“To the hunt, we go, brave souls and strong men of the village of Toth. To fight a demon who slumbers with rendered flesh on its breath and the bones of children in its teeth. To slay the beast we go, onward ye men of the village, to end a demon and bestow peace on the land once more. To fight, to slay, to die in glory and honor. Here we come, oh cursed one, may our swords send you back to the master that bore you!” - The Village Of Toth Ballad.

* * *

“Forward brothers! Forward to slay the beast!”

Gorthum’s loud cry drifted down to each man trudging up the mountain side of Toth. The snow and ice pelted the six as they did their best to stay in form, the winds of the unforgiving blizzard slapped to their muscular legs and arms, causing them to ache from the biting cold; the few layers of animal skins that had on for protection, did little to keep them warm. Only their strength and stamina burned like a fire within, for none would allow this mountain’s icy breath to end them on this day. Six in total marched upwards to their fate.

The madman, who led them on this excursion, urged them on like master welding a whip, and snapping it down onto their sore hides. Young Kergan, son of Ulath, did his best to keep up at the rear. He wasn’t as well built as the rest of the group, but strong enough to endure and keep watch from anything that should come from behind. Gorthum was a wild man from the East, the one who foretold of a terrible creature that was snatching up children in the night and feasting on the weak villagers as they made their pilgrimage across the underside of Toth’s mountainside.

For days on end, Gorthum would appear in Kergen’s village and bellow out his claim of a beast of unyielding hunger. He would travel village to village seeking champions to aid him on his quest to rid the mountain of this terror that plagued all within its sight. Most would ignore his rant and not dare to glance at the wild-eyed stranger. They thought him to be a wandering madman, fevered from a disease from having eaten some rotten animal, and believing in his own nightmare spawned from it.

Kergen was just a child when this stranger first came, enticing the boy of ten with these horror stories of a demon beyond the snowy mountain. The dreaded tales of the creature luring the minors from their homes, snatching them away from their villages and feasting on their flesh, terrified and excited the boy to no end. And while this might have thrilled this young villager time after time, the other people dismissed his continuous calls for warriors to slay the beast.

Did other outlying villages heed to the man’s call? Kergen didn’t know. Contact with them was limited, at best, and only ever done when desperate for trade and supplies during the roughest winter months. But, Kergen figured they must have refused the offer, seeing how he returned numerous times, eight more years, to be precise. Each time, Gorthum appeared heartbroken that no one was willing to join him on his dangerous quest.

Now, as a man, Kergan was looking for a chance to prove his valour. But who else would step up and seek out this great adventure? It surprised him and Gorthum that many did this time round. So here they were, marching up the mountain to face a creature they’ve never seen, nor knew nothing about—only the stories from some raving lunatic.

“Where is this beast?” Sotolar shouted back to rabid man leading them. “We walk for days, starving, with little rest, and still, we see no sign of it.”

Sotolar, son of Mortath, was the one who convinced Kergen and the others to put an end to this legend of terror. Each one was a friend or an acquaintance; there was Durgat, son of Guff the elder, Twillaf, son of Lagarness the butcher, and Bilto, the unwanted drifter. For nearly eight years Gorthum had come to each of their villages and spun many a tale of the beast. Sotolar joined the man and helped to rally more to his quest. Kergen had gained respect for Sotolar, who was friendly to him like an elder brother.

Sotolar was swayed by Gorthum’s continual earnestness and vocal magnetism. It solidified the man’s account of multiple encounters with this ungodly creature. It was a challenge, that stirred his blood, and made him desire fame and fortune if he could defeat this underworld demon. Gorthum laughed at Sotolar’s question and pointed with exuberance at the mountain.

“The beast does not present itself in plain sight! Nor hide in places that are easily found. No, Sotolar, this beast uses its surroundings well. The mountain is his playground, the snow and ice mere coverings to hide his white mane and teeth.”

“Aye, you know it best.” Sotolar conceded.

“That I do, my friend.” Gorthum gleefully laughed. “I’ve studied its behaviour for a long time. It is a cunning beast.”

Kergen tried hard to hear them speak. The wind blew so hard, it drifted their words away and down the mountainous slope. The snow was indeed harsh this day, but no worst than other day of the year, he thought. Their world was nothing but ice and snow. A buried landscape of thick white, with only a few trees of pine daring to grow, and solid rock that shielded the compacted dirt underneath. A day would come, as some would believe, when the great sun would melt the world and end the thousand year curse, as legend foretold.

