This is the tale of Beauregard Pete, adventurer of the North.
Beauregard Pete was a lover of life and exploration. He had a mid-sized hut in which he lived alone, though he counted his ice picks and other tools as family.
His left pick was called Leftie, and the right pick was called Rightie. Beauregard Pete was an adventurer, but he never claimed to be an imaginative one.
The closest village was a stiff half hour’s walk from his hut, populated sparsely by villagers who believed he had a death wish. They liked to remind him of this opinion whenever he visited to trade, and he would often be the topic of conversation for days after he departed.
Of course, this may have had something to do with the fact that nothing else of interest happened in that village. Beauregard Pete was the only one of them who had ever seen anything besides dark glum houses drenched in snow.
However, little did they know that Beau was soon to go on an adventure that exceeded even his wildest dreams.
Early one morning, Beau leaped out of bed and quickly got dressed. He zipped and strapped himself into his warmest clothing, and slung rope and other tools — including Rightie and Leftie — around his muscular frame. He would need them all, for this morning he planned to scale one of the few peaks he had yet to conquer.
It was a difficult climb, and he had been putting it off till now because he knew a love of adventure didn’t mean he also had to take unnecessary risks. The problem was, Beau had heard a mighty roaring up in the mountain tops for the past fortnight. The villagers told him they had spotted a huge demonic-looking beast thrashing about up there through their telescopes.
Beau didn’t need much convincing to go up and slay it. He’d been waiting for an excuse to make the climb, and he seized this one.
“Ice demon,” he chuckled to himself. “Bah. It’s probably some a weird rock they looked at too close through those telescope things.”
The climb took him the better part of the day, but he toiled at it diligently, his rather pointed nose making little vertical furrows in the snow and in the surface of the ice as he climbed.
Along the way, he also noticed that there were no animals on the slopes than there should have been. He spotted neither birds nor their nests, nor goats, nor any of the other little critters that always tumbled across the landscape.
“That’s — hngh — odd,” he panted. After that, he stopped talking to himself. He didn’t want another mouthful of snow.
When he reached the top, he discovered to his astonishment that the villagers hadn’t been mistaken. A massive beastly-looking thing, perhaps four or five times Beau’s size was crouched next to a large rocky outcrop. Large trenches of snow marked where its great feet had trod upon the ground, and he still couldn’t see any other animals.
He did see scattered piles of feathers and what looked like wool, though. It took Beau a moment to figure it out, but it came to him in a flash: “It ate them,” he exclaimed. The giant froze. Then its huge head snapped towards him.
“Uh-oh,” said Beau. He thought about leaping off the edge of the peak he had just climbed and taking his chances with the fall. Maybe he could come back a different way and try sneaking up on the monster? Before he could decide, the thing rose with a roar to its feet and tromped through the snowy ground towards him.
In moment, it was face to face with Beau.
Too late to back away now, thought Beau. “Uh. Hi?” he tried. His fingers inched towards Leftie and Rightie to try a swing but… maybe it was friendly to humans? It lifted one huge shaggy eyebrow at him, as if waiting for him to start a conversation about the weather.
Then it roared in his face.
Then it ate him.
And so ended the tale of Beauregard Pete.
Beauregard-Pete-The-Soul lost his body to a Jotun’s gut, and then was forcibly ejected back out the monster’s long throat and hurled a great distance over the mountain tops.
Beauregard-Pete-The-Soul came to a slamming halt in what felt like a tiny glass cage. It was uncomfortably small, which he felt was odd because souls didn’t need space. Didn’t they? He tried to move.
Nothing happened. He twisted around to try to see if there was a door or something. There wasn’t a door, but he saw other cages like his own in the distance.
This is it, he thought glumly. I’ll spend the rest of my life in this… thing.
Beauregard-Pete-The-Soul spent several hours feeling sorry for himself. Then he heard a sound from outside his prison.
“Help me!” he yelled. Then he listened closely to the sound again. It seemed to be getting farther away. He panicked, and starting hollering at the top of his voice.
“Hey! Over here!” He struggled as hard as he could, hoping that it would make noise and help attract the attention of whatever was out there.
He heard a crack, then the cage shattered around him. Beauregard-Pete-The-Soul tumbled out of the remains of his cage — and flopped into something warm and furry.
“Oh,” he said, standing up and trying to to fall over with dizziness. “I’m sorry for falling on — ” He looked around. There was no one there. He reached a hand up to rub his face.
A hoof poked him in the eye.
“Ow!” he said, before freezing. He looked down at his… hands. “Oh no,” he breathed. “I’m a mountain goat!”
He looked up in panic, trying to find someone he could ask for help. Nothing but ice all around him, but he caught sight of his reflection in a nearby wall. He cautiously stepped toward it.
“Oh,” he said to his reflection. “A ram. You’re a ram. That’s not so bad. You’re a ram, Boe.” He giggled despite himself.
The remains of his prison lay in pieces near him, and now that he was outside and could see clearly, he could tell that it was a rune of some kind. “That monster… the jotun,” he mused aloud, before realising that he could not speak and his ‘voice’ was just in his head.
“Bff,” said his ram mouth. It seemed that the jotun had trapped the souls of creatures it ate in the runes scattered though the mountains. The creatures of the mountain didn’t seem to be able to free themselves like he did.
That’s okay, he thought. I can help. So began a new journey, a kind of journey he had never been on before, needless to say.
And so officially ended the adventure of Beauregard Pete, adventurer of the North. Now begins the tale of Boe the Ram — who likes to call himself RamBoe, if you please.
Note: This short was written for RAM BOE, a game developed by the Point Five Team. It currently rests on Steam Greenlight, and could do with your vote to get on Steam.
You can find them here: http://goo.gl/Qyj09W
This collaboration was made possible by Higher Eclectic Ground.
You can find them here: http://highereg.com/