Mighty Tales of Aldrun

Back to Stories - More about Aldrun
Written by: Kyle

Story

Aldrun had heard that there was a man in the desert who collected magical artifacts, now Aldrun was no fan of magic, but some young humans convinced him that the man had a sword in the shape of a bird. This piqued Aldrun’s curiosity. He had seen many swords, short, long, straight, curved. However, he has never seen a bird sword and had to know of such a weapon.

In his search Aldrun suffered great hunger and thirst in the desert, surviving off of the fruit and water from cacti. On the horizon, one particularly hot day, Aldrun spied a small home by a pond surrounded by lush trees and grass. He had heard of these illusions before, half a hand worth of winters ago, a pale Elf tried telling Aldrun it wasn’t magic but a trick of the eye and heat creating the look of water in the distance. This one looked more real than the past ones since he entered the desert.

When Aldrun had set into the desert, the moon had become full, by the time Aldrun found his destination the moon had disappeared and was nearly full once again. This magical illusion seems to be what he was looking for. As Aldrun drew closer, the illusion didn’t disappear or go further away like previous ones, so much so he jumped when he felt the grass through the holes in his leather boots.

“Why hello!” The voice was deep but softly spoken. It called out from the small hut followed by a stifled cough, giving Aldrun another fright, instinctively placing his hand on his sheathed sword. “Come on in, it’s horrendously hot out.”

Aldrun relaxed, but before he could answer, the shadowed figure faded from the window and the sand worn door creaked open. Before entering, Aldrun walked to the water and cupped his hands, taking a healthy helping of the warm water. “Oh, don’t worry, I have cool water inside. You must've travelled far.” The voice turned hoarse toward the end.

Turning back to the hut, Aldrun saw a towering Minotaur, Aldrun was used to be being the tallest in a crowd since leaving his home tribe filled with full-blooded Orcs except Aldrun being half blood. Standing next to the Minotaur made Aldrun feel small for the first time in a long time.

“Greetings, I am Aldrun, Slayer of Fiends.” Aldrun extended his hand out, preparing to give a firm handshake to the mighty creature.

“A wonder to meet you Aldrun, Slayer of Fiends. I am Hilala, uh, collector of goods.” Hilala met Aldrun’s hand and wrapped another around. Aldrun’s entire hand engulfed within both of Hilala’s hoofed hands. There was no firm grasp, only a comforting wrap of soft fur and cool touch of the hoof? nail? Didn’t matter to Aldrun, it was calming and welcoming unlike the desert that surrounds them.

Hilala ushered Aldrun indoors, immediately Aldrun felt uneasy, not because of anything inside but more the fact the inside of the hut was much larger than the outside. From the outside, the hut looked to be the size of a hunting outpost, but inside was the size of a hunting lodge. A fireplace set in on the far wall with fine seating set around it, to the left and right, walled off rooms with no clear sign of what was behind the doors. There were also staircases on these sides that led up to a library of the left and a collection of weapons on the right, both with railings that look back down to the lounge and fireplace. Once Aldrun shook off the uneasy feeling he noticed how pleasant the air was inside.

In Aldrun’s daze, he didn’t notice Hilala had left until the mighty figure came out of the door to the left holding a pitcher and a pair of mugs. “Here, this water is much better than what’s out there” Hilala offered forward a mug, Aldrun eagerly accepted, as he neared the end of the mug Hilala asked, “What brings you out this far?”

“I heard of a sword that looked like a bird, I just had to see.” Aldrun set his empty mug down, scanning the room and the balcony to the right for anything that resembled what he had heard. “A hawk, I was told.”

Hilala chuckled while refilling both mugs, “I too would love to see such a sword” the Minotaur glances a look up toward the overlook and then back to Aldrun. “Did they say what colour the hawk is?”

“A grey hawk”

The Minotaur let out a violent laugh which quickly turned to a fit of coughing. “I see, the sword you search for doesn’t exist, but I have a sword of Greyhawk”

“oh, so the sword is not the shape of the bird? a grey hawk owned the sword?”

