Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-27012445-20170104231804

There once was a time when the Shire of Va'Halorn had been a lush and prosperous land that yielded harvests aplenty. Alas, nothing so good can last and dark times eventually fell upon the fields and farms of the Shire's noble people. Soon the crops became smaller and smaller compared to the past abundant harvests, streams shrunk to trickles and wells dried up completely. Those who did not succumb to hunger and plague were forced to abandon their homes that housed generations of their kin from long ago. The remaining people of the Shire could see no end in sight to the terrible drought that consumed the land. Poverty and hopelessness descended upon their hearts and weighed heavy on their spirits.

In the time of prosperity, the Craftsman was the finest in all the region. His gift of workmanship with masonry was known far and wide; even kings and queens made queries of his artistry. He built a cozy little cottage of stone, wood, and steel at the edge of Da' Krakendire Forest and lived with his beautiful wife, son, and little daughter. Next to his home, he built an equally impressive mill, with large stoves, storage for his stonework, tools, and a great milling stone that could crush any rock into rubble. Atop the Millhouse was a mighty windmill whose blades spun with the wind and turned the massive grinding stone below.

Once a season, he would travel across the lands in search of the finest marble, granite, and limestone the realms produced to bring back and make beautiful works of art. At home, his wife Mariella, his son Peter, and his beautiful daughter Allana would tend to the small, but adequate garden and mind the livestock. Their brave and loyal dog, Echo, faithfully watched over and protected the Craftsman's family in his absence and their sly cat, Greyson famously kept their homestead free from vermin. All was good in those days.

Since the beginning of the Time of Man, darkness has always stalked him; it comes silently and in stealth. It strikes with the speed of a serpent and with fangs of venom. The first to fall from misfortune was the Craftsman's dear wife. Like any other day, she journeyed into the forest to gather firewood for the stove to have supper hot and ready to serve upon the return of her husband. Once a week, he would make his way into town for replenishment of goods and supplies. On this sad day, only a dark house with his children huddled together in a corner with tears in their eyes did he find. They said it had been hours and hours and mommy did not return from the forest. Full of desperate fear and rage, the Craftsman grabbed his sword and ax and entered the woods, determined to find the love of his life. He scoured the forest but never did he find her. Ony one hint, one clue did he come across. A small bundle of twine twisted into the shape of a lovely young woman.

A full season and a half had not yet passed until tragedy visited the household of the Craftsman once more. It was midday. Peter was tending to the chickens that ran up and down the fenced-in coup from the far side of the barnyard. Echo stood outside the fence, bouncing up and down at the sight of the chickens. Peter lifted his head and could swear he heard the faint sounds of music coming from the distance. It pulled at his spirit and lifted his mood, but in his heart, Peter knew this song was not for him. Filled with curiosity, he rounded the corner of the barn and looked toward the forest's edge just in time to see his little sister vanish into the treeline. She skipped and hopped to the beat of the music toward a single beaconing hand. The very moment she crossed the forest's threshold, the melody disappeared. Once again, the Craftsman entered the dark woods with sword and ax in hand, but not a trace of his daughter could he locate. Only a small bundle of twine in the shape of young girl did he find.

After two seasons had come and gone, the darkness entirely consumed the Shire. Hunger was a constant companion to Peter. The small garden he had once enjoyed tilling and keeping with his mother and sister was now wilted and dry, and the livestock was thin and weak. Then one day, a bright red banner appeared over the horizon. Four guardsman's from a house of nobility, whose crest Peter did not recognize, approached the cottage. They requested an audience with Peter's father and spent the remainder of the day conversing with him from within the Millhouse.

At sunset, Peter's father sent the four men to rest in the barn house and called for Peter. "Come here child, for I wish to speak with you. I have been summoned by the Lord of Ur-ii and must travel to the far end of Va'Halorn to attend to matters of dire straits. He is a selfish man and does not take kindly to the rejection of his demands. I leave the day after tomorrow."

With sadness, the Craftsman said, "My dear boy, the road I travel upon is treacherous and in good consciousness, I cannot permit you to accompany me. Verily I say unto you; my heart cannot be broken yet again nor can I stand for my soul to be torn any further were I to lose you too." A single tear trickled down his father's face; a sight Peter had never witnessed before.

The Craftsman wiped his eyes and cleared his throat and said, "I return in half a season's time. In the morning, I will send two of the guardsmen to town for food and supplies to sustain you during this period. I pray it will be enough."

He looked lovingly down at Peter and leaned closer to his son. Clasping both his hand within his own, he said, "You will be safe here, but know this! Wicked things now dwell in that cursed forest. Never must you enter it! Tally not under its cover of leaves and branches! It is evil; I swear it! It is evil from the tips of its branches to the rotten roots buried deep below. Only deception and a quick and painful death from its enchantments will you find, my son."

