Skrundle Rambles

[skrundle]

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。𝒲𝑒𝓁𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒮𝓀𝓇𝓊𝓃𝒹𝓁𝑒 𝑅𝒶𝓂𝒷𝓁𝑒𝓈! 。°❀。°₊ *•。❀

➻ This is where I'll be posting various writings of mine! The

Jump!
➻ Malgehund


scariest part about being a creative is sharing your work with
others, and luckily, I like to be scared.

On top of posting writing snippets, roleplay entries that I'm
particularly proud of, and the occasional poem, I
anticipate using this thread to have a place to dump my
stream of consciousness. I may use it as a virtual diary, too.

Absolutely feel free to post here! I love receiving feedback and
I'm always looking for ways to grow. Even if it was just a section that you
really resonated with or would like to discuss, I welcome it all
here - given that we stay on topic! My PMs are always open if you just want to chat.

Thank you for stopping by! ♡

[skrundle]

This was written as an entry for BlueEyedKite's writing competition.

➻ Malgehund

Along a tranquil shoreline at the edge of the forest, where the lakewater glittered and sparrows sang, two figures approached one another, preparing for a great duel.

“Mighty warrior Eir, state your business on this land.”

Eir puffed out his chest. “I come to prove that I am strong enough to defeat you, warrior Fenn.”

The raven-haired boy in front of him nodded sagely. “Anything else?”

“I also come to prove that I am the best and the coolest. And, I’m two inches taller than you.”

Fenn scrunched up his nose and unsheathed his sword (a long stick he’d found in a pile of leaves). He darted forward. “On guard!”

The clack of tree branches rang through the air as they fought. Eir, whose father had promised him fencing lessons for his next birthday, swung with precision, but the smaller boy had him outmatched in agility. Fenn ducked under the blow, swinging his branch into Eir’s shins.

“Ow! Fenn, come on!” Eir staggered backwards. His heel caught on a root and he stumbled, falling flat onto his back. Fenn howled with laughter. Eir stood, shaking dirt from his hair, threw his tree branch aside, and chased after his friend. Fenn sprinted away, shouting in mock terror. The game continued until the boys had tired themselves out and called a truce, resorting to sitting in the sand and finding the perfect rocks to skip.

“This is a good one!” Fenn held up a smooth, round stone. He tossed it into the lake at an odd angle and it sank without a single skip. “Aww.”

“It’s all in the wrist, remember?” Eir flicked his stone and it skittered across the water, creating four rings of ripples before it plunged under.

This was their little slice of paradise. Just far enough out of the town to offer space for their imaginations to flourish - fort building, tree climbing, catching newts on the shore - but just close enough that Eir always made it home in time for dinner. The lakeside carried years of memories, of skinned knees and rambunctious laughter. In the winters, when the snow dusted the trees and the wind blew sharp darts of cold into their rosy cheeks, the boys would build campfires, huddling around them and spooking one another with tales of legend.

Eir skipped another stone and it bounced seven times. “I heard some men in the shop talking about Malgehund again. They’re racing to see who can make a coat out of its pelt first.”

Fenn rolled his eyes. “Count on them to turn everything into a trophy.”

No one in Alestad had ever actually seen the Malgehund. Rumors flew of a great and terrible beast, taking the form of a dark wolf, stalking the mountains. The only reported sightings were of massive pawprints in the forest and, rarely, a pair of brightly glowing eyes piercing the darkness through the trees. Eir lacked the courage to admit it, but he had encountered those eyes many times as he gazed at the stars through his bedroom window late at night.

Maybe someday, Eir often wondered, he would get to meet it.

The weeks went on, and the two boys met daily at their spot as usual. Lately, everything felt a little different. Political tension had begun to rise in the village. The boys’ quiet hideaway, once a place of innocent play, had quickly become a source of respite from the growing hostility and paranoia of the villagers.

The town magician, Invar, was locked in vicious dispute with the council, debating the benefits of invading a smaller settlement across the mountain: with his growing proficiency in sorcery, he claimed, he could bring great power and prosperity to Alestad. The council refused him repeatedly, not wanting to taint their peaceful village with war and death. Finally, after one particularly violent outburst from the stubborn magician, he was excommunicated from the council, and expelled from the village entirely. Villagers watched anxiously from their doorways as Invar stormed away, fearing what he might do in retaliation.

For a few days, nothing happened. Then, one evening as Eir walked home from the lakeside, he saw thick billows of smoke rising from Alestad.

