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Shorty & the Beast: Part One (rough draft)
🕑 Added 2021-03-04 21:00:03 +0000 UTCSometimes, it is easy to say life doesn’t exactly go as planned. You have dreams you wish to follow, ideas for where life is supposed to go. Sometimes you plan to be a powerful sorcerer or a loving gardener, and you think you have a handle on such things. But instead, it’s as if you’re tossed upon rocks, held under rapids, and pushed and pushed and pushed until you topple down a waterfall where god knows what is waiting below. People say life gets out of hand, but you can’t really hold life’s hand, now can you? The powers that be may see you a different way. Life may have other plans for you, and you just have to hope you can hold on through the rapids.
Our story begins in a dark and ugly place. There’s blood on the ground, there’s a young man crying. A queen is dead. But we won’t get into that yet. That’s where the story begins, but it’s not where it is going to start. Instead, where this begins is in a peaceful, rather idealistic countryside village of Earthwick. It is a place of Halflings and their gardens, their farms, their taverns, and the lovely simplicity with which they live. There’s no blood here, no dead queens, sometimes there are crying young men, but it’s often not for the same reason as the one from the beginning.
Outside of Earthwick though is another story. War has been brewing and boiling over, spilling into innocent territories. The Halflings, who had been lucky before, were not concerned with it until recently. For ages Earthwick had been protected by another village nearby, Bellmore, which was filled with affluent and often well connected people. Relatives of royals, lovers of generals, people with pockets too deep to just buy fancy clothes. Most of the Halflings in Earthwick worked for the people in Bellmore, as such, Bellmore offered protection. Until one day, when Bellmore started to become empty. At first it was one family that left their home without warning. A couple of days go by, another family up and leaves. Then another and another. Rumors began to spread that the kingdom of Charbagne, where Bellmore and Earthwick were, was the next target to be conquered since Gravelmeuse had been fallen. Without their usual means of protection, the Halflings began to plan about what they should do.
There had been talk of going towards the Goblins and Stone Ifrits, who were taking in refugees from Gravelmeuse. But Charbagne was separated from them by Sothen, which was already loyal to Sanguis Rex even before the war started. Halflings weren’t known to be fighters, but there was one amongst the many who thought they could be.
Roslile Portigardens was a gardener by trade, but even in her youth she had been fascinated by the stories of warriors and knights. She used to make herself swords from stickers, wrapping the handle with pretty fabric to make it look real. She day dreamed of riding a mighty steed and going off into battles to be a hero. But Halflings aren’t heroes, and that soon became beat into her head. Even as she gardened, she still like to daydream as her hands were in the earth. Nowadays, she was trying to convince everyone they didn’t have to be protected, they didn’t have to give up, they could fight just like anybody.
“Queen Mythri said that even the smallest threat against Sanguis Rex is a lost battle to him! Who is a smaller threat than us?” She spoke of Mythri like her idol. Having heard stories of the queen all her life, and how she was a living goddess, Roslile had always wanted to meet her and had studied all texts on her.
“We cannot fight like Rakshasa!” The mayor argued with her. “Queen Mythri does not speak of Halflings when she says this. We have to think of the best way to protect ourselves. Take this seriously, young Portigardens.”
Roslile scowled at this comment. She wasn’t even the youngest in the room, she was just one of a few women. She scoffed, leaving the meeting with her plans still in her head. She stormed off, kicking stones that dared to cross her path. She didn’t want to just lay down for whatever came. She didn’t want to see her home become infested with the likes of Sanguis Rex and his men. She knew that there was more to be done, more they could do! She knew that Halflings could be heroes.
At home she was greeted at the gate by her faithful steed, Noodle, a giant mastiff who had been abandoned by his family in Bellmore. He jumped up when he first caught the whiff of Roslile and bound up to her excitedly. Lapping at her hair and forehead, he wagged his tail and hunkered down before her so she could hug him.
“Hello, boy,” she sighed, hugging around his neck. “I bet you’re hungry now. Sorry that took so long.” She led him up the path to her house. She had a house for him built in the back as well a feeding trough. She went into the kitchen where Noodle watched her excited through the window. She made herself and Noodle dinner, making a gravy for Noodle, and a big breakfast styled meal for herself.
It seemed almost ridiculous to Roslile that anyone in Earthwick would want to just roll over right now. After all, everyone seemed so proud of Earthwick and loved it so much. Why would they want to give it up or throw it away? She nearly let her sausage burn she was so lost in thought.
