View Full Version : Story of a Wanderer
Solo.
It was early night in the Comb Mountains, and the only sounds audible in the darkness were the occasional hoots of a nearby owl. The owls loved the night. All sorts of tasty little critters showed their faces to the moon and stars, and this great bird of prey was a master at hunting them all. Like a specter, its noiseless figure ghosted through the night air in quiet pursuit of some unlucky rodent on the ground.
Atzar loved the night too, but for an entirely different reason. He craved the peace, the silence of the world when the sun went away. There was no better time to be up and about, practicing his magic or reading a book. And at that moment, he was doing just that. He didn’t feel the way the wooden walls of his cramped home closed in on him. He didn’t notice the decreasing heat as the flames in the fireplace of the opposite wall began to die. At that moment, his entire world consisted of the book on the table in front of him and the tallow candles that he used to see. His mind roved intently, freely through those open pages.
It was an old journal that he had pulled at random off of his shelf for that night’s reading. Atzar didn’t remember ever reading the dusty old book before; he certainly didn’t remember the contents.
The author of the journal was a man named Ceran Tumultos. The mage only remembered him to be a kind, cheery, well-spoken old man. He had a bad case of wanderlust, however, and spent little time at home, preferring instead to seek adventure. Atzar frowned. About ten years ago, he had simply disappeared. Nobody had ever known what happened to him; everyone just assumed he was still traveling or had found somewhere else to settle down.
The mage delved deeper into the pages of this journal; maybe it was a mystery he could solve himself.
Well, I’m home. And I have to say that, sadly, Tel’Han has not changed in the time I’ve spent away from its magic. I, however, have changed much. Each passing day, each passing journey, adds a new facet to the brilliant jewel that is my life, and each facet has its own unique story to tell. Tel’Han, however, seems to sit, transfixed in statuesque stillness, for all eternity. I simply cannot be happy here. I must experience change, I must see something new over the horizon each and every day, or I become restless and perturbed. So, I am home, but ritual dictates that my stay is brief.
To that end, I search for new places to explore, new goals to conquer even as I write this entry. Lore suggests that there is a system of caverns below the very floor upon which I stand. Perhaps, if I can reveal some prospect of truth in this myth, this would be my next step. We shall find out.
--Ceran
Interesting, to say the least.
Atzar had never heard of this system of caves under the village of Tel’Han. True, it was only a rumor suggested by this strange diary. But if it was true, it could house very interesting secrets. The mage couldn’t even begin to guess at what the fabled grotto might hold within it. The candles in front of him sputtered as he exhaled in excitement. The mage was sorry he had never pulled this book out before.
He read on avidly; perhaps Ceran would tell him.
The diary went on:
Success!
Early this morning, I went to talk to Keyei, an old friend of mine who participated in sundry explorations with me within the last decade. Such a rebel against authority, that one is. But such power! Should he ever find it in him to accept the guidance of his elders, he will rise to prominence in this village. For now, however, he seems to content himself by spending as much time as possible away from the village, exploring the nearby mountains and infusing his blood with the smoke of various burning plants. I’m sure if the council ever caught wind of this habit, he would be severely disciplined and perhaps even expelled from the village. But the wind mage is a man of good heart nonetheless, and I shall guard his secret as if it’s my own.
But back to my research. Keyei has confirmed my postulation that there are caves underneath the village. Whether he has come across them in his own travels or if he can sense them by some means unknown to myself, I am uncertain; but this is a trivial detail. The point is that the caverns do, indeed, exist.
Curious as ever, I undertook a journey of reconnaissance down to the base of the mountain where he suggested the gaping maw of the cavern may hide. It was, in fact, cleverly hidden underneath large plants. They looked to be rosebushes, but my knowledge of plants is limited and I could not say for certain. I digress. The caverns are indeed as real as these pages I write upon, and seem to be somewhat extensive. I shall waste no time. Tomorrow, armed with supplies, I shall venture into the depths of this grotto in an attempt to expose its secrets to the world.
In the event of an accident, I shall leave this journal behind. Should something happen to me, I wish for this manuscript to be available, so that all may know my many adventures into the world and, with little deduction, my eventual fate. I shall, however, bring ample parchment with me so that I may record my findings while there. I have, after all, made the mistake of attempting to recall all that progressed on a journey after my return. The documentation of that venture, as could be expected, was vague at best.
I am a man of fate. Should fortune dictate my return, then shall I return; should I be sentenced to my end, then perhaps one with the adventurer’s blood like my own will happen upon my remains. At that time, I would wish for this benevolent soul to carry my journal to safety, that I may truly live on in history, as is every man’s true desire.
I must end this entry. I hope to return as soon as all secrets of this cave are mine.
--Ceran
Atzar slumped back against the rough wood of his chair, sweat forming on his forehead despite the cool air of the room. It was so much to absorb.
First of all, it shed light on Keyei’s childhood. Nobody, not even the other elders, knew this much about the enigmatic, powerful wizard. Keyei had apparently been quite the source of trouble in his younger years: disrespect for his elders, a tendency to disappear at his slightest whim, and an apparent taste for drugs. Atzar wondered what had finally given rise to the wind mage’s acceptance of authority. Something seemed to hint to Atzar that it would be quite a story.
More importantly, it told of Ceran’s plan to explore the caverns underneath Tel’Han. He had never heard anything of these caverns, and the fact that there could have been unknown secrets underneath the very ground upon which he stood set his mind alight with curiosity. Straightening again, Atzar reached a hand out to turn to the next page. He had to read on, to know what Ceran had found. Fingers grasped paper, and eyes expectantly scanned the page that this small motion revealed.
Nothing.
This couldn’t be! Atzar flipped through the rest of the pages wildly, his mind bordering on the state of panic. Blank, all blank, every single page. Once again, the mage slouched back in the chair, Ceran’s journal left open on the last page in front of him. He knew exactly what this meant.
Ceran Tumultos, mage of Tel’Han and renowned wanderer, had never returned from the caves.
The shock of woe and disappointment gradually faded, giving way to reason within Atzar’s mind.
It wasn’t out of any sense of kinship with this fallen traveler that grief resided in Atzar’s head. Instead, his sorrow rested with the lost opportunities that this cave had presented. Never before had he heard of such caves. Who knew what they could hold?
The possibilities were endless. Perhaps there were forgotten artifacts of amazing power or value. Or maybe the ancient origins of Atzar’s village could be found. Perhaps it was an old, forgotten shrine where an extinct civilization had worshipped Gods unknown.
There was always, of course, the possibility that there was nothing of note, but the mage didn’t want to consider this. Somewhere deep within him, he knew Ceran’s death had not been in vain. Somehow, he knew something worthwhile existed in those mysterious caverns.
He had to know; his curiosity would not be shelved. To resist the temptation to explore the unknown caverns beneath his very feet would be to deny the fact that he was a mage. Curiosity, after all, was in the nature of every mage alive. They lived with a single grand goal: to know all that the world had for them to know.
