The Search for Snaggletooth [Faldrass]

[Oram Mednix]

10th Trial of Zi'da, Arc 719

Oram strongly suspected he was being set up for some sort of prank. Osric and the other young men in the camp had spoken one evening at table of strange things and events on the island of Faldrass. Talk was that there had been some sort of powerful attack at Faldrass that was somehow a threat to all of Scalvoris, but that a group of heroes led by Baron Snugglemums-

Oram had spit out a bit of his drink at this. ”Snaggletooth?!” he repeated incredulously, looking across the table at Wig, who had just uttered that ridiculous name.

”Smooglenuff” Osric had corrected.

Oram wasn’t buying it, and he didn’t take his eyes off of Wig. ”Snugglewoof, whatever. I don’t believe a word of it. You’re takin’ the piss, Wig.”

”Am not!” Wig had protested. A babble of conversation had followed, with the youths about evenly split on whether this Baron Snugglewoof or Smooglewoof was real. Wig was not above making things up. Oram’s brother seemed to believe him, oddly enough, and Oram generally considered his brother the most sensible of the bunch.

Wig wagged his finger indignantly at Oram. ”You go to Faldrass and ask around yourself if you don’t believe me. I’ll pay you ten bear pelts if what I say ain’t true.”

This last remark drew some awkward chuckles, and one of the men made the sign against the evil eye. Everybody knew Wig didn’t have so much as a rat’s tail to stake on a bet, and it was bad luck to make idle boasts.

”Enough of this,” Osric cut in, quietly but forcefully. ”Oram, believe that Lord Smooglenuff is real or not at your peril, but do not call Wig here a liar unless you can prove he does not speak the truth.”

Oram sat quiet, abashed. Although he was sure Wig had been talking nonsense, and that he was not alone in thinking that, yet also he knew that he had overstepped by openly suggesting Wig was lying. Such was taken amiss amongst the travelers, even when the alleged lie involved trivial matters.

”Very well,” he had said after a few trills of awkward silence, ”I shall go to Faldrass and find out for myself if all this stuff you’re talking about is real. And if it is, I’ll apologize in front of everybody here right now. If I’m right about this Snugglenums character, though…well, everybody here’s gonna know about that, too.”

”SMoog-le-Nuff” Osric had enunciated, his patience dwindling with practically everybody else at the table.

…

And thus, true to his word, or at least to his pride and stubbornness, here Oram was, at the launch on the south end of Faldrass, looking up at the imposing volcano smoking faintly on the far end of the small island. The weather was as fair as could be hoped for in Zi’da, which had been important since Oram had traveled by ferry, along with his mule and goats and all his belongings. He expected to be here awhile, and to traverse some rough terrain, though he was vague on what that might entail. No one at camp knew the first thing about the volcano or the lay of the island, nor did the ferrymen have much to offer, for most had never ventured farther than the marketplace.

It was to this very marketplace that Oram decided to go first. There he could ask for more information about the island, about whether this Snuggle-er, Smoo.gle.nuff were really on the island, and how one could find him. He could also buy supplies if need be. Folks at the launch insisted that there was nothing to getting there: just follow along the coast northward and look for all the red tents; one could hardly miss it or lose one’s way. After offloading his gear and animals, and ensuring they were ready to continue, Oram set off northwards.

[Oram Mednix]

Where’s Waldo?

On the ferry, Oram had heard stories about Faldrass, about the terrible, fiery mountain that belched smoke, coughed ash, and drooled molten rock, on an island with springs that scalded and steamed from the volcano’s heat. Sometimes, the other passengers told him, Faldrass would rumble and roar and lurch to fearsome life, shaking the earth and raining hot destruction on the people below. What the traveler now saw rising before him, though, as he rode Mule slowly north along the shore towards the marketplace, looked downright placid compared to those wild tales. Faldrass just looked like a mountain to him -imposing enough, sure, but just a mountain. Its summit had a thin veil of mist; Oram could not make out if it was smoke or just a wisp of cloud. It certainly was not turning the sky soot-black.

