The Line in the Snow

Everyone in the village had fled to the forest when they had seen the wall of burning invaders. None of the tragedies they had witnessed before had prepared them for such a sight. Nor for the booming reverberations of Melkor's magic as it echoed around, and seemingly, within them.

It was more than an hour after the screams had died out and the storm clouds had receded, before Brin was able to summon to courage to enter the village and investigate.

He returned to the forest just minutes later, looking noticeably pale and sickly, but assuring the others that it was safe to return.

They found their homes untouched. Pavel's wagon had tipped over when the horses had broken the hitch and run off, but their belongings were all still there.

The street dividing their houses however, was littered with large piles of ash, dozens of them. And a good number of burnt and mangled corpses -- of humans and horses alike -- still lay at the entrance of the village.

They were safe. They knew it, deep down. Despite the horror surrounding them, they were safe at last.

They went looking for their saviour, but all they could find of Melkor was the burned remnants of his robe, his staff -- now charred black, and a strange rough crystal which had somehow remained completely unmarred.

They could only stare at each other, there were no words which could describe all they were feeling. Brin collected Melkor's remains, and everyone went home to their beds, trying in vain to escape from the horrors of reality and into a world of dreams.

***

The people of Jinnsfjur emerged the next morning, their sleepless night affording them little rest. The night winds had scattered the invaders' ashes, leaving the snow of their village a dull, lifeless grey.

A pyre was built to dispose of the remaining bodies, these savages didn't deserve the dignity of a burial. The sight of Cruvik's lifeless corpse, his mouth agape in fear, was only a small relief after all the harm he had wrought.

This ordeal would change the village and its inhabitants forever. They had taken what remained of Melkor to his tower, not knowing what else to do with the items. Though the charred rags, burnt staff, and rough crystal held no value whatsoever, everyone felt that they should be treated with reverence.

Time went on and eventually the denizens of Jinnsfjur released the collective breath they had been holding. It really was true. They were safe once more.

***

The years passed and the once again growing village eventually came to be called a town. More people came to settle, some came back after hearing it was free of Cruvik's yoke, and many more passed through on their way to other places.

Wooden structures gave way to stone, and when it was decided that a paved road was needed, Mikhal and his son created a beautiful flagstone to be lain first, and placed it where their saviour -- their friend -- had fallen.

Katia eventually grew up and moved into the old wizard's tower. She spent hours upon hours looking through his books. After much pleading, she eventually convinced Pavel to teach her to read. And though she was a good pupil, the tomes of arcane lore held little meaning for her, describing the intricacies of forces she had no understanding of.

Melkor's journals however, contained descriptions of wondrous people and places which filled her imagination. She became obsessed with hearing the stories that could be behind them. Stories of the world outside Jinnsfjur.

For a while she longed to leave, to travel and explore, but she couldn't leave her mother. Milena was getting older too, and frequently needed Katia's help in her bakery. A solution eventually presented itself when Pavel suggested that the parade of travelers entering Jinnsfjur could use a place to stay.

The old common house was converted into an inn, and Katia assumed the role of its proprietor before anyone could ask. She would cater to the travelers and their needs, and hear their stories of the world beyond. She would also entertain and impress the town's visitors -- children and adults alike -- by magically changing her hair colour in an instant.

There were those, eventually, who sought to fill the void left by Cruvik and the Mehann Mountains' raiders. Many tried, over the years, to be the new, feared warlord of these lands. But whenever they set their sights on the town of Jinnsfjur, any who entered with ill-intent were quickly cowed.

At first it was glowing orbs of coloured light which appeared out of thin air to incinerate those with malice in their hearts, leaving only ash heaps behind. Then the orbs grew dimmer; the scoundrels would die, but leave only a badly burned corpse behind. And eventually, invaders would leave Jinnsfjur alive, but carrying a burning, grisly reminder of their folly.

It was obvious to those who had been there that night. The protective barrier was fading over time. But by the time it did, it had done its work.

None came to Jinnsfjur anymore with the intent to wreak harm. Far and wide, all had heard of the small town that was magically protected. And none remained who would dare test its limits.

A legend had grown around this little town at the edge of the world.

The legend of Melkor, and his line in the snow.