Perhaps he had more of a bond with the wanderer than he had first realized. He could definitely understand this desire, this lust to travel and to learn more, that had plagued Ceran. A new adventure was very akin to picking up a new book: he never knew exactly where it would take him or what he would learn. It was this desire to learn that always enticed him into picking up the next book, and it seemed to be the same scenario with Ceran’s travels.
Atzar decided then and there that he would venture into those caves. He would do it to explore. He would do it to further his own knowledge of the depths of those caverns.
And he would do it to honor the memory of Ceran Tumultos, the famed traveler of Tel’Han.
The mage slept fitfully in his bed, tossing and turning. An occasional mumbled word or phrase escaped his lips as he dreamt. His mind, unsurprisingly, roamed freely through the caves underneath Tel’Han.
Every single step that he took echoed back at him, making it seem as if he wasn’t alone in the cavern. The world was completely dark; not a thing could be seen. Atzar, however, knew through native instinct exactly where he was going…
Suddenly, the echoes didn’t lie; he wasn’t alone. A face appeared in front of him. An old face, a weathered face. His mouth was invisible, hidden behind a long snow-white beard, and his nose was long and hooked like that of a hawk. His hair matched his beard in color and length. He would have looked slightly intimidating, if it wasn’t for the sparkling blue eyes that betrayed his permanent grin. Atzar knew the man. It was Ceran Tumultos…
Then time declared war on this man. The eyes closed, the hair yellowed and began to fall away. Ceran’s eyelids rotted, revealing black, empty sockets. His skin decayed, exposing the white bone underneath. The rest of his hair disappeared, followed closely by his skin. The process took but fifteen seconds. All that remained of the once-charming man was a glaring white skull…
Without warning, the skull disappeared, leaving Atzar in empty darkness once again. This darkness didn’t keep him company for long, however. It was soon replaced by another face, but Atzar didn’t recognize this one. It was not the face of a human. Piercing blue eyes, an elongated nose covered with metallic-blue scales. The reptilian lips parted, revealing a maw full of sharp, white teeth. Two small horns protruded from the back of the head. It looked like a dragon…
This figure didn’t decay, however. It was simply replaced by the darkness once again. Suddenly, the sleeping mage’s echoing steps ceased, leaving him in profound silence. An inexplicable feeling of dread filled his frame, and finally the darkness parted once again. This figure, however, wasn’t like the others. Only the eyes were visible: luminescent yellow eyes, full of malice and ill intent. The silence was soon replaced by high, crazed laughter. Atzar couldn’t even guess at the identity of those malevolent eyes…
These eyes faded, giving way to blackness, which remained this time. The hysterical laughter, however, continued until the slumbering mage awakened in the morning…
Every step drove his feet further into the toes of his shoes as Atzar plodded painfully on. Had he been in a better mood, he would have tolerated this inconvenience with equanimity; as it was, he winced at every stab of pain that plagued his toes.
As he dropped into the world of dreams the night before, Atzar had been very excited to leave on this journey. The dreams, however, weighed heavily on his mind. He just couldn’t grasp their significance. They seemed to be more than just ordinary nightmares; the mage could sense that much. And the first part had an obvious meaning: Ceran Tumultos had indeed passed away. But what of the dragon? And what of the vicious yellow eyes and the accompanying laughter? The mage could barely guess.
And, to throw one extra straw on the camel’s back, Atzar still didn’t really know where he was going. Ceran had stated that the caverns were at the base of the mountain. The base of the mountain was a fairly expansive place, and Ceran hadn’t given any more details. The mage began to have misgivings about the whole ordeal. He wondered darkly if this wasn’t a worthwhile goal, but instead a misguided whim.
Another cloud puffed from Atzar’s mouth as he exhaled into the wintry air. Snow had not fallen yet, but it was only a matter of time. The few deciduous trees in the area had long since lost the last of their leaves and now stood tall, naked to the world. The more numerous conifers were unchanged and nearly unchangeable, decked out in needles and cones alike. The ground sloped gently away from him, signaling that he was nearing the bottom of the mountain. Various other plant life littered the area: weeds, grass, and even one patch of thorny rosebushes.
“It was, in fact, cleverly hidden behind large plants. They looked to be rosebushes…”
Ceran’s written words sprang unbidden to his mind, and he stopped in his tracks, taking a harder look at the thorny plants in question. They stood in a circle, thickly netted to form a dense mass perhaps four feet tall and twice as wide. They were too entangled, however, to give Atzar a view inside.
No matter. Atzar had dealt with troublesome plants before. He focused for a second, pushing his troubled mood and his pained feet from his mind. In their place, he called his Air magic.
The blade he brought into existence was small, perhaps ten inches in length. It was, however, completely comprised of roaring, tightly-controlled wind. To touch this blade with bare skin would flay much of the flesh away from the point of contact. Atzar, luckily, didn’t need to touch the blade with anything but his mind. A thrust of the will, and the blade zipped into the thicket, slicing through the tendrils with ease. Relieved suddenly of the tension of so many years, many shoots sprang away from the mass in which they were webbed, sending small bits of brambly stalk in all directions. One such bit returned to its attacker, drawing a small line of blood on his forearm and a surprised cry from his lips.
The mage looked at the little cut irritably before wiping his thumb across it and then transferring the blood to his buff-colored shirt.
The shallow slash stung a little bit, but there were much more important things to attend to. Atzar looked hard into the disturbed thicket, taking his first view of the mouth that it concealed.
Even with the limited view that his magic had granted him, Atzar could tell that this cave was no random occurrence of nature. The opening was roughly circular, and wooden arches had been fitted into the ceiling at intervals to prevent cave-ins. Indeed, it seemed as if someone had used this cave for something at some point. The remaining questions were obvious: who and what? Atzar fully intended to find out, but the bramble would have to be further disrupted for him to get in.
Backing up several steps, Atzar focused his mind once again on his magic. Another wind blade, identical to the first, formed between his hands and stalled briefly before rocketing into the thorny vines. The mage didn’t stop there. One, two more blades were fashioned and let loose in the same manner, every single one flying into the thicket to further lacerate the plants. Finally finished and panting slightly from the effort, Atzar surveyed his work.
A great gash scarred the center of the thicket, and sticky liquid oozed from many wounded stalks. The smell of the cut plants was heavy on the air, and bits and pieces of thorny vine littered the ground. The cave mouth, however, was almost completely exposed now. The way into Tel’Han’s cavern system was exposed.
An irresistible smile crept onto Atzar’s features. His previous gloom had been forgotten in his toil, and the excitement that such an adventure presented was now foremost in his mind. That being said, he wasn’t dumb enough to go into such a dark, potentially dangerous cave without light. Reaching back, he pulled the sack off of his back and set it on the ground in front of him. The mage began rustling through his provisions. Food, water, blanket… ah, there they were. Atzar pulled his matches and one of the torches out of the sack.
