Shorty & the Beast: Part One (complete)

Sometimes life doesn’t exactly go as planned. You plan to be a powerful sorcerer or a loving gardener, and you think you have a handle on such things. But instead you’re tossed on the rocks, pulled under rapids, and are pushed and pushed until you topple down a waterfall, where God knows what is waiting below. People say life gets out of hand, but you can’t really hold life’s hand, can you? The powers that be may see you a different way, and you just have to hope you can hold on through the rapids.

Our story begins in a dark and ugly place, with blood on the ground and a young man crying. A queen is dead. But we won’t get into that yet. That’s where the story begins, but it’s not where it starts is the peaceful, rather idyllic countryside village of Earthwick. It is a place of halflings and their gardens, their farms and taverns. There’s no blood or dead queens, and sometimes there are crying young men, but they usually don’t cry for the same reason as the one from the beginning.

Outside of Earthwick is another story. War has been brewing, spilling into innocent territories, but the halflings were not concerned with it until recently. For ages Earthwick had been protected by another village nearby, Bellmore, which was filled with affluent and well-connected people, relatives of royals and lovers of generals. Most of the halflings in Earthwick worked for the people in Bellmore, and Bellmore offered them protection until one day, when Bellmore started to empty. At first one family left their home without warning. A couple of days went by, and another family up and left. Rumors began to spread that their kingdom of Charbagne was the next to be conquered, since Gravelmeuse had been fallen. Without their usual means of protection, the halflings began to plan about what to do.

There had been talk of going to the goblins and stone ifrits, who were taking in refugees from Gravelmeuse. But Charbagne was separated from them by Sothen, which was loyal to Sanguis Rex even before the war started. Halflings weren’t known to be fighters, but there was one amongst them who thought they could be.

Roslile Portigardens was a gardener by trade, but in her youth she had been fascinated by the stories of warriors and knights. She used to make herself swords from stickers, wrapping the handle with pretty fabric to make it look real. She daydreamed of riding a mighty steed and going off into battles to be a hero. But halflings aren’t heroes, and that was soon beaten into her head. Even as she gardened, she still liked to daydream as her hands were in the earth. Now she was trying to convince everyone they didn’t have to be protected, and could fight just like anybody.

“Queen Mythri said that even the smallest threat against Sanguis Rex is a lost battle to him! Who is a smaller threat than us?” She spoke of Mythri like her idol. Having heard stories of the queen all her life, and how she was a living goddess, Roslile had studied all texts on her and had always wanted to meet her.

“We cannot fight like rakshasas!” The mayor argued with her. “Queen Mythri does not speak of halflings when she says this. We have to think of the best way to protect ourselves. Take this seriously, young Portigardens.”

Roslile scowled. She wasn’t even the youngest in the room, she was just one of a few women. She left the meeting and stormed off, kicking stones that dared to cross her path. She didn’t want to just lie down for whatever came. She didn’t want to see her home become infested with the likes of Sanguis Rex and his men. She knew that there was more to be done, and she knew that Halflings could be heroes.

At home she was greeted at the gate by Noodle, a giant mastiff who had been abandoned by his family in Bellmore. He jumped up when he first caught a whiff of Roslile and bounded up to her excitedly. Lapping at her hair and forehead, he wagged his tail and hunkered down before her so she could hug him. “Hello, boy,” she sighed, hugging around his neck. “I bet you’re hungry now. Sorry that took so long.”

She led him up the path to her house, which had a house and a feeding trough for Noodle built in the back, and entered the kitchen while Noodle watched her excitedly through the window to make a gravy for him and a big breakfast for herself. It seemed almost ridiculous to Roslile that anyone in Earthwick would want to just leave. After all, everyone seemed so proud of Earthwick and loved it so much. Why would they want to give it up? She nearly let her sausage burn, she was so lost in thought.

Noodle’s trough was filled with gravy and old scraps, which he ate messily. Roslile ate her food slowly, staring out the window. She chewed and she pondered. She wondered what it would take to get everyone on board to train to fight, to become heroes and prove the old saying wrong.  To her it seemed too easy, and madness not to try.

