CHAPTER ONE- THE TOWN OF MAN

While during Roberts early childhood he was acutely aware of the world around him. The room he resided, in for a large portion of my time was in a square, its borders were an elaborately painted dark rad. There were several bright squares on the wall, which severed as the main source of light. It was too high to reach but Robert would occasionally catch a glimpse at the pictures behind it.

Another occasional pleasure was the bigger room, the one called the outdoors. The floor was green with little colourful little circles, upon closer inspection they weren’t circles at all but I dismissed them soon enough.

There were other children playing in the field, separate from me and a lot older and bigger. With that came the fact that they were obnoxiously loud and so my distain for my peers was seeded at infancy. I looked out at the distance and saw there was a wall of green.

The adults seemed to gather between me and the other children, they talked amongst themselves while occasionally looking back, aloof. My mother was something of a social elite, and it showed in how they all went silent whenever she talked, and never seemed to disagree. At some point there a rustle, a woman screamed, the air became static and thick.

A beast erupted through the green wall, a hound, huge beast that shrieked at the people around it. Robert was plucked up from the blanket he sat on and bobbed in their arms as they ran away.

He watched from over her shoulder, this was the first semblance of intrigue he had felt and he was going to revel in it. Monster was quickly surrounded by grey men with long grey tipped sticks. The grey men have give off sensations as well, more like the beast than the chorus but still entirely different.

Robert assumed that the monster was dealt with and that was the end of that episode.

What many did not know, was that, on that day the cursed hound was not the only monster to violate the town. A grey troll, a monster of humanoid stator and monstrous proportion, had managed to lumber into the town virtually unnoticed. It strolled through an empty back street when it heard the commotions caused by the other intruder.

Dumbfounded by the sounds it elected to investigate, the dull look on its face mirroring that of a dim-witted child.

At the same time Robert and his mother had separated from the crowd of spectators and where making there way through the town up to their estate. The commotion had attracted a large crowd, causing even the market place to appear disserted.

It was then that she saw it, the monster, the grey troll. For a moment the two stared at each other in silence. It was the infant Robert turning his head to see the beast and cried in response to it, that set the two adults in motion.

Roberts mother tried to run but the troll scooped her up off the ground. In the process, Robert was dropped onto the ground, landing on his side with a smack. Robert cried out in pain but the troll ignored him. It had its prize.

Nearly half an hour later mercenaries, from the same band as the few that dealt with the cursed hound, also found Robert wondering the streets. His eyes were rubbed red and his cheeks were wet with tears. The mercenaries would find Roberts mother around the corner, covered in bruises with her dress torn to shreds. She was had been discarded by the troll, who had subsequently left.

As Robert grew older, and time passed, stumpy legs became long and thin. His fingers grew more dexterous and my mind, clearer. He was still, in many ways a child, one who started to prefer the imaginary to reality.

At first, Robert decided to try to understand the world, an expedition his peers weren’t to keen to partake in. He, aged eleven, walked through the winding path of the town. Robert would take the same walk every afternoon, right after his obligatory lessons and right before the mandatory homework. The route Robert took was especially designed, practised and revised. Everyday, he’d take the same route walking past the wood cutters. He’d give them a smile and they’d return it; then Robert would continue, whistling away without a care in the world. This routine was repeated until the wood cutters smiled first, then they started greeting “hello,” or “Good afternoon, young lad,” the greetings became longer.

Robert came from a position of privilege, he understood that much, and that many of the townspeople saw him as an opportunity to enter the same position. The wood cutter was, no doubt, making a long play towards pushing a daughter or granddaughter on Robert in the not so distant future. His motives were boring but Robert was willing to benefit from the situation with information.

Eventually Robert started asking questions. “What do you do with the wood?”, “Has the wood cutting business always been in your family?” these questions weren’t probing, and it was Robert getting a lay of the land, covering social elements that his education missed.

“Looking into the career are you,” The head Wood cutter said, an old Mr Moore was keen to present himself as jolly to the young Robert.

