Suwu “The Sparkling”

“Apasi Stormwind cut her way through the deep, dead jungles of Egath Mes, expecting that at any moment the clawed hands of the dead would reach out from the muck and drag her to hell! She walked with her sword drawn, still covered in the blood of her dead lover, who she had put down after his mind had been enslaved by the necromancer’s curse. In her pack was the very tome the dark lord had used to do it. It was bound with human skin and contained the secrets of life and death! Despite the great horrors she had seen, it was a struggle to overcome the temptation to read it. ‘Just a peak’, and she would gain the evil one’s immortality. She repressed her urges for now, and pressed on along the long abandoned road. She couldn’t let Amu’s death be in vain. There was only one place she could go if she wanted to destroy the necormancer’s evil forever.”

Suwu “The Sparkling” strut about on a table, surrounded by a small crowd of dwarves and elves that listened intently. None of them were as well read as him, in fact, being literate made Suwu somewhat unique in the castle. Though the story was ancient history to Suwu, his fellow townsfolk had no idea how the tale ended. Suwu reached for the pipes on his belt, and played a few ghostly notes to set the mood.

“Piercing red eyes watched her from all the leafless treetops, as the vampire bats informed the necromancer of her every move. Hours turned into days, as the road sank into a miserable swamp. She could not sleep even when she found dry ground, because of the many terrors sent to kill her in the night. Horrible shambling things stitched together using magic man wasn’t meant to know were cloven in twain by her magical sword. A flick of her wrist severed the head of an enormous mummified snake. Its thrashing carcass creating great waves in the watery muck. Quietly, she made her escape before it could find its head. Finally, after three sleepless nights, she made it to the end of the road. The ruins of Evemina - the Hell Temple!”

Suwu played rapid, dangerous notes with his pipe. He looked at the crowd with intense eyes, as if he had gone mad. The crowd leaned in, hanging on Suwu’s every word, captivated by the suspense. Some clutched their drinks, others had worried expressions, and a young couple used the story as an excuse to hold eachother tight.

“As Apasi entered the shattered gates of Evemina, the air grew heavy with a sinister presence. The very ground seemed to pulse with dark energy, resonating with the malevolent forces that had infested this accursed place. She could hear whispers in the wind, a chorus of lost souls pleading for release from their tormented existence, and promising great rewards for her eternal soul. But Apasi had a purpose, a mission that burned brighter than any fear or temptation.”

Suwu saw that his best friend Leru was watching his performance intently from her table, seated behind empty mugs of wine. Suwu took a satisfying deep breath and played a long dramatic note on his taro pipe.

"Deep within the heart of Evemina the Hell Temple, she knew the necromancer was conducting his vile experiments, seeking to harness the power of the forbidden arts for his twisted ambitions. As she ventured further, she encountered grotesque guardians, monstrous sentinels crafted from the darkest nightmares. Each confrontation was a test of her skills, her resolve, and her determination to rid the world of this wicked scourge.

Apasi’s sword gleamed with ethereal light as she faced off against the necromancer himself. The battle was fierce, a clash of steel and magic that shook the very foundations of the temple. The tome, that blasphemous book, lay nearby, its presence a constant temptation, but Apasi’s love for Amu, her fallen partner, fueled her resistance. She channeled all her grief, anger, and love into her strikes, driving back the necromancer’s forces.

In the end, it was a final, devastating blow that sealed the necromancer’s fate. The darkness that had shrouded Evemina began to dissipate, revealing a glimmer of hope for the world. As Apasi stood victorious, her heart heavy but her spirit resolute, she knew that she had not only avenged Amu’s death but had also saved countless lives from the horrors that the necromancer would have unleashed.

And so, the people of Egath Mes, inspired by Apasi’s bravery and determination, built a monument in honor of her and her love, a symbol of triumph over darkness. The great monument to their hero remains within the wilderness of Egath Mes."

The small crowd cheered and clapped. Suwu closed his eyes and took it in. He tossed his pointed leather hat into the crowd, and they passed it around dropping a few coins in it here and there. Suwu gave a dramatic bow before he jumped off the table. “Keeper! How about a drink?”