Noodle’s trough was filled with gravy and old scraps, which he ate messily. Roslile ate her food slowly, staring out the window aimlessly. She chewed and she pondered. She thought to herself what it would take to get everyone on board with her plan. To train, to fight, to become heroes and prove the old saying wrong. To her it seemed too easy, almost insane not to try.
After dinner, just as the sun was beginning to set, she took Noodle and fitted him with the special saddle she had made. She then took out the shield she made for herself, and using the handle of her broom as a weapon, she practiced maneuvers with Noodle. She had been doing this since Bellmore began to empty and stories of Sanguis Rex were becoming far too prominent. She enjoyed her training as it fulfilled a childhood wish inside her. She could have done it all night.
“What are you doing?”
Roslile game to a halt, holding Noodle’s reigns as she looked down at her father. “Dad!” She jumped down off Noodle and tried to hide her sword. “Your home, dinner is on the table if you’re-”
Her father looked at Noodle incredulously, wrinkling his nose as he saw the broom handle on the ground and shield tucked behind her back. “Are you still playing pretend? You’re far to grown for this.”
Roslile bit down on her bottom lip. “It’s not pretend! You know what this is now.” She turned to remove Noodle’s saddle.
Her father, Hamfast, shook his head in dismay. When she was a child it was cute to see her play pretend, waving around her stick as a sword, promising to save the kingdom. But now it was just sad to him! He didn’t understand why she was still on this childish tirade of being a hero. To him there was no possible way his daughter could be a hero. No hero had ever been a halfling, no hero had ever been under four feet tall. “No, I don’t know what this is, young lady. Playing like you’re some knight isn’t healthy. These ideas in your head are far to grand for you!”
Roslile huffishly threw down the saddle. “There is war, Dad! What’s wrong with wanting to protect my home?”
“Because you can’t!” Ham fast snapped. “You are a young woman, a Halfling! You’d be crushed by some of these people. You would get crushed by their armor!”
“Queen Mythri said-”
Hamfast had enough about listening to Queen Mythri when Roslile was young. Her certainly had enough of her now. “She’s a story!” He insisted. “Most of these women are stories! They say things which get blown way out of proportion and they become myths!”
Roslile had heard her father bragging too many times about King Habbar of the Stone Ifrits and King Brict of the Goblins to believe this. She rolled her eyes hard enough they could have uprooted her brows. “She is not a story! How dare you even say that?”
“You think she cares about anyone in her castle? She’s not thinking about anyone now that her son has taken over from Demir.” Hamfast shook his head. “Stop playing pretend, Roslile. I am begging you. I know you want to help, but this is only going to hurt you. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
This was the last time she wanted to hear how this wasn’t good for her. “You want me to stop playing pretend?” She sniffed, holding back tears as best she could. “What about you?”
Hamfast stood stiff. “Don’t try to change the subject, young lady.”
“You keep going to work, Dad!” Roslile clenched her fists tight. “But there’s no one in the house anymore. They aren’t coming back, but you keep cleaning even. You keep working even though thieves keep coming in taking everything. I’m trying to protect us while you’re off playing in an empty house!”
Hamfast’s eyes were bright and tense. He took slow, deep breaths, hoping it would calm himself. “That s my job.”
“You’re jobless! They’re gone-” Roslile’s voice chocked. “Dad, you have to accept this. Gravelmeuse has fallen and Charbagne is next. Bellmore is abandoned because they chose to run.”
“Some of us-”
“No, Dad!” Roslile shouted. She stood there, glaring at her father while his hands shook. She went to pick up her shield and he lunged forward, grabbing it away from her and throwing it beyond the yard.
“You get rid of these things,” he hissed. Grabbing hold of her arms he gave her a hard shake. “Get rid of that mongrel like I told you. Get rid of that saddle. Stop this nonsense! You are a gardener, young lady. A gardener!”
“And you’re pathetic!” Roslile snapped at him, receiving a sound slap to the fast.
The air stopped moving, Noodle dropped down and hid his head. Roslile gasped, shaking as she touched her cheek. Tears filled her eyes, tears filled Hamfast’s eyes.
“Oh my god what have I done?” He whispered in painful regret. “Roslile, Im so sorry!”
