Bibliophile
First Post
Interesting pictures... very, very interesting...
Ceramic DM - Spring 2005 (Late Bloomer) - We have a winner.
BSF
Explorer
For the Spectators
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Thanks!
Remember folks, we are once again consolidating any and all spectator commentary into the main story thread. If you read one of these stories and want to offer any commentary at all, please do so!
Ceramic DM is fun because of the pictures, the smack-talk and the stories. But it is also fun because of the commentary and discussions that come up. Whether you want to discuss the mechanics and the craft of writing, or if you want to discuss specific aspects of a given story that you thought were interesting, go ahead and post. You, as a spectator, are important to the fun of each contest.
All we ask is to note your commentary if it comes before judgements do. You can use spoilers or you can use white space and subject headers. Once a judgement has been rendered, you can comment on a story without worrying about noting that it is commentary. Below is the section of the FAQ detailing commentary.
Thanks!
Ceramic DM FAQ for Fiction said:
Berandor
lunatic
Oh, and I'm sorry, but I can't find a translation:
What do you call this (see pic behind link):
http://www.verre-a-soi.com/images/mobile-gf.jpg
Is it a "mobile"? "windspiel"?
What do you call this (see pic behind link):
http://www.verre-a-soi.com/images/mobile-gf.jpg
Is it a "mobile"? "windspiel"?
Speaker
First Post
The Lady For The Tiger
The Lady For The Tiger
Two figures on a distant beach, one male, one female. They sit, eyes locked, her grey eyes locked on his. Between them a stock of wood, arranged to burn but not yet aflame. The sun is strong.
“Now." Whispers the lady, and the other leans forward, ever so slightly on the hard, rocky soil. A deepening of mind, and suddenly-
-he is at rest, on a strong branch of this tree. This is his home, as much as any place may be home for one of his bearing. For he is the true master of the wild, the Bengal White Tiger. There is no animal like him, and the presence now beginning to fill his head knows that there will not be, never again, for this is the last of his kind. Slowly his breed has been eliminated, and even those who live in captivity have passed away, victims of broken freedom and quiet boredom. His fate is as desperate as any of those animals he may have fallen upon to prey in the past, and now he-
-the fire is starting to burn, a flame from nowhere, steadily building. The women nods to herself, almost imperceptibly, face and veil shining in the firelight (picture of a woman’s face), and the man holds his place. Indeed, his body remains still even as his mind descends upon the noble beast, so far away and so lonely. But as time passes, that distance decreases and the man becomes the tiger, and now he frowns, for something is happening. The fire-
-smells something on the wind. It is a smell of another animal, but of a different sort. And with that smell comes a memory of danger for the white tiger. In one swift movement and uncoiling of powerful limbs, the tiger rises to its feet. It pauses then for a second, making sure, testing the wind thoroughly. For he is the greatest hunter of this place, yes, but there are greater hunters still. And now he can taste many of them, with every breath.
This is not the first time he has been hunted. Those who seek him have become desperate, for with every death of his like siblings his value has risen. Now his teeth alone would fetch the price of a manor, his hide a large tract of land, and his bones a great reward. The tiger does not know this, now as he tenses for the chase, but the presence in his head understands and comprehends the desperate peril now at hand.
And now the time for waiting has passed, for the smell of humanity is coming ever nearer. The tiger leaps, and as he hits the ground his great feet are already moving. A voice cries out in alarm, and then with joy, and now the chase is on. But this is the tiger’s home, and for all the planning and the numbers of those who hunt him, the tiger now is at his finest and will not be made easy prey.
Now the jungle passes by as the tiger picks up speed, and the presence marvels at how he might at one moment gracefully spring to this tall rock, then the next fling himself there, to that towering tree, not pausing and racing in mind as well as body, seeking refuge because the hunters are all about, and every way seems to lead to a desperate trap and defeat. Now ahead the tiger catches a glimpse of a pursuer. The man stands still, a weapon raised, and now there is a blast of thunder and the tiger turns only just in time to avoid the bullet. With a bound the tiger could take vengeance, as the man throws down his makeshift firearm and turns in fear, but instead the sharp retort of the weapon sends the tiger charging past the man an on into the bush. But the other hunters have heard the shot, and now their smell presses down on the tiger more sharply then before.
