All in a Days Work
My name is Ozzob Eskeen and the one thing I know is experience… A person’s
life experience is the currency that dictates his soul’s worth. Everyone must strive to truly live and feel
every moment of every day. Wealth is not
the meaning of life. Material
possessions are not man’s reason for being.
Power, despite all the glorious implications, is not a shield of
fearlessness. I endeavor to learn every
day, to expand my knowledge into areas where mortals seldom go, and with this
knowledge–-which translates into strength-–I trek into the world and indulge in
every experience I can.
#
A child’s voice yelled, “Tag, you’re it!”
Several human children played in the edge of an untamed forest, ducking and hiding among trees, bushes and crags.
Under a swift skip-run, one kid tagged another, “Della’s it, she’ll never catch us.”
Awkward legs made tromping through the woods at speed a difficult proposition; safety was the last thing on the minds of these children. Della, the youngest of the bunch, ran hard; a gnarled wooden branch jumped up and grabbed her foot. She tumbled down, caught in the ankle-twisting vice; her arm, elbow, and knee scraped across a bed of rough gravel.
Moments later, before anyone had an inclination to summon help, a hooded man appeared from within the deep wood. Della tried to keep quiet; she strained to look back home--seeking salvation and her parents. The man broke into stride after spotting Della. A dash-wall of air rippled his lackluster red cloak; his hood blasted away to reveal a familiar young face. He quickly hopped over some rocks and was at Della’s side with a flush blend of nurture and concern.
“Shhhh.”
“Ozzob, you’re back?”
“Yes, now just relax…”
Ozzob spoke in solemn tones. The un-riled honesty of his voice was so strong that even his curses could have put the child to sleep. The sorcerer’s hand moved across the child’s body, a white hued volume extended from his palm. For a minute the world was motionless, Ozzob’s long strait hair hung in the wind, frozen mid-flow. He wore simple road gear: thick brown boots, common clothes, and a trademark tool belt.
At some indiscernible moment, animation returned to the world. Fully healed, Della’s features exploded into a thick smile. Ozzob stood and helped Della to her feet. The other children returned with a beautiful young woman in tow. Tension instantly faded when the two adults locked eyes.
“I am glad that you finally came back.”
“Has it been that long?”
“Not really, just seemed so.”
“Mia, you grow more striking every time I see you.”
One of the children yelled, “Your still it Della!”
They broke away in all directions; resuming the game. Ozzob put a step forward and walked with Mia back into town.
“Any new families move in while I was gone?”
“A few, yes. Woodwake has become a kind of resort.”
“Is that why you came?”
“That situation is just a bit more complicated, but the community benefits from your family.”
“Don’t go too far, the community is far more than me and my father.”
“I’m serious; your father is a great man, and everyone feels protected near you. It is difficult to explain.”
“I see… probably just the location though.”
“This place has a type of… glorious beauty when compared to what else I have seen of this world.”
The two continued to discuss trivialities with a wry smile as they edged into Woodwake. Ozzob surveyed new constructions while heading for the center of town. Founded with a collection of simple homes, the village grew on a weekly basis. Early in life, the main path passed by a half-dozen doors. That same stretch now cradled over a hundred. Ozzob’s walk home seemed to stretch on forever.
“Let me go see what there into now.” Mia headed off between two buildings.
Ozzob continued deeper, several citizens offered a wave and nod as he passed. His long-walked legs were weary from travel, screaming for a simple rest in his favorite chair. Eventually, the returning sorcerer dug to the end of fanfare and found a way to his front door; a sign hung nearby, marked in a couple letterings that the Eskeen family store was open. Mia appeared from a neighboring corner; she held a fresh fruit pie.
“What’s this?”
“I just wanted to welcome you home properly.”
“Gracious, indeed.”
Ozzob offered a slight bow and accepted the gift. Mia pushed into his stature and stole a soft kiss from his lips; she spun away with a loft bounce and quickly disappeared behind a corner. Inside, the road-worn sorcerer swiftly passed through a common room--lined with shelves and knick-knacks--and moved up the stairs. He found seclusion and rest in his private study.
Loose pages and books drenched Ozzob’s workplace. For years, he has been gathering books of all languages from across all civilized lands. The tomes stacked about in some sort of haphazard filing scheme--a careful and attentive mind could find little order in the chaos. Ozzob managed to clear a spot for the freshly baked present.