Heart thundering in his chest, Eir raced towards town. Screams rose as he approached. Careening around the sidewalk, his eyes found flame and terror. Every home on his street was ablaze.

Steeling himself, he rushed into his fiery house, shouting desperately for his parents. No answer met his ears. The smoke choked him and forced him back out towards the street, and he grabbed at whatever he could carry before stumbling onto his charred front lawn. The air was burnt black. Blinking away the smog, Eir saw the figure of a man disappear around the edge of his destroyed home, fire dancing at his fingertips: Invar.

Cursing the magician, Eir leapt up and gave chase. Rounding the corner, he watched as Invar began to disappear into a heavy cloud of dark mist, making his silent escape. Eir grabbed an axe that was propped against the fence and swung blindly, madly. There was a sickening thud as metal met flesh. The sorcerer screeched in pain, clutching his shoulder, and with a quick motion, he was gone. Eir looked down. Invar’s right arm lay at his feet, petrified into black stone.

Crouching down to look at the stone arm more closely, Eir noticed something else in the dirt. Huge, clawed pawprints, leading all the way from the forest brush to the rubble of his home. He felt himself beginning to tremble as a terrible sense of dread anchored into his stomach. It had been here. Weakened by his exhaustion, confusion, and utter despair, the boy dropped to his knees and clutched his head in his hands.

The next week passed in a haze of grief for Eir. He lost count of the funerals, of the flowers, of the pats on the back and hushed condolences. Heartbreak slowly dissolved into anger, and finally, after spending an afternoon staring into his closed fists, he decided his mind was made up. He grabbed his father’s old hunting rifle and stormed towards the lake. As expected, Fenn sat waiting.

“Eir!” He perked up at the sight of his friend. “I was starting to get worried you’d never come back! Are you…” Fenn’s eyes narrowed, fixing on the gun in Eir’s grip. “What…?”

Eir shoved the gun into Fenn’s arms. “Malgehund.”

“Huh?”

Eir gritted his teeth. “I saw its tracks in the dirt right next to the rubble after the burning. No doubt it’s a spy for Invar.” He jabbed a finger towards the gun. “We’re going to hunt it. Then, we go for Invar’s neck.”

Fenn pursed his lips into a thin line. “Eir, no. Needless violence will make us no better than him.” He moved to hand the rifle back. “It’s just an animal, please talk some sense.”

Eir scoffed. “Some sense? I’m going to hunt that dog and hang its hide in the town square as a warning for that monster to never return. And if he does, I’ll destroy him. I already got his arm.”

Fenn paled. “Look, I know you’re hurt. But it isn’t fair to -”

“Isn’t fair?” Eir stepped closer to his friend, face growing hot. “What isn’t fair is that I’ll never see my mother and father again. What isn’t fair is that he got away, and now you won’t help me the one time I ask for it.” He felt himself fraying at the edges, losing control. “You don’t want to help me kill that brute and his mutt? Fine. But that means that you aren’t my friend - and you never were.” Flecks of spittle gathered in the corners of his mouth. “I hate you.”

Fenn gazed at him blankly. After a moment, he quietly set the rifle at Eir’s feet and started to walk away. Regret had already begun to pool in Eir’s stomach.

“Fenn - hey, I didn’t mean it! Come back!”

The damage had clearly been done. Fenn walked into the distance until he was out of sight, and Eir found himself sitting in silence, feeling more alone than ever.

Fenn didn’t return to their spot the next day, or the day after that. Weeks passed, and then months. Eir returned to the lake every day to find nobody there. His only company, to his dismay, was the occasional pair of glimmering eyes watching him from the trees as the sun set.

Ten years went by.

Eir had grown into a strapping young man and, finding that he much preferred to rely solely on himself, built himself a quaint cottage next to the lakeside spot where he and Fenn used to play. It stung too much to try and live in the old village, where he felt suffocated by ghosts of pain and past. There was a healing property in the way the wind whistled through the trees as he fished off of his dock. He would go out and hunt deer and rabbits, and tend to his garden, and cook himself hearty meals in the stillness of his home before settling down to sleep, remembering to say a prayer for his parents every night. Sometimes he would pray for Fenn, too.

