Tag: fiction

Part 8 – Unexpected Challenges at the Corgan Siege

Behind their walls, they stood waiting for the arrows to fly. Their shields were ready and the barrels of oil lined up for when soldiers arrived at their gates. The ladders would be met with a similar strategy, ready to be thrown over, set up for the arrows lit by the candles protected from the wind by their feet. Quickly the flames would cover those pour souls who would charge up to attempt to take the wall.

The stronghold of Corgan was known by all to be a place where armies arrived. Army fought. Armies did not return home. With each attack there was said to be no time for celebration but immediate calls for medical support, checking defences, and most importantly, a review of the success to find out where things needed to be reviewed. If a plan worked, why? If not, why?

When the Great Expedition met the walls Corgan, there was no more talk of defence. Just calls for mercy.

A new team were inventing equipment, dubbed the Engines for Acute Targeting. They were, at first, those who either didn’t know what they were being asked to do. How dangerous could throwing a chunk of meat be? Or worse, they knew exactly what was going to happen and didn’t feel they could say no when someone from the Colonel came asking.

With the increased risk of being hit by fire from a growingly confident set of dragons, along with the increasing number of dragons. Those who were simply called meat throwers, realised they were not going to get help from their superiors who laughed when the fire got close and left a strong smell of burnt hair. If they were lucky. A new way was going to be needed. To be further, and faster.

The danger continued to increase more so from reports of how important, and apparently successful, these new animals were began to spread around the aristocratic circles. Added specifically by those who had funded the Great Expedition itself to show off their new alleged stature in society. The suggestion that the King himself would likely be riding on one very soon gave even more drive for people to find the one that he would have.

This did see an influx in wild dragons being brought back. Partly from the idea of giving gifts from up and coming members of society, but also added by how easy it turned out to actually catch a wild dragon, for as long as supply of these creatures continued to be found in abundance. It would take less than a decade for these creatures to be far less easier to find. Had events not happened as they did, wild dragons would be no more at all today. It took only 3 years for dragons themselves to learn that humans may mean food, but also likelihood for them to disappear. But they did bring food. So…

As more went to seek their possible fame and fortune, the home of the wild dragons, and the road out there, also saw changes. With travellers, comes market sellers offering trade. Not just supplies for the road, but smaller dragons could be found discarded along the way as those that survived, or at least appeared stronger or looked healthier, were chosen to be presented to the King. Or at least his representative, and later the department of representatives of the representative of the King as so many would turn up without invitation. Having one person receive so many gifts took time and it was easier for each to be brought in, tagged, and listed if bureaucrats did the tracking. If someone of significant importance, or style, appeared to arrive they may go see someone of equal importance. But it soon became a system of people trying their luck to meet the King, who himself quickly found other places to be.

Keeping themselves moving was important for members of the Engines for Acute Targeting Team. A moving target is harder to hit, especially if the food is going in a different direction. The instruments that would become lined up to launch their projectiles at the battle of Corgan, were first tried and tested in the former gardens found in, and around, the capital. Gardens are for flowers to grow, for people to walk around and wonder about the day ahead. Now they were fields of bones, scorch marks and sleeping dragons.

For those who first spoke of their time at the Battle of Corgan, the carcasses of food were spoken most often. The Engines flew a parade of meat at, and over, the walls following each command. A tried and tested method that saw the flock flew forward where the honed equipment had sent them. Fire bathed the walls, watch towers rose in flame. All for the chase of roasting the treats before the dragons would settle to eat each morsel, but those around the treats would be caught in blaze. A pain those who fired each shot knew only too well.

The siege, and battle, itself was delayed through some key stages. To organise the movement of troops, equipment and food takes an army in itself to set out and plan. Men will follow orders. Equipment will move as long as the wheels have ground on that they can turn over. But the flock of dragons may move at their own pace. The troops arrived to be met with the gates closed and the walls waiting. The dragons did not arrive as planned. Training for 3 years prior can only do so much. Lesser targets were smaller, but also nearer. Sending in a small group of dragons to attack a village, or town meant that the any limitations could be hidden, or missed.

3 years of hunting, searching and building saw the dragons grow in sizes that seemed, to quote one of the trainers, “odd”. Their bellies swelled. Their wings stretched. And yet the proportions of their body, to legs, to head, grew in odd forms. Attempts would be made later to pick and choose to breed, to make the big ones grow bigger, stronger with more stamina. So those that couldn’t fly were kept away. But their tale is another story, for another day, for another cry of mercy.

For the Battle of Corgan, the planned date was a full week before it began. Meat, when kept in a cool cellar, perhaps for those with ability, dry it out to store for even longer. But this was summer. The carts didn’t have a cool place to stay and the tents made it hotter still. They also had to be kept away from the flock when they moved sending it ahead to be in place. The flock also had to be moved carefully as if they found a field of animals, the field might be swept clean if given the space. Caging them was attempted, but their size meant some of those who were wanted to be there were too strong without further risk of an inferno on the road.

Eventually, about 10% of the meat that was launched was chased down and eaten by the dragons. The rest saw those inside the walls fearing for disease. The longer the siege held, the less the meat that was thrown was eaten. Hungry dragons saw those in defence as potential targets. Those in the King’s army had be shown to the dragons to not be targets. Many scars could be seen on them for these lessons. This didn’t stop the younger ones starting to attack them, but the older ones did begin to keep some order through fear of reprisal. As the siege continued, the water became diseased. Food stores set alight, and the will of seeing the mischief of rats increase added to fear.

