"Origin of the Lunar Medallion"
by Benny O'Barr
> Introduction <
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The old man leaned over the rough, stone wall and looked at the moon-bathed courtyard below. Even though his tower was the highest of all the castle’s turrets, the light from the stars made it easy to see the last few servants finishing their daily tasks. As a slight gust of wind ruffled his long, pure white beard, he turned and paced yet again towards a cluttered wooden table in the center of the roof. Sighing as he let his tired old frame fall into a chair next to the table, the man picked up a small, metallic object amongst the various jars and containers. It was about the size of a large cherry, only flat, and perfectly round. As the old man turned over the silver disk, he marveled at the skilled craftsmanship of the blacksmith he had selected to create it. Yes, he had chosen the right person to forge the medallion, old man Jones was known for exquisite attention to details. Lifting a small flagon that was hanging from the arm of the chair, the old man took a drink straight from the container. Heaving himself upright, he threw the empty flagon onto the old table and walked once more to the edge of the tower. All was silent, even the fires from the kitchens seemed to be extinguished. Finally - it was time. Stepping back, he began chanting mystic words that he had read only an hour earlier. Turning his face towards the moon, his eyes began to glow an unearthly shade of violet. Increasing the pace of his chanting, he raised his echoing voice to an unnatural level. With one final chant, he tossed the now shimmering medallion into the air, directly at the full moon. For a split second, the small metal object seemed to have disappeared. But slowly, defying the laws of gravity, it glided down from the cloudless sky, obscuring the old man’s view of the moon. Extending his right hand, the small object landed silently into his palm. Admiring his handy-work for a moment, the old man suddenly collapsed to his knees. He hadn’t realized how drained the magical ritual had left him. Breathing hard, he grasped for the chair, and pulled himself into it. After a few minutes, he stood up. Pocketing the medallion, the old man mumbled something about a good night’s sleep, and shuffled off towards the trapdoor to his quarters. As he descended the stairs to his room, he started making a mental list of things to do tomorrow, like finding a suitable chain to attach to the medallion, and what he should tell the princess when he presented his gift to her... The robed woman gasped for air as she hurried down the dark and watery alleyway. Pausing to catch her breath, the cold rain seemed to soak her to the bone. Off in the distance, the sounds of the mob could be heard closing in. “Fools,” she murmured, “all of them!” One on one, she could handle any who opposed her, but against a crowd she could only take a few names before becoming overwhelmed. Emerging at the other end of the alley, she pulled back her hood and quickly looked up and down the cobblestone road. It was devoid of any humans, with only a few chickens huddling under a trough where a horse was hitched. Ignoring the puddles, she streaked towards the large animal, but before she could even touch it, the door closest to it creaked open. Jumping back into the shadows of the alley, she was relieved to see only one man emerge, and that he obviously had had too much to drink. Starting a small spell to nullify him, she cut it short when she suddenly realized that torchlight was starting to come from behind her. Cursing under her breath, all she had managed to do was make the man pass out over his horse. Actually, she wasn’t too sure if she was responsible for that or not. Turning to the building she was closest to, the woman ran around to it’s front and tried the doorknob that to her surprise, was unlocked. Rushing in and slamming the door behind her, she locked it and waited for her eyes to adjust to the gloomy interior. She could hear the leader of the mob outside, shouting orders to split in two and search up and down the street. She could hear them trying to wake the man on the horse, but to no success. Then, just at the moment, someone was trying the doorknob behind her. Breathing in a quick gasp of air, she slowly backed away from the door, and the nearby window. Outside, she heard a gruff man’s voice say something like “...but I didn’t lock it when I left...” from the torchlight she could see the picture on the window, of a loaf of bread. She was in a bakery. Ducking below the display in the window, she crawled on her hands and knees and dodged behind the counter, just as the sound of breaking glass hit her ears. Somewhere men were yelling, and a child was crying. 'No...' the woman thought, 'It’s not suppose to end like this!' Searching her mind, she franticly tried to think of any kind of spell she could use to get out of this situation. Behind her the sound of splintering wood greeted her ears. Suddenly she remembered a spell she had been studying only a few weeks ago. It had never occurred that she could use it on herself. Summoning the last of her strength, the robed woman pulled off her necklace and started to recite a spell she had never used before, doubting that it would even work. Outside, the leader of the mob swung his axe one last time, and with a loud ‘thunk’ the door gave away. Grabbing a torch from a nearby man, but still wielding the axe in his other hand, the man stepped through the doorframe. The torch only dimly lit the small bakery, but it was enough to see that no one was there. Stepping behind the counter, the man held the torch low and looked at the opened cupboards. Satisfied that nothing was hiding there, he ordered some of the men that had followed him in to search upstairs and in back. As he turned away, he failed to notice a glowing, moon-shaped medallion lying on the dusty floor.
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