Leaving the pie to air for a bit, the sorcerer sat down and started fumbling through blank papers. He rummaged for a full inkwell. The worktop had an odd aura of organization despite a decidedly cluttered appearance. The layout injected speed to his writing; the pen launched. He feverishly scrawled, not caring about organization of words, just the documentation of experience. His story began…
#
On a day barely indiscernible from the
previous, I began to hear a summons in my mind, some ancient magic that stirred
deep in the forest. I felt compelled to
investigate, not because this force pulled me, I easily could have resisted or
simply blocked it out. I did not,
because this would be a trek into the unknown, and that is why I live.
I traveled into the deep wood; every step
brought me closer to whatever force was speaking with my bones. I could feel the power of another being and
realized, whatever was emitting this compulsion would probably sense me
coming. I was prepared; masking my approach
was not hard.
After a steady days march from town, I found
my way to an old temple. Ruined and
destroyed, I could see elements of the old design; this place would have levels
below the ground. The compulsion to go
inside was almost overwhelming, but I decided to wait, and enter on the next
day. Patience was good practice, and
observation, a dutiful teacher.
People from all walks of life entered the
ruin and disappeared over the hours before nightfall, the message remained
constant in my mind; the voice was calling to me… the voice was speaking
directly to me… the voice could have been aimed at them all. I would have to enter the ruin if I was ever
to find out what was going on.
As I stood, another man appeared; he was a
brutish young warrior scamp of clothing and carrying a mighty full-blade over
his shoulder. He trudged through the
forest taking a direct path to the tomb entrance. I wanted to follow him but I did not wish to
break whatever had a grip on his mind. I
would have to be silent and unseen.
Quickly, before he passed from my sight I
produced a small mirror from under my cloak and gazed deep into my own
skin. I carved a spell and forced my
body to merge with the surroundings.
Looking in the mirror, I could hardly make out a blur between my face
and the tree. The magic of my spell
would not last forever but the interval would be sufficient.
I put haste in my step and closed the gap to
the nameless warrior. I followed to a
stonework staircase leading into an old burial chamber; I feared what we might
find in such a slag crypt. I paced
myself behind my unknowing scout as we crept through the innards.
A woman’s voice began to speak to me, us,
seductive yet intriguing. “Come to me my
child… You are that which I most desire…
You are the one who brings me life, my reason for being… Come to me…”
The voice was a chant; ghastly words incited
by a spirit that lived in the state of un-death. I continued behind my friend as though he
dangled from a hook. I could sense that
we were almost upon whatever was sending the call. Finally, I saw a shape; she was human and
alive, scantly dressed with the look of a common brothel girl.
The instant a light caught her face; I knew
this was a ruse. I had to learn more, I
needed the details. The body I now gazed
upon could have been that of the woman I saw enter earlier. My thoughts danced at what her purpose might
be.
Maybe she was some sort of vile necromancer,
one whom delights in the sufferings of others and engages in decadent acts with
the dead. Perhaps she was calling people
to her so that they might serve as slaves, or serve as containers; maybe she
was not what she appeared to be and simply needed to feast.
In my contemplation, which had turned into
self-distraction, I had not noticed the warrior move to her; they stood inches
apart, apparently communicating. I tried
to sense his thoughts, but his mind was in a storm; if I broke in then I would
surely get attention from the witch. I
could not be that careless with my actions.
I desperately needed information about the
warrior. What was the quality of his character?
Could I trust him or would I have to fight the both of them? I thought of a
deception where his reaction would show the excellence of his soul.
I stepped from the shadows, released my
spell and spoke. “Bathe the evil wretch
in her own blood. We do not need this
creature fogging the issues young warrior.
I summoned you.”
#
Ozzob’s pen scratched into the page; his inkwell had run dry. After a feint snicker, the sorcerer brought a powerful gaze to bear on the empty jar. In moments, a blackish cloud materialized and filled the basin. Satisfied, with the contents fully restored, Ozzob stretched out in the chair.
His face bore a mask of remembrance; sliding through choreographed motions, his stature flowed as if rehearsing for a staged fight. He wielded an imaginary sword with graceful discipline, cleaving envisioned phantoms. After a minute, the feelings passed. He picked off and consumed a piece of piecrust, and then returned pen to page.
