Nilrem and the Beast Killer

“Confounded thing!” Nilrem the sorcerer shouted in wheezing frustration. “Blasted, confounded thing!”

Swathed in deep purple robes that shimmered with the embroidered patterns of silver constellations, the wiry old man snatched up a knobbly stick and began swatting about at the intricate brass and glass construction that vexed him so; adding yet more dinks to the pockmarked structure.

“Why...Won’t...You...Work!” Nilrem cried with nasally irritation between each clanging smack. The brass instrument jiggled and squeaked but took no lasting damage, for the old wizard’s strength fled him before he was able to achieve anything substantial, as it always did.

He stumbled back coughing and glared at the construct, which stood defiant and shimmering in moonlight before his age-worn stone tower window. Nilrem hurled the stick at it for mocking him and paid no attention to it as it bounced off and clattered away, too busy muttering under his breath angrily and straightening his crescent shaped glasses.

Nilrem at last sighed and patted down his long white beard, slapping the puff from it as he turned around to regard the rest of his chamber. Despite the cool blue and silver of the night sky and moon glowing in from his open window, the tower was filled with a toasty warm yellow and the air was thick with drifting dust particles. Groaning bookcases which towered unrealistically high hid almost every inch of stone wall save for the sliver reserved for his fireplace which crackled with life on this chilly night.

Tables and benches which were at once intricately carved and agelessly decrepit cluttered the circular floor; each piled high with jumbled masses of parchments, scrolls and open tomes. One lonesome armchair sat before the fire with a small table to one side bearing a pewter decanter upon a stack of letters and a goblet, and a fat white owl sat upon its roost high in one corner. A streak of droppings down one side of the armchair showed that it enjoyed fluttering down to send time with its master on the occasions he took a break from his arcane tinkering.

“All this knowledge...” Nilrem huffed to himself disapprovingly. “All these books, all these bloody scrolls, all this...Age! And I still can’t get this blasted contraption to...Bah!”

He waved his hands and put the stargazing machine out of his mind for now, shambling across the room to slump down in his chair and pour himself another cupful of sparkling purple wine. Moonpuff flapped down to perch in his usual place on the back of Nilrem’s chair and ruffled his feathers, making himself even more rotund than usual. The sorcerer gazed into the fire forlornly and sipped his goblet, reaching up his other hand to run his tired bony fingers through Moonpuff’s soft belly feathers.

“Oh, Moonpuff. I fear I may die before I gaze upon the surface of another planet...” Nilrem resigned with a sigh. “Well, let’s have a look at today’s letters then, I suppose.”

The owl cooed and leaned into his scratching fingers until they left him to shakily take up the pile of string-bound parchment. Nilrem pulled loose the bow and spilled them onto his lap so he could rifle through them for anything worthwhile.

“Bah, just the usual rubbish I see...Urgh, she’s still alive?” Nilrem scoffed and threw several into the fire. “Aha! Another from Gunter...I’ve told that fat tax collecting git if he wants my money he can bloody well climb the stairs and get it...I’m an old man after all! Eheheheh...”

Nilrem paused at the weekly paper and let the rest of the letters fall from his fingers. Frowning with concern, he licked his dry lips and brought it up closer to his face. Adjusting his glasses, he was saddened to see that he had unfortunately not simply misread the headline.

“What’s...What’s this? Oh dear, oh dear. No. A whole glen of unicorns? This is...Who could do this? Those poor creatures!”

Casting the paper aside in disbelief, Nilrem hopped to his feet with surprising agility for a hundred-and-fifty-six year old and made straight for where his cloak hung upon a stand.

“Moonpuff, I’m going to the village,” he said in a hurry, throwing the billowing purple zodiac embroidered gown about his shoulders and fastening it with a golden sun-and-moon clasp. “Stay here unless I summon you. Hopefully I shan’t be long, but I must look into this news further.”

Nilrem stood at the top of the great spiral staircase that led down to the rocky mound at the base of his tower and looked down into the dark distance. “No stairs for a wizard,” he smirked.

