Anna and Kalven were travelling north to partake in the Spring Break-Up Festival. At least, that was what they were telling people anyway. They were twins. Kalven followed his sister everywhere because trouble followed no matter where she went. Anna would not tell Kalven why she needed to head north, but it was something important.

Kalven was just happy to be away from their father. They made it to the little village a few days before the festival. It would be good to rest his feet up at the Tavern. He had heard tales of the “Singing Fool” and about a beautiful maiden who inspired the song called the coal miner’s daughter.

They rounded the corner of the road and came upon the tiny little village. It was a well-maintained road, and the twins approached the Tavern. It felt almost like the road only led to the Tavern and not the merchant guild-like in other towns. Anna and Kalven felt relieved to reach the city finally; however, that was when they noticed a blackened smoke rising close to Calvary.

They watched as a cloaked figure dashed towards the tree line. Anna reasoned that the man must have seen the smoke and went to investigate the trouble. Anna looked towards Kalven, “I think it might be best if we head to see the storyteller as soon as possible.” Kalven nodded his response. Both rushed towards the Tavern as fast as their mounts could take them.

They were quickly dismounting and giving their trusted mounts a grateful pat. They passed the old sign and found the Tavern full of small children circling the old Storyteller. He was sharing with them an epic tale of a brave warrior battling with n ugly troll to save a beautiful elf trapped in the creature’s cave. The children listened with great zeal that it could rival the most lustful paladin. Anna and Kalven shared a look and sat down at a booth and half-listened to the story.

Anna grew nervous and felt like this trip was too easy because they did not run into bandits or hungry wolves. The letter she carried in her left breast pocket felt as heavy as a coal miner’s pick. It was not like her to keep secrets from Kalven, but she did not want to have this weight crush him. He was a man of science and not a man of the heart. She promised to deliver the letter to the Storyteller and no one else. It was a promise that brought her from the southern forest. It was the least she could do. The kindness felt like a pit in her heart and was killing her.

While she was lost in her thoughts, a young girl came to Kalven. As all small children do, she began to inquire by asking a thousand questions. Such as, “What would they like? Or how could she help?” Anna’s mind snapped to the here and now. It was the serving girl asking if they wanted anything.

Kalven paid for two rooms for the week. Then asked if they had any breakfast leftOn closer inspection, Anna noticed something strangely familiar about the young lady.

That was when everything seemed to stop. The bay window shattered, and she felt a sharp pain for only a moment...

Kalven dropped the coin purse on the floor and was in shock. A single silver coin bounced out and rolled under the table. Kalven’s eyes went wide. A single shaft, an arrow, was sticking out of her chest; there was nothing he could do but reach for her. Kalven grabs her and pulls her close; however, life is already leaving her body because the arrow has pierced her heart. She was dead before there was a single thing he could do about it.

He began to cry like a madman.

Rebecca dived, hitting the floor hard and began to scream at the children to crawl behind the bar. The Storyteller helped to push the children under cover. He takes a quick look out into the village square. To his amazement, at least twenty goblins were letting loose arrows or trying to break into houses. He saw a band of ten goblins coming towards his tavern and firing arrows as they marched.

That was when the explosions started. Kalven was covered in his twin sister’s blood and had glass vials in his hands. He began to throw them through the window, and as the glass broke from the impact, a bright light would spark, and then an explosion. The man had a fire in his eyes.

Rebecca noticed his cloak was on the ground, and Kalven’s body was covered in leather straps. Hundreds of these vials are attached with red leather from his chest down his legs. He walked straight out of the bay window. Rebecca noticed that he was now looking like a giant of a man. Kalven began to throw his vials into the goblin bands. In a white flash, those ten marching goblins were nothing more than a bloody patch on the ground, and more began to pop up replacing their dead.

The mad bomber was born. It was as if death himself was raining down upon Calvary. The goblins stopped their individual attacks, and all turned to face Kalven, blood lust filling both parties. The goblins rallied and charged toward Kalven. Their rally was short-lived, however, as Kalven pulled off a blue flask from one of his chest straps. He took a large drink from it, and he paused for a moment to let it settle.

With the small break in the explosion, a goblin arrow found its way into his leg of Kalven. His anger pushed him through. He let out a dragon’s breath of flame that cascaded out towards the goblins. They burst into flames and ran like little dancing candles at a Winter Festival. When the last goblin finally fell to the ground in a burning mess and stopped moving, so did Kalven fall to the ground cupping his face into his hands. Upon this day, Kalven shared the pain of Calvary. Today, pain caused him to be reborn.

******

The explosions finally stopped. Drovic did not know there were any powerful mages here in Calvary. “Curse all this chaos! I have not had time to establish enough information. Now, this stupid brownie is giving away.” Pausing in his footsteps, looking to the rear, he went on. “That there is a power player here already.” Drovic rage slipped past his hardened defences. His relaxed demeanour broke under his formidable fury.

THUD!

His lack of prowess meant that he almost missed the sound of thunder. It was not the explosions he had heard moments before. More specifically, the thud felt like a massive earthquake miked with thunder was not coming from the town. Drovic cursed himself. The other thunder came from the other side of town. The opposite direction in which he headed. “It is time,” with all haste, Drovic dashed through the treetops. Drovic knew that whatever was coming was more dangerous than a handful of goblins.

