Geez, its been a hell of a week so far. But, it doesn't matter; the week is over, its break time and I'm making bread! I love to cook, its the perfect stress reliever, and I hope that this turns out well. I'm trying ot hand at a loaf of French bread for the staff Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow, the first time I've ever made a loaf of a non-cake bread. Wish me luck!
Here is part three of the prose version of the Tree-Splitter. I haven't gotten many comments on it, so I'm not sure that people are reading the story, but oh well. If you are, I hope you are enjoying it!
The Treesplitter: Prose Rendition
Part 3
For many years Deitrich ruled over his lumbermen in the Northwoods of Wisconsin, harvesting the great White Pines of the North and having far too many adventures to record in this tale! It was a golden age, the likes of which the world had never seen before and will never see again. But, like the sun which shines down brightly at noon, an age which has reached its zenith must eventually begin the long slide into darkness.
And so to was this the fate of Deitrich and his merry jacks. Long had their successes filled the pockers of S and T Lumber and its owner Skule Thorson, who grew richer and richer with their each success. He developed a great hunger for gold, and for the luxueries which came with it. When he heard of a vast uncut forest of Pine in the vicinity of Big Bull Falls, nothing could stop him from demanding its harvest.
Deitrich and his crew arrived in the forests greatly unnerved. They had heard foul tales from the people of the town, who called the forest a wasteland, and who claimed that many an other crew had attempted to cut the virgin wood and failed.
The forest was as bad as claimed; no birds sang or deer snorted within the trees, the wildlife was gone, except for the creatures of night which seemed to grow to gigantic size. Even worse was the constant wind which seemed to blow from all directions at once, and screamed into the ears of the men.
Lumbermen suffered from bad dreams, visions of failure and gore. But the final blow came when their camp was assailed by high winds once night, which ripped the roof off of the lodge. That lodge, called Tumberburg by the men, was built anew each season and was considered sacred by all the men in the camp. Its sudden fall sent many a shiver down the spines of otherwise stalwart and fearless men. They cried in their sleep, and feared for their very souls.
Sigismund understood the danger, knowing what could befall a camp with low morale. Also, he had lived in the woods near his entire life, and knew the language of the birds and trees. He also had felt a great foreboding dread at this wood, and decided that the time had come to seek answers. Telling his Father that he was going to determine what might be done, he departed one morning.
For an entire day he ate nothing and no water passed his lips. He covered miles on foot, growing weaker as he went. Finally he came to his destination; the great maple tree Sky Sctratcher which sat at the pinicle of Rib Mountain, known throughout the land as the barrow of the great Paul Bunyon.
Under this tree he sat, until conciousness failed and he fell forward. When he awoke it was if the world had come to life around him; the birds sang, animals growled, and he could understand the dread tale which they told. Each warned him that a great force was coming; the Wind Walker, the Demon Eater, the Wendigo. They spoke that should he remain in those woods that he, and all he loved, would die before the slaughter was over.
At this, even brave Sigismund shuttered, for he had heard tales of the Wendigo; the great cannibal giant of the North. A creature which had once been a man, but who had subcomed to hunger and tasted the flesh of another human being. The monster which, it was said, could walk on the winds themselves; screaming its own name forever, a starvation shriek, and which could descend upon a winter wanderer and strip the flesh from his bones before he even knew it was upon him.
Sigismund returned to camp to tell of what he had learned to a grim Deitrich; for he knew his employer well and knew that there was no chance of escape. And yet, he also knew it must be tried; he traveled by train to the company and spoke to the boss. But it was no avail; the green glimmer of lust was forever in his eyes as he dismissed the tales as superstitions unbecoming such a noble man. Deitrich returned in failture.
But the Father was not a fool; although he was determined to work out of loyalty, he also knew that he must spare his son. And so, after a particularly bad night of sleep, he brought Sigismund to his side and bade him go to Big Bull Falls in order to gain much needed supplies for the camp. Sigismund at first refused, knowing what his Father was thinking, but at this Deitrich grew enraged calling out that "my unfaithful son is so scared to go to town!"
Sigismund and a small band of his good friends left later that day; their quest would take several days and all knew it. Many of the men were simply happy to escape the camp, but a deep forboding fell over Sigismund who knew that the end of the times was near.
One night, at the end of their stay, the Lumberjacks fell into a local tavern which they had visited before. During the course of the night, a fight broke out between a jelous lover and a Lumberjack. But even this brought no pelasure to Sigismund who simply stood and watched the chaos with a heavy heart.
Suddenly the air was split with the deep bellows of a horn, and the blood of everyone froze. They knew the sound of the dinner horn of the camp; but all felt that something was horribly wrong. They ran from the tavern and hitched thier horses and took off towards the camp.
What they found there was a massacure. Timberburg was a ruin and all about the wreckage of the camp lay the half devoured bodies of their good friends. Sigismund paid no heed to all of this, he ran franticlly towads the great lodge and there found his worst nightmare; the body of his father lay at the head of the burg, mighty Wolves' Bane still clutched in his cold, dead hands. Upon Deitrich's head perched a lazy raven which casually was plucking the corpse's hair.
Sigismund drew his own axe and swung it at the bird, calling out abuse and curses. But the bird simply gave him a curious look, gave off a mocking call, and fluttered off into the night. The hero burst into tears, he wanted to die. But soon his grief was drowned under a growing rage; he vowed at that moment to track down his father's kill and to split its skull with his axe, to redden the snow with its blood. He grabbed Wolves's Bane from His Father's hands and pried it free.
After a massive funeral where they burned the bodies of their fallen comrades upon the great pyror that had once been Timberburg and took to the snow. All vowed to follow Sigismund in his quest, to kill the great Wind Walker or die themselves in the attempt.
Hodag: