Fantasy & More: Collected Issue Two: Fantasy & More: Collected, #2

By William J. Seymour

A collection of five stories for those who love where reading can take them.

Monsters

Revenge

Rescues

Undead

Adventure

Each story takes you to another place and time. To worlds unlike our own and those that seem eerily too familiar. Written as only William J. Seymour could, these five stories span from the darkness to the light, and everything in between.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William J. Seymour
• Release date: Dec 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223958567

Book preview

Fantasy & More: Collected Issue Two

William J. Seymour

Book Furnace Publications

Copyright © 2023 by William J. Seymour

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Contents

1.Introduction

2.A Birthday for Windy

3.Wrath of a Forgotten God

4.Defeating the Cure

5.The Princess and the Three Lessons

6.Not an Exit

About the Author

Also By William J. Seymour

Introduction

Stories have a way of taking you places you never thought you’d see or experience. There are people who are bigger than life where you have an incredible time sitting right by their side. Others can be down on their luck, and it hurts you to follow them until the story turns and you watch them rise to the occasion and become the person they were meant to be.

Fantasy & More: Collected Issue Two is a collection of five stories that will do the same for you. A traveling trio of adventurers who find adventure and danger no matter where they go. A mischievous young man who bites off a little more than he can chew in the name of rebellion. I’ve included an adventure/fairy tale reimagined full of kings, princesses, and battle! No collection would be complete without a down on their luck detective.

All and more are included in this new issue. The second in many to come and I am glad you have decided to join me as we follow in the footsteps of the characters that leave their own little marks within our imaginations.

Forever thankful,

William J. Seymour

A Birthday for Windy

By

William J. Seymour

©2023

How do you celebrate a birthday when you are stuck in the middle of nowhere?

Wasting time doing nothing but waiting for their next job, Ritley and Stench must plan a birthday for Windy of the likes she has never had.

Where does one go when the only place you can think of is the one location you were warned against.

This will be a birthday no one will forget.

***

Aplace in the middle of nowhere. A town somehow built where it shouldn't be. Time seems to slip by. Slow. Real slow. Nothing happens. It never does.

Rifty turns the page. The words already boring him. Even the paper itself is cheap and useless. Thin and easy to tear. No wonder it cost so little at that cobbler's house. Should have known his ability to spot a find hidden within the treasures of a poor man's belongings wasn't that good.

He's read this piece half a dozen times already. Too long has passed by since they've been anywhere respectable enough for him to purchase anything that might 'stretch' his abilities better than this.

Now, Windy?

He considers her for a moment, but then tosses the idea away. Learning and stretching her limited skills is one thing that she desperately needs, but it's better to go in the correct direction from the start. Down the wrong path and she'll be little more than a cliché adventurer slinging fireballs at everything.

Any good thoughts in that head of yours? Stench asks.

Rifty closes his book. The snap of the cover carries with it the annoyance of the big orc's insistence on bothering him. She of course does not seem to get the message. Her big dopey brown eyes watch him, the question hanging there, stretched across her green skin and blank expression.

My mind is always full of 'good' thoughts. Like how with the flick of my wrist I could send you flying into those woods, and I would finally have a moment of peace and quiet.

A big ugly smile stretches across her face, the husks of her lower teeth sparkling in the afternoon light regardless if he's never once seen the big woman brush them clean. Her even bigger hand, all useless muscle and callouses, taps the handle of her gargantuan ax.

Stench like to see you try.

Rifty turns away, opens his pack and drops the book inside. Complex Spells for the Advanced Wizard. A bigger lie has never been spoken. He breathes a sigh, holds onto it, and lets it go.

This entire place is a waste. There isn't anything here. Just like this clearing where the grass takes its time doing nothing. Forest all around them, walls of conifers and oaks, maples and junipers. Civilization leagues away in almost every direction. Even the clouds above get the picture. They move along at their own pace but move along they do.

Unlike them.