After maybe a bit of slow riding, Oram saw a riot of red ahead, standing out sharply from the greens and greys and blacks covering most of Faldrass. That much, at least, the passengers had told him true; one couldn’t miss the marketplace. He looked back to make sure that his two goats were alright. They had been quiet since coming off of the ferry, hardly a bleat. That was not surprising for Wether, but Ornot was usually more vocal. They both seemed fine, however, so he continued until he was close enough to dismount Mule and walk the rest of the way. He got out some food for the animals, and looked for a place to tie them up before approaching the market-folk. He took his time with this; he was not in a hurry to venture into the forest of stands and booths shaded by the red streamers overhead.

When he finally approached, he found that it was neither as crowded nor as frantic as the marketplace in Scalvoris. That put him somewhat at ease, and he approached a woman behind a stand selling some sort of herbs he didn’t recognize. She had been chatting happily with a couple all the while Oram had been tending to his animals, but these had moved on, and the woman was now tending to something behind the counter. Oram approached and greeted her. She smiled back at him and said: ”I can see that you are new to Faldrass. What can I help you with?”

Oram was surprised that she had not immediately started shoving bits of her inventory under his nose for him to admire and smell (and then hopefully buy); that was how a vendor at Scalvoris or Almund would usually behave. She seemed as happy to just talk to him as she had been to the couple earlier. Oram himself didn’t really want to spend a lot of time talking, however, nice as the woman was. He got to the point. ”I came to Faldrass to meet…Baron Smooglenuff,” he said, pronouncing the name and title carefully. He had only just been told that this Smooglenuff was some sort of Baron on the ride over, and he was still uncertain as to whether he believed it. ”How do I find him?”

[Oram Mednix]

I’m here to do important research

When Oram mentioned Baron Smooglenuff, the herbalist gave the traveler a sharp look that made him wonder if he had said the name or title wrongly. After a moment she said: ”People who go to see the Baron usually do so by invitation, and those already know where to find him. What business do you have with him?”

Oram could not bring himself to say that he was there to establish that the man wasn’t real in order to win a dispute and a wager. In fact, the whole idea of coming here based on what his friends had told him sounded foolish as he recited it in his head. Yet Oram was loath to tell an outright lie; his father would have disapproved of such a thing. The best he thought he could do was tell the least embarrassing part of the truth, and hope it would be enough.

”I heard of a group of heroes who defended this island last arc from some sort of attack,” he offered, ”something said to be powerful enough to plunge Faldrass into the sea if it succeeded. And I also heard that some such heroes are here even now,” he nodded northwards towards the volcano, ”under the mountain. I don’t know what truth there is in that story, and it sounds incredible, but I thought that this Baron Smooglenuff would be the best person to ask about it, if he is to be had for the asking.” He thought a bit more, then offered: ”The travelers in my camp love such stories, but none so far has come to learn more about it. So I came myself.”

When he finished he waited to see how the vendor would react. What he had told her was more or less true. All the details in it were, at least, even if they hid the petty and silly motives that had really brought him here.

The herbalist's gaze did not waver from Oram's face as he spoke, but she gave no indication of what she made of the reasons he had given. "You'll find his manor all the way northeast," she answered after several tense trills -tense, at least, for the traveler. "It is nestled between the coast and the foot of the volcano. If you're travelling by land you'd be advised to stick close to the shore. You'll have to clamber over some of the mountain's roots before you get there, though, so be prepared for a rough trek. Once you've arrived, you'll know it easily enough; there's no mistaking the manor for anything else. It's quite a sight."

[Oram Mednix]

…also, important shopping

Oram’s eyes lifted northward towards the volcano as the herbalist spoke. He could not see its foot at this distance, for too many obstacles stood in the way; however, he could see plenty of ridges and channels grooving the face of the mountain, and he could guess that some of those ridges would reach out towards the shore to thwart his path. So he might end up crossing some badlands.

”Is there anything to eat or drink on the way?” he asked, eyes still fixed on the steep, barren slopes. The vendor was able to follow his thoughts by following his stare. She smiled knowingly.

”Oh, yes!” she answered brightly, ”it’s not lifeless up there at all, especially nearer the bottom. Not many trees, but plenty of bush and scrub and other plants. Not much big game, I’m afraid, but there’s fish and fowl enough. You’ll cross a couple good-sized streams on the way. Ask him.” She pointed at another vendor, a fishmonger.

