FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Killick could not suppress his intense smile as he exited the northern

gates of the capital.  The blue and grey furred dog had recently been

promoted from an apprentice mage to a journeyman, and had been assigned by the

Arch-mage to travel to the cold town of Tunorda to assist the Mages guild

there.  He was overjoyed at his mission: research into how to better define

the mysticism school of magic.  Mysticism was a specialty of Killick's,

and he could not wait to prove his talents and knowledge to his new tutors.

 His feet crunched on the loose gravel of the northward road, and he

savoured the happy memories of his last few days at the Arcane University.

 Receiving a simple letter informing him of his honourable advancement.

 The Arch-mage complimenting him personally on his remarkable essay on the

subtle differences between magically induced remote manipulation, and true telekinesis.

 His master presenting him with the green quilted robes of his new rank

and ceremonial silver dagger. In reality his time at the university had been nothing special or out of

the ordinary.  He had studied the various forms of magic, just as his

peers did, some of them excelling where he had not.  But it was still a

moment of great pride for him.  The young dog adjusted the straps of his backpack and sighed in

contentment as the immense white walls of the city disappeared behind him, and

lush green forest opened up before him.  He did not expect his two day

journey north to be anything but uneventful and pleasant.  He thought that

his light hooded travelling cloak would protect him, and the silver dagger

wrapped safely at the bottom of his pack would never be needed.  He would

be wrong on all counts.The rain started early on his second day.  It poured in sheets that

had him completely drenched within seconds.  It matted his fur and ran

through his eyes and nose, making him cough and splutter.  Sleeping had

been near impossible; years of bedding on a soft mattress had done nothing to

prepare him for camping in the open wild.  He drew his cloak tighter

around him in an effort to stave off the chilly wind that whipped through him.

 Tired, angry and depressed at his situation, Killick marched on, figuring

that the quicker he got to Tunorda the quicker he could change clothes and have

a hot bath.Despite his waterlogged vision he somehow spied what looked like a cave

at the base of an outcropping of rock.  Grinning vaguely at his luck, the

journeyman mage ran to the possible shelter.  He shook the water from his

head and attempted to wring parts of his cloak and robes dry, but smiled wryly

as he realised this was not just futile but impossible.  Instead, he

closed his eyes and concentrated on incanting a spell of fire.  A small

flame burst in the palm of his hand which he placed carefully on a piece of the

driest wood he could find.  The now dimly lit cave was small and damp.

 Killick cringed as he felt a cold splash run down his neck, dripped from

the mossy ceiling.  He sat back and pulled his ruined cloak around his

smallish frame, and sulkily covered his eyes with the drenched hood. The fire flickered pathetically against his half hidden face.  The

spell was mainly for warmth but, by the light of the magical fire, Killick

noticed the cave led further underground than he first thought.  As a

typical mage, he was intensely curious to what may lay further in.  But

also, as a typical mage, the aching of his shivering body after such a long and

cold hike pleaded him to just lay and sleep, be lazy for a while.  With

youth on his side, Killick pushed himself to his feet and peered into the

darkness of the cave.Perhaps the tunnel would lead him closer to Tunorda?  Smiling for

the first time that day, Killick carefully scooped up the magical fire in one

hand and tiptoed into the cave.Slow minutes past, but nothing in the cave so far caught the interest of

the exploring mage.  Palm of fire held high, the blue-furred dog

scrutinised the stone tunnel with a keen eye and a small amount of optimistic

hope.  He had heard rumours, during his studies at the university, that

bandits often hid great treasures of gold and magical artefacts in caves such

as this, treasures that would never be recovered.  Usually because the

bandit who buried them would be arrested, or murdered by other bandits.

 Maybe such a treasure awaited his discovery?  His tail wagged in a

newfound excitement and an adventurous grin spread across his face.The cold and wet forgotten, the young dog pushed forwards through the

darkness, his green eyes constantly searching for something that didn't quite

belong.  Halfway down a narrow stone corridor, he stopped and stared.

 What was that creature up ahead?  A grime covered rodent looked up

from its meal of... grime covered rodent, and stared at Killick.  Was that

a rat?  Killick's stomach heaved.  It was three times the size of the

city rats he was used to.  Surely it was a different breed.  Whatever

it was, it stared at the clean mage in an almost disgusted manner, like it was

offended that something so clean and pure had interrupted its disease ridden

meal.Killick took a frightened step backwards when the monster rat snarled.

 He started to shake when he remembered that rats are not supposed to

snarl.  The rat lunged and Killick stumbled backwards.  In his panic

he threw the handful of flame he carried.  He missed so completely, the

drooling rodent didn't even notice the fire splutter harmlessly against the stone

wall. Blinded by darkness, the mage tripped and stumbled his way through the

tunnels, fear numbing the pain of bumps and scrapes against the cold rock.

 He knew he was lost, had run the wrong way; he should have reached the

entrance by now.  But he kept running.  He could not have known the

rat had given up the chase shortly after its attack.A sharp pain shot up his ankle and Killick pitched forward at such a

speed his jaw cracked flat against the moss covered floor.  Groaning, the

wizard rolled onto his back and peered around.  The faint glow of

luminescent green moss showed him the walls of a small, round cavern.  He

scrunched his eyes up in pain, exhaustion and personal embarrassment.  A

fully initiated Journeyman Mage, and he had run away from a rat.  What

would his old instructor think if he saw him lying like this in a filthy cave,

defeated by a mere rodent?Killick softened the muscles in his face, then opened his eyes to face

his situation like an intelligent and respectable mage.  But what he saw

hovering at the other end of the cavern chilled his soul so completely that his

blood practically crystallised with fear and dread.Wisps of torn rags and dirty grey silks floated and flowed together,

giving off a glow that emanated a sickly sense of cold.  The thin rags,

almost transparent, formed the shape of hooded cloak that ended at the torso.

