This was one of the first fantasy short stories that I’ve created. At least it’s the one I feel is best polished! I hope you enjoy
The Legend of Grim
The wind howled as it swirled its way past the half broken tombstones that stood in the green moss, glittering in the lazy beams from the sun. It was as if the wind shifted its focus from the tombstones to a raven that suddenly landed with an elegant wing beat. Blue mist swirled itself as a spiral upwards from the earth around the tombstone the raven had landed on. As the blue mist swirled to ever greater heights, a figure manifested itself behind the shimmering wall of mist. Slowly the mist coil started dissolving from the ground up. The figure motioned within the misty curtains, and a sharp flash cleared the mist, leaving a mint green circle of incantations around the figure. Suddenly it was pitch black, and through the darkness sounded a voice. It was like nectar to the needy, a river in the desert, raging torrents and size instilling fear and awe, seductive and resolute.
“It is your destiny Grim, to find and defeat the eternal darkness nested at the top of The Lonely Hope’s Mountain.” The darkness and the voice were gone as quickly as they appeared. The darkness snaking its way in every direction, witling as the beams from the sunset had begun blanketing the surroundings in red.
Grim woke gasping, instinctively jumping out of the bed, his muscular body dripping wet from his nightly ordeal. For a second he just stood in bewilderment, looking frantically around the room with his sharp green eyes, almost as if he was expecting to have someone tell him it was just a dream. But he couldn’t forget it, it had seemed so real. As he threw on a rough pair of canvas pants, he came to think of something his best friend had said. Something about a prophecy or a vision that would seek him out. He felt blood race to his face, and only the dark of night hid the blushing on his powerful face. At the time, he had swept away the friend’s warning as mad ramblings. He felt sick to his stomach thinking about it, but that mountain mentioned by the mysterious raven man was the exact same mountain where his friend had died. His friend had gone there supposedly to collect some particularly good mushrooms. He had offered to come with the friend, but had been turned down. Grim wasn’t needed, he was assured. To this day Grim wished he could bring him back, but such was fate. Believing he could have changed anything would be nothing more than a deceptive pleasantry. He would instead make sure that the death of his friend was not for nothing. He would go to the mountain.
Outside, a storm was brewing. It started as a deep rumbling in the horizon, grey clouds and thunderheads freckled with lightning. Then light tremors in the ground accompanied a blood red cloud cover that consumed the sky. As a loud burst sounded, he instinctively turned to face the sound and saw where a lightning bolt had split a tree in two. The sight and sound of wood splintering triggered something inside of Grim. A feeling both natural, yet so unfamiliar to him. It went red before his eyes and he thought of the prophecy and his long lost friend. He ran towards the stables for a horse, and took off, under cover of blood red night and turmoil from villagers in panic.
That’s how he had ended up where he was. Far up in the mountains, so far there was no turning back. What met Grim there was beyond his wildest imagination, and certainly nothing any prophecy or dream could have prepared him for. He could make out the scaly features of a huge beast. It seemed injured as it waddled over rocky outcrops that marked the edge of this almost “arena like” piece of green, situated on top of the mountain.
Sure enough, now Grim could see it. One of its four legs had a spot where the scales had been ripped off, green blood oozing forth. The legs were thick as oak logs, supporting its grey scaly reptilian like body. Its three long necks were plated in interlocking scales, and at the end of the snake-like necks sat its heads. Its eyes were glowing red and its jaws snapped impatiently at the air. The tail was several man heights long and riddled with ashen spikes, swiping playfully side to side.
According to legend, the battle raged throughout the night: the favour of battle went back and forth, neither willing to budge. They were in a trance, transcended to a place where nothing else mattered. It was as if time halted when Grim dealt the decisive blow, suspending blood, scales and sweat mid-air. And all that rang for his ears was his roar. And the beast roared with him. It was the moment Grim had been destined for in his dream. Through the ages echoes of Grim’s roar could be heard. A remnant of the past. Ancient, yet never obsolete. For violence remained eternal in Grim’s world.