But finally a glimmer of safety. At one moment the tiger is flying over a collection of misshapen branches and mossy rock, and the next the ground drops away fifty, a hundred feet. Down the tiger drops, falling now faster, and then-
-dances high now, flaring with the desperation of the chase. The man sits rigid, eyes locked on the flames. His companion, however, is now moving. Slowly she rises to her feet, glances to the stars. And more slowly still she begins to change. The veil drops in to her face, becoming a pattern of black stripes, and her skin whitens and begins to grow fur. As the fire crackles now she drops to all fours. Her limbs begin to shorten and become more heavily muscled, her hands to become great paws, and now where stood a lady stands instead a-
-there is water all around as the tiger completes his dive (picture: tiger in water). Bengal tigers swim as naturally as they run, and now the tiger drives forward with his powerful paws, pushes through the water of this clear pool and up towards the surface. Now he enters the exiting river, floating downstream, a brief respite, paddling only to keep afloat. The sounds of the chase are above him, but his puny pursuers dare not take the plunge to follow after.
But something is wrong. The tiger can still smell men. And now up the river towards him comes a speedboat, its motor harshly blazing a trail, and the tiger lunges for the bank. The boat is impossibly fast, heading his way against the current, and now its passengers can see the tiger and they too take aim and fire their own guns. But the tiger has reached the bank, and even as his hide is scored by a lucky shot he pulls himself out of the water and dashes back into the green wild. Behind him there are shouted orders and oaths, and the boat motors to shore.
The chase is on as strong as ever, and somehow the tiger knows that this is his hour of final glory and releases all of his reserves. The presence in the tiger’s head is once again awed, as the tiger now doubles its speed and swiftly powers over vines and through bushes. For a moment, escape seems possible, even likely as the tiger plunges through and past the noose tightening around him.
But this hunt is like no other hunt before. The forest is teaming with enemies who have hunted his kind before, and now they are ahead and the tiger can smell their determination. Swiftly he darts aside, heading almost back the way he came, and then again he turns before the river patrol can catch him and heads again in a new direction. There are more shouts, and the presence in his head notes that this is a trap a long time in making, for the cordon of foes has not been shaking by the tiger’s tactics, either his jump into the water or his quick reverses, and now the tiger is forced into one path and one path only, and the tiger himself can sense the rap that is coming. But of to go back or to cut to the sides would mean certain death, and so the tiger must run on and hope he can outrun death itself. And then the trap springs shut about him, as-
-Bengal white tiger, as terrific and as strong as the one occupied in chase so far from here. The tiger-once-a-woman now leaps over the blazing fire, coming face to face with the concentrating man, turning at the last second to avoid bowling him over and instead gracefully sliding to his side, eyes locked on his.
“Soon.” Is all the man says, and now his teeth are clenched shut together and his mind is so tightly wound to the tiger’s fate that he refuses to feel the fire’s heat on his face as it roars still higher, blazing for that far off tiger and the desperate, inevitable fate in hand. The sun is dropping lower into the sky, but the fire is burning brighter and the heat is coming on hard now, and now the newly shaped Bengal white tiger and the man sit still as statues as events race to their final conclusion. And then the time comes, and the fire-
-the tiger, in his haste, crashes into the nets spread out to ensnare him. Desperately the tiger surges forward, his muscles tense beneath his white skin, and with that lunge he almost breaks free, snapping two of the small trees that hold fast the net through sheer brute force and rending the net through. But before he can slip out through the small opening before him, his hunters are upon him, dragging with them a heavier net weighted with stones, using their combined strength to throw it over the white beast they have cornered. Now they grab fast the net.
But the tiger is still stronger then all of them and the weight of the net combined, and with one great paw he sends a man flying. Only the promise of greed manages to hold fast the others, and the next minutes is one of confusion as the tiger bears this way and that, sending some into the bushes and tearing at the cords that now garrote his white and black neck. Then with a final lounge he pounded free from the moorings they sought to place around him, with a final gasp pulls the net from the hands of all those about him and sending them off their feet. Now the tiger shakes free and prepares to begin the chase anew, even as one of the net minding enemies rolls for his gun. The tiger races for the shelter of further woods, when there is a crash of thunder behind him, and then his thigh is pierced and he cannot but fall, carried by his own momentum forward into the bushes and once again he is falling, but this time there is no water and the slope is not so steep, and the great white hide of the tiger is scored with mud and welts and blood.
