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The Quest for the Sword

Many, many years ago, there was a dark wizard named Eyron, the most

powerful ever. He sought to forge a sword more powerful than any other ever

created, one that would be capable of conquering the Akthulu Empire, his

enemy.

The great hero Raynor rose up to stop him. Raynor was known all over the

empire for slaying monsters, defending the weak, and helping the poor. He was

tall and muscular with short brown hair and his eyes were amber-colored with

golden ecks. Raynor always had his gleaming silver broadsword, Whitestorm,

slung across his back.

Raynor’s rst stop was a village on the outskirts of the empire to gather the

essentials for his journey and get his sword sharpened. After this, he set o on

his journey.

After traveling for a few days, Raynor encountered his rst challenge in a forest:

three giant wolves, who had shining white coats and stood at a height of about
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7 feet tall at the shoulders, and 13 feet long from their heads to their tails. But

one was larger than the others, with midnight black fur; he must have been 10

feet tall, and 16 feet long at least, and he was obviously the alpha of the small

group. They growled menacingly and began surrounding him, which wasn’t very

hard due to their enormous size. Raynor unsheathed Whitestorm, and the

wolves leapt at him. He rolled out of the way and slashed a wolf across the leg,

which made the wolf whimper and limp away.

The other two, more wary now, circled him; he swiped with Whitestorm and cut

the muzzle of the one closest to him and slashed his sword down his ank,

making it yelp and run away as fast as it could. The black wolf looked at him and

walked away, knowing his dinner had, for once, beaten him.

Raynor continued on his way until he came across a part of the forest that

seemed di erent, darker… more dangerous, more evil. He cut a branch from a

tree and wrapped it in a cloth soaked in oil, and lit it on re. Pulling out

Whitestorm he whispered to himself “This forest must have been cursed by

Eyron.’’ He walked forward warily, his senses alert as he crept forward, careful

not to step on any sticks or leaves that might announce his presence to the

sinister powers that may have resided there. Raynor heard a twig snap
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somewhere to his left, and holding his torch in front of him, walked to the source

of the sound and found… nothing: no tracks, no fur, absolutely nothing.

Wondering what could have only snapped the twig and gotten away without

leaving any trace behind, something magical Raynor deduced. He decided to

set up camp for the night. After building a large camp re, setting some traps

around the camp and pitching the tent, he fell asleep. He woke in the morning,

disarmed the traps, snu ed the camp re, and drew Whitestorm in case more

giant wolves or the mystery creature from last night came back. The forest

seemed less menacing during the day, though Raynor was too experienced to

let his guard down; Eyron might be trying to lead him into a false sense of

security only to strike him when he least expected it.

Meanwhile in Eyron’s tower, he stood looking through his magic mirror pool,

making sure not to get his custom Baby Seal leather boots wet. He laughed at

Raynor as he came across the river, saying to himself, “The forest should slow

that pesky hero down enough for the sword to be nished, then I will be

unstoppable.” Eyron watched as his goblin armies marched by the thousands,

then walked to his forge where an ingot of stygian silver was slowly heating in

the black ames, the dark metal covering the entire room in shadow and
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emitting darkness on the walls of the tower. Dark magic seemed to radiate from

the metal’s surface, lling Eyron’s weak-willed minions with such terror, that they

would refuse to go anywhere near the tower. Eyron himself was not scared of

the metal. He was not fearful of its magic, for he controlled it, and then, he

would control the entire Akthulu Empire, and nothing—not even Raynor—would

stand in his way.

Raynor hiked through the forest until he came across a sunny clearing next to a

slow river about 10 feet across and three feet deep. He was about to cross

when a small rabbit hopped towards the edge of the river to take a drink; it

leaned down and touched the water, but then squeaked in alarm as the river

began speeding up, becoming more and more turbulent, pulling the rabbit into

the river. Raynor watched as the water engulfed the rabbit, dragged it to the

bottom of the river, and disintegrated the rabbit, leaving only a pile of bones in

its place at the bottom of the river. The water returned to its original state, slow

and innocent-looking, like a river that you would want to swim in on a hot

summer day. “Huh,’’ said Raynor, “carnivorous water. That’s new, but how to I

get across?”

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He threw in a stick, and the water pulled it down and dissolved it, just as it had

done to the rabbit. So a raft was out of the question. Next he threw in a small

rock and some dirt; the rocks simply sank to the bottom of the river, and the dirt

got swept away, but not eaten. “So it only consumes living substances, it

seems,” Raynor thought to himself. Then he threw in many sticks, and this time

the river ate them more slowly; he kept this up for a little bit, always throwing in

more sticks, and each time noting it longer and longer to eat. So he conclude

with some con dence that the river took longer to eat something the more of it

there was to eat. He also discovered that for the water to consume anything,

there needed to be a direct connection between the river and the water, which

was a pity. He might have been able to use it as a weapon later on in his

journey.