After dinner, just as the sun was beginning to set, she fitted Noodle with the special saddle she had made, and took out the shield she made for herself. Using the handle of her broom as a weapon, she practiced maneuvers with Noodle. She had been doing this since Bellmore began to empty and stories of Sanguis Rex were becoming prominent. She enjoyed her training, as it fulfilled a childhood wish inside her, and she could have done it all night.

“What are you doing?”

Roslile came to a halt, holding Noodle’s reins as she looked down. “Dad!” She jumped off Noodle and tried to hide her sword. “You’re home. Dinner is on the table if you’re…”

Her father looked at Noodle incredulously, wrinkling his nose as he observed the broom handle on the ground and the shield tucked behind her back. “Are you still playing pretend? You’re far too grown for this.”

Roslile bit her bottom lip. “It’s not pretend! You know what this is now.” She turned to remove Noodle’s saddle.

Her father, Hamfast, shook his head in dismay. When she was a child it was cute to see her waving around her stick like a sword, promising to save the kingdom. But he didn’t understand why she was still on this childish tirade of being a hero. No hero had ever been under four feet tall. “No, I don’t know what this is, young lady. Playing like a knight isn’t healthy. The ideas in your head are far too grand for you!”

Roslile huffishly threw down the saddle. “There is war, Dad! What’s wrong with wanting to protect my home?”

“Because you can’t!” Hamfast snapped. “You are a young woman, a halfling! You’d be crushed by some of these people. You would get crushed by their armor!”

“Queen Mythri said...”

Hamfast had had enough about listening to Queen Mythri when Roslile was young. He certainly had enough of her now. “She’s a story! Most of these women are stories! Things get blown way out of proportion and become myths!”

Roslile had heard her father bragging too many times about King Habbar of the stone ifrits and King Brict of the goblins to believe this. She rolled her eyes hard enough to dislodge them. “She’s not a story! How dare you even say that?”

“You think she cares about anyone in her castle? She’s not thinking about anyone now that her son has taken over from Demir.” Hamfast shook his head. “Stop playing pretend, Roslile, I’m begging you. I know you want to help, but I don’t want to see you hurt.”

This was the last time she wanted to hear how this wasn’t good for her. “You want me to stop playing pretend?” she sniffed, holding back tears as best she could. “What about you?”

Hamfast stood stiff. “Don’t try to change the subject, young lady.”

“You keep going to work, Dad!” Roslile clenched her fists tight. “But there’s no one in the house anymore. They aren’t coming back, but you keep cleaning even though thieves keep coming and taking everything. I’m trying to protect us while you’re off playing in an empty house!”

Hamfast’s eyes were bright and tense. He took slow, deep breaths, hoping it would calm him. “That’s my job.”

“You’re jobless! They’re gone. Dad, you have to accept this. Gravelmeuse has fallen and Charbagne is next. Bellmore is abandoned because they chose to run.”

“Some of us...”

“No, Dad!” Roslile shouted. She stood glaring at her father while his hands shook. She went to pick up her shield and he lunged forward, snatching it away from her and throwing it beyond the yard.

“You get rid of these things,” he hissed. Grabbing her arms, he gave her a hard shake. “Get rid of that mongrel like I told you. Get rid of that saddle. Stop this nonsense! You are a gardener, young lady. A gardener!”

“And you’re pathetic!” Roslile snapped at him, receiving a sound slap to the face. The air went still, and Noodle shied away. Roslile gasped, shaking as she touched her cheek. Tears filled her eyes, and Hamfast’s.

“What have I done?” he whispered in painful regret. “Roslile, I'm so sorry!”

She turned away from him, pushing away his hands and apologetic gaze. “Leave me alone. Just go inside, Dad.” She walked away, followed closely by Noodle. She wanted to find her shield, but she went further than that, past the town sign and into the woods. She sobbed, wiping her eyes as she went. Coming to a complete stop, Roslile sobbed into her palms. Noddle nudged the side of her head, whimpering sympathetically.

