It came from a flash in the sky on the first rain Corv's Folly had seen in a year. A bolt of lightning struck deep within the mountains, finding a crater of earth centuries old. As if that was its mission to set events in motion. To knock and loosen the bolt of a door meant to be closed. A heartbeat under the stone pulsed a rumble through the mountain range. The mile wide crater began to crack at the center, shattering the earth into a rippling wave of rubble.

"HYeck, HyecK, hYEck!" Guttural noises from below rhythmically hacked quakes in the air itself.

Within the breaching darkness, an eye opened, soulless and green. The first thing it saw was a dreary storming sky. A pupil formed to see it clearly and spread across the entire iris in an endless cycle of rings.

"cOME to mEee..." The voice commanded. “mY FLESH!”

Overhead a perched Stead Vulture looked below in suspicion but felt the call from the voice beckoning him into the abyss.

"HYECK, HYECK, HYECK, YAHAHAKA!"

. . .

Morning came for Corv's Folly, but all remained silent in the dry valley of brush below the mountains. The sparse trees had already dried from the rain by sunrise, but no rodents emerged from their hollowed knots. Not even a bird chirped. Every cloud dissipated and left an empty blue sky looming overhead.

The clacking of steel boots traveled the air, stomping the withered bramble in their way. The wearer matched the boots with white steel armor, accented with bronze plating on his legs, chest and shoulders. Sheathed to the hip was a longsword with an ornate handle wrapped in leather and stitched by golden thread. His cyan eyes peered in every direction as he walked along the coarse soil. Whistling wind brushed the blonde waves in his hair like a puffed exhale of breath. Not a true gust, but a tree to the man's left suddenly shook. The dry rustling rang the young man into a readied stance, hand on his sword.

I will not waver, he thought with resolve.

His glare immediately deflated beyond a stout cactus patch, further than the sound's source. Strolling towards the quiet rocks was a man in a moss green fiddler cap and an old messenger bag. He halted his foot, turning attention to the Paladin 15 yards away. The young man's honey brown hair was so unkempt that the hat couldn't contain it all. He wore baggy green overalls that matched his hat, but also a clean white shirt buttoned up to the neck. He was rather slim, like a wiry doll. Had to be in his 20s, but the rings around his eyes contrasted. As for the eyes themselves, they were bothered and naturally the color yellow. Another breeze went by between the two, and the Paladin sheathed his sword to fire a question.

"Why'd you do that?" The yellowed eyed man called out before the knight could speak, casually pointing above. "You don't see that thing?"

Confused, the swordsman quickly followed the comment behind him and immediately felt the pummeling of a dense frame against his body. The force sent the man into a nearby tree, shattering its structure against a hundred pounds of steel. The creature cackled carnivorous cooing between jagged teeth, growing from an engorged hooked beak. Its black wings extended against the sun, and the knight gasped at the perversely morphed vulture. The beast hobbled mid-air like a marionet, rotating its spindly human-like hands with engorged bulbous fingertips in the place of talons. Opening and closing in anticipation, single-minded in grabbing anything to rip apart.

Despite the extra weight of metal, the Paladin nimbly rolled from the wooden debris as the creature dove. Its hands printed inches in the dirt and reduced what was left of the tree into dust. The bones in the monster's neck cracked in turning, its dead green eyes were consumed by radiant light emerging from the knight's unsheathing.

I will not waver…

An angelic golden line fissured the air with lethal accuracy, and one demonic wing alone took flight. The creature screamed as green ichor flooded the amputation, turning the body upside down in a grotesque attempt to fly. The hanging eyes locked with the warrior, mid swing. His face was determined and without a shred of fear.

I will not waver from my destiny!

An uproar of light drowned the strike and silenced the twisted bird's speech. There, it laid in two pieces with the third in freefall. The wing spiraled by its warped bone but landed in the hands of the man with the messenger bag, nonplussed and focused on his new findings.

"Huh," he murmured while examining the feathers and exposed bone. "Sturdy black plumage..."

"Hey," the Paladin tried getting his attention. "Don't touch that!"

"The wing is almost the same skeleton, but off. Would it still work?"