With fear in his eyes, Peter asked, "Father, what manner of beast hides within the forest?"

Peter's father reached into a cubbyhole hidden within the wall and held up two small figurines made from wood and twine. He spoke with a deep whisper, "There be hobgoblins in that there forest!"

The Craftsman stood, placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and tossed each of the twined figurines into the fire. As they burned, Peter's eyes followed the floating embers rise slowly into the night air and disappear.

In two days time, Peter watched his father vanish over the horizon as the sun's morning rays peeked over the hills. Peter stood with his faithful dog and waved goodbye to his father and bid him a safe journey and a speedy return.

As Peter was a mindful boy, he watched his rations carefully. He always ensured that Echo and the few remaining farm animals had enough to eat. Peter knew well enough that healthy animals meant milk and cheese for him. Peter also knew that a strong and healthy Echo and Greyson meant protection from disease and whatever may lurk behind the brush and leaves of the nearby forest.

Time went on and the days grew shorter, but not a word did he hear from his father. Before he knew, a half a season had come and gone with no news. Peter began to fear that misfortune had once again found his family. As Peter wrapped the fresh bread from the last of the grain, his ears caught the sound of crying coming from the forest. It was a woman or maybe a little girl; he could not tell from this distance. He stepped outside into the cold evening air and listened intently. He was now sure he could hear cries. The warnings to stay away from the forest from his father came to mind, but what if it was his mother or sister? Would it not bring such joy to his father's heart if he returned to either one or both of their embrace? Sure of himself, he grabbed his father's ax, lit a lantern and with the last rays of the setting sun on his back, he entered the thick woods with Echo at his side.

He ventured far into the forest, farther than he had ever gone before. He listened for the direction of the faint crying ever so carefully. Eventually, the light of his lantern fell upon a large and gnarled dead tree. Peter was sure that never before had he come across this monstrosity in his experience. Upon careful inspection, he discovered an opening at the tree trunk's base. The crying was louder than before, and there was no mistake it arose from this place. Peter dropped to his knees, and both he and Echo entered the dark tree.

The pair crawled and crept farther than should have been possible. The tunnel was damp and wet, with slimy roots swelling from the muddy ground and hanging from the tunnel tops. Suddenly, the boy and dog emerged from the tree's other side to behold a beautiful field. It was warm and bright as if the midday's sun shined down upon the clearing. Dandelion tufts floated in the air and butterflies fluttered from pink flowers to white bulbs. Cautiously, Peter and Echo neared the center of the field and the origin of the weeping. Hung over a kettle billowing yellow smoke was a cage.

Curiosity burned within Peter and he removed the cage from the rising yellow vapor to find a find a faint speckle of light imprisoned within. Free from the toxins of the yellow gas, the little star quickly became brighter, and passionate sounds of tingling, and jingling arose from it. From out of the nonsense of reverberating ringing and warbling, Peter immediately could make out a single word. Frantically, it squealed to the boy, "Run!"

The shadows blackened and elongated. Hushed and high-pitched whispers and giggle rose from the thick brush that enclosed the trio. Peter studied the tree line nervously until his eyes fell up the reflection of two pairs of golden eyes glaring at him. The two hobgoblins surfaced from the wooded edge on the far side of the field. One wore a tattered orange hood and cloak. The other donned a red cloak and jester's hat. Both carried a hatchet and a long warped and curved dagger.

Sounds of breaking and cracking rose from behind Peter. He turned to witness the hollow in the tree was not just an entrance, but the mouth of a fearsome face embedded in the trunk of the tree., The jaws of bark were slowly closing, cutting off his retreat from the two ghastly beasts. The Hobgoblin raised their curved blades and howled a piercing cry as they charged toward the boy. Echo returned their assault, growling and snapping at the wicked monsters. Peter sprinted for the closing hollow and wedged his ax under its wooden lips, preventing it from completely shutting. He turned and called, "Echo, come to me!"

Breaking off her attempts to keep the creatures at bay, Echo immediately ceased her attack and ran with the speed of the wind towards the boy. Once the dog was safely past him and halfway out the other side, Peter yanked the ax free allowing the tree's trap jaw to close completely. He crawled toward the far end; the iron cage tucked safely under its arm. It frantically rattled in its strange voice, "Hurry! Thou are not free from danger yet, boy!"

The boy and dog appeared from the tree's gawking mouth, muddy and grimy; they were back in Da' Krakendire Forest. Peter sighed a breath of relief. The light illuminated from within the iron cage, and Peter heard its words clearly, "There is no time to rest! We must flee, child!"

