The two men hesitated, using the low, pre-dawn light to survey their surroundings. They had been traveling the Country Road from dusk until dawn for five nights, sleeping or simply hiding out during the daylight hours, eager to avoid ... well, anyone and everyone. Now, they stood at a high point of the road, in the middle of what appeared to be a crescent moon shaped ridge. The hills reaching to their left and right were shrouded in fog ... but nothing like the "half" bowl before them; although they could hear the sound of the sea, they could see nothing but a thick, impenetrable fog bank ...
... and, two hundred or so yards away, seeming to float atop the bank was there destination, The House of Horrigan. The pair simply stared at it in silence as the magical mist below it churned, sometimes masking the entire castle, other times revealing more of the rock column upon which it sat.
"It is magical," the Tall Man murmured in awe.
The Short Man back slapped his traveling partner across his upper arm, saying, "It's not magic! It's ... it's just a house on a rock in the fog!"
"How can you say that...?" his partner asked, the fear in his voice obvious. Magic was an unknown to these two men; to the best of their knowledge, it existed no where else in the world, and that was likely the reason that his friend doubted its existence here. "They say he ... he does things ... unexplained things ... things no one else can--"
"Stop!" the Short Man said sharply, moving ahead down the road with determination. As he heard his friend hurry to catch up, he added, "There's no magic here. C'mon ... I'll prove it to you."
The pair descended the ridge, and as they did the Eternal Mist closed in around them, becoming thicker with nearly every step. The stone of the Country Road became rough, then became scrabble, and finally a mix of gravel, dirt, and sand.
Not realizing they'd even done it, the two men had slowed dramatically and, now, were barely moving forward. The world around them was unseen but very much heard; before them waves crashed upon rocks, while to the left and right the shrieks and barks came from wildlife with which the two men were unfamiliar.
The two had been standing in place for a long moment before the Tall Man said tentatively, "This was a bad idea."
"Of course it was," the Short Man conceded, glancing to his friend and seeing the surprise in his friend's face. He shrugged, apologizing, "I'm sorry ... I thought ... I thought he could--"
"Help you how...?" a Voice boomed through the fog, causing the two to flinch and mill about, searching for the source of the question. After a moment, the voice returned with, "You have nothing to fear if your hearts are free of malice."
The pair stared into the mist in the apparent direction of the House but still could see nothing but thick, gray-black fog. The tall man leaned closer to his friend and, whispering, asked, "What's malice ... and is it free...?"
The Short Man back slapped him again and spoke into the near darkness with a hesitant voice, "We ... we are travelers ... in search of the Wizard Horrigan."
"For what purpose...?" the Voice returned, but seemingly from behind the two this time. They both spun, searching the mist as the voice continued, "And what do you offer for the audience you seek?"
The Tall Man leaned to his friend again, ready to ask another stupid question but going quiet as he saw his friend prepare his hand for another pounding. As he stood tall again, the Short Man reached into a bag slung over his shoulder and pulled out a small coin purse. "We have 20 copper pieces from the County Richmond, and a Royal crown piece."
"Throw it," the Voice said, again seeming to have moved.
The Short Man donned a confused expression. "Throw it...? Throw it where...?"
"Throw it!" the Voice repeated with a boom that seemed to echo through the fog shrouded bowl at the sea.
"Throw it!" the Tall Man urged, the fear evident in just those two words.
The Short Man hesitated, then reared back and tossed the bag into the air before him. From out of the thickness, a huge winged bird suddenly appeared, slicing through the fog with a blood-curdling shriek before it snatched the bag out of the air.
The two men huddled closer together, waiting for the Voice to speak again ... but nothing came. After a long moment -- accentuated by the continuing shrieks of the big bird, each from farther away -- the Short Man asked tentatively, "Are you still there...? Do you want to hear what we want...?"
There was no response. After another long moment, with no response to the Short Man's repeated inquiries, the wanderer mumbled angrily, "We got robbed."