Panting, he attempts to rise to his paws, but he cannot. The bullet that hit is thigh has disabled his hind legs, and now he is trapped, waiting for the end. And the men are coming for their prize, safely assured of their victory, laughing and joking at a job well down.
The bravest among them is selected to have the honor of the killing shot. Carefully he pushes forward, and the tiger bats towards him with his forepaws but he is too far. The hunter lines up his shot, to be sure that the pelt is good and presentable for sale. Now he will manage to feed his family, ensure that he can continue his habit of purchasing rich cigars, perhaps even buy a small motorcycle, from to proceeds of this sale. So he things as he gently pulls the trigger, and the thunder of the shot is almost an afterthought, and the bullet now races to its target-
-freezes in mid air, as time slows, and the man now reaches to pat his companion on the head, a final farewell between two friends who have set themselves on a path that could only separate them, a path more moving for what it means, only to them.
“Now.” the man whispers, daring not to say more in case his voice breaks and reveals the sorrow he holds in check. Then he raises his arms into the air and screams, and then time is moving again as the air around him twists-
-the bullet performs well, and the tiger lies dead before the hunters. And now they stand in awe, for with the death of the great animal it seems to change and become more beautiful then before. The signs of the chase have faded away. Even the wounds given to it from the quick shots of its pursuers and the roll down the embankment have disappeared. The tiger is whole and nearly unmarked, save for the final, fatal shot.
For a moment then men bow their heads in a universal gesture of respect. They know they will never hunt such a foe again. The time of the white tiger has passed, and with it has gone the hunt.
Now the hunters load the carcass onto the sling, carefully so as not to muss the coat of their prize, and perhaps with a touch of respect. And then they are gone, and the jungle is left to its own devices.
-and the fire dies, all at once and without a sound. The ashes are still and cold, but one that burns brighter for the darkness (Picture – burning ash). The man slumps backward, leaning against the tiger beside him, his tears now falling.
They lay for some time like this. Then, the tiger shifts, standing up onto its two good legs and turning its mighty head to stare the man in the eyes. The man stares back, and the tiger’s piercing blue gaze seems to hold the two fast as the final ash finally succumbs to the chill air.
Then the man rises to his feet, and placing a hand on the tigers head he turns to face the horizon of that beach. Finally he nods, and then he and the tiger are gone as the air twists once more.
Now the beach lies empty, as the sun sets in the distant sky, a bloody sunset to the hunt.
The Lady For The Tiger
Two figures on a distant beach, one male, one female. They sit, eyes locked, her grey eyes locked on his. Between them a stock of wood, arranged to burn but not yet aflame. The sun is strong.
“Now." Whispers the lady, and the other leans forward, ever so slightly on the hard, rocky soil. A deepening of mind, and suddenly-
-he is at rest, on a strong branch of this tree. This is his home, as much as any place may be home for one of his bearing. For he is the true master of the wild, the Bengal White Tiger. There is no animal like him, and the presence now beginning to fill his head knows that there will not be, never again, for this is the last of his kind. Slowly his breed has been eliminated, and even those who live in captivity have passed away, victims of broken freedom and quiet boredom. His fate is as desperate as any of those animals he may have fallen upon to prey in the past, and now he-
-the fire is starting to burn, a flame from nowhere, steadily building. The women nods to herself, almost imperceptibly, face and veil shining in the firelight (picture of a woman’s face), and the man holds his place. Indeed, his body remains still even as his mind descends upon the noble beast, so far away and so lonely. But as time passes, that distance decreases and the man becomes the tiger, and now he frowns, for something is happening. The fire-
-smells something on the wind. It is a smell of another animal, but of a different sort. And with that smell comes a memory of danger for the white tiger. In one swift movement and uncoiling of powerful limbs, the tiger rises to its feet. It pauses then for a second, making sure, testing the wind thoroughly. For he is the greatest hunter of this place, yes, but there are greater hunters still. And now he can taste many of them, with every breath.