“I say you are mad!” Bilto, the unwanted, shouted at Gorthum. “Mad and leading us into falsehood. There is no beast! No cursed creature running about in this barren wasteland. I grow weary of your lies, old fool! I was stupid to join this doomed quest of yours.”

“You sound like the women of home.” Gorthum chuckled. His laughter grew in the thought. “Oh, but listen to the weary whimpers of a tired old woman? Eh? My-my, how such an outing as this has made you so frightened. No wonder you are called, the unwanted.”

“Stow that tongue!” He barked back at him, reaching for his sword strapped to his backpack. “I fear nothing! Least of all a maniac such as yourself! I would sooner take my broadsword and slice your face off to remove it!”

Gorthum mockingly taunted him, gesturing posthumously. That only enraged Bilto as he continued to reach back and grabbed the hilt of his weapon.

“At ease, Bilto.” Durgat, son of Guff said, as he rushed over to halt the man from unsheathing his sword. “We are all tired of this journey. Hunger and thirst had weaken our senses. The beast would enjoy seeing us all turn on one another. For what better prey is a man who is weak and devoid of wit.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Well said, my young friend.” Gorthum nodded.

He took long steps from his position, walking over to Durgat, who released Bilto’s arm and brushed aside his long fair hair as the wind flopped it in his face. Gorthum patted Durgat’s huge shoulders of muscle and grinned with delight.

“The beast is a clever one. Just as I told you over the many years. You must be strong in mind and in body to combat this monster we seek.” He glared at each of them and brushed the snow from his long grey moustache and beard. “I’ve seen many a man fall to his doom, because he wasn’t prepared for such an attack. I myself wasn’t ready for when the beast pounced, giving me this mark across my chest as warning of my stupidity.”

He opened his garment of furs, showing the wound to all, and then quickly covered up again, as the bitter cold wind sent a shiver on his bare skin.

“So, you were there.” Kergen spoke.

“I was, my boy, I was.”

“I don’t remember you speaking of this before,” Kergen glanced at him. “I only heard you speak of the others, the few that found the courage to battle the beast on your behalf. Those brave souls who tried to take on the beast alone. Never did you speak of your own account.”

“Hrmpf!” Gorthum sneered at him. “You were but a mere cub when I talked of such things. I told my own story before you were a glint in your mother’s eye. Even then, those that would listen, mocked my pain and turned their backs. Fools and cowards the lot of them! So few men dared to show their bravery.”

“But, they didn’t survive.” Kergen shrugged. “What chance have we then?”

“We are young and strong,” Sotolar answered back. “They were old men. I remember the stories. The younger ones were cowards.”

“Indeed, they were.” Gorthum nodded. “As much as I pleaded, none would show any sign of interest. It would take a whole other generation to heed my warning and join me on my quest.”

Gorthum glanced at each young man and nodded with pride.

“You are the future. The ones who will go on into legend, and be adored by all. Brave souls who marched together and slaughter the killer beast. With one there’s no chance, but with many… ah, yes… many a fine strong youthful lot, we shall smite the beast for good!”

The men smiled and nodded to each other. The thought of being legends and worshiped for all time pleased their egos greatly. Young men with so much to prove before their old age always do. Kergen felt a moment of shame for doubting the old man. He was going out of his way to lead this group into glory, perhaps to grab some of that for himself, but—in his eyes—Gorthum was already a legend. The only man to survive the beast’s attack and live to tell the tale. Now he’s here, taking them on an adventure, knowing his own life could be forfeit at any given moment. So could all of them, for that matter.

“Enough talk,” Twillaf dismissed with a hand. “I am cold and the icy winds make me even more so by standing here chattering.”

He removed his triple horned helmet briefly, to slick back his long black hair, and wiped the crusting ice off the fur trim.

“We must continue on before night sets in. If the beast doesn’t show itself before then––well––I say we make camp and get our rest.”

“I agree.” Bilto nodded, giving the old man, Gorthum, a wry stare.

“As do I…” Solotar said.

“And I…” Kergen agreed.

