《The Shadow of the Moon》


 In His Royal Name

    Many decades ago I lived as a trader of fine cloths in a city whose name has long been erased from the annals of history. Together with my wife and sons I lived a frugal yet peaceful existence, trade rarely slowing down enough to impact us, at least until the King''s war began. Bloated with arrogance, he sent forth his armies against his rivals to ransack their lands and force their submission. Having little backing from his captains in this, the battles took their inevitable turn, and soon enough word arrived of an invincible coalition of armies marching to our city. Trade slowed to a halt as the citizenry retreated to their private lives, content only to be in the company of their loved ones, perhaps in hopes of protecting them from the incoming force through sheer will alone.


    Given there was no one left to purchase the goods I hawked, I too fell into this fearful and hushed life, and it was on one night as I was collecting firewood that I saw him. What at first appeared through my exhausted eyes as a shadowy mass oozing down the street became a procession of wolf headed, black furred men walking in a jagged formation under the full moons rays. Some bore banners of purest midnight silk that seemed to carry the darkness of the abyss itself. Scattered amongst this unholy congregation were mad eyed men and women, clothed in nought but rags and so engorged with fear that they seemed somehow more savage than the beast men standing tall beside them. Crouching there in the darkness, I waited with fear in my heart for the ghastly columns to end. Despite the oddity of what I had seen, I surely would have dismissed it as a nightmarish vision if not for the horror that I was yet to witness. Unfortunately for me, I happened to be glancing from my hiding place just as he came into view, the leader of this unholy procession. It was impossible to tell where his body stopped and the night began, so shadowy was his personage, yet he carried himself with an air of true authority the likes of which I had never seen even in the noblest of princes. Atop his head lay a crown of purest onyx engraved with the faces of men, the expressions of which I was lucky enough not to be able to make out in the darkness. He rode a horse of black velvet, distinguishable from the finest of purebreeds only by the stag like antlers protruding from its equestrian skull. Somehow through the fog of terror, a morbid curiosity as to the nature of this figure bubbled to the surface, a curiosity that was swiftly fulfilled as he turned his head in my direction. Suddenly I knew the identity of this figure, whose silver fanged grin and ember filled eyes now gazed directly into mine. The watcher in the night had come, Fear was returned to claim the throne rightfully due to him. After the decades of rule under the hands of man, finally the reigns of the City were to be returned to their rightful holder.


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    I can not recall how I made it home that night, my next moment of awareness after that piercing glare was waking up to the suns rays beaming through my bedroom window, sweat frozen to my body. Whether it was terror driven hallucination or not failed to alter my decision to immediately leave the city. We brought everything we could with us, all of what meagre riches we had accumulated throughout a trading career of middling success. All the ships of the City had long since fled, bar one, owned by a man with a reputation for particular cruelty and abuse, and even one without the history in bargaining that I had could easily tell that his sympathy extended only as far as the fatness of purse offered. He demanded all our belongings as payment, hiding behind some vague excuse of a high demand for his services, and despite the pleas of my wife, I agreed. Though the price was exorbitant, we were to learn that it was a sound bargain, for I heard later that the day after we left, the prophesied army arrived at the gates, and the port was blockaded to any would be escapees. The bringer of this news was one of my fellow merchants of those days, who I happened to cross paths with long after the siege. He had managed to live through the months of panic that possessed the city during that terrible time, and he told me how the King had been slain the day of the army''s arrival, presumably at the hands of a confidant for no enemy had yet breached the gates, and his throne was never again filled in the chaos of the coming months. The generals immediately entered peace negotiations but could find no quarter with their adversaries, thirsty as they were for revenge on the City that had ravaged their own lands. Such as it was, the siege continued until every soul lacking the skills of knife and blade had been cut down to serve the needs of his fellow man, from the tiniest of rats to the fattest of merchants. When the gates finally fell, the invaders found a populace of skeleton men and women reduced to the merest scraps of bone and gristle. Nevertheless they slaughtered many of those who remained merrily, and used the others in the sick games they had conceived in the boredom of the siege. My companion was lucky enough to be born with the ruthlessness necessary to survive the terror of his fellow man, and fortune provided him with a safe place to weather the sacking of the city, leaving him to find his own way from the burned wreck of his previous life. Telling him of the vision I had seen the day before the invasion, he was quick to agree with me that it had been no illusion. It truly was Fear who sat in the empty throne during the last days of that city, and he did not rule with a light hand.


    These days I live alone on the farthest edge of a tiny hamlet, my wife long lost to the mortal world and my sons having since moved onto greater things. I pen these words in hopes that other people might know of him, and be afraid. His royal blood rules us all, despite what the priests and lawmakers say. Even out here away from all other authority, I occasionally catch his eyes staring out at me from under the blanket of midnight, his silver grin glinting in the pale moon''s light.

 The King of Ashes

    The City lay beneath us, cloaked in the darkness of a moonless night and barely visible with the campfire''s glare in our eyes. My guide and companion sat across from me, gazing down into the glowing embers. I knew little about the man, other than his name, and that he shared my desire to pay homage to the Lonely City. Despite my talkativeness on the road, I could not penetrate the shroud of silence hanging over us on the penultimate night of our journey. Thankfully for me, my companion still had one last conversation left in him.


    "I suppose you have heard the tale of the city which we seek?" He asked in a deep voice, heavy with his long years. I shook my head, knowing of it only as an ancient city of unrivalled beauty. "I remember my own youthful years, when my mind was too full of passion to make way for such trifles as history. Many ages ago the city that now lies before us had a king. The marble towers and columned promenades in those times were filled with people busy about their daily lives, draped in the finery of prosperity. The beauty of its walls were rivalled only by the great performances put on regularly by the cream of the citizenry, and the clanging of its golden bells matched only by the trade songs exulting their wares in the many busy markets. It was a time of true peace and prosperity, yet as those of us with the benefit of hindsight and history know, the wheel must always turn. For such a rich city, rivals were inevitable, and there was one state amongst its neighbours with a particular penchant for jealousy. As inevitably as the clouds run in rivers down the mountainsides, so did their armies burst forth from their gates and march upon the City. Having little experience with war, the City''s defenders were easily routed from the field and forced to take refuge behind their peace wearied walls."


    He paused, glancing in the direction of the City, before returning to his story, a hint of grief now present in his voice. "I can tell that you have never been in a siege before, so I will do my best to describe the raw terror running in rivers through the streets. No order can be sustained in the panicked masses of ten thousand men backed into ten thousand corners. All that is good and beautiful comes to serve as a farcical backdrop to the cacophony of violence and theft, and fear usurps whatever power ruled momentarily in its place. This was the sight that met the eyes of the King of what we now call the Lonely City. Of all the citizens of that City, the noose around his neck was the tightest, not with fear, but with love, for he was that rare king that serves the state willingly with adoration in his heart. To see the center of his life so savagely violated must have filled him with rage, but to know that there was nothing he could do to stop it surely would have filled him with despair. Or, almost nothing. In the later days of the siege he conferred often with the City''s leading sorcerers, who had discovered a way of contacting the primal forces of the world that they hoped would lead to a solution to the present dilemma. He had of course denied their offer, not being foolish enough to believe that such power could ever be safely wielded in the hands of humanity. But staring out the highest window of his palace, and seeing the purples and greens of markets replaced by blazing reds and oranges, and beyond it all the swarming mass of the hated invaders, misery consumed him, taking the reigns of his mind and forcing him back to the dark chambers in which his magical practitioners exercised their art. Together with his warlocks, he summoned Death herself and sent her against his enemies to do with them as was her mandate. The next day, he sent his bravest men to sally forth from the walls, but when they returned they reported not the invincible host of the previous day, but a graveyard of unburied soldiers, all seemingly struck down where they stood during the night, the watchers slumped with their hands still gripping their spears, and the restless lying with their heads face first in their fire pits. The ensuing celebrations quickly put the memories of chaos from the minds of the citizenry, and the cause of this mysterious miracle became hotly debated in all the streets. The King, uninclined to reveal the true forces at work, proclaimed that it was a sign of the gods favour, and that many new temples would be constructed in thanks to their saviours. Filled as they were with relief, this explanation was readily accepted by all, and the question left their collective memories, at least for a time." With the sun well and truly departed, we agreed that it would be wise to get some rest and leave the tales for another time. He promised me however that he would continue the story come the morning, and to my relief, that he would take the first watch.