2 kinds of warfare were shown during the Battle of Corgan. The cries of mercy is said to be from the dragons flying overhead, capturing and eating those who they could find in the alley ways or battlements. But in the end, the call for mercy, the call to end of the siege, to bring about an end to the Battle of Corgan, came from the pile of rotten meat, the surge of rats and rancid smell of burnt, rotten meat, next to the rats that were being chewed by the dragons.

The King would normally enter a captured city after a battle. It took a day for order to be restored before any conquering march could be started as those inside, horrified by their own surroundings, poured out to be free of what was their home.

Part 7 – They have a fire ball

The flock learnt to move as one. A collective that would strike at the target, each carefully given a code and when spoken or signalled, would strike with a roar to strike fear to all who may hear, followed by the burst of fire on the target and the remains either to be devoured straight away, or be to left to be reviewed spoils of war after the battle. A field would be seen so rich in bounty, that each dragon could explore and see what would be worth their attention to consume.

Rumour, fear or simply myth created by stubbornness. The tales of the flock in force was one that would be told from village to village, town to town. It was to be expected that when an army left and met them on open ground, the end was expected to be the same.

Death.

Or, if a wise leader was able to get there in time, surrender to at least save their army. This would normally cost them in wealth, often land. Sometimes their head.

It is true, the flock would move as one and devour all they found. But to get them to do so was to hold up a piece of food big enough, often a carcass of the latest animal to be slaughtered for their training, and then launch it.

It needed to be thrown. Far and fast. They wild dragons had learnt that to hit a food carrier meant some form of punishment. This could be seen to be held in a cage for a while, being in the shadow of a building appeared to do the most upset, keeping them away from the sun did something a soldier once noticed. But to fire at food that was near the food carrier. This was different. Shouts and screams used to follow but with a growing number of wild dragons in the field, catching which was one did the damage was difficult for the untrained eye.

But each creature had their own markings. Own ways of moving or differences in their wings. Those who trained everyday knew each one by sight. But looking to see them punished was not one they would always support.  

From the food providers point of view, the fire hurt, a lot. So, a series of engines were quickly being developed in their spare time for simply flinging of food far, fast and over the group. These engines would slowly be perfected and were one of the earliest advancements from this time to actually continue to be used into the future. Along with the detachment of engineers that were to be the heart of the army when siege was the tactic deployed in battle. It seemed the drive to stay alive or unburnt was the only motivator needed for the improvement of semi-automatic engines. These would later develop to not just be an accurate method of throwing a heavy weight, but a reliable reload system meaning two teams could feed the engine. It may have first come feeding a larger group of dragons, but later an efficient way to hit an enemy’s defences or even better, the enemy was to come.

The number of dragons slowly grew to 17. It was first thought these were pups that would grow to some potential size to strike fear into anyone by just appearing. This wasn’t the case. But with feeding, and for a longer growth idea, breeding, growth was hoped to be possible. But for growth, food was needed, and for nutrition for an animal that was difficult to motivate to move without food, this generally meant growth around the middle. This called for a better way for exercise. And this meant the flock had to move.

No one is quite sure how, or when, but eventually the planning turned to the fastest animal around. Horses. So, an attempt to get horses involved saw the inevitable set of mixed results for the trainers. One, dragons like horse meat. Two, horses don’t like fire. Three, when the food behind the horse is ignored, the individuals riding the horse begin to make a calculated move when the fire gets close and a small bush is in sight.

Did you know that when a horse gets loose, they tend to run. They can run quite fast, and quite far. This saw the spoils of the Great Expedition find their way charging, or flying to be more precise, after a series of horses who had lost their riders, and each found their own stables for safety as what else is any living thing to do when being chases by a flock of dragons spitting fire at you.

Stables, as most things are, were made of wood. They also have a large supply of hay nearby. Dragons, tend to follow horses when they realise their meat is tasty and they have caught their attention. They also like it more of the well-done side of medium in case it comes up.

The first set of stables were easy to hide and cover up as a training exercise due to them being firmly under the control of the army or those who have graciously given their own grounds over to the training of the Kingdoms next up and coming weapon. Every land owner knew that if they could sit around in a dinner table and boast they had the latest thing trained on their land or built with the very trees that they could see from their home, guests were more likely to think better of you. But as horses became harder to find due to them either being eaten, or so scared that no matter how hard their trainer whipped or bribed them, they were now a stay-at-home horse, eyes had to go further afield to find options. It were these horses, particularly one called ‘7 fields’ after their pace to run 7 fields with ease, ironically why it was chosen, that brought 6 dragons with it one day when it had got loose and came charging into the stables.

The fire began in a semi contained point. Luckily a group of stable boys had water nearby to put it out quickly. Sadly, for them, as the flock of 6 dragons search for food, the fire not only spreads quickly, but has multiple starting points that they were quickly out numbered along with also being surrounded themselves were it not for a stone building they managed to run through.

