The Door

Twas early morning, not quite bright,

And in the wood I walked.

The boughs were creaking in the wind,

The leaves began to rot.

The trees told me a story,

They said come with us dear friend!

Come, let me tell you a story-

From the beginning to the end.

I walked and followed their voices,

The trees began to grow.

Older now they were and solemn,

Of times past long ago.

I crossed a creek by wooden bridge,

And then over a grassy ridge.

To my surprise, in the hill I saw a door!

A knobby door with etched runes of yore.

I thought it strange, a little queer.

I’d never seen a door here!

But then I’d never been here before!

I resolved then to try this door,

To see where it might lead.

Perhaps it was an alehouse,

Filled with ale, wine and mead!

Perhaps it was a gardenhouse,

Filled with pots and seeds.

It could have been a sooty mine,

Spilling with silver and greed!

I grasped the knob and took a pull

It wouldn’t budge! I tried once more.

Locked! I sighed. I should have known.

I turned around to go on home.

And there I saw before my eyes,

A small glimmer, to my surprise

A key was lying upon the ground!

I picked it up and looked back to the mound.

The key seemed just the right size…

I put it in. The click of a lock! I opened up the door…

And I shall tell you nothing more.

The Hunter - Part One

His face a grim mask of determination, the hunter strode through the blizzard, seeking any signs of his quarry. His long white hair fluttered wildly in the storm, and his piercing silver and blue eyes darted about energetically. He wore a striking blue cloak around his shoulders, tufted with white fur for warmth, and two swords hung at his sides. A long bow poked over his right shoulder. His snow white face was sharp and handsome, with two long pointed ears raised for any sudden noises.

Kendrin was his name, and he was one of the last of the Highborne, the people of the Tar. He was a master of blade and bow, but he used his skills humbly, content to hunt the threats that mortals were helpless to defend against- for a bounty, of course.

He stopped suddenly, his eyes trained on a bloody footprint in the snow. He knelt slowly and gracefully, reaching out to dab at the blood with two fingers. He sniffed at it tentatively. Wendigo.

Somewhere far ahead a great howling arose. The hunter looked up, pausing for just a moment before dashing off through the snow. His prey was close, and the scent was fresh. The time had come to purge the world of this foul beast.

For several minutes Kendrin trekked through the tundra, following the creature’s bloody footprints. Out of the snow a distant light appeared, and soon with it the shape of a house. As he got closer, he realized that the light came from a single lamp that burned in a sconce on the side of the cabin. He slowed to a cautious walk as he approached the place, warily scanning his surroundings. The cottage seemed to sit on the border of a great forest, dark and grey with snow. The bloody footprints led to the cottage door. It was cracked open.

Kendrin reached to his sides and drew his swords. They gleamed eagerly. He took one deep breath, and then kicked the door open.

Inside he was met with a grisly scene. Almost everything in the cottage was torn, tattered, and covered with blood. Three bodies were piled in the center of the room. But that was not the worst of it. Over the bodies feasted a creature of nightmares, the beast the hunter had hunted for the past month. Blood sprayed from its mouth as it looked up.

It’s fur was white and matted with dirt and blood. It hung off the creature’s slender, aggressive frame, and the monster’s ribs showed against its chest. A foxish tail waved methodically in the air behind the beast, and it glared at the hunter with sickly, glowing yellow eyes. It’s face was wolf like in appearance, yet somehow disturbingly human. Wendigos were created by dark, angry magic, a curse that infected those left helpless in the northern wilds. Kendrin had been informed that this creature had once been just a frontiersman, struggling to make his way in a harsh world. Then bandits struck, burning down the man’s house and leaving him homeless. He had not made it through the night unchanged.

Kendrin readied himself for an attack. A less experienced hunter might have taunted the tragic thing or tried to reason with it. Kendrin knew that there was no point in either.

The creature laughed, a vile, abyssal sound that sent an involuntary shiver down its enemies spine. “I… will feed… more…” The beast managed to growl. “More.” It grinned and crouched low, preparing to spring. Kendrin dove to the ground just in time to avoid its attack. The Wendigo launched itself over his crouched body, tumbling through the open doorway. The hunter rose, sprinting to where it lay. The creature was up in a flash, and before Kendrin could react it’s claws were scything towards his face.

He parried the attack with his right blade and slashed into the Wendigo’s flank with his left. It screeched and clutched at the wound, and he took that opportunity to thrust his parrying blade into its chest. He spun and sliced at the Wendigo’s head, but it was too quick. It ducked under his blade and pulled itself along the other sword and closer to the hunter. It gnashed its teeth hungrily.

With a shout the hunter pulled his blade free, showering the snow in  blood. It poured from the creature’s wound and its mouth, and the monster clutched its torso in shock. Kendrin sheathed his swords, aware that the wound was fatal.