The slab beneath his soft doeskin slippers glowed sun yellow for a moment, then in the blink of an eye he was standing on an identical slab at the base of the stairs instead. A thick, iron reinforced wooden door stood before him within a slightly lop-sided arch of stone and the wizard reached inside his robes to withdraw a heavy iron key for the lock.

“Hmm,” he mused, looking over a cluster of staves and walking canes standing in a taxidermy troll foot. “You today, I think.”

A rod of polished silver topped by a crescent moon leapt into his pointing fingers and Nilrem weighed it for a moment before nodding and proceeding through the heavy door. It creaked slowly open to create a portal into a midnight blue ocean of mist and stars. The grass shone like silver-topped obsidian and the jagged black silhouettes of bare trees stabbed up into a dark blue sky riddled with millions of glittering white stars. Bats swooped overhead chasing fluttering moths and undomesticated owls hooted from within the surrounding forest while fog roiled like quicksilver around Nilrem’s knees, the moisture glittering with the reflection of the moon.

Nilrem stopped just outside the doorway and took in a deep breath of crisp, cold night air and smiled, letting the majesty of the night time world wash over him. He closed the door with a wave of his hand and raised his shining staff to the moon for a brief second before setting off towards town. He did not live too far away, despite the isolated nature of his forest clearing. An easy path, once clearly cobblestone but now merely dirt and twigs, led a winding path through the dark forest towards the small town of Nettleridge. It was dark under the bushy boughs of the trees, so Nilrem lit his way with a glow of silver light radiating from the moon atop his cane.

Along the way, he considered what he’d read a little more. According to the article Ivybough Glen; a well known home to a herd of unicorns, had been attacked by someone or something. A monstrous act that had tragically left no survivors. Ivybough was famous and revered for its population of wild unicorns; one of only a few places in the entire realm where they could be found. It was regarded by all as a place of utmost sanctity and treated with the greatest respect, and in turn the unicorns had been known to be quite hospitable and charitable towards humans; even allowing the use of mane and tail hairs for magic so long as it was exclusively to heal.

Nilrem himself had visited that beautiful sanctum several times, and he looked to his hand as he walked, still able to recall the sensation of their sleek pure white fur brushing beneath his touch. On one occasion, they had even allowed him to take shavings from a horn in order to manifest a spell to cure a village-worth of disease during a terrible outbreak of plague many years ago. Who could possibly want such sacred and magnificent creatures dead?

Even more concerning perhaps, who or what could actually be so vicious and deadly as to butcher an entire herd? Unicorns were beautiful and peaceful creatures, but they were far from defenceless when they needed to defend themselves. Surely, Nilrem mused, the only thing more scary than someone with the will to slaughter them; was someone with the power to.

“What are you doing Nilrem, you old fool?” the magician grumbled to himself while hobbling through the darkness. “Investigating murdered unicorns as if you aren’t seventy years past your prime?”

He stumbled and nearly went tumbling over completely as his foot caught a root and shook his head bitterly. “I’ll be lucky just not doing myself a mischief on this blasted path!”

With a small force of mystic will, Nilrem enhanced the light glowing from the top of his staff until it flooded surrounding forest with silvery beams brighter than sunlight. The solid forms of trees, bushes, branches and roots stood out clearly as black silhouettes as the space between, formerly shadow, was saturated with white. Not very subtle nor pleasantly mystical, but at least he wouldn’t miss a stick and trip again.

The forest showed its displeasure a moment later with a chorus of disturbed rustling and scampering as nocturnal animals fled the light and owls hooted and flapped from the canopies. Nilrem shook his head and muttered sullenly about his own mortality, pressing on as swiftly as his knobbly legs would carry to so as to not disturb the nighttime life any more than he had to.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry...Moving as quickly as I can! Don’t mind me, sorry...” he grumbled, holding up the front hem of his robes, so it didn’t snag or catch under his own feet.

