The Tale of TresLeches Gren
Born of the sturdy lineage of Sugarloaf Gren, the dwarf child who came to be named TresLeches grew great and strong in limb, after the fashion of his mother, yet possessed of a wit but half as keen. He perceived well enough that his mind moved not as swiftly as those of his kin, and that his thoughts were slower to waken; but he knew also that his arm was heavy and his stroke sure, and in this he reckoned his proper service to his people lay. He would choose from among the kindred some companion to follow, walking ever in their shadow and letting them direct his steps, though he was swift to leap to wrath and action whenever the threat of violence drew near.
In the days of his wandering, he was set upon various times to stand guard over matters of small and great account, abiding steadfastly where he had been bid until a scroll was brought to him by a messenger. This he straightway carried to another, that it might be read unto him; for letters were ever a dark mystery to his eyes. The parchment brought heavy tidings: the kindred of the Grens had vanished into the perils of the wild. Here, he deemed, was his appointed hour. They had need of him, and he would answer without delay. Forthwith he set out upon the highway, marching resolutely in a haphazard path, having neither map nor wit to guide his search, yet holding that a man was more likely to find what was lost by moving than by sitting idle.
By fortune or by fate, he came at last unto his kin during the dark days of the Night of Embers. In that season of dread, a chance jest spoken concerning the mating of the Grens took deep root in his unready mind, and he went to and fro asking earnestly of every man and maid touching their willingness to wed. Yet, though he was steadfast in his resolve not to fail his people, heavier matters soon overshadowed his quest. For a dark doom overtook him, and he was stricken dead upon the field by a malediction written upon a scrap of parchment—a wicked spell that cared nothing for his lack of learning and slew him out of hand.
Seeking a path back from the dark gate, TresLeches betook himself to Truffle Gren, asking counsel on how a dwarf might purchase his return from death. Deaf to her stern warnings, he bargained away his own soul for a season unto the Dark Lord Vortex, reasoning in his simplicity that he was not making any great use of it anyway. Thus restored, he lent his strength to the array gathered against the Lich Queen, standing tall upon the battle-lines—a feat no small labor for a dwarf—and surviving the shock of arms to win back his soul from the dark master's grasp.
For a time he abode once more in fellowship with his kin, until a parchment arrived bearing an invitation to the Court of Lullin at the time of the Crimson Harvest. This token, as was his wont, he delivered unto Poprock Gren to be read, and together they turned their faces toward those halls. At the festival, TresLeches entered into the tournament of the Marquis in the name of House Gren; and when he won the mastery, an invitation was granted unto him. Poprock greatly desired to witness the courtly sports, so he took her with him as his chosen guest. But dark enchantment laid hold upon him; the Marquis compelled him with strange powers to stand by his side, and though TresLeches strove mightily against the thrall, his spirit lacked the fortitude to cast it off.
When Mousse Gren was foully smitten, Poprock sprang forth with a hidden blade to avenge her. Under the dread dominion of the Marquis, TresLeches was wrenched about; his own hands seized her, wresting the knife from her grasp, and with it he dealt her a mortal wound. He sank down beside her in bitter grief as the horror of his involuntary deed pierced his clouded mind, and there, while yet held in the bonds of the spell, he was torn cruelly asunder, a fate he deemed discourteous beyond measure. As his body failed, his eyes lingered upon Mousse and Poprock, heavy with sorrow that he had proved false to his sworn duty as a shield to his kin. Yet even as the light faded, his heart remained steadfast: whatsoever doom awaited him in the deeps beyond, he would strive once more to return.
TresLeches Gren: A Recounting of the Trials and Events of the Crimson Harvest
TresLeches Gren lowered Poprock Gren to the ground, blood pouring from her neck as her hands tried in futility to keep it from flowing. Her eyes locked on him in confusion and horror. He lowered her repeating “I’m sorry, Poprock! I’m sorry, Poprock!” TresLeches didn’t know why, but after she had jumped on the Baroness he took Poprock’s knife from her and cut her throat with it. Now he sat above her, wondering what was going on. His mind tuned out the screams and cries going on around him, and he looked over at Mousse Gren’s body. Mousse has been a Gren by marriage for some time and she was always so patient and kind to him. This made him angry. He had just lost the two Grens who looked out for him the most (as far as he could tell) and there would be blood!
He put his hand on his knee and stood, ready for war. Before he knew what happened, his vision spiraled in circles and he slammed into the ground, unable to move. He coughed and saw blood pool onto the ground. He looked to his left and saw….his boots? His legs were still in them but they were far away. He realized that he felt no pain and looked back to Mousse and Poprock. “Are you cold…..too?” His vision began to fade and tears streamed from his eyes. He wasn’t afraid to die, but he was sad he could not help clan Gren anymore. His friends were dying and he couldn’t do anything about it. He didn’t even get to find a wife to strengthen the Grens as Broule had told him to a year ago. He was leaving so much unfinished….so many failed. His eyes darkened as TresLeches Gren succumbed to death for the second time in his life.