“Well, you see,” Mr Moore said, “I sell my wood to the merchants in exchange for money, to the farmers in exchange for food and occasionally the blacksmith, he does like charcoal.”

He stopped in his tracks entirely, letting his sons drag the severed logs away.

From this, Robert could map out how much of the village was run. Households ran companies that would produce a narrow number of products, like the wood cutters who kept the business between himself and his sons. Then trade with other similar households until everyone had most of what they needed, and finally sell off the excess to the traveling merchants that would in turn sell it off in the big city.

Robert only saw the merchants around the harvest time once a year so most of the trading going on in the town was done without money at all.

Roberts next stop was near the edge of the farm, there were eight separate farms in total, and it was at this point in the journey that Robert would humour the farmers youngest child. John, a tall, young boy who was easy to make friends with. And every now and again I’d ask him a question or two, “Why are there eight separate fields?” was the first question I posed.

At first he couldn’t reply, but he got John interested, and that was enough. The next day he was happy to report, “My great, great grandfather was a rich farmer who owned a lot of land,” he began reciting the information, “but he had eight sons and didn’t want to leave any of them with nothing.” From there it was simple enough to guess what had happened, the land was separated between the eight sons and each son passed the land on.

John continued by teasing another little fact, “Did you know we’re related?” the boy was getting smarter.

“No, how are we related?” Robert recalled that both his father and his grandfather before him where only children, making it unlikely that he had any close extended family.

“Well,” John began, “My great, great, great granddad was the younger brother of your great, great, great, granddad. They owned all the land together but then my granddad was tricked by your one and that’s why you get to live in that big house.”

Robert nodded at that, “You don’t say,” and Robert left with that fact.

Next Robert tried asking how eight different farmers could profit all at once. Supposedly the sons of the first farmer all agreed to dedicate their land to different produce, with the oldest getting first pick and the second oldest tricking him into leaving the most profitable produce for him, that story made Robert laugh, and to this day the descendants of the second oldest are one of the richest households in the village.

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Roberts next stop was the butchers, house nothing of note there. Though the Butchers daughter had a nice smile to her.

Then the clergy, the clergy was interesting. He was drenched in a magic, a magic that was light and aloof. Outside of his role as a pastor he is, to put it generously, an unappreciated genius, or rather just a scientist –no maybe just a sorcerer is a better word.

The clergy man wouldn’t teach Robert anything practical, he insisted that there were proper channels to go by to study magic and that this was not it. Though he was passionate and Robert was relentless, so it became a regular occurrence that Gerald would lecture Robert about whatever experiments he was working on. These meetings would stand out as a highlight for both of them.

“Would you care to stay awhile?” He’d ask, Robert would naturally agree, and would take a seat in the church.

“Now you see,” he would begin his lecture. It went on for no more than an hour, any longer and Robert would have to insist on leaving.

Pastor Gerald would say, “You see, naturally, magic is inherited, or transferred through consumption. So in the wild, it’s the predators at the top of the wood chain that possesses the most magic power.” Gerald would explain, “Power begets power.”

As Robert understood it, these were all pre-established truths, so he merely nodded and allowed Gerald to explain his latest experiment.

He admitted, “What I’m doing taking it further,” he raised a pea, “What I was trying to do, is make it so this pea passively gathers magic, that is to say, gathers magic without the efforts of a sorcerer assisting it.” He said, the pass at which he talked quickened as he grew excited.

There was something about how genuine it all was, that made Robert smile at I all.

“See, magic can be ingested, consumed, and assimilated,” the pastor proceeded to define half the words he said, a vice that annoyed Robert. Then continued his lecture, “So if I could concentrate and store a substantial quantity of magic in a single pea, it would be a route for even the least gifted of individuals to become extraordinarily powerful.”

“So everyone can be as powerful as you?”

“Exactly,” He blushed.

“You’re a saint,” Robert exclaimed, “trying to make everything fair for everyone,” that alone was enough to make Gerald positively red, and would insure that Robert would be invited to his next lecture, perhaps even learn some real magic as a result.