Torches burned in the depths of a dank cave; a temporary haven for the Beast Killer. Its monstrous shadow flickered on the moist walls where it blocked the light of a makeshift fire and filled the echoing cavern with draconic growls. Run through by a unicorn’s horn; that sacred blade which may pierce any armour, pain burned hot in the Beast Killer’s side just as blood flowed from the righteous wound that refused to clot but for the touch of fire. Yet the hatred festering in the monster’s heart eclipsed any agony physical injury could cause, and already the monster’s desolate mind looked only to the next slaughter.

Nilrem crested the hill just as dawn broke the horizon and the glow of early sun washed over the country landscape to bathe it in heady crimson. Nestled closely around the base of the hill upon which Nilrem stood, fat thatched roofs were almost indistinguishable from bushy hedgerows in the rural hamlet that was Ivybough. Nilrem dismissed the white glow beaming from the orb atop his walking staff with a wave of his bony hand and took a deep breath of crisp morning air while his eyes adjusted to the chilly red sunrise.

“More beautiful than I remember,” he mused. “I really should make an effort to get out more often.”

Setting off down the hill Nilrem adopted a small winding path and found it a little more agreeable than the forest trail, though the occasional cobble would still jab painfully into his soft slippers.

The village was waking up now, its earliest risers beginning to filter sleepily from their cottages and hovels to begin their long day toiling in the fields. Ivybough was the kind of village where everyone worked and supported the community as a whole, and those too young or old to farm would be taking up their own manner of crafts and workmanship later on. There were weavers, leatherworkers, carpenters and a local blacksmith; and anyone without their own particular skill would simply pitch in cooking, cleaning or running other errands.

Nilrem always admired this kind of rural society, it was so much more friendly and honest than the busy independencies of larger towns where people only had a mind for their own business. It was strange to him then, that the confused and wary glances he got as he strode through the village outskirts, were rather unfriendly and beginning to make him feel a little unwelcome.

It hadn’t occurred to Nilrem that he’d been out of the adventuring scene for a little more than fifty years; since his one hundredth birthday in fact. A retirement of sorts, he had considered it. This meant that very few people, if anybody at all, would even remember that there was a wizard living in a tumbledown, abandoned looking tower in the depths of their local forest. With this being the case, the sight of an old man who appeared two lifetimes late for his own grave, trailing a flapping four-foot-long white beard and swathed in bright purple robes glittering with strange silver etchings was quite the surprise.

Nilrem cursed himself for his oversight and lacking the intuition to dress normally before leaving his esoteric domain and quickly gave up on cheerfully greeting people in favour of hurrying onwards with his head down and the hope that no overzealous idiot shouted “Witch!” and started a whole mess of inconvenience.

To his memory Ivybough had only one inn, and it was towards this that Nilrem hurried. If there was any news to be had then there is where he would find it.

The Moldiwarp was a sunken-roofed little inn of craggy stone and sagging thatch nestled between two thick hedgerows which ran some way behind to form a pleasant little beer garden. Its comforting atmosphere enveloped Nilrem the moment he opened the creaky wooden door and allowed the warm and stuffy air to waft out over him. Smoke and ale and a little honest sweat filled the old wizard’s nose and he smiled at the memories it brought back; a welcome change to the musty parchment and owl droppings which he was used to in his tower.

Even so, as easy going and welcoming as the Moldiwarp was, his sudden strange appearance still turned just about every head in there. Nilrem huffed and hurried across the lumpy floorboards towards the bar where a portly gentleman who looked like a pork pie in an apron stood waiting. At Nilrem’s approach he set down the pewter tankard he’d been cleaning but otherwise clearly didn’t quite know what to think and just stared in puzzlement with a half-remembered warm welcome policy urging his fat lips to smile.

“Good mornin’...Sir?” he asked hopefully.

Nilrem hobbled to a halt and lent his staff against the counter with a sigh before patting his robes down and returning the smile. “Yes, yes, indeed!” he said almost a little too loudly, happy that the bar tender was apparently not opposed to him being there before remembering the business he was in fact there for.

“Oh no, wait, it is not. I’m sorry but I came to follow up on some rather grave news in fact. Have you heard about the unicorns?” Nilrem peered down curiously over his crescent spectacles at the much shorter man.

“The...Unicorns?” The barkeep seemed rather ambushed and his already ruddy cheeks turned an even brighter shade of crimson. “Forgive me sir, but are you a...A wizard?”

