With the final strum of the lute strings, the song ended. Yet there was no applause. No acknowledgment of any sort for Nol’s hard work at a very difficult tune. The audience at The Cheap Flagon had ignored him.

Well, there was a faint, “Oh, thank the gods it’s over!” from somewhere in the pub’s crowd, but that could have been for anything.

No it wasn’t perfect, but it was still good, Nol thought to himself.

As he tuned the strings he looked down from the dais and saw someone wincing at him. Everyone else was jabbering away with each other, drinking, eating.

No appreciation for music in this backwater town, Nol thought.

The pub owner came over to Nol with a desperate face and gestured for the minstrel to come closer. Nol obliged the older man.

“That’s enough, lad. You can stop now. Please.”

Nol frowned. “But I haven’t finished my set yet. You paid for the whole night—”

“Aye, that I did,” the pub owner said. “You can keep it. Come now.” He was waiving Nol off.

Nol ignored him and continued to tune the lute. From the corner of his eye he saw the pub owner wincing now. “You see, the thing is…” The pub owner started saying, but stopped.

“Yes?” Nol asked, still tuning.

“You’re… you’re terrible, boy. Just awful. Please, let’s be a good lad.” Nol strummed in defiance, and the pub owner jammed his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a coin. “Here, another night’s pay if you’ll stop now and leave!”

Nol felt his face get hot. “A deal is a deal,” he said to the pub owner through gritted teeth. He turned to the audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, my next song is an old favorite of mine, and I’m sure one of yours as well. It’s called, The Dragon Ate Scrambled Eggs.”

The pub audience collectively groaned.

Nol, although hurt, was determined to press on. He closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, sang the opening, “O,” and strummed the first chord.

Before his fingers even reached the last string, he felt his lute ripped from his hands. The jolt opened his eyes and there before him stood an enormous man as wide as Nol was tall, and was many heads taller. In his hand was Nol’s lute.

Nol put his hands on his hips and frowned. “Give—”

But the giant man smashed the lute onto a nearby table into hundreds of pieces before Nol could demand it back.

“Thanks!” someone shouted from the back of a pub, and the pub cheered.

And Nol cried.

(The word prompt today was “Thanks.”)

[– 31 Fantasy Characters in 31 Days –]

Ranosah wiped the sweat from her brow with an already soaked handkerchief. Sitting upon the thick tree branch, legs dangling over the edge, she carefully leaned forward to look down into the jungle below. She still couldn’t see the ground through all the dense foliage.

Sighing, she took one small sip of water from her canteen, secured it back onto her belt and gripped the rope hanging in front of her. A tug told her the grapple was still locked tight above her, so she rappelled further down the massive tree trunk.

It went on like this for an hour, new ropes and hooks added down her vertical path as needed, until finally she saw it – reddish dirt peeking behind a spray of branches. She was almost there!

Picking up speed, she finished her descent and landed on the ground with a satisfied smile.

Before her stood the enormous trees of the Ravine Jungle, which no one, man or woman, had ever returned from alive. And off to the right, a path – an actual path! This place was the only portion of the world still unknown to cartographers, scientists, anyone. The research potential here was priceless.

Not that Ranosah cared for “knowledge” one bit.

No, what motivated Ranosah was money. According to The Map, somewhere deep in this jungle lay a vast treasure kept hidden by a people long forgotten. Sure, she wanted to be the first person to leave the Ravine Jungle alive, and that alone would make her famous, she supposed. But what would really shock the world would be to emerge from the Jungle with a hoard of gold in tow.

So Ranosah wasn’t leaving this jungle without that treasure.

(The word prompt today was “Unknown.”)

[– 31 Fantasy Characters in 31 Days –]

Onavina woke to the sounds of clashing swords and shouting men on the road that ran along her property. She sprung out of bed with an agility that even surprised herself. After throwing on a tattered robe she grabbed her cane and hobbled out the door of her home.

Down at the end of her pristinely-trimmed walkway, along the edge of the fence that surrounded her front yard, a skirmish was taking place between two small squads of soldiers. Some wore red, some bore green. She didn’t care who they were, as long as they stayed off her lawn.

It took her tired, aging frame several minutes to hobble to the end of the walkway where the gate still remained tightly shut. When she reached it, two men grappled within arms reach of the fence.

“You there!” she shouted at them.

The one in green turned in surprise and the one in red fighting him took advantage of this and ran his opponent through. Then he turned to Onavina.