Drovic, using all his skills over the years, felt like he barely managed to make it back to town unseen. The thought of something watching him kept playing over and over in the back of his mind. Some unforeseen player in his game was shifting the balance of power considerably against him. He made the open field just before the guard tower, and he could fully see the burning smoke rising above the buildings. It looked like it centred around the Tavern. “Best make haste! This is going to be fun.”

Drovic darts towards the Tavern. The Tavern was unofficial the heart of the village, and Drovic wanted to see who was leading the town’s defences. As he darts past the tower, Dovic notices a dead goblin leader. He quickly reviews the body as he bounds past and observes that the archer perfectly killed the rather large goblin.

Drovic rounds the corner, sliding on the loose gravel.

Everything seemed to slide into a clear view before his eyes. Drovic saw, what he could only imagine, was what was left of the town folks. They lined up in front of the Tavern. Dashing towards a nearby farmhouse Drovic takes hold of the drainpipe and climbs swiftly up the side of the building and up to the roof. Lying flat on his stomach, he inches closer to the edge of the building to survey the masses.

The old Storyteller had his hand upon the back of a man who looked stone-cold as if he was dead himself. However, the man had a stream of tears racing down his face. The townspeople had gathered up their dead. On the ground, the village’s dead were lined up and covered in bloody sheets to mask them from sight.

Drovic noticed the bay window was gone to the Tavern was gone. There was a makeshift wall put up in its place, nothing more than a few boards hastily hammered up. Drovic glanced into the distance, trying to see if there were any signs of what was making the thundering thuds he felt. He feared they were getting closer to town and looked back towards the Storyteller. The old man started to speak.

******

“I have seen many wonders in this world, my love, but your beauty…” He paused as he ran his hand through her blood-caked hair. Kalven was sitting in a pool of human and goblin blood; it was like he was an island in a sea of blood. His sister’s head was resting peacefully on his lap as you might for a child afflicted with a fever. He closed her eyes, closed with loving hands.

The arrow still in her heart stole away his beloved. It still rested untouched. This man lost in his madness caused by a depth of grief knows one could understand. The bomber could not bring himself to pull it from her. No one watching dared to take a step forward. The villagers feared him more than the goblins.

Tears began to stream from his face. They raced down the sharp edges of his jaw line. Slowly the tears dropped one by one upon his sister’s face. All he could say was, “My sweet sister…”

Time seemed to stop as the town began to circle the mad man. Kalven lost to his sorro. There was only one who walked up to the Kalven. The village is frozen in place as they watch. The Storyteller placed a cloak over the weeping man.

Pausing, the Storyteller turned to address the town.

“We are still in danger, people! Take hold. We can mourn the death of our brothers and sisters tomorrow if we survive. This man has gained us breathing room with his science, but more are sure to come. You can count on that. Grab your gear and any supplies and rally to the hall.”

As a family of worker bees, men and women began to run to their homes. They began to gather food, blankets, arrows, and all creation of ancient family arms. Within no time, the town had rallied to the merchant hall. They were closing the gates and sending the children and weak into the basement levels for their protection. Anyone able to hold a bow or weapon marched out and was ready to defend their homeland.

People with valuable skills for battle began to work. Carpenters and smiths worked beside one another to board up the windows. Others took care of the wounded. A few cooks went into the kitchen and began to feed the soon-to-be defenders. This community rallied around each other.

Ulrok and Jeremy explained to the Mayor and Storyteller about their battles. The fall of the guard towers, all but Jeremy’s tower. Then how they rushed about to lend a hand where they could.

Jeremy had strong words of encouragement to his peers as he passed them in the streets. The other young men that never gave Jeremy much credit soon were listening to every word he was saying after seeing how effective he was at killing the goblins. His words rallied the youth around him as if he were the old gods’ messenger.

*******

Drovic, with all the organized chaos in town, there was no one looking for him. He was able to slip into unguarded areas and begin his search. He needed to find it before the creature he heard in the woods would find this town. Slipping past the watchful eyes of a dead man pinned to a wall with goblin arrows, he disappeared into the shadows.

*******

Within the hour, the mayor and the old man had the merchant hall become the town’s port in the storm. The village sent out small bands of men to keep bringing in supplies and burn the dead, but archers and armed men watched the gates in case search parties needed to fall back to a position of strength.

The town had finally settled down. The fires from earlier had burned out. Another important task they set was that the village’s dead were put to the touch to stop the creation of sickness: all but one. The sun was setting behind the mountain, creating a feeling of dread among the townspeople of Calvary. Even the smallest child knows that with darkness, the monsters come out.

All the while, Kalven the Mad-Bomber sat holding his beloved sister.

As the final rays of light passed from the town of Calvary with the children safely huddled together in the basement of the merchant hall, their mothers sang sweet, soft songs under a few candles. The men at the gates locked their eyes on the tree line. It felt as if even the wind did not stir this night. The typical rustling sound of tree branches rocking the town to sleep each night did not hint at movement.

The half-moon was out this night and was casting ghosts about. The moon makes shadows look like creatures from the underworld here to steal your soul; this was not the peaceful setting that the village had once been. It was not the village that young Eric had grown up in. He saw first sees the creature take its first set from the forest. Eyes from the shadows saw that he was the first time to die as well. His scream was the warning bell for the rest to act but music to the shadows watching.