The mage struck one of the matches and touched the flaming end to the glob of pitch at the end of the torch, which lit suddenly with a crackling whoosh. After waving the match out and throwing it over his shoulder, Atzar hefted his bag back onto his back. He took a few steps into the destroyed thicket and stared down into the hole that awaited him.
The hole was dark and very steep. The touch of apprehension reached Atzar’s mind; it was impossible to determine whether the hole would level out or if it would just drop endlessly into the abyss.
There was only one way to find out.
The mage took one last look at daylight behind him. His blue eyes took in the shattered rosebushes, the brilliant sun, and the trees. Needle-covered conifers and stark-naked deciduous trees alike seemed to wave their farewells in the light breeze. One last smile graced the mage’s face before he braced himself and stepped into the cave mouth, sliding quickly down into the dark, dank depths.
The steep slope made a deliberate descent impossible, so Atzar opted for the alternative: a blind, rushing slide, accompanied by tumbling debris.
Suddenly, the torchlight revealed the ground rushing up at him, a solid, inexorable wall of incoming pain. At the mage’s speed, there was no way he could survive such a landing. His eyes screwed up tight in preparation for the brutal impact.
What came next, however, was not the devastation of skin, bone and blood that he had foreseen. It wasn’t even the immediate, merciful fog of a quick and painless end.
Spluck.
He sank up to his lower knees into mud, and the goop splashed everywhere on his arrival. Miraculously, the untouched torch burned on. Making a face, Atzar raised his free hand to wipe the stuff away. The effort wasn’t particularly successful; most of the goo was just smeared further into his skin. The same hand reached behind him, and he noted with dismay that his long, usually sleek black hair was now caked with mud.
By the torchlight, the mage could see that the ground was solid only a few feet from his current location. Good. With a loud grunt and a titanic effort, Atzar wrenched one leg free of the goop, nearly overbalancing from the sudden liberation of the limb. He planted the freed leg on the ledge and heaved, and this strategy gave him the leverage he needed to break free of the sucking muck. Atzar stood on the bank of the pool of mud, feeling the sticky goop dripping off of him like syrup. He shuddered; he knew it was just mud, but it still wasn’t a pleasant feeling.
But it didn’t matter; the important thing was that he was in the cave. He forced the grimy feeling to the back of his mind and peered into the darkness, holding the torch aloft. It seemed to be nothing more than a tunnel carved into dirt and rock at first glance. The wooden beams continued overhead as far as he could see by the light of his flame.
Trembling slightly with anticipation, Atzar took his first steps into the belly of the giant beast that was the tunnel. The soft dirt underneath his feet muffled his footfalls, and the only other sound audible was the occasional crackle from the fire.
The tunnel turned sharply to the right, and the mudpool vanished from sight. More important, however, was what lie ahead of Atzar: a large door seemingly made of copper. The metal, however, still shone brilliantly despite the great age it must have been. What kind of copper didn’t oxidize after countless years of exposure to air?
Atzar didn’t know, but he did know one thing: his destination was somewhere on the other side of that strangely timeless door. A tentative hand reached for the handle of the door to twist it. Shrieking loudly on dry hinges, the door pushed inward to reveal a sight that was truly stunning to behold.
The underground cavern was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Immediately noticeable was the sheer size of the chamber. It was huge, easily able to a small village within its vast confines. The ceiling arched high above Atzar’s head in a perfect dome. In front of Atzar’s eyes a mottled marble crypt unfolded, sturdily defying the test of time with no hints of weakness or wear. The enormous cavern was round, and ageless copper doors like the one behind him were placed at intervals in the wall. The center of the room was empty, serving only as a massive, marble plaza around which everything revolved.
And that was just the first level of the cavern.
Above that, other levels rested. Three other circles of copper-doored buildings stood, each set back from the edge created by the previous level to leave ample room for a walkway around the entire ring. Atzar related the complex to a giant set of stairs that radiated out from the middle. Above his head, bridges of rope and plank crisscrossed the yawning central courtyard, offering easy routes to the other side. The entire cavern was lit by some unknown source, and the green-tinged light cast an eerily unreal glow on the ancient structures. Overall, the place looked like something that an overly-imaginative child might dream up in his sleep.
The mage took a few echoing steps into the chamber, every breath bated in amazement. His eyes wanted to be everywhere at once, taking in the gorgeous stonework, the brilliant metal doors, the domed ceiling overhead. Idly, he began to wonder if Ceran had, in fact, died: the mage could realistically see how a man would get lost in such a place for a lifetime and still crave more. Every burnished door concealed another adventure, and every adventure in turn yielded more secrets and surprises.
No, a lifetime could never be enough. One man could never explore in a lifetime what took generations to create.
More echoing steps, more audible gasps as each new detail coaxed another amazed breath from the astounded mage. Never in his wildest dreams did he believe that such a structure – no, such a palace – could exist within the mountain he called home. And a palace it could realistically be, with its gorgeous detail and flawless architecture. Not one door, not one stone looked like it was off by even as much as a centimeter.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. On the opposite side of the large plaza, there was a large pile of rubble that appeared to block the entrance to another burnished door. On an instinct, the mage approached this pile with the intent to give it a closer look.
It was odd. The entire cavern seemed to be constructed of mottled gray marble. These stones, however, looked as if they could have been pulled from the topsoil of Tel’Han, except for the fact that the smallest of them was much larger than Atzar’s head. Not only did the type of stone differ from its environment, but the edges looked rounded. Smooth. Not an angle was to be seen on these boulders, and the architecture around him was filled with corners, niches and patterns of intricate design. The mage wondered how the stones came to be there. Perhaps something had carried them in.
Or perhaps someone had created them. Atzar knew multiple mages in Tel’Han who could accomplish such a feat. Galla, one of the elders, would consider it to be no more than the work of a moment. That was settled. Now, the next logical question surfaced in the young mage’s mind: why were they there?
That was an easy one. The stones were conveniently dropped right in front of one of the large doors. It was obvious; somebody was trying to keep people out.
Or keep something in.
This possibility of danger raised the hairs on the back of Atzar’s neck. He had come down to this crypt to explore, to learn. And since something was obviously being hidden on the other side of that door, this was likely the best place to start. But on the other hand, Ceran had been killed in this place. It was entirely possible that the cause of his death had long since moved on, but the threat was still very real nonetheless.
On the other hand, no risk meant no profit. Searching anywhere in the cavern involved a certain amount of peril; hell, the descent into the tunnel had proven that. A small smile broke out on Atzar’s lips: danger added an extra element of excitement, anyway.
The mage decided he would take his chances. Without a further thought, the mage bent and lifted a smaller rock, dropping it to the side with a grunt. The boulder fell to the stone floor with a reverberating clatter. His eyes glanced back to the great pile, and he sighed, a tendril of despair worming its way into his mind. This wasn’t likely to be a quick and easy task, by any means. Flexing jaw and resolve alike, he hefted another stone and tossed it to join its mate, another loud crash tearing through the air.