The tavern keeper, a wrinkled old human woman who was somehow shorter than the smallest dwarf, gave him a wink and walked over with a mug of plump helmet wine. She looked up at his green eyes and soft skin before handing him the mug.

Suddenly the air smelled even more like wine. Someone tapped Suwu on the shoulder. He looked behind him to see that Leru had stumbled over to congratulate him. “You’re the best at telling stories. How did you find out about it, or did you make it up?”

“Thanks. I actually learned about the shrine while reading an old atlas in the castle library. I added a few embellishments, but from what little I could find the story is accurate.” Suwu loved how Leru would ask questions since he loved talking about his stories, although he was a little bothered by how over-affectionate Leru was becoming lately.

“You’re so smart, being able to read n all.” Her cheeks were red, not entirely from the alcohol. She was oblivious to his discomfort. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something. We’re both elves and -”

“Oh look at the time!” Suwu pointed at the window, which was darkening as the sun set. “I have to get back to my workshop to cut those jewels for Catten, or I’ll never hear the end of it.” He hastily walked around her and through the adoring crowd.

“Wait, Suwu!” She helplessly watched him run away. Someone handed her a pointed leather hat filled with a handful of copper coins. “Don’t you want your money?”

…

Suwu walked through the shadowy streets and looked at the blossoming sunset behind Malag’s Keep, which towered above the rest of the castle atop a huge crag on the mountainside. Castle Malag was a cramped, crowded place full of stone walls and winding corridors built on a small plateau on the side of a colossal mountain. Everywhere there was the sound of running water as the mountain streams coming from the glacier above ran under his feet in channels to the moat and eventually down to the Dead River. The architecture was ancient and crumbling, reinforced with much cruder wooden palisades where fortifications had collapsed. Suwu looked up over the tall walls to see the rising ridges of the snow capped mountains.

It had been built to protect the nearby town from invasion, and to provide safe shelter with food and water in the event of a siege. Years ago, the necromancers had attacked. The town was destroyed, and the survivors made their living in the castle. Suwu had been only a little boy then, but he remembered Catten pulling him out from the wreckage of a burnt out tavern, helping him limp along on the journey up the mountain, and adopting him as his own son. The surrounding forests had died, and nothing grew except on the mountainsides. There was a long period of hunger, and many had died to disease. If it had not been for the dwarves’ knowledge of underground mushroom farming, they all would have starved to death. In gratitude for their assistance, Lord Malag swore fealty to the Dwarven King. The place may officially be a possession of the Dwarven King, but Suwu didn’t even know the monarch’s name. This was Lord Malag’s castle, and it always would be even if he was a vassal now.

Suwu forced thoughts of politics and unpleasant history out of his mind, running his fingers along the mossy cobblestone as he walked along a storehouse. He would much rather think about adventure. He twirled around, dancing for an imaginary crowd, and improvising a song.

“Beneath moon’s gaze, she tread alone, Her lover’s blood, her heart a stone, Necromancer’s curse, a tome of dread, Bound in skin of the long-lost dead.”

He smiled to himself. He was getting better at songs, and would have to remember that one. He forced himself to stop singing and walk up the enormous staircase however, as he had not been entirely lying when he told Leru that Catten was expecting him. The truth was, he had been long late when he first walked into the tavern. “You’d think dwarves would have made shorter stairs,” he complained. Suwu hated work, especially cutting Lord Malag’s jewels that he would never get to wear. On rare occasions the Lord would have him copy a book, which gave him the oppurtunity for some reading, but copying books made his fingers ache. Lord Malag had no taste for music in his keep at all, and Suwu was forbidden to ever play his horns or sing within those cold stone walls.

Suwu sighed and looked down at his own leather tunic, plain cloth skirt, and long wool socks. Despite his profession, he didn’t have a bit of fine jewelry. Just wooden bracelets on his bare slender arms. Suwu cursed himself. He was a peasant, condemned to labor the rest of his life for someone else. Nobody was going to write a saga about a jeweler.

“Be thankful you aren’t covered in dirt like the rest of em,” he could almost hear Catten say. His adopted father always seemed to dismiss him. He just didn’t understand why Suwu would worry about freedom when he was so safe, up in the mountain keep. “More like a prison,” Suwu muttered to himself.