The village of Ehujti is now seen as a central place for markets with villages coming from far and wide to sell at. This might be because of the range of people who travel there which then brings more to share and find a good item to bring back. Or how there are often small items a person could get to show their love for their partner. But it is far more likely linked to the very generous lack of the King’s taxes on all those who enter and sell, the open trade laws and the ability to police itself allowing the village to keep what they take in from any trading that may happen there. The actions that saw 7 Fields become 7 servings, the damage to village and the near riots that followed when the village found out their own army had stolen their horses, then affectively attacking the with wild animals. To keep the village calm, and to prevent word from reaching the rest of the Kingdom, a generous deal was struck that would last until all was forgiven. With such vague terms all the inhabitants need to is never say ‘I forgive you’ to a representative of the King and it stays. Many have tried and the King has since promised an equally ridiculous reward if anyone can get them to say it with 2 witnesses. 

Since then, the local mayor with the many generations that have passed from the early failing to train the dragons, still stands with his back to the King when they arrive to the village to open the annual opening of the year long market festival. Normally joined with all those in the village as the King leaves.

So it can be said, there was a success for getting a group to be trained to move as one together without the need for food to entice them.

Part 4 – The Great Expedition, the mass migration of dragons

The Wonder of the North was at first thought of as a cliff edge that nearly saw the expeditions ration cart fly off. Not, the view point marking the edge of the frontier. Or as it is now seen by those who lived nearby, the end of those who came up and conquered it.

The Distinguished Trade Deal with the Dwarfs, was not, as it became later known, a turning point in the Kingdom and the Dwarfs relations that saw a golden period of peace following 3 years of conflict. At the time, the lead representative just needed to hold back the army from sending in more soldiers before the summer came, which would have seen mass starvation. All for the sake of him not being fired by the King for another failed advance.

But the Marvelous Waterfall, hidden in the Unending Forest, at the end of the Shadowy Path, is worth a visit. But go the other route via the forest bypass, less chance of near certain death.

Names, as it has been seen throughout history, come after the event has happened. But the Great Expedition was penned its name when it set off. To create a sense of importance and a drive to bring in donations. Which then would lead to those with money a chance to have it their bragging rights. Once the Great Expedition returned with something to brag about.

The expedition, which had most of its money spent on the ceremonies when leaving each of the towns and villages that supplied, and paid for, all those who were going, found they struggled very quickly after they all began properly. It was not long until the wheels on the carts needed to be replaced. Then a replacement wheel needed to be fixed, and then another, rations were soon running out and needed to be replaced through foraging, buying, or on a growing number of occasions, stolen.

Then came the hard part of the expedition, when they found where Gerald was reported to have his new pet. Being a soldier, meant he could walk over most terrain, follow the battle as it needed, and simply focus on staying alive. The instructions that the Colonel had managed to get were, in short, useless. The Great Expedition comprised of 37 people. Stories would later imply better organisation, and even the King himself returned from an apparent earlier trip, to hand pick the one that would later be gifted to his future great, great, great Grandson, Raj the Useless.

The 37 members of the Great Expedition quickly split up looking in different areas, completely ran out of food with 9 going off and almost setting up home in a nearby village. Who actually, by sheer dumb luck, found what they were looking for. However, as they didn’t see fire breathing for 3 days they were nearly held themselves for how they demanded more food, beer and had a general unpleasant demeanour to the people in the village. Was it not for the fire, the excitement and the return of the rest of the Great Expedition to explain, and pay, for them. These 9 could have lived out a different life. Albeit probably quieter in the end.

The discovery of the wild dragons in the village later became known as End of the Blessed Route. The truth of what happened is far from the myth of the Great Expedition and with the finding of those who lived alongside the dragons. The myth would grow to include how the wild humans had become to fear these dragons, be subordinate to their ways. With the arrival of the King who freed them from fear as he looked at the Alpha and that she accepted the new way of things.

Just by his look.

Which for all who were there, that was the preferred version of the story. The truth involved arguments between those in the village and the members of the Great Expedition about taking the wild dragons, the throwing of food in cages as the mild mannered creatures stumbled in, with the locals being beaten back apart from those who knew how to be with these creatures. Who shortly found themselves in a cage too to support the future training of dragons.

8 people were placed in cages to be transported. But 3 were placed in cages with dragons. Some parts don’t make the legend.

Eventually, after fighting, arguments and long journeys. The Great Expedition returned home. A set of dragons were brought home. Many questioned why they brought back pups and not the fully grown ones. But no one knew what these creatures were, or how they lived.

– Click here to go to part 5 –

Part 3 – Gerald’s new pet has caught the Colonel’s eye

There are some things in this world that are not explainable.

How certain members of society attend funerals for those they do not know. Why family matriarchs have such power over the young ladies in rich families, even though they live so far away, and often in a castle on their own. Or what is in the famous pie at The Bell in the town of Co’ombe. But people still come back for more without knowing.

There is, however, one set of events that will, most likely, happen if connected.

Step 1, find a creature that you call your pet, which has some abilities including, but not limited to, fire breathing. An aptitude to fly. To climb tall towers with an unsatiable hunger. Maybe even a killer instinct as a common skill.

Step 2, put said creature in an army or general military office.