"Go home!" the Voice boomed, seemingly from just inches before them, despite the fact that there was no one there.
The two flinched, shuffled about a bit, then turned and ran uphill, unable to see anything but fog but knowing -- hoping! -- that up would get them away from this dreadful bowl of hell...
Returning home, without a purse filled with their village's wealth, took the two men only two days. A young boy serving as lookout from a tiny platform in the top of tree called out toward the village, "They're back! They're back!"
As the two men neared their home, people flooded toward them from the fields, the pens, and the homes ... all cheering or clapping or calling out happy greetings. The two were surrounded by their friends and families; they were patted on the backs by the men, kissed on the cheeks by the women, clasped about their thighs by the tiny children who didn't truly know what the two had accomplished and yet still knew that they were heroes for one reason or another.
As the crowd moved the two into the heart of the little village, an Elder began singing their praises and congratulating them on their fine deed. The Tall Man leaned in close to his friend again asking dumbfounded, "I thought we got robbed?"
In the middle of the square, the crowd parted to reveal several deer carcasses hanging from a horizontal pole. Nearby, women were slaughtering rabbits and a variety of game birds, as he smell of a boar roasting in a fire pit wafted over the two men.
"Our heroes return," the Elder called out for all to hear. "They went to the Wizard and asked for the game to return, and they did! Praised be our heroes!"
The crowd cheered again, with many repeating the hugs and shakes and kisses again. A shapely woman with her bosom a bit more exposed than that of the other women pressed up close to the Short Man and whispered in his ear as one of her hands groped his ass under the cover of his tunic's tail.
The two milled about their friends, the emotions on their faces shifting from surprise to joy to disbelief and back often. The Short Man got the Elder alone for a moment and asked, "What happened...? How did ... how did this happen?"
The Elder pointed off toward the woods to the south; a slight cloud of black rose from beyond the forest's edge. "The Wizard set the woods ablaze, driving the game which the Earl has deprived us out of the trees and into the paths of our hunter's arrows. We feast!"
In the peak of The House, Wizard Horrigan stared into an unnatural blue flame dancing above a huge candle. As the candle told its story, the magic users lips spread slowly in a tight smile.
"Success...?" a woman asked from behind him. She stood and circled around to stand before him; she was hidden fully beneath a hooded robe as she asked, "You have made new friends?"
"Yes," he answered softly. "They will want more in the future ... and I will give them more ... and they will pay for my benevolence ... gladly pay."
"As I do...?" she asked, adding with a genuine tone of appreciation, "...m'Lord."
Horrigan looked up to the figure before him, staring at her but seeing nothing but the thick, heavy brown robe. She would never allow him -- would never allow anyone! -- to see her in her natural state. Despite being the Lord of this house, the Lord of these lands essentially, and most certainly the Lord of this woman, he'd never seen her in her true state either. He'd only seen her the way she wanted him to see her.
The Wizard reached a hand out toward her, closed his eyes, and waved his splayed fingers before her. The woman flinched, her body tightening a bit as she gave out a slight cry as if suddenly afflicted with pain. A moment later, she stood tall again. "Thank you, m'lord."
"You don't need to go through that for me, Clara," he told her. "You would be beautiful to me without..."
The thought slipped from his mind as she pulled the hood from her head and opened the robe, revealing the erotic beauty that she had once been and -- with Horrigan's magic -- was again now and would be again tomorrow.
"I do not endure the pain of transformation for you, m'lord," she told him, moving forward to begin opening his own robe. She crawled into his lap, reaching to his groin to bring his sudden growth into place. She whispered to him, "I endure it for myself."
As he grasped her bare buttocks and pulled their groins together, she endured another pain, this one of his erection intruding upon her restored youthfulness. She endured this for herself, but for him as well. It was a pain she welcomed ... for just like the rejuvenation of her beauty, this was a pain that was always followed up by joy and pleasure...
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