“That’s right, it doesn’t look like a bird. The sword is from Greyhawk and it has a name, Rebutter.”

Aldrun sat up in his chair curiously. The thoughts of a hawk flying around while holding a sword amused him greatly. “May I see this sword?”

Hilala seeing Aldrun’s eagerness cleared his throat before speaking, “Yes, in fact I will not be here much longer. If you can prove to me your fighting ability, you can keep it.”

“I accept!” Without hesitation, Aldrun was already standing up, ready to prove his worthiness.

The sun had gone down, but the heat in the sand remained, burning Aldrun’s bloodied cheek. Rolling from his belly onto his back, regaining his senses just in time to see the barbed devil kicking up sand as it ran towards Aldrun.

The devil was much taller than Aldrun, the humanoid had countless flower like thorns covering the entire sickly, dull green creature’s skin. As it drew closer to Aldrun still lying in the sand, it tilted its head down, pointing its large barbed horns toward Aldrun.

Aldrun’s training paid off. He tensed his hand, feeling that his sword hadn’t left his grip during the fall. He waited in the harsh sands, feigning weakness while keeping an eye on the fiend. A swift slash. The barbed devil cried out in horror, one of its horns laying in the slowly cooling sand illuminated by bright moonlight.

Aldrun tries to take another slash as he stands, but narrowly misses the staggering devil. The devil not accepting the loss follows through, digging spiked claws into Aldrun’s side through leather armour. However, the growingly tired combatants knew each other were becoming predictable.

The two bloodied fighters circle each other, catching a breath while sizing up their next moves. The Fiend feigned a lunge, Aldrun readied a defence. The Half-Orc knew if he didn’t escape or win soon, he’ll surely die from current wounds. Knowing this, Aldrun dropped to ground, letting go of his sword.

The devil cautious but seeing the sword out of hand, begins a final dash, mere moments before the devil with all its might bearing down on Aldrun, Aldrun produced a hidden dagger, normally reserved for skinning game in the wild. Aldrun curls over, back to the horned creature, and holds the blade over the opposite shoulder, ready for the fiend to impale itself.

Thorns and claws dig into Aldrun’s back, but no further onslaught comes, as Aldrun falls limp, so does the heavy body of the barbed devil. Aldrun turns to face it, the blade stuck in the throat, the eyes of the creature darting around as it tries to hold on to its last breaths.

“Our fight is over, rest now.” Aldrun unsure if the devil understood him, but it seemed to relax and stopped all movement.

Aldrun made the slow trek back to the confusingly sized hut, washing himself in the now cool pond of water outside, thinking back to his clan’s desire and encouragement of seeking a worthy death in combat and if his recent fight was worthy or not. Once clean and bandaged he stepped foot into the hut, the comforting air embracing like a loving hug.

“Aldrun! Did you live up to your title?” Hilala was making his way down the stairs from the library.

Aldrun wondered for a moment how he turned the pages with his hoofed hands, but he quickly dismissed the thought as Hilala pointed towards a canvas laid upon a table, on the canvas laid a brilliant sword, it reminded Aldrun of Elven swords. The blade was all one piece; it had a gentle curve that lead down forming into the guard, which turned into the grip where the metal split into a repeating oval pattern, the gaps between the metal showing a brilliant orange topaz within the hilt.

“Aldrun?” The Minotaur’s voice shook Aldrun out of his daze, looking at the sword with awe.

“Yes, the barbed devil is no more, it put up a worthy fight.” Aldrun was confident the devil was no more, by far that was his toughest fight. The start was worthy, but the ending felt dirty and unworthy to him.

“Well done, as promised.” Hilala coughed again and stood up straight. “Aldrun, Slayer of Fiends. Take your prize, Rebutter, Sword of Greyhawk.”

Story

“There’s been a Wight plaguing our town, we believe it to be hiding in an old watchtower just past the north forest. We’ve all chipped in and can pay you fifty gold pieces.” The alderman spoke with confidence, but Aldrun could see fear in his eyes. Maybe the man misspoke?

“A white?”

“Right.”

It confused Aldrun; how was he to fight a colour? “I accept this challenge, I shall leave at dusk.” Surely at night he could find this white easier.

