

The snake hissed back with what seemed to almost be a chuckle in its voice. “Very well, manling. But know this. We can come from our world to yours in but a second. If you fail, you will not be able to run from us before we can strike you true. If your plan is to charge through us while we cannot be touched, let me assure you all you will offer us is a short game and a quick meal. Come forward, manling, and show us your sorcery.”

Andor walked forward with a quick, deliberate step. He desperately hoped he was not betraying the fear that coursed through his body. If he showed this thing fear, he had no doubt it would strike him down. His only hope was for the thing to believe him enough to keep its word about being incorporeal. So Andor strode directly to the wolves head. As he expected, the dragon head looped behind him, ready for the snack it anticipated. Andor reached out with his left hand towards the toothy snout of the wolf. He hoped the creature didn’t notice his other hand quietly gripping the hilt of his sword. As his hand passed through the snout, his other hand drew the sword. Leaning forward and falling through the wolf’s head, he brought the enchanted sword down with all of the force he could muster. He felt the sword strike bone and the wolf’s eyes suddenly went blank. The force of the blow cracked the thing's skull and it hung loosely from the body, blood pouring from the mouth. Andor let himself fall to the ground and rolled to the side. As he expected, the dragon head had rushed to strike and had grabbed at where he had been. Andor drove his sword straight up, slicing open the long neck of the dragon. A strange black ichor erupted from the wound, covering Andor. Andor twisted the blade, then rolled away hard, pulling the sword with him. The dragon head collapsed to the ground and he narrowly avoided being crushed by it. Andor rose to one knee, sword ready, as the serpent head swept down on him. Down, and then through him. Andor had guessed correctly. The wolf and dragon had been ready to attack, the serpent had not. Andor swung the blade hard against the neck of the serpent and cut through it, severing the head completely from the body. Andor retreated as the thing lurched around. With the strongest heads slain, the rest could not control and guide the body. Andor retreated, warding the remaining heads with his sword, and waited. Soon the creature began to weaken from the blood loss. Realizing its plight at last, the remaining heads joined together for the only action that made sense, and the creature fled down the cavern with a dozen different howls of pain and defiance. Andor stood alone at the base of the cliff. A single ladder led up the side of the cliff to a small opening. Beyond was the hall of the mountain king. Andor climbed.

Andor expected to find many things beyond the door. Guardians and beasts. Great halls with massive thrones. Strange dungeons full of the awfulness of hell.
He found none of those things. Instead, he found himself standing alone in a forest. The cave mouth disappeared as soon as he entered it, and he stood alone in a great wood. The sun seemed to be blotted out and it was almost too dark to see. Yet when Andor drew his sword, it glowed with the magic on it. Andor quietly raised the sword in a traditional salute and offered a silent prayer of thanks to whatever god had guided him here.

Andor took a moment to get his bearings, and in that moment, he realized something. There was no wind in the forest. There was no rustle of leaves, and there was no call of animals. Instinctively, Andor knew this was a sorcerous place. Again he had to trust his intuition, and his intuition said this was a magical trap that would spring soon. Andor thought back to the village elders teaching on ensorcellments. The thought that stood out was how one defeated an illusion. The elder had said a magical illusion would stand up to any visual test, but it could not truly defy the laws of nature. So, Andor pulled his axe and hurled it at the nearest tree. It stuck into the tree with a satisfying thunk. Then Andor carefully stepped over to the tree to retrieve the axe. As he had thought, there had been no tree for the real axe to stick in, and his hand passed through the illusion. As it did so, Andor could feel a tingling in his mind, and the forest simply faded away. Andor turned just in time to see the thing that stalked him. It was a huge, hulking brute, seven feet tall and vaguely human. Yet its features seemed to be melted and twisted. It wielded a huge, spiked club that it swung with great force. Andor barely dodged the blow. However, Andor also could tell that for all the creature’s strength, it was slow. Andor was fast and Andor had steel. He stalked the creature. The creature continued to swing wildly, but Andor was able to dodge its massive, clumsy blows. Finally, the creature overextended itself trying to reach Andor and Andor struck back, cutting a deep wound in the creature’s arm. As the creature reared back in pain, Andor charged forward and stabbed with all of his might. The blade cut deep into the thing’s ribs, and it fell back with a piteous howl and expired.

Beyond the cave was another room, and Andor charged in. This room was carved from the rock. Several cushions lined the walls, and the floor was covered with exquisite tiling. Sitting in the center of the room was a boy. He looked to be about ten, and his face was a mask of fear and confusion.
“Sir, have you slain the king?”
Andor looked at the boy. “Do you mean that thing in the other room?”
“Yes sir. That was the strongest of the men of the mountain, so they named it their king. It made a compact with hell to gain power.”
“Yes, I have slain it. Who are you?”
“I am Arthuk. We were captured by the mountain men some time ago. The rest of my family is behind that door. Please, sir knight, would you rescue them?”
“Certainly, lad. Take my hand now. I don’t want you getting lost.”