    The next day we approached the cyclopean marble entrance of our destination. The arch, designed as if for giants, was curiously missing the gate that normally would have guarded such a magnificent city. I have found in my travel that ancient ruins often lack such defences, whether as a byproduct of the events that lead to their ruination, or simply through the wearing efforts of the sands of time. It was clear however that such was not the case in this City, for the arch had not the barest mark to hint that it might have once worn hinges. Asking Antarios about this oddity, he replied that, had I been listening the previous night, I surely would already have guessed the cause. Of course, a city under the protection of death herself has no need for corporeal defences. The mystery of the arch was nothing compared to the strangeness past it however. The streets were the most beautiful and pristine, that I had ever seen, yet not a soul stirred within them, neither man nor beast. Not even plants seemed brave enough to mar the marble perfection of the terraces surrounding me, apart from the spruces and oaks planted in neat lines along the streets. Not a scrap of lichen nor a single rat could be found anywhere, even under the most intense scrutiny. The effect was quite unlike anything I had ever witnessed, like walking into a glass vault sealed for centuries immemorial, yet built in the suns shining rays. The day continued in such a fashion, equal parts beautiful and unnerving. Eventually, I broke the eerie blanket of silence resting on the City, and asked my companion what possibly could have caused such desolate perfection. Turning to me, he gladly continued the story, speaking as we strolled through the white pillars and shining promenades of its setting.


    "The questions surrounding that miraculous day never completely left the minds of the people, and in none did they rest more heavily than in the thoughts of their king. Hard as he tried, he could never forget the measures to which he turned that day, and in all his decisions made since, always the possibility of resurrecting that ancient power lay in the back of his mind. It happened that there came a period decades after the miracle day when a combination of poor harvest, mismanagement and weak trade submerged the City in turmoil. In truth, it had been on the horizon for many years. The other nations of the land had begun to grow distrustful of the City ever since the mysterious fate of the invasion force had become wide spread knowledge, and the traders upon which its prosperity was built were beginning to turn their eyes to other markets. The citizens of the City, who were used to an abundance of silk and honey, now found themselves bereft even of bread, and many a man in that time fell to banditry to make ends meet. Reports of the most hateful and violent crimes began to become commonplace, and once again the City that the King loved so much began to fall into chaos. Seeing no way of undoing the foolish decisions of decades, the King decided that if he were to preserve the object of his dedication, he must once again turn to dark forces. Having wrestled with the implications of his actions all those decades ago, he had long since come to accept and justify his choice, if for no other reason than to calm the wails of his conscience, so the decision came far easier this time than it had on that terrible night so long ago. Additionally, in the time since the siege he had been gifted with a son, turning his thoughts not just to the continuation of his kingdom, but to the legacy left to his heir. With the advantage of experience, and an extra decade of research, his warlocks were easily able to conjure the power he desired, and the deed was done quickly and without hiccup. Even in his old age, he was not so foolish as to assume that he would be able to accomplish his goals subtly enough to avoid detection, so he immediately called all his officials to the great pillared hall of his council room to explain his motives. With all his most trusted advisers before him, he explained the mysterious events surrounding the siege of years past, and described his plan to put to death one tenth of those who had fallen to thievery, in hopes that the others would repent at such a show of force. He was at least wise enough to surround himself with men and women brave enough to contradict his judgement, and the majority of them forcefully advised him against such an act. The chief amongst them stood, the clanging of his ceremonial rings resounding throughout the hall, and spoke as follows. "For decades have we, your trusted advisers, gladly followed your rule, and served our City as best we could. To hear that such means were used to save us all those years ago is unnerving to say the least, but to hear that you plan to use those same means again is unbelievable. I''m sure I speak on behalf of all your advisers when I implore you not to do this. There must be another way". The King explained simply that without such means there would be no City left standing to serve, and that he had already witnessed the rituals, and was only informing his advisers so they could undertake the necessary measures in the following days. And there were many measures left to be conducted, for the wave of fear spreading from that dark act quelled the populace into submission sure enough, but Death still walked those streets as she pleased regardless of invitation. Eventually however, the dry spell of trade passed and the City began once more to feast, plunging it back into the peaceful revelry it had always enjoyed, albeit this time with a good deal less revellers, and those left now possessive of arms strengthened by long hours of grave digging."Stolen novel; please report.


    It was beginning to grow dark, and we decided to make camp in a grand plaza large enough to fit an entire village. The chill that night was fierce, and I suggested to my companion that we make use of one of the many great spruces planted in the vicinity for firewood. He sharply rebuked me however, saying that such an action would likely be suicide in this place, a notion that I was quick to believe given the oddity of all else I had seen. He suggested instead that the final part of his story might help shake away the night''s cold, a notion I eagerly agreed to, curious as I was to learn the secret behind the desolation of that place.


    "In the years following those bloody times a dark pallor infested the City, muting the joyous calls of the populace. Although Death had been recalled after the chaos had been quelled, her spectre would hang over the City till the end of its days. Amidst the murmurings of discontent that had been growing steadily since the days of famine, one rumour stood out amongst all those reported to the King by his myriad spies, a rumour that would prove itself to be no idle gossip. A conspiracy was brewing in the heart of the people, a plot of such breadth and magnitude, reaching from the very roots of society to the highest of leaves, that the King dared not seek the council of his advisers in combating it. As the trap closed tighter upon him, he escaped using the only way he knew how. Scurrying to the chambers of his warlocks, he dismissed them in fears of their participation in the plot, not needing them regardless, as he had at this point obtained a level of familiarity that no longer demanded their assistance in the necessary rituals. With hands shaking from fear, he burned the required sacrifices and scattered the ritual ashes, and as he completed the incantations Death appeared before him, wreathed in shadows. Just as before, he explained his predicament, and ordered the primal force to slay those most entwined in the conspiracy. Unlike the previous summonings however, Death deigned to respond, not just with an affirmation of her obedience, but with forebodings of doom. "Twice before have I, at your command, set my scythe against living flesh, though it pains me to beckon souls into the darkness before their time. This time however I would counsel you against this action, if only because I would serve you as more than a mindless lackey. This path you have chosen will lead to nothing but despair, you must seek another." The King, surprised by this unexpected intervention, stumbled momentarily before replying. "I have always deliberated greatly before calling on you, and this time is no different. There is no other way. In my old age I care not for the abortion of my rule that the plot would bring about, but rather I look to the safety of my son. I have brought him up in the image of myself, to rule as I would have, and the revolution would surely dispose of him as too closely attached to my maligned rule. Perhaps another ruler could be found, but not without a period of chaotic violence and upheaval that would destroy the City I have tried so desperately to preserve. For that has always been my goal, above all else. How can history condemn me for such a motive?". For a moment Death''s eyes glowed a virulent violet, before she replied with great solemnity. "That may be true, but it would be better to have no path, than to walk this death march." Death immediately set about her cruel work, and the King began to hear screams throughout the palace. Swiftly leaving the dark sanctum of his sorcerers, he was met with a hysterical servant rushing down the marble shod corridor. Grabbing his arm, he asked the youth what the matter was, to which he received a panicked flurry of words describing the sudden death of half his advisers, as well as many of the minor officials and courtiers. Nodding his head, he decided to weather out the chaos in his chambers, and on the way there he received the same story from every man and woman whom he encountered. As the list of slain councillors lengthened, his heart grew heavy with doubt, and as he ascended the grand staircase to his private garden a sight met him that filled him with dread. His wife, silhouetted against the setting sun, sat there weeping on one of the ornate benches gifted to him by the City''s leading craftsmen, long before the dark events that tarnished his rule. Turning at his entrance, she managed only two words between her sobbing gasps, yet those two words were enough to plunge him into depths of misery he had never reached, not even during that terrible siege a decade ago. Retreating to his private rooms, he barred the entrance to anyone seeking him, and collapsed into solitude. Over the coming days news spread of the deaths of most of the City''s leading men, spreading panic in the city. What''s more, the King himself had disappeared, and his sole heir had been amongst those slain. It was not long before all understood what had happened, easy as it was to match these events with those of the dark day that had occurred mere years before, and the city began to haemorrhage citizens. Afraid that the King''s dark servant would be turned upon them next, for who could be safe when the madman would slay even his own child, they left in droves. Eventually only those most dedicated to the City were left, and even they departed after becoming cognisant of the ghost town their beloved home had become. Soon enough it was empty of all life, abandoned, though the city itself bore no blemish. There was one soul however that never left those gates, for no one saw the King again after he barred himself in his chambers. He most likely succumbed to his own grief, and we can only hope that his tortured spirit found a way to make amends for his crimes in life. Some say however that he dwells here still to this day, imprisoned by his victory and doomed for all eternity to watch over the shell of the City that he still can not help but love, for how could Death ever take her own master."


