SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!

            A massive set of sharp teeth chomps inches away from Yerik’s head. Without his sword, he only has his hands as weapons. 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 fast. 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, but 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 without losing eye contact with his sword. The creature tries to regain its balance, but stumbles 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 jumps to its feet, instantly 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?” 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 a reptilian creature. Such a mistake means 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 Yerik’s 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 Yerik’s 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. The creature pinned his sword hand against the rock, while the pressing weight on his elbow held his other hand in front of him. 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 remained near impossible.

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

            But he held no sword!

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. 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 felt a twinge of jealousy, although happy that he did not wake her. Yerik thought about his options.

            The strange effect of the dream caused his heart to beat heavier, sufficiently waking him up. He could try to lie back down, hoping he would relax and fall back asleep. Although staring at the ceiling in the dark often creates a greater sense of anxiety than the intensity of the dream. Yerik preferred the cold-air method.

            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. Instinctively, he checked and secured 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 many stories of fame and glory, competitions of largest battle scars, and drinking games. Yerik smiled. Grateful to live such a life. Many others dreamed of living the life of Yerik Goldsword. He felt a twinge of guilt. With all he worked for, built, and earned, he still wanted more. Yet he didn’t long for the wealth and fame.

            Yerik stoked the fire with some fuel, enough to provide light, yet 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 his were not uncommon for those that lived a life as a career fighter. They faced constant conflict, 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. But the ghosts from the past do not remain far behind. The mind of a fighter would often dispose the trauma through dreams of past battles. Yerik didn’t mind. If anything, he enjoyed revisiting his 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. Of all the times he narrowly escaped death, the battle with the strange creature ranked in the top ten moments of close calls.

            As a young fighter, hired on a simple quest with a team equally young and inexperienced, they decided to shorten their time by cutting through the harsh terrain of the impassible territory, relying on their indestructible youth. In their minds, others called it ‘impassable’ because they were not as physically gifted as they were. Yet all manner of wild animals and creatures invaded their journey as if the forest and mountains actively tried to prevent their team from any form of success, ensuring the territory remained impassable. The ‘impassable territory’ would stop at nothing to douse their pride.

            Despite the challenges, the young team still relied on their own strength and pressed onward. That’s when they encountered the dragon troll, as he came to call it. A creature like nothing he had ever seen before. It looked dragon, but muscular and humanoid, like a troll. The creature seemed to have no soul as 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 looked reptilian, although Yerik knew of nothing to compare it to. Possibly a mutated Rok Rok? The creature acted more like a bipedal being, or an ape-like creature. In Yerik’s mind, he could only compare it to a troll.

            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 attended to his other injured teammates, missing 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. His battle with the dragon troll became one of the few times in his career that left him without a definitive win. He wanted the creature’s head hanging on his wall, yet he never got the chance.

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

            At first, 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 theories about what attacked him. Because his experience did not match the experiences of the masses, they assumed he failed to understand or identify the type of creature he fought.

            This became a very sore spot for Yerik. Yerik did not lie, 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. He knew it to be true whether or not people wanted to believe him. Whenever Yerik told the story, others thought he embellished his stories, a perception Yerik loathed. He eventually stopped telling the story all together. He kept the truth to himself, stored only in his memories.

            His mind entertained the possibility that in his arrogance and ability, that he made a mistake. Maybe he saw it wrong? Maybe the troll had some kind of skin condition? But the horns! The horns distinctly looked dragon. Yerik planned his offense around them. The creature had massive cranial horns, and not the simple cheek horn growths most trolls have. Yerik also couldn’t ignore the memory of the creature grabbing him and holding him with a human like hand. Reptilians, including dragons, do not have hands with thumbs. The simple memory plagued his mind for the rest of his life. Since then, 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, yet 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. He could never explain the rare oddity of the dragon troll he fought, yet he refused to relent that he mistook what he saw. Yerik does not make mistakes.

            Yerik laughed as he stirred up the fire.

            A crazy idea churned in the mind of Yerik. 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. Although his clever mind excelled 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 finally established in one location. But he had some friends that lived near the region of his battle with the dragon troll. Nothing wrong with visiting friends. Nothing wrong with inviting several of his close warrior buddies 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, wishing he could let it go. After everything he had been through, after everything he had experienced, why would his mind not settle down? He 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. Yet he still dreamed of fame and glory, like 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 and looking up at the ceiling. He smiled.

            “Yeah, dreaming. I was just dreaming.”