His only complaint was that the Malgehund’s presence never waned. Eir would find its tracks in his garden, even up next to his window. He would hear faint howls in the night and bolt upright, fingers itching for his gun, though he could never bring himself to actually go and hunt it. The isolation slowly began to chip at his psyche. Finally, as he sat on his dock one evening waiting for a fish to bite, he heard footsteps approaching.

Eir turned to face the intrusion, expecting a rogue villager or curious child. His eyes met raven hair and he froze, mouth hanging agape.

Fenn smiled. “Hey, buddy. Long time.”

Eir shook his head stupidly, battling between surges of joy and rage and hurt. “I-I don’t -” He cleared his throat. “Uh, hey. Yeah, long time.”

Uncomfortable silence hung in the air. Fenn kicked at the dirt. “I’ve fallen on some tough times lately. Wasn’t sure what to do.” He lifted his head and looked at Eir intently. “You’re the only one I knew to come to.”

Eir couldn’t find his voice.

Fenn chewed on his lip. “You… would it be alright if I hung around for the night? I have nowhere else to go.”

Eir snapped out of his trance. “Yeah, sure, I mean whatever. I’ve got some salmon for dinner. Wanna head in?”

Soon the stove was lit and Fenn sat at the table, hands clasped in front of him. The delectable scent of sauteed mushrooms and onions began to fill the room as Eir stood and stirred. Skinning the salmon, he felt pressed to ask: “So why, then?”

Fenn raised a brow. “Why what?”

“Don’t play dumb. Why are you really here?” He laid the strips of salmon in the pan. “I want the truth from you, or you can leave.”

His inquiry was met with a sharp intake of breath from Fenn. “He’s coming back, Eir.”

Eir turned. “Who -”

“You know exactly who.” Fenn’s voice grew darkly serious. “He’s coming back for the village, but first he wants his arm back. And he’s going to kill you to get it.”

Eir’s mind flitted to the stone arm tucked away in a trunk in his shed. “So what? I’ll just take the rest of his limbs this time.”

Fenn shook his head. “No. I have ears around the mountain. He’s gotten much, much more powerful. And though you’ve grown up strong, he has grown stronger. I promise you. You have no idea how much danger you’re in.”

Eir cut the gas on the stove and spooned portions into bowls, joining Fenn at the table. “You’ve come back because you worry for me, then. You feel ready to support me? Why now? Why not then, when it mattered?” His voice shook. “You waste your concern on me.”

“I had to warn you.” Fenn’s eyes shone with sadness. “I’m sorry I left for so long. Please, Eir, let me stay for a while, just so I can know you’re alright. A few days is all I ask.”

Eir chewed quietly for a moment. “Fine. But stay out of my way.”

The two ate without another word. The thin string of the evening had been pulled taut, and Eir felt the weight of many years resting on his neck. On the bright side, dinner was delicious.

Fenn, in fact, did not stay out of Eir’s way. He invited himself onto Eir’s canoe the next day, much to his chagrin, but proved himself to be an excellent fisherman. He was an apt hunter, too, and Eir found himself bewildered at Fenn’s natural knack for tracking down dinner around the cottage. Despite his slight frame, he was incredibly fast on foot, often leaving Eir pausing to gasp for breath as they hunted elk through the trees. Eir slowly felt his reluctant annoyance bleeding into admiration. The frigid shell of time had started to melt away. They were boys again, laughing and hollering, skipping stones, scaling giant oaks.

A few days turned into many. Eir came to enjoy the extra company around, noting that his little cottage somehow seemed so much more vibrant now that he had someone to exchange banter with. Plus, the helping hand had cut his daily duties in half. Fenn would even surprise him sometimes by preparing their dinner - Eir had always considered himself a decent cook, but Fenn’s skill on the stove put him to quick shame. As thanks, Eir began inviting him onto his cottage roof at night to gaze at the stars, something he had once preferred to do in solitude.

“Ursa Major,” Fenn said one night as they lay under a vast, twinkling blanket. “Great bear, thank you for everything.”

Eir smiled up at the sky. “She’s brighter than usual tonight.”

“Mmhmm.”

Eir stretched his arms underneath his head, listening to the soft lapping of lakewater against the shore and the crickets in the trees. A peculiar feeling overtook him. He swallowed hard, taking a slow breath. “Fenn,” he cleared his throat. “I don’t hate you. I never did.”

Fenn chuckled. “I know you don’t.”

“No, I mean it.” Eir propped himself up on one elbow. “I should’ve never even said it. I’m sorry for the way I treated you all those years ago. And again when you showed up here.”

