Story: Sticks and Stones, part 1
Title: Sticks and Stones (part 1)
Author: grimcognito
Rating: PG-13 (barely)
Genre: Fantasy
Disclaimer: These characters are mine, so no stealing.
Author Notes: Challenge entry for writerverse. This was supposed to be a drabble, but I am apparently incapable of writing anything under 1000 words. For those who aren't nerdy D&D gamers like myself, a Treant is (very simplified) a tree-person/creature, and a rock golem, is pretty much a rock person/creature.
Summary: Ever wonder what happens to the creatures that adventurers defeat? Maybe it's time for them to be the main characters.
Word Count: 1237
Oakrym stumbled forward a couple of steps, wincing as he tried to swallow, his mouth so dry it felt more like he’d eaten a handful of hot sand. Damn those adventurers always traipsing through his patch of forest, always wanting to pick fights. He’d almost had them, until their wizard cast some sort of spell that yanked him from his lovely home to this hellish place.
The ground here was hard and dry, the sky was a long expanse of blue without a cloud in sight to give the slightest reprieve from the sun, and the only signs of life nearby were a few scraggly, bleached out excuses for shrubs. Oakrym shuddered at the thought of having to take root in such a terrible place and brushed his fingers over the shrubs in sympathy, lending them a tiny bit of strength. He ached afterward, giving them precious bits of his life energy when he needed it just as much, but it was worth it when they seemed to straighten just a bit, their leaves and bristles looking a tad less brown and dried out.
He continued on, for when he’d first arrived, he’d recognized the large mountain he’d been transported close to. His forest was on the other side. His plan to make it back was becoming dimmer and dimmer, though, just as each step he took seemed to take every ounce of his strength and far too much time to accomplish. He’d been here for five days, resting only for short periods to recoup his focus.
On the first night he’d tried sleeping, but things had moved around him, shadows crawling across the ground at the edge of his vision, soft scraping sounds of something moving over small stones, and he’d not hesitated in continuing his trek. The noises and shadows only seemed to appear when he was at his most vulnerable; when he tried to sleep, when his steps slowed to almost a halt from exhaustion, when he could barely make out the shapes on the mountain at night. So he kept moving, even as his vision blurred, he knew what direction the mountain was in. He was nearly at the base of it, and it was hard to miss arriving at a mountain, bad vision or no.
A step later, he stumbled and fell to one knee, his body creaking and a few leaves drifting down from his dried out foliage. He pressed a hand to the ground and tried to lift himself, but his body refused to listen. A deep breath did more damage than good when the delicate skin inside of his nostrils cracked and dark sap trailed sickly-slow down toward his chin.
Something slid along the loose rocks nearby and Oakrym turned his head as fast as he could manage, squinting toward the direction he’d heard the noise, but all he could see was the bright grey-white of the ground. He blinked hard, his vision clearing enough for him to see that nothing seemed out of place, and he shivered. Something was here with him, waiting until he was too weak to fight back. Now he was a prime target, weaker than a newly sprouted sapling, and he couldn’t even manage to get to his feet, much less fight off an enemy.
Another skitter of something moving from behind him, closer this time, and a hiss of air, like a whisper, rasping an ominous. Oakrym tried to turn and fell to his side, gasping for air and wishing for water as his vision swam, shifting in time with the throbbing in his skull.
He felt it, whatever it was-something dark and hungry-surrounding him, sliding closer, and he could only curl tighter into himself. No matter how he tried, he had nothing left in him to fight with, he was going to die here in this miserable place. Through narrowed eyes, he saw the dark shapes gather on the ground and rise to form some sort of beast. The details were lost to him, but it was shaped like stout, wide-bodied wolf, a squat face and thick forearms ending with long claws. It snarled, stepping closer to him and he glared back as best he could, determined to face his demise.
Then, oddly enough, the beast snapped its head up to look past Oakrym, as if startled. He realized that the throbbing of his body wasn’t just from his pounding head ache, but the ground vibrating under him with a steady thump-thump-thump. Barely had the thought crossed his mind before a large grey shape hurtled through his line of sight.