“Get back in your house old crone! This is no place for you, this is a battle!”

“Do you see that sign posted there?” she replied calmly. She pointed at a wooden plank next to the gate.

The man looked shocked by her regard of him and after making sure he was in no danger from his enemies he came closer and read it aloud.

“No trespassing?” he scoffed. “You crazy old woman, you want to die, that’s your problem.” And he turned back to the battle.

Onavina lifted her cane a few inches from the ground then tapped it to the stone tile of the walkway. An ear-shattering thunderclap filled the area and stopped the battle in an instant.

“Now that I have your attention,” Onavina said to all the men, gesturing to her sign. “This sign here? I posted it. This is my property, and I don’t want any of you on it. Go take your war elsewhere.”

After a long pause, three dozen men all looked at each other and started to laugh.

At her.

After a few moments of this, they remembered their squabble. One of them shoved another so hard they broke through her fence.

Onavina’s eyes went wide with anger.

And then came the fire from her cane as she burned the trespasser to ash, thus sending almost three dozen men away screaming.

(The word prompt today was “Post-It.”)

[– 31 Fantasy Characters in 31 Days –]

When I heard the screams down the road in the courtyard I dropped my fork and ran out the door as fast as I could. I never expected to see what I saw.

It was Old Hamot, waiving his sword around and around like a sling. Peasants, men and women, were gathered all around the well, their backs to the castle wall, barracks to the left, blacksmith to the right.

They were trapped.

“Hamot, stop, what are you doing?” I yelled.

He came closer to the people, still swinging that sword. I couldn’t believe the ninety year-old had the strength to lift it, let alone wield the damn thing. I had seen him perform this maneuver decades ago, it was his way of showing off before he killed an enemy.

The women screamed as the men that were there, farmers really, tried to form a feeble wall of protection.

I came from behind Old Hamot running as fast as I could and tackled him to the ground. I heard a bone break, and the old knight screamed.

I was just getting myself off the ground when I turned around and saw him already up, arm hanging at his side, running to his sword!

Once again I came from behind but this time grabbed his tunic collar and turned him around.

His eyes. I’ve never forgotten those eyes. They darted this way and that, as if he were on a field of battle.

“Hamot! What’s wrong? It’s me, Rem! Stop this!”

“Their king is dead!” Old Hamot said, gripping my arm with his good hand so tightly I thought he’d break my skin. “We have them on the run! We can kill them all, and they’ll never bother us again!”

I shrugged him off, more in terror than anger. He had said those same words to me over thirty years ago at the Battle of Zurren.

So it was true, what the other knights were saying. Old Hamot had lost his mind.

(The word prompt today was “Muddle.”)

[– 31 Fantasy Characters in 31 Days –]

Rastevar secured the final knot of the rope around the criminal’s ankles. This tiny village was fortunate he had been passing through; when the brutish Karlai warrior had come out of the inn dragging an unconscious woman by the hair, Rastevar was the only person willing to confront the man. All the villagers, men and women, simply kept their distance and watched.

The fight was swift. Despite the large warrior’s strength, he was no match for Rastevar’s prowess and training. Once Rastevar had knocked the warrior out, he tied the oaf up before he could cause anymore harm.

Rastevar stood, pushed strands of his short black hair from his face, and saw a man a few spans in front of him wearing a long, deep-red cloak. A Tharum Vanquisher.

Wait. No.

“Father?”

“What are you waiting for?” the man asked coming closer.

“What do you mean?” Rastevar asked.

“Finish him!” Rastevar’s father yelled.

Rastevar’s lips press tightly together. “I will not.”

“You will.”

“Father, this man—” Rastevar began.

“This man deserves death, and it is your duty to carry out his sentence!”

Rastevar crossed his arms across his chest.

Rastevar’s father shoved his young son away and drew his right hand from under his cloak, revealing a shimmering clawed gauntlet. In one swipe he sliced the large Karlai man’s throat. The victim never woke.

Rastevar’s father knelt by the dead man, muttered something even Rastevar could not hear. Then he stood and turned his head to his son. “Another failed test,” he said.

Rastevar shook his head. “I am not a Vanquisher, and I never will be.”

“Yes, you will,” replied his father.

(The word prompt today was “Test.” Rastevar is a character from my book, By the Light of the Moons)

[– 31 Fantasy Characters in 31 Days –]