He formulated a plan, which was simply to throw in a huge bundle of sticks and

run across the river as fast a possible. The best case scenario was that he would

make it across the river with minor damage to himself. In the worst case

scenario, he would become a pile of bones. Raynor also wrapped his legs in

leaves that the river would hopefully take a few seconds to eat through as extra

protection against the water. Raynor tossed in the bundle and sprinted as fast as
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he could to the other side; the water started tugging on him, trying to stop him

from reaching the opposite bank, which made every step feel like his legs were

made of lead. The water had already eaten through some of the leaves and was

beginning to sting his legs and feet. The bundle was half the size it was when

Raynor thew it in, but that didn’t matter, for he was almost across! Suddenly, a

wave of water splashed against him and began to eat away at his exposed esh.

With one last burst of energy, Raynor collapsed on the bank and panted. And

deciding he would travel no further today, he set up camp and just for a second

thought he caught a glimpse of dark green eyes ashing in the shadows of the

forest. He decided that it was his exhausted brain playing tricks on him, but he

still fell asleep with a vague sense of unease.

Raynor woke up that night to the sound of thunder and the are of lightning. The

streaks of white light ashed through the forest, illuminating the ground,

throwing the trees into sharp relief as a loud boom rumbled in the sky. Rain

began to fall hard and fast, turning the ground to mud, dousing the camp re,

and covering Raynor’s camp in darkness. Just then he remembered that if water
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was connected to the river, it was carnivorous. He packed up as fast as he could

and once again thought he caught a glimpse of eyes glowing dark green.

The plants around Raynor had already started steaming as the river ate away at

them, and he rushed away with his tent rolled up on his back and Whitestorm in

his hands. He knew he must be getting close to Eyron’s tower— this storm was

too sudden and powerful to be anything but his doing. Raynor’s number one

priority was to get out of this forest; it was too dangerous here for him to take

his time leaving. As he ran, many times he thought that he heard something

running behind him and saw a ash of green out of the corner of his eye. Raynor

saw giant wolves also eeing the forest, passing within arm’s reach of him, but

they paid him no attention; whatever was in there was more powerful than these

giant creatures and something he de nitely did not want to bump into, though

he knew he might have to ght it eventually. Raynor ran out of the forest into an

inhospitable landscape of rocky hills and low, barren mountains.

In Eyron’s tower, one of his minions approached him with news. “Eyron,” he

said, “Raynor has made it across the forest and is now on his way through the

Broken Lands.”

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Eyron, without turning to look at him, said “No matter He won’t make it past the

Chasm of Shadow.”

“But my Lord, you said that about the river as well.”

Eyron’s eyes ashed dangerously for a moment. “If this concerns you so much,

send some of your goblins to stop him. Now leave me,” said Eyron.

Eyron walked to the stygian silver ingot, which would soon be ready to be forged

into the Sword.

Raynor raced to the rocks of the hills for cover against the stampede of animals

racing out of the forest. He hid under a ledge between large rocks and hoped

that they wouldn’t collapse on him, crushing him into a Raynor pancake. He

listened as animals of all di erent shapes and sizes thundered above him, lling

the air with dust. A few minutes passed before the stampede stopped, and a

few more before the dust settled enough to see more than ve feet in front of

him. Raynor wiggled out of the crevice and looked around, seeing only a few

stragglers from the stampede and no sign of what might have been chasing the

animals. The rain had stopped, but the sky was still gray, causing the landscape

to appear even gloomier. In the distance, he saw a black monolith rising from the

ground, too thin to be natural, so he reasoned that it must be Eyron’s tower. Part
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of him was relieved that his journey was almost over, but the rest of him knew

that this would be the hardest part. Raynor knew that Eyron’s goblins would be

roaming these hills en masse. He hiked across the infernal lands for what

seemed like hours. Time was hard to keep track of here; the sky didn’t really

change much between day and night. Maybe it was a little darker now, less gray

and more black, but it didn’t matter; Raynor was tired all the same. So he set up

his tent but didn’t start a re that would attract unwanted attention. He felt

exposed and unsafe, but he was in Eyron’s lands now; it would be foolish to feel

otherwise. And with that thought, he fell asleep.

