by Sam Ferguson
Simplin spent the night in the Yellow Dragon Inn, wondering how he had gone wrong yet again.
He knew the prophecy backward and forward. He had studied everything about Skidmark the Brown. He knew the hero was in Steinypurd. He had to be here. There must have been something Simplin had overlooked. Yes, that was it. He had overlooked something.
Or perhaps the author was just making a mess of things again. Simplin thought to himself. He kicked his feet out from the covers and pulled the blanket up snug around his shoulders. He liked his feet cold, but his body warm during nights like this when he couldn’t sleep. Then again, he also liked not sharing a room with a snoring drunkard, but there were no private rooms at the Yellow Dragon.
Simplin got out of bed after a particularly loud snore and quietly slipped out of the room. He went down to the main floor and found Genny still awake, and playing a game of solitaire by herself. She smiled at him politely, but then went back to focusing on her cards.
The wizard went to the far end of the main hall and noted a job board he had not seen before. As he inspected it, he shook his head. One advertisement was seeking a group of four or five adventurous souls to go dungeon-diving in a nearby ruin that was sure to be filled with danger and treasure. Another paper mentioned something about a missing glass slipper, which seemed odd to Simplin given how easily glass could break. He still remembered the grand shattering of his once-prized magic mirror. He almost shed a tear over the loss, but then he nearly guffawed aloud as he read the next advertisement that promised to deliver the secrets of attracting any woman by one simple trick, using deer musk.
“How absurd! I pity the people that still fall for those,” Simplin said as he pushed the paper aside to read the one tacked on the board behind it. He frowned when all he saw was a painted hand print with the simple words “We know” written below it. The final three advertisements were like the first, seeking groups of adventurers and asking them to gather here at the Yellow Dragon so they could begin their various quests. For some reason, one of the ads specified that the prospective members of the group had to bring their own dice and that they could only meet on Tuesdays at seven because no other time would work for the DM. Simplin turned around and looked at the tables, imagining some poor old oaf coming in every Tuesday, hoping for a team to form up around him so they could set off on some grand adventure.
Then there was the scream.
Not a normal scream, but the sound of someone who was being murdered in a horrid, excruciating fashion. Simplin dashed outside and saw an orange flash in the night. More screams and shouting followed. Using his magic, he teleported closer to Steinypurd, landing just on the south side of a large pig pen. There were strange shadows flying through the night sky. Fires sprang up through the village. People and animals alike shouted and screamed. Some carried spears or pitchforks, but most simply tried to run.
Simplin knew he would have to act quickly. If he hesitated, there would be needless loss of life. His mind raced back to the night when his home was destroyed. He had promised such a thing would never happen again so long as he could stop it.
A large form sailed past him, screeching and clawing a frightened horse that failed to run away fast enough. An explosion blasted a house some fifty yards away from where Simplin stood. The agonized screams of a woman came from the burning rubble, and then there was a terrible roar and a sickening tearing and ripping sound that cut the screams short.
Simplin launched into action, rushing forward and… down he went to the ground. He slammed his head on the pig-pen on the way down and then tumbled awkwardly, his body twisting at the waist. Something held his feet fast. He summoned a magical light and looked down, terrified that he would find some great demon had already taken hold of him. The wizard breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that he had simply teleported himself into a large pile of manure, and one foot had slipped while the other had been stuck in the pile.
“Clumsy old Simplin,” he chided himself. He pulled himself free and then got up to his feet, ready for the fight at hand. In front of him, a pair of farmers were battling a great monster that looked like a bat, but was larger than a horse. They poked and prodded at it with a spade and a pitchfork, but the creature was too nimble and quick.
Simplin prepared to cast a fireball, but felt a bit of something slick sliding down his forehead that broke his concentration. Knowing that he had just tumbled out of a pile of manure, he reached up to wipe the stuff away. As he pulled his hand down he looked at his sleeve. The magical light above him revealed that he had in fact wiped away a large amount of blood. His blood.
Simplin fainted and fell backward into the large pile of poop.