Step 3 will likely appear to you. You will quickly find a person in the army who doesn’t see a cute, quirky pet in an office space far away from the centre of the complex, where discussions and planning for war, safety, security or the latest advancements in swords. Sharper and strong nearly every time just to give a spoiler, sometimes lighter.

No.

They will see the future of warfare. A way to make all their enemies run away in an exercise of futility as this new method, which can fly and can breach the walls of the castle. Then get to the local lord for terms of surrender before they can say ‘man the walls’. Or other such terms depending on who is being attacked.

Who needs a catapult now? Or even an army at that.

Gerald could see the plans forming from the moment step 3 started. The colonel stood at his door most morning. Asking questions.

No one asked him questions about his day. Or about him in general he found. His lunch was not a topic and certainly how often he went out walking when he went home. He had built a career out of being in the background enough to not be in the front line, but not so far back that he would be accidentally attached to the vanguard and likely meet his end with an angry dwarf arguing about mining rights for what he feels in essentially his childhood home. But the colonel wanted to know about his new pet, not him.

What he ate.

How he ate it.

How often.

How much exercise it needed.

What the animal (specimen as it was referred to in the Colonel’s notes) could do.

How high or fast it could fly.

How much fire and how often. Especially these two points.

The list of topics grew as Gerald slowly kept notes. Some days the agenda was hidden. Some days less so.

The army, and the non-descript departments loosely connect to it especially, had various ways to get information out of those who hid it. There were those who have specific training about how to extract information from hard to reach places. In times of war, nails, teeth or even family members had been known to be pushed on to get what was sought after. But with the removal of certain, methods, kindness was brought into replace. Talking about how Gerald and his husband met, or what he did in his free time. Even asking about his house and the flowers he grew. Were attempted to get to know the man.

No one had asked before because Gerald was both private, but more importantly, not the most engaging for conversation. Which only added to the Colonel needing to bring out his softer side to attempt to deepen what had become a near daily chat. A side that had been near completely trained out of him through his military career. As highlighted by the awards he had been given, and the awards that could not be given for tasks he could never say he did.

But Gerald now had a wild dragon in his office. The first attempt to domesticate the future, although temporarily, change in warfare for the kingdom. Thankfully for other places in the world, this wonder asset also made them the wrong choice for human manipulation in the end.

Unlucky for him, the future was not known and the Colonel had a lot of people requesting updates to know what to do with the potential assets that were being transported back from the expedition that was sent out.

There was one thing Gerald knew about these dragons though that no one else did. Something he never knew how to tell people, or wanted to tell people for a man in his position had to keep air of mystery about himself.

Dragons love their tummy’s being rubbed. Especially when they are out in the sun. No matter how big they got, or mean they  were, or in the middle of sheer wanton violence. A tummy rub in any form, was a favourite.

This always brought not just his new pet happiness, but a smile to him too.

– Click here to go to part 4 –

Part 2 – How Gerald’s Dragon Became the Kingdom’s Secret Weapon

Bringing home a new pet that breathes fire. Can fly. Feed itself by keeping local rats under control while also not appear to travel far so not getting lost. It seemed to be the perfect pet for Gerald’s children. Even made his cleaner less scared about going into the basement.

Everyone loved it when the new pet fired, literally,  its first kill.

But after a while, with a pet that sleeps all day, does not keep the attention of small children for long. The fun of watching it chase the rats stops when it’s no longer able to satisfy its hunger once the rats realise they can live somewhere else and not be hunted.

And once those wings are used to get up on a table and eat the dinner. Well, this makes those who run the home less than favourable to its presence.

So Gerald had only one option. This option would forever change the continent and send shudders further across the seas. Or at least for a while. Gerald took the new pet to work.

Having a wild dragon sleeping most of the day was easy to keep quiet as a mid-ranking officer in the barracks. The cadet booked to Gerald scared easily at the first sight of fire, and once he realised that food kept the creature quiet, it took little encouragement for him to bring food. Even less effort as there was no preparation required.

This was fine for a few days, but the level of food coming to his office did bring suspicions. Just how much raw food can one man eat?

On seeing the fire breathing creature, it quickly became a novelty at the end of hard days, it would be brought out to test what this creature could do. It was within a week that the flying capacity, target hunting and those vicious claws got some in the planning department for the Kingdom wondering if there were more out there.

Before anyone realised the impact on feeding a scavenger animal constantly, an expedition was being formed to see what could be found out about the creature in its natural habitat.

The reports of how easy it was to capture the creature were casually hidden but it’s ability to set fire to a house was casually leaked. The ease of capture came from someone dropping food into a cage, by accident, and 3 darting in. By the time someone thought to close the opening, the creatures were tucking down on the spilt box of food equally, oblivious to their capture. It wasn’t until hours later when one woke from a well-earned nap that the concept of a cage  was even considered by them.

Through fear of being burned alive, the young boys on watch  threw more food in. The concept of bribery was not learnt but those watching them believed it worked.

The burnt out house was more of a bad throw of a living rat that attempting to run away and the fire caught the corner of an old, dried out building. Propaganda was also formed that week, but no name was given to it either.

So it was shortly after 7 months when Gerald showed his unemotional offspring a wild dragon, the rumours about the Kingdoms new weapon were filling the courts of allies, enemies and disinterested.

