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Tale of the Tunes Part 2
Endless Possibilities

PG and only for language, can ya believe it?

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Do'nar's Tale

You've got to know, wizard, that the damned elves you're kin to were all magic-users; the stuff was in their blood I reckon, even the ones who didn't spell-cast actively.  No wonder in that; their very country, the western land, is too weird to even walk through for a simple human galoot like me!

Beautiful, yes, but eerie.  Sets your nerves on edge and your teeth to humming.  It's like strolling along the sharp side of a sword-blade, in a darkened house full of ghosts with sweet voices mocking you at every step.

No, I'm not being "poetic", rot your eyes!  I know this because one autumn, I was out hunting alone, and wandered a little too far west in search of game.  Drunk? Curse you, what of it?  My consumption, then or now, isn't the point, by thunder!

As I said, I strayed into elf country and got lost instantly. And while I was staggering around trying to get my bearings, damn if a star didn't die nearly on top of me.

You say you've seen this happen.  I don't know what you thought of it, since wizards eat and drink strange things for breakfast probably.  Myself, I was sure that I'd died in battle without knowing it and Odin had sent his warrior maids for me the first time I actually saw the sky open.  This time, though, I saw nothing except the big flash behind my eyes when the star metal nailed me dead center in back of my skull as I puzzled over the path.

Now, I need to explain my state of mind as it was on that day, which'll make this story almost as long as one told by you, wizard!  So I apologize if I'm boring.  But this was something that changed my life and you need to understand why, I guess.

I had been lost for over an hour, trudging up a path that I swear appeared under my feet from nowhere.  I'd been following a river through a mess of trees as I remembered it, hoping the water would lead me the hell out.  I didn't like that foliage one bit.  The trees seemed ancient and thick and uncomfortably close, not like the sunny, open stands of wood that often break the sweep of the Northern plains.  Traveling this forest was like being trapped inside of a green and living tomb with no end in sight.  It was dark, moist and uncomfortably populated with big spiders.  I was sneezing my head off inside of ten minutes besides; plants are all very fine to look at from a safe distance, but even the air in that place was green and my nose didn't find it pleasant in the least!

And suddenly---or so it seemed--- I was elsewhere.  Grateful for the fact though I was, damn if I could figure how I'd gotten on an open mountain trail, one that seemed very well maintained to boot.  If I'd known you back then, Hawk, I'd have thought "teleport spell" in an instant.  Not that this would have made me comfortable, but it would of been some kind of explanation!

That path was pebbled with sparkly stones, blue and green ones that made it seem more water than rock.  It gave me the creeps, Hawk!  I'd known since the damned drippy forest that I was too far west, and glad as I was to be out of that place, these roads hadn't been traveled nor tended for centuries supposedly!  Not to mention that in sensible places one type of land doesn't change to another in a breath.

The air around me was now so clear and crisp it hurt my lungs, and there was a shimmer to it that wasn't natural.  I felt like I was inside one of those water-jewels the young maids pluck from the streams and polish for Festival.  It made my head spin, I tell you!  Scared? Bah! I'm a warrior, damn you!  And I've bunked outside before, too!

But it was a strange country, and a companion or two sharing the experience would have soothed my soul considerably.  I was nervous, a bit, and that's a fact.

And generally I *would've* been hunting with a group, that was the cursed part of it.  But I was in a bad mood that day thanks to Rainclaw's yammering, and had chosen to stomp off by myself just to worry him.  What can I say, I was twenty!  Mostly we reckon boys to be men at fifteen here, but there's still a bit of growing up between the ears they need to do after the body is mature, I reckon.

My adopted father was a crabby, foul-tempered man at his sweetest, but that spring he had gotten sick for the first time in his long life.  It was nothing more than a bad cold, but it laid him up for a couple of days and that hadn't happened even after a run-in with a wolf had nearly cost him his arm.  Like many tough old buzzards who finally succumb to a mild illness, now he figured his last days were coming every time his nose ran a little.  So he wanted me to commit to taking over his job as Tribal smith after he passed, and it seemed he could talk of nothing else those days but his impending death and my ingratitude in not taking up the slack.  It damn near drove me crazy, especially since I suspected---and rightly so!---that the mean old bastard would stay alive for another decade at least if only to plague me.

