Phantastical Ventures

- Legend of the Blenocla -

Fall of the Tyrant :

   The people weeped and woed for the day straight, not even bothering to appease the sacrifice as they knew it to be impossible. A great ruination would befall the people, and there was nothing left for them to do but await their doom. Even escape was out of the question for they knew that demon Blenocla would eventually get them. Everyone ceased to care about life for that day. They all stayed home, crying with their families. The streets were empty, the taverns were closed, and the market was abandoned by all but one man. A simple farmer from out in the country rode his cart into town, coming every month or so to pettle his wares to the people of Rivensburg, mainly his crop of flour, which stained his ragged clothes. Not being the most focused of men, he set up a place at the market's square as normal and sat for nearly an hour chewing on a sprig of grass before realizing that no one was even out let alone buying goods. At past noon, finally, one of the townspeople had emerged on their way to visit family located elsewhere in town.
   "Pardon me, madam," the farmer called. "A good day to you. Might I inquire as to where the people of this town have hidden themselves?" The woman broke out into tears, crushed by the lack of his understanding for their horror. Angrily, she scolded him about the evil that had cursed their village, not fearing what the devil itself would do to her anymore for telling outsiders. She divulged everything from how the creature tortured them, its unnatural abilities, and how they were all going to die by sunset. As she stormed off in rage, the farmer felt sorry. Not at angering the woman but at the town's perdicament. He thought she was giving a plea for help, and that is just was he went to do. Having neither weapon nor shield to duel the beast, he took only what he had at his disposle. Leaving a sign stating his immeniant return, he walked off into the Xotric swamps with three bags of flour.
   As he drew on into the marsh, he saw the masses of the terror's filth hang from trees and puddling on the ground. Taking the first bag of flour, he poured it out on the path before him, little by little. As he walk along, any slime that he would be unfortunate enough to step upon would remain where it was and not on his soles. Similarly, the second bag was doused over his body. Any dripping ooze that fell upon him would roll right off, sticking to all the white powder rather than his clothes. The Blenocla, not being a fool, knew something was amiss, but it would not sense what approaching for his strange vision was being blocked. It was not only irate over the situation but worried, for it did not know how it was going to deal with any trouble that could arise. It was not long before the hapless farmer was inside of the monsters lair.
   Spotting it from afar, he called out to the demon, "Wicked one, you are bringing these people pain. Why do you not just leave them alone? It would make them so much happier." It scoffed.
   "I care not for their lives, foolish mortal," it roared, "much like you must not care for your own. Facing me is a quick way to lose your soul as I have already proven to countless warriors."
   "Oh, I'm no warrior," he corrected. "Just a simple merchant farmer." The Blenocla was seeking out the intruder by homing in on his voice, expecting to get him by surprise; however, he was expecting just that to happen.
   "A mere tiller of the earth thinks it could ever stand a chance against my magisty?" It broke out into an evil laughter. "For your foolishness, now you die!" Whipping its head across, a thick stream of sludge poured from each eye. The thick goo splatter on his surroundings but bounced off his chest. With fangs beared, it dove its massive jaw to devour the man but had to stop mid-attack, for it did not know where he accurately was. Being the opprotunity he had waited for, the peasent hurled the third bag of flour at the beast's head. Its contents spilled over the monster's face, filling its eye holes, caking them with fine grains. Its primary sense was now literally clogged. Throwing a tantrum, it wildly flailed about its winding neck and bladed tail. In an attempt to escape the danger, the plebian lept onto the creature's neck. Feeling the man crawling on its body, it swung its tail in a panic. Lacking any decent aim without its enchanted vision, the farmer was dropped to the ground while holding the Blenocla's severed neck. Staring at the bloody stump, he thought it was ended, but the segment of scales slide off, revealing another mouth much like that on the end of its disembodied head, only lacking the eyes.
   "I must congradulate you, mortal," the brute hideously hissed from its new mouth. "I never thought it would happen, but I have been bested, although," it added, "not defeated. You have robbed me of the many spirits I have drained and sites I have permenently bound, but I still live. It will take many winters, but I shall grow a new head with new eyes. When that time comes, you best pray that your spirit had long since past." Turning, it carefully charged off, not knowing where it was headed.
   As sunset came upon the town and the people watched from the homes the borders, no beast but that which pulled a cart emerged, filled with treasures long since thought parted. Joyously, the people flooded into the streets, praising their hero as he returned each piece. They called for celebration and ceremony, many offering him a grand reward, their daughters, some by themselves. He only nodded and kindly parted from them, heading back to his booth. Confused, they demanded to know why he did not want a commemoration. Smiling, he told each on the same thing.
   "I didn't do this to be a hero. I just couldn't sit idly by as my customers died on me. So, how many bags of flour would you like?"

Last Modified - 9/13/03 | Page Established - 9/13/03