Moontower

He pulled the trigger, the hammer fell — click. Impossible. Imhullu, his revolver, never misfired. The creature which emerged from the trees continued to walk toward him at a leisurely pace. Imhullu glowed red suddenly. He hissed. It was an urdling. He ran.

He cursed the alchemist who sent him beyond Moontower’s light to gather herbs. Truthfully, he had not foraged far from the tower’s influence but danger pressed right up to its edge. He glanced at the angry, red Imhullu. The urdling must be playing tricks. He forged the weapon himself from a strange Urd sensitive ore. Every piece of every mechanism was oiled and cleaned every day. He knew Imhullu was true.

He looked over his shoulder and was upset to discover the urdling had gained on him. As was typical with Urd, they proved hard to comprehend. This particular urdling seemed like a large, bulbous grub which shuffled along erect on flabby legs. Cilia grew from its top and waved about in the air, tasting. Its pace should not be able to keep up with his dead run. Yet when he looked away and then back, the urdling had drawn even closer. More tricks.

He slid to a stop in the leaves and holstered Imhullu. As he turned to face the urdling, he drew his machete. The blade was named Martin. It had a long straight edge perfect for chopping all manner of things. A hook at the end was particularly useful for cutting and gathering herbs. The wide, blunt edge could even be used to pound in a post or two. Martin was a versatile tool and, when necessary, a faultless weapon. So he stood there ready for more Urd tricks, but calm for Martin was in his hand.