The lights of Malnir Ronkir faded away behind the hills as the boat chugged its way into the treetops. Murphy sighed, and faced the front of the boat. He slumped into his chosen bench and pulled his cloak tight around himself. It was cold up that high, the wind seemed to bite through his clothes like they weren’t even there. He reached into his pocket and gave the sleeping O'jin a scratch. Uundah had been asleep all afternoon, and his pocket was warm enough to make Murphy’s hands feel better.
Miata sat at the front of the boat, and controlled two levers to steer them. Even with the large man obscuring his view, he could see the aspect light from the threshold ahead of them slowly getting brighter. The lantern on the boat illuminated the branches around them faintly. He could see the occasional animal scurry away from the light. It was a daunting image.
Soon enough, the threshold was close enough to see. The boat creeped towards it, Miata slowing the speed while they approached. The old man studied the woods on the other side intensely. Murphy wondered for a moment if his grandfather could see the threshold too.
He held his breath for some reason as they passed through. He studied the colour again, since he had hardly seen the threshold up close. Every aspect, or mix of aspects, had a unique colour. The threshold seemed to stand out though. It seemed entirely foreign to him. Something about the colour stood out on its own. He watched as the wall of protection disappeared through the thick branches, and slumped back into his seat.
They travelled in the cold dark silence for several hours. He had no idea how far they were from Malnir now. They had picked up in speed after passing the threshold, so he assumed that they had to be at least a days walk by now. He took some time to sort the contents of his backpack into his pouch, since he realised he couldn’t feel the weight of whatever was inside. He shoved his blanket and pillow into his bag, and used it to get comfortable against the hardwood.
At one point in their journey, Miata quietly turned off the lantern and silenced the boat's engine to let them drift. Murphy was about to ask the man why, but he was silenced by a giant hand over his mouth. His grandfather gestured for him to stay silent, and pointed to the forest floor. In the darkness below, he could see movement. Something massive was crawling below. It looked as if the forest floor itself was moving away from them. He realised that they had to be at least one hundred feet in the air, and the fact that he could still see the thing meant it must be big enough to swallow a block of houses. He was terrified, but he couldn’t deny his excitement.
An hour or so after the monster was out of site, the old man started the engine again and lit the lantern, speeding off into the night.
Murphy awoke to the sensation of the boat settling on the ground. He rubbed his eyes, and squinted at the morning light shining through the trees. At some point in the night he had fallen asleep. He had a rough blanket draped over him, but it wasn’t his. He thought about thanking his grandfather, but decided not to make the old man uncomfortable.
“Are we there yet?” He asked, stumbling out of the boat to join his grandfather.
“Aye” the old man sighed, “Near enough”. He opened the top of the boat's engine and twisted something inside. The box hissed and started venting steam into the air. The steam glistened with little dust particles that blasted upwards, and settled on whatever they touched.
Murphy looked around to see where they were. They were still in the forest, the towering trees were the same as the ones near home. They were spread more sparsely where they were, creating a small clearing. There was a pond nearby with crystal clear water being fed by a calm flow coming from a hole in a cliff wall. The cliffs formed a crescent shape around the clearing, and he could see the tops of trees beyond the entrance to the place. In the centre of it all, tucked up against the cliff wall was an old and broken down house. It was overgrown by vines and shrubs, but glowed brightly with aspect.
“Where are we?” He asked, following the man to the pond.
“Nowhere really” He said, kneeling down to fill a bucket he was carrying. “Came for the ferryman”. He pointed with his thumb at the house behind him.
“That’s a ferryman?” Murphy questioned with awe.
Miata chuckled. “That’s his ferry boy” he said. He returned to the boat and dumped the bucket's contents into the box. There was a roar of steam and a creaking sound echoed in the box, but it settled soon after.
“Is he in there then?” the boy asked, looking intensely at the house.
“Come now, we will see if he’s in”.
The old man didn’t bother knocking. He pushed the door open with little effort. It creaked and fell from its rusted hinges, and crashed to the floor inside. A thick layer of dust flew into the air, and added a particular gloom to the ruin inside.
“Not a very neat fellow is he?” Murphy said, stepping around his grandfather.
The house was in worse shape inside than it was on the outside. It looked like there was a fight. The furniture was thrown around the room, and there were scorched holes in the walls. Everything was broken and disregarded.
Miata grunted, and started to look around. There wasn’t much to the inside of the house. It consisted of only two rooms, which was a stark contrast to the homes in Malnir. While they searched what he assumed was the bedroom, the old man found a stain from a dried puddle that caught his attention. He knelt, and ran his fingers through the stain. Murphy gagged when he saw the old man lift his fingers to his mouth, and taste the residue he had gathered.
“I have food if you’re hungry” he said, looking sideways at his grandfather.
“Looks like he isn’t home” Miata said, not acknowledging the boy.
“I had a feeling that was the case” Murphy said, gesturing to the destroyed room.