    My bones were stiff in the morning, lacking as they were the benefit of a fire to warm them, yet my companion appeared well rested and strangely at peace. As we left the city, passing more dead streets and bone white pillars, he told me of the burden that had been lifted from his mind. "I never told you why I decided to visit this city, even though you were so forthcoming with your own reasons. In a time long past, in a place long forgotten, I was once forced by fate to make a decision not too dissimilar from the choice that met the King of this City. I came here to see whether I had decided correctly." We parted ways at the gate, and I never did run into my companion of that journey again. Whether he hung up his wanderer''s cloak, or moved to different spheres of the world I do not know, but I will always remember the sadly contented smile that rested on his face as we passed out of that marble graveyard.

 The Valley of Lonely Giants

    Before me lay a great valley, the breadth and depth of which I had seldom encountered during my travels. I had left a deep wood and had little desire to once again pass through obscuring shadows, however my errand demanded haste, and circumvention would have lain an unnecessary burden on my journey. The slope was steep, and the treacherous emerald grass hid many a deadly tumbling stone, yet in short time I was once again on level earth marching ''neath clear skies. It was then that I noticed them, great hillocks scattered around the otherwise featureless fields. Being ever the curious type, I could do naught to stop myself examining these peculiarities. The most peculiar illusion appeared on their banks, a particularly bushy tuft, a happenstance groove, and many such small features combined to form the appearance of a great sorrowful face. I was quick to discover however that this was no mere trick of the eye, as to my wonder their great forms began to twist and rise from the lush carpetry. Terror overtook me, for I had no arms, being yet in mourning for my fair blade Mercy who I had lost to a mischievous devil-kin mere weeks ago. Thankfully, my fear was soon dispelled, as it dawned on me that their intentions were not those of the flesh eating bogeymen, but of the curious beast.


    Their furry skin shone a vibrant earthy green, save for their granite grey feet and paw like hands, while what I had mistaken for black boulders of basalt revealed themselves to be rheumy white-less eyes. Dressed as they were in natures guise, I could do naught but stare up in wonder at their fantastical features. If I were today in my weary years to yet again find myself in such a situation, I surely would have acted with far more caution, having since encountered the evil that hides behind a shallow mask, but thankfully my naivete did not that day strike me down. Indeed, they proved to be amongst the most gentle and benign creatures I have ever met in all my long years. One gazed at me, seemingly content to lay with its great head in its monolithic hands, while another beckoned to a bonfire that had been concealed amongst their immobile bodies. Not a hint of the previous moment''s sorrow besmirched their faces, beset as they were with a comforting glow. Gladly I accepted their offer, and for many long hours we sat around the warming blaze while they beguiled me with those tricks known only to the most intimate of natures friends, and listened joyously to the tales I wove of my travels. They evoked in me a sense of tranquillity and safety that I had not felt for many long months, and when the light of the fire was all dried up they led me to a small cottage in which lay a soft feather bed barely too large for a human.Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    The days passed in similarly joyous spirits, cavorting amongst the grass, yet often being content simply to enjoy each others company. They emanated a warm glow of what seemed pure wonder and comfort, and it was enough simply to immerse myself in their presence. But as the days flowed over into weeks, I began to spend more time gazing up at the beauteous rays reflected from the silver wisps of clouds so common to this wondrous land, and though my companions tried, they could not follow me there, as it seemed their dark eyes were of particular sensitivity to the piercing sunlight. And it happened one day that I turned my eyes skyward, and realised in shame the leagues I had lost in my race against the sun, and how close it was even now on my tail, and so with stalwart heart I resolved to leave before it could take another day from my journey. I waved goodbye to the giants, and after explaining as best I could my intentions, began the sharp ascent to the ridge of the valley. Although they were clearly pained at my leave, the mirthful features of moments ago now displaced by a deep, heartbreaking sorrow, not a single one raised a mighty paw to halt my exit. When I reached the top of those golden sunlit hills I turned to gaze one last time into the valley, yet I saw only lush hillocks and a single lonely shack resting in the sharply cast shadows.


    I have since spent many an hour pondering the fate of those strange beings I long ago happened upon, as often as their silvered memory slips unbidden into my mind. Whether they ever left their shallow valley is unknown to me, but in my heart I know that they still reside there, awaiting visitors to cheer their lonely, sparsely populated years. Even as I sit penning this tale in the golden tower of Abeezu, with my great blade Triumph by my side and the spoils of my years adorning every wall, the desire comes upon me to return and visit my old friends once more, to bask in the presence that had comforted me in years long since departed. But while my heart yearns, my mind knows that such a journey would not be a mere visit, but possibly one from which I would never return. Even now a new adventure beckons, and the last shreds of nostalgic longing still clinging to my being are scattered on the lively spring breeze.

 The March of Fools

    I must confess that the line I delivered previously in this compendium of wondrous beasts, that "I write here for you a description of all the magical creatures that I have met in my travels", is a lie. There is one creature that will bear no detailed description in this text, despite my study of it for many months. The story of those months however is well worth telling, for what warnings one may take from it.


    It began in a town in the west of the broken lands, a place I had chosen more for its comfortable scenery than for its strange fauna. I was staying with a tall rustic woman who owned a local tavern, and was happy to lend a room to a traveller with a few coins to spare. The only room she had spare at the time was positioned above the hall of her establishment, and provided a wide view over the main thoroughfare of the town. Sparse as my room was, I was lucky enough to be supplied with a heavy desk along with my straw mattress, which I spent the first morning of my stay heaving to the window. Apart from granting me the pleasure of the summer breeze, it also gave me a view of the street to gaze over as I worked on my manual. I''d planned to stay a month in that village and correlate the notes I had gathered throughout the spring just past, and throughout that time the scene from my window changed little from the first day I arrived. Around halfway through my stay however, as I sat pondering a phrasing at my desk, I became aware of a crowd gathering in the thoroughfare. Positioned as my desk was it was impossible for me to lean out and get a view of whatever it was that captured their attention, but that was hardly going to keep me away from this rare chance for excitement, so I headed downstairs, passing my landlord on the way out.