Thing was, I enjoyed smithing more than I liked being a warrior.  The ability to craft something  useful with my own two hands brought me a deep satisfaction that the thrill of battle could never surpass.  But I was at that time of life where a boy stupidly yearns to be the Very Best at whatever field he chooses.  And Rainclaw was such an excellent smith, I could honestly figure no way to top him, unless Thor himself chose to teach me some godly tricks of the trade.  And though I was as imaginative as any other young fool, that sure didn't seem likely to me!

At arms, though, I stood a fair chance to be the greatest of the Tribes---Nightwolf hadn't come to lead us yet, you see. I had been a warrior since my thirteenth year; even if I hadn't discovered a knack for it, constant practice still would have given me a degree of skill.  Besides, the tribal girls seemed more admiring of a man's muscles and ability to pound another human being into the dirt, than they appreciated his intellect or creative talents!  So even though I was getting tired of both fighting real enemies and busting friends' skulls just to show I was better at dealing an injury, I kept at it and tried to ignore Rainclaw's fussing.  It made me all the angrier, that I would have loved to accept and train for the job of Master Smith, if my top-heavy pride only allowed it.  And my growing desire to impress the ladies, of course.

But as I was saying---I was lost at the ass-end of nowhere in the middle of the night, and beginning to feel a bit foolish about it.  And as I was bending down to examine the peculiar trail a bit more closely and maybe figure out where it had come from, I felt the air change on the instant.  A hot wind crackled around me, and from the corner of my vision I noticed the light swell as if the world had lit an immense torch above my head.  The pebbles on the path fairly blazed with cool fire, dazzling my eyes even more.  There was no sound to herald the violence of light and change in air, though, and that spooked me.

I jumped to the side, perhaps some instinct warned me.  I prefer that idea to the notion that I hopped from nerves like a horse with the jitters, anyway.  But instinct or skittishness, my response was too late.  Something hard and dense smacked me in back of the head with the force of a troll's mace, and I went down into darkness.

I woke up flat on my back, with Rainclaw's craggy face blocking the sun and his nasal rasp badgering me worriedly.  Once my eyes bleared open and he realized I was alive, though, he began acting like any parent who discovers the child they feared for is all right.  He started cussing in a fury and whacking me with the staff he always carried.

"Get up, you sorry young weakling!  I spend the night looking for you, afraid you been et by a lion at least! And here you are snoring like a drunken boar smack-dab in the middle of elf country!  I don't remember raising a damn fool but I guess my memory's gone along with my health!"

I grabbed the staff, more to prevent him from wearing himself out than because his love-taps did me much damage.  "If your health was that bad your voice would be quieter, old man!  As it is you're blasting the top of my head off with your cawing!"  Damn if I intended to tell him how relieved I was to see his flea-bitten carcass again, or how touched I was that he'd actually spent all night looking for me.  Such talk would only embarrass him into swearing more and hitting me harder---Rainclaw was old, but he was still a warrior of the Shadow Riders, by Thor!

But mentioning my head made me remember what had happened, and I got up in a hurry and peered around to see if I could gather a clue as to who or what had given me such a godlike wallop.

I figured my troll had left last night under the assumption he'd successfully finished me. Or if he'd waited, he'd have tiptoed away by now after the first ten minutes of Rainclaw's unholy clacking, glad to give up his kill for a little peace and quiet!  But maybe he'd left his giant mace in his hurry; a trophy of some sort, for me to boast about as I rubbed my aching head and showed off the knot on it.

To my astonishment, the only thing in sight on the path---the very normal-looking dirt path---was a black stone about the size of my clenched fist.  That was it?  I was humiliated.  I'd been hit by bigger chunks in play-fighting as a youngster!  And generally it was the missiles that got damaged not my skull.  No doubt about it, I was getting soft.

The stone was at least unusual; had a dark sheen to it, more like polished glass than either metal or rock.  And it had also what I can only describe as a presence.

That rock was watching me, Hawk, with a sort of amused intelligence one doesn't usually expect from a piece of dirt.  Reminds me now of those wildcat kittens you adopted last year to our Warchief's disgust.  It wasn't human---but it was thinking despite that fact!  And even then, I got the weird feeling its thoughts were, well, playful.  And centered mainly on how best to get into trouble.  Just exactly like those damn cubs come to think!