Within the dark and muddy chamber, Peter heard angry grunts and grumblings from a tongue he did not understand, nor did he wish to learn. A cold wind began to flow, and heavy clouds obscured the moonlight from the night sky. In the gloom, Peter fell to his knees from fear, for there was not ample light for him to find his bearings and make his way home. Within the tree, the murmurs echoed louder, and clangs of steel against wood rang heavy atop the gusts of wind.

The little light from within the iron cage intensified once again and sang, "Little boy, release me! Please, and I will help thee find thy way home!" We shall protect each other and claim victory over these foul beasts!"

Peter peered into the dark tunnel and saw two sets of pinpricked golden eyes burn in the darkness. Without hesitation, Peter broke the small lock on the cage's door with the butt of his ax handle and released the sparkle of light. It soared into the air and hovered over the courageous canine. It jingled, "Dog, come here! Home! Take us home, brave creature! Lead the way!" Echo cocked her head to the side. Let out a short bark, and sprinted in the direction that would take them to safety.

The little light fluttered before the path the dog took and chimed a series of jingles and jangles, "Make haste, boy! There isn't much time!" Peter got to his feet and ran for his life.

Peter ran hard and fast. He had never run so hard in his life. It was not long before the muscles in his legs screamed for relief and threatened to fail him. His pace began to slow, and the wet, raspy breaths from behind grew closer to the boy. The little light came to rest on his shoulder and resounded in his ear, "Let me help thee, my friend." Once again, the light grew bright, and Peter felt a surge of energy flow through his fatigued and malnourished body. With vitality swelling within him, Peter picked up speed and the growls and grunts grew fainter and farther away.

A little further down the path, Peter and Echo broke through the brush and stood before a tiny trickling stream. "I know these waters! We are but a stone's throw away from my front door!" Peter said. Suddenly, several thin wooden objects shot passed his head and embedded themselves in the nearby tree trunk. He plucked one out from the bark and examined it. It was a short, and sharpened piece of wood with black goo dripping from its point. He turned to see the Hobgoblins launch themselves high into the air and perch upon the tree limbs above. The Jester brought a short and thin blow gun to its mouth and blew hard. The poison dart shot toward him but was deflected by a small circle of light from the little star. It sang, "Come, just a bit further!"

With Peter and Echo safely on the other side of the narrow and shallow stream, the small light fluttered over the creek and stood its ground before the approaching Hobgoblins. It rang with an echoing boom, "Foul creatures! Thou smell of defecation! Perhaps thou would enjoy a shower upon thy stinking heads!" The Hobgoblins hissed at the defiant light.

Two shafts of water shot from the stream. It held such force that it knocked both creatures out the tree branches and sent them flying into the distance. The little light dimmed in the darkness and fluttered to the ground. Too much time had the creatures imprisoned it and subjected the little star to the controlling poison of the yellow smog. It had exerted all of its energy and no more remained. It laid on the ground with a happy soul, for it knew it had prevented at least one child from falling prey to the Hobgoblins' wicked ways. It waited with solidarity for the two dark creatures to reclaim their prize as rustling emerged from the thick brush. The jingle of bells of a jester's hat arose and a clawed hand reach out and took hold of a fallen tree stump.

A spinning glint of silver shot across the forest floor toward the Hobgoblin's hand. The ax buried its self deep into the tree trunk's wood, severing two of its gnarled fingers. Peter burst from the thick brush and scooped up the flickering light and said, "The deal was that we protect each other! Am I right, my little friend? Here, take back your gift of strength. I have enough of my own to get us to the safety of my homestead. My father was an excellent craftsman of wood and stone. These wretched creatures do not have the means to breach its walls!"

Soon after that, the trio crashed through the front door of the little cottage. Faithful to Peter's word, the walls and roof were sturdy and sound. The light fluttered frantically from window to door telling Peter which breach of their defenses to secure quickly. Greyson caught sight of the mysterious light and watched it intently and with mischievous interest. The light hovered over the cat and jingled, "Nay, little cat! Make thyself useful. There be vermin in thy midst.  Thy sharp claws and mighty pounce are needed, my feline friend!"

Just as the last latch was just locked down, Peter heard the foot falls upon the roof above. Never had he considered it before, but the little cottage was more like a miniature fortress than he had previously realized. The tiny footsteps scampered above and jumped to the ground. Steel blades scraped along the walls and door handles violently shook and rattled. Echo growled, and Greyson's ears flatten at the sounds of the intruder. The two animals stood united and ready to defend their home and beloved master. 