    The crowd had dispersed to the sides of the street when I arrived, clearly in anticipation of some procession marching down the center of the road. The things that came marching however were far from the knightly caravan that I had expected. Passing through the sea of people was a line of freakish half men, each distinct in its shape, but all having some combination of human components. Some seemed to be no more than an oversized waist with tree trunk legs, and others were similar in shape to a wheel with arms instead of spokes. Others were more snakelike in appearance, twisted appendages dragging across the ground, and a couple bore features that defy polite description. To describe them all would be foolishness, and would likely take up more ink than I have left, as each of the individuals that I spied in that misshapen company was utterly unique in its construction. It took more than an hour for them to fully pass through that narrow section of road, and in that whole time no beast that I saw was alike to another, all of them shocked me completely anew. Disturbingly, none of the villagers present seemed to share my surprise, but seemed completely comfortable with the peculiar events. Many treated it even as a novelty, pointing out particularly strangely constructed creatures and laughing with their fellows. If one were to remove those unsightly monstrosities from the scene, it would have had nothing more than the appearance of a travelling circus passing through the town, albeit with invisible performers. After a while of watching these monstrosities I became aware of my landlord standing beside me, and I was relieved to see that at least on her face, my lack of mirth was reflected. she looked at those misshapen visitors in a way similar to how a master looks at a petulant pupil, such disdainful disappointment did she seem to hold in her look. This look would stick in my mind as being a particularly odd reaction to these twisted beasts, but so great was my fascination that I would only remember this observation many months later.


    After the creatures had fully passed from the town, I turned to my landlord and began barraging her with questions, and after I had extracted all I could from her I collected my possessions and rode after the strange visitors in pursuit. Throughout all of my extensive travels in the surrounding regions I had never heard of this mysterious troupe, and in none of my many field manuals had they made an appearance, and it was this obscurity that sparked my academic curiosity. Luckily for me the band was taking a leisurely pace through the countryside, and I quickly caught up to them on my swift steed. Once again I was struck by their peculiar form, but instead of merely observing in fascination I began immediately to take notes on their behaviour and appearance. The specimen bringing up the rear, which would become increasingly familiar to me over the coming months, was particularly fascinating. It seemed to be constructed of a single leg, ordinary apart from its many times average size, and the great mouth that cut jaggedly where the shin would have been if the leg had a human owner. It had a way of grinning that displayed its fine set of pearly white teeth, and partially revealed the great red slug of a tongue that dwelt therein. What it used to sense its way was beyond me, as it seemed to have no eyes nor feelers, nor any sensory organs at all with which to find its way.


    As Summer passed into autumn, I had found no answers to this mystery, but only a staggering avalanche of further questions. It was clear to me that these beasts could be of no mere biological nature, however this assertion alone opened up an array of possibilities beyond the bounds of exploration. Were they remnants left over from an earlier period of creation, or perhaps the result of some whimsical curse? Their origins were hardly their most mysterious aspect however, everything from their motivations to their level of intelligence were in question. While I was following them, the band passed through many more hamlets and cities, and during these intermissions I observed such contradictory behaviour to demolish all theories I had previously posited . Once I witnessed a huge pileup of these creatures stuck trying to force themselves through a wall, but on a particularly memorable occasion I saw those beings that were lucky enough to have mouths deliver a rendition of a local folk song in beautiful harmony. The only constant that I observed was the reactions of the townsfolk, who invariably flocked to the streets to view this misshapen parade with merriment on their lips. The depth of this mystery however did not turn me away, but rather sucked me in into its murky grasp, and my plans for that autumn were superseded completely by this mad study.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Autumn was doomed to pass quickly, and I barely noticed the trees around me shedding their golden coats, so fevered was my note taking. A winter spent on the road was the furthest thought from my mind when I had originally planned this journey, however all other thoughts were quickly leaving my head in my fervour for the study. I was lucky enough to find a buyer for my horse before the cold nights struck in full, providing me with enough funds to purchase what I needed to survive the coming months. The loss of my steed was no great burden, for the past months had found me walking mostly on foot to better follow the slow meandering pace as the subjects of my research. Although it had frustrated me when I''d first started following them, their strange disjointed way of travelling over the landscape, starting and stopping for extended periods seemingly at random, became comfortable just as it became familiar. And if there was one thing that I could say I gained in that time, it would be familiarity. Not understanding, nor comprehension, only familiarity, and it was this familiarity that lulled me into the illusion, against all evidence, that my research would bear results. Such was the strength of this illusion however, that despite the discomfort and pain of the harsh winter road, I revelled in the opportunity to study these strange beings, and eagerly set about my documentation and analysis of every physical and pseudo intelligent aspect of them. As spring''s bloom settled into the landscape however, all I had achieved was to throw more fuel into the burning furnace of unanswered questions that fuelled my doomed journey.


    Some time during Spring, I was surprised to find myself once again in the town where I had originally joined the band all those months ago. This was a welcome surprise to say the least, as it gave me critical information as to the nature of our travels, and a flurry of note taking quickly ensued. The opportunity to compare the actions of the band as I saw it now with how I had first witnessed it was intensely captivating, and I immediately set about stripping my brain for any remembered details that I could compare to present observations. I know not what unseen powers meddle with the actions of man, but I feel there must have been some intervention by greater forces on that day, for I hate to imagine the abominable consequences had I failed to glance up at just the right time to catch the eye of the tavern keeper who had so long ago lent me the room from which I had begun my journey. her eyes held little of the friendliness that I remembered so fondly, but rather her look held that same disdain that I had witnessed on her features on the day of my departure. What''s more, rather than waving or otherwise showing her recognition, her gaze passed over me to the next creature in the line, as if I were equal to the preposterous beasts following in my steps. Disturbed by this I broke from the ranks to greet her, and despite the many months it had been recognition flashed in her eyes. she greeted me and apologised for not recognising me earlier, stating that in some bizarre way she had mistaken me for another member of that ridiculous parade. This only confirmed the fear that the fire in her eyes had burned into my mind, and I began to form suspicions that would later morph into possibly the only answer I would ever receive for the myriad questions I had collected over the last months. These suspicions would never have manifested in the form they did however, if not for a disturbing event that immediately followed, as when I turned back to the line of strange forms, there stood at the very end of the column the one legged being I had been travelling with, facing directly towards me with its gash of a mouth grinning from end to end. The seeds of understanding had been sown in my mind, and that simple gesture that I would have dismissed as yet another of the random quirks of their behaviour mere days ago, instead communicated to me a terrifying message of unfulfilled hopes, endless travels and shattered lives.


    Needless to say I was never more to travel with that misshapen band. In the long ale soaked conversation I held with my old renter that night, she revealed to me a number of facts that provided me with more answers than I ever revealed from my own study, and further reinforced my determination to abandon that infernal lure forever. I learned then that I was not the first researcher to have attempted understanding of those beasts, occasionally an academic such as myself would wander into the region and become entranced by them, or a local boy with a knack for the reasoning arts would take it on himself to explain this timeless mystery. Such events were rare, I was the first to have been caught in at least a dozen years, however such researchers would universally go missing after a few years, and the results of their studies were never seen. This sad fact would not have been so significant, for those who spend too long on the hard road tend to fall prey to all sorts of disasters, if it were not combined with another truth that took my questioning of half the town to obtain. Few of the villagers paid close enough attention to this mere amusement, likely perceived as such from centuries of repeated occurrence, but I was eventually able to conclude with reasonable certainty that the march had been gaining members over the years, slowly but surely.


    Shortly after this revelation I left the region to finish my manual of magical beasts elsewhere, and after another half dozen years of writing it now lies before you. You may question my decision to print this chapter alongside the others, for nowhere in this vague mess are the detailed anatomical descriptions and behavioural analysis that you will find on every other page of this work. I would however think it irresponsible of me to leave out this particular chronicle of my travels. My labours as revealed to you in this text reveal only a fraction of the mysterious beasts that reside in our wondrous world, and it is my highest hope that I might ignite in you a desire to join me in my fantastic work. There are dangers waiting around every corner in the life of such a one however, and to display the fantastical without showing the horrific would be a terrible disservice. There are many paths that one may walk down on the journey to discovery, and if there is one thing that I have learned in my long exploration of them, it is to always assure before delving down any of them that they may be returned from.