At the moment I didn't understand all this, but I knew the rock made me uneasy for no good reason.  With half an ear on Rainclaw's scolding in case I needed to grunt some reply, I approached the black lump.   A closer look surprised me; damn if there weren't  jewel-like sparkles deep within it, more colors than I could give a name to.

On impulse, I grabbed the thing up and dropped it in my pouch along with the few game birds I'd managed to capture in my drunken, solitary hunt the night before.  It wasn't as ugly as I'd first thought; maybe it could be crafted in some way?  The idea tickled me, as it would any smith worth his salt.  But I didn't mention it to Rainclaw; partly because I didn't need to be called even more of a fool if my notion turned out impossible.  I would discover this elf-rock's secrets in privacy for once, then strut and boast if I managed to turn out something fine without his help!

At least Rainclaw had brought a horse, though it had very sensibly thrown him on his ass at the edge of elf country and refused to carry him any further.  But the nag was cropping grass close by when we trudged into civilized barbarian lands once again, and it even neighed agreeably when we both hopped aboard---it was a large beast, and Rainclaw was such a skinny coot it probably hadn't even felt his weight on the way over.  And you better believe I made it gallop home; I wanted to cut short Rainclaw's tirade about my mental shortcomings as quick as possible, for one thing!

But I was also getting excited, as I pondered the twirling jewel colors I'd noticed in that rock.  I couldn't wait to haul it out and have a more careful look at it, maybe with Rainclaw's precious enlarging glass if I could pester the lens from him while he was still relieved to have me back safe.

Fortunately, he was so exhausted and cheerful after an hour of berating me that he just grunted in agreement at my request, then fell happily into bed.  He did make some comments that set me thinking, though, before he snoozed off.  "You're lucky that dying star didn't hit you. Do'nar!  Don't you know those things fall like a regular rain in the west, you lamebrain?  It's why the Tribes moved to the North, where life makes sense, thank the gods.  Too much craziness in the West, even the weather is crooked.  All those damn beefy idiots like you getting smashed to a jelly as they rolled around in the open like mindless sots; those magic storms were killing off our fighting men faster than a war!  But it's too bad none of the pieces survived from last night; they generally all burn up in the fire-fall I think, but those crazy Southern wizards will pay huge amounts for a bit of starstone.  Damn fools think it amplifies their magic or some such dribble.  Dumb as you are, boy---almost!"

I thought about that for a few moments, then carried my pack into the stone building near our tent that served the tribe as a forge and weapons-storage.  In theory, any Tribesman could use the space and equipment to hammer out a bit of work.  But in practice, it was usually me or Rainclaw, with the rest more comfortable paying us to make a better job of it than they could manage.  And in general I'm proud to say we satisfied their wants and then some.  I felt like I'd earned a chance to play with a new project of my own, from all the honest work I'd done for the Tribe as well as the task of enduring my foster-father's tongue-lashing that morn in particular.

My first surprise came on opening my pack.  It was filled with an appetizing aroma that made my mouth water, instead of the stink of blood and dirty clothes.  I dumped the contents on the table, frowning in disbelief as the three birds I'd strangled tumbled out.

I didn't even remember plucking them.  But there they were, golden brown, baked to a turn---and of all things, smelling of cooking spices!

Almost like an afterthought as I glared at the smoking meats, the black rock fell out and landed on the table.  There should have been a "clunk", but it hit the stone slab without a sound.  As if it were cloaked in velvet to silence it, though it wasn't.  Or as if it had landed on little cat feet.

It sat there as I backed away cautiously, looking quiet and innocent and like a regular rock.

I looked at the cooked game birds, then at the starstone.

I swear, I could feel it grinning at me.

I felt sweat popping up on my forehead as I gawked at the smirking stone.  Because the two or three possibilities I'd comfortably envisioned concerning the chunk of interesting  metal and my usage of it had suddenly expanded.

A new form of metallic rock to study and craft?  That I was prepared for and welcomed!  At least it was something a human being could get a grip on.

But a hunk of material so new-fangled it actually had a sense of humor?  Odin forbid!

My imagination has always been overactive for a warrior, dammit.  And now the possibilities seemed---endless, rather than comfortably under my control.  And pretty damned scary, too.

A bit of rock with a personality! I thought.

Just my wretched luck.