Send Him Back

 



Ritter's head was reeling from all the portal energy swirling through his body.

He had stepped through a yellow portal which immediately turned green. Before him was a frozen vista, a vast plain of white snow drifts and moaning wind.

He had turned and stepped through the green portal which turned blue as he exited. Now he was in a dense forest thick with moss and the drip of water off wide leaves. The incessant chirp of a million invisiable insects was almost deafening.

Last, he staggered, dizziness building, through the blue portal which immediately turned purple.

Now, he was inside a castle, the dim purple portal unchanged behind him. He sat heavily on the broad steps leading down to a torchlit corridor.

It took a few minutes for him to notice his sword and shield were gone. How could that be? It shocked him that he could not clearly recall the last time he had them. In fact, he could not clearly recall much from the last few hours - or was it days?

He still had the garg shank hanging from the leather thong around his neck. It was a wicked, primitive dagger he had taken from a garg ceremonial altar after ridding a cavern of the despicable creatures.

Slowly, he went down the steps as shadows flickered and danced in the torch light, threatening to confuse his addled mind into a sprawling mis-step. He was grateful to the Fates when he reached the bottom, even though the concentration he needed to apply to this simple act had him bathed in cold sweat.

"Hello," a female voice said from the end of the dark corridor. "We have been waiting on you. Did you bring the scroll?"

"Scroll?" Ritter asked the darkness. Some suspicious part of his mind started screaming that this was wrong. He should be wary. Why was he being so compliant?

"The scroll of Elzalore. Do you have it?"

"What is Elzalore?" Ritter asked.

"Who, not what. Elzalore is the wizard we sent you to deal with."

"I have no such quest," Ritter mumbled, suddenly feeling exhaustion and nausea building. Too many portal trips.

"Are you not Sir Viktor of Chalameria?" a new voice said; it was a deep male growl with a Dwarven accent.

"I am Ritter of Salvania." This last sentence seemed to drain all the energy from him. He sat heavily on the bottom step, his stomach threatening to mutiny.

"Send him back," a third voice said. "He is not the one we seek."

Ritter felt a new wave of dizziness. He closed his eyes, but a bright light still filtered through his clenched eyelids.

Then it was gone.

He carefully opened his eyes to find he was standing at the edge of a forest, a castle in the distance with a well-traveled road nearby.  He was next to a yellow portal, the color fading, the shimmering air settling as the portal dissolved.

His sword and shield were at his feet.

He leaned against a tree and vomited. Copiously. At least he managed to miss his boots.

For the 100th time, he swore with great vigor he would never walk into a magical portal ever, ever again. Probably.

As Ritter stumbled away, feeling like a fish that had been tossed back, Sir Viktor of Chalameria stood atop a nearby hill as a yellow portal glimmered to life before him...



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