“It’s okay.” She petted Noodle’s snout. “Good boy.” She trugged to the river, sitting down on a stone. She continued to cry, wanting to stop and calm down before she went back home. After her mother passed away, Hamfast had assumed the control and charting of her life. When her mother was alive, they had always allowed Roslile to have her daydreams and play knight. Why that changed so suddenly for Hamfast, Roslile couldn’t understand.

Kneeling on the riverbank, Roslile splashed cold water onto her face. It felt nice against her tired eyes. Taking her lead, Noodle jumped into the river and started splashing around, kicking up the riverbed and having a good old time. “No! Noodle!” Roslile tried to escape the barrage of splashes, but Noodle was a force that couldn’t be avoided. “Noodle! Down!”

Noodle plopped into the water, panting happily with his tongue hanging out. Roslile huffed, standing cold and soaked. “Get out of the water, Noodle.” Noodle barked. Roslile stomped over towards him. “Now is not that time, silly dog!”

Noodle’s head went under water, and then he jumped out of the river to join her. He shook his head, spraying even more water everywhere, then bounded around Roslile with astick in his mouth. “No play!” she commanded. “Drop it!”

Noodle continued to cavort. He dropped the stick at her feet and ran ahead, expecting Roslile to throw it. “Get back here!” Roslile bent over to pick up the stick, only it wasn’t a stick. “What in the holy oats… Noodle! What the hell did you find?” Lying at her feet was a halberd, a rather old one from the look of it. The handle was broken, but it was still long enough for her to hold without difficulty. The axehead was wrapped in a leather sack that was slimy and starting to crumble from being underwater for so long.

Noodle returned, huffing and puffing because she hadn’t thrown the stick yet. Roslile held the halberd behind her back. “No! Bad dog! This is not a toy!”

Noodle whined and tilted his head to the side. He didn’t understand why she wasn’t going to throw him the stick.

“No,” she scolded again. “I don’t even know how you found this.” She took another stick and tossed it for him. It was growing dark, so she threw the stick all the way home. Once there, she snuck inside, tiptoeing past her father’s door, then hiding in her room. She laid the halberd down, then fetched the cleaning kit she used for her gardening tools. She’d never held anything remotely close to a real weapon besides a pocket knife. She had always imagined herself with a sword, but perhaps a halberd would be of better use. If she could repair the handle, she would have distance on her side.

“Let’s see what we have here.” She removed the old leather sack, revealing dark metal coated in wax. “Weird,” Roslile murmured. She started chipping away at the wax with a small chisel. The halberd had two sharp blades side by side rather than the axehead she had imagined. Coated in the wax was a chain of dark blue beads that climbed along the side of the bigger blade. She rubbed the wax away, studying the beads. They weren’t glass. In fact, they almost looked like sapphires. “How strange,” she murmured to herself.

“You think that’s strange? Imagine how I feel.”

Roslile looked around in alarm. “Who...”

“Are you a child? What the hell are you playing with sharp objects for? Put me down and find an adult.”

Roslile looked to the mirror-bright blade of the halberd, a thick chunk of wax in her fingers. “Hello?”

“Come now, little one, go and fetch your mommy or your daddy for me.”

Roslile narrowed her eyes at the blade. There was no way it was talking, right? Maybe there was an enchanted insect hidden away on the weapon. She turned the halberd over, looking for such a creature. “Stop that! Stop!” the voice shouted again. “Put me down! Unhand me!”

Having just about enough for one day, Roslile scoffed, set the halberd down and raised her hands into the air. “Okay, enough. Who goes there? Show yourself!”

“How much more can I reveal myself? I can’t exactly appear in a cloud of smoke or whip a cape about, can I? Look down! Think for half a second.”

Roslile grimaced at the weapon. “Are you talking?”

“No! I’m singing a madrigal. Of course I’m talking!”

She sat back for a second as she took in what was happening. Could weapons be alive? She hadn’t heard about that in any stories. Maybe it was a curse? If so, was she slowly going to turn into a weapon too? “Hello?” the halberd snapped. “Is anyone there? Does anyone care?”