“Mmmh,” Fenn waved his hand drowsily. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Eir lay back again, listening as his friend’s soft breathing waned into gentle snores. Galaxies danced before him. The peculiar feeling still hadn’t left, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable one, only unfamiliar. He craned his neck to look at Fenn, fast asleep. Moonlight spilled over his pale, peaceful face.

A warmth filled Eir that he realized he hadn’t felt in a decade. Here, in the present, he was safe. Here, next to his dozing friend, was where he could learn to breathe again. The threat of Invar seemed eons away now. As sleepiness began to creep through his eyelids, he said a silent prayer to the stars, asking that the rest of his days be exactly like this. Dimly, just before consciousness slipped off, he noted that this was the longest he’d gone without being haunted by the Malgehund. Peace at last.

A few nights later, his peace was broken.

Eir shot up in bed, sweat sticking his hair to his forehead. There was that rustling in the leaves. No, it couldn’t be! He slowly moved to peer out of his window. A huge, doglike form darted into the forest, weaving between the trees.

Fury clouded Eir’s vision. How dare it? How dare it come back now, when things were perfect? He threw off the sheets, laced his boots, and strode to the front door, careful not to wake Fenn from the cot he’d set up next to his fireplace. No beast would ruin this for him. Grabbing his rifle, he stormed into the cold. There, imprinted into the snow, were those clawed pawprints taunting him yet again. This time, though, it wouldn’t get away.

He followed the tracks, moving in silence, deep into the darkness of the woods. Finally, they led him to a clearing. Eir looked up. At the other end of the clearing stood a silhouette of the largest wolf he’d ever seen.

It must have heard his quiet gasp, because it turned to face him, and he saw those glowing eyes fix on him, widening into an expression of primal shock. Before his body could convince him to run, Eir hastily took aim of the rifle and pulled the trigger.

The bullet grazed the animal’s hind leg. It released a deep, awful yelp of pain, turning and sprinting away through the trees. Eir broke into a run after it. He had the Malgehund at his fingertips. It would not escape him now. Darting over roots and weaving between brush, he followed at a mighty speed, kicking up plumes of snow behind him. The tracks twisted and weaved through the forest. Eir didn’t know how long he’d been chasing it when he finally had to slow to a jog, lungs burning, wheezing raspily.

A twig snapped in front of him. Eir whipped his gun back up, but the wolf was nowhere to be seen. In front of him stood a tall and brutish man, shrouded in blackened mist, leering down at him. The man’s right arm was missing at the shoulder.

Eir fired without thinking. Invar waved a hand and the bullet swerved, striking a tree. A hungry, sick smile stretched over his emaciated cheeks as he advanced, turning Eir’s blood to ice. He fired again. This time, the bullet seemed to pass through Invar entirely. The magician laughed, a hoarse, dry rattle. Before Eir could process the horror before him, Invar darted forward, striking his left hand out. The gun was ripped from Eir’s grip by an invisible force and dashed upon the ground, breaking perfectly in two.

Invar was upon him. Now bare of weaponry, Eir fought like he’d never fought before, his balled fists meeting open air. Invar disappeared and reappeared behind him, striking him in the back, and he felt claws of fire sear through him, shouting out in terror. He whipped around. Invar sent a stream of smoke from his fingers and it wrapped around Eir’s throat, squeezing hard, lifting him high above the ground. Darkness snuck into the corners of his vision. Just before consciousness left him, he was slammed back down into the earth, bouncing twice before coming to a stop and staggering up onto his feet.

The magician wasn’t finished. Lurching forward, he sent daggers of flame flying towards Eir. They pierced him and he crumpled to the ground, gasping and coughing. Too wounded to stand back up again, he rolled onto his back. Invar towered over him, raising his arm, preparing the final fatal blow. Eir squeezed his eyes shut. Mama, Papa, I’ll see you soon.

Footsteps crunched through the snow behind him. Both Eir and his attacker glanced towards the sound. There stood Fenn, looking disheveled, eyebrows furrowed at the sight.

“Fenn, leave me!” Eir screamed at him. “Run for your life!”

Fenn was silent. Eir looked him over, noticing his friend’s tattered clothes. Blood trickled down thinly from a gash on his leg. A horrible dread settled into Eir’s stomach. “Fenn…?”