 No body could be seen where the cloak ended in ragged strips that curled

around each other, but Killick could spy a grey, clawed hand, shrunken and

thin, skin stretched tight over bony fingers that constantly grasped at the air

in a gentle yet sinister motion.  It was a wraith.  The spectre

hovered over a mouldy skeleton, a rusted dagger jammed into its skull.Killick lay frozen in place, trembling in fear, and merely stared.

 The head of the wraith, despite hidden by a ghostly cowl, seemed to sense

the terror that must have risen from the terrified mage like a stink.  It

turned to look at the living body that lay on the floor of its cave, its face a

horrible contortion of pain and rage.  A tear rolled down Killick's face

as the spirit screamed.  As the mournful cry ended, the wraith drew back

its glowing hand and hurled a bolt of freezing energy.  His body suddenly

pushed by survival, Killick rolled out of the way of the ice spell and

scrambled to his feet.  The wraith floated towards him excruciatingly

slow, moaning its dreadful cry.  His back against stone, Killick forced

his brain to focus and remember a fire spell.  He tried to condense heat

into his paw, but a few pathetic embers sparking from his fingertips was the

only result.  He had never paid much attention to the destruction school

of magic, viewing it as crude and unrefined.  He quickly tried to think of

a spell he knew well, but none that would be helpful came to mind.  All he

could think of was a detect life spell; hardly a fearsome attack plan.

 Cursing at the uselessness of the mysticism school of magic, he pushed

off the wall and ran back down the tunnel just as he felt another bolt of cold

explode behind him.Fear pushed him forward and worked his legs; it pumped blood through his

heart at such a rate that he thought his would burst.  Another explosion

of deadly ice.  Fear pushed strange chemicals into his brain and made the

most obscure memories surface: the coronation of the new King, a boring study

hall, the name of a street next to the street he grew up, the silver necklace

his mother used to always wear.Silver...Killick yelped in realisation and swung his backpack off him as he

skidded to a halt.  He rummaged through the canvas bag, tossing out

scrolls, spare clothes, biscuits, quills, money and books.  He reached to

the bottom of the bag and desperately searched.  His fingers touched

something cold and hard and he knew that he had found it.  He pulled out

his ceremonial silver dagger in triumph.  He had learnt, as all mages do,

that ghosts, demons and other creatures not of this plane are weak to silver.

 A new spark of courage glinted in his eye and he turned to face his undead

attacker.  The wraith floated around a bend in the tunnel, coming

dangerously close to Killick, its needle like fingers constantly grasping at

empty air.  It lay sunken eyes on its prey and a deadly shimmering ball

started to form in its hand.  But before it could hurl the sphere, Killick

thrust forward with all his strength, and plunged the dagger to the hilt just

below the wraiths neck.  The creature howled in pain and a silvery mist

poured from the wound.  Killick stood back and panted, admiring his own resourcefulness

and bravery.  But the wraith didn't die.  It didn't turn and flee.

 It screamed in agony, and as it screamed it reached down with one bony

hand and slowly pulled the silver dagger from its chest.  Killick's face

fell from triumph to panic to utmost terror as the ghost pulled out the dagger

and slashed forward with it.  The dog turned and ran, the creature

screaming after him.  Tears flowed from his eyes as he crashed into walls,

stumbled over rocks, and pushed himself through the darkness of the caves, wondering

just how lost he was and if he would ever find his way out.  He realised he could see a faint light.  He ran as fast he could

towards it, legs and chest burning.  The light grew larger and stronger,

until he could see the trees that grew outside the cave.  Killick burst

through into the soft light, and fell gasping onto the cold, hard ground.

 It was no longer raining, but soft flakes of white fell upon him instead.

 Just how far north had the tunnels taken him?  With a fearful glance

he looked back at the cave.  The wraith was nowhere to be seen.  An

enormous sigh escaped the dog as he relaxed for the first time in what felt

like days.  He just lay there for a while, letting the snow land softly on

his face, cooling him.  A few minutes went by and Killick forced himself

to sit up when he realised he was shivering.  He reached for his pack to

grab his...A stream of screamed profanities poured from his muzzle as realised his

stupidity.  But a far off boom of thunder cut him off and made him

apologise to each of the nine Gods in turn for his blasphemies.  He stood

up straight and took a deep breath.  Knowing that he had lost all his

worldly possessions; all his clothes, money, his precious books; made it

difficult for Killick to stay calm.  But he knew that he had to keep going

and reach the city of Tunorda.  There was only so much sun left in the

cloudy sky, and he did not fancy freezing to death in the cold night.  The

mage faced himself north, and started walking.  Barely ten minutes past before he literally walked into a waist high,

wooden fence.  The thin slats of wood were old and rotten, but Killick was

thankful for any sign of civilisation.  He followed the fence line to a

farmhouse, with bright red snowberries growing in wild patches around the

walls.  From there he found a road.  It was a well traveled road with

deep wagon wheel ruts that led directly north.  The two guards that stood at Tunorda's southern gate were both shocked

and cautious when a ragged figure in filthy and torn robes staggered towards

them.  Killick practically fell to his knees before them, and mumbled at

them in a daze."Which way to the Mage's Guild?"