“Can’t be far off though” the old man said, sniffing the air. “Ye’ can wait here lad” he said, walking back towards the door.
“Wait, what?” Murphy questioned, chasing the old man outside. “You’re going to leave me in the woods?” he asked, baffled.
“Aye” Miata replied, grabbing a wood cutting axe from underneath a seat in the boat.
“Alone in the woods?” Murphy asked, trying to gauge how serious the man was.
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“Ye’ can take care of yer’ self for a few hours” He said, pointing for a moment at the sword on the boy's hip.
“I don’t want to be alone in the woods” Murphy pleaded, looking around frantically.
“Very well” The man said with a smirk “Ye’ can come and help me kill this snake then” he said.
Murphy gulped. “How big is it?” He asked sheepishly.
“Only enough to swallow a Demai” Miata replied, giving his axe a test swing.
Murphy thought on that for a moment. “Well who would keep an eye on the boat if I’m with you?” he asked.
Miata laughed. “Fair point lad, maybe ye’ should stay here and guard the boat” he said.
“Good thinking” Murphy decided. “You be careful now” he ordered his grandfather.
Miata grunted again, and shook his head smiling. “Hold tight lad” he said, before stalking off into the trees.
After roughly an hour of anxious waiting, he decided he couldn’t ignore the pains in his stomach anymore, and started to prepare some food. The action afforded him the opportunity to play with some of his new toys. So he set his pouch down and got to work.
He gathered some sticks and a dry log to build a fire. He pulled a dice from his pouch. It had ten sides, and on each side was a small and simple rune. Each rune served a basic function that would make travelling a little easier. Holding one of the runes against the wood, he focused on it activating. He felt a tingle in his fingers from the small crystal inside, then the log burst into flames. He jumped back to avoid setting his hair alight, and smiled at his fire.
He unfolded a small cooking rack and set it above the flame, then unwrapped some spiced meat. The meat was preserved by the spices, though now that it was out of the safety of the pantry runes, it had to be cooked soon. He put some tea leaves in a metal cup and filled it with water from the pond, then put it to boil. Feeling motivated, he pulled a log and stone to the fire, and set up his chips board to play a game against himself. While the meat cooked, he sipped at his tea and moved the pieces around the board. Every time his tea grew cold, he put a rune on the dice to it, and heated the cup.
Uundah made a brief appearance. The creature left his pocket when it smelled the meat, and made sure to receive a portion. Murphy gave him a scratch, then he returned to the pocket and went back to sleep.
Another hour or two passed and he grew bored. He threw some more kindling on the fire and went to explore the house again.
The atmosphere was eerie inside. While he quietly walked through, and searched for anything interesting, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him. In the bedroom, he found an old book with most of the pages missing. Looking at it, he knew right away he wouldn’t be able to read any of it. The text was small and dense, and filled the pages entirely. He thought it was interesting that the pages were black with white text. He hadn’t seen that before. He decided to leave it where it was, just in case his grandfather came back with the ferryman. The house mostly remained as uninteresting as it was the first time, and he couldn’t figure out why the floor and walls glowed so brightly with aspects. Feeling uncomfortable, he decided to go back to his fire.
He stopped before stepping outside, and scurried behind the door frame. Somebody was at his fire, and it wasn’t his grandfather. His heart pounding, he peered around the edge to get a better look.
There was an old man in a tight knitted grey cloak, sitting by the fire, chewing on some meat. He was studying the chips board intensely, scratching at his straw like beard with his slender and ring adorned fingers. He moved a piece on the board with a long and gangly arm, the action slow and deliberate.
Murphy hid again and gulped. He breathed heavily and considered what to do. He was trying to formulate a plan when a voice caught his attention.
“Are you going to make a move, or will I have to wait here all day?” A cranky old voice called from outside. His tone was grating and impatient.
Murphy stayed silent, hoping the man was talking to someone else. There was silence for a time, even the birds and insects had grown quiet. Suddenly, an old face popped through the doorway, staring him in the eyes.
Murphy squealed, and launched himself backwards. He crashed through an already broken table. Ignoring the pain of the table corner on his hip, he scrambled to his feet. With the grace of a cat in a bath, he drew his sword and pointed it at the old man.
“Stay where you are!” He demanded with a stutter. “I’ll gut you if you come any closer”.
“I haven’t even beaten you yet” the old man said. He looked perplexed as he stepped into the doorway. He stood as tall as Miata, though he was entirely gaunt. His eyes were sunken, and rimmed with pale black rings. His matted and tangled grey hair poked out from under his hood. He looked to be the oldest man Murphy had ever seen. His cloak was littered with twigs and leaves that had gotten caught on the fuzzy wool and he wasn’t wearing any shoes. Murphy thought he must have been insane.
“Are you the ferryman?” the terrified boy asked.
“No” the old man scoffed, “Have you seen him?” he asked.