They've been here a week. Seven days after their one and only job. What little coin they received is quickly disappearing behind buying what they need to survive. Now Stench wants to get a gift. A birthday gift of all things.

And dare I ask what your suggestion for us to get her would be? What does the ingenious Stench want to get Windy for her birthday that she doesn't currently have?

Rifty closes up his bag. Certain to check that the buckles and straps are in place and pulled tight. The wind picks up as if saying it is ready to carry away whatever the big woman has to say. He takes a deep breath. Like it or not, the fresh taste of pine and woods is better than them riding endlessly on their horses where all there is to eat is road dust that somehow carries with it the taste of horse dung. The horses need a bath just as much as the big orc does.

We could hunt deer. Make her a good birthday hearth with warm ale and steaming meat!

Stench pounds her big fist into her chest, her smile somehow growing larger as her eyes glaze over looking up at the sky.

Rifty digs the heel of his palms into his eyes. The splitting headache that extends from the bridge of his nose all the way to the base of his skull threatens to rip his head in half.

How? How would that be any different than what we always have? I'm tired of venison as much as the next farmhand. How do you think Windy feels?

Stench struggles for the words. Her lower lip snaps shut and one finger scratches at the bristly hair on her chin. At least it isn't as red as what is on her head. Rifty isn't certain if it would make her look more comical or better than her ugly persona already does.

We don't have warm ale every night.

Rifty can't hold back the chuckle. He grinds his hands deeper, explosions of white within the darkness of his vision. The thought of empowering each one until they break right into his skull passes in a fleeting moment, but he won’t lie that it wasn’t there.

That you are correct for once, my big, the word friend stalls on his lips. You are correct. Windy would love warm ale to go along with our twenty seventh straight night of venison.

A big smile, all the way up to brighten her deep brown eyes, stretches the tight skin across the orc's face. Her shoulders roll back, and she pounds her fist against her chest again.

Does little friend have a better idea?

He ponders going back into his bag and pulling out the book. Reading something is better than sitting here and listening to more babbling, but he doesn't. Somehow the thought of giving up and giving her the book returns. He resists. Burning the useless thing is probably a better thing to do.

I'm going to go back into town. Father Seagrim said something about their local Apothecary. Maybe they have a potion or trinket that would do Windy some good to learn. At worst maybe she could keep it and use it to save the big oaf whenever they happen to find themselves in a fight again. Not like the big girl doesn't get hurt EVERY SINGLE time.

Stench's smile goes away, her eyes trailing off toward the shadows within the forest. She scratches the top of her head then looks at whatever is stuck beneath her nails.

Father said to avoid that place. They are not welcome.

Rifty gets up onto his feet, his bag heavy on his shoulder. Stench goes to get up, but he waves her off.

Stay. Find us a deer. Windy will want something to wash down with that warm ale. I'll find you back at the tavern when darkness decides to find its way here.

Not like anything else wants to.

Stench's smile returns and she nods.

Rifty doesn't wait for any response. Adjusting his bag on his shoulder, he makes his way through the clearing and into the woods that will eventually spit him back out into a town that has really no reason to exist.

***

There it sits waiting. Always waiting. The building itself waits for him. Darkness has made its home here, pulling at him as he waits by the lone path that leads to this one building. Well-worn for a place that is supposed to be left alone by anyone of reasonable intelligence.

An apothecary shop.

Father Seagrim called it that. Though the truthfulness in that statement is yet to be seen.

Where the little town sprang from the fruit of the forest itself, this monstrosity crawled itself here and died. In town each building speaks of the life within the trees and surrounding area. Boards handcrafted and placed together in ways that still speak of the maples and oaks they came from. Roofs of thick pine branches tied and bundled in ways that somehow whisper stories of hidden holes and annoying leaks, but in the end prove difficult to imagine as the insides are warm and annoyingly cozy.

This apothecary, though, crawled itself right from a bog.