The shadowy creature tried to shift into wisps of darkness once more, but didn’t change fast enough, and the grey shape smashed into it with a sickening crunch and a cut off screech from the beast. The blur slowed enough from Oakrym to see it was vaguely person shaped as it heaved the beast a good ways away, out of Oakrym’s line of sight, where it hit the ground with a solid thump and another cry of pain.
He wondered for a moment if he’d just been saved from one beast to be eaten by another, but his mind was slipping away despite the fear, unconsciousness swallowing him in. He tried to push it back, to no avail, and the last thing he saw was a large grey shape reaching out toward him.
……………
Oakrym woke feeling, strangely enough, better than when he’d passed out. He blinked away the blur of sleep and was sure he’d died in that awful place and arrived in the afterlife. He was lying in a clearing, water splashing over the lower halves of his legs where they were set in a shallow stream that divided the grassy clearing neatly in half, and most glorious of all; he was surrounded by trees.
He slowly sat up, taking it all in. The clearing itself was a good size, perhaps forty paces long and nearly as many wide, carpeted in sweet smelling green grass. The sky was blue and dotted with large fluffy clouds, and Oakrym sighed happily as he soaked in the gentle sunlight. He stood and pulled his feet from the water to dig his toes in the soft grass and welcoming soil.
As he was listening to the birdsong in the air that he heard the approaching of something large, and apparently quite ungainly, making its way through the trees toward his clearing. Surely nothing would harm him in the afterlife; at least, he hoped not. It was when he caught a glimpse of the approaching figure that he had serious second thoughts about actually being dead.
Large, and a far too familiar shade of pale grey, the thing ambled into the clearing clearly did not belong in this place. Now that he wasn’t blind with pain and exhaustion, Oakrym could see that it was a rock golem, his figure much like a human’s, though he was half again the height of a normal adventurer, and his skin was rough stone.
Then Oakrym had a horrifying thought. What if the adventurer’s spell had worn off, and he had returned to the forest-clearly another treant’s territory, for it was unfamiliar to him-and unknowingly dragged this thing back with him?
Mother Earth, he prayed, as he dug his feet further into the ground, readying himself for a fight, lend me strength.
Author: grimcognito
Rating: PG-13 (barely)
Genre: Fantasy
Disclaimer: These characters are mine, so no stealing.
Author Notes: Challenge entry for writerverse. This was supposed to be a drabble, but I am apparently incapable of writing anything under 1000 words. For those who aren't nerdy D&D gamers like myself, a Treant is (very simplified) a tree-person/creature, and a rock golem, is pretty much a rock person/creature.
Summary: Ever wonder what happens to the creatures that adventurers defeat? Maybe it's time for them to be the main characters.
Word Count: 1237
Oakrym stumbled forward a couple of steps, wincing as he tried to swallow, his mouth so dry it felt more like he’d eaten a handful of hot sand. Damn those adventurers always traipsing through his patch of forest, always wanting to pick fights. He’d almost had them, until their wizard cast some sort of spell that yanked him from his lovely home to this hellish place.
The ground here was hard and dry, the sky was a long expanse of blue without a cloud in sight to give the slightest reprieve from the sun, and the only signs of life nearby were a few scraggly, bleached out excuses for shrubs. Oakrym shuddered at the thought of having to take root in such a terrible place and brushed his fingers over the shrubs in sympathy, lending them a tiny bit of strength. He ached afterward, giving them precious bits of his life energy when he needed it just as much, but it was worth it when they seemed to straighten just a bit, their leaves and bristles looking a tad less brown and dried out.
He continued on, for when he’d first arrived, he’d recognized the large mountain he’d been transported close to. His forest was on the other side. His plan to make it back was becoming dimmer and dimmer, though, just as each step he took seemed to take every ounce of his strength and far too much time to accomplish. He’d been here for five days, resting only for short periods to recoup his focus.
On the first night he’d tried sleeping, but things had moved around him, shadows crawling across the ground at the edge of his vision, soft scraping sounds of something moving over small stones, and he’d not hesitated in continuing his trek. The noises and shadows only seemed to appear when he was at his most vulnerable; when he tried to sleep, when his steps slowed to almost a halt from exhaustion, when he could barely make out the shapes on the mountain at night. So he kept moving, even as his vision blurred, he knew what direction the mountain was in. He was nearly at the base of it, and it was hard to miss arriving at a mountain, bad vision or no.