The yellow eyed stranger ignored the knight as if he had just found the bird lying there! The Paladin was dumbfounded, especially when he realized there wasn't a weapon on this man. Even before the prior night, Corv' Folly was known for its harsh conditions and dangerous wildlife. A four-foot Coython was capable of taking down a 350-pound Torriboar. Though none seemed around at the time, no others could have known this in a single night.

"Could be a chimera," The stranger continued to drone. His speech pattern was stilted and lacked autonomy. He walked past the knight and crouched to hold the slain creature's hand foot. "Though the human element could have weakened the feathers."

"Hey!" The man asserted. "I don't know who you are, but this place isn't safe! That monster came from something far more dangerous than-"

"Shut up," broke the stranger's speech. Irritation cracking through his stoneface. Reaching into his pocket, the man revealed a pair of thin metal tweezers. "Sorry, but I'm working."

Before the tweezers could come down on the wing, every feather reduced to black crystalline dust, sent to the sky. Once more, the Paladin prepared his weapon while the stranger with the tweezers remained crouched, gazing up at the dust retreating into the mountains ahead.

"Right," he sighed. "Because 'shortcuts aren't easy either.'"

"What is this?" The Paladin asked with gritted teeth. He looked back at the man to find him 6 yards away, still headed towards the mountain pass.

"It's leaving for now," said the man, dusting off his overalls. "So hopefully that means some peace for now. Later."

"Stop!" In seconds, the knight sprang forward ahead of the feather collector, blocking the way. "Didn't you hear me? Didn't you see any of what just happened? I don't know why you're here, but you need to go home now!"

The stranger shook his head, working to resist a burgeoning headache. However, the Paladin spoke with sincerity, and that helped a little.

"I appreciate your concern," he halfheartedly assured. "Especially after I told you to shut up. That was rude. However, I'm on a time sensitive job, and what I'm searching for is up those mountains. I can't afford to be late."

"What kind of job?" Asked the Paladin. "Who are you?"

"Georgie Galmot," answered the man, just to move the conversation along. "A potion vendor from Lazlo. Like I said already, I am on a time sensitive commission that requires Stead Vulture feathers."

This only added to the Paladin's list of questions. Stead vultures were known to be the most reactive and ruthless of Corv's wildlife. They lived in flocks based on a hieratic scale of the strongest called a “monarchy.” They worked in packs to dispatch other animals, and a single one could carry up to 200 pounds with talons capable of piercing trees. Anybody daring enough to pursue these birds would require a team of at least five armed men.

“Lazlo?” the knight pondered. “The Mystmere Kingdom? That’s days north of here. Yet you came alone with no weapon? Do you know anything about this place?”

“I did a fair bit of research,” Georgie answered, constantly looking past the Paladin at the path he would have passed at this point. “I'm also not much of a fighter and managing mercenaries is an expensive hassle.”

“Hassle?” The Paladin exclaimed. “Look there is a lot happening that I have no time to explain, so please hear me. There is a demon in those mountains, and you are going to die if you go up there!”

“I'm already dead if I don't,” uttered Georgie with a stoic leer of purpose. “And it sounds like that demon situation is pretty dire. Should you be wasting so much time trying to save me?”

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

The Paladin took pause as the weight of the situation increased upon his shoulders. How could this man be foolish and conniving? The knight had come prepared, but not for moral dilemmas.

“Glad that's settled,” Georgie chirped, strolling past the speechless warrior. “Good luck with the demon; you seem skilled. I'll stay out of your way.”

The Paladin slowly turned his head at the wanderer with a death wish on his way to the range's passage. He remembers the last promise he made before leaving home.

I will not waver from my destiny! I swear, no one else will die for Corvolos!

Georgie walked on to the first hill of the pass, letting out a sigh of relief. He was back on the clock and ready to feather hunt. Then the rattling of boots grew from behind.

“Wait up,” the Paladin called.

“I'd rather not.”

“Too bad,” he marched beside Georgie. “I'd rather not have anyone die today, even from heatstroke. Until one of us reaches our destination, we'll travel together.”

Georgie's blood began to boil under an unwanted burner within his stomach. He felt a deep and immature urge to pull anything from his bag to hurl on the chance it would create distance from the tin man with a bleeding heart. However, that would have been a waste of elixir. He did not vocalize his protest and continued the trek with the hope that a monarchy was just over the first hill.

. . .