”As to water,” the herbalist continued, turning a bit more serious ”you’ll want to get that from the streams as well. Don’t go near any warm springs you find. They can be too hot, and the water’s often hard.”

Oram thanked her and went on to talk to the fishmonger. The vendor’s cart contained a mix of sea-caught and freshwater fish, and Oram guessed he hadn’t caught them all himself. ”Good trial, my good man,” the fishmonger called out to Oram, startling him, ”can I interest you in some tuna?”

Oram shook his head, but pointed to a red-bellied fish near the back of the cart. ”That char?” he asked. ”And was it caught here on the island?” The fishmonger nodded. ”Aye. And aye. Streams coming off Faldrass teem with trout and salmon and char. I don’t sell as many of those as lots o’ folks like to catch those themselves. You fish?”

Oram nodded, and asked the vendor some more questions about the fish and the fishing on Faldrass. When he was done Oram thanked him for his time. The traveler did not normally buy fish from sellers he didn’t know, yet he didn’t want to leave the helpful man empty-handed, so he took some smoked salmon. Moving on to other vendors, he got some fresh fodder for his animals, some bread, cheese, and nuts. He also treated himself to a hot meal from one of the stands, a spicy venison stew with some sort of dumplings he hadn't seen before.

When he got back to the animals he found that they were all subdued and scarcely wanted to eat. It was fairly common for Wether to be both stoic as well as finicky, but Ornot was usually both hungrier and more vocal. Oram looked at his mule and goats closely, but as far as he could tell, they seemed OK otherwise. After a moment he had an idea and went back to the herbalist. Maybe she had some suggestions about the animals.

”Did they eat anything strange?” she asked. ”Any of them have diarrhea?”

”They haven’t eaten anything since getting off the ferry,” Oram answered. ”And no diarrhea, fortunately.”

The herbalist shrugged. ”Then they’re probably just stressed from the ferry ride. Give ‘em a trial to settle down before you set out.” Oram thanked her again, and also bought some sweet grass from her to put on his next fire. He loved the smell of sweet grass.

Taking the woman's counsel, Oram looked for a site just a bit north of of the market, far enough from the hubbub to be out of the way, but not so far that he could not run for help should he, or his animals, need it. There he set up camp and spent the night, hoping that the goats and mule found the sweet grass as soothing as he did.

[Oram Mednix]

Journey to the Center of the Smooglenuff

Oram woke to a pale eastern sky and a pair of bleating goats; the animals seemed to have regained their appetite. Still drowsy and yawning he rose and got out fodder for them, mixing in a bit of apple as well. While the mule and and goats broke their fast, so did he, thinking about the coming outing as he ate. He had about two or three trials’ worth of fresh food, and three or four of dried provisions. The fodder for the animals might or might not last that long. The herbalist had told him that the lower slopes of the volcano were not as barren of forage as they appeared, and that he needn’t worry for his animals as long as they ate green things. He should make sure they avoided unfamiliar flowers and berries, however.

The island was small enough, he judged, that one could have walked across it in less than a trial were the way clear and level, and supposedly there was little risk of his losing his way, so long as he kept the coast in sight to his right. He knew little, however, of what the terrain would be like. There could be all sorts of ridges, ravines, creeks, and other obstacles athwart his path. And all of it plenty scrubby and rocky, he suspected. He decided he would persist until afternoon of the third trial. If he wasn’t in sight of his target by then, he would turn around.

The sun was fully up when Oram set out, riding Mule slowly with Wether and Ornot strolling behind, moving easily along the man-made trails and over cleared and leveled fields. This part of the island had houses and other buildings dotting its face, and up on a rise stood a windmill. Even at his easy pace, Oram was past these landmarks in a couple breaks, and soon after he found himself in increasingly sparse and broken country, covered with patches of green but stunted flora mixed with dark outcroppings of odd-looking rock.

Well into afternoon, he came to a creek that was too deep to cross where he found it. The water and forage were good, though, so he stopped to rest for a bit, taking a moment to look up at the volcano. It loomed much bigger now, and Oram could see quite clearly the thin plume of smoke trickling from its summit. Faldrass was quiet for now, and the traveler hoped it would remain that way for the whole of his trip. Not for the first time, he muttered a silent prayer to Cassion to watch over his path.

