Deviation Actions
Literature Text
Jorgen and his father set out for the Mountain of Storms, the only place you could find dragons these days. Every ten years the men of Jorgen’s village would go into the Mountains and hunt for dragons. Their village was famous for their hunts and all the dragon’s they had slayed. So much so that no king’s army or barbarian horde had ever dared to attack them. Wars came and went with their village left untouched. Such was the fear that dragons engendered.
Jorgen and his father came upon the rock path that lead to the first level of the mountain. Jorgen was excited about the trip, being one of the few boys that were ever chosen to join the men of the hunt. His father however was less than enthusiastic. They traveled in silence, with his father barely acknowledging his presence. He’s thinks I’m going to embarrass him, Jorgen thought.
It wouldn’t be the first time. Jorgen cringed as thought back on all the times he’d been trying to help and only ended up making things worst. When he left the a lit lantern in the horse's’ stall and nearly burned down the barn. When the wheel he replaced on their horse cartt came off and nearly crippled his father’s horses. Worst of all it seemed his father never admonished, never punished him or yelled at him, like the other boys would get. He’d just get this strange look on his face saying, “It’s fine, it’s fine, nothing to worry about.” As if nothing Jorgen did even mattered.
He expects me to fail but this time will be different, Jorgen thought, I’ll catch the dragon and kill it myself and we’ll mount the skull over the door of our hut. So all the village can know that here lives the dragon slayers.
As they made it up the first level there were signs that the other hunters had come and gone. Dead camp fires and the remnants of past meals littered the path. “We’ll have to speed up if we went to catch them,” Jorgen’s father said, his first words of the day. His father kept a head of him setting the pace, while Jorgen trailed behind making note of all they passed. This was the first time he’d ever been out of the village, and may well be the last. Even his father’s chilly mood wouldn’t hamper his wonder for the strange new place.
They spent the rest of the day climbing the winding path of the great incline, it wasn’t till they reached the second level that Jorgen noticed how high they had gotten. He could see the mists descending from the sky and in the distance he thought he could make out chimney smoke from the village.
“Do you think we’ll catch up to them before dark father?” Jorgen asked only then realizing they hadn’t seen another person all day.
“We’ll find them when we find them,” His father answered not breaking his stride, and Jorgen felt like a fool for even asking. As it turned out they didn’t meet anyone before night fall and were finally forced to stop and make camp. They set up their bedding and started a campfire. They ate their dinner in silence, Jorgen still awed by the mountain’s beauty.
“Do you think we’ll see a dragon tomorrow?” Jorgen asked hoping his father’s mood might lighten. It didn’t, his father only stared sullenly into the flames. Silence hung over them until finally Jorgen said, “I think we will see a dragon father.” Again his father said nothing, though his head sunk lower. Suddenly filled with an odd defiant confindence Jorgen blurted out, “In fact I know we will. I’m sure we will, now only will we see one, we’ll catch it, we’ll catch the biggest dragon the village has ever seen. So big they’ll tell tales and sing songs about it. Everyone will know about the dragon we caught.”
His father put a hand over his face, in the darkness Jorgen could see his expression. His father sighed deeply, then got up from the fire and went to his makeshift bed. “Father?” Jorgen called out to him.
“Go to bed Jorgen, we have much to do on the morrow.” His father said in a hollow voice.
The fire burned out before Jorgen went to bed. He watched as the ashes glowed and did his best not to think about what had happened with his father. I know I’ve never been the best, I know I’ve ruined things. But this time will be different, it has to be.
Jorgen stabbed a stick in the ashes, and sudden shower sparks exploded out of the dead pile. Dragons burn up when you kill them, you pierce their bellies with a spear and it causes the fire inside of them to leak out. Jorgen had heard all the stories, he knew just as well as any boy how to kill a dragon. I won’t fail you this time, father, I won’t embarrass you. I’ll show you that I can do it.
They were up before the sun and were on the path before it crested over the mountains. The Mountain of Storms was so high at level three that the sky’s mist surrounded them. Jorgen felt like he was walking through smoke, but it was wet like morning dew. Soon the mist was so thick Jorgen couldn’t even see his own feet. He just had to listen to the sounds of his footsteps on the crackling rocks. Jorgen went on like this for what seemed like hours until he caught his foot on a heavy stone and took a tumble. As he got to his feet he felt that something was wrong. He couldn't hear his father’s footsteps, he couldn’t remember when last he had.
“Father” He called. “Father where are you?” He remembered what he had been taught about getting lost in the mist. He reached out his hand until he found the side of the mountain. He followed it, calling all the way, “Father where are you? I can’t see! Are you alright?” Has he fallen off the side, no I would have heard, wouldn’t I? Jorgen felt sick, had he failed his again? Had his father tripped and fallen off the path and like some damned fool he just kept walking? Should he go back and look for him? No, all the old men had said that if you get lost you must keep going forward, but what about father? I have to find the other hunters first, he told himself, they'll know what to do.