As Andor reached for the boy, the boy shrank away from him. Andor took another, cautious step towards the boy, and the boy again slid back from him. Quickly the boy jumped to his feet. “Quickly sir, I beg of you.” Cried the boy as he ran towards the door. Andor bolted after him, hearing the loud footfalls of his boots on the hard stone floor. Andor reached the second door and saw the boy half way across another room, this one barren of anything but stone floor and walls. “Please, hurry!” shouted the boy as he began running again. Andor was about to follow when something in the back of his mind made him stop. He quickly realized what it was. The boy did not make a sound as he ran on the stone floor. Andor slowly drew his sword and pushed it into the ground in front of him. The sword easily pushed through, and the floor that had appeared there a moment before was gone, replaced with a great chasm that appeared to have no bottom. The boy stood in mid air over the chasm. The child stared at Andor, and Andor stared back. A smile slowly crept across the boys face, but it was not a child’s smile. This smile held the anger and malice of the old in it. “Clever, mortal” was all the boy said as he raised his hand and pointed at Andor. Flame shot from his hands, and Andor threw himself back through the door into the first room. Andor hid by the door, sword at the ready, waiting for the demon. When the demon rushed through, Andor swung his sword with all his might, seeking to catch the creature in the door. The demon was fast and dodged the blow. It rolled away from Andor and came to its feet. When it spoke again, it was no longer the voice of a child, but the deep roaring of a mighty conflagration. “Impudent mortal, you dare come to my hall to slay me! You have been clever and you have been lucky, but neither of those things will avail you now. I am hell, and hell will have you.” With that, the child seemed to erupt into flame. Its hair changed from curly blonde to curls of fire. Its eyes glowed with the heat of a furnace. Bits of flame seemed to float from different parts of its body randomly. Then, the creature rose into the air, floating above the ground in all its demonic splendor. Soon, it was too high for Andor to reach with his sword, and Andor knew he was in deep trouble. The creature laughed with a deep rumbling. “Fool, your blade is nothing to me. I am the fire of hell and now you will roast.” The demon pointed at Andor and a gout of flame shot from his hand. Andor threw himself to the side and narrowly avoided being engulfed, but he did feel the skin on his back singe from the heat. There was no doubt in his mind that a direct strike would burn him alive. Andor hurled his magical blade at the demon, hoping to run it through since he could not reach it. The demon easily moved from the path of the blade, continuing its mocking laughter. The blade clattered harmlessly to the ground behind the demon. Again the demon pointed and again flame leapt at Andor. Again he dodged and again he felt the sting of the heat. He knew he could not keep this up much longer. The heat was already taking its toll on him. Desperate, he pulled his extra axe and hurled it at the demon. Instead of dodging, the demon grabbed the axe in mid flight. For a moment, the handle flashed red, and then was burned away. The fire seemed to flow into the creature and it seemed somehow to enjoy the feeling. The head of the axe clattered to the floor smoking from where the handle had been attached. “Tasty, boy, but not as tasty as man flesh”. For a third time the creature hurled its fire and Andor dodged. This time, he rolled forward, towards the demon and towards his sword. In a final effort, he pulled his spare waterskin and hurled it at the demon. The demon caught it and it was engulfed in flame. Then the skin broke open and water struck the demon. The water exploded into steam and the creature screamed. The light in the room noticeable dimmed as the demon’s fire momentarily faltered. The demon plunged to the floor. Andor did not take time to look, as he was already running for the sword. He swiped it up in one hand and turned, using the turn to both propel himself forward and bring the blade around fast. The blade struck true and the demon was cut in two. The awful thing seemed to simply melt into the rock, leaving a scorch mark to show its passing. Andor had done what no warrior of the valley had been able to do, he had slain the mountain king.

Andor knew knowledge of his heroism would be sung about for generations to come, and his place among the villagers would be assured. Then he thought a little more. Andor realized that his victory over the Mountain King would make him a direct threat to his Uncle. He might win and he might lose in the battle that would inevitably follow, but it would certainly mean that he would not have the peaceful life he had seen in the orbs. So, Andor realized that his victory would have to be a secret. He would have to hope the spirit of his Father would know of his deed without it being sung in the hall of the ancestors. Andor would always know he had proved himself worthy of his father, and that would be enough.
Slowly, Andor began the long trip home.

In time, Andor became a successful farmer and merchant and grew wealthy. His friends followed his example, applying themselves to the arts of commerce instead of the arts of war. In time, it became clear that the mountain would no longer attack the valley. Without a foe to fight, the kings men slowly began to leave, seeking their employment elsewhere. Without his men, the king lost his power. Before his death, he was forced to sign over all power to a new council made up of the leading men from the village. Andor was chosen to lead that council, which took place in the old throne room. Andor sat on the throne and debated with the men how to bring prosperity to the village. The taxes once used to pay fighting men now paid widows pensions. Eventually, Andor and the council approved the sale of the old crown to pay for a new granary. Andor grew old with the respect and admiration of the peaceful people of the valley, and died an old man in his plush bed, surrounded by his family. With his passing, thus passed the last of the warriors and the age that had spawned them.