Aranga’s Drabbles and Shorts

**The Tale of Magorathin the Terrible**

a story inspired by a pattern on my bathroom tiles

*Oh, you do not recognise the name? Well, you clearly are not from these lands. His tale is known to all who live here...*

For Magorathin was a horrific fiend who had terrorised the people eons ago, sparing none his bloody reign.

This twisted knight had no respect for lives weaker than his own; not even the king himself could control him.
Especially not the king's messenger, either.

He was no birdfolk, nor was he a creature of any decency. He took the appearance of a fair dodo, but his heart was as twisted as a serval's.

For decades this tyrant did strike fear into the hearts and souls of citizens, until, nigh on 200 years ago, he was vanquished by the valiant warrior, Sandrehon.

Do not be mistaken. The noble raven was not the first to face the beast, but it was that all other gallant knights fell before the might of Magorathin.

It was said that he killed the blessed dragon-saints as a mere display of power, but even he could not prepare himself for his doom.
For intelligence had favoured Sandrehon, who had not faced the brute in open combat but through the use of an ingenious plan.

Magorathin did not have the chance to anticipate that a small village of his conquered land could pose a threat, but there in waiting lay Sandrehon's army.

'Twas a bloody fight, and the tyrant slew the vast majority through means no bird of decency could explain without quivering in fear, until at last! the raven's force proved victorious!

On the brink of dusk, Sandrehon emerged victorious, inflicting the fatal blow that felled the fiend at the gates of the village. In honour of this momentous occassion, one will now find the village on a map, marked under the name 'Dodosfall'.

*Now you know of the brute, you may now start to understand how adamant we are to disallow any bird to rise to such power.*

**A Warning to a Novice Seafarer**

another bath tile tale, and *was* gonna be more 'story', but it didn't look right

Before you set off, have you enough lizardflame? No, no, a regular light cannot ward off the Souls.

...Of course not. Few birds would be as willing to brazenly chart a course through the oceans of Hvathinyos, let alone enquire of the creatures that guard her domain. If you are to set sail, then heed my words; even fewer have resisted the lure and attack of the Singing Souls.

There are sailors who tell of maddened commotion and carousals coming not from a bumpsy crewmate, nor from any island or ship. Others, of whom were granted Jiipra's mercy, return from ships that had approached the sourceless sounds, only to be assailed by shapeless voices that cajoled and diminished, and to be torn asunder by snakelike tendrils after sharp rocks had sent the boat into the waves.

Doubt the truth of these tales, but my life flies not on your wings.

And of the lizardflame, eh? 'Twas a discovery of the pirate Bournebalt. Yes yes, yes, the greed-fueled egret that drove despair and dread into all seafaring merchants; all stories and scrolls lead into his talons, so by all means, that drunken skamelar had once done something worthy of a good word.

They say that he had once entered a tavern with the strangest object in tow, one he boasted to have stolen from island-nesting lizardfolk. It was a lantern, but without the unnatural blue sheen of regular lizardflame. It shone a black light, and some say there had been a sort of creature hidden in the dark brightness.

Bournebalt had hung up the lantern with the claim that the lizardfolk had used it as a charm of protection, but a sailor shot the ghoulish flame with his blunderbuss. It escaped in a flash, and fortune had it flee the building, shrieking and burning with absent light.

...Yes, this recount is vital, lest you dismiss the need for lizardflame as some disposable sea-borne superstition. No, I will not dismiss-
Oh, so be it! I am not trying to sell it to you, for I have none amongst my wares. Are you so simple as to not enjoy a good tale? Tarry no longer if your crew forgets not to abandon its members, or else stay and let not another squawk from your mouth lest they hear and come fetch-

...You'wid do well to listen to "mere hearsay" before you enter Hvathinyos' domain. There is more to this world than could ever be written in your books.

**that time i -gave up on the code-**

This morning, when I opened the cutlery drawer, I found a chopstick. Nothing else, not even another chopstick. I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but now I can’t have cereal for breakfast. Maybe the kitchen’s in a bad mood- actually that makes sense, it had a falling out with its wife. If I was allowed in the garden, I could get a stick that matches it, because there were trees outside last time I checked. Or…maybe a pencil would work? Nah, I don’t want to eat graphite again. I think I’ll just have a skewer, actually.

**Haneev**

The old mountain had gained a couple new glaciers since Haneev last visited the area. The honeysuckle zyuugan had lain down in a small field of the same type of flower, listening to tiring birdsong and commotion carried over the whistling evening breeze. The faraway slopes caught all the colours of the sinking sun, resplendently wearing the golden rays on its snowy trees and icy slopes, but Haneev wasn’t watching. She could see such a view any time she liked. No, her half-lidded gaze was turned towards a village further on in the glade, where rheifetun were closing up shops and returning home after a short day of rich harvest and autumn celebrations.

 It had changed much over the centuries Haneev had been away, but like every other time she visited, she could still discern traces of the original settlement in the moss-wearing town hall, the sprawling chaos of one section of farmland, and the old respected rituals that the inhabitants revelled in and joked over. As the butterflies and moths danced over her paws, did the dormouse-like people earlier that night dance throughout the lantern-lit streets. Those lanterns would shine between the roofs for weeks on end if they were allowed the chance.

 The commotion was quieter now as they braced for a rainy night, but Haneev stayed out on her ledge, not caring that the wind would later bring a little bit of water. For now, it was crisp with the scents of newfrost grass and wildflowers and not of rain, and she lay her head atop her paws, letting the grass tickle her snout. The last drops of sun climbed above and beyond the tops of the pines and redwoods, the following chill sending away butterflies and biting bugs alike. Haneev clapped a paw over a beetle that was trudging by, but let it go after deciding that its company wouldn’t be worth delaying the little critter. She surveyed the darkened landscape ahead of her, then looked up to the cloud-covered sky where the first stars had arrived for the night. With a resigned sigh, she sat upright unsteadily and glided towards the border of the forest and the meadow, where she tucked herself under a largeish bearberry bush and brushed the dust and seeds off her fur and feathers until she dozed off under the shrub’s dry leaves.