 The Prince of Seekers

    It has been a long time since I have heard the name of Dhol Maron, there are few left amongst the living that have knowledge of that wondrous place, though it still runs rampart in the tales of the manifold dead. It was many dozens of winters ago, in the youth of my wanderings, when I came upon it. I had been travelling for days across the gemstone moors, marvelling at the mad sights hidden in those dazzling hills, when I spotted a jewelled city, crowning the horizon. I knew it immediately to be the spires of that fair Dhol Maron that I was spying, for what other towers could possibly pierce the crimson sky of that garish world.


    Making short work of the separating distance, I quickly found myself at the ruby gates of the keep, where the dazzlingly shod knights of that gleaming fortress were arrayed in force. Hailing them as the great men I knew them to be, they told me of the expedition they were just finishing preparations for, to slay the great onyx tusked boar of the emerald forest. Recognising in me a kindred call to adventure, the leader amongst them invited me to join them on their quest, to which I eagerly assented. The memory of that hunt is still fresh in my mind''s eye, even after the many decades it has been, and I would gladly recount the tale of how we slew that monstrous beast, if it were not for the grander story that I must now tell. For all the glory of those short nights spent in the emerald forest, they were nothing compared to the events that followed, for it was within those crystalline halls that I first laid eyes upon the Prince of Seekers.


    It was the third day of the feasting which welcomed our triumphant return, and all were partaking joyously of the rich flesh of the slain beast. The craftsmen had already finished fashioning the first of two horns from the tusks of our prize, and the perfect, pure note which it struck moved all in those shining halls to tears. It was shortly after the first sounding of that instrument, when one of the squires interrupted our feasting to proclaim that a great man and his host had arrived at the city gates, and were to be received shortly in the throne room. The king demanded the presence of all his greatest knights, desiring not to be put to shame by the noble wanderer at his doorstep. A great knight I was not, however never before in my journeys had I missed an opportunity to peer in upon higher powers, and I had no mind to begin doing so then.


    Following the crowds, I made my way to the throne room, wherein sat the king surrounded by his many retainers, all bedazzling in their finest garments. Pulling my eyes away from this majestic sight, I found a place amongst the thickening throngs from which I could spy upon the events. The excitement in the room was palpable, and increasing by the minute, irritating my already strained curiosity as to the identity of the famed guest. Pulling aside a nearby page, I asked the boy if he knew the name of the unexpected visitor. "It''s the Prince of Seekers" he replied, before continuing in a hurried tone "He is the greatest of all wanderers, it was he who slew the golden dragon atop the mount of the world, and drove back the pestilence of the southern lands" he said, eyes overflowing with awe. "They say that he is seeking an abode to match his prodigious history, perhaps he will choose our city?" Seeing that the boy was anxious to find a place in the crowd more befitting of his stature, I released him and turned my attention back to the marble gates of that great hall.


    It was not long before the doors were swung wide on their adamantine hinges, admitting the Prince of Seekers into the throne room along with his entourage. The turquoise pillars and cerulean arches of the hall, magnificent monuments to architecture as they were in their own right, seemed to take on a regal and exultant veil in the dazzling light of the Prince''s golden breastplate. Most wondrous of all were the towering tapestries, which showed in their silver embroidered fabric the mythical history of the warlord conqueror who paved the way for the founding of the diamond city. The legendary figures displayed upon them seemed to dance and flicker in the sheer brilliance radiated by the Prince and his retinue, bringing to life those bloody battles sown into history. It seemed as if all the gold and silver were collected in the armour of this noble man, forged as it was with the finest detail and care, and reflecting the awed faces of all the gazers in the room. It was equalled only in majesty by the flowing midnight blue of his cloak, which seemed to twist and churn with the grace of the ocean itself. All this fine regalia framed a face of chiselled marble, yet despite these regal features, no crown lay on his head, other than the golden wreath of his own fair hair.


    Marching down the route cleared for him in the dazzled throngs, he approached the king of Dhol Maron. Crowned with the eternal diadem, carved from a single enormous diamond, and wreathed in the jewel swathed robes of the kings of that city, he stood in welcome for the legendary figure standing before him. Reciting the greetings suitable to a man of the kings stature, the Prince began to speak of his purpose within the city, and though his words were addressed to the king, all could hear plainly what was said in that resonant chamber. "Great king of Dhol Maron, I am impressed. Never in all my travels have I seen such sparkling towers and parapets, this city truly is the greatest of jewels that stud your starry crown. It is only with the greatest of anticipation that I await the coming days, when I may explore freely the onyx ramparts and sunlit thoroughfares of this most ancient of cities. Not a single hall in the vast array of holds that I have visited could compare in magnificence to the crystalline chamber in which I now stand, and no craftsman in my memory could ever match the works displayed here on every parapet and pillar."


    His words rang out in a strong noble voice, demanding the attention of all present, and though just minutes before the hall had been filled with a bustling frenetic energy, a total silence now descended upon the awe struck audience. Every man and woman in the room seemed to hang in anticipation on the words echoing from the amethyst clad walls, all save the king, who stood in silent contemplation of this proud man who had entered his domain. Into this enraptured silence, the Prince continued his speech. "I am sure I have only scraped the surface of what this city hides within its gemstone walls, and there are many secret niches and sacred places that I would yet explore in my time here. I have been travelling for a long time in search of a city such as this, a place of such beauty to calm the longing in my heart, a place that I may truly call home. How I long to end my journey, to settle down here and live the rest of my years in peace, but alas my heart tells me this is not my destination. Time and time again have I followed the words of sages promising my fulfilment, but never has it been delivered, and it grieves me dearly that this journey has proved itself to be yet another disappointment. Even so, my heart is no fit compass, and the advice of these wise men and women have been my only guide in these long years of searching. If there are any among you knowledgeable enough to offer guidance to my quest, I would be forever in your debt."


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    Hearing this, the king raised his hand in a silent gesture, and from the ranks of his retinue emerged a cloak swathed and stooped figure. Such was the resplendence of their surroundings that I had not noticed them, clothed as they were in the humblest of garments and carrying themselves in a manner to deflect the eye. Their shuffling gait as they approached the edge of the dais seemed awkward and out of place in the otherwise resplendent surroundings, however the voice that emerged from those wrinkled folds of cloth displayed clearly the power hidden within that hunched figure. "It is our honour to receive you, greatest of seekers. We are glad to hear that our abode is to your liking, however it is no surprise to us that you will not be ending your journey here. Your reputation precedes you, and we would be hard pressed to find any soul within these walls who had not heard your name, save for the youngest of infants. You are known here, every man will open his door to you, and treat you as their closest brother." At this, they raised their arms in the salute of friendship customary to the region, before lowering them and quickly moving on. "It is a great honour to be called upon for council by such a great man. I will give what advice I can, and I hope you will profit by it. Far you have travelled in your journeys, the tales of which are known by all in this room. There are few men amongst the living who could truthfully claim to have visited both the sunken depths of Karpatchu and the frost clad cliffs of Mossindr, yet you have seen both, and more. Your travels however have brought you not only to places, but to people, and many of these have sworn themselves to your cause, perhaps possessed with a passion for discovery nearing your own. Wealth too, have you been in no way lacking. Even a man who saw you now with no prior knowledge of your adventures would claim you to be a rich man, and to any who know even a fraction of your story, you are amongst the wealthiest beings populating the surface of this earth."