******
His eyes snapped open and he sprang to his feet, looking around for something to kill. He needed revenge! He was in what seemed to be a storm. He heard the winds howling, the rain was heavy. Some sort of afterlife which was not where he wanted to be. His family needed him. He scanned the area and saw another ghost in the distance. He looked like an elf. Maybe he knew something. TresLeches sprinted over to him yelling “ELLLLLFFF!!!” The elf started and looked at this giant charging him. Naturally this made him turn and run. TresLeches decided this was infuriating and he picked up the pace repeating “STOP RUNNING!” over and over until finally catching up to him. He got close to the ghost and dove, catching his ankles. The elf face planted and TresLeches stood, not letting go. “You! How do I get back to life?!” The elf howled in horror. “Let me go! We can’t go back from this side. You have to find someone to bring you back on the other side! If you’re here it’s too late.” TresLeches Gren did not like or accept this answer, so he lifted the elf and slammed him into the ground. “Change your answer!”
The elf sobbed as the terror consumed him. TresLeches hurled the useless elf into the distance and looked around again. He saw more ghosts a small distance away.
He was mad and it was about to be everybody’s problem. What followed over the next few weeks was absolute afterlife chaos as the large Dwarf ran from group to group and region to region beating down everything before him. He made his way deeper into the hereafter, unwilling to accept this end, fighting everything that crossed his path until finally, a visage of death stood before him. They were in front of a building that housed yet more ghosts in the underworld. The skull faced being looked at the dwarf and sighed. “You cannot just run amok as you please here, beating up everyone. They are trying to enjoy their afterlife and you’re ruining-” the avatar was cut off as TresLeches tackled him through the wall into the building, not listening to anything but his own warcry. Screams, cries, and shouts filled the air. Everything was crashing and breaking. The entire building was quaking with the fury contained within.
The visage crawled out of the front, sobbing and injured before TresLeches’ hand grasped his robe, slowly pulling him back. “Let me gooooooo!” the being cried, his claws leaving trails of desperation in the ground. The dwarf was unforgiving. “Send me back!” he demanded.
This wrath would continue for some time until more angels of death were sent to see what was keeping the afterlife in constant unrest and managed to subdue the angry Dessert Dwarf by force.
******
TresLeches strained and pulled against the chains that bound him to a massive stone dais. There was a woman standing to his side, waiting for a reply from the darkness that surrounded them. She had been defending him against voices from the darkness for some time now and they had been waiting quietly before he began to struggle again. She gave a sigh. “Mr Gren, you had been so quiet for the morning…Can’t you just relax and wait?” TresLeches looked at her, then the darkness, then at his chains. “I thought I could surprise them and break the chains.” Her glowing eyes studied his face for a moment. “You thought the chains would relax their hold on you if you lulled them into a false sense of security?” He gave her a blank stare for several seconds then shook his head. “No, I thought I could surprise them if they let their guard down!” The being gave a sigh. “That’s what I said.” He regarded her for several more seconds before screaming “GOTCHA!!!” snatching up the chains to his mouth, and biting the manacles, then snapping his head back from the pain of biting metal full force. He fell backwards howling. A voice came from the darkness. “TresLeches Gren. You are charged with disrupting the afterlife and assaulting several ethereal beings. You cannot stay here, but I fear returning you to the mortal realm may not be in the best interests of those alive. If returned, what will you do?” TresLeches stood as much as he could while chained to the ground. Obviously this was not made for his stature. “I will make amends to Poprock and avenge Mousse!” His answer was met with silence for a long time. Then a tall man came from the darkness. “Tall dwarf, if we unchain you, what will you do?” TresLeches looked around. “I will fight. Here or there is your choice.” The man rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked at the woman. She shrugged in response. He looked back at the dwarf again. “Oooookaaaaaayyyy….Listen, we will send you back this one time! This is breaking the rules, but I do think you have the best interests of your kin at heart and your plight is something I sympathize with. I also don’t want to send one who isn’t actually evil down below, nor do I wish to keep you here where you’ll be making the afterlife miserable for everyone else. You’ll return to your body and wake up.” TresLeches smiled broadly. “Thank you! Who are you?” The man turned and started walking away. “Think of me as a magistrate. See you on your third death, TresLeches Gren.” After he was back behind the darkness, the woman smiled at the dwarf and his chains fell to the ground. “Don’t beat yourself up too much about it. You were compelled so killing her wasn’t your fault. Buh bye now. Have fuuuuuun.” She gently pushed him and he fell back, then through the stone dais. He fell through an eternity in mere seconds then clawed, gasping for breath. His head hit a wooden roof. He looked around confused at the casket he was in then decided this wooden box would feel his wrath. Nothing would contain the biggest Gren!
Comments