dannydmc

Things have been good around here lately; I'm finally confident that I might well be able to make it through the year in one peice. Now if Grad School just works out, I can close the book on this chapter of my life and move on. I've learnt a great deal about the world and myself, and now its nice to focus myself upon the things which have always been the driving forces in my life; Wisconsin, Politics and History

Since I actually got some responses last time, I'll put up part 4 of the Tree-Splitter Prose Version. Please let me know what you think (I crave attention, what can I say?)

The Tree-Splitter: Prose Rendition Part 4

As the embers died on the funeral pyror which had once been grand Timberburg, Sigismund and the remaining Lumberjacks took to their sleighs. They knew not where they were going, but were instead driven on by the hatred and rage which beat in their hearts and coursed through their blood. The Jacks rallied around the son of their former leader and vowed to march at his side, should his path take them to the halls of hell it self. Despite these strong words, however, all were terrified and scared; they had witnessed the aftermath of a slaughter and knew that their course took them into the maw of that aweful creature which had caused it. None knew what to expect, except certain death.
None of the men were as shock as Brave Sigismund. His stout heart had been greatly rattled and deep in his soul he questioned his abilities to carry out the sacred quest of revenge which now spurred him on. He feared that he would lead his friends, who had become his family, to their deaths in the cold desolate woods of Wisconsin. But a great unmovably pride steeled his spine; he refused to back down, to show weakness. As he had told his men "It is far better to die in persuit of one's duty than to die old in bed with a cowards soul".
For several days they traveled, aimlessly wandering through the vast North Woods. Although the men's trust in their leader never wavered, the burden grew heavier and heavier upon Sigismund. He could not sleep, he tossed and turned in his tent and, when ever he did manage to slip beneath the waves of the waking world, he was plagued with horrible nightmares.
Finally, one night, he had had enough. When all the men had retired for the night, he took his axe and found himself drawn everonwards towards the edge of their camp and into the deep woods. He could not prevent one foot from being placed infront of the next and was soon entirely lost within the maze of trees and brush. He heared no animals, and traveled deep in the shadows of his own mind. Suddenly there was a rustling, and Sigismund felt his breath catch in his throat. He stood, enraptured, as a lone deer; a graceful doe, lept from the underbrush into his path. Immediately a pack of wolves bust from the bush and lept at the doe. One bit the deer in the leg while another, the leader of the pack, lept at the Doe's throat and tore it out.
The spell broken, Sigismund let out a scream and grabbed his ax, the battle lust upon him. All of the anger and rage which had built within him since the slaughter at Timberburg burst forth from his soul, and he lets out a scream which could have been heard from one end of the world to the other. This, however, did not seem to detere the wolves who continued upon their feast, except for the Wolf Leader who simply looked at the warrior. Were it possible for wolves, he would have smiled.
The Wold Leader was a grizzled old beast, he bore the scars of any other confrontations with the hard world. Most notable was the one eye which gleamed in his head and seemed to penetrate the very soul of Sigismund himself. Old One-Eye, rather than being scared, simply let out a barking laughter.
Sigismund snarled in reply "You killer! You mundering fiend, I'll cleave your skull in two, just as my Father would have done"
" Oh, such foolishness from this pup", the wolf replied, "so, you would kill me for the mudering if this poor deer? Would you be moved to such a rage for the young trees which that doe devoured in her life? I think not"
"She was beautiful", the young hero replied, "and you killed her"
"Life is beautiful", Old One Eye said, "and its hard. Life feeds on life, there is no other way. Why throw yourself in the way of that? Why be moved to such anger for it? You humilate your Father in this way; you are no better than a young pupp, snapping and snarling at its play mates."
At this Sigismund became enraged, "My Father died a noble death, and I shall avenge him!"
"And so then, you too will die!", the wolf returned
"So be it", Sigismund screamed in defiance, "I would rather die, fighting that hell fiend, than to life my life seen as a coward"
"And you will, then, you will. But go ahead; fight and die. I will not mourn you, nor anyone else. You are a fool, and a fool always dies alone and forgotten. The Wendigo will strip the flesh from your bones, and suck out your marrow, already greedy for more"
Sigismund had always been a prideful boy; a trait which would never desert him. Hearing his own doom foretold, he only grew angrier, "Then tell me where I can find that creature. Tell me now, or else I shall slice you in two and the earth shall drink your blood!"
The Wolf smiled, "Very well, the sooner this world is freed from your constant wailing, the better it will be. Travel up the Wisconsin for three days, the river will be your road, fo Northward. At the end of the Third day, leave your sleighs and walk and you shall confront the demon which will be your death. Farewell Sigismund Deitrichson, give your Father my regards when you see him next".
With those words the wolf and the pack vanished. Sigismund fell too his knees and wonder as he saw the pristine snow before him, never tained by a drop of deer blood. He laid upon his knees for what seemed like an eternity before grabbing his Father's axe and walking towards camp; the way before him now clear.
The next morning when the Lumberjacks awoke they found their leader frying bacon by himself. He said not a word as they filed from their tents until all had arisen. As they all stood, staring at him with aprehension, Sigismund opened his mouth and put voice to his thoughts. "Grab your gear and pack. We head north upon the frozen Wisconsin River for three days. At that point we will find what we seek."
Once brave Jack looked at Sigismund and asked "And how do you know this, sir?"
"A One Eyed wolf told me last night."
At this the men muttered and gasped, for they had heard tales, often told in hushed voices around campires, of that spirit of the world who was known throughout the Northern climes of the entire world.
"Know this," Sigismund continued, "I expect that we go to our deaths. Should any man like to turn back now, I shall not stop them."
No man, however, would turn their back upon Brave Sigismund for all knew that their own fates were tied up with his own. They simply did as he instructed and, within the hour, the crew was headed north, their sleighs skating upon the unseasonably frozen Wisconsin River.
For three nights they traveled, just as told, and upon the end of that third day Sigismund ordered them to tie their sleighs; they would continue on foot. They marched for sometime through the thicket; a cold sleet had begun to fall upon them which numbed the faces of all and caused ice to form on beards and hair. Many men shivered, not just from the cold, but also from the fear with which they would soon be face to face. Each snap of an ice-laden tree caused many to jump.
After sometime they reached a clearing and Sigismund told the men to wait. They would build a bonfire and wait there, for he was tired and had decided that their foe should come to them. The bonfire was burning shortly there after, a great towering inferno which sent smoke billowing up to the sky; the Lumberjacks sat, warming themselves by this blaze and awaiting their time with destiny.
They would not have to wait long. Soon they began to feel that the wind was increasing, beginning to wait through the trees even louder; some began to believe that they even heard the wind speak. It seemed to be crying out a name, they listened closer and felt their blood turn to ice as they percieved the ever present wailing of "Wendigo! WWWWEEEEEEEENNNNDIGO" WWWWWWWWHHHHEEEEEENNNNNNNDIGO".
Sigismund lept from his seat, "Face me! Face me now you Father slayer! I shall break your bones, flay your flesh, slipp your blood unto the snow. You will rue the day you crossed my path, you Demon Dancer! You Frozen Fiend! Face me!"
A heavy fog ran around the camp, and Sigismund suddenly saw a great form rear up from the misty bank. It came closer, and closer, growing ever larger to their eyes; at first it seemed 6 feet tall, then 9, then 13. The earth shook with each step. With a great suddenness the wind stopped, but the figure grew closer, finally breaking through the fog and allowing the terrified woof knights a chance to gaze upon its putrid form.
The Wendigo stood 13 feet tall, Its body was covered with a soft sickly yellow hair which reminded many of the pelt of a mange riden coyote. Each finger upon its massive hands was tipped with long bony claws which seemed to be stained the color of dried blood. But worst of all was the creature's face; for it was not one to fear so much as pity. It was vaguely human, but lacked any lips as they appeared to have fallen away; the skin was yellow and sickly, gaunt and seemed made of leather. It cracked and bled puss out continually. The creatures eyes stared out in lust and rage, but also in soul numbing agony; its mouth was forever frozen in a frenzied starvation scream.
No one can say how long the Lumbermen looked at their foe, it seemed like hours but must have been mere seconds. Suddenly one of the Jacks could take no more, he let out a shreik and ran towards the woods; he would be the first to die. The air was filled with the death shriek they all knew, and suddenly the Wendigo was upon the unlucky jack, his gutted him with his talons and greedily gulped down his flesh and blood.
This was the unsaid signal for all; the Lumbermen screamed and rushed at the Demon, falling upon it enmasse. But the creature batteed them away, their axs blunted against its flesh, and bullets bounced off harmlessly. The Wendigo sliced at all present, felling them; the snow grew slick and heavy with brave blood that night.
Soon only Sigismund was left, the others had either fled or died. He held his ground, aze raised and ready; the Wendigo sensed the importance of this one man and turned towards him with beast like agility. "Face me, creature", the Lumber Leader bellowed, "for now it is time to die!"
Sigismund charged, wiedling Wolf's Bane and lept through the air, bringing the weapon down upon the Wendigo's skull. But, alas! The blade was not sharp enough to peirce that hide. Wolf's Bane failed; its blade was blunted and snapped in two by the force exerted upon it. It fell useless into the snow. Now the hero was without weapon and helpless; the fought on with his fists and teeth, but to no avail; the creature picked him up in both hands and drew the Pine Prince towards its gaping maw.
But luck was on Sigismund's side, fore fire is the eternal enemy of ice; a blizzard is often blunted by a hearth upon which to warm one's feet. The bonfire that the Lumbermen had built had continued to burn during the battle, it fact as the rage and frenzy became greater so to did the fire grow upon the logs. With Sigismund's last charge, the fire had exploded, and the trees in the forest lit up. The Wendigo screamed in horror at the feel of the heat, he bucked and bellowed, releasing the hero before taking to the air to save its own sickly hide. The Wind bellowed once more and then the demon dancer was gone.
Several of the Lumbermen who had run for their lives had heard the explosion and now turned, moved by guilt and share at their own cowardness. They ran back and found their hero lying, nearly dead upon the battered snow. They took him in their arms, picked up the splintered form of Wolf's Bane and retreated down the wooden path until they came to their sleighs.
Moved on, once more by panic, they loaded their lord upon a makeshift bed before speeding into the wilds. They knew not where they were going, only that they must flee. And, haunting them the entire way, was the wailing of Sigismund himself who's wounds wept continiously and who continually whisepered "Wendigo" in his delrium.

Its not over yet! To be Continued....


So, tell me what you think