    "And yet you seek, and one can only wonder what you could desire that you have not already found. I make no promises that my counsel is true, for though I have many decades of experience with the minds of men, and Dhol Maron has many times its fair share of the proud, to truly understand a man such as I see before me now seems a cyclopean task. If the stories are to be believed, your years alone likely defy comprehension. Nevertheless, I am not completely unfamiliar with the passionate energy that I see before me, and I knew a young man in years long gone who had a similar seeking spirit. A warlord he was, and I his adviser. Even then in my youth I had a revulsion of violence, yet the man with which I travelled was far more than the sum of his actions, and demanded my respect despite his bloody tendencies. Long we marched together, winning conquest after conquest, but for what purpose was always unclear. It happened one day, on the eve of a great victory, that this warlord came to my tent, wracked with doubts. He told me of how each triumph was more hollow than the last, and where once he had sought to fill that victory shaped gap within him, it was now all he could do to stop it from consuming him. Once he had sought a kingdom, yet it was long past the day he had first obtained one, and many more had since come to rest upon his belt. I had long since suspected that such a force drove him, and had been preparing myself for just the situation that I now found myself in. I pleaded with him to forgo the war path, to take all that he had gathered in his conquests, and to turn it towards another task. I had offered similar advice in the past, but that night his despair was great enough to allow my words entry into his mind. The years following were a struggle, for that void within him was never truly filled, even if over time he began to grow numb to it. He proved to be a talented builder, as well as a destroyer, and his vast treasures gained throughout his conquests allowed him to erect a city with no peer on the face of the earth. Although I never again saw him ecstatic with joy as I often did on the nights of his conquests, neither did I see him sunk down into despair. Yet even if he never found true satisfaction in his creations, all one has to do is cast their gaze upon the crystal walls of this hall, and the many others like it strewn amongst this city, to appreciate the beauty that he gifted to his descendants. I am sorry that I do not have any advice as to your next destination, and I would be hard pressed to think of a city that could satisfy you given that Dhol Maron does not, even if I believed such a place would do you good. The thing you seek is either something you have already found, many, many times, or it is unable to be found at the basest level of its being. I would therefore give you the same advice that I gave my friend and companion all those decades ago. It is true that it will not lead you to glory, but it may lead you to peace, and any of the citizens of this city can tell you that a peace such as I speak of is a treasure well worth having."


    As the sage spoke, their words had a most remarkable deflationary effect on the Prince. The royal aura that had surrounded him on his entrance seemed to be stripped piece by piece away from him, until by the end of the speech he stood bare for all to see, a vessel of foolish arrogance hiding behind the armour of pretended glory. For a while he stood there, naked in front of the assembled crowds of the city, before responding with the following words, his voice no longer so full of resounding strength. "Thank you for your advice, though it pains me greatly to hear it said. It is the pain however of the thorn removed, a service for which I am incredibly grateful. I have often doubted the objective of my quest, when one has been travelling this long doubts are inescapable, but it is my folly that I surround myself only with those who would blindly smother such doubts. Though I hesitate to end my life''s journey so abruptly, it is clear that I have much to consider. At your grace''s permission, I would stay here in your fair city for a while yet to properly digest this counsel." The king nodded his head, and the Prince bowed low before turning from the hall. As he left however, a little of that aura of nobility returned in his step, and the pride that had momentarily left him could yet be glimpsed in the grace of his step. It also happened that, while glancing around the room, his eyes by chance met mine, and in that moment I knew that the sage''s words would never be heeded. His composure degraded and his resolve challenged, his eyes for the briefest of moments were stripped of their royal facade, revealing within those pits an unbounded burning hunger that could never be quenched.


    My stay in Dhol Maron was doomed to be haunted by those eyes, and after but a mere month spent in the diamond city their spectre drove me from the gates. The Prince however was to leave within the week, and it is said that throughout his time there an uncharacteristic pall hung over him, dampening his ordinarily boisterous personality. When not caught in contemplation upon one of the bunches strewn throughout the many parks of the city, he would skulk through the streets, barely acknowledging the greetings thrown to him by passersby. Rumour has it that the cause of his eventual departure was a foreign merchant, who entranced him with tales of his homeland deep within the southern wastes, and offered himself as a guide to its mighty towers. And with that kindling of his inner flame, he was gone, off to the next destination of his eternal search.


    This encounter with that legendary figure had a profound effect on me, for I consider myself to have no small measure of the adventurers spirit, and in the years that followed I kept a close lookout for stories of his travels. I discovered that Dhol Maron was not the first place he had received such advice, and neither was it the last, and each time it was met with the same obeisant ignorance. These days news of him is beginning to grow thin, and perhaps in time another youth unclouded by his shadow will rise to take his princely throne. Such is the reason why I tell these stories, for as long as the warning persists, the tragedy can never be repeated. As for the final fate of the Prince, it is likely that on one of his journeys his strength of arms failed him, and he met the death awaiting all adventurers who walk hand in hand with danger. Occasionally however a tale will drift in from the border towns that dot the unformed abyss of the world''s edge, of a golden tower standing right on the boundary of creation. The stories are mixed and often contradictory, some place at the top of the tower a chivalric knight adorned in golden armour, others a demigod wreathed in smoke, and some just a frail old man withered in his years. In all of them however the actions of this figure are the same, they stand and stare out into the shapeless mass of unformed matter, searching for something in that roiling primordial soup. Despite it all, I can''t help but hope that one day he will find it.

 Where the Light will not Touch

    Five figures sit in total darkness, crammed into a tunnel that disappeared long ago from any maps obtained by righteous means. Twelve meters above them, the sun shines bright on the gardens of the palace city, reflecting magnificent colours on the prismatic flowers that grow there in abundance. It is a fine summers day for the occupants of the palace city, and many of them are walking through the wondrous shroud created by these mystical plants. Beneath the flower beds a light flares into life, highlighting the grim features of one of the figures. "You are afraid" he says, "do not shake your heads, I can see it in your eyes. This is good, it betrays a love of life that will resist any danger." The red light of the open flame is just enough to illuminate the features of his companions, all of them focused on his grim eyes. "I can''t help you with your fear, but I can give you something much stronger to mask it with. We were all at the temple, listening to the dry speeches of grand purpose regurgitated by the underlings sent to brief us. If you''re still in the business after tonight, you will be hearing many more of such tirades, and not one of them will be more inspiring, or less vapid. I hardly imagine that you imbibed any of the illusions of grandeur they tried to feed us. Purpose, however, is a powerful tincture, and as such I would like to tell you a story about what we are doing here stuck in this drain tunnel far from the warmth of the sun."


    "One of the stranger events in my life surrounds the death of a certain man who lived on the west side of the Fios river. Theodore Smith was his name, and he was a toy maker by trade. He lived in one of the many villages of the Cornucia region, though perhaps it would be more accurate to say he lived near one, for his farm house was well away from the center of town. Unlike many of his fellows however, who regularly travelled into town to exchange wares or celebrate one of the many holy days of the area, he preferred to stay at home, alone with only his house pets and livestock for company. When he did make the journey into the village, it was always with the intent of showing off some new contraption he had constructed. Down the hill he would come in his two horse cart, inevitably with a flock of delighted children driven before him. When he arrived in the center of the village, he would leap to the earth, his bushy beard trailing behind him like the flame of a candle, and circle to the back of his cart, waving to the throngs of youngsters that surrounded him. First he would take out the old faithfuls, the toys that the older kids had seen time and time before, and hand them out at random to the hungry graspers mobbing him. Up the years he would work, passing out newer and newer toys, until he came to his newest invention. Instead of simply tossing this one to the remaining few, he would beckon them in closer to explain to them the secret workings of his newest creation. It was in these moments, as he explained the motion of an arm or the action of a spring, that he seemed most delighted, and his features most bright. Eventually when the most curious amongst them were satisfied with his lesson, he would pass his new creation into their waiting hands, and sit back to watch the chaos of spinning tops, dolls and carts surrounding him, a great smile stretching beneath his bulbous nose. Gradually as the day wore on, more children would be called in by their parents, or lose interest in their plaything, and eventually only he would remain. Quickly collecting all his discarded works, he would leave back the way he came, and the town would not hear from him until he had finished working on yet another wonder.


