The Gaming Outpost

The flutter of something in the brush, followed by a chorus of song made me jump. The soil of the dirt road was neat-edged, ready to trip my feet if I had to run. Green trees swayed, and I kept my eye out for a dive-bombing dragon that could be hidden for crucial instants, that would be my fault, as it made its nigh unstoppable diving run.

Its flame would rip the air, curl in vortices to touch then torch the spring sap heavy trees which would explode, sending wooden shrapnel flying everywhere.

But, me, it would be too late for me. I would be caught in the center of the roasting plasma, a candle of human flesh melting like wax, screaming until the fire sucked the air out of my lungs, and added the craving for oxygen to the smell of roasted meat, and the agony of fire.

Shakily, I drew my sword. Granted, it was not magical, and anything that came through the woods would no doubt giggle to itself before they came up on me, and ripped my lungs from my feebly twitching body.

But it made me feel better.

Or it did until I noticed how my arm was shaking, and how near the blade had come to slicing open the opposite hand.

I was an idiot.

Collapsing on the side of the road, I had a good cry. Why, oh, why, did I have to be a verser? I had in one moment of insanity helped that strange madmen fight a dragon, and left my safe monastery.

And so he had cursed me as I lay dying with immortal life in other strange worlds. I’d get him, I swear I would.

My weak anger, for I knew I could not stand against someone who had faced a dragon, warmed me a bit. And I sat crying by the side of the road until a soft, deadly…

Horse nose brushed my face.

My sword jerked up, and I nearly cut the beast’s throat.

It reared back, and its owner in the wagon cursed at me.

I fled back into the woods for safety from the beast (I had heard horses like to bite, and mad merchants were not good either.)