This is not the first time he has been hunted. Those who seek him have become desperate, for with every death of his like siblings his value has risen. Now his teeth alone would fetch the price of a manor, his hide a large tract of land, and his bones a great reward. The tiger does not know this, now as he tenses for the chase, but the presence in his head understands and comprehends the desperate peril now at hand.
And now the time for waiting has passed, for the smell of humanity is coming ever nearer. The tiger leaps, and as he hits the ground his great feet are already moving. A voice cries out in alarm, and then with joy, and now the chase is on. But this is the tiger’s home, and for all the planning and the numbers of those who hunt him, the tiger now is at his finest and will not be made easy prey.
Now the jungle passes by as the tiger picks up speed, and the presence marvels at how he might at one moment gracefully spring to this tall rock, then the next fling himself there, to that towering tree, not pausing and racing in mind as well as body, seeking refuge because the hunters are all about, and every way seems to lead to a desperate trap and defeat. Now ahead the tiger catches a glimpse of a pursuer. The man stands still, a weapon raised, and now there is a blast of thunder and the tiger turns only just in time to avoid the bullet. With a bound the tiger could take vengeance, as the man throws down his makeshift firearm and turns in fear, but instead the sharp retort of the weapon sends the tiger charging past the man an on into the bush. But the other hunters have heard the shot, and now their smell presses down on the tiger more sharply then before.
But finally a glimmer of safety. At one moment the tiger is flying over a collection of misshapen branches and mossy rock, and the next the ground drops away fifty, a hundred feet. Down the tiger drops, falling now faster, and then-
-dances high now, flaring with the desperation of the chase. The man sits rigid, eyes locked on the flames. His companion, however, is now moving. Slowly she rises to her feet, glances to the stars. And more slowly still she begins to change. The veil drops in to her face, becoming a pattern of black stripes, and her skin whitens and begins to grow fur. As the fire crackles now she drops to all fours. Her limbs begin to shorten and become more heavily muscled, her hands to become great paws, and now where stood a lady stands instead a-
-there is water all around as the tiger completes his dive (picture: tiger in water). Bengal tigers swim as naturally as they run, and now the tiger drives forward with his powerful paws, pushes through the water of this clear pool and up towards the surface. Now he enters the exiting river, floating downstream, a brief respite, paddling only to keep afloat. The sounds of the chase are above him, but his puny pursuers dare not take the plunge to follow after.
But something is wrong. The tiger can still smell men. And now up the river towards him comes a speedboat, its motor harshly blazing a trail, and the tiger lunges for the bank. The boat is impossibly fast, heading his way against the current, and now its passengers can see the tiger and they too take aim and fire their own guns. But the tiger has reached the bank, and even as his hide is scored by a lucky shot he pulls himself out of the water and dashes back into the green wild. Behind him there are shouted orders and oaths, and the boat motors to shore.
The chase is on as strong as ever, and somehow the tiger knows that this is his hour of final glory and releases all of his reserves. The presence in the tiger’s head is once again awed, as the tiger now doubles its speed and swiftly powers over vines and through bushes. For a moment, escape seems possible, even likely as the tiger plunges through and past the noose tightening around him.
But this hunt is like no other hunt before. The forest is teaming with enemies who have hunted his kind before, and now they are ahead and the tiger can smell their determination. Swiftly he darts aside, heading almost back the way he came, and then again he turns before the river patrol can catch him and heads again in a new direction. There are more shouts, and the presence in his head notes that this is a trap a long time in making, for the cordon of foes has not been shaking by the tiger’s tactics, either his jump into the water or his quick reverses, and now the tiger is forced into one path and one path only, and the tiger himself can sense the rap that is coming. But of to go back or to cut to the sides would mean certain death, and so the tiger must run on and hope he can outrun death itself. And then the trap springs shut about him, as-
-Bengal white tiger, as terrific and as strong as the one occupied in chase so far from here. The tiger-once-a-woman now leaps over the blazing fire, coming face to face with the concentrating man, turning at the last second to avoid bowling him over and instead gracefully sliding to his side, eyes locked on his.