When he had had a decent rest he rose, leaving his animals tethered while he scouted upstream to find a ford safe for them as well as himself. He would lead his mule across on foot, instead of riding it, as he would increasingly now that the going was rougher. Before the sun got too low, Oram would start to look for a suitable campsite, possibly one not too far beyond this very creek.

He set up, took care of the goats and mule, then turned in himself for the night. The next morning he would continue. He did not know how far northeast he had come, nor how much farther it was to this Smooglenuff Manor;, however, with luck, he might perhaps reach it tomorrow.

[Pegasus]

That night, there were clear stars in the sky and the evening was cool. It wasn't the cold of Cylus yet, but it was certainly very cold indeed. Still, Oram was pretty well prepared - all things considered. His sleep seemed dreamless, although he might catch a vague memory of booming, jovial laughter. Either way, he slept well and he woke refreshed. He arose the next morning, ready to make his way to Smooglenuff Manor. He hadn't yet got to see the place yet, when he came across another individual. Tall and broad, this man was, with eyes which sparkled of mischief. "Hail, fellow traveller!".

The man Oram bumped into was walking along a trail that was almost a track, but certainly nothing resembling a road. "Are you making your way to Smooglenuff Manor, perchance?" the traveller had a friendly, if rather loud and a little bit booming, voice. "It's where I'm headed, if you'd like some comp'ny on the road" He had a bag slung over his shoulder and his clothes were worn. His long dark hair fell down his back in a loose tie. His demeanour was friendly and his gait was relaxed. It was like he was quite a seasoned traveller, judging by things such as how worn his shoes were, yet how sturdy.

"I'm delivering some books to the Manor, myself," he said, conversationally. It was with an almost cheeky grin that he spoke.Looking at Oram up and down, along with the animals and his equipment, the man seemed to be appraising the hunter. "Have we met before?" He asked, obviously thinking not, but yet ... maybe Oram had one of those faces.

"Simon," he said, offering his hand to shake. "Call me Si. Lots of people do. So - how do you know the Baron? Do you know him? There's a take to how he got the name Smooglenuff, you know." He seemed to almost take it for granted that Oram and he would move together and he walked with a sort of confidence that only skill or supreme arrogance can create - possibly even both. "It's a tale of adventure and heroism." With a wide grin of sudden, almost child-like delight, he looked at Oram and asked, eagerly.

"Would you like to hear it?"

[Oram Mednix]

Wail and hell met, or something

Oram arose from a restful and uneventful night; he could hardly have asked for better in such a strange place as this. The only thing spoiling the morning was that the inside of his boots were still slightly wet from when he had crossed the creek yesterday. The socks and the outside of the boots had dried, but the insides had not. He grumbled as he stuffed them with some of the straw he carried for his animals, something he should have done right away yesterday. He then went to fish out his moccasins from the bottom of his pack. Of course they were at the bottom. The insides of the boots were still not entirely dry by the time he had broken down his camp and packed for the next trial’s hike. After pulling out the last bit of straw from the toes, he put the boots back on and set off. At least his socks were good and dry, and he could change those around mid-trial.

The lingering traces of dampness did not trouble him much as he walked, except on principle, and he was in a good enough mood when he encountered a stranger headed in the same direction he was. This stranger was a big man, with a jovial manner and a loud voice, the sort of person Oram didn’t usually like being around too long. Maybe it wasn’t too much farther to where they were going, however. At least he seemed polite. I’m Oram,” he said, returning the man’s name with his own and taking his hand. ”Well met.” He hadn’t yet decided how much meant that.

He pointed up the trail the man was following. ”You’re going to this guy’s Manor, then?” he asked hopefully. ”You’ve been there before, and this is the way?” Confirming that would go a long way to selling him on this Simon fellow’s company. ”I never been this way before, nor do I know this Baron Smooglenuff, except by name. Truth be told, I wasn’t entirely sure I believed he was real when folks first told me about him.”

When Si asked him if he wanted to hear a story, Oram shrugged. ”Sure, why not,” he responded. It would pass the time, and maybe he would learn something about the man he was supposedly about to meet.