He walked up to the guards flanking the iron banded door to the Keep. They wore hooded chain shirts that went down past their knees, and each one had a mace on his belt. “Hello Suwu. Out drinking at the tavern again?” The guard was a burly man with long red hair and a square jaw.

“Maybe. Too bad you weren’t there, Zuso.” Suwu looked him up and down lustfully. “When does your shift end?”

Zuso looked at the other guard, who had a bristly beard and a suspicious look. “Ha heh. Not tonight, elf. My shift just started and Jewel Master Catten is looking for you. He’s hopping mad - just a warning.”

“Fiiine.” Suwu rolled his eyes and walked through the open door. The room was hot, and smelled of freshly baked bread and roasting meat. Between the tables were servants sleeping on wool pallets. Suwu felt bad for them. For all he complained, at least he was allowed his own room. It wasn’t fair. The center of the room was dominated by the red hot embers of the hearth where succulent game must have been cooked for the Lord earlier. The scent was mouth watering.

He ran through a door in a forgotten corner of the room and up a spiralling staircase to a long hallway. He crept through it, praying silently to Ngethac that his father would already be asleep. He arrived at the door, turned the handle, and slowly opened.

“Ah, the prince finally chooses to arrive, and reward me with his presence!”, Catten spoke with a sarcastic tone and a gravelly voice. “What in the Nine Hells were yeh doing for all this time?” At this moment, the little dwarf seemed like he was twelve feet tall.

Suwu felt remorse as his chest deflated. “I’m sorry dad. I knew it would be busy at the tavern, and we needed the coin.” He scratched the back of his red hair.

“Is that so? How much silver did you make, entertaining herdsmen, fishers and mushroom farmers?”

At that moment, Suwu realized that he forgot his pointed cap at the tavern. He turned red. “Oh, well, uhh… It was a few dozen copper coins. A good haul!”

“Well, a fine treasure indeed.” Catten’s sarcasm cut deep. “Lord Malag pays you an allowance of ten silver shillings a month, and he expects something in return. I’m not doing your work anymore. So I left it all for you. If you want to while away the time telling stories so be it, but when you come home you’ll be cutting gems instead of sleeping!” He pointed angrily at the pile of rough black chunks of smoky quartz haphazardly heaped upon the table.

“But Dad, I’m tired.”

“But Dad, I’m tiiired,” Catten repeated in a mocking tone. “So am I!” The dwarf walked a few feet over and hopped into his little bed, pointedly laying on his side away from his adopted son.

Suwu sighed, and looked at his own bed on the opposite side of the room with tired eyes. He sat down at the table and got to work. Suwu meticulously organized the massive pile of rough smoky quartz, trying not to make noise as he grinded it along the table. He wondered how his father intended to sleep through the racket the work would create, but was surprised when the dwarf began snoring. The sound of cracking stone must not be anything distracting for a dwarf. Suwu carefully selected the first piece. With steady hands, he placed the stone on the clearest part of the workbench, inspecting its shape and size, then grabbed a gemstone saw, cutting the quartz into manageable sections with dramatic tiring motions that made his arm ache. Again he glanced at Catten, amazed that he was sleeping through it all. He breathed in the gem dust.

Next, he roughly scraped it on the file on the grinding post to remove the initial rough outer layer, gradually revealing the stone’s hidden potential. Suwu progressed through a series of sanding files, smoothing the surfaces, and then applied specialized polishing compounds. He wore gloves to avoid burning his hands with the harsh chemicals. He had more than a few scars on his fingers from past mistakes. Using a felt rag and enormous effort, he skillfully buffed it, bringing out the quartz’s natural luster. After a final inspection, he cleaned the polished gem and placed it in a neat chest, ready for use in Malag’s commissioned jewelry, a testament to his father’s craftsmanship and dedication.

It was nearly too dark to see, so he used a candle to light a few more. He glanced out the window at the stars, and wondered if he would get any sleep this night at all.