He reached for his bow. “Please,” Croaked the monster. Kendrin selected a silver arrow from his quiver, and in one merciful shot released the beast from its hell.

. . .

With three loud knocks the gatewarden started awake. “What time is it?” He wondered groggily. He sat up, wiping drool from his lip.

“Who goes there?” He shouted warily. He slid the door panel back and peered through. When he saw who it was, he instantly sat up straighter.

“Bountyman,” he said anxiously. “I dare say it’s been quite a while since we’ve seen you!”

“Never fear.” Said Kendrin with a nod of his head. “I always return.”

The gateman smiled. “And for that we are grateful.” He swung open the door and ushered Kendrin in.

The hunter walked briskly down the long, desolate street. The village of Ferryworth was larger than most of its cousins, but still small enough not to get lost in. It was a tiny oasis in a sea of danger: the wilds were all that surrounded it for tens of miles. It kept a low profile from the Capital. It was simply not an important place. Farmhouses made up the majority of the town, but a few shops and an inn broke up the sight of thatched buildings.

Kendrin knew his destination well, for he had been here many times for this exact purpose. He turned right when he reached the end of the long road, passing the mayor’s house. He made for the jailhouse. Several lamps hung from its facade, and a brightly lit counter stood out in the night.

“Evening.” Said the lone guard as Kendrin approached. He was reading a book and did not look up. In a room behind him Kendrin could hear the merry sound of gambling guards. “If you have a complaint to file, the leaflets-” He looked up and gasped. Kendrin’s blade was less than two inches from his throat. He dropped his book and sat up.

“Bountyman!” He said, his voice tense. “I am very sorry. If I’d have known it was you-”

“Don’t be, Wiccam.” Said the bounty hunter. “Sorry gets you nothing but death. And if I was someone less friendly to this little town of yours, you’d be dead right now.” He lowered the sword.

Wiccam gulped. “Of course.” He paused awkwardly, struggling to regain his composure.

“I am here on business, as usual.” Kendrin said when the other man failed to ask.

“Ah, have you taken care of the wolves that have been eating our sheep this month?” Said Wiccam with a smile. He reached for a small bag of gold.

“No,” Said Kendrin, stopping him in his tracks. “It is something far more deadly.” He reached behind him, and with one heavy swing he placed the Wendigo’s head on the counter. No flies buzzed around it- nothing would gorge on a thing so foul.

Wiccam recoiled in shock. “The Wendigo,” He spluttered in shock. “That monster had terrorized us for more than a year! You have done a great service to this town, bountyman!”

Kendrin smiled politely. “It was nothing. But I do have a price…”

“Ah, yes, of course!” Said the guard. He rummaged beneath a desk and removed a sack of gold so heavy as to make it hard to carry. “Will this suffice?”

“It is more than enough.” Said Kendrin. “That has to be quite a lot of money, for this village, wouldn’t you say?”

Wiccam smiled sadly. “It is most of what we have. But we must reward you somehow for saving us from that vile creature!”

“Keep half of it.” Said the hunter. “No man needs so much gold, but Ferryworth does. Just have my half delivered to my room before first light.”

Wiccam opened his mouth, speechless. “Thank you, hunter! Time and again you bring us favor. I must get the others! Then you can tell us how you killed the beast! Wait here!”

Wiccam dashed to the back room where his fellow guards sat. “Come quickly, lads! The bountyman is here, and you will never believe what he has brought with him!”

With a scrape of chairs all of the men stood up, Jostling to get to the counter. Wiccam hurried back out front.

“So how did you do it…” He started to say. The confused men looked around. The hunter was gone.

A Short Tail

It was late, and Ludwig’s Royal Inn and Publick House was packed as usual. A line stretched into the merry streets of Brunwich, where audiences gathered to watch fire-eaters and sword-swallowers at their art.

A young Dwarf jostled his way to the front of the line. A fiddle was strapped to his back, and a lyre hung from a loop on his belt.

Raucous shouting and singing poured out of the tavern. Inside, the Dwarf could see a throng of men talking, singing, and sloshing ale down their gullets. They surrounded a long central table, upon which a Gnome and a Halfling walked circles around each other, playing a wicked fiddle duet. Behind them men supported their song with drums, harps, and banjos. The two were singing, but their voices were barely heard over the merry chants of the crowd that sang along.

“Let me in there!” The Dwarf said gruffly to the tall Half-Orc who stood before the door. “It’s very important!”

The Half-Orc raised an eyebrow. “Get in line first.”

“This line stretches on fer hours!”

“That isn’t my concern.”

“It is of great importance!”

The Half-Orc crossed his arms. “Look, buddy, I’m not going to say this again. Get in line, or get out of my sight.”

