An old man, drabbed in a worn-out fur coat, dragged himself through the whirling snow storm. His breath reeked of alcohol and his scraggly, white facial hair was stained with yellow. His feet may have marched with purpose but his eyes were dead set with despair.
The man turned his weary head and squinted through the white snow. His raspy voice called out to a small figure just a few feet behind him, “Ya’ coming, Cleona?”
The small flying figure – a pixie – held a pair of tiny arms in front of her face. “Yeah…” Agitation wrapped her voice. Cleona didn’t appreciate the rush, especially in the unforgivable cold that ailed them. She could barely tolerate her traveling companion to begin with – he was a drunken bum, a mere insect whose only saving grace was his knowledge of the area. “How much further is it?”
“Not far.” It was hard for either one to say much more than a few words at a time. The cold stung them like prickly waves and their bodies stiffened like frozen corpses. Their lungs fought and struggled to keep up with their hours of walking but their journey was starting to seem more and more in vain. Cleona began to suspect her guide was a fraud who had just led her out into this tundra for a devious reason. She hoped desperately that she was wrong, not because she feared the man but because she hated the idea of traveling this far out for nothing. However, just as she started to doubt the man, he pointed his mitten-clad hands upward. “Up there.”
Cleona squinted gazed her tiny eyes through the snow and sighted a dark mass in the far off distance. She landed her tired self on his left shoulder and gasped, “You sure that’s not a just rock formation?”
“Positive. That there is the fortress you're looking for. No mistake.”
“Then let’s keep moving.” The eager pixie tugged on his jacket to motion him forward but it was to no avail.
“Nah. I’m not going no further. Ya’ can travel the rest of the way yourself.” Cleona pouted, suspecting the man feared Basilisk Fang. He was coward, a trait she found must despicable in others; in fact, she didn’t even offer a response, but rather braced her wings and flew off his shoulder toward the supposed fortress. “Hey! Ain’t you gonna pay me!?” No response. He continued his annoying shouting as she left him behind. Eventually, the man just resorted to yelling curses and swears at her, which subtly faded into the moaning of the wind. Cleona didn’t care what happened to him. In all likelihood, he was just going to return to that awful village where she had found him. Besides, had she paid him, he’d probably spend the jewels on one of his bad habits. She was certain he had a few.
Cleona couldn’t tell how much time had passed. It could have been five minutes, ten minutes, thirty, maybe even a whole hour. Regardless of the elapsed time, the pixie found herself touching boots with a metallic surface. She was standing right at the entrance to a dark guild – Basilisk Fang. It was here that her efforts were to bear fruit. It was with this guild’s help, she had come to believe, that she would no longer be looked down upon as a small, helpless pixie, but rather be taken seriously by the world.
The pixie walked toward the metal door, her boots knocking the puddles of snow out of her way. When she approached the door, Cleona flexed her wings and glided upward to the door handle. Her little, green fingers wrapped around the handle and she started tugging. The cold metal of the door stung like a cold flame, though the door wasn’t frozen in place surprisingly. Slowly, as her wings fluttered backwards, Cleona managed to pull the door open. She released the handle with her grip and stood back in pride. Most pixies couldn’t open a door like that; it always gave her a feeling of uniqueness to do whatever a regular human could do, even if it were as simple as opening a door.
Cleona slipped through the crack of the door, where she was immediately blasted with a wave of warmth, and shut the door back. After brushing off the snow from her hair and clothes, she peered around in the silence and mumbled to herself, “Has this fort been abandoned?” She bit her bottom lip in irritation – if the rumors of Basilisk Fang inhabiting the fort turned out to be wrong, she’d be forced to resume her status as a wanderng vagabond. Oh how tired she was of traveling.
The man turned his weary head and squinted through the white snow. His raspy voice called out to a small figure just a few feet behind him, “Ya’ coming, Cleona?”
The small flying figure – a pixie – held a pair of tiny arms in front of her face. “Yeah…” Agitation wrapped her voice. Cleona didn’t appreciate the rush, especially in the unforgivable cold that ailed them. She could barely tolerate her traveling companion to begin with – he was a drunken bum, a mere insect whose only saving grace was his knowledge of the area. “How much further is it?”
“Not far.” It was hard for either one to say much more than a few words at a time. The cold stung them like prickly waves and their bodies stiffened like frozen corpses. Their lungs fought and struggled to keep up with their hours of walking but their journey was starting to seem more and more in vain. Cleona began to suspect her guide was a fraud who had just led her out into this tundra for a devious reason. She hoped desperately that she was wrong, not because she feared the man but because she hated the idea of traveling this far out for nothing. However, just as she started to doubt the man, he pointed his mitten-clad hands upward. “Up there.”
Cleona squinted gazed her tiny eyes through the snow and sighted a dark mass in the far off distance. She landed her tired self on his left shoulder and gasped, “You sure that’s not a just rock formation?”
“Positive. That there is the fortress you're looking for. No mistake.”
“Then let’s keep moving.” The eager pixie tugged on his jacket to motion him forward but it was to no avail.
“Nah. I’m not going no further. Ya’ can travel the rest of the way yourself.” Cleona pouted, suspecting the man feared Basilisk Fang. He was coward, a trait she found must despicable in others; in fact, she didn’t even offer a response, but rather braced her wings and flew off his shoulder toward the supposed fortress. “Hey! Ain’t you gonna pay me!?” No response. He continued his annoying shouting as she left him behind. Eventually, the man just resorted to yelling curses and swears at her, which subtly faded into the moaning of the wind. Cleona didn’t care what happened to him. In all likelihood, he was just going to return to that awful village where she had found him. Besides, had she paid him, he’d probably spend the jewels on one of his bad habits. She was certain he had a few.
Cleona couldn’t tell how much time had passed. It could have been five minutes, ten minutes, thirty, maybe even a whole hour. Regardless of the elapsed time, the pixie found herself touching boots with a metallic surface. She was standing right at the entrance to a dark guild – Basilisk Fang. It was here that her efforts were to bear fruit. It was with this guild’s help, she had come to believe, that she would no longer be looked down upon as a small, helpless pixie, but rather be taken seriously by the world.
The pixie walked toward the metal door, her boots knocking the puddles of snow out of her way. When she approached the door, Cleona flexed her wings and glided upward to the door handle. Her little, green fingers wrapped around the handle and she started tugging. The cold metal of the door stung like a cold flame, though the door wasn’t frozen in place surprisingly. Slowly, as her wings fluttered backwards, Cleona managed to pull the door open. She released the handle with her grip and stood back in pride. Most pixies couldn’t open a door like that; it always gave her a feeling of uniqueness to do whatever a regular human could do, even if it were as simple as opening a door.
Cleona slipped through the crack of the door, where she was immediately blasted with a wave of warmth, and shut the door back. After brushing off the snow from her hair and clothes, she peered around in the silence and mumbled to herself, “Has this fort been abandoned?” She bit her bottom lip in irritation – if the rumors of Basilisk Fang inhabiting the fort turned out to be wrong, she’d be forced to resume her status as a wanderng vagabond. Oh how tired she was of traveling.