Feeding them seemed to make them grow bigger. Letting them roam and warm in the sun kept the fire burning, and with the right level of challenge, they appeared to follow instructions. Once the food was shown and quickly given after that is.

The beginning of the domestication of the dragon had begun. Albeit with little guidance, a lack of any plan and a lot of guess work.

– Click here to go to part 3 –

Part 1 – The Unexpected Origin of Dragons

It began with a simple decision. To bring back a gift for a son.

It was never a bold general that the stories tell. Or a mighty King slaying a beast. It was a mid-level leader in training who found a small creature running around, actually it wasn’t even do anything that exciting. The story that’s told, in case you haven’t heard, is one where a general sees a small creature nibbling at his feet. Despite the small statue of the creature, they look down and see the potential. A vision of change. A future where he will lead his people. The bold strategy that will mean his enemies bow down before him. Or despites its small stature, it had gumption. And that’s what the general, or king in some parts, liked.

Gerald, or some similar name long since forgotten, actually was walking around looking for his sword, stumbled over what at first was thought to be a rock. It barely moved and half appeared to notice it was even kicked. This, in the wild, is what dragons do. They sleep most of the day, roll over in the midday sun to warm their bellies, and use the fire inside their bellies to keep them warm at night when it gets cold. As in 13 degrees or so. If ever in single figures they would actually move to be near each other. Or a cave.

If they have one purpose, it’s to eat.

Their wings? To fly to find food.

The fire? To cook the food before eating it.

Their sharp teeth? To eat the food and tear it apart, before swallowing it. Unless the next mouthful pushes it down.

Those sharp claws? Not to rip through armour, but to hold and save time for their teeth to tear it apart.

Nothing, actually, has evolved to fight. Put two wild dragons in a space together, the only action you will see is from when a living creature they can eat comes into view, then chances are, they will split it in half it between them.

Wild dragons, at least the original ones, not those that escaped years later, were lazy.

But like all things, a human got involved and things changed. Give a dwarf a new way of forging metal, they will improve their equipment and use it to cut deeper into rock. Give a goblin a means to write in new ways, and they will cause more confusion for beings around them with strange notes or markings. Give a race the change to build walls, and pretty soon a duende will appear inside it. Find some new gold, and sure enough, the local tax farmer will be there taking their share. Some things are just the way they are.

But find something in the wild, something innocent or harmless. Give that thing to a human. Then you get something wonderous. At least for a time. Then it can go in any direction. Normally bad for someone, and something.

A wild dragon, before this meeting, was just a way some villages kept wildlife under control. They were too lazy to breed out of control, but hungry enough to eat so much they couldn’t chase all the local creatures in one causing extinction. Too fat too quick.  But when they got too fat, they would work harder to get food, but give a chance for the surviving wildlife to escape, bread, and not go extinct. Then be eaten.

Balance in action.

Then came Gerald. Who had a thirst to impress his child. And now we have dragons. Big scary ones that grow too fast, too big and eat too much.

But that’s the next bit, the part that one on talks about after Gerald, sorry that General, found the miracle strategy.

–Click here to go to part 2–

I was there…

This is a possible beginning to a new version of a story idea. I am trying to play with the idea of being a memory, in some form, and told through this medium through the book. (Going to read Dracula soon for some epistolary inspiration)

—//—

Every soldier on that hill thought, this is our day. There was the sun making all the metal shine on the top of the hill. The shields leaning on peoples’ legs, waiting to be raised into a shield wall. Swords sharpened each morning and evening on the march down south to greet them.

The first human battle in a generation. It was time to see who had learnt from the last time. They, many of the leaders I could name on sight, marched nearer. I remember chuckling at the idea of hoe they will slowly getting tired before a sword was even swung. Everyone knew the next few hours would be tough. But if the gods bothered to look down, they might help swing the result our way. If we won, we would drink till dawn. If we lost, they would try to survive till dawn. Hoping to hide back home and not be recognised for being on the hill.

Looking back, I don’t think I could have ever predicted where I would be a year later. I still have nightmares of how close we got in being found out, or worse, found out and exposed.

I like to remember the feeling I had when I chuckled on that morning. All the future potential. The only worry I had was how I would do my best to survive and live to tell my grandchild about the day I faced the King beyond the water, and the Utwelda wanted me by his side.

Chime the bell

“Don’t ring that bell!”

Her first words, or at least what I think she said. My mind from the time mainly remembers the grip around my wrist. I didn’t realise at the time, but she had the knack to not actually break the skin and cause bleeding, but to get her nails close enough to make it feel like she did.

It was odd for such an item to get so much attention. It was hidden if you didn’t look. It was just dirty and could be mistaken for anything other than a bell.

“If you want to have a consequence that is not your friends being thrown out, I suggest you stop here.”

I admit, my words that I used next would horrify me today. But back then I knew less. I hadn’t seen the next few years of my life, me those I would meet. I was still believing that a hand without blisters meant I was an expert with a sword. “Oh really? What is it to you then Gobby?”

The scent of blood filled my nostrils as her grip tightened. I can still see the marks on my wrists today, among the others, from that day. They are set evenly apart on the underside of my wrist, most people see the rope and burn marks. But that day was where I was first to see my own blood come out of my body. It might not be a story that many would tell, but most stories get embellished as the truth is often, too often, far less entertaining, or worse, too mortifying to remember.