More faint thuds rang out from somewhere in his home.
The yellow eyes narrowed malevolently. What dared trespass in his territory? What had the foolish courage, the gall, to invade his domain?
A venomous growl escaped the creature’s gray lips, and he cocked his hairless head to one side in concentration. Whatever it was… it was coming from the main chamber. But what could the intruder be doing?
He didn’t know, but he intended to find out. Casting about with a ferocious glare, the beast located his club. Grabbing it in one dirty, long-nailed hand, he turned and ran on all fours out of the room.
Somebody had to teach this intruder what happened to his kind. Nobody set foot in his territory without paying the consequences.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Breathing heavily, Atzar decided to take a rest for a moment. Taking a seat on one of the larger rocks, the tired mage reached up with a sleeve to wipe his face off. Ample amounts of sweat and partially-dried mud were transferred to the fabric.
The job was tedious. It was hard, hot work, but at least it looked as if he was making progress. A small area had been cleared out completely around the door, and it wouldn’t be long before he would be able to open the door enough to squeeze through.
Suddenly, the metallic screech of screaming hinges filled the cave, reverberating again and again. Atzar winced and covered his ears in pain.
His eyes scanned the far end of the circular plaza, looking for the source of the noise. One of the huge, burnished doors on the first level was shrieking in protest as it was opened from the other side. When it was about halfway open, the metallic shriek stopped and a small beast charged out with a growl.
The creature was humanoid in form, but the similarities basically ended there. It was short, four feet tall at best, and its skin was a pallid gray color. It ran hunched over, knuckles scraping the ground. In one hand, a small wooden club was clutched. The thing’s face was knotted up in a scowl of rage, yellow eyes slitted wickedly.
Yellow eyes.
Atzar, sweating and hot from toil only seconds ago, suddenly turned cold. He remembered those vicious eyes. They had haunted him, plagued his dream the night before. Now, they were no longer a dream. Those yellow eyes were right there, as real as he was. And they were responsible in some way for Ceran’s disappearance; Atzar was certain of it.
The creature covered the ground quickly, lips parted in a feral snarl to reveal broken, yellowed teeth. With a maniacal shout it leapt into the air at the frozen mage, club held high in preparation to strike.
The primal shout finally jolted Atzar into action. As the club swung down at his head, he jumped to one side, out of its path. Showing surprising alacrity, the little beast jerked the club back in a backhand slash at the mage’s side. The attack caught him off-guard, striking its intended target and causing him to grimace. Luckily, the blow wasn’t powerful enough to cause more damage than a bruise. Reacting instinctively, Atzar reached down with his right hand and grabbed the club head, preventing the creature from swinging it again. In response, the creature snarled and bit down on the mage’s exposed hand, drawing blood and causing Atzar to shout in pain.
The seed of anger planted itself in his mind. What had he done to this little bastard? It had attacked him for no reason at all! In a move borne of budding ire, Atzar lashed out with his left elbow, connecting with the thing’s head.
Atzar was not particularly strong. He was thin, but he wasn’t in great physical condition. Still, it was akin to striking a child. The sheer difference in their sizes made up for his own relative weakness. The yellow eyes immediately glazed over, and the teeth loosened their grip before letting go entirely. The mage dragged the wooden club out of the beast’s grip before pushing the stunned creature to the ground.
It wouldn’t be going anywhere for awhile. Casting the unwanted club to the side with a dull clatter, Atzar brought his bleeding hand up to his face to inspect the damage. Despite the sting that still blanketed the hand, it didn’t appear to be greatly harmed. The little beast’s teeth hadn’t gone deep enough to cause any real injury.
Now, what to do with the little troublemaker? He didn’t want to kill it, despite the fact that it wouldn’t have extended him the same grace. He wasn’t a murderer. On the other hand, he couldn’t leave it there. When it awakened, its first action would probably involve assaulting him again. While the mage stood, pondering this question, the creature began to stir.
It recovered its bearings in a surprisingly short time. Eyes narrowing darkly as it took in Atzar’s dirty face, it growled again. With a sudden move, the beast darted away, making a beeline for its club. There was no other alternative. Sighing, Atzar held his hands out and called upon his magic.
Just like he had done with the plants outside, the mage pulled the stagnant air together between his palms. It formed into a blade, filling Atzar’s ears with the whistle of a potent wind. With a lurch, he thrust the knife-edged weapon at the enemy.
His aim was true, and it struck the beast in the back. With a shrill squeal, it fell once again to the ground, the gray flesh on its bare back bloody. It got up and, with a whimper and a hateful glance at Atzar, bolted for the open door from which it came. Dark blood continued oozing from the painful wound to drip down its back. The creature crossed the circular room in a short time and disappeared, leaving the door open in its wake.
One last grunt, one last heave, and one last rock sailed through the air to land amongst its brethren.
That was it.
Atzar, limbs trembling from exhaustion, surveyed his work. He had cleared a semicircular area around the doors, easily enough to swing them open now. Yes, he would know in a matter of seconds just what was on the other side of the previously-blockaded portal.
He had to know. The excitement of anticipation building inside him, he reached a hand out for the handle of the door. He pulled the door slowly open, breath bated and eyes screwed tight as the familiar screech of an opening door rang through the cavern. After a moment, the screeching stopped.
The door was open.
Grabbing the still-burning torch that he had set to the side, Atzar wasted no time in walking through the door. All exhaustion was washed from his mind; every thought, every sense was focused on the world that was about to be revealed to him. As he walked further the irregularly shaped room, the light from his torch danced eerily along the bedrock walls. The air smelled faintly of mold and rot, and the only sound audible was the snapping of his flame.
In one corner of the room lay a skeleton.
Next to it, a small book rested, surprisingly undamaged for all the years it must have endured.
Atzar’s heart began to pound. This was it.
The mage moved slowly towards the skeleton and its journal, heart throbbing wildly within his chest now.
Suddenly, a low hiss issued from the shadows of a corner of the cave. Atzar froze, eyes boring into the blackness. There! A flicker of something that seemed to be… blue?
Then, it emerged.
Thick, scaly blue legs slammed into the ground, claws digging into the packed dirt. Tough, azure wings unfurled. A blunt, armored snout materialized from the shadows. A maw opened fiercely, revealing vicious, curved teeth.
The dragon stood tall on hind legs against this intruder, proudly displaying its majesty in the face of possible danger.
All two feet of it.
Bemused, the mage stared at the little creature. Wings, teeth, talons, scales… it was undoubtedly a dragon. But it was so small! Perhaps it wasn’t fully grown yet.
Amazingly, the dragon spoke. “Alright, you can stop staring now,” it stated in perfect Common. “I know I’m awesome, but do you have to be rude about it?”
Atzar only continued to gawk at the blue dragon. His tongue was frozen; try as he might, no words would come out.