“Soon.” Is all the man says, and now his teeth are clenched shut together and his mind is so tightly wound to the tiger’s fate that he refuses to feel the fire’s heat on his face as it roars still higher, blazing for that far off tiger and the desperate, inevitable fate in hand. The sun is dropping lower into the sky, but the fire is burning brighter and the heat is coming on hard now, and now the newly shaped Bengal white tiger and the man sit still as statues as events race to their final conclusion. And then the time comes, and the fire-
-the tiger, in his haste, crashes into the nets spread out to ensnare him. Desperately the tiger surges forward, his muscles tense beneath his white skin, and with that lunge he almost breaks free, snapping two of the small trees that hold fast the net through sheer brute force and rending the net through. But before he can slip out through the small opening before him, his hunters are upon him, dragging with them a heavier net weighted with stones, using their combined strength to throw it over the white beast they have cornered. Now they grab fast the net.
But the tiger is still stronger then all of them and the weight of the net combined, and with one great paw he sends a man flying. Only the promise of greed manages to hold fast the others, and the next minutes is one of confusion as the tiger bears this way and that, sending some into the bushes and tearing at the cords that now garrote his white and black neck. Then with a final lounge he pounded free from the moorings they sought to place around him, with a final gasp pulls the net from the hands of all those about him and sending them off their feet. Now the tiger shakes free and prepares to begin the chase anew, even as one of the net minding enemies rolls for his gun. The tiger races for the shelter of further woods, when there is a crash of thunder behind him, and then his thigh is pierced and he cannot but fall, carried by his own momentum forward into the bushes and once again he is falling, but this time there is no water and the slope is not so steep, and the great white hide of the tiger is scored with mud and welts and blood.
Panting, he attempts to rise to his paws, but he cannot. The bullet that hit is thigh has disabled his hind legs, and now he is trapped, waiting for the end. And the men are coming for their prize, safely assured of their victory, laughing and joking at a job well down.
The bravest among them is selected to have the honor of the killing shot. Carefully he pushes forward, and the tiger bats towards him with his forepaws but he is too far. The hunter lines up his shot, to be sure that the pelt is good and presentable for sale. Now he will manage to feed his family, ensure that he can continue his habit of purchasing rich cigars, perhaps even buy a small motorcycle, from to proceeds of this sale. So he things as he gently pulls the trigger, and the thunder of the shot is almost an afterthought, and the bullet now races to its target-
-freezes in mid air, as time slows, and the man now reaches to pat his companion on the head, a final farewell between two friends who have set themselves on a path that could only separate them, a path more moving for what it means, only to them.
“Now.” the man whispers, daring not to say more in case his voice breaks and reveals the sorrow he holds in check. Then he raises his arms into the air and screams, and then time is moving again as the air around him twists-
-the bullet performs well, and the tiger lies dead before the hunters. And now they stand in awe, for with the death of the great animal it seems to change and become more beautiful then before. The signs of the chase have faded away. Even the wounds given to it from the quick shots of its pursuers and the roll down the embankment have disappeared. The tiger is whole and nearly unmarked, save for the final, fatal shot.
For a moment then men bow their heads in a universal gesture of respect. They know they will never hunt such a foe again. The time of the white tiger has passed, and with it has gone the hunt.
Now the hunters load the carcass onto the sling, carefully so as not to muss the coat of their prize, and perhaps with a touch of respect. And then they are gone, and the jungle is left to its own devices.
-and the fire dies, all at once and without a sound. The ashes are still and cold, but one that burns brighter for the darkness (Picture – burning ash). The man slumps backward, leaning against the tiger beside him, his tears now falling.
They lay for some time like this. Then, the tiger shifts, standing up onto its two good legs and turning its mighty head to stare the man in the eyes. The man stares back, and the tiger’s piercing blue gaze seems to hold the two fast as the final ash finally succumbs to the chill air.
Then the man rises to his feet, and placing a hand on the tigers head he turns to face the horizon of that beach. Finally he nods, and then he and the tiger are gone as the air twists once more.
Now the beach lies empty, as the sun sets in the distant sky, a bloody sunset to the hunt.