A goblin face hung from above me with a smile that did not even attempt to hide the teeth, or the piecing red eyes looking at me. “You may be right. But then again, maybe you need to think about why the captain has it there, behind the front, high up on the shelves.”

It took me 3 boxes to be able to even think about reaching it. I was never seen as short in my class, and I never thought the boxes would hold my weight when I moved them. My best hope when I started was, I would crush the first one and retire with ale to say I tried. Somehow, 3 boxes high, I was becoming aware that I might be in trouble.

Threatening while giggling is how I would describe her later to people. The Goblin of The Bell in the town of Coo’mbe. “Oh, and call me ‘gobby’ again, and you won’t have a need to return to your friends in the corner.”

I never did see how she made the boxes move underneath me. What I do remember, still to this day, is how I had a sudden feeling of flying, followed by everything looking fuzzy and a pain on the front of my face matched with the bad of my head. Along with what felt like a broken wrist. First blood and first bone on an attempt to just ring a bell on a dare. There was little chance I would get away from not being laughed at when I got back to the table.

Her eyes were still glowing red when I came to properly. One foot was definitely on my chest, the other may have been but my main attention on trying to move my fingers.

“Now, there seems to be 2 choices, you can either walk away from this situation, and leave. Or you can pay for the damage to those boxes, buy a round and hear why that was a stupid thing to have attempted.”

Indignation was my chosen way to communicate at the time. I wasn’t used to people telling me no. “What do you mean to speak to me like this?”

The hand appeared in front of me again, but unlike her grip around my wrist, I found I was suddenly on my feet as quick as I fell. She later told me that she intended to pull with my uninjured wrist. Never apologising for not doing this though. Apparently, she felt I was in need of some learning, and not a beating, that day. She always was a clever one.

Fortunately, the other tapster on shift, Philta, helped me with bringing the ale back to the table. One at a time may have taken me a while after my trip.

My friends looked at the goblin, having seen what happened they took the safe route and gave her room to sit. Smirking, Jorna couldn’t help to push the conversation back to me. “So you failed to ring that bell?”

With her calm tone, which I would later realise was more of a warning than politeness, “You ring that bell and almost everyone in this tavern will throw you out.” Jorna attempted to laugh it off but quickly found a knife in the table between his fingers. I had never seen him so pale before. “You don’t know what that bell is, and that is just shown by thinking about ringing it.”

History was never a strong subject of mine. Learning about the intricacies of why a tower is set where it is, the impact of a river on how a battle ended for some Lord. Or worse, why a town has thrived through economic troubles over time. Well, hearing about a bell in a tavern did not sound like it was going to be a fun one. Fortunately for me, the idea of moving was as the bottom of the pile of things to do so I sat there. It was a story she told us that still makes me shiver today.

“The phrase is Chime the Bell, and that bell has more value than this entire tavern for what it means.

Did you know an arrow will find the most efficient way to fly through the air. The skill of the archer, now they need to find the right path for the arrow to hit the target they want to hit.

Most archers may spend days with a target at a set distance, shoot and hit to feel they have had a good day. The target may get moved, the distance changed, multiple targets may be set up to give ease of practice for those who have space, and more likely, the money.

But it is those who have seen war, that get the most practice. Those who survive were normally the ones who were able to hit a moving target, before the enemy reached them. There was a time when, before the unified kingdoms, humans went to war with humans. Before they went to fight my folk. War was not uncommon, but they were getting bigger. So for those who lost, a choice had to be made about them.

Let the defeated go home could mean they may rise again. Kill them all, well that would mean no one would know but those left behind would no doubt hear the stories and wish to rise again. A middle ground had to be found. A chance to leave some to live, to share the tale of the victor, but not one that made the survivors wish to rise again.

For any rebellion, no matter how small, just needs a small amount of courage to say ‘no’ to those who are ruling.”

Jorna, finding his courage again, jumped in, “Sorry, as much fun this history lesson is, but who are you?”

“Kajuna, and if you interrupt me again, my knife won’t sit next to your pretty little fingers. Now where was I. Ah yes…”

This courage, just like your finger boy, may come from ale, hunger, a sense of injustice, or a wanting of something else. But to stop this courage, a consequence needs to be known.

This was how the phrase Chime the bell came around.

No one is quite sure who began the tradition. Someone lost, someone won. What more does a tale need.

The army that won was facing a dilemma. What to do with the remains of the army who had nearly defeated them. Each day they were kept alive, meant more food being given to them, more water to share and more trenches to dig. To enslave them was too costly and risked someone trying to rise up, to free them would mean they were likely to rise again. But no one wished to kill their kin. So the commanders drank and waited for someone to make a choice while their own King was off somewhere else.

There was, most likely, yet more ale involved, all good ideas can be linked in some ways to it.

Someone, a rising squire is often suggested, eventually walked out into a field with a stick and one of the warning bells. Some say it was around a hundred paces. From the stake, the soldiers in the enclosure could see a stake being hammered into the ground. They probably couldn’t see the bell, but the stake and rope had their own meaning. Beyond the stake, the trees loomed with moon light spraying over them.

The bell was then hung from the stake and the squire wandered back. Where it stayed.