A growl emitted sharply from the toothy maw. “Seriously. Look somewhere else. I’m starting to get self-conscious.” The dragon looked around. “It took you long enough to clear that pile, didn’t it? I could here you out there throwing rocks, it took forever! Y’know, a little muscle on those shrimpy arms of yours would really help.”
The jibe went unnoticed as Atzar’s sluggish mind drew a connection between this dragon and the corpse in the corner. Immediately he threw away the possibility that the dragon was responsible for Ceran’s death. While it seemed sharp of tongue, the beast appeared to be friendly enough. “Who was that? And how is he dead?” he asked the creature, finding his voice at last.
The dragon looked over its shoulder. “Oh, I think he said his name was Ceran, or something like that. He died a long time ago.” A thought seemed to occur to the dragon. “Who decided to make you humans so fragile? You should have asked to be a dragon when you were born; we’re so much stronger…”
The mage didn’t answer the question. He simply crossed the small cave to the Ceran’s skeleton.
“Hey, you have no manners! First you stare, and now you ignore a simple question!...”
A vision suddenly flashed before his eyes. He saw only the kind, bearded face of this legendary traveler. Suddenly, his dream replayed itself as Ceran Tumultos’s countenance rotted and disintegrated before his eyes.
Atzar blinked and tore his mind away from the grisly image. The skeleton reappeared in front of him, along with the journal. The dragon waddled up to his side, thick tail waving rhythmically behind it.
“You alright? You seem a little… disturbed,” the dragon asked in its high-pitched voice.
Numbly, the mage answered the question. “This is Ceran Tumultos,” he explained in a toneless voice. “He was an explorer from my village. He learned of these caves, and came to explore.” Blue eyes met fiery blue eyes as Atzar turned to the dragon. “How did he die?” he restated his earlier question.
A silence filled the air for a moment. “I heard a little scuffle outside awhile ago,” the dragon stated. “You met one of the little gray things, I’m assuming?” At Atzar’s nod, it continued. “They aren’t dangerous alone, but in packs they’re brutal. He was attacked by a mob of them while he was exploring, and he ran in this cave.” The creature’s head cocked to one side. “Is your friend a wizard?”
“Yeah, we both come from Tel’Han,” the mage answered. “Everybody there knows some kind of magic.”
The dragon nodded its head in understanding. “Ok, I thought so. Anyway, his hands glowed or something and he brought a bunch of rocks down outside of the door.” At this, the dragon snorted. “I was in here, taking a nap. Ceran didn’t realize that this was a dead-end until he got in here, and he trapped us both.”
Curiosity sparked Atzar’s mind. “Why don’t they hurt you?” he asked. Another thought occurred to him. "And how did you survive?"
Again, the creature snorted. "I can go for years without food and water." It paused. “Who, the gray things? I don’t really know, actually. Come to think of it, they always stayed away from me. I must scare them or something.” The dragon shrugged its shoulders. Then, it kicked Ceran’s journal in Atzar’s direction with one scaly foot, a small puff of dust rising into the air. “Ceran wrote in this a lot before he died. You might find it interesting.”
The throbbing of the mage’s heart suddenly resumed with frightening force, and he picked the book up with trembling hands. All else was wiped from his mind as he slowly opened to the first page. He held the torch low over the pages to see, and began to read.
Amazing.
Following the admittedly fearsome descent into this place, I opened the portal to one of the most wondrous views these eyes have ever beheld.
It was a massive place, a veritable palace of marble that rested eternally beneath our village! The area was circular in shape, with four levels of doors around the central atrium. I shall not waste further words in an attempt to describe this magnificent spectacle; nothing I write here can possibly do it true justice.
There do appear to be inhabitants in this grotto, however. I encountered one today: a small, gray-skinned creature. Its intentions were hostile, but it was driven off with little difficulty. The creature, come to think of it, rather closely resembled various descriptions of goblins that I have read over the years. Stories reputed them to be quite intelligent and devious, but this specimen possessed neither quality. These stories, I’m afraid, appear to be wrong in their assessment of this race.
I would continue my investigation, but instinct informs me that night draws near. I shall delay my exploration of this new world until the morning, at which time I am confident that many discoveries will be made.
All that remains for the day is to find a suitable place to rest.
Until tomorrow!
--Ceran
As he turned the page to the next entry, Atzar looked up at the dragon, who was watching him with apparent amusement.
“You humans read so slowly,” the creature mocked. “I can finish that entire book in the time it took you to read that page.”
“I can do without the insults,” Atzar retorted irritably. The fact that he was exchanging insults with a dragon no longer even struck him as extraordinary. It seemed, strangely, as if he had been talking to the dragon for his entire life.
“That’s not an insult, it’s a fact,” the dragon sniffed. “Read on. I’m sure you’ll be done in the next few weeks or so…”
With a sour look at the flippant dragon, the mage read on.
I am truly woeful to write this entry, but it appears as if my rope is nearing its end.
The day began with much promise. I explored several of the surrounding caverns, and each yielded a plethora of surprises and challenges. I should not dare to document my findings so early; such a brief exploration as I have taken could be described best as a passing glance. Had events turned out differently, I would have loved to explore them much more deeply.
It was not to be.
Recall the goblin that I had previously encountered, if you will. To my dismay, it returned with a veritable army of friends. At this point, I played a massive gambit: running into a small cave and closing the door, I created a large pile of rocks on the other side of that portal. The creatures predictably decided that I was not worth the effort of digging through the rubble, but this was a double-edged blade. Such an effort exhausted me of my magic, so I had no strength to undo my work. This left me trapped, alone in a dark cave with no other exit.
Well, I guess I wasn’t really alone. There was a small dragon in the cave with me. The creature could even speak, but nothing but insults and angry rants emitted from the foul beast’s mouth. I could understand his anger – I was in the same predicament, after all – but is this really reason enough for a complete loss of civility? I think not!
Needless to say, my last few hours have not been particularly enjoyable. I sit in darkness, nothing to occupy my mind but my own gloomy predictions of my fate, coupled with the intermittent insult contrived by the dragon. I use magic to provide light only when I wish to write, hoping to conserve as much as I can in the improbable event that I find a way out of this place. To accelerate the inevitable, my food stores are already almost gone.
Regrettably, I have lost my will to write any more in this journal. To pen my imminent demise is depressing and sorrowful, to say the least. For now, I shall make some effort to engage my forced companion in some semblance of polite conversation.
I shall write again, but know that my next entry is fated to be my last.
-- Ceran
“Are you done yet?” the small dragon asked plaintively.
“I just finished,” Atzar replied in a level tone. “Ceran is right, you know. Must you be so offensive?”
“Pfft! I’m not offensive, I’m honest,” the creature retorted indignantly. “You read slow. Can you deny it? Besides, who’s offensive? I’m not the one going around calling a rightfully-annoyed dragon a ‘foul beast.’ Call him offensive, not me.”