[Pegasus]

"I am!" he said, of going to the Manor, "I have!" been there before, that was, and ..."It is!" - the way. When Oram admitted that he had been dubious of the Baron's existence, Simon laughed - a deep and full laugh which came from his belly. "Because of the name? Well enough," he shrugged. It was a stupid name but then. "When you think about it, all names are rather foolish, aren't they? Just some more so than others, I suppose." And that seemed to be his way of thinking, that was for sure.

They walked and Si began to talk. As he did, Oram might notice just how good a storyteller his new companion was. His voice seemed to carry just the right tone and pitch, and it was almost as though Oram could see the events unfolding in front of him - as though his imagination was pulled into life. "It was in arc 416, the seas around Scalvoris boiled, and for a hundred trials, a mist descended on the land there was terror everywhere. But all around Scalvoris, they were cut off, unable to escape" Si's voice was low and quiet. "It was the current Baron's great-great grandfather, Enri."

Si gestured expansively around. "Some say he was a teacher, others a priest, stories differ. I know, though, he was teller of stories, a traveller with the blood of Cassion in his veins. Enri's grandfather has been Cassion's son, you see. Still, it was dark and it was misty and there was terror. So, he could have joined the terror, or he could have looked after himself. But he did was that he told the children of Faldrass village - such it was then, a small village of only a few hundred people - a story about a great creature. An evil monster was attacking Scalvoris, and the children knew that." Was it just Oram's imagination, or did it get a little dark when Si said that. "All children know that there are monsters in the darkness. Only adults lie and pretend there are not. But that monster was held back by another. A smooglenuff, he called it." A slight amusement in his eyes at that, but mostly Si was there, living the story as he wove it. "Every trial for a hundred trials he told the children that they must be brave, because the smooglenuff could only fight the monster if it had bravery poured into it. When the mists cleared and the waters stopped boiling, they made him a Baron, had this place built for him and, they proudly named him after the very hero in the tale he told." Si's face broke into a wide grin, "proving that no good deed ever goes unpunished. So, every Saun, the resident Baron von Smooglenuff invites people to his home and tells a story. There is a villain and a mystery to solve and a hero around the table will solve it."

Si looked at Oram and the man seemed to wake, almost as though he'd been day dreaming so hard that reality hit him.

"There are a hundred different versions, each one in the library from the historical archives of Cassion's Trial, my favourite event on the Scalvoris calendar. But that version, as I have spoken it to you, it is the truth." Si gestured as they turned a corner and motioned for Oram to look. There, up ahead of them, was a large manor house, dark and gothic in appearance, sprawling and dark yet, somehow, slightly whimsical.

"What is it that you're doing, visiting Rodrigues?" Si asked. "And, come to that - do you have any stories to share on the road as we walk?" The man who looked at Oram did so with dark eyes filled with fascination.

[Oram Mednix]

Once there was this one bear...

As the two men walked, Si spun his tale and Oram listened. Cassion seemed smiled upon the hunter’s venture, for Si seemed to be the perfect traveling companion; he knew the way, he knew the destination, and he knew how to tell a tale to while the time away. It was a good story, regardless of whether it was true, and it fit with what he had heard already.

The sprawling pile took Oram by surprise, appearing almost on cue as Si wrapped up his story. ”We are here already?” he asked with both wonder and relief. He had expected, when he rose to the dawn and his damp boots, a longer and more trying journey today. He gazed up at the manor house for several trills before he became aware that Si had asked him a question and was awaiting his answer.

He looked at his feet for a moment and mumbled. ”My business with the Baron? He doesn’t even know I’m coming.” After a moment he rallied and looked over at the man, resolving to tell him the truth, embarrassing though it was. ”When some of the travelers in my camp told me about this Baron Smooglenuff,” he said more loudly, ”I thought they were pulling my leg. In fact, I made a wager with them that this person did not exist.” He raised his eyes to the manor house. ”Not much of a wager, truth be told. And I reckon if this Baron is half of what you say, then what I’ll have to say to my friends after I get back from meeting him will be more interesting to them than rubbing my nose in the fact I was wrong.” Or at least, he hoped so.

”Story?” he asked, a bit nervously, when Si asked him if he had any to tell him. ”I’m no talker, nor a storyteller, not as good as you, anyhow. But sure, I’ll tell you a story.”