A step later, he stumbled and fell to one knee, his body creaking and a few leaves drifting down from his dried out foliage. He pressed a hand to the ground and tried to lift himself, but his body refused to listen. A deep breath did more damage than good when the delicate skin inside of his nostrils cracked and dark sap trailed sickly-slow down toward his chin.
Something slid along the loose rocks nearby and Oakrym turned his head as fast as he could manage, squinting toward the direction he’d heard the noise, but all he could see was the bright grey-white of the ground. He blinked hard, his vision clearing enough for him to see that nothing seemed out of place, and he shivered. Something was here with him, waiting until he was too weak to fight back. Now he was a prime target, weaker than a newly sprouted sapling, and he couldn’t even manage to get to his feet, much less fight off an enemy.
Another skitter of something moving from behind him, closer this time, and a hiss of air, like a whisper, rasping an ominous. Oakrym tried to turn and fell to his side, gasping for air and wishing for water as his vision swam, shifting in time with the throbbing in his skull.
He felt it, whatever it was-something dark and hungry-surrounding him, sliding closer, and he could only curl tighter into himself. No matter how he tried, he had nothing left in him to fight with, he was going to die here in this miserable place. Through narrowed eyes, he saw the dark shapes gather on the ground and rise to form some sort of beast. The details were lost to him, but it was shaped like stout, wide-bodied wolf, a squat face and thick forearms ending with long claws. It snarled, stepping closer to him and he glared back as best he could, determined to face his demise.
Then, oddly enough, the beast snapped its head up to look past Oakrym, as if startled. He realized that the throbbing of his body wasn’t just from his pounding head ache, but the ground vibrating under him with a steady thump-thump-thump. Barely had the thought crossed his mind before a large grey shape hurtled through his line of sight.
The shadowy creature tried to shift into wisps of darkness once more, but didn’t change fast enough, and the grey shape smashed into it with a sickening crunch and a cut off screech from the beast. The blur slowed enough from Oakrym to see it was vaguely person shaped as it heaved the beast a good ways away, out of Oakrym’s line of sight, where it hit the ground with a solid thump and another cry of pain.
He wondered for a moment if he’d just been saved from one beast to be eaten by another, but his mind was slipping away despite the fear, unconsciousness swallowing him in. He tried to push it back, to no avail, and the last thing he saw was a large grey shape reaching out toward him.
……………
Oakrym woke feeling, strangely enough, better than when he’d passed out. He blinked away the blur of sleep and was sure he’d died in that awful place and arrived in the afterlife. He was lying in a clearing, water splashing over the lower halves of his legs where they were set in a shallow stream that divided the grassy clearing neatly in half, and most glorious of all; he was surrounded by trees.
He slowly sat up, taking it all in. The clearing itself was a good size, perhaps forty paces long and nearly as many wide, carpeted in sweet smelling green grass. The sky was blue and dotted with large fluffy clouds, and Oakrym sighed happily as he soaked in the gentle sunlight. He stood and pulled his feet from the water to dig his toes in the soft grass and welcoming soil.
As he was listening to the birdsong in the air that he heard the approaching of something large, and apparently quite ungainly, making its way through the trees toward his clearing. Surely nothing would harm him in the afterlife; at least, he hoped not. It was when he caught a glimpse of the approaching figure that he had serious second thoughts about actually being dead.
Large, and a far too familiar shade of pale grey, the thing ambled into the clearing clearly did not belong in this place. Now that he wasn’t blind with pain and exhaustion, Oakrym could see that it was a rock golem, his figure much like a human’s, though he was half again the height of a normal adventurer, and his skin was rough stone.
Then Oakrym had a horrifying thought. What if the adventurer’s spell had worn off, and he had returned to the forest-clearly another treant’s territory, for it was unfamiliar to him-and unknowingly dragged this thing back with him?
Mother Earth, he prayed, as he dug his feet further into the ground, readying himself for a fight, lend me strength.