The two hours that followed on the trail were silent. Occasionally the two would stop to consult on routes and Georgie finding interesting foliage. The higher they traveled, the deeper they sank into rising walls of earth around them. The Paladin would glance at Georgie from time to time, watching for any movement in his remote face. It was obvious the young man had no interest involving himself with knightly affairs, but not even a question of what, how, or even why?

Even under shade, the heat built inside the Paladin's armor, but the potion vendor seemed unaffected. Two clashing layers and he went on as if it were 70 degrees. The Paladin needed to wear his heavy metal, but Georgie chose to come to the desert dressed like he was off to an orchard. The ill-dressed oddball checked his water sack and realized it was empty, yet he only raised an eyebrow.

“Here,” the Paladin riffled through his bag to pull out his own. “It’s enchanted, so the water doesn’t run out.”

“No need,” Georgie disregarded as he approached a nearby cactus. From his satchel he pulled a spiked spigot and plunged the sharp end into the prickly surface.

“That’s not safe!” Shouted the knight. “The water in those cactuses can make you hallucinate.”

“I’m aware,” the vendor agreed while turning the spigot’s knob, causing the water inside to drip faster into the water sack. “It sends the brain into a psychedelic state of euphoria and paralyzes the consumer. Interestingly, a fair number of creatures in these lands have developed an extra lining in their stomachs to filter the water.”

Once full, Georgie placed the sack next to his bag and opened a side pocket with a small bottle of capsules inside. One popped into the water pouch, and he began to shake it. After a minute, Georgie removed the cap and took a swig, much to the Paladin’s objection.

“What are those?” he asked as Georgie finished his drink.

“Purifier tablets I made,” wiping his lips. “They work fast and break unwanted chemicals down into a safe diluted state. It's just plain water now with an aftertaste.”

“You could have just had some of mine.”

“Your mouth has been on that,” Georgie put it bluntly. “I don't like swapping germs, and I don't know where you've been.”

Before the Paladin could get offended, a familiar wailing of vulture screams echoed at the two from ahead. Light vibrations grazed their feet to warn them of nearby devastation. The Paladin began rushing towards the sound while Georgie sat on a rock.

“Stay here,” he ordered.

“Sounds good,” the vendor complied as he rummaged through his satchel.

Barreling out of the shade, the swordsman’s drawn blade reflected against the high noon sun. It shined a spotlight on a cliffside road, billowing dust clouds and dented sandstone. Before him were two beasts in a battle to the death. A bulky red Torriboar with one eye and a tusk snapped at the base of its jaw. The missing tusk was held in the opposable grip of a demonic Stead Vulture, flapping above the cliff’s edge. It squeezed the tusk into splinters of bone, whipping them back at the behemoth swine, piece by piece. The Paladin's soul erupted into a well of killing intent, charging his longsword into a radiant bolt that could consume the sun.

“Monster!” He roared. “Face me instead you skin walking fowl!”

“AhHh…” the vulture buzzed with a rasp in its long throat. “Is it you child? Are you the ‘hero’ of Sall?”

The sudden speech of the corrupted buzzard halted the Paladin. His skin crawled at the mention of his home. He knew that this beast was not the true demon known as Corvolos, but a puppet constructed by his hellish dark magic. Wherever the true monster lied, he safely observed the hero with great anticipation.

Suddenly, the vulture flapped its wings, sending a booming gust of wind and feathers in the direction of the Paladin. His body moved on instinct, clashing with the thin projectiles, shielding himself with the flat end of his long sword. The wounded Torriboar reacted poorly to the flurry of light and steel, the wind pounding against his thick hide. Provoked, the mighty pig raised to his hind legs in a wind up and smashed the front hooves into the gravel. The ground removed, and with the wind, the Paladin finally was put off balance. He let out a gasp as two dense feathers made contact with the crease in his shoulder armor, the very force sent him into an uneven spin towards the cliff. The knight's toe grazed the edge as he desperately regained his footing, but what he didn't see was the vulture itself and the stolen Torriboar tusk his way. The breastplate cracks at the center with the tip of the boar bone scratching the Paladin’s actual chest, but it wasn't over.

“Poor child,” the monster chattered mockingly. It perched its hideous fingers on the tusk embedded in the armor. “What did the prophecy foretell? That you would defeat me, or that we would battle?”