He thought a moment. ”Tell you what, since you told me a story about how Smooglenuff got his family name, why don’t I tell you one about how my family got mine? My dad used to tell townies who asked that the name ‘Mednix’ came from his grandfather, my great-grandfather Ridnom. Ridnom was a mighty hunter in his time, well known throughout Scalvoris for his journeys everywhere on the islands, and even to the mainland, from which he would return laden with wonderous trophies he had caught on his hunts there. One of his most prized trophies was a bear pelt that he used as a rug under his dinner table, as big and beautiful and intact a golden bear as you ever did see. Ridnom said that he got it off of a bear he had found in the Sweetvine Woods, already dead. He didn’t know how it died.

“One trial, he and his family were eating dinner, and suddenly they felt the ground beneath their feet shift. Everyone got alarmed, because they thought it was an earthquake, but when Ridnom looked outside, there was no sign of an earthquake. Just as he came back in and decided it was nothing, he heard his wife cry out and a huge rumble of upset furniture. The bear rug had started to rise somehow into the air -on its own! The table was too heavy for it to lift, but it knocked all the chairs over, and some of the food fell onto the rug, whereupon the pelt stopped.

“Ridnom and his wife went around and talked to everyone they could, wise men, priests, even some scholars at the university, to see if they could explain the event, but everyone was stumped. It didn’t happen again for a while, and eventually they decided to ignore it. But then one trial it happened again: the rug shifted strongly under their feet, trying to rise up off the ground. The family got up off the chairs and away from the table, which kept shaking as the haunted rug heaved under its weight. Food started falling off the table. Then finally the rug gave one really big heave and knocked off a honey pot. When the honey hit the rug, it fell quiet again.

“Well, then Ridnom had an idea. He tried some things and found out that the pelt would only act that way if you put honey on the table. Then when the honey spilled onto it, it stopped. ‘That’s it!’ he cried, figuring it out. ‘It’s a bumble bear pelt! It’s rising to get at the honey!’

“So after that, Ridnom and his wife forbade anything with honey on or in it on their table from that trial forward. And he took the name ‘Mednix’, meaning ‘Refusing Honey’. Which is my family’s name to this trial.”

It was an absurd story, Oram knew. His family name was simply a word in his people’s language that meant ‘hunter’. But such a tale had passed into family lore, anyway. It was too droll not to.

Oram was done talking. He had already spoken a lot longer than he was used to. He looked up at the manor house. ”How much longer til we get to the door, you reckon?” he mused.

[Pegasus]

Oram told his story, and Si listened, carefully. He laughed in delight at the end and gave Oram a companionable hit on the back. Now, at that point, Oram might notice something. Because that companionable, friendly, entirely positive pat on the back was enough to send the man stumbling forward. Si looked at Oram and grinned. "Sorry. Don't know my own strength it seems," he said, and he laughed to himself. Oram asked about how far it was and Si shrugged. "Does the destination ever matter, Oram Mednix? Or is it always the journey? I think the latter, don't you?" His voice was strong, stronger than it had been and more ... booming. He reached into one of his many satchels and he held out something - proudly, and with the air of someone clasping a great treasure. When he held, nestled in his hands did not really give off the same vibe; It was a small jar. "Honey. The like of which you've never tasted, I assure you. I'd suggest using it sparingly. Spread it thin!" Again, he laughed at his own joke, and his chuckle was deep and reverberating.

But then, Si turned to him and gestured. "It won't be long until you get where you're going Oram. Although, like any destination, it is just the beginning of another journey. Dedicate the next one to me, too, as you did this, and perhaps I will see you again. For now?" He gestured, apparently across the whole of the wilds of Scalvoris - even further afield. "For now, may the road rise with you and may you tell tales of when you met Cassion on your travels!"

And Oram was suddenly alone, although an eagle soared above him. There, in front of him, was Smooglenuff Manor and, apparently, someone had knocked on the door. The man who answered was quietly spoken, dark of hair and serious of expression.

"Welcome to Smooglenuff Manor," Winston said. "I am afraid the Baron is not receiving visitors today. May I help you in some way?"

Either Winston was a consummate professional or he didn't hear the sound that seemed to be almost like laughter in the skies above them. "What is the nature of your business?" Winston asked, straight-faced and (as always) unflappable. Oram might, at this point, notice that he appeared to be holding a small glass jar, filled with honey.