Roslile leaned back over the desk. “What’s going on? What sort of trick is this?”

“Can you read minds?” The halberd sneered. “I was just about to ask you the same thing. Now go get an adult!”

Roslile had had just about enough being treated like a child. Too bad it was the halberd she was finally standing up to. “I am an adult! A grown-ass halfling, mind you! And you will address me as such.”

“Oh gracious me, I’ve been found by a halfling, of all things?” The halberd seemed to be speaking to itself. “I suppose beggars can’t be choosers.”

“You could do worse!” Roslile sniffed.

“I could also do better! But here I am, somewhere below the middle. Now who are you?”

She shook her head. “No, no. Who are you? Better yet, what are you?”

The halberd laughed haughtily. “You will regret giving me the chance to speak! I have nothing but decades of bile I wish to sling! I’ve been trapped in those waters for far too long, and I thought for sure by now someone would have stumbled upon me. But it took a dog slobbering on me! How humiliating.”

“That doesn’t do a lick to answer my questions.”

“It tells you that I am a sufferer!’ the halberd lamented loudly. “It tells you I am a man of pain and anguish, lamenting in wax and water.”

“I want a name, or I’ll chuck you back in.”

“No, wait!” the halberd yelped. “My name is Kyairil, and do not dare set me back outside! I doubt a little chickadee like you could carry me anyway.”

Roslile frowned. “Have you always been a halberd?”

“No. I am not even the blade. I am inside the blade!” Kyairil said mournfully. “I have been imprisoned here, trapped for my sins.”

“Oh crap, are you evil?”

“Look at me! What evil could I do?” Kyairil snapped. “Lie here and look menacing? That is what cats do.”

“So what are you?” Roslile asked again.

He sighed heavily. “I am - was - a draconian sorcerer. I worked myself up from nothing to serve my queen. Now what am I, you ask? I am a beggar, and I am begging you for your help. I have been trapped here, left under those waters to rot, and I promised myself that whoever found me, I would give them anything and everything in return for their help. I would gladly bind myself to you and become your servant if you help free me.”

“Is there a way to do that?”

Kyairil paused. “That, I do not know. But, I am certain if we work together, maybe, just maybe, we can find a way for you to get to a book on a shelf that could possibly contain the answers!”

Roslile wrinkled her nose. “I’m not helping you if you’re going to talk to me like that.”

“Oh, fine then! Perhaps you know of someone who could possibly free me? Someone of great power?”

“I’m not sure,” Roslile murmured. She thought, and as she did she glanced at the painting of Queen Mythri that hung on her wall. “Wait - I think I may know of someone.”

“And?” Kyairil scoffed.

Roslile’s eyes brightened, and a smile spread to her freckled cheeks. “People say that Queen Mythri is a living goddess, and that when they pray to her she grants them the love of their lives. Maybe she would have the power to free you.”

“Deities tend to have that capability.”

“But,” Roslile continued, “she’s on the other side of the world from here. We’d have to travel all the way to the Cobra Strait and catch a boat to get to her.”

“I will make it worth your while, little chickadee!” Kyairil exclaims. “I will give you anything and everything if you take me to this goddess.”

Roslile stared at Mythri’s countenance and furrowed her brow. “Anything?”

“Yes! Anything. Once I have my body back I will be able to use my powers again. I will use them for you first!”

“Could you protect an entire village from an army?”

Kyairil laughed smugly. “Child’s play. I could conjure up a wall to surround the village and keep all attackers out. If I was feeling myself, I could conjure soldiers out of the dirt and vegetables.”

Roslile nodded, steeling herself. “Okay, then.” She peeled back the rest of the wax on the blade and held it before her. “Protect my village, and I will take you to Queen Mythri and get your body back.”

A pair of dark eyes peered through the metal. “It’s a deal. Pleasure to meet you, little chickadee.”

“It’s Roslile,” she huffed. “Roslile Portigardens.”

The dark eyes rolled. “Oh god, it's cute.”