…

In a dank dark hole tunneled through the dirt beneath the forest floor, Zahbok the hermit sat against the dirt wall, feeling a worm crawl along his bare feet and between his toes. He could hear the pitter patter of rain on the wooden roof of his burrow, along with a squeaking rat crawling along the rafters. He stood up, and extended his withered, veiny hands. He watched, and waited. The rat scurried along, and he snatched it grabbing it tight as it squaked and jittered. Sharp teeth bit into its side, tearing a hole but eating no flesh. His long, snaking toung sopped the blood, letting it pool as he drank.

In an instant, the creature was a dry, drained husk. He threw its remains into the pile with the rest of them. Bones tumbled off the pile unseen.Zahbok looked down at his filthy hands. Loose skin tightened, and the veins retreated into clean flesh. For a moment, he felt sated.

A nauseous wooziness overcame him, and he fell back onto the dirt wall and slid down. He was completley naked, but he was unaffected by the midnight chill. He breathed the muddy air, watching as his hands once again withered, and black veins appeared. He knew it wouldn’t be enough. It was never enough. For a year he had subsisted off of rats and squirrels. He needed real blood, or he would wither away to nothing.

He glanced at the skull collecting grime on the muddy floor. It had been an elf girl once, and she had been gorgeous. He remembered her flowing red hair, her green eyes, and how her chest rose and fell when she believed his lies. ‘Had it really been a year ago,’ he wondered to himself. He tried so hard to fight it, and resist the temptation. He had found her lost in the woods. She had tired of life in the castle, and decided to make the trek through the dead forest to the towns where things grew far to the south. She had only wanted to know where the road was, but it was cold, and it had not been hard to coax her into his secluded burrow to rest for the night. Her blood had flowed and flowed. He looked young for months afterwards.

Zahbok continued staring at her skull, and wondered if it was really worth it. Perhaps it would be best if he let himself wither, and joined her as a pile of bones on the floor. He hadn’t chosen this life. It had chosen him, when the necromancers burnt down the town he had lived in for all his life. He knew it was still his decision not to let himself die. Perhaps, it was time to make a different decision.

“No.” He muttered to himself. He didn’t know what would happen after he died; if his spirit would go somewhere or if he would simply rot. If there was an afterlife, then it would be terrible for him indeed. He couldn’t allow himself to rot, and he refused to suffer in any of the Nine Hells.

He felt a grim determination take control of him. He stood up, and walked on wobbly knees until he found his walking stick. There were rotten clothes scattered about the burrow - remains of his past victims. If he put enough of them on, then he might be able to pass as a normal old man. He began searching for the right clothes. He would hunt again, laying in wait for anyone foolish enough to travel in the dead forest.

…

Suwu sat down in his bed opposite his father’s bed, watching the sun rise through the window. He hadn’t slept at all. The room smelled like burnt wax from the many candles he had used, but on the table lay a pile of glistening gems, ready for his father to turn into jewelry that Lord Malag would trade with the merchants from the south when they arrived.

He thought about his life, and how it compared to the heroes in his songs, stories, and poems. He didn’t measure up, and felt inadequate next to heroes like Apasi Stormwind. She had been so devoted to the love of her life, that when he died, nothing could stop her mission. Who was Suwu devoted to? He had a friend who couldn’t accept that she was a friend, and a father who was almost as disappointed in him as he was with himself. He wasn’t a particularly devoted subject to Lord Malag, since he was nothing more than a landlord and boss to him. Perhaps Zuso? No. Niether of them particularly cared about the other. It all felt meaningless being cooped up in this prison of a castle. Maybe somewhere to the south, where plants still grew he could find something or someone to dedicate himself to. Maybe he was just in the wrong place.

He was tired of the same stone walls, the same people, and the same stale grog every night at the tavern. He wanted to go to new places, meet new people, and feel the experiences the world had to offer. He wanted to leave, but he didn’t want to abandon everyone.

He tried not to fall asleep as he thought about it long and hard.

In the end, he didn’t measure up anyway. They would be disappointed either way, but Suwu was certain that if he left he at least would be happy. For a moment he considered sneaking off in the night, but he knew that would be wrong. He would make his preperations, say his goodbyes, and leave at the first chance he got.