She pulled away from him, pushing away his hands, his apologetic gaze. “Leave me alone,” her voice sounded thick. “Just go inside, Dad.” She walked away from him, followed close behind by Noodle. She wandered away to find her shield, but she went further than that, going past the town sign and into the woods. She sobbed, wiping her eyes and stomping her feet as she went. Coming to a complete stop, Roslile sobbed into her palms. Noddle nudged the side of her head, whimpering sympathetically.
“It’s okay.” She pet Noodle’s snout. “Good boy.” She trugged over to the river, sitting down on a stone. She continued to cry, wanting to stop and calm down before she went back home. After her mother had passed away Hamfast had always assumed things for Roslile, what her life could be, what he thought it should. When her mother was alive, they had always allowed Roslile to have her daydreams and play knight. Why that changed so suddenly for Hamfast, Roslile couldn’t understand.
Kneeling down towards the river, Roslile splashed cold water onto her face. It felt nice against her tear tired eyes. Taking her lead, Noodle got into the river and started splashing around, kicking up the riverbed and having himself a good old time.
“No! Noodle!” Roslile tried to escape the barrage of splashes but Noodle was a force that couldn’t be avoided. “Noodle! Down!”
Noodle plopped into the water, panting happily with his tongue hanging out of the side. Roslile huffed, standing there cold and soaked. “Get out of the water, Noodle.”
Noodle barked and continued to grin.
Roslile stomped over towards him. “Now is not that time, silly dog!”
His head went under water, grabbing something and rushing up on land to her. He shook his head, spraying even more water everywhere, then bounded around Roslile with his stick in his mouth.
“No play!” She commanded. “Drop it!”
Noodle boofed and continued to bound. Eventually dropping the stick at her feet and running ahead, expecting Roslile to throw it.
“Get back here!” Roslile bent over to pick up the stick, only it wasn’t a stick laying at her feet. “What in the holy oats-” She was flummoxed. “Noodle! What the hell did you find?” Laying at her feet was a Halberd, a rather old one from the looks of it.
The handle was broken, but it was still long enough for her to hold without issue. The axe head was wrapped in a leather sack that was slimy and starting to crumble from being underwater for so long. Noodle came bounding back up, huffing and puffing because she hadn’t thrown the stick yet.
Roslile held the halberd behind her back. “No! Bad dog! This is not a toy!”
Noodle whined and tilted his head to the side. He didn’t understand why she wasn’t going to throw him the stick.
“No,” she scolded again. “Not a chew toy! I don’t even know how you found this.” She instead took another stick and tossed it for him. It was growing dark, so she threw the stick all the way home. Once there, she snuck inside, tiptoeing past her father’s door, then hiding herself in her room. She laid the Halberd down, then fetched her cleaning kit she used for her gardening tools.
It was rather exciting for her. She’d never held anything remotely close to a real weapon before besides a pocket knife. She had always imagined herself with a mighty sword, but perhaps a halberd would be of better use for her. If she could repair the handle, then she would have distance on her side. “Let’s see what we have here.” She removed the old leather sack, revealing dark metal coated in wax.
“Weird,” Roslile murmured. She started chipping away at the wax with a small chisel. The halberd had two sharp blades side by side rather than the axe head she had imagined. Coated in the wax there was a chain of dark blue beads that stuck up along the side of the bigger blade. She rubbed the wax away, studying the beads. They weren’t glass, in fact, they almost looked like sapphires.
“How strange,” she murmured to herself.
“You think that’s strange? Imagine how I feel.”
Roslile looked around, looking at her door then to her window. “Who-”
“Are you a child? What the hell are you playing with sharp objects for? Put me down and find an adult.”
Roslile looked to the halberd, a thick chunk of wax in her fingers that had pulled back to reveal the mirror-like blade. “Hello?”
“Come now little one, go and fetch your mommy or your daddy for me.”
Roslile narrowed her eyes, focusing upon the blade. There was no way that it was what was talking right? Maybe there was a bug or something that was on the blade talking to her. She turned the halberd over, looking for such a creature.
“Stop that! Stop!” The voice shouted again. “Put me down! Hand me!”
Having just about enough for one day, Roslile scoffed and set the halberd down. She raised her hands into the air with an incredulous look upon her face. “Okay, enough, who goes there? Show yourself!”
“How much more can I reveal myself? Can’t exactly appear in a cloud of smoke or whip a cape about can I? Look down! Think for half a second.”
Roslile grimaced at the weapon. “Are you talking?”