Nilrem chuckled and pulled down his glasses to clean them with a strangely glittery cloth. “Why yes, I am. But I’m afraid I really don’t have time for all the usual pleasantries, the news I came to inquire about is sadly quite heinous.”

“Well I never,” The fat in keeper breathed in wonder, fortunately more intrigued than fearful. That was a two-way reaction swing those with magic could rarely count on going well. “Never seen a wizard before, I haven’t! Didn’t know we had one near here, that’s for sure!”

“Indeed, well I have been busy for a few...Decades. Now tell me please, is there much talk about these unicorns? Any gossip or rumours? I would assume as a barkeep you would hear any such things passing through here.”

Right you are sir! I’ve heard, but only what them papers is saying. Talk about here ain’t much since most people are simple farmers, but there was a girl come through ‘ere yesterday askin’ the same stuff as you,” he shrugged, clearly wishing he could be more helpful to such an esteemed guest.

“Oh! Me name’s Offa, by the way. Very pleased to have the likes of you here, your magicalness.”

Nilrem snorted in amusement at that, strategically hiding his mouth behind his hands as he slipped his spectacles back over his ears. “Now, now, no need for that. The name is just Nilrem, friend,” he hauled himself up onto one of the tall stools and sighed deeply. “I understand, I didn’t expect there to be a huge amount more to be found here. It is interesting that I am apparently late to the party though, please tell me more about this girl.”

“Certainly, certainly. Ain’t much to tell though,” Offa started before remembering his manners, and his job. “Oh, can I get ye a drink, sir?” He looked hopefully, fingers already twitching over a waiting mug.

Nilrem shook his head. “No thank you, I need to be going as quickly as possible. I may want to catch up with this young lady if I am able, so please...” He gestured encouragingly for Offa to get to the point, who groaned disappointedly in turn.

“Hmm, alright then. Well like I said she came askin’ the same questions as you, about them unicorns. I couldn’t tell her any more than you, so in the end she said she was heading to the next town t’ ask there instead. I think she were out looking for who did it, or something, same as yourself?

“She was dressed up for a fight, too. Didn’t look like it fitted too good, though. Iron armour, maybe steel, quite strapped up she was; fair few weapons an’ all. Took her helmet off in’ere, so I can tell ye she’s young an’ got freckles and brown hair. Pretty young lady she was, but the hardy type, I’d guess she were a farrier smith or something like that. Farm girl maybe.” Offa looked rather pleased with the amount he’d been able to remember and beamed at Nilrem in satisfaction through his crimson jowls.

“Ah, a young adventurer...I remember that feeling,” the sorcerer nodded with an absent-minded smile. “Warms my dusty old heart.”

“Thank you Offa, you’ve been most helpful. I think I’m going to set off after her and see if I can’t catch up.”

“Oh, my pleasure Mr Nilrem, sir! Is there anything else I can do for yer? A drink maybe?” Offa reached under the counter hopefully.

“No, no, not for me sorry. I can’t much handle ale at this age I’m afraid, as much as I miss the taste...But pop down and check your stores later, you might find a nice surprise.” Nilrem smirked mischievously. Even as he talked, barrels appeared in poofs of cloying purple smoke in the cellar below until Offa’s stock was tripled with fine vintages transported from the world over.

Nilrem chuckled lightly at Offa’s confused expression as he caught a whiff of the pleasantly violet scented smoke drifting up from beneath his feet. “Now then, I will take my leave. Fair well Offa, it’s been a plea-”

“Oi!”

A sudden gruff exclamation cut Nilrem off and made him jump in surprise.

“Bah!” Nilrem’s hand leapt to his heart.

Offa was less surprised, giving a huff of disappointment and letting his shoulders slump.

“Julius, please,” he started, apparently well aware of who the new speaker was. He’d certainly been hoping that he wouldn’t cause trouble.

“Be quiet you, I’m talkin’ to the old man!” Julius growled back.