Before his eyes, a bright light surrounded Fenn, and his skin became glossy, raven fur. Shining claws pushed into the snow. The light dissipated. Fenn was gone, and in his place stood a mighty, beautiful beast. Eir’s jaw dropped open.

Invar was equally stunned. “Malgehund…”

The wolf leapt forth. Invar screamed, raising his arm in defense, but was immediately met with giant fangs sinking their way into him. A brutal struggle broke out. Thick smog flooded the forest floor, and Eir, blinded, began to drag his way to safety. He found refuge at the base of a tree, unable to see beyond his own legs but hearing the awful sounds of mauling from deep within the woods. Growls, met with curses of dark magic, twirled around one another in a crescendo of pain and power. Invar’s abominable voice, decrying the very existence of the beast, alternated between begs for mercy and cruel taunts. Finally, there was one last shout, and the forest fell silent.

Eir, breathing hard, looked around wildly. The smoke had begun to clear. He longed to call for his friend, to know he was alright, but his throat was constricted with fear and all that escaped him was a strangled whimper.

Someone ahead crunched through the snow. Fenn, now returned to his normal state, limped towards him. The body of Invar lay between the trees in the distance.

“Fenn!” Eir cried out. The young man was gravely wounded. He made his way to Eir, wincing and clutching his side, and then ultimately collapsed into his lap, moaning gently in pain.

“Oh, Fenn,” Eir gasped, his shoulders shaking with sobs. “It was you. It was always you.”

Fenn turned to look up at Eir, smiling weakly, and winked.

Eir buried his face in Fenn’s hair and wept. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Fenn raised a shaky hand, pointing at himself. “My duty,” he reached up and gingerly rested a palm on Eir’s cheek, “protect you,” — his arm fell limply back to his side — “is done. I hope…” Fenn coughed, his breath rattling wetly, “…we can be together again.” His eyes fluttered closed.

Choking, Eir took his friend by the shoulders. “No! No, Fenn! Please!” Fenn lay unmoving.

Gathering what strength he had left, Eir packed their wounds with snow and pushed himself shakily to his feet, hoisting his friend’s broken body over his shoulders. Steadying himself against the tree, he began the long trudge back towards Alestad, thrusting his head towards the sky in a final desperate act of prayer. “Great bear, please let him live!”

By some miracle, Eir managed to make it to the very edge of town before collapsing. Nearby villagers alerted the town medic, and the two were rushed into immediate care. Eir awoke days later, disoriented and calling out for Fenn, and gave the town officials his story. He told them that he and Fenn had gotten lost while out hunting and apprehended by Invar, but the Malgehund had shown up in the nick of time, destroying the magician and saving them both. Surely enough, when a party of villagers was sent out to the location given by Eir, they found the petrified body of Invar in the forest, forever cursed to stone.

Fenn awoke two days after Eir. They held one another in trembling arms, both crying gentle tears of relief and joy.

With the threat of Invar extinguished, the townsfolk elected to throw a huge celebration. Food and drink was aplenty as everyone danced about in their newfound merriment. Colorful lanterns were waved as Invar’s statue was paraded through the streets, doused in tar and feathers. To complete it all, the council was hosting the biggest fireworks show that Alestad had ever seen.

Far away from the crowded, bustling jamboree on the streets, atop a quiet roof in one of the neighborhoods, Fenn and Eir watched the show from a comfortable distance. Brilliant sparks of pink, orange, and yellow whistled into the sky. Eir drank the moment in.

Turning his head to look at Fenn, he watched the lights dancing across his cheeks. The fireworks reflected off of his eyes, making them glow as they had so many times before, peering at him from the woods. A lump suddenly rose in Eir’s throat.

“Fenn…” he began, his vision growing blurry. Years of emotion dammed themselves up in his lungs. He opened his mouth to speak again and froze, unable to find the words.

He didn’t have to, though, as Fenn’s lips met his.


~


For leading to the defeat of Invar, the council offered Fenn and Eir a monetary reward, which they turned down. Their only request, they stated, was that they return to the cottage by the lakeside, and be left alone in peace. Far removed from everything, the woods could truly heal, and the water could wash away the old wounds. Though confused, the council agreed. The two packed up and left the village the next day, and nobody in Alestad spoke to either of them again.

The years passed by. Occasionally, a villager or two would catch a glimpse of Eir trekking through the forest. He strode bravely, confidently, wearing a look of quiet contentment. What was odd, though, was how he was always carefully watched through the darkness by a pair of big, glowing eyes.


~