“True,” the mage conceded. The dragon had a point; Ceran had trapped him in a cave for a number of years. “He didn’t mean to, though.”
“So? Are you saying that you'd be charming and friendly to someone who had just accidentally entombed you for who knows how long? But never mind that. Hurry up and finish, will you? I wanna get out of this place.”
Atzar simply nodded and turned the page. Already, he could tell that there would be no winning an argument with the little beast.
Greetings.
This last entry is not to myself for the purpose of memory. Rather, it is to the discoverer of this book, for remembrance.
If you are reading this, then doubtless have you read the previous pages. I will therefore not waste valuable time repeating old words on new paper. I will say this:
I am dying. Over the last few hours of hunger-filled anguish, I have come to terms with this fact. I no longer regret it, and I no longer fear it. I have said in the past: I am a man of fate.
I would ask a favor of the person that now holds this journal in his hands. Please journey to the upper slopes of this mountain, to the village of Tel’Han. Once you arrive, ask around for a man named Keyei. He was a good friend of mine in life, and I would have him know of my passing.
If many years have passed since my fall and even Keyei no longer lives, then give it to any elder. They may do as they wish with the knowledge contained in my journal.
I also ask that you take care of this dragon, should he wish it. While he may be a bit acidic of tongue, his conversation has nonetheless been an alleviation to my pain and regret. I would firmly consider him to be a close friend in my last days.
I grow weary. My time comes, and I wish to sleep.
I thank the finder of this journal in advance. I trust in your good heart to fulfill my requests, knowing even that there will be no recompense. Thus, I leave you to your task. Go, and mourn not for my passing, for in the end of my life I have begun the greatest adventure of all. Nowhere in this world is there anything that can make me happier.
-- Ceran
Atzar sat in the corner, the book in one hand and the flickering torch in the other, motionless.
“I’m sorry,” the dragon said tentatively, a note of regret in his voice. “If there was something I could have done… I would have done it.” Light and jocular only moments before, the creature’s voice was now completely serious.
The mage, however, didn’t register his words. His mind, strangely, did not even dwell on the passing of the wanderer. Instead, he was trying to decipher the alarm bells that were ringing in his head. There was something wrong… something that Ceran had said…
The goblin. The wanderer had mentioned driving off a goblin in his first entry. Soon after, many more of the beasts attacked and drove him into the cave that would become his tomb. Atzar had been attacked by one of the goblins. Atzar had driven it off.
A hiss escaped his lips as he recognized the peril that was about to reach him. “We’ve got to get out of here!” he snapped sharply to the little dragon.
The creature took one look at the intensity in the mage’s eyes and nodded. “Follow me,” it ordered, not wasting the time to question Atzar’s motive. Without further hesitation, it bolted from the room. Atzar closed the journal and, with one last morose look at the corpse of Ceran Tumultos, followed the dragon back into the colossal central atrium.
“Which way did you come in?” the dragon’s high-pitched voice rang out in front of him. In spite of its small size, the beast could still easily keep pace with Atzar at a dead run. Its sharp claws clacked in a rapid flurry against the stone floor as it dashed.
“I came in over there, I don’t remember which door!” Atzar shouted ahead to him, pointing almost directly across the great hall.
“Yeah, a lot of good you are,” came the annoyed reply. The dragon changed course instead, running towards one of the doors on the right side of the circular chamber. The mage, assuming that the little creature had a reason for its direction, followed wordlessly. The only sounds that accompanied them were their own steps and heavy breaths. All was motionless, the greenish light above casting a spooky tint on the walls around them.
In one second, all of that changed.
A sharp whistle cut the air, echoing back and forth and back again. A signal. All at once, the hall ceased to be peaceful and motionless. The shrieking complaints of rusted metal rang through the chamber on all sides as the numerous copper doors opened and even more numerous goblins poured out. Above Atzar’s head, a line of spear-wielding goblins formed on the lip of the second level, taking aim at the intruders. In a matter of five seconds, the ambush was complete; the mage and the monster stood, hemmed in on all sides by the dangerous ends of many weapons. Brutal murder shone on every single grey, primitive face around them. They were trapped.
“Stoppa! No killa da badman!” screamed a loud, shrill voice. The crowd in front of them parted, and another goblin came forward. This one carried a short staff topped with a large rodent head and numerous bird feathers. On his head was a crown woven of the leaves of some sort of plant. He was obviously a chieftain of some sort, although his decorations made him look more comical than fearsome.
“We gonna playa game wif you, badman,” the chief sneered, and a wave of tittering laughter rippled through the mob. Atzar swallowed; he highly doubted that he would find this game entertaining.
“You gonna do batta wif Durka strongman,” the leader proclaimed. A rousing cheer arose from the other goblins. The chieftain turned and began chattering and gesturing angrily at them in a language that Atzar couldn’t understand, obviously annoyed by this interruption.
“That’s the name of their tribe. Durka,” the dragon explained quietly next to him. The elementalist’s eyes dropped to meet those of the creature. The dragon’s own eyes were grim and sober. “You’re in a bad position, my friend. I’ve seen them do this before, and it never ends well.”
The king had finally managed to calm his subjects down, and turned back to Atzar and the dragon. Suddenly, it turned to the dragon and dipped, crowned head tilting forward in a gesture of profound respect. “Forgiva me, beastie,” it said, all sneers gone from its voice, “but we gotta keepa da badman outta da cavehome.”
Atzar looked down at the dragon, question implicit in his eyes. The creature shrugged its scaly shoulders. “I told you before; they’re scared of me or something.” The mage, still confused, simply blinked and turned back.
Niceties out of the way, the expression of animalistic disdain reappeared on the thing’s face. “Bringa up da killbeast!” it shouted, eyes never leaving those of Atzar. The mob parted once more, and a fearsome sight was brought forth.
By goblin terms, the thing was gigantic. It was as tall as Atzar, and its grey figure was impossibly muscular. Knuckles nearly scraped the ground, and one gnarled hand dragged a large club behind it. The yellow eyes were filled with maniacal hatred towards every living thing. Foam and spittle dribbled from the monster’s grotesquely deformed mouth as it sucked in loud gulps of air. The mage cringed at its gruesome appearance.
With no prelude at all, the hideous 'killbeast' let out a bellow and charged, club raised in the air to strike.
His advantage was clear from the start. The killbeast was big and strong, but in a test of knowledge it would have been bested by the very floor upon which it stood. It lacked any sense of strategy, and so Atzar found it fairly easy to dodge its strikes.
The heavy club came lumbering down from overhead, and Atzar easily stepped to the side. A horizontal swing, and he jumped backward. The mage, however, wasn’t particularly agile. He couldn’t keep this game up forever. Sooner or later, he would have to bite back. Another miss pushed the elementalist close to the wide circle into which the roaring goblins had formed.
Suddenly, he felt a pain in the small of his back. Behind him, one of the goblins had just lashed out at him with the butt of its spear.