Nilrem turned away from Offa to see who was shouting at him, still clutching his chest and frowning in irritation. His eyes fell upon quite a specimen. Julius was even fatter than Offa, a living mountain of “relaxed muscle” strapped up in studded leather armour so that he resembled a spiky mead barrel draped with a heavy fur cloak. His red face was pinched with anger and as he thundered over from his seat by the hearth, sweat beads dripped from his shiny crimson scalp. Something which Nilrem imagined was a constant attribute for the man.

“Can I help you, sir?” Nilrem inquired in his best miserly voice, full of strain and weakness.

“I reckon you can,” Julius rumbled through his flappy cheeks. “You’re that old buzzard who lives up in that blasted tower ain’t you?” He came to a halt uncomfortably close to Nilrem and folded his arms, towering over him and glowering.

“Oh? Why yes, that would be me. Is there something I can do for you, sonny?” Nilrem croaked.

“You can pay your bloody taxes, that’s what you can do,” Julius seemed not to care one bit for Nilrem’s elderly and infirm act and continued to scowl at him like a perturbed bulldog. “Five years’ worth, by my watch alone, and I’d reckon a good more than that from before since I doubt you paid the last collector much, neither.”

Nilrem gasped deeply in mock dismay and gave Julius his best look of apologetic shock. “Taxes? Oh my goodness, I had no idea...I’m afraid I really don’t have anything on me! I’m not in the habit of carrying money around, as but a feeble old man, you see?”

Nilrem noted there was no change in Julius’ face save the irritating twitching of a few cheek muscles and so decided to continue a little further.

“However, you’re welcome to visit me in my tower an time you like! I’m sure I have enough up there to see us through this little misunderstanding. That is,” Nilrem struggled to stop a sly grin from appearing. “If you care enough about this to make it up all those stairs...” he shrugged.

“Oh no, old man, I’m not letting you vanish back up there!” Julius looked Nilrem over for a moment, then his eyes fixed upon the silver moon rod he carried and he smirked thoughtfully.

“Hmm, that stick looks like it’s worth a few coins, how about I take it as a down payment?”

“Oh, surely you would not part an old man from his walking stick?” Nilrem croaked and retracted his hand to hug the cane into the folds of his cloak protectively. Julius certainly would, and reached out with his own meaty sausage-fingers to do exactly that. “Now, now,” he said reassuringly. “I’m not lookin’ to keep it. You can have it back just as soon as you cough up on those taxes you’re so eager to avoid.”

Nilrem shrank back and mumbled some grumpy old man noises through a trembling lip before shaking his head furiously and flapping his hand to slap Julius’ chubby digits away.

“Oh, fine, fine!” he grumbled reaching into his robes and rooting around. “I think I might have something on me after all...Aha!”

Nilrem snapped his hand back out triumphantly, holding a folded sheet of paper and thrusting it into Julius’ hand. “Here you go!”

Julius frowned quizzically at the paper and began to look it over, trying to peel it open with his thick fingers, while Nilrem’s own bony claws tightened around the haft of his cane.

“What’s this?” grunted Julius.

“A map!” Nilrem shouted cheerfully with a sudden mischievous grin, raising his cane into the air in the same moment.

He brought the butt slamming down onto the floorboards and a shockwave of yellow light spread out into a circle beneath the tax collector’s feet. Julius’s shock and confusion was apparent, but he had no time to react before the yellow glow turned jet black, and a horrible sinking feeling lurched through his stomach. With a great roar of surprise, Julius dropped straight down and fell right out of view, only for the black hole to fade away immediately after and be replaced by sturdy boards once more.

Nilrem chuckled gleefully, but Offa was quite pale faced and stared open-mouthed back and forth between Nilrem and the empty space where Julius stood mere moments ago.

“What...Where....What did you,” Offa stammered in shock.

Nilrem glanced at him, hoping to share in some humour but quickly realised that this display of magic was likely the first Offa had ever seen, and saw that it was dangerously close to seeming malicious; even dangerous. Stifling more chuckling, he reached out to touch him reassuringly on the shoulder.

“Now, now, don’t worry, my friend. He’s perfectly fine! Just,” Nilrem smirked thoughtfully. “A little farther away.”

