SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! A massive set of sharp teeth chomp down forcefully inches away from Yerik’s head. Yerik throws a swinging punch into the creature’s jaw. The creature turns to bite at the swinging arm. Yerik moves his arm wildly, avoiding a severe bite from the jaws of the monster. Yerik shifts his weight in the hopes of some leverage. The horrific creature raises its arm, long claws extended. With a powerful downward swing, the creature slices through Yerik’s armor, cutting the skin. Yerik yells out from the pain. He must act now. Yerik throws another swinging punch, shifting his weight. With both legs in the right place, Yerik heaves at the creature’s body, lifting it up, sending the beast tumbling backwards. Yerik leaps for his sword. Sitting up, the reptilian creature lets out a horrible gurgling growl and charges Yerik, ramming him in the back with its thick horned skull.

            The impact hurls Yerik through the air, tumbling to the ground while the creature’s momentum throws it reeling forward, stumbling over the rocky ground. Yerik grits his teeth from the pain but does not lose eye contact with his sword. The creature tries to regain its balance but continues stumbling as it tries to plant its feet. Yerik sees his chance. Pushing through the pain, he rolls over the rocks and boulders, leaping closer to his sword. Landing with a painful jab into his thigh and side from the uneven rocks, Yerik musters all his strength to latch onto his sword, his only hope for escape.

            The creature was on its feet, leaping at Yerik.

            Sword in hand, Yerik whirls around to strike a death blow.

            Yerik’s arm stops.

            The creature holds Yerik’s arm from swinging his sword. “Hands! This creature has hands?” Yerik thought. His mind raced through every event up to this moment. He identified a reptilian creature. Reptiles have many dangerous attributes, from their bites to their claws. This one carried a unique and dangerous set of horns and horn growth. It looked like a warped and mutated dragon. Dragons, nor reptilian creatures, possess hands like humans, trolls, or primates. Yerik based his entire attack and defense strategy on this observation. Such a mistake could mean a deadly outcome. The creature holds onto Yerik’s arm like a snake coiling its prey, lifting it up in the air, nearly dislocating Yerik’s shoulder. The creature pushes Yerik, slamming him into the face of a rock wall.

            Yerik grits through the pain. He could not let go of his sword. His life depends on it. He had to free his sword hand and get one more attack. The creature smashes his sword hand against the rock face as it lets out a horrible screeching cry. Yerik throws a punch with his free hand. The creature refusing to let go of his sword hand grapples with Yerik’s other shoulder, pinning the arm down to avoid the fisted attacks. It leans into Yerik, constricting his movement and breathing, letting out a triumphant roar.

            The strength and weight of the creature immobilizes Yerik. It opens its mouth wide, leaning in closer and closer to the defenseless Yerik.

            Then it clicked.

            Yerik’s mind thought faster than time could expire. He knew his sword hand was pinned to the rock, while his other hand was held to his side. His mind instantly identified the very narrow space between him and the creature, and the line connecting his sword above him to his one free hand below. Chances of success were extremely slim.

            Yerik adjusted his hand being held by the creature. Holding his position tight, he let go of his sword. The sword dropped precisely between the narrow space of his body and the creature’s body, catching the sword in his free hand. A quick kicking thrust with his knee gave his arm slight mobility as he lifted the sword straight up into the creature’s skull.

            But it was gone!

The sword vanished. It didn’t fall or get knocked free, it just disappeared! Yerik looked up. The creature’s wide-open mouth lunged at Yerik’s face.

            SNAP!

            “AAAAuuuuughhhgh!” Yerik jolted awake, breathing deeply. He looked over at his wife, asleep in bed. It didn’t wake her. This time. Yerik exhaled, rubbing his eyes, breathing to ensure his senses were indeed in reality. He glanced over again at his wife, sleeping. The peace of sleep. Yerik was jealous, but happy that he did not wake her. Yerik thought about his options.

The strange effect of the dream had his heart racing. He could try to lie back down, hoping he would relax and fall back asleep. Although staring at the ceiling in the dark often created a greater sense of anxiety than the intensity of the dream. Getting cold was his favorite approach.

Yerik learned that if he got up and sat somewhat exposed to the cold air, it would drive his body temperature down, an uncomfortable experience for most. The gradual gnawing of the cold reminded him of the many adventures of his younger years. He didn’t mind reminiscing with a little pain. After a short while, he would climb back into the furs of his warm bed, raising his body temperature, gently lulling his body back into a state of sleep. Yerik carefully sat up and stepped out of bed, careful to not disturb his wife’s slumber.

            Yerik walked through the dark of his home. It was an instinct to check and secure every aspect of his living quarters, though rather unnecessary in a quiet town like Eknor. Yerik still felt better seeing it for himself. His home remained quiet, other than the sound of his canine friend following him from room to room. He made his way to the main open area of his home, a personal banquet room where he hosted old friends and parties. The tables were filled with the residue of so many stories of fame, and glory, battle wound competitions and drinking games. Yerik smiled. Grateful to live such a life. Many others dreamed of living the life of Yerik Goldsword. He had a twinge of guilt. With all he had worked for, and built, and earned, he still wanted more. But it wasn’t the wealth and fame he longed for.

            Yerik stoked the fire with some fuel, enough to provide light, but not enough to create too much warmth. Pouring a glass of his favorite late night drink, he sat down in a large fur covered chair, gazing into the light of the fire. His canine friend sniffed his hand, gave it a little lick with his tongue, then convinced his companion would remain in place, he curled up near Yerik’s feet. Yerik took a sip of his drink. He thought for a moment about his dream.