Beyond what he said though, his experiments where all but encouraged by the church even though practising magic openly is considered a taboo. Only certain people were permitted by the church and anyone else was considered a witch or warlock, an offense punishable by death.

Roberts walk ended back at home. His father is the son of the landlord that owned a large portion of the village and my mother was his faithful wife. The landlord, Roberts’ grandfather and the master of the house, spent much of his time doing very little. While Roberts’ father had taken up much of the responsibilities that came with owning the land. He contracted a band of mercenaries that stood guard over the village, the previously mentioned "grey men" where actually members of the Band of Black Hounds.

So, incase you couldn’t guess, their house was an elaborate one, largely for the sake of showing off. A random ancestors attempts at imitating the lifestyle of the nobles.

Later that night, Roberts’ father, in a moment out of character, tried to teach him a little something himself. In that he gave Robert a lesson in geography- a subject he apparently felt passionate about. Robert's father showed him a map on a stand.

Curiously the map didn’t seem complete. Only the northern hemisphere was shown, where the northernmost parts were large clusters of small islands (each less than a day's sail away from each other). On the other hand large portions of the map, nearer its centre, seemed to feed into a much larger body of land that stretched along the bottom. Then the map stops, just prior to what you would call the equator. It goes without saying that the very top, was capped with an expansive frozen dessert. Supposedly Roberts little town was on the border of a human kingdom called Eshnunna and the southern wastelands.

Father noticed Roberts odd expression after revealing the map and asked “What is the matter, boy?” looking at the map himself and then back at Robert with a quizzical eye. So Robert tested him:

“Is that a map of the whole world?” Robert asked, it would be stupid to just assume so,

“Yes, why?” He looked back at the map as if to check nothing was missing, satisfied he turned back at Robert confused.

Robert gestured towards the southernmost part of the map, “shouldn’t there be something beyond there?” Roberts question made his father smile.

“Now that’s a question,” He said, his excitement almost mirrored that of Pastor Gerald, “Yes there is something below the edge of the map, that much is certain.” He looked at the map and then back to Robert, with a grin, “But what's down there is anyone’s guess.”

Interestingly enough there was more, Father ran his fingers along the bottom edge of the map, “here, is the great storm,” he asserted,

“The great storm?” Robert echoed.

“Yes, it rages on to some degree at all times of the year, right up until the end, then it dies during the colder parts of winter before being reborn the next year with new vigour.” he nodded at his description, as it pleased in the fact. Then he continued “There is something south” he began, “But no man can pass through that storm and with only a few short weeks between its death and rebirth, there really isn’t enough time to traverse the waste lands, discover new lands and return to publish said findings.” for now, Robert would accept what he had to say as fact.

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Underground, however, the world was much grimmer. Imagine if you will, four brick walls. No windows, no light, just four walls. In the darkness, something moves. It expands and contracts, breathing. As if gorging on the air, the being in the darkness inhaled and exhaled audibly.

Monster had been born some years ago. He sat in a damp dungeon, naked and alone. Sometimes he paced the room perhaps a hundred times a day. Sometimes he climbed the walls, wedging his fingers in-between gaps in the brick work a, perhaps a hundred times.

Monster didn’t know about the world beyond those four walls. For the longest time, he’d forget that there was anything out there. The only one he ever had contact with, was Mother.

Right on queue a heavy metal lock clicked and an unseen wooden door squeaked open. The hollow sound of shoes against stone tapped repeatedly, growing louder as she drew closer.

In the doors slim window, Monster could see her. “Muther.”

“Shut up.” She said with disdain, her eyebrows furrowed and her nose clenched whenever she saw the abomination before her now. She opened the door as slightly as possible, had there been anyone in her employment, anyone at all, that she could trust, Monsters “Muther” would never subjugate herself to such a lowly role.

She pushed a tray through the door, on it was stale bread and slightly aged milk. Monster, who at this point knew better than to move in her presence, sat quietly and watched. “Muther,” the word escaped his dry lips as she closed the door, locked it, and walked down the corridor again.

With the second door closed and locked, Monster began feasting on his meal. For the longest while this would be all he knew, and the Monster was content with that.