Word: Premonish

 

premonish

[ pri-mon-ish ]

verb (used with or without object)

1. to warn beforehand.

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   Jonah’s head pounded. Actually, his entire body hurt. That was, in a way, a good thing. It meant he was still alive. Although, given what he had been doing previously, that could also be a very bad thing. He almost regretted having to move, but he did.

               He opened his eyes and saw he was not, in fact, in a dungeon filled with unspeakable tools of torture and evil. He was in what looked to be a cabin. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling beams, and a cozy fireplace sat nestled against a wall. Various wooden furniture sat dotted around the room, and a small pot hung over the fireplace, even though there was currently no fire.

               This did not make Jonah feel much better. He knew where he was, and it was not a place to be comfortable in. He groaned and sat up.

               “So, fought Dravlin, did ya?” Came the voice of the cabin’s owner. Jonah groaned and turned to find a stooped, wrinkled old woman sitting on a chair. Her entire body radiated smugness.

               “Yes, I did.” He said heavily.

               “Got your butt kicked?”

               He sighed and nodded.

               “Bet you couldn’t even do any damage to him, could you, even with that fancy sword of yours.”

               His shoulders slumped.

               “Oh I do love a good ‘I told you so’ moment. I really do. Because I did tell you. Several times. I told you Dravlin’s invincible. I told you that. Several times. But no. You went and fought him anyway.”

               “I…I thought you were speaking metaphorically. Or maybe, like, nobody had ever damaged him, so everyone assumed he couldn’t be damaged at all.”

               “Oh you poor, stupid boy.” The old woman said with a sigh. The woman, who Jonah knew as a witch named Aretti, stood and moved to a low table. “How many people do you think try and kill that man every year? The answer is a lot. More than you know. Many with more skill and more powerful magic than you. And yet, none of them could even ruffle his hair. I mean, come on, boy. His name in the old tongue literally means Invincible. A fact which I mentioned the last time you were here.”

               “Yeah, but that’s just a name.”

               “A name in the old tongue. And that matters a lot more than in this simple language used nowadays. Back then, words had weight. Speaking something really mattered back then. And names doubly so.”

               Jonah grumbled under his breath, then changed the subject. “So why’d you save me?”

               “Hm…two reasons. One is that if at least one person survives an encounter with Dravlin, maybe they’d be able to come up with a countermeasure to his annoying quality of being immune to damage. The second, is that now you owe me.”

               Jonah now wished he had died. The last time he owed the witch something had not been pleasant. He groaned.

               “Oh now don’t be like that. It won’t be as bad as last time, I promise. Besides, you handled it surprisingly well. And promptly. I do like a boy who pays their debts in a timely manner.”

               “What do you want?” He said sullenly.

               Aretti moved around the table, gathering herbs and bundles up. She stuck them into a basket, which she handed to him.

               “Go to Valen and give these to the White Oracle. Nobody else. Only her.”

               “A…a delivery? That’s all you want?”

               She smiled a toothy grin. It was unsettling, due to her missing several teeth. And the teeth she did have were those of a large, carnivorous animal.

               “Oh yes. That’s all. Don’t worry, the Oracle’s minders will let you through just fine once they see my basket.

               “Why so easy?”

               “Because I want Dravil dead almost ass much as you do. And if anyone can figure out how to make it happen, it’s someone who already fought him and knows what his unique body feels like. Take your time on the way. Think about it. I know that’s not your strong suit, but I’m sure there’s a way. He’s invincible, but nobody is immortal. Now get out of here. And hey, if you’re really lucky, maybe the Oracle will spin you a prophetic hint while you’re there.”

               Jonah climbed off the bed, feeling the pains of his battle. He took a deep breath and clutched the basket close before gathering the rest of his things and heading out. He was very careful with every step he took. There was no way a job from that witch would be as easy as she let on.

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And this is what happens when you go to fight the final boss before doing the required quests. 

Word: Tarantella

 

tarantella

[ tar-uhn-tel-uh ]

noun

1. a rapid, whirling southern Italian dance in very quick sextuple, originally quadruple, meter, usually performed by a single couple, and formerly supposed to be a remedy for tarantism.
2. a piece of music either for the dance or in its rhythm.

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The only sound was the band. Everyone had stopped to watch the two dancers who had taken the stage. The two of them had seemingly come out of nowhere. Nobody knew who they were, nor did anyone seem to care. All that mattered was the dance. 

The dancers moved at a blistering pace. They whirled around each other. Seemingly simple moves contained hidden depths that only those paying close attention could truly appreciate. Every move seemed to enrapture the audience more and more. 

Even their outfits seemed designed to lure people with hidden depth. Elegant, well made black, red and white outfits. The woman’s skirt especially seemed almost hypnotic in the way it moved. Nobody was able to look away as they moved across the dance floor. 

The two kept time perfectly with the lively, energetic music. Or, perhaps it was the other way around. It seemed almost as if the music followed the dancers. Each move was punctuated by a corresponding note. Each note matched perfectly to the way the dancers moved. Nobody could tell who was following who. Were the dancers just that skilled that they could perfectly match an unfamiliar band? Or was the band the ones who were being pulled into the rhythm of the dancers? 

Eventually though, the lively, energetic music stopped. The two dancers ended their almost magical dance at the same time. But the party was still going on. The music still had to play. And the dancers were making no move to leave the floor. The audience held their breath, waiting to see what would come up next. And what did come was almost a mockery of what they had just seen. 

The simple, family music of the Tarantella came up. Its familiar beats and steps that even children could do. Compared to the previous dance, it was laughable. And yet, the dancers did not seem to mind at all. They made no protest, no signs of disappointment. They simply started dancing. And everyone immediately knew that they had very much underestimated the old dance. The way the two dancers moved made it just as potent, just as spellbinding as the more complex dance. 

Each step seemed to tell a story. Every spin, a work of art. Even the simple hand motions were transformed and elevated beyond anything anyone could have foreseen. Although this was a dance that could be done by any number of people, nobody dared join in. Doing so would just ruin it. It practically felt like blasphemy to introduce the crude shufflings of a normal person to a pair like them. 

And so, all the people watched, wide eyed, as the two went through familiar motions, now elevated and made somehow more pure. Like this was what the dance was always meant to be. Nobody dared even move for fear of disturbing them in some way. It was not until the music, and the dance, ended that everyone remembered that they should move. Several people let out breaths that they did not realize they were holding.  

The dancers looked at each other and nodded. Without saying a word, they left. Nobody tried to stop them, or even talk to them. What could they say? Compliment them on their skills? Words did not feel right to convey what had been done in those two dances. And so, all the party goers could do was let the dancers go on their way and wonder just who they were. 

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This one isn't my favorite. I'm not sure if I really did a good job with, well, anything involved with this one. But it's what I came up with given what I had to work with. Sorry.