            Dreams like he had were not uncommon for those that lived a life as a career fighter. They faced constant conflict, always moving from one challenge to the next. The only way to survive is to bottle the trauma and fear of any situation, and focus on clarity in the current moment. Every fighter knew the best strategy was to always move forward. But the ghosts from the past do not remain far behind. Dreams of past battles were a natural way for a fighter’s mind to dispose of the battle trauma. Yerik didn’t mind. If anything, it was a fun way to revisit past victories.

            Yerik smiled.

            His mind accurately represented the battle. Except for the disappearing sword. Yerik hates it when he can’t seem to control his mind, like he can control his physical prowess. That creature was one of the closest times he had ever come to death.

            He was a young fighter, hired on a simple quest. As an inexperienced team, they relied on their indestructible youth and decided they could shorten their time by cutting through the harsh terrain of the impassible territory. It their minds, it was only impassable because others were not as physically gifted as they were. The mountains were filled with all kinds of wild animals and creatures. It was like the forest and mountains were alive, actively trying to stop their team from any form of success. It was the ‘impassable territory’ and would stop at nothing to prove it to them.

            Then there was the dragon troll, as he came to call it. A creature like nothing he had ever seen before. It looked dragon, but it wasn’t. It was all beast. The creature had no soul. It attacked relentlessly. The beast didn’t behave like a wild animal hunting for food. It seemed driven by the sheer desire to destroy. It was clearly reptilian, but Yerik had nothing to compare it to. Maybe a mutated Rok Rok. The creature acted more like a bipedal being, or an ape-like creature. A troll was the closest thing he could compare it to.

In the actual battle, the sword to the chin of the creature freed Yerik from its grips, but it didn’t kill the beast. The creature retreated into the thick jungle. Yerik had to attend to other injured teammates, and never had the chance to vanquish his foe, an outcome that never sits well with a highly competitive man such as Yerik. Yerik does not settle for a draw. If a creature tries to take his life, he vowed to be the clear victor every time. It was the one time in his career that left him without a definitive win. He wanted that creature’s head hanging on his wall, but he never got the chance. It was the one foe that he did not vanquish.

            That wasn’t the only reason he disliked this battle.

            He loved telling the story to other fighters. He figured the more experienced fighters would love to hear about his battle with the dragon troll. The conversation about the existence of such creatures always overshadowed his heroics. Even those listening nearby loved to point out that his observation must be inaccurate. But he knew what he saw.

            Every time he described the horrific looking creature, people would question everything he saw and experienced. He learned that throughout the fighting community, there were no other experiences with such a creature. Others offered all kinds of theories about what attacked him. Because his experience was unique, the masses assumed he was the one in the wrong, and not the entire community.

This was a very sore spot for Yerik. Yerik was not a liar, nor does he enjoy embellishing his stories. He hated when other fighters told tall tales vs. depicting the facts of their experience. It made no sense to his personality. Unless you experience it, don’t tell it. This applied to his battle with the dragon troll. He saw what he saw, and it was true whether people wanted to believe him or not. Whenever Yerik told the story, others thought he was an embellisher, a perception Yerik loathed. He eventually stopped telling the story all together. His truth was safer kept in his memories.

            His mind had to entertain the possibility that in all his arrogance and ability, maybe he made a mistake. Maybe he saw it wrong. Maybe it was a troll with some kind of skin condition. But the horns. The horns were very distinct. Yerik had to plan his offense around them. They were massive cranial horns, and not the simple cheek horn growths most trolls have. But it was the hand that stood out in his mind. That the creature could grab him and hold him with a human like hand was a detail Yerik could not get past. Reptilians, including dragons, do not have hands. It was a detail that plagued his mind for the rest of his life. He could not face a foe without checking for possibilities of hand combat.

            Being a young warrior, Yerik figured he would cross paths with such a creature again through his many quests and journeys. He never came across anything like it. Ever. Nothing bothered Yerik more than feeling like he was wrong, and the pub chair adventurer thought they knew better than he did. The creature was a rare oddity that he could not explain. But he refused to relent that he mistook what he saw. Yerik does not make mistakes.

            Yerik laughed as he stirred up the fire.

            It was a crazy idea. His wife would never let him do it. He couldn’t possibly put such a kind woman through the tumultuous life of a career fighter. He had his school to look after. His mind was rather clever at rationalizing thought.

            A quest is out of the question, too dangerous for an old fighter, too much work, and too risky for the family he had finally established in one location. He had some friends that lived near that region. Nothing wrong with visiting friends. Nothing wrong with inviting several of his close warrior friends for one more reunion. Just to celebrate life and adventure. There would be nothing wrong with that. And if they went for a walk in the woods and got lost, how can that be irresponsible?

            Yerik chuckled to himself. “I can’t do that to her,” he mumbled out loud as he thought about the prospects of one last adventure. He knew the drive would never go away. Why was his mind the way it was? Why couldn’t he just let it go? After everything he had been through, after everything he had experienced, why would his mind not settle down? He always thought he would grow into an old man, and learn to enjoy gardening, or pottery, or something insanely boring because that’s what old men do. But he was still dreaming of fame and glory, like he was a young man hoping to still make his mark on the world.

            Yerik smiled, realizing his waking dreams were far more dangerous than his sleeping ones. He finished his drink, secured the fireplace, and made his way back to bed. His wife stirred.

            “Were you dreaming again?” She asked.

            Yerik nestled in close to her, leaning back on his pillow looking up at the ceiling. He smiled.

            “Yeah, dreaming. I was just dreaming.”