“No! I’m singing a madrigal. Of course I’m talking!”
She sat back for a second as she took in what was happening. The halberd was talking. Could weapons be alive? She hadn’t heard about that in any stories. Maybe it was a curse? If so was she slowly going to turn into a weapon too?
“Hello?” The halberd snapped. “Is anyone there? Does anyone care?”
Roslile leaned back over the desk. “What’s going on? What sort of trick is this?”
“Can you read minds?” The halberd sneered sarcastically. “I was just about to ask you the same thing. Now go get an adult!”
That was just about enough being called young and treated like a child. Too bad it was the halberd she was finally sticking up too. “I am an adult! A grown ass Halfling mind you! And you will address me as such.”
“Oh gracious me, I’ve been found by a Halfling? Of all things?” The halberd seemed to speak to itself. “I suppose beggars can’t be choosers.”
“You could do worse!” Roslile sniffed.
“I could also do better! But here I am, somewhere below the middle. Now who are you?”
She shook her head. “No, no. You’re starting this with an explanation. Who are you? Better yet, what are you?”
He halberd laughed haughtily. “You will regret giving me the chance to speak! I have nothing but decades of bile I wish to sling! I have been trapped in those waters for far too long. I thought for sure by now someone would have stumbled upon me. But it took a dog slobbering on me! How humiliating.”
“That doesn’t do a lick to answer my questions.”
“It tells you that I am a sufferer!’ The halberd lamented loudly. “It tells you I am a man of pain and anguish! Lamenting in wax and water.”
“Name or I chuck you back.”
“No wait!” The halberd yelped. “My name is Kyairil! Do not dare set me back outside! I doubt a little chickadee like you could carry me in her grasp anyways.”
Roslile frowned down. “Have you always been a halberd?”
“No. I am not even the blade. I am inside the blade!” Kyairil languished mournfully. “I have been imprisoned here. Trapped for my sins”
“Oh crap, are you evil?”
“Look at me! What evil could I do?” Kyairil snapped. “Lie here and look menacing? That is what cats do.”
“So what are you?” Roslile asked again.
He sighed heavily. “I am, was, a draconic sorcerer. I worked myself up from nothing to serve my queen. Now, what am I, you ask? I am a beggar, and I am begging you for your help. I have been trapped here, left under those waters to rot. I promised myself that whoever found me, I would promise them anything and everything in return for their help. I would gladly bound myself to you, become your servant, if you help free me.”
“Is there a way to do that?”
Kyairil skipped a beat. “That, I do not know. But, I am certain, if we work together, maybe, just maybe, we could find a way for you to get to a book on a shelf that could possibly contain the answers!”
Her nose curled and she arched a brow. “I’m not helping you if you’re going to talk to me like that.”
“Oh fine then! Then perhaps you know of someone who could possibly free me? Someone of great power?” Kyairil huffed.
“I’m not sure,” Roslile murmured. She thought for a long spell, then she glanced towards the painting of Queen Mythri that hung on her wall. “Wait, she whispered. “I think I may know of someone.”
“And?” he scoffed.
Roslile’s eyes brightened and a smile began to spread to her freckled cheeks. “People say that she’s a living goddess, and that when they prey to her, she grants them the love of their lives. Maybe she would have the power to free you.”
“Deities tend to have that capability.”
“But,” she hesitated. “She’s on the other side of the world from here. We’d have to travel all the way to the Cobra Strait and catch a boat to get to her.”
“I will make it worth your while, little chickadee!” Kyairil exclaims. “I will give you anything and everything if you take me to this goddess.”
She stared at that picture of Mythri then furrowed her brow. “Anything?”
“Yes! Anything. Once I have my body back I will be able to use my powers again. I will use them for you, first thing!”
She lowered down before the blade. “Could you protect an entire village from an army?”
Kyairil laughed smugly. “Child’s play. I could conjure up a wall that would surround the village and keep all attackers out. Hell, if I was even feeling myself, I could make soldiers out of the dirt and vegetables to fight.”
Roslile nodded, steeling herself. “Okay then.” She peeled back the rest f the wax on the blade and hel dit before her. “Protect my village, and I will take you to Queen Mythri and get your body back.”
A pair of dark eyes peered through the metal. “It’s a deal. Pleasure to meet you, little chickadee.”
“It’s Roslile,” she huffed. “Roslile Portigardens.”
The dark eyes rolled. “Oh god, its cute.”