“Get inna battle, badman!” it snarled viciously, turning its weapon around to threaten the human with the dangerous end.
The worry in Atzar’s gut suddenly increased to real fear. With a wall of weapons all around him and a club-waving behemoth in front of him, it wouldn’t take a big mistake to end up dead. Dodging one more wild attack by the giant goblin, the mage danced out to the center of the ring. It was time to do it.
On the outside, he remained alert for attacks. Inside, however, his focus began to build, swelling into a crescendo of magical power. It was time. Just as he had done earlier, Atzar unleashed his magic in the form of a blade of wind. It whirled away with a rush, slashing the killbeast directly in the chest.
The attack left a long, angry red line of blood on the gray skin of the beast, but it did little real damage. With an enraged howl, the hulking goblin simply shrugged the pain away and charged. The goblin mob shouted in a cacophony of violent screams at the shot. Atzar was left with no choice.
He had to go for the face.
It was something he hated doing in a fight. When he played Charms back home, that tactic was something he avoided at all costs, even if it meant losing the battle. It was just dirty and cold-blooded. The pain was unbearable, even with the slight, numbing enchantment on the game. Now, however, the mage saw the end of his life staring at him through a pair of crazed, yellowed eyes. It left him no choice.
Atzar didn’t want to be cold-blooded, but he much preferred the figurative meaning over a literal one.
Once again, the elementalist’s magic charged. Once again, the wind blade whipped his dirty clothing in every direction as it materialized. And once again, Atzar launched the projectile at his raging, charging enemy.
His aim was true, and the killbeast emitted an agonized whimper before dropping to its knees with a dull thud. Its club slipped from its grasp, and the monster’s brutish hands rose to nurse the bleeding wound on its face. The mob, roaring for blood only moments before, was now completely silent.
Even in the midst of the battle for his life, a tear welled in Atzar’s eye. He had to do it. The beast was trying to kill him! He had to do it! The big goblin’s hand moved away momentarily, and the mage saw the damage. The slash angled diagonally across its hideous face, and one of its eyes had been destroyed by the blow. Atzar stood, frozen with guilt and grief, staring at the grisly wound.
A familiar voice cut in to his conscience. “Run!” the dragon shouted urgently. Snapping back to his senses, the mage looked around him. Angry mutterings were rippling through the crowd, and many murderous glances were cast in his direction. It was only a matter of time before they fell upon him, and there would be no defense against such a force.
The miniature dragon was right. It was time to go.
“Whaya alla waitin’ for? Getta da badman!” the Durka king screamed wildly over the angry chaos. At his word, a hundred eyes all directed their crazed gaze at Atzar’s prominent form.
It was definitely time to go.
The mage surveyed the big room. All of the big doors were standing wide open, and goblins crowded him on all sides. In almost any scenario, it would be a grueling fight to keep from getting slaughtered, much less to escape.
“Go that way,” the dragon whispered after moving quietly up to his side. It pointed with one claw at the door nearest to them. Eyes narrowing in a calculating gaze, Atzar weighed his chances. There were only five of them there; anywhere else, he would be fighting at least a dozen. All of them wielded clubs. At that, he made up his mind.
He wasted no time. If the elementalist waited any longer, he risked being attacked before he was ready. It was better to make the first move. He focused his magic one last time, searching for the familiar tingle of energy that told him when he was ready. Once he found it, the mage sprang into action. Another blade of rushing air whipped up in front of him, but he didn’t release it. Not yet. Maintaining his grip on the weapon, the mage strode purposefully toward the open door. Two goblins, wild eyes narrowed maliciously, moved forward to confront him.
Rather than lash out with his weapon and risk losing control of it, Atzar merely kept it in front of him. Wind, after all, was very hard to see, and his enemies basically did his job for him. The first of the two walked straight into the blade. The dumb creature suddenly flinched and backed away as the blade bit into his skin, spattering droplets of ruby blood in many directions. The mage fought a sense of revulsion, feeling some of the drops land on his face and arms, but kept up his quick pace nonetheless. The second goblin, after watching the fate of its comrade, cringed and stood down.
The goblins obviously weren’t familiar with magic. Although he hasn’t realized it at the time, his choice to use wind magic was perfect. His foes knew that something was hurting them, but they couldn’t see it. As far as they knew, they could be slashed at random whenever they got close enough, and so they were reluctant to attack. Atzar saw the fear in many of their eyes and pressed his advantage. In front of him, two more goblins gave in to cowardice and fled, leaving only one standing in his path. The beast gulped audibly, but held his ground, club raised and ready.
Time to release the blade.
With a single shove, Atzar sent the weapon whirling in his opponent’s direction, but misfortune reared its ugly head. The shot collided with the goblin’s club, dispersing harmlessly. Somehow sensing the mage’s vulnerability, the beast shouted triumphantly and leapt forward to attack. Atzar, getting tired from drawing continually on his magic, watched helplessly, preparing himself as best as he could to make a last minute dodge. Suddenly, a rising growl erupted from a throat right behind him, and a flash of azure flitted by the wizard’s feet.
No evasion would be necessary. Wings assisting a powerful lunge at the goblin, the little dragon sunk his teeth into the throat of the beast. Blood spurted from around the face of the ferocious little beast, and the goblin crumpled to the ground. The dragon kicked free of the falling corpse, landing nimbly with a final flap of scaly blue wings.
“Thank me later,” it told Atzar boastfully. “Now, let’s get out of here.”
The mage simply nodded before following the dragon through the big door, leaving the stunned and demoralized goblin pack behind.
“This is the fastest way outside,” the dragon called out. “The tunnel leads straight to a little wooden door, if I recall correctly.”
Behind him, the screeching voice of the king could be heard as he tried to marshal his troops in pursuit. The mage did his best to ignore the clamor and continued down the straight, ever-darkening tunnel. Already, he could see the wooden door in front of him, light seeping through its cracks to hint at the daylight outside. In only a few short seconds, Atzar reached the door and shoved it open.
He wasn’t prepared for the blast of light that seared into his brain. After being in relative darkness for so long, such brilliant sunlight seemed all the more blinding. With a sharp inhalation of breath, the mage averted his eyes.
“We’re safe now,” the unfazed voice of the dragon came from nearby. “They’re afraid of sunlight. They won’t follow us here, no matter how many of them the king has to kill.”
Gradually, the world ceased to be an overpowering picture of white. The landscape slowly revealed itself to him, and what a view it was.
The cave opened out to a mountainside, and the green slope dropped gently away from dragon and human in a display of nature’s grace. The winter had been almost completely devoid of snow, and so the scene remained vibrantly colorful.
“I missed it,” the dragon said quietly. “The outside world, I mean… it’s really a wonderful place to be, especially after spending so much time in darkness.”
Atzar simply nodded in full agreement. Indeed.
Keyei leaned back in his chair, gazing off into space. Ceran’s journals both rested in his lap, forgotten for the moment.