FireLance
Legend
Spring 2005 Ceramic DM Round 1.1: FireLance vs. Speaker vs. Hellefire
Judgement
It had been a very bad day.
Thogar ran through the snow-covered forest, exhaling a puff of mist with every desperate breath that he took. The cruel wind brought to him the final screams of his fellow hunters and the triumphant roars of the Snow Demon.
A body of blue water appeared before him, and he realized that he had reached the river. Hoping that it would wash away his scent, he splashed into the icy water, swam to the middle, held his breath and dived below the surface.
The river current was surprisingly strong, and he tried hard to stabilize himself. Before he could do so, he heard something plunge into the river behind him. Whirling around, he came face to face with the Snow Demon. It looked like a large cat, pure white in color, except for its black markings. Its fangs were bared in a menacing snarl, and its paws reached out as if to grasp him (1). Thogar tried to swim away, but his left leg suddenly erupted in intense, numbing pain. With his last reserves of strength, he flailed and kicked, and felt his right foot connect with something solid. His last memory, before everything went dark, was of the river current dragging him away from the Snow Demon.
When Thogar regained consciousness, he felt warmer than he had ever been in his entire life. Opening his eyes, he found that he was lying on a rug in a small wooden hut. His left leg still felt cold and numb, and when he examined it, he discovered a long, white scar. He deduced that the Snow Demon clawed him there during his escape.
"Ah, my friend, I see that you are awake," a voice came from the door of the hut. Thogar turned and saw that the speaker was a dark-skinned man with a broad, friendly smile.
"Where am I? Who are you? What happened? Why is it so warm here?" Thogar asked.
"My name is Ulati," the man said, "You are in the village of Salesh, and I am the healer here. Some women found you washed up on the bank of the river yesterday and brought you to me. As to why it is so warm, well, I will be able to explain it better if you came with me. Are you able to stand?"
Thogar rose unsteadily and limped to the door of the hut. His left leg felt awkward, as if it was not entirely a part of him. The hut was one of several ringing a large expanse of greenery. In the centre of the space was a dais on which a great fire was burning.
"This is the Warding Flame," Ulati said proudly, "Its power warms us and keeps us safe from the Snow Demon." With a start, Thogar realized that there was not a trace of snow or ice as far as he could see.
"How did you find such a wonder?" Thogar asked.
Ulati shrugged. "It has always been in our village. Some say our ancestors built it, others say that it was a gift from the gods. Nobody knows for sure. But come, you must be hungry. Let us go and find some food for you."
Thogar feasted on fruits, nuts and berries from the trees and plants growing in the village, but although he enjoyed the villagers' hospitality, his thoughts went often to the family and friends that he had left behind. He wanted to return to them, but feared that he would encounter the Snow Demon again if he left the village. As darkness fell, he thought again of the Warding Flame. Perhaps if he was able to take some of it away with him, its power would be able to protect him.
He walked to the dais for a closer look at the flame. Up close, he could see that the flame seemed to be burning many small pieces of rock (2). Strangely, the flames merely seemed warm, and not hot like normal fire. Perhaps it would be possible to take a single piece away with him. Gingerly, Thogar stretched out his hand to take one.
A blast of intense heat and light flung Thogar off the dais. He landed heavily on the ground, and his right hand, which he had tried to pick up one of the stones with, glowed red and felt unnaturally warm. He heard shouts and cries around him, and he was soon surrounded by several grim-looking villagers.
Ulati strode to face him, his face dark with anger. "Is this how you repay our hospitality?" he demanded, "You try to steal our Warding Flame?"
"Thief!" someone cried.
"Ungrateful wretch!"
"Betrayer!"
"To the Cave of Judgement with him!"
The villagers dragged Thogar into a cave and sealed the entrance with a boulder. With only his glowing hand for light, Thogar could just make out that there was a passage in front of him leading deeper into the cave. Slowly, he made his way down it.
Before long, he noticed a point of white light in the distance, as he got closer, he saw that it illuminated the head of a woman wearing a jeweled headdress (3). The woman's body was shrouded in darkness.