Offa didn’t seem much soothed by that, and stammered further in disbelief. “Further away...Further away?”

“Farther,” Nilrem interjected, being quite ignored.

“Further away...What do you mean? What the devil have you done with Julius? Where is he?”

“Oh, about waist deep in a particularly odoriferous bog I discovered while out walking, some miles from here. He’ll be back by noon tomorrow, I should imagine. Hopefully a little better mannered for it, too.” Nilrem chuckled and gave Offa’s shoulder a slap. “Well, I should be off anyway. I’ll stop in for that drink on my way back.”

Tossing his cane matter-of-factly from one hand to the other, Nilrem turned on his heel and hobbled back out into the village, leaving a still quite stunned Offa behind. The day had warmed up a bit already and the old sorcerer took a deep breath of the late morning air with a smile as he retook his path. It smelled of flowers and hay, and he noticed while walking that his brightly coloured robes attracted several butterflies.

Beautiful blossoming bushes flanked the winding dirt path he walked upon, rolling ahead like sweet-scented multicolour clouds while fat bumblebees and dragonflies hummed about. It saddened Nilrem’s heart that such a pleasant day was marred by the tragedy of slaughtered unicorns, and a tear welled in his eye at the thought that they would not enjoy another day like this again. He was not familiar with the afterlife, but he deeply hoped those pure souls were somewhere better.

Jagged segments of blood red plate armour clanked against one another in time with the relentless trudging tread of the Beast Killer. It growled against the heat-induced ache throbbing inside its skull, and knew that it had to find water soon. Leaving the cave behind had been an unwelcome necessity. The unicorns had been a good start, but there were many more creatures to be slain. It had to keep moving, always moving, to the next victim. Yet its feet were heavy and its tread increasingly sluggish.

The trees opened up ahead, and the Beast Killer’s hateful eyes at last fell upon a pool of fresh water, glistening blue beneath the sun. Healthy green bushes clustered around, the leaves of ferns hanging low enough to dip into the surface as if they too were sating their thirst. Filled with a sudden burst of energy, the Beast Killer stormed towards the pool with a thunderous clanking of heavy armour and pounding boots.

Dropping to its knees by the edge of the pool, the Beast Killer raised its hands to its head and at last heaved the savage draconic visage of its helm away. Even the warm air felt cool and it heaved a deep sigh of relief as it stripped its hands of clawed gauntlets and plunged them into the waters.

Ripples broke over a face of ethereal beauty, and the creature of hate recoiled in disgust at the sight. Before its very eyes, an otherworldly maiden as clear and blue as the water itself rose from the pool, slowly and gracefully and with a face full of nothing but kindness. A water nymph.

“Weary traveller,” she cooed in a voice like a trickling stream. “You look on death’s very door. Please, allow me soothe you whilst you sate your thirst from my waters.”

The Beast Killer glared up at the apparition with a festering stomach of bile and distrust while strong fingers closed around the grip of the sword that hung from its waist.

“Foul creature,” the Beast Killer snarled. “I shall sate my thirst for water once I have satisfied my hunger for your life.” The Beast Killer slid its sword from its scabbard and rose to stand before the glistening maiden.

Her kindly face turned at once not to hatred but to pity, and lost none of its glassy beauty as she raised her hand and reprimanded the aggressive stranger. “I fear no sword, mortal. It saddens me that you come forth with hate in your heart, and force my hand to harm that which I sought to help.

“Drink not from my waters, then, stranger,” she sighed with regret. “Drown within them.”

The red armoured brute shied not from her drifting watery hand as it quested for his face, instead snarling into her visage with such spite it was as if she had slain those he loved.

“I fear no monster, yet all your kind shall come to fear my blade, witch!” he bellowed.

The Beast Killer struck, slashing its sword through the nymph in a blow that should have been meaningless. Her bubbling death-wail filled the clearing however, and instead of slipping harmlessly from her liquid body, his sword rent her into a thousand droplets.

With its prey vanquished, the Beast Killer knelt once more and drank. It would rest now, and tomorrow another creature would meet its end.