The wizard didn’t wake again until the light of day reached down and started heating up his already sunburned cheeks. At first he only stirred, flapping an arm at his face as if a bug were disturbing his slumber, but when his arm brushed tender, sunburned skin, he woke with a start and sat up groaning. It took him a few minutes to remember what had happened during the night, and where he was.
The pungent odor helped him piece the puzzle back together. Simplin got up from the pile and angrily shook his clothes. Suddenly, he found himself wishing he knew a spell for doing laundry. He scraped what he could off in the grass and then turned and surveyed the scene around him. There were no buildings standing in Steinypurd now. A couple of walls or chimneys still stabbed at the air amidst heaps of smoldering embers and funnels of smoke rising high into the sky, but there was nothing else.
Dead horses and half-eaten cattle littered the ground along with the charred remains of several villagers. Simplin closed his eyes and tried to take in a few deep breaths to steady his nerves. Still, no matter what technique he employed, whether it was singing an old song, or pretending that he was actually looking at a painting, and not real people, he found his stomach flipping and turning sour very quickly. Soon he had to give up the idea of searching for survivors. Honestly, he doubted there would be any even if he continued looking. He turned up the main road and began the trek back to the Yellow Dragon.
As he was approaching the edge of Steinypurd, he noticed a young man emerging from behind a thicket of briar bushes. He was tall, maybe seventeen years old with wide shoulders, muscular arms, and large legs. His unkempt, brown hair lent itself to softening his otherwise stern expression as he stared at Simplin. A large, double-bladed axe was propped up over his shoulder and he was carrying something in his left hand.
Simplin squinted in the early morning light, trying to see what it was. He gasped when he saw a severed limb clutched in the boy’s hand. It looked as though it belonged to one of those large bat-like creatures, with brown fur covering the leg and black claws stretching out even in death, trying to get its next victim.
“Are you with us or with them?” the boy asked as he held up the severed leg.
Simplin smiled. “You managed to kill one of them with your axe?”
The boy nodded. “I slew two, and took this leg from a third before it fled.”
“Remarkable!” Simplin said as he clapped his hands and moved toward the boy. “Let me see, let me see!”
The boy tossed the leg toward Simplin. The wizard let the limb fall on the road, bouncing once and then rolling off to the side a bit before stopping close to where Simplin stood. The wizard looked down and noted that the limb was about as thick as his forearm. It would have taken a good swing of an axe to cut the thing off of one of the nimble beasts.
“I commend you, young man, for your skill.”
“It wasn’t anything,” the boy replied. “Just doing what had to be done.”
“You said you killed two more?”
The boy nodded. “Off in the field,” he said. “Took one in the face, split him nearly in two. The second I caught in the back as it came in for a horse.”
“Incredible,” Simplin said.
“How many did you kill?” the boy asked.
“Me? Well, I… umm…” Simplin reached for his pipe
, but it wasn’t there. That was when he realized that he had run out in his pajamas. He didn’t have any of his things with him. “What’s your name?”
“I am Lucas,” the boy said.
“What of your family?” Simplin asked, assuming the worst.
Lucas shook his head. “No family to speak of. My mum died giving birth to me. My pa died at sea shortly after that. I stayed with my Gran for a while, but she died as well. Consumption took her while I was a little kid.” Lucas pointed across the field to an old barn. “I have been staying at the Grangers’ place. I help with chores, and they give me food, and I can sleep in the extra stall in the barn whenever I want.”
“So, you’re an orphan?” Simplin said.
Lucas nodded.
Simplin sighed, casting a sidelong glance up toward the sky for Jack. “I am Simplin the Wise, and I am—”
Before he could finish his introduction, a puff of smoke appeared between them, and a tall wizard in gray robes and a tall, pointed hat pulled a long pipe out of his mouth. He cast his gaze at Simplin for a moment, and then turned to Lucas.
“Lucas,” the tall wizard said. “I am Blandalf, and I have a very particular ring I need you to destroy. If you do this, you shall be rewarded—”
“Not another one!” Simplin shouted as he quickly cast a counter charm that reversed Blandalf’s teleportation spell.