The woman looked at Thogar. "I am the Oracle of Judgement," she announced, "Who are you, and what crime have you committed?"
"I am Thogar, and I tried to take a piece of the Warding Flame," Thogar replied, "So what will happen to me now?"
"That is a matter for you to decide," the Oracle said, "For in the Cave of Judgement, it is your own judgement that decides your reward or punishment. You bear the mark of one who was wounded by the Snow Demon. You fled from it, did you not?" Thogar nodded, and she continued, "You could choose to stay on in Salesh. The villagers will not deny you shelter after you leave this cave. But that is not your only option. You have touched the Warding Flame, and bear some of its power. You could try to use it to destroy the Snow Demon instead."
"I will not stay in this village," Thogar said, "I must return to my own. And though I would destroy the Snow Demon if I could, I would rather bring back the secret of the Warding Flame to my village. Is there anything I can do to accomplish this?"
The Oracle smiled. "You have already taken the first step. Follow the river back to your village, and seek the Warding Flame when the elements of nature - earth, air, fire and water – co-exist in harmony. Finally, remember that you did not choose the path of fear, or the path of hate, but the path of love." As she said this, she and the cave faded away, and Thogar found himself standing on the riverbank a short distance from his village, just as the sun was rising (4).
A snarl and a flash of white at the edge of his field of vision alerted him to the fact that he was not alone. Slowly, menacingly, the Snow Demon emerged from the forest and advanced on him.
Thogar's first instinct was to run, or to find a weapon to use against the Snow Demon, but he remembered the Oracle's words. Deliberately, he turned his back on the demon, and stared across the river, into the sunrise. At the very edge of the river, where the pebbles were lapped by water, cooled by air and lit by the sun, a handful of stones flickered faintly with the same flame that he saw in Salesh. Quickly, he ran to pick them up, and as he did so, he felt power flow from his right hand into the stones, which then blazed with warmth and light.
Thogar turned around. He was standing alone on the bank of the river, holding a handful of pebbles that burned brightly with the Warding Flame. In the distance, he could see the snow starting to melt.
It was going to be a very good day.
. . . . .
(1) The Snow Demon
(2) The Warding Flame
(3) The Oracle of Judgement
(4) The river bank
Judgement
It had been a very bad day.
Thogar ran through the snow-covered forest, exhaling a puff of mist with every desperate breath that he took. The cruel wind brought to him the final screams of his fellow hunters and the triumphant roars of the Snow Demon.
A body of blue water appeared before him, and he realized that he had reached the river. Hoping that it would wash away his scent, he splashed into the icy water, swam to the middle, held his breath and dived below the surface.
The river current was surprisingly strong, and he tried hard to stabilize himself. Before he could do so, he heard something plunge into the river behind him. Whirling around, he came face to face with the Snow Demon. It looked like a large cat, pure white in color, except for its black markings. Its fangs were bared in a menacing snarl, and its paws reached out as if to grasp him (1). Thogar tried to swim away, but his left leg suddenly erupted in intense, numbing pain. With his last reserves of strength, he flailed and kicked, and felt his right foot connect with something solid. His last memory, before everything went dark, was of the river current dragging him away from the Snow Demon.
When Thogar regained consciousness, he felt warmer than he had ever been in his entire life. Opening his eyes, he found that he was lying on a rug in a small wooden hut. His left leg still felt cold and numb, and when he examined it, he discovered a long, white scar. He deduced that the Snow Demon clawed him there during his escape.
"Ah, my friend, I see that you are awake," a voice came from the door of the hut. Thogar turned and saw that the speaker was a dark-skinned man with a broad, friendly smile.
"Where am I? Who are you? What happened? Why is it so warm here?" Thogar asked.
"My name is Ulati," the man said, "You are in the village of Salesh, and I am the healer here. Some women found you washed up on the bank of the river yesterday and brought you to me. As to why it is so warm, well, I will be able to explain it better if you came with me. Are you able to stand?"
Thogar rose unsteadily and limped to the door of the hut. His left leg felt awkward, as if it was not entirely a part of him. The hut was one of several ringing a large expanse of greenery. In the centre of the space was a dais on which a great fire was burning.