Raynor woke during what he assumed was day, as it was slightly lighter out

than when he fell asleep. He trudged up one rocky hill after another, dodging the

occasional goblin patrol, watching as Eyron’s tower slowly got closer and closer,

until when Raynor was in a rocky, narrow gully, he almost literally bumped into a

patrol of half a dozen goblins. For a moment, both Raynor and the goblins were

confused, so Raynor could get a good look at them. Their skin had a green

tinge, and they gave o a stench that might explain why nothing lived here. The

goblins wore a poorly crafted mix of leather and steel armor, though a few were

not wearing any armor at all. They carried a wide assortment of weapons
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ranging from daggers to cutlasses made of jaggedly carved bone. “It’s Raynor!”

A goblin nally yelled, “Kill him!”

With that, the goblins lunged at him, stabbing and slashing with their swords

and daggers. Raynor dodged and blocked the blows but was unable to land a

blow on the goblins due to the small amount of room on each side. For once,

Raynor wished he had a cutlass rather than a broadsword, but wishing wouldn’t

help him; he would just have to make due with what he had. Raynor blocked a

bone cutlass and stabbed the goblin holding it, killing him. Raynor grabbed the

dead goblins sword and barely moved his head out of the way of an incoming

sword. He used the cutlass’s hilt to knock out the goblin swinging the sword and

stab a nearby goblin in the chest. Raynor was cut in the leg by a thrown dagger;

he grimaced, but he still charged forward and kicked one of the three remaining

goblins into the side of the gorge, stunning him. The last two goblins ed the

gully leaving their fallen comrades behind. The goblin Raynor had stunned

recovered and tried to knock him out with a rock, but Raynor heard him and

stabbed him in the gut.

He left the unconscious goblin alone; it didn’t seem right to kill a helpless foe.

He dropped the cutlass, not wanting to take it, for it would just weigh him down.

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Raynor rolled up his pants legs to check the dagger wound; it wasn’t deep, but

it could turn into a problem if he didn’t do something about it. So he ripped o

part of his sleeve, poured a little water from his canteen on it, and tied it around

his leg as a makeshift bandage; it wasn’t ideal, but it was better than nothing.

Raynor made sure to listen and smell for goblins now, not wanting to bump into

anymore patrols unprepared. Luckily, he didn’t run into anymore goblins, but he

did occasionally hear a goblin or two walking near the edge of the gully, in which

case he attened himself against the wall and waited for them to pass. Raynor

walked for hours on end until he found a small cave that would be a perfect

place to rest for a little while; he spread out his bedroll and passed out.

The light pitter-patter of rain falling against the rocky hills the next morning

awoke Raynor. He set his canteen below a rock where the rainwater was

dripping down. His water supplies were ever dwindling, so he had to take

advantage of every drop he could procure from the harsh landscape. After lling

his canteens with water, he packed up his bedroll and continued his hike to

Eyron’s tower. Raynor walked for about half a day without anything worth noting

taking place, which he considered a stroke of luck; everything noteworthy tried

to kill him. The rain had stopped now, making the air feel thick and oppressive.
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Raynor crested a hill and saw in front of him a 20 foot wide chasm that seemed

to extend downwards forever, and for all he knew, it might.

Raynor couldn’t see any way across, but knew that there must be one,

otherwise, the goblins would have to grow wings and y to the other side. He

walked up and down the chasm for the rest of the day, taking occasional breaks.

To Raynor’s frustration, he found no way across. It was getting dark now, so he

decided to set up camp near the dark ravine; Raynor laid out his bedroll and fell

asleep.

Raynor woke to the bark of a wolf to his left in the distance and decided to

check it out. He packed up his bedroll, took a sip of water, and started his hike.

The terrain here consisted of mostly gravel and small rocks, making the walks

uphill harder and leaving small indentations in the ground where he stepped.

After a little less than an hour, he heard the unmistakable howl of a giant wolf, to

his right. Raynor crept forward cautiously, sword in hand, wondering why the

wolf hadn’t attacked him yet; it was very unlikely it hadn’t smelled him. Raynor

peered over the ridge of a hill and saw the source of the howl, a snow-white

wolf, sitting next to a wolf of that was almost identical, though with a grayish-

silver coat. Raynor’s vision drifted farther to the left where he realized with shock
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that the eyes of a huge midnight-black wolf were boring into him. These were

the same wolves that had attacked him in the forest. Raynor decided that there

was no use in hiding and crested the ridge of the hill. The black wolf growled at

him but didn’t attack. Raynor slowly slung Whitestorm across his back, which

convinced the wolf to stop growling. He made his way down the hill, causing the

white and silver wolves to nally take notice of him. The white wolf snarled and

crouched in preparation to leap at Raynor, and the silver wolf got up, growled a

little, and lay back down. The black wolf barked at the white wolf, causing him to