With the rise of the sun, the bell dripped with the morning dew. The red eyes of a commander looked on at the defeated enemy sat there in the mud. Bleak eyes looked back, hands tied behind their backs with loosely tied knots. All eyes saw the bow and arrows in the commander’s hands.

“We have decided, there has been enough death.” His voice carried over the heads of the men who had been left outside behind a set of fences. “There is one way this can happen.”

A groan of murmurs from the soldiers wondering what this generous one way might be.

“All you need to do, is walk to our commander and say you will not rise again, then get from that post over there.” All eyes followed his finger to see a post near the tents of the commanders and army looking on. “To the post over there. If you ring that bell. You can walk into the forest a free person. You can return to your families safe in the knowledge, should you live as you did before, there will be no follow up.”

Carefully, a lone figure stood. “You just want us to walk over there, and ring that bell?”

A smile and a chuckle followed. “You can get there however you want. Ring that bell and you can go home. Now who is your commander here?”

Eventually, eye turned to the lone figure who stood.

“I guess that means it is you. So, give me a number.”

It is said he was waiting for some time before answer, but then gave a number. Fearing what it might me. He may have asked what the number means but all he was told was, “Give me a number.”

The lone figure was told to go first. He walked over to the other Commander, said he piece, and walked to the stake. The field was silent. The bell was chimed. All eyes watched and saw him walk to the trees. Where he waited for his troops to follow.

Slowly, a second walked over and repeated. The bell chimed out. Another followed and slowly those who were defeated began to queue up to walk. Two attempted to go together and no one stopped them.

With each chime, a cheer followed as they waved back.

Eventually, when the number was reached, an archer stepped forward to release an arrow. Narrowly missing the man but hitting the stake, just before the bell chimed.

The chime spread over the field with all soldiers looking at the archer.

The line paused, but the commander motioned for the next. The next soldier walked slowly and the arrow landed by his foot. He began to run but the next arrow was not a miss and went square into this back. Lying in the middle.

All it took was a slither of steel to be shown of his sword and the defeated settled back to the floor.

“Who is next to Chime the bell?” The commander stepping forward. When no one moved a pair of soldiers went to pull the next in the line that had formed.

They walked over said they would not rise again. This time the soldier ran, a few arrows feel near him but the bell chimed. It was then he saw the arrow in his leg as he limped to the tree line.

Again, and again, people ran to chime the bell. Slowly, the field turned to mud, slowing the others who came after. Blood spilled as the bodies littered the field. Causing others to stumble as they tried to run, to turn, to miss the arrows when they fell.

It is said the archers kept a tally, but not for those who they killed on that day, but for how many arrows they could hit on target, but still get the bell to chime. A point for each arrow. But minus if the person didn’t make it.

By the end of the day, those who had called their fellow soldiers on, but seen them fall, left through the forest wanting to never see death again.

As the day passed, more ale was drank, more arrows fired. But many got to go home.

Kajuna drank her ale wiping her face clean from the ale before she spoke. “You may believe that humans haven’t had to have a big battle with humans for a long time, but that doesn’t mean it is true, or that those who have been punished have not been given the opportunity to chime their own bell.”

I was not sure when, but I realised at some point through her story, I could not take my eyes away from the bell. It was hidden if you didn’t look. It was dirty and could be mistaken for anything other than a bell. The more I looked, the more I felt I could see finger marks on the outside.

One of my friends, Hrika, was the first of us to speak. “Is that the bell up there? From that day?”

Kajuna laughed as she attempted to drink her ale. “Don’t be silly. That was long ago.”

“So it’s just a symbol, to like remember it or something?”

“Oh no, that’s a bell from something else. But I wouldn’t ask the Captain about it. But if you idiots try that again, that table over there will be the least of your worries.”

It was then I realised, 4 people dressed in Town watch markings were sat watching us. I would have thought it was the goblin sitting at the table that drew their attention, but all 7 eyes were on me. There was not a smile among them.

Volunteered

Where does the world end?

This surely is a subjective question for many. To many, it is where the physical plane of earth, the rock and the mineral ceases (if it does, unless it just goes around and around). To some, it can be where the last tavern sits before the gates and walls of the city they call home. Some cities have been known to have multiple taverns of similar name, causing many to attempt to trace a route to go drinking through each tavern and establishment through the city as they go. For those poor souls, the end of the world is not normally found in the drink that they choose that evening, but the feeling that they suffer the next morning.

For Roke, the 3rd Commander of the Goblin Guard of the 2nd shift, who had been called into the office of the representative of the Protector of the City Haven, he felt his world coming to an end when given the task of what is commonly called the, ‘Legacy of the King’. Which normally would mean everyone would hate you and you have to build something big enough to leave a mark at the great Goblin Gate, or have an impact on people’s lives that would mean the King, or some rich benefactor, could be remembered long past their final day. Few would ever remember the person who was given the take of administrator. A cursed role that few voluntarily wanted in any organisation, and no one was able to turn down without risking banishment, or worse, a never ending shift on the furthest outposts outside the Goblin Gate itself.

The only solace for Roke when being told his new brief, was that he had actually felt worse. A similar end of the world feeling when he finally, although supported by a few drinks at his local tavern, plucked up the courage to ask his the future Mrs Roke for a casual game of Siege. If she said no, his friends would laugh at him, but it would also mean his own world would collapse as he had dreamed of asking her to play a game for about 5 years, ever since his own growing changes began. It had always been her and nothing but, her.