It was two days after Atzar’s ordeal in the caves, and the mage finally decided that he was ready to bring the information to Keyei. After all, the wanderer had requested it.
“Thank you very much for bringing this information to me,” the wind master said after a moment’s reflection. “Ceran was a close friend of mine. Even though his death is a sad one, I am glad that I’m not left in the dark.”
“Sir, Ceran mentioned that you knew of the caves,” Atzar began. “Have you ever gone down there yourself?”
With a long look into Atzar’s eyes, Keyei finally nodded. “Long ago. The goblins were there then, too.” The elder’s gaze grew a stern edge. “I would ask you not to delve too deeply into those caves. There are many things… dangerous things, in the hands of the wrong person… that I would rather you not see. You appear to have some common sense. While I can’t stop you from returning, I can hope that you’ll be smart.”
The mage said nothing. In truth, he had every desire of returning there at some later date, when he was stronger and he could better defend himself against the goblins. He had seen so little of the caves, after all, and the network appeared vast.
Keyei, however, didn’t need to know that.
----------------------------
“Took you long enough,” the dragon said from Atzar’s bed when the mage returned. The little creature had decided to tag along with him for the time being. Atzar didn’t mind too much; he was good company.
“What’s your name, anyway?” Atzar asked, ignoring the playful cut.
“Zirkan at your service, sir!” the dragon tried to adopt a mocking military pose, but the soft blankets tripped him up. He landed unceremoniously on his tail with a grunt.
He couldn’t help it. A laugh burst from the mage’s mouth, and an indignant snort burst from Zirkan’s snout.
“Laugh at a poor, underfed little dragon, will you,” the creature muttered. “Just wait, I’ll get you back…”
The dragon’s mutterings and the mage’s laughter continued, filling the little house with the sound.
----------------------------
It was late at night. The dragon had stolen a blanket from Atzar’s bed and was entangled in it, snoring loudly. The mage, however, was wide awake.
Grief was finally catching up to him, and guilt rode on its back. Through the journal, Atzar had felt a certain kinship with Ceran, and the fact that he had died made him feel as if he had lost a good friend. Back in the caves, however, the best he could manage was a chaste expression of sorrow before he had rushed out of the cave. It felt… wrong.
A tear dropped silently from Atzar’s eye to fall into his long hair.
And there was also the big goblin. He had ruined the monster’s eye, something that he considered to be an unspoken atrocity. Even the fact that it was completely necessary was little consolation. The pain, the horror of losing one’s sight in such a manner was something that Atzar just couldn’t deal with.
Rational thought told him that he would eventually get over it. Ceran would fade to a distant memory, and the one-eyed goblin would be nothing more than a bad dream on a dark night.
If that was true, then why… why couldn’t Atzar shake the feeling that this would all come back to haunt him?
((Spoils: I want Zirkan the pygmy dragon as a pet. He can fly, but he can't lift more than ten pounds or so. He has no magic - his only form of attack is his teeth and claws. Also, I'd like to work immortality into his description. He can't die, and his bones cannot be broken. However, wounds must be "slept off" in order to heal - he doesn't heal on his own. Small cuts can be fixed in only a few hours, while a wound that might normally be considered 'lethal' would take days or even a week to recover. PM me if there's any questions about this, I'm not sure if I explained it clearly.))
Sighter Tnailog
01-24-07, 09:07 PM
Quest Judging
Story of a Wanderer
This was a good thread. It reminded me a little bit of a thread I did a long time ago with Teenage Angst, Devon, and Iora Yagami. But it involved underground caves, mysterious ruins, tiny gobliny beasts, etc. Your thread offered me a little trip down memory lane, and it was also a nice easy read.
And now, the judging.
STORY
Continuity ~ 5. Some of this felt confusing. Why did you just happen to have Tumultos's journal on your shelf -- was it an old thing you'd never bothered to pick up before? Did you find it at a flea market? Was it tucked behind another book and just now located? Also, some of your references...like to Tel'Han...seemed to require that I knew more of your storyline than I did. A good continuity score means that you've explained yourself to a reader well enough that he or she doesn't need to read anything else to understand.
Setting ~ 5. I didn't always feel your setting. At times it felt a bit cliche -- little cabin in the woods, woods, and underground cave. But you did a fairly good job of describing it, although you need to work on actually using your surroundings more, interacting with them. I bumped the score a bit, though, for a particularly nice touch: a bit of the thornbush fighting back! That's a nice example of what I look for in setting. One question, though...how did you see in the cave? You were pretty good about remembering your torch, up to a point, but around when you left the room with the dragon you seemed to forget about it. Also, torches don't provide a lot of light...yet, while in the cave, this never seemed to prove much of a problem, you seemed to be able to see over relatively long distances.
Pacing ~ 7. For the most part, you maintained my interest. I felt like you could have done more with this thread, but at the same time it felt simple enough that I read it with pleasure. A good effort!
Story Total ~ 17
CHARACTER
Dialogue ~ 7. You showed both characters well, and the goblin dialogue was well-written. Sometimes dialects simply hurt the eyes, but in this case I could hear the goblins speaking in my head. Atzar seemed fairly quiet, though...I could get a sense of the dragon's personality from his words, oddly enough, but Atzar seemed more of an enigma.
Action ~ 7. You were fun an interesting. I especially liked how your character was able to get a wide variety of uses out of a single spell. That's how magic should work! Versatile.
Persona ~ 5. By the end of the thread, I know only a little more about Atzar than when it began. You made a bold effort, though, with his feeling bad for Tumultos; however, I couldn't help but feel like it was forced. The bit with the killbeast's eyes, though, was priceless: I learned, at least, that Atzar is kind even to his enemies.
Character Total~ 19
WRITING STYLE
Technique ~ 6. Nice touch with the foreshadowing, although it's been done before...dreams, I mean.
Mechanics ~ 9. I noticed no errors in my first reading, and a quick overview reveals no more. I like to reserve my 10s for special occasions, but were this thread more fleshed in other areas I'd probably grant one here.
Clarity ~ 6. I was never really confused, except in the ways I mentioned within the Continuity category. You did a good job of, well, making sense. A fairly straightforward story.
Writing Style Total ~ 21
MISCELLANEOUS
Wild Card ~ 6. Good job. A nice solid thread.
TOTAL ~ 63
EXP AWARDS
Atzar Kellon gains 1200 EXP
OTHER AWARDS
Zirkan, The Pygmy Dragon: Zirkan is now Atzar's companion. He can fly, and can lift around 100 pounds. He has no magic - his only form of attack is his teeth and claws. He is immortal in the sense that he cannot ever completely die. However, he can be wounded, even to the point of death, and wounds must be "slept off" in order to heal - he doesn't heal on his own. Small cuts can be fixed in only a few hours, but a wound that might normally be considered 'lethal' would take days or even weeks to recover.
Cyrus the virus
01-24-07, 10:35 PM
EXP added!
Atzar levels up! Woo!
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