    While these visits were greatly anticipated by the children of the town, the grown population saw them at best as a passing amusement, and at worst as a distraction from the days chores. As well as his infrequent trips to the village, he was occasionally visited by old patrons of his parents who had come to depend on the peach trees growing in his orchards, which he still kept in good condition. Although such trading meetings were pleasant, always he seemed distant, and most often they failed to pass beyond pleasantries. Usually his visitor would begin by asking how progress on the cart went, for he kept a great covered wagon he had been repairing for many a year in which he intended to travel the Cornucia region displaying his wonders. And so he lived his life, and if he ever grew weary of his loneliness we will never know, for those who could have known never would have noticed.


    My entry into this story begins with a sequence of unusual events that landed me in the temporary service of a local lord. It so happened that this lord had chosen the village of our elusive toy maker as his base camp for a hunt, and I was called along to serve as an extra sword arm to ward off ruffians. When we arrived, I was left in the town with the rest of the guards to do what I willed with the few days they planned to spend on the hunt. I found little joy in the company of my fellow arms-men, being as they were common mercenaries, and by the second day my patience was drawn to its limit. Luckily for me, it was on that day that a terrified maid came crying into the village, yelling about the death of some old man on the outskirts of town. Naturally I jumped at the opportunity for some change, and volunteered myself for the party that set out to retrieve the body. To pass time on the journey, I inquired into the owner of the corpse we were visiting, and became quite curious about this eccentric toy maker. When we arrived, I first noticed his wagon standing tall outside his door, just as I had been warned I would, half painted but otherwise complete. The many cats that had kept him company were lounging about in the days sun, seemingly unaware of the departure of their master, and for all the undisturbed calmness of the place it was difficult to believe that he had. From the picture the townsfolk had painted for me, I expected the decaying refuge of a sloth, yet the dwelling I saw was surprisingly clean and tidy, I suspect far more so than that of many of the men who accompanied me. The signs of his eccentricity became apparent when we entered the house though, for the shelves were adorned with toys, and taking some of these down I immediately realised the truth in the rumours of his skill. One of the toys on that shelf, a little doll wearing a red dress, functioned in such incredible ways that I could not even begin to imagine the exquisite mechanisms that must have been contained within.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    After some time spent at this snooping, a cry came from outside the house. One of the younger men had discovered the workshop of our target in a shed near the fields, and just as we were promised, there lay our quarry face down on the oaken planks. The culprit of the murder it seems had been the tall ladder standing over him at the scene of the crime. His back was twisted at a fatal angle, and it was clear that he must have died almost immediately on impact. Being the first corpse the discoverer had seen, he was of course shaken, and many of the others with me were likewise frightened. Eccentric as he had been in life, his body was disappointingly standard in death, barely differentiable with its rough features from the living peasants surrounding it. Offsetting this normalcy however was a swarm of toys, all brightly coloured and with cheerful childlike expressions, scattered all over the floor along with the tools that had fallen with his collapse. The older villagers were quick to hoist the body onto their shoulders, and before long we were heading back to town. When we arrived back in the village, there was a great congregation of townsfolk there to greet us, however they seemed far more concerned with comforting the woman who had discovered his body, than they were sad for the passing of the man we bore on our shoulders. The burial was short and swift, and by the time we left, the village had returned to its standard routine, the toy makers name mentioned only when the question of his unclaimed estate was brought up.


    Such tragedies are commonplace enough as we all know well enough, and I''m sure many of us have even instigated some just as bad, if not worse, but it was fated to have a much more profound effect on me than I ever could have anticipated. A decade later, I was sitting in the parlour of some rich lord discussing a contract for a particularly resilient competitor. As we were concluding the negotiations, I noticed out of the corner of my eye a doll in a red dress resting on the mantelpiece. On further examination it proved itself to be that same doll that I had held 10 years ago. I turned to my host, who was clearly embarrassed about the child''s toy lying out in the open, and asked him where he had obtained it. He explained that he''d purchased it off a merchant many years ago as a gift for his daughter. Since then she had always treasured it as her favourite toy, and even though they had purchased her many more since, she had always seemed to have a particular attraction to it.


    Out of everyone in that house, likely even in that country, only I knew the warmth reflected in the glass eyes of that doll was Theodore Smith''s, and yet the warmth was there regardless. That girl will never know the name of the artist who filled her days with joy, yet the joy was real, and a thing to be cherished. You might think it amusing, that a man such as I would be moved by such a thing, but it spoke to me on a level far greater than the mere entertainment of a child. After I am gone, no one will remember my name, yet the actions I have taken on this mortal plane are weaved inextricably with the fate of our world. When the chaos breaks out tonight, you may think, as you thrust the knife deep in to our targets flesh, that you are but collecting a pay check. Remember though that every strike and parry is a hammer blow upon history, and even if your name will not be remembered behind the hand that plunges that knife, the hand will go down forever into the annals of eternity."


    As the teller came to the end of his tale, his companions sat in silent attention, their staring eyes appearing bug like in the dwindling flame. They nodded in near perfect synchronisation, and leaned back onto the filthy brickwork of the tunnel. The flame, dwindling as it was, was snuffed in between damp glove tips, casting them once more into darkness.

 The Flowers will Remember

    In the center if the clearing stood a wooden dais, carved from a single mighty oak branch. The shade of grassy fronds lay deep over the ring of spectators circling the dais, a motley band of insects, arachnids and other denizens of the undergrowth. From the crawling ranks scuttled forth a black shelled beetle of great size, barely fitting on the oaken platform. Turning to the watchers, it clicked its mandibles and began to talk in the hissing tones of the little-speech.


    "Greetings friends and compatriots, I come before you this day to tell you of a threat to all underlife, the magnitude of which has not been seen for generations. When the sun lay low today in the upwards arc of its celestial journey, a great beast ravaged my pastures and all the lands of the Spruce Frond Beetles. Luckily no one was killed, the beast being too slow to catch even the weakest of our kingdom, but many larvae were lost, and much prey was chased from the area. The neighbouring kingdoms have been extraordinarily generous in their support of the refugees who landed on their borders, for which I am eternally grateful, but if we are to halt this trampling of all of our fields, a more concerted effort must be enacted."


    The beetle scuttled off the platform, to the nervous chitterings of all those present. It had been many lifetimes since this patch of the plains had experienced such a crisis, and few of the members present had the knowledge nor wisdom to mount a response. As the noise reached a crescendo, an outsider buzzed into the center of the ring, a mosquito from lands afar. "Before I begin, let me thank you all for welcoming me to your circle. Not all congregations are so willing to let travellers join in their sharing, and it is a great honour to be able to contribute my tidings to the community. I know of the beast mentioned by the beetle of the Spruce Frond Kingdom, and have seen it with all the many facets of my eyes. At the apex of the sun''s ascent I spotted it, a member of the species of man. Many of you would recognise their giant brothers and sisters only by the hardness of their feet, but us mosquitoes have an intricate and detailed understanding of these creatures. The member I spied had only two limbs, as opposed to the four that the more common species has. It was using its forelimbs, the legs that hang uselessly from its thorax in most species, to pull itself along the ground, a behaviour that I have never observed in any of the myriad men I have seen. Word on the wings is that a great swarm of men have been moving near this area recently, most of whom belong to the Hard Shell species. These men have skin impenetrable to our feeding spikes, a feature that was missing from the man that I saw, but it is possible that it comes from that group. Either way, its blood was just as filling as that of the other families of man, and it was my last meal before arriving here."Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    Returning back to the circle, the spectators began their chitterings once again. Even with this new knowledge, none of the bugs present had the bravery to step forward and propose a solution. A great rumbling suddenly filled the clearing, and all eyes turned to the old field mouse that often hung around at the edges of the meeting. Not bothering to plant itself on the dais, which was a tenth of its size, it began speaking its contribution from the edge of the clearing. "I too have seen this man, and I can assure you that its missing legs were due to injury, as when I came upon it during the downward arc of the sun''s journey, it was dead. Although I have little experience with the ways of these creatures, I have heard that they tend to hide small morsels in their fur, so I quickly set about scurrying over the body in search. I did not unfortunately find anything to eat, but I did notice some things that might help to explain this peculiar situation. looking over its forelimbs I noticed that its front toes were torn and bloody, as if it had been walking for days, and its eyes were filled with terror. I must confess that when I saw those eyes I jumped in fright and scurried into the grass, for I have only seen such eyes in the skulls of mice moments away from slaughter, and I was filled with fear at the thought of a predator that could frighten such a giant. I quickly realised my foolishness however, as during my investigation I had found no such pursuer, leaving me to ponder what had instilled such terror in its eyes."