“I see,” Gorthum said, twisting his upper lip with malice. He glanced back at the mountain, and then back to each of them. “Very well, young legends, we will move on till night. Then, as you say, make camp if not dead by the beast’s hand.”

With no more words to be shared amongst them, Gorthum returned to lead the group and pressed on up the mountainside. Kergen shivered slightly as he adjusted his furs, feeling for the small pack attached to his back underneath. The supplies were light, with only a few tools, some dried meat, and an animal bladder full of water to drink. Each one had the same strapped to their backs, where the heat from it would keep the items from freezing solid.

Kergen was startled by hand slapping onto his brawny shoulder from behind, and glanced up to see Twillaf grinning at him. The man was a silent as a field mouse. The wind and the fog of the snowfall obscured his approach.

“Come Kergen,” He nodded. “Do not fiddle so much, we need to move on.”

“I was just making sure my water was not leaking out.”

“The women made sure it was tight.” He smiled again, with another reassuring pat. “As tight and wet they will be, once we return with our prize. I doubt any woman would refuse giving you a much well-deserved night of passion for saving them all.”

“Aye,” Bilto snickered, glancing back at them upon hearing their conversation. “Then you can spill out all the liquid you can on them!”

“You perverted soul!” Twillaf laughed back at him. “Have you no shame?”

Kergen smirked with a mild embarrassment. He was looking forward to that. Women hadn’t been too keen on spending the night with him. He wasn’t as well endowed, nor as sculpted muscular-wise as the rest of the men in the village. He certainly wasn’t buff as Twillaf and the others on this quest. Women seemed to find him less desirable and more unwanted than… well… Bilto, the unwanted. He was called that because he was born without parents. A child abandoned in a field outside their village and taken care of by all the women who had no child of their own. His upbringing was that of being drifter, a vagrant, the ‘unwanted’—as most would find him too troublesome to take care of.

Bilto had become a very buff, and well shaped man. Women had no issue with his past, or the lack of his manners. He was horrible to them, and yet, women flocked to his feet as if he was a forbidden fruit. Kergen couldn’t believe it. Did a man have to be so cruel to command respect? Well, that would not be him. He was different, yes, but cruel? No, never cruel, it wasn’t who he was. He would give women of his village the respect they deserved. He would be friends with many, but, nothing more in their eyes.

Kergen thought he was fit enough, wide shoulders and a toned physique, but, not as bulked as many men in his village. They could lift rocks twice the size over their heads, where as he could at least lift bails of hey over the fence to feed the livestock. He felt his arms and sighed. He was not a man, or at least, a man with an overly toned physique like his fellow journeymen. He hoped this quest would change everything for him.

“I’ve never been so far up this mountain before…” Kergen said, changing the topic while gesturing with his hands. “It’s wider and taller than how it looks from the base of it.”

“Indeed,” Twillaf snickered, humoring his friend, as he guided him back to the others walking in single file. “Toth Mountain is the largest in the entire land. Probably the world, I reckon. Not that I’ve seen the world, of course, but I’ve heard many a wanderer say as such. It’s no surprise that a beast, as evil and deadly as this, could hide so easily among its many peaks and caverns.”

“You believe the beast is real?”

“I do,” Twillaf nodded.

“But, without a claw or tooth to see with our own eyes? How? How can we believe so much in something we have not seen?”

“The wind is real…” He motioned to Kergen. “You feel it, yet it is not visable, yes?”

“The snow reveals it,” Kergen replied, letting the blizzard’s flakes cluster on his tattered cloth wrapped hand. “I see it, with this.”

“Only because it is snow, snow is real until it melts, much like the wind comes and dies away afterwards.”

“What is keeping you two?” Gorthum hollered at them. “Keep moving! Lest the beast take you and send you to the Shadowlands of the Dead!”

Both Kergen and Twillaf glared up at him and waved. Their deep discussion would have to be solved at another time. Kergen was always the curious one of the village, asking questions about such uninteresting topics that usually made the other men mock his intellect. There was more to life than stupid questions such as this. But, because he was a gentle soul and a fine friend to many, they would occasionally give in to his child-like wonderment. Even if it was boring and not as stimulating as going on a hunt.

“To fight, to slay, to die in glory and honor.” Kergen uttered, as he remembered the ballad in his head. “Off we go…”

“Aye,” Twillaf growled. “Off we go!”