“Sorry about that,” Simplin offered.
“Who was that?” Lucas asked. “He looked important.”
“Oh, it was nobody. Now, as I was saying. I have been looking for you.” Simplin went straight into his speech about Skidmark the Brown. Lucas listened intently, and ultimately agreed to join Simplin on the noble quest to wipe Skidmark off the map.
The two stopped briefly at the Yellow Dragon Inn. Inside, Genny was stirring a bowl of porridge and staring sullenly at the empty fireplace. She looked up at the two of them and pointed her spoon, still dripping with steaming porridge, at Simplin.
“He told you not to say his name,” Genny said. “Death always follows when someone mentions the Dark Master’s name.”
“What is she talking about?” Lucas said.
“Nothing, nothing at all,” Simplin said. “Run upstairs and fetch my red bag, will you?”
Lucas nodded and jogged up the steps, disappearing into a hallway.
“I’ve said his name countless times before,” Simplin said as he strolled over to sit next to Genny. “This was just a coincidence, I assure you. Otherwise, I would be dead, for I am the one who said Skidmark’s name.”
“And all the other times you said his name, did anything bad happen then?” Genny asked.
“No, never!” Simplin said with a shake of his head. Then he thought about it a moment and realized he was slightly mistaken. “Well, actually there was this one time, I suppose. Things got a bit hairy for a while. I was talking to a traveler about Skidmark the Brown and…”
Genny fell forward, and her face splashed a great amount of porridge onto the table.
“Oh, now let’s not be childish about it,” Simplin said as he checked himself for splattered food. “If you like, I’ll be a bit more careful.” He glanced at the woman and noticed she was still face down in the bowl. “Genny, you can stop now. The joke’s over.”
No response.
Simplin reached over and felt for her pulse.
Nothing.
“Oh, now that’s just bad timing,” Simplin said with a shake of his head.
“What’s the matter with her?” Lucas asked as he returned with Simplin’s bag.
“Her? Oh, nothing. She’s just… praying before she eats. Come, we should go.”
CHAPTER 3
Heading eastward on the main road, Lucas and Simplin made good time, leaving Steinypurd far behind them. This would be the first of many walking montages in their adventure. You know the kind. You imagine the heroes walking endlessly over snowy mountain peaks, alongside rivers, and across vast fields as your mind’s eye goes into a swirling bird’s eye view.
Well, this was like that. Only it was more boring.
A lot more boring.
Imagine a long dirt road that no one ever travels. Imagine that road extending for more than one hundred miles. This was more like that.
What’s that? You want danger? You want adventure?
Well, Simplin and Lucas did have a hard go of it once they hit mile sixty-one.
What would a wizard and an axe-wielding farm boy do if they were met by a pair of ogres on the road? What if the ogres wanted to eat them, and they charged in without hesitation? Can you see it in your mind? The spittle dripping from the ogres’ teeth, the bulging muscles and the menacing clubs with spikes jutting out of them? The heroes only moments from death as the danger rushes toward them?!
Well, it wasn’t exactly like that.
It was more like a large dust devil that kicked up some dust. But hey, some of it did manage to get into Simplin’s eye. He had to blink nearly twenty times before the stupid thing got cleared out of his eye. It was terrible!
After their troubling encounter with the legendary dust devil, their journey went very smoothly. As they camped on the fourth night, Lucas asked a question that Simplin had been expecting ever since they had left Steinypurd.
“Where, exactly, does the Dark Master live?” the farm boy asked.
“Good question,” Simplin said as he pulled out his pipe and conjured up a plush reclining chair. He reached down and pulled the lever that sent the footstool out and then nestled himself into the plush padding.
“What is that?” Lucas asked.
Simplin frowned. “Good heavens, boy. Don’t you know a recliner when you see one?”
“I’ve never seen one before.”
“Well, I call this one a Lay-zee-boi. It works well on trips, but only when there are no rain clouds in the sky.”