Murphy didn’t reply.
“No, I suppose not” the man grumbled. “You wouldn’t ask me that otherwise” he continued. He walked into the room as he spoke, looking around the place as if Murphy wasn’t there.
He took the opportunity to sprint out the door once the man was clear of it. Wasting no time, he bolted towards his stuff. He looked over his shoulder to see if the old man was chasing him, but there was no one there. When he faced forwards however, he saw the old man sitting at the chips board once again.
“So you’re ready to play then?” The old man asked as Murphy tripped and crashed face first into the dirt.
He sprung to his feet and held his sword out again.
“Come now” the man said. With a flick of his wrist, a mug appeared in his hand, and clinked against his rings. “If you want to play with yourself, you shouldn’t do it out in the open” he continued.
He grabbed some of Murphy’s tea leaves and dropped them in the mug. Murphy watched in awe as the mug filled itself with steaming water.
“You’re basically inviting someone to get involved” he said, rolling his eyes while his tea stirred itself.
“Who are you?” Murphy demanded.
“What, why?” The old man asked in a paranoid tone.
“Why are you here then?” Murphy asked, taking a brave step closer. The man seemed unconcerned about the blade pointed at his face.
“For the ferry” the man barked, waving his question away. “If you don’t make a move, I’ll move for you” he said, looking back to the board.
Murphy didn’t move.
“Fine” the old man snapped. He grabbed a command piece from Murphy’s side of the board, and moved it forward. Then he took the piece from the board with one of his soldiers right after. He smirked at the boy. “Do you want me to move for you again?” he asked, his un-clipped fingernails scraping at one of Murphy’s commanders.
Murphy gulped. He decided to take a chance. He slowly approached the board and sat opposite the old man, keeping his sword pointed forwards with one hand the whole time. Without paying any attention to the place, he moved one of his pieces. The old man watched the board closely the entire time.
“HA!” The old man bellowed, “You’re an idiot”. He gleefully slid a soldier along the board, then snatched up Murphy’s last commander. He threw the chip into the air, then flicked it into Murphy’s forehead. The boy flinched and prepared to react, but quickly saw that the old man was already busy setting up a new game.
He gestured politely for Murphy to make the first move, so he did. He watched the old man closely as they played, and glanced a few times at his pouch next to them. The old man noticed that, and waved his hand in the air again. The pouch lifted from the ground, and floated onto the young Warlock's lap. The old man never looked away from the board. Murphy reached into the pouch between turns, and calmly pulled an ink vial from it. He moved a piece, then slowly loaded the vial into his sword. It made a clicking sound, and the old man finally looked up and spoke again.
“Are you planning to kill me with that?” He asked.
“I’m not sure yet” Murphy said, trying to sound like he was in control.
The old man smirked, and slid a piece on the board. “didn’t your mother tell you not to threaten strange old men?” he asked.
“She told me not to trust strange old men” Murphy lied.
The old man chuckled. “That’s a fair point” he said, beating the boy at the game again.
He stood, and walked towards their boat. Murphy followed behind him, keeping his distance. His arm was starting to throb from holding his sword out the whole time.
“Is this your boat?” The man asked, admiring the engine.
“It is” Murphy lied again. “What’s it to you?” He asked.
The old man looked at him, eyebrows raised. “You’re not very polite, are you, boy?” he asked, looking Murphy up and down.
“It's been said before” Murphy replied with a shrug.
He felt his arm grow light suddenly, his sword disappearing from his hand. He stumbled back in shock, and watched the old man holding it. He never moved from his spot by the boat, the sword just appeared in his hands in an instant.
The old man admired the blade, and looked over the hidden compartment with curious intensity. Murphy didn’t hesitate in grabbing another random ink vial. He held the vial out stretched, ready to empower whatever was inside.
“Oh relax” the man said. Again, he waved his hand. This time, Murphy’s sword appeared back in its sheath. He saw a faint red flash when it happened. “Where is your master child?” The man asked.
“I don’t have a master” Murphy said, swapping his ink for his sword again.
“Bullshit” the man snapped. He paced past Murphy then stopped and turned to look at him again. “Fine” he relented, dismissing Murphy’s dishonesty with a gesture. “We will play then” he huffed, and sat back at the board. He set it up, and looked at Murphy, waiting for him to sit down.
Murphy reluctantly joined him, and started to play. They didn’t talk for a long time, and Murphy eventually put his sword down. He figured if the man could take it with a hand wave, there probably wasn’t much point in holding it in the first place. He payed close attention to the moves the old man made, and tried to replicate them. He still lost every game.
“Name?” the old man asked eventually.
Murphy decided sharing his name couldn’t do him any harm at this point. “Murphy LockHalm” he replied politely.
The old man chuckled, amused by something he was keeping to himself. He stood, and walked a few paces from the makeshift table for dramatic effect.
“Well hello young LockHalm” he said, “you can call me Callus”.