The hands applied weight, pulling the Paladin closer to the edge into a 60-foot drop back to the base of the mountain. Reacting on instinct he swung, giving just the right momentum to finish tipping the young hero over.

No! He begged to himself. Not yet!

The knight had come prepared, but not for dying too soon.

Damn you, he cursed to himself, welling up at his failure. Years of training, prayer, nightmares and doubt played before his eyes. What few moments of peace could he latch onto? The young man's eyes closed on the heckling monstrosity, not even able to enjoy the sky. Did he ever get to enjoy it before?

A clap echoed the jagged hills, and a rare sensation went through the Paladin's hand. He had felt it on the days he could break from training and get a roast melt sandwich in town. The inn owner knew of the boy's lifelong mission and offered him lunch with a high five as payment.

The sensation changed to a bone breaking tightness that awoke the paladin to bothered yellow eyes on the face of a nettled potion brewer. Georgie stood completely horizontal and still on the cliff's face, ignoring gravity.

“Georgie?” He questioned.

“Sp-” he struggled to speak, holding hundreds of pounds of human and steel. “Spider… Stride!”

The Paladin dangled from his grasp, and as the realization of his rescue settled, so did the redness and sweat in Georgie's face.

“D- do you…” the anger built in his voice. “Have any idea… how much silk I needed to make this adhesive!”

The Paladin's senses returned, looking back up at the vulture, floating over, intrigued at the two. His pupils dilated as adrenaline began pumping through his veins. The paladin's legs swung from front to back towards the mountain wall.

“Once I'm able to plant my feet,” he yelled to Georgie, sheathing his sword and removing the tusk from his chest. “Pull me!”

“Fine!” Tightening what little muscles he had, Georgie readied his ears for the sound of a boot clack.

“Another human?” Corvolos questioned. “WHAT A NUISANCE!”

The plan commenced, and the Paladin built his momentum, making two vertical steps upward while Georgie pulled everything in him to launch the knight! He forced his body up the wall and stabbed the cliff with the bone. Georgie darted back up with ease, thanks to his sticky boots. He sprung above the righting warrior and locked eyes with the winged vessel.

“I just need feathers!” Georgie hollered with immense straining. “You're the nuisance!”

Corvolos had been called many things in the distant past but was taken aback by the skinny human. The demon extended its wings to swoop upon the mid-air morsel. Before he could though, the Paladin summoned a glorious beacon of holy energy, letting loose a relentless volley of light waves.

“Radiant Dice!”

As Georgie's boots hit the ground, so did the disintegrating feathers of the possessed bird. Slash after slash the Paladin gave no chance for Corvolos’ puppet to escape. Breaking down into a mess of a hundred long ranged fissures disconnecting every joint in its body. The head landed at the feet of the brewer, holding a deteriorating feather in disappointment.

“I can't even use these,” he grimaced looking down at the twisted bird face. Georgie knew there was another being behind those eyes peering at him. Frustration got the better of him and dejectedly kicked the head over. “Thanks for wasting my time.”

“Georgie,” the Paladin approached. “Are you okay?”

“Just had to let off steam,” he watched as the head vanished in the fall, joining the black sand returning to the sky.

“Thank you,” the Paladin mustered. “I made a reckless mistake, and you came. So, thank you.”

Georgie watched the knight's shoulders bend, the hero's face clamming up embarrassed. Georgie could feel the tension in his words, and it was completely uncomfortable for him. Being casual could have felt demeaning, but sounding happy would have been disingenuous. The vendor had come prepared, but not for another person's humility.

“Six pounds,” he said.

“What?”

“It took me six pounds of spider silk to make the adhesive.”

The Paladin looked at Georgie like he was trying to peer into his mind to understand something. He believed it would have been easier to understand the mind of a wall. Just as the interaction stiffened, the wounded Torriboar reminded the two he was there and squealed sheer aggression. The beast's front hooves scraped the dirt with intent to charge. His rage, blind and nondiscriminatory.

“Huh,” said Georgie, tightening the strap of his messenger bag. “Here I thought this guy would be grateful for the help. I really hate this place.”

“Let's rest after this,” Paladin once more entered his stance, guarding his unlikely ally. “I'm hungry anyway.”