The Dwarf grumbled. This wasn’t going to get him anywhere.

“Hey, you!” He shouted through the noise, pointing a finger at the pair of bards upon the table. His voice was loud, louder than you’d expect from one of his size, and it broke through the din of the tavern easily.

The music faltered. The two looked his way curiously, and their faces filled with dread when they saw the Dwarf. The music stopped entirely. The singing patrons of the Inn slowly quieted, looking about in confusion.

“Yeah, you!”

“Alright, bud-” Said the Half-Orc, reaching for his mace.

“No, no, let him in,” Said the Halfling.

“Are you sure, Mister Longears?” Said the Half-Orc warily.

“Yes.” Said Mister Longears, his face grave. “Aren’t we, Eril?” Eril gave a cautious nod.

Slowly the Half-Orc stepped aside, and the Dwarf made his way into the Pub. The crowd cleared a path between the Dwarf and the musicians.

“Long time, no see, Becker!” Mister Longears proclaimed with forced casualness and a nervous laugh.

“You!” The Dwarf named Becker growled angrily a third time. He turned to the Halfling. “Eble Longears.” He turned to the Gnome. “And Eril Button.” His words dripped malice.

“Well, we sure are glad to see you!” Eril chimed in in an equally strained tone. “It has been some time since our… last meeting!”

“Aye!” Said Becker, smiling menacingly. “It has. And it’s time ye got what ye earned! For I have been playing and picking my fiddle fer a year since ye two devils outplayed me. I thrive more than e’er, now, no thanks to you.”

“Well!” Said Eble awkwardly. “That’s… excellent, then.”

Becker continued immediately. “But I have not forgotten my humiliation, no!” He turned to his audience. “For these two bloody vagrants conjured a bloody tail on my backside, ter humiliate me more after my defeat!” He turned his back to the audience and lowered his pants, showing a fox’s tail that had sprouted from his tailbone. The audience winced, gasped and groaned. A bead of sweat ran down Eble’s face.

“What’s this all about, lads?” Shouted the bartender. “I don’t want any trouble!”

“Oh, I’ll tell ye what this is about.” Growled Becker. “The tale begins thus, one year ago! It was in my hometown of Derwood, a pretty little city far superior to this rathole I’m in now, and I was the town’s Bard! The people loved me, and I was heralded as a great player of me time. But then I heard rumors of the famed Eble Longears and Eril Button, and how they were coming to Derwood in two days.” He paused to catch his breath.

“Well, I had heard of the rascals, and I planned to show them who was the alpha Bard in Derwood. And so they arrived in town, and I met the pair. I disliked them instantly, but I knew that I could beat them in a fiddle duel and so I paid them no mind. I challenged them to the duel, and they accepted for the following day!” Becker put his tail away, turned to the audience, and continued.

“Well, the day of the duel dawned, and the village assembled to witness it. A stage was made and advertisements were hung. At twelve o’clock precise the duel began, and long story short, the bastards won!”

“We don’t care!” Somebody in the crowd shouted. The rest of the throng voiced their agreement. Becker sent a glare so fierce in their direction that the jeering immediately ceased. He resumed his story.

“God I hate to admit it, but their music was brilliant! It was an honour to lose to two so skilled.” Becker said with a small, unexpected bow in Eble’s and Eril’s direction.

“There’s just one small problem with that.” He said quietly, and the room went silent as people listened closely.

“Ye. Gave. Me. A. Damn. TAIL!”

Eble and Eril winced, giving mumbled excuses.

“You two really did that to him?” Somebody from the crowd shouted angrily.

“It was just a joke, mate!” Eble said.

“Yeah, it was… just a bit of fun!” Said Eril.

The tavern went into an uproar. Becker showed his backside to the gathering again, and men and women shouted and threw food at the Halfling and the Gnome.

Finally, Becker made his voice heard over the roar of the crowd. “Quiet!”

The tavern’s patrons stopped, waiting to hear what he had to say.

“Now, I am not here just ter complain!” The Dwarf continued. “I am here ter win back me honour and show these two lowly minstrels a real bard. I ‘av spent day and night perfecting me art, and the time has come to prove it!” The crowd cheered. Becker paused to survey his enemies’ reactions.

Eble and Eril looked at each other and gulped.

“He means business.” Eril observed gloomily.

“Yeah,” Said Eble. “Something tells me that this won’t be the cakewalk of last time.”

“No.”

Becker smiled mockingly to the bards. “Well, my lads, if ye ‘ave the stomach fer it, how about another go-round with the fiddles?”

“Do it!” Someone from the crowd shouted. “If you have the skin, that is!” Others voiced their agreement.