Aldrun spent the next few hours in a small dusky tavern, his belly grumbling at the smell of various cooked meats. Not the best choice to wait in a tavern when you have no coin. Aldrun hoped that the reward for the white would be enough to buy a dinner, and drink if he was lucky.

Aldrun had set out earlier than planned; His hunger was upsetting him. Only if he could be more like his horse Patch, content with eating grass although Aldrun had tried a handful of times in the past but never found it filling enough. As the orange sun fell behind the hills to his left, Aldrun lit a torch as he rode Patch through the forest, mostly for Patch's benefit, Aldrun's eyes could see well in the darkness. Rain earlier in the day made the ground soft. Neither Aldrun nor Patch liked it.

After the stars had moved partway through the sky, Aldrun spied a burnt down building and tower. He swiftly dismounted Patch, his heavy mail forcing his feet to sink into the ground. Extinguishing the torch with a leather wrap and putting it back in Patch’s saddle, he then drew his trusty sword Rebutter and approached the buildings. As he drew closer Aldrun could see a pale blue glow coming from near the top of the wooden-walled watchtower. Not quite white but the alderman is an older man so maybe his eyes aren’t as good anymore; could have been a simple mistake. Still unsure how to fight a colour, Aldrun approached the damp and decaying doorway, opening it slowly. It let out a loud creak. Colours can’t hear, right?

Before Aldrun could finish the thought, he found himself on his back a fancy table’s length away from where he once stood. Immediately he could feel cold mud seeking its way through his chain shirt. Rolling over quickly and to a crouched position, sword still in hand, Aldrun looked up back toward the doorway. A Ghost, wielding a long-sword and donned in leather armour. Very much not a colour.

As Aldrun stood up he shouted out, “I, Aldrun Slayer of Fiends, wielder of…” he felt something wrap around his foot. Quickly looking downward, a decaying hand holds onto Aldrun’s boot and begins pulling itself out of the muddy ground. Aldrun spins his blade, severing the hand from the arm of the ghoul. Hearing incoming squelching, Aldrun sees the ghost before its blade pierces him. The moon light reflecting off of Rebutter as it meets and deflects the ghost’s blade.

Taking a defensive stance with his newly freed foot, Aldrun readjusts preparing for the ghost’s follow through. The ghost swings wide, Aldrun makes a slash connecting with the ghost, its form flickers, a look of surprise from the ghost as the two lock eyes. The ghost backs up and lunges forward for an attack, Aldrun prepares and slices off the ghost’s hand. The ghost keeps closing distance despite the loss, passing through Aldrun’s body.

Dropping to the ground, Aldrun’s body grows cold as he throws up what remained of breakfast. Now really hoping that reward will be enough for a feed. Aldrun angrily gets up and readies his blade, the ghost having reclaimed its hand and sword but the heavy slash still in its side. Aldrun lets out a cry, making a flurry of attacks, pushing the ghost back before a final swift slash from the ghost’s shoulder, through its torso, and out its side. Letting out a howling scream, the pale blue ghost fades into the night. Exhausted, Aldrun stumbles over to the ghoul still trying to climb out of the mud, with precision Aldrun stabs the skull of the undead being, as it falls limp Aldrun does the same.

Sitting on the cold damp ground, Aldrun looks back to the watchtower. This seems to be the place the alderman described, but no white, only a pale blue ghost and a trapped ghoul. Returning to Patch, Aldrun set up his bedroll and tries to get some rest. Hoping that the alderman won’t be upset about not finding the white and that he’ll pay for killing the ghost and ghoul.

Aldrun awoke before the sun returned to the sky, his belly not allowing him to rest. Taking a swig of water, Aldrun promised himself a full meal once he returned to town. Once all packed up, Aldrun mounted Patch and started heading back the way he came, as the warming sun rose to his left through the dense forest. A shift in the tree tops catches Aldrun’s eye, a loud creak and snap echoes as a large brach comes toppling toward the ground. Striking Aldrun in the head causing him to fall from Patch, his last sight a large puddle of water.