#
If the warrior had attacked me, then I would have known he was under the witch’s control. If she were able to contend with me, then my poor piece of bait would have been under her control at that point. The way things evolved created both an unusual situation and interesting outcome.
In a flash, the warrior’s blade was ready to
strike, but he could not decide at whom he should aim his blow. The witch, completely baffled by my
appearance, turned instantly hostile; she would soon be upon me. A quick action would be the deciding factor;
the young warrior just needed a little incentive to strike her down.
If he did kill her solely on my word then I
would know he was a man of low morals; in which case a sad task lay before me–I
would have to extinguish them both…
I invoked a spell; my hands became encased
in tangible electricity as though I had dipped then in some a great
thunderbolt. I knew the spell would look
intimidating in the darkness, and if things got out of control, I could protect
myself. I reached out with a hand and
pointed at the girl; energy globules dripped from my fingertip.
“Slay her warrior. Do as I command!”
By this time, the witch had gathered her
composure and was reeling to strike me.
The game was over and it was time to fight, the youngster stood and
watched us. She dove in at me,
thorn-like claws scraped for any opening in my defense.
Her attack was a flurry, the assault looked
unorganized and fury driven; on the receiving end, I found her strikes to be
decisive and well placed, but not well enough, she had yet to land a
damage-dealing blow.
“I tire easily woman, and this is wearing
thin.”
I remember glancing over to see if the
warrior was enjoying the show, I could not see him anywhere. That worried me, so I decided to finish this
encounter. A quick move and I had
latched onto her head with both hands; in one violent release, I discharged
every bit of stored energy.
She shuttered and closed her eyes with
fervor; I feared her head might explode so I started stepping back, blocking
the would-be blast with my hands. The
witch’s body slowed to a silence and she fell lifeless on the floor. For a moment, I stood silent and observed the
body.
Suddenly, I felt a slight twinge in my back;
I was feeling the tip of the warrior’s blade.
I restarted my spell; and again my hands sheathed in energy.
“Why try to deceive me?” bellowed a stern
voice.
“How did you know I was trying to deceive
you?”
“Wasn’t sure; but you just admitted as
much.”
“Hmmm, well now that you know, what do you
intend to do?”
“Return home.”
I released my spell; in moments, the energy
covering of my hands dripped away.
“I only want the same.”
I could no longer feel the blade at my back,
hearing footsteps I turned around. The
man stood a bit away with his back turned, surveying the crypt.
“I don’t know the way out.”
I walked up to him and touched his shoulder.
“I know the way friend.”
“Armand Greenwall, and you?”
“Armand, you may call me Ozzob.”
#
The
original foundation buildings made a small circle in the center of town. Baddlack’s
A voice called out from behind, “Are you up here old man?”
Baddlack turned to find an opened trap door, “The only old man up here, be you.”
Ingrlo emerged from the hatch.
“What are you hiding up here for?”
“No hiding, just watchin for any last light customers.”
“I am right here.”
Baddlack finally noticed the empty mug. “A pint then?”
“Please.”
Heading down the ladder, “You’re a lucky.”
“How is that?”
“Me shipment of brew from Westgate is a week overdue.”
“Any word?”
“Noe, nothin.”
Downstairs, in the second floor tavern room, Baddlack took the mug and bent down behind the counter. A stream of golden ale filled the mug as Ingrlo dug into a moneybag. Reappearing, Baddlack placed the brimming cup on the countertop. Ingrlo savored the aroma for a moment and then turned out to the exit.
“Be coin as usual.”
“Pay is on the counter.”
“Heading to ye home then?”
“Yes, the place needs a little attention. The last time I left Ozzob to pick up, he nearly obliterated the house.”
A
smile spread across Baddlack’s ragged face when he
looked down; Ingrlo had left a short stack of five
coins. Outside, the sorcerer’s father
passed through the center circle to his home.
During the short walk, he received so many waves that his stride was
almost the same as a visiting king or dignitary. Though he never possessed such official
title, Ingrlo was an important man in the town, not
politically but harmoniously.
Overall, Woodwake was no better off than a hamlet on the distant north tundra--isolated and reserved. Some residents reveled in the setting, others in the company of person.
#
The voice of scorn spoke, “Such a puny mortal, one that dose not even realize the extent of his own powers; how could he kill one of us?”