“Well,” I suppose we must!” Shouted Eble to the gathered. “A shame we’ll have to humiliate old Becker again, though!” This sent a multitude of “Ooh!”s and “He didn’t!”s through the room. Eble winked to his partner.

“Well, then, push up a table!” Eble shouted down to some drunks in the corner. “Give him a stage!”

The drunks complied, pushing together two large tables for Becker’s use. The crowd cleared him a path to his makeshift stage, and he hopped upon it gracefully before proceeding to rausen up his bow.

“Are you ready?” Eble whispered quietly to Eril.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Responded his friend. “What tune shall we play?”

“Let’s go with Tidas’s Shanty.” Said Eble. “That oughta impress, and we haven’t played it in a while.” Eril Nodded.

They both took deep breaths before turning back to the crowd.

“Ye play first.” Becker growled, eyeing the two menacingly.

Eble tapped his foot three times in rhythm, and then began to play. His song was wild and mischievous, and soon Eril joined in, adding a slower undertone to his friends’ shanty. The music went up and down, telling a story with no words. The song sent the younger men in the pub into dreams of far-off adventures waiting to be had, and the elder denizens were reminded of forgotten, wild memories of their youth.

Finally they finished on one final, triumphant note before looking up at Becker. The room resounded as the audience cheered.

The Dwarf’s grin had been steadily growing as he watched them play. He let it out with a guffaw as his rivals finished.

“How quaint!” He exclaimed, quieting the publick house again. “I shouldn’t have even wasted me time coming here! I’ve faced many a bard more skilled than ye since last year. My, ye’ve sure lost yer touch!” The assembled drew in breath as Eble and Eril glared angrily across the room at Becker.

“If it’s like that, then show us what you’ve got!” Shouted Eril at the Dwarf. “If your music’s as bad as your speech, my ears will be bleeding for weeks!”

Tensions were high as Becker raised his bow, took a deep breath, and began to play. The song started slow and mysterious, but grew into a quicker jive that seemed as if it might accompany a forgotten nursery rhyme. Although Becker’s music was unaided by a second fiddle, he compensated with speed and skill.

The pace of his song increased, and his brow beaded with sweat as he rained down precisely timed notes on his listeners. His blow flew and slid along the strings.

He raised the intensity to a high unlike anything Eble or Eril had heard before. The sound was like cold fire, beautiful and sharp. It rose and rose and rose before Becker ended it triumphantly with a set of three sharp crescendos.

There was a moment of silence, and then the crowd cheered wildly, far louder than they had for Eble and Eril. Someone in the throng started chanting Becker’s name, and it was quickly taken up by the rest of the guests. The Dwarf huffed and puffed with exertion, but he beamed with pride the whole time. The winner was clear.

All three bards hopped down off their tables and met in the middle. Eble and Eril bowed to Becker. There would be no honour in trying to deny their defeat. They each flipped him a gold coin, as was customary for the loser in a music duel.

“Congratulations, Becker.” Eble said glumly. “We have seldom found our equal in song.”

“I thank ye both as well!” Becker said merrily. His angry demeanor had left him, revealing a merry young dwarf. “Ter tell ye the truth… I was never as angry about the tail as I let on. I probably would’ve done the same in yer shoes.”

Eble looked at Eril, confused. “You weren’t? Then why…”

“Ah, I jest wanted ter give them a good show!” He said, gesturing at the crowd. “After all… what more does a good bard want?”

Slowly, the confused looks on Gnome’s and Halfling’s faces turned to laughter. As the crowd took up a favorite drinking chant, the three clapped each other’s shoulders, laughing harder than the sun.

“Come on, mates! Let’s get drinks.” Becker said, and the three filed over to the tipsy line for a good pint of ale.

. . .

Fifteen minutes later, the three short men sat down with brimming mugs at a small table in the corner.

“-and so, we were thinking, Becker,” Eble was saying as he settled in, “You’re a fine fiddler, and a right raucous Dwarf…”

“Yea, and one with fiery spirit as well!” Added Eril.

“Yes, that too,” Said Eble. “And so, we were wondering… might you like to join us as partners and friends? We’d be happy to have you- you sure proved your skill tonight!” The Halfling smiled hopefully.

Becker looked warily back and forth between the two. “This is a jest, right?”

The two bards’ faces fell. “Oh. I see. Of course, if you don’t want to-”

“Of course I do!” Becker shouted happily.”Why do you think I came here in the first place? To regain my honour? Partially. To remove the tail? Nah, I’ve gotten used to it, and it’s a funny trick. To prove myself to the famed Eble Longears and Eril Button? What more could a bard hope for!”

“Well, then, it’s settled! You’re one of us!” Exclaimed Eril. “To the Fiddlers Three!” He raised his mug.

“The Fiddlers Three!” Repeated the other two.

They talked, drank, and sang late into the night.