Lucas nodded. “So, about the Dark Master?”
“Do you know of Skull Fortress?” Simplin asked.
Lucas nodded. “I have heard tales and stories about it. A fearsome place up in the north.”
“That’s it,” Simplin said. “Built with crushed bones and the blood of children used as mortar for the stones in the walls, if the legends are to be trusted.”
“That’s horrible!” Lucas said with a shake of his head.
“Yes it is,” Simplin agreed. “They should use proper mortar and cement if they want the structure to last. Foolish villains, always all pomp and no substance.”
“What?” Lucas said.
“What?” Simplin replied. Seeing he had made a gaffe, Simplin puffed on his pipe.
“How long will it take us to reach Skull Fortress?” Lucas asked. “And how will we get in?”
“Oh, I should say it will take weeks, months even, to get there, but we aren’t going in,” Simplin replied matter-of-factly.
“Then how do we defeat Skidmark?”
“Oh, yes, I see the root of the confusion,” Simplin said. “He doesn’t reside in Skull Fortress, I only asked if you knew where it was because it’s a good landmark on the way to our final destination. We will be traveling all the way up into the northwest corner of our land, to a place known only as the Dark Tower.” Simplin waved his hand before him and arched a brow as if to add to the gravity of what he had just told Lucas.
The boy folded his arms. “The Dark Master lives in the Dark Tower?” he said.
“Aye,” Simplin said as he took another puff on his pipe.
“Does he have a Dark Mistress?” Lucas asked.
“No, he’s single,” Simplin replied, missing the joke.
“How about a Dark Dragon?”
“No, no dragons either,” Simplin replied.
“All right then, how about a Dark Weapon.”
“No.”
“Dark Matter?”
“No.”
“Dark Souls?”
“Is this going somewhere specific?” Simplin asked.
Lucas just smiled and leaned bac
k against a log while clasping his hands behind his head. “Just wanted to see what we were up against, that’s all.”
“In any case,” Simplin said with a shake of his head. “We’ll be heading south in the morning, through Spider Woods.”
“South?” Lucas echoed. “But, Spider Woods isn’t even on the way. We could just turn north and head up along the coast line.”
“No, we must go south,” Simplin said.
“But, why?”
Simplin shrugged. “I’m not sure, one second.” Simplin reached into his bag and pulled out a bent and worn notebook and started flipping through the pages.
“What is that?” Lucas asked.
“It’s a very ancient, and very wise tome that helps me solve riddles,” Simplin replied. Lucas reached over and tried to take the book, but Simplin pulled it back out of reach. “This is a dangerous book, filled with every prophecy there is about us and this world! You cannot simply yank it out of my hands. You have to be gentle! Besides, you aren’t ready for the kind of knowledge this book holds.”
“What’s it called?” Lucas asked.
Simplin held it up and displayed the title. “It’s called Plot Notes for Epic Farm Boy,” Simplin said in a huff. “Now if you will let me alone a minute, I am sure I can tell you why we have to go into Spider Woods.”
“Epic Farm Boy? Huh… does it have anything about me in there?” Lucas asked.
“Well of course it does, this is a copy of the Author’s notes!”
“The Author?” Lucas echoed. “Which author?”
“Not any old author, THE Author.”
Lucas stared at Simplin blankly.
“All right, I’ll show you.” Simplin flipped through a few pages. “Look here, it says Lucas is seventeen years old, orphaned from a young age, and is destined to become a great hero.”
“It doesn’t say that,” Lucas said smugly. “You’re just trying to flatter me, but I’ll tell you now it will take more than a few picnics to woo me.”
“It also says you’re skeptical, love the outdoors, and enjoy being around others.”
“Now you’re just saying vague things that everybody enjoys in a pathetic attempt to impress me. I tell you, it won’t work.” Lucas pointed off into the distance. “There was a fortune teller that came to Steinypurd once. She said the same things, and then said I would fall in love with a beautiful young lady in two years’ time. Well, it will have been two years in exactly two more days, and I don’t see any beautiful maidens around here.”