Outer walls of twisted and scarred wood. Black as the night is dark, it casts its own shadow where there is no light to be had. Even the roof is a tangled mess of thin sticks patched into a nest that would make the village rat proud. A lone seeing eye stares out at Rifty. An iris so empty he feels the watchful glance more than sees it. A black abyss of its hungry mouth waits with its vertical mouth yawning to devour him when he finds his way through. There may be no teeth to be seen other than twisted together branches, but who knows what thorns and thistles wait for him inside.

And enter he must.

If he is to have any chance of finding something that Windy could possibly want in this god forsaken place. A feeling inside of him lingers. Questions he hasn't felt in a long time over his short life.

The wind picks up. A call from between the trees of the forest. A warning that says get away. The gusts pick up dead leaves and swirl them into a tiny funnel that crosses his path. Held within is the promise of decay and dark things he has never seen. The awkwardly sweet taste of the bile and sludge all living things turn into as they return to the dirt drifts its way through the air.

Rifty shifts his pack on his shoulder. Its reassuring weight reduced to little more than the book that waits for him to read again. If only they were somewhere, anywhere, else. He'd have something worthwhile to keep him company.

Stupid apothecary and village. Whatever it is this Father Seagrim thinks is wrong with the place, it won't matter. If there is nothing inside that he wants for himself or Windy, he'll move on. Hopefully, after tonight's festivities, they'll do the same themselves.

On the door, held there by a rotten cord of bog wire is the welcome sign. Even here the poison of whatever pool this place crawled itself from persists. Each letter is painted in rough outlines that drip with decay as they burn their way through the twisted driftwood. A thick mold fills the cracks between the pieces this place calls its walls. A reasonable part of his brain says do not bother to touch it. Nothing has ever come from the dark places that did not infect those who came too close, but he's never been one to listen to that voice.

Each hinge cries for relief as Rifty enters. A song of misery and complaint. The banshees themselves split his ears and praise his entrance to the underworld, if that is what it was supposed to be. As if walking into its own dimension, the inside of the little building is no such thing.

Warm. Welcoming. Full of the smell of burning cedar and fresh pine. The air itself is dry, no hint of the wet that permeates the outside, warning all possible visitors from the dangers within. Inside is completely...

Out of Place

Rifty can't help himself. He casts his magic out into the room to find what must be here. A glamour. Hidden illusions and traps. Something meant to trick the common person into a false sense of security. Once relaxed, ready to spring and take what they want.

He is not that common person.

With delicate fingers, his magic works its way through every corner of the room. Perfectly square in shape, it is well lit from a candle chandelier that hangs in the direct center of the open area. Wooden shelves line each wall. Three perfect examples of expert craftsmanship filled from edge to edge with glass jars, worked pottery, and books covered in arcane symbols that beg to be opened and explored. A lone table sits empty and waiting at the far end. One box, hinged shut with iron brackets and a monstrously thick padlock, sits at the far corner.

No one else is in the building. No other doors. Like walking into a box. One way in. One way out.

There is no magic trick here. Everything he sees is real. Ready to be touched and purchased.

Rifty pulls one of the samples from the wall.

A simple sealed glass jar. Absolutely nothing special about it. A tin cap with a small bow wrapped around the seal. Inside is a viscous liquid. A turn to the side lets it stick to the glass, the film follows slowly as it makes its way to the rest of the contents, willing to take its time like everything else in this area. Floating within is a set of three eyeballs. Even in the colored substance he can see the blue, green, and grey of the irises. One each that seem to follow him no matter which way he turns the container.

What is this place?

I'm glad you asked, a dismembered voice says in return.

A sudden jerk of Rifty's arm almost sends the object falling to the floor. A fire in his belly ignites at the mere internal thought of how someone could sneak up on him like that.

He puts the eyes back and turns to the rear of the room.

Or something?

There is no one there. The little shop is still empty besides himself and the thousands of little items that line the walls.

Hello? Who said that?

No answer.

Refusing to allow the insult, Rifty pushes his magic out with more strength. This time he extends it with a little bite that carries his building anger. T search for whatever passage this person or voice may have come from returns empty.

The thought of