    Having told its story, the field mouse settled back down into the crowd, but the chitterings failed to resume in vigour. Despite the strangeness of the events, all the denizens of the undergrowth could understand the mortal fear of pursuit, and they all shared a moment of silence for the beast''s brave flight from the invisible hunter.

 The Man who Embraced Death

    It happened once that while passing through a hamlet along the border twixt Everon and Styxia, I caught wind that an old friend of my youth was staying in town. The sprightly, carefree young man that I had known was much changed however, as he had contracted a wasting fever and was lodging not in the inn, but in the ward of the local apothecary. Living the rootless life of the wanderer, there were few in the world, let alone in that wayside village, who would have wished to be at his side at that time, and it was pure chance that I happened to be passing through at his time of need. The room of his stay was surprisingly large, given its purpose, with only a single window ushering in the daylight rays. This spaciousness was enhanced by the sparse furnishings, as besides his bed, the area was shared only with a single rickety chair and simple bedside table. I pulled the chair to the side of the bed, and immediately we began swapping tales of our travels since we had last met, and reminiscing on shared memories of the jumble of cottages which we had jointly called home. After many hours of such talk, I noticed the height of the moon in the heavens, and the shadows stretching long across the cedar planks of the room''s floor. Promising that I would return come the morrow, I departed through the creaking oaken door.


    When I walked into his dreary room the next day, he was wearing a strange wondering look, as if he had witnessed something beyond the comprehension of his fever riddled mind. At first I thought that the food they normally served him must have been quite awful, and he was paralysed with delight at the hard bread and goats cheese that I had purchased for him that morning, however it quickly became apparent that his shock was towards something else entirely. Croaking in a voice wracked with fever, he told me the most incredible tale, the exact words of which I can still remember to this day.


    "She came for me last night, while I was asleep. It was the soundest I had slept in weeks, and when I awoke to see her standing there silhouetted against the midnight shine, there was not an ounce of fatigue in my bones. It struck me immediately that this was Death, come to collect me, though how I knew this it is difficult to recall. I suppose every creature knows in their heart of hearts when their time has come. She was clothed in a modest dress of darkest silk, complete with a wide brimmed hat of matching midnight black. What little flesh I could see was porcelain white, as pale as a corpse''s, yet showing no sign of decay. Her face held a slight smile, fixed stiff on skin tightened around skull like features, yet most shocking of all were the onyx orbs lying in her pale lidded eye sockets. It was then that she told me what purpose had brought her to my chamber, in a voice that left no traces on her lips and seemed to bypass my ears completely. A mortal terror filled me like none I had ever known, yet something urged me on through the pale moonlight to stand by her side. Somehow, despite the fear possessing me, I did not fail to notice the picturesque scene surrounding me. My romantic heart could not help but take in the noble fullness of the bone white moon silhouetted by the cedar frame, shedding its pure light on myself and the pale woman standing beside me. It was then that a pang of regret struck my heart, and my terror was replaced by a certain morose sadness kin only to the deepest losses of man. Having no others to confide in, I turned to the skeletal woman and told her of my life as a dancer, and the joy with which I had leapt through the world. It had always been my fanciful dream that I might die on the dance floor, yet due to my unfortunate illness, that fantasy had been cruelly stripped away from me. I can not tell whether she sympathised with my remorse, for her corpse face seemed incapable of accommodating any expression outside of that one small smile, yet she seemed to understand what I was saying, as she raised her arms to meet my embrace, and together we launched into a sombre tango."The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "As we danced, I told her tales of my life, all the places I''d travelled to, from the most majestic mountain to the humblest of hamlets. I told her of the people whom I had trusted, and of the hearts I had broken. In return, she spoke to me of the countless souls she had reaped, and the means through which they had tried to buy her favour. She told me of the lowest peasants and their humility before her, and of the kings who broke into hysteria when struck with the realisation that no earthly power could save them from their fate. She told me even of the doomed lovers, whose happy smiles were reserved only for her. She did not just tell me of the myriad souls she had loosed, but also of the infinite darkness of the realms beyond time, and of the strange and monstrous beauty of those hadean lands. She proved an excellent partner, and for many hours we danced there with only the beat of my heart to keep time, until at last I collapsed into the chair you are now sitting in, my limbs trembling with exhaustion."


    "At that moment, I truly was ready to go, and I would have departed with joy in my heart if she had not chosen that moment to return to her stygian realm. I must have been the first to bargain with her in such a way, for I can not think of another reason why she did not take me that night." All this I took in with an open ear, despite my scepticism towards the tales of a fever ridden man. His voice held a note of earnestness however that could come only from the most truthful of men or the foulest of deceivers, and I knew my friend to be no liar. Nevertheless, neither was he a mystic, and such a vivid encounter with the powers that be is unheard of coming from such a common man, so my suspicion stuck with me throughout the conversation. Partly due to this, I steered the talk towards more familiar ground, and before long we were deep into the reminiscing of the previous day. The hours passed quickly once again, and before we knew it the moon was casting her dreary light into the chamber. Noticing this, I rose to bid farewell to my friend, but before I could leave he begged me to stay just a moment longer. He told me he was sure that she would be back tonight, and that this would be the last time we would be seeing each other in this world. I was still sceptical of his tale, yet the compassion in my heart won out, and I returned to his bedside. I said my final remarks, and hugged his frail body, before finally taking my leave.


    The next day I once again visited my friend, but was greeted by the apothecary before I could make it to his room. He informed me with his deepest condolences that my friend''s soul had departed peacefully during the night, and that the body was now lying in wait in the room that he had resided in. A pang of sorrow lanced my heart, and I clambered up the creaking steps to confirm the doctors word. There he lay, stretched upon the cheap feather bed, little changed from the previous night. Unique of the corpses that I had seen, he wore not a grimace of pain nor a shocked expression, but a smile resting lightly on his motionless face. Gazing on that serene death mask, I was struck with recollection of the tale he had told, and the suspicion I had felt the previous day dissolved into a cautious curiosity. Perhaps he truly had met the keeper of mortality, it would certainly do much to explain how he predicted his demise, and if the rest of his story was to be believed, the happiness of his features. Turning to the doctor, who had entered quietly behind me, I informed him that I would be happy to pay the costs of the funeral, and would be staying in town to be present for it. As I strolled across the creaking cedar planks, I glanced over the room that had been my friends end, and sure enough embedded in the thick dust across the floorboards were the impressions of a woman''s boot, entwined with the bare footed prints of a thin, sickly man.

 The Meaning of his Tears

    The mountain is crying.


    While spring''s bloom displays its radiance,


    and the cattle low in contented peace,


    his tears roll,


    in rivulets down his granite cheeks.


    What ancient tragedy,Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    overpowering even the emerald glow of soft swaying oaks,


    could fuel his timeless sorrow.


    How can we ever know,


    the meaning of his tears.


    <hr>


    Those who know will see, and those who don''t will wonder.


    Here lie my fey musings of the past three years.


    Thank you for reading.