Thankfully, she said yes, and despite his nerves, he even managed to win the game. He didn’t realise that she wanted to let him win as she knew he had been wanting to ask for at least 3 of those years as he hadn’t stopped staring at her when she worked the in the bakery stretching out the bread each day to be baked.

It is worth noting that it would be the only game she would let him win in their entire life together. “Let them win the first one,” her mother told her when her changes were starting. “That way, they will always feel they can beat you again, and keep trying to get one over you again.”

As a person who had herself, failed to keep any partner for more than 2 seasons since her late husband died in a goblin raid many years before, the advice was weighted, but no one could compete with her father, so her mother’s advice was kept. As has Roke.

So it was today that Roke was being asked, or more being volunteered, “You are being given the honour of reinforcing the 3rd tower of the second line young Commander.” The representative sat proudly, waiting to be thanked. “The village of Pillo have saved for the past 5 seasons to donate this, and we feel this will be rightly spent there, to rename it, the Pillo Tower.”.

Roke stood for a moment wondering how much a small village could actually save when he realised that he wasn’t actually saying anything. “Thank you, uh, Representative. I am sure that we will be able to make great, umm, improvements, to the 3rd tower.”

“Of the second line”.

“Of course. Thank you.”

“The money is being brought in with the volunteers from the village, so they will be eager to see where there money is going.”

This, was in one way great news. As it meant he wouldn’t be needing to now go around making people volunteer. Or worse, volunteer his own friends to support the project. This does mean that they volunteers from Pillo will now see where they money is going to go. But as Roke was about to be dismissed from the meeting, one small thing at a time. 

The End

Where does the world end? This surely is a subjective question to many. To many, it is where the physical plane of earth, rock and mineral ceases. To some, it can be where the last tavern sits before the gates and walls of the city they call home. Some cities have been known to have multiple taverns of similar name, causing many to attempt to trace a route to go drinking through each tavern and establishment through the city as they go. For those poor souls, the end of the world is not normally found in the drink that they choose that evening, but the feeling of they suffer the next morning.

For Roke, the 3rd Commander of the Goblin Guard, who had been called into the office of the representative of the Protector of the city Haven, he felt his world coming to an end when given the task of what is commonly called Legacy of the King. Which normally would mean everyone would hate you and you have to build something big enough to leave a mark at the great Goblin Gate, or have an impact on people’s lives that would mean the King would be remembered. Few would ever remember the person who was given the take of administrator. A cursed role that few voluntarily wanted in any organisation.

The only solace for Roke when being told his new brief, was that he had actually felt worse, and a similar end of the world feeling, when he finally, although supported by a few drinks at his local tavern, plucked up the courage to ask his the future Mrs Roke for a casual game of Siege. If she said no, his friends would laugh at him, but it would also mean his own world would collapse as he had dreamed of asking her to play a game for about 5 years, ever since his own growing changes began. It had always been her. But thankfully she said yes, and despite his nerves, he won the game. He didn’t realise that she wanted to let him win as she knew he had been wanting to ask for at least 3 years since he would not stop staring at her when she worked the in the bakery stretching out the bread for the day to be baked.

It would be the only game she would let him win in their entire life together, “Let them win the first one,” her mother told her when her changes were starting. “That way, they will always feel they can beat you again, and keep trying to get one over you again.” As a person who had herself, failed to keep any partner for more than 2 seasons since her the father of Mrs Roke died in a goblin raid many years before, the advice was weighted, but no one could compete with her father, so her mother’s advice was kept.

But it was when The Captain, walking as he did along the river Co’ombe, which flowed through the city of Co’ombe where he lived, that he stumbled on something that brough his world to an end. Which was fortunate as a new one was about to begin with his discovery.

“What are you doing here?” A giant of a man, as tall as a man and a half, and twice as wide as any, his gentle demeanour was there as long as it was needed. Those who knew him, or worse, the patrons of his Tavern who failed to keep to the rules, knew it could disappear like a coins at a table.

Lying on the floor, wrapped in ripped rags and an orange hat held on by the ears poking through, was a small goblin. Having been a former guard on the Goblin gate, he was used to seeing goblins, they normally held a range of weapons aiming at him along with a snarl that still haunted him on quiet nights when woken by a brawl outside.

But today was about fishing for the specials at lunch as it was going to be packed for the Siege Tournament he had been tricked into hosting. Having a full tavern was one sure way of being able to survive another round of taxes should the farmer knock, and catching fish for free would only maximise his profits. A goblin would only bring trouble.

But this was not the Goblin Gate, this was not a goblin in armour and, he was not in the river patrol militia hunting for goblin raiders. Here lay a shivering, petite goblin, clothes torn and not a weapon in sight. The hordes sent in their warriors, even the rapid attack scouts, with more weapons and provisions than what he found that day on the riverside and caught in the Co’ombe.

-Take her back to The Bell.-

The voice was back, no one else seemed to hear it, but with its encouragement, he couldn’t help but wrap up the goblin in a bundle of wraps and add to his cart. It wasn’t a long journey back to The Bell, but when harbouring a goblin, it would not be an easy one.