back away, still growling. Now that Raynor was closer, he could see a goblin

cutlass lodged in the shoulder of the silver wolf and the cuts and scratches

covering all the wolves’ bodies. There were also dead goblins strewn about the

base of the hill. Raynor cautiously walked towards the small pack, trying to

gure out why the black wolf hadn’t attacked. Then it hit him. These wolves had

attacked him once before and had left worse for wear; now they were faced with

Raynor again, in an injured state, and it was not worth it to ght him without

reason. Raynor walked closer to the silverly wolf, who was obviously the most

injured. At this, both the black and white wolves started growling at him again.

Raynor began to unsheathe Whitestorm, causing even the black wolf to get

ready to leap at him. But Raynor placed his sword at his feet and put his hands
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in front of him. The black wolf sat back down, but a growl still rumbled in his

throat. As Raynor got closer to the the silver wolf, he found that the goblin

cutlass was not too deep in its shoulder; but the wound was bleeding profusely.

The silver wolf looked at him with pain in its eyes.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Raynor said in a soothing voice. “I’m just going to

pull this sword out of your shoulder.”

Raynor pointed at the sword, then motioned as if he were pulling something up

with his hands. The wolves seemed to understand enough, and the growl died in

the black wolf’s throat, though his eyes still showed mistrust. The white wolf

backed away a little, though he retained his threatening posture. Raynor placed

his hands on the cutlass and quickly yanked it out. The silver wolf yelped and

jerked her body a little. Raynor grabbed the bedroll from his pack and began to

wrap it around the wolf’s shoulder, using its straps to secure it. Raynor backed

away from the wolf.


“There,” he said. “That’s all.”

The black wolf had no more mistrust in his eyes, while the white wolf dropped

his threatening pose. Raynor picked Whitestorm back up, this time evoking no

aggressive gestures from either wolf. He approached the black wolf, saying,

“You need to get somewhere safe.”

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A blank stare from the wolf. Raynor wondered how to convey what he was

thinking. He couldn’t use signs like before, but he had an idea. Raynor began to

draw the shape of a cave in the dirt. He pointed at the pack,

then to himself, then sni ed as loudly as he could, then pointed to the drawing.

Raynor was trying to tell the wolf to follow his scent to the cave, and he hoped

he got the point across.

The black wolf seemed to understand enough of it. He called his pack over, and

they began to converse with a series of yips, barks, and body language. After a

bit, the wolves stopped “talking” and looked expectantly at Raynor; he realized

that they wanted him to lead them to the cave.

“No,” he said, “follow my scent.” Raynor pointed at himself and made another

sni ng gesture.

The wolves seemed to nally understand this. The white wolf sni ed him, then

began to sni the ground. He yipped to the silver wolf, and they together began

to retrace Raynor’s steps; they made it to the the top of the hill, while the black

wolf didn’t move. The white wolf barked at him and tilted his head. The black

wolf barked back, pointing at Raynor with his muzzle, and the white wolf icked

his head across the hill and yapped loudly. The black wolf growled, u ed out

his fur, and held his tail up in a display of dominance. The white wolf ducked his
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head and attened his fur; he then began to slink down the other side of the hill

and out of sight.

Raynor wondered why the black wolf stayed behind, but there was no way of

knowing. He did know one thing, though: if anything could lead him to a way to

cross this chasm, it was a giant wolf.

“Can you nd a way across this chasm?” He pointed toward the other side of it.

The wolf barked, and knelt down; he icked his muzzle across his back.

He wanted Raynor to climb onto his back. Raynor, after realizing what the wolf

wanted him to do, climbed up, and found a comfortable spot just behind the

wolf’s shoulder blades. The black wolf took a few steps away from the edge of

the chasm and began to bound towards it. Raynor realized what the wolf was

doing just before he did it. He held on tightly to the wolf’s fur and ducked his

head as the wolf leapt across the ravine; Raynor felt the air rushing by him as

the wolf sailed through the air, and the thud of the wolf landing on the other side

jolted through him.

The wolf didn’t stop after he reached the other side; instead, he raced across

the rocky hills, the ground ying by so fast it became a gray blur to Raynor. The

wolf kept up this pace for a quarter of an hour until it nally came to a stop in a
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small valley; it then lay down on the ground and panted. Raynor slid o his back

and wondered what to call the wolf; he thought the creature deserved a more

personal address. Raynor thought for a minute and decided on a good name:

Brakk, which meant “alpha” in his language. Raynor walked to the wolf’s head

and pointed at him. “I’m going to call you Brakk,” said Raynor.