"This is the Warding Flame," Ulati said proudly, "Its power warms us and keeps us safe from the Snow Demon." With a start, Thogar realized that there was not a trace of snow or ice as far as he could see.
"How did you find such a wonder?" Thogar asked.
Ulati shrugged. "It has always been in our village. Some say our ancestors built it, others say that it was a gift from the gods. Nobody knows for sure. But come, you must be hungry. Let us go and find some food for you."
Thogar feasted on fruits, nuts and berries from the trees and plants growing in the village, but although he enjoyed the villagers' hospitality, his thoughts went often to the family and friends that he had left behind. He wanted to return to them, but feared that he would encounter the Snow Demon again if he left the village. As darkness fell, he thought again of the Warding Flame. Perhaps if he was able to take some of it away with him, its power would be able to protect him.
He walked to the dais for a closer look at the flame. Up close, he could see that the flame seemed to be burning many small pieces of rock (2). Strangely, the flames merely seemed warm, and not hot like normal fire. Perhaps it would be possible to take a single piece away with him. Gingerly, Thogar stretched out his hand to take one.
A blast of intense heat and light flung Thogar off the dais. He landed heavily on the ground, and his right hand, which he had tried to pick up one of the stones with, glowed red and felt unnaturally warm. He heard shouts and cries around him, and he was soon surrounded by several grim-looking villagers.
Ulati strode to face him, his face dark with anger. "Is this how you repay our hospitality?" he demanded, "You try to steal our Warding Flame?"
"Thief!" someone cried.
"Ungrateful wretch!"
"Betrayer!"
"To the Cave of Judgement with him!"
The villagers dragged Thogar into a cave and sealed the entrance with a boulder. With only his glowing hand for light, Thogar could just make out that there was a passage in front of him leading deeper into the cave. Slowly, he made his way down it.
Before long, he noticed a point of white light in the distance, as he got closer, he saw that it illuminated the head of a woman wearing a jeweled headdress (3). The woman's body was shrouded in darkness.
The woman looked at Thogar. "I am the Oracle of Judgement," she announced, "Who are you, and what crime have you committed?"
"I am Thogar, and I tried to take a piece of the Warding Flame," Thogar replied, "So what will happen to me now?"
"That is a matter for you to decide," the Oracle said, "For in the Cave of Judgement, it is your own judgement that decides your reward or punishment. You bear the mark of one who was wounded by the Snow Demon. You fled from it, did you not?" Thogar nodded, and she continued, "You could choose to stay on in Salesh. The villagers will not deny you shelter after you leave this cave. But that is not your only option. You have touched the Warding Flame, and bear some of its power. You could try to use it to destroy the Snow Demon instead."
"I will not stay in this village," Thogar said, "I must return to my own. And though I would destroy the Snow Demon if I could, I would rather bring back the secret of the Warding Flame to my village. Is there anything I can do to accomplish this?"
The Oracle smiled. "You have already taken the first step. Follow the river back to your village, and seek the Warding Flame when the elements of nature - earth, air, fire and water – co-exist in harmony. Finally, remember that you did not choose the path of fear, or the path of hate, but the path of love." As she said this, she and the cave faded away, and Thogar found himself standing on the riverbank a short distance from his village, just as the sun was rising (4).
A snarl and a flash of white at the edge of his field of vision alerted him to the fact that he was not alone. Slowly, menacingly, the Snow Demon emerged from the forest and advanced on him.
Thogar's first instinct was to run, or to find a weapon to use against the Snow Demon, but he remembered the Oracle's words. Deliberately, he turned his back on the demon, and stared across the river, into the sunrise. At the very edge of the river, where the pebbles were lapped by water, cooled by air and lit by the sun, a handful of stones flickered faintly with the same flame that he saw in Salesh. Quickly, he ran to pick them up, and as he did so, he felt power flow from his right hand into the stones, which then blazed with warmth and light.
Thogar turned around. He was standing alone on the bank of the river, holding a handful of pebbles that burned brightly with the Warding Flame. In the distance, he could see the snow starting to melt.
It was going to be a very good day.
. . . . .
(1) The Snow Demon
(2) The Warding Flame
(3) The Oracle of Judgement
(4) The river bank
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