Jorgen began to run up the path keeping one hand on the stone. A jagged edge of rock sliced into his hand but he didn’t stop. All he could think of was his father lying dead at the bottom of a ridge, or worst injured and in need of help. He wasn’t going to stop till he found someone, he didn’t matter who it just had to be someone.
The mist seemed endless. Where are they? He wondered, why haven’t I run in to anyone yet? His legs began to ache from the strain and his hand felt like it was being stabbed with hot needles. He couldn’t tell how long he’d been running. His breath was harsh coming and harsher still going out. But he kept on in spite until finally through the mist he saw the glow of a campfire. He shouted through ragged breath, “Is anyone there? I’m lost and I need to find my Father.” A shadow moved against the light and Jorgen staggered towards it.
“Please, I need help,” Jorgen called as the shape took the form of a man. His terror had given him a frenzied strength, but now he felt a sudden blast of fatigue. “Please ... sir…my Father…” He could barely speak through labored breaths. The figure came into focus, he was an old man with a long bushy beard. A wizard? Jorgen thought. No, wizards live in far off places and serve at the behest of kings and great lords. They don’t live on mountain tops, especially not on one’s infested with dragons. “Please...sir…I” no matter what it seemed Jorgen couldn’t catch his breath.
“It’s the atmosphere,” the old man said with a smile, “Air is thinner up here you see.” He led jorgen to the campfire, upon which a gray stone pot sat cooking. “Sit, and drink with me, the others will be along soon.” he offered but Jorgen shook his head.
“My father… he’s lost… I” Before he could finish the old man interjected. “Your father was here boy, all is well.” Jorgen felt a rush of relief. Father’s alright, he’s alright. I must have just lagged behind. It was just another mistake, thank the gods I just made another mistake. Jorgen felt tears coming down the edge of his cheeks, he turned away not wanting anyone to see. But the old man only smiled and poured him a bowl of the strange stew.
“Drink boy, all will be well soon,” The old man said offering Jorgen the bowl.
Jorgen sat by the fire and drank. Though the brew had smelled odd it's taste was magnificent. It was hearty and rich, but with a strange sweetness. He seemed more hungry with each swallow, and with each taste the meal became more enticing. His body suddenly felt so heavy as if all the exhaustion of the day was hitting him at once. The pain in his hand seemed to have disappeared, and he felt as if the world were melting away. All he could think about was the soup's sweet taste and how he longed for sleep. When the bowl was finally empty he closed his eyes for a moment…
...When he reopened them he was on his back. Jorgen tried to turn but his wrists were bound by rope. He tried to sit up but ropes bound his neck as well as his legs. I ate too much, He told himself, this is just some dream. But then the pain came, the pain from his wounded hand the ache of the muscles in his leggs. “Wha… what’s going on?!” He cried out to no one in particular. “Father!” He shouted.
As if in answer he heard a dull low noise that sounded vaguely similar to the voices of men. Soon shadowy figures appeared in the mist surrounding him on all sides. Their voices joined in a strange song with words he could not recognize.
“Father?!” He cried out again but the song seemed to drown out all other noises. When the figures came close enough he could see their faces were covered with masks in the shape of dragons’ heads. Their bodies concealed under great black cloaks. A sudden pain shot through him and Jorgen shrieked. It was as though his bones were being pulled apart, stretched and bent. He began to weep, “Father!? Help me Father?!”
One of the masked men stopped his song and stared at Jorgen.
“Father?”
The man had removed his mask and was indeed Jorgen’s father. His eyes were red and his face wet with tears. “I’m sorry son, I’m so sorry.” he said.
“Father?! What’s happening? Why are they doing this?! It hurts.” Jorgen bellowed as another wave bone wrenching pain flowed through him.
“It has to be this way son, I’m sorry, I’m truly truly sorry.” His Father said as fresh tears began to stream to his face.
“Quiet Torren, put back on your mask and join your the call.” a voice commanded. It was the old man who stepped up to the circle, donning a more ornate black cloak.
“What are you doing to me?!” Jorgen cried.
“What must be done,” The old man answered pointing a bony finger at Jorgen’s father adding, “Do not forget your duty.” Jorgen’s father wiped the tears from his eyes and with one last look at his son put back on the mask.
“Father please, I’m sorry, whatever I did I’m sorry” Jorgen cried as the agony continued. "I won't disappoint you anymore, I swear. We'll get the dragon together, please father help me.”
His father did not respond but to add to voice to the others.
“Don’t worry boy, we have our dragon.” The old man said picking up a spear from the ground. Jorgen wanted to scream, to cry out for his father, for anyone, but the pain was too much as the old man plunged the spear downward.
It was a day later when the men returned from the hunt carrying the scorched bones of their latest conquest, so fresh they were still smoking. They hung them on their houses and the whole village celebrated with drink and song. All but the man called Torren, who just went home and dug shallow grave.