Raynor didn’t even know if Brakk understood what he said. He sauntered10

feet away and called out the wolf’s name. Brakk turned his head lazily to look at

Raynor, who took this as a sign that he understood. Raynor decided that this

valley was a good place to rest for the time being. He took o his pack and

reached for his bedroll but then remembered that he had used it as a bandage

for the silver wolf. So he dropped his pack on the ground, used it as a pillow,

and quickly fell to sleep.

Raynor woke up to a bright light shining in his eyes. He got up and looked

towards the sky, where the sun was shining through a split in the clouds. Raynor

felt its warmth wash over him; he saw Brakk stretched out in the sun. Raynor

climbed to the top of the valley and saw Eyron’s tower, less than a day’s walk

from where they stood. He realized he was very close to the end of his quest,

but he would have to nd a way into that tower. How Raynor would do this was
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a mystery; he could see hordes of goblins swarming the area around the base of

the tower. Oddly, they gave the tower itself a wide berth. Raynor could either try

to sneak in or ght his way through, but both options seemed impossible. The

sun disappeared behind the clouds, taking its warmth with it. Raynor walked

back down into the valley to get Brakk so they could continue their journey.

As they traveled, Raynor was trying to think of a way into the tower, though he of

couldn’t conceive of anything that could work; there were too many goblins to

hope to sneak in unseen and far too many to ght. Then he remembered the

area around the tower where the goblins were absent. Why this was was a

mystery to him, but it was possible that some magic was either protecting the

tower or something was scaring the hordes away. Raynor hated it, but he would

just have to hope that magic wasn’t protecting it and that the goblins really were

scared of it. Raynor kept thinking as they walked, right up until they were only a

few hundred yards away from the tower’s massive edi ce.

This was it. His quest would be over today, one way or another. Raynor and

Brakk gazed at the tower for a moment before shaking themselves out of the

awe of its size. “Brakk, I need you to get us there,” declared Raynor as he

pointed at the empty area around the tower’s base.

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Brakk yipped quietly as a sign of understanding the request. He crouched down,

and Raynor climbed onto his back. “Let’s go, Brakk,” instructed Raynor. Brakk

charged towards the tower, plowing through goblins before they had a chance to

react. Raynor heard a goblin horn being blown, but this didn’t matter, as Raynor

and Brakk had almost reached the clearing around the tower and its huge doors.

Raynor saw that the goblins had stopped their pursuit, and arrows began to y

towards Raynor. Although they missed him, a few planted themselves in Brakk’s

side; but this didn’t slow him down even a little. Raynor ducked as they charged

through the tower’s doors, blowing them o their hinges.

Eyron heard the blowing of the horn and the shattering of his doors; Raynor had

arrived. Eyron had already began to forge the Sword; magic was swirling around

the stygian silver, slowly forming it into the weapon that would destroy an entire

empire, along with anyone who stood in his way. Eyron heard the footfalls of

someone approaching his room.

Raynor was exhausted from all the stairs and decided to take a short break on

the last ight. After this, he got back up and continued into Eyron’s room. He

stood before his foe with Whitestorm unsheathed.

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“Hello, Raynor,” said Eyron, “We meet at last.”

“Your days of evildoing are over, Eyron!” said Raynor.

“But that’s where you’re wrong,” answered Eyron.

The room lled with smoke and Raynor felt something push past him. He heard

Eyron running down the stairs while Raynor simply stood still. After half a

minute, he heard the yelp of Eyron and the bark of Brakk. Eyron began to run

back up the stairs, but Raynor started descending the staircase to cut him o .

Raynor couldn’t believe that the person he had travelled so far to stop was an

absolute pushover. Raynor was soon standing in front of a very out-of-breath,

dark wizard. 


“You’ll never catch me!” shouted Eyron. Raynor sheathed Whitestorm, grabbed

Eyron, and carried him on his shoulder. This caused Eyron to throw a t, and

keep shouting, “Let me go!” and “Noooooo!” When Raynor reached the bottom

of the steps, he made a beeline for the door. Raynor stepped into the open. The

goblins looked back and forth between Raynor and Eyron.

“Does anyone have anything to tie this guy up with?” asked Raynor. Rope was

promptly thrown towards him.


“Welp,” said one of the goblins in front, “no gold for us. Might as well go home.”

A murmur of agreement ran through the crowd, and the goblins shu ed away.

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Raynor and Brakk began their journey back home with Eyron in tow.

The End