Post by LordTigress on Aug 23, 2017 19:41:35 GMT
A Ninjago fan-fiction by LordTigress
Song: “Always Gold” by Radical Face
“We were tight-knit boys
Brothers in more than name,
You would smash for me
And knew that I’d do the same,
And it cut me sharp
Hearing you’d gone away,
But everything goes away
Yeah everything goes away,
But I’m going to be here until I’m nothing
But bones in the ground. . .”
Episode 65/a: A Forgotten Enemy
Prologue
The stars glittered coldly from the clear night sky, with but a few faint wisps of clouds stifling their light. With no moon, the steep, barren mountainside standing high up with the mist was utterly pitch-black, and not a breath of wind disturbed the dry leaves on a lone tree sitting by a worn path of steep, stone stairs. All the world was still and silent, with puffs of water vapor drifting lazily around the mountaintop. In the dead of night, not a living thing stirred. . . Save for the dark figure slipping soundlessly up the steps leading to the top.
It paused at the final step, its face hidden under a dark hood and its body beneath a cloak. There was something chilling about the way the figure balanced on its legs, as if it wasn’t quite used to them yet. Something about the way it lifted its head and sniffed the air would make one think that this stranger wasn’t entirely human.
It inspected the grassy clearing, then crept through the weeds and to the side of the mountain. An enormous cliff stretched high into the night sky, its peak disappearing into mist. Nestled between a couple of dark boulders, built into the cliffside itself, stood a lone door. Seeping from the cracks of the ancient oak wood came a flicker of light, the only other sign of life on the mountain.
The figure crept up to the door, taking soft, nimble steps across the grass. It hesitated at the silent entrance, then reached out to grasp the rusted doorknob. With a small squeak from the hinges, the stranger slowly opened the door and entered.
It was a wide but cluttered room, holding the type of furniture and tools to accommodate a small living room, dining area, and kitchen. To the left of the doorway were a couple of sagging couches surrounded by ratty books stuffed on tall bookshelves, with an intricately designed rug upon the floor. On the other side of the room was a dark doorway, presumably leading to bedrooms or something of that ilk. The kitchen was to the right; with a counter crowded with groceries and the wood cabinets filled with dishes and ingredients for hot meals. A small dining table sat close by the counter, with only one chair.
The entire apartment was dimly lit by a couple of candles dancing softly by the movement of the door. In the center of the room sat a wide cauldron, where something hot and meaty-smelling churned and bubbled. Dark, unintelligible chunks drifted beneath the boiling surface, and a fire burned beneath it on a little portable stove. Steam rose like pale ghosts from the cauldron and over the head of the middle-aged woman scowling at it.
Long locks of scraggly down hair fell in soft waves down her shoulders over her midnight-blue cloak, which she wore over her forest-green dress. On the dress was a wide leather belt holding a couple of pouches and an odd little sheath carrying was looked like a carved, twisted stick. Wrinkles lined her mouth and almond-brown eyes, but there was a sort of energy in her movement showing that she still had some of youth’s fire in her. On her head sat a crooked, patched, pointed hat, adorned by a little green emerald sewn into the middle. One could look at her and one could immediately identify her as a witch.
The light of the flames reflected off her face, showing her frowning in mild frustration. She was mumbling crossly under her breath, casting dark looks at the contents of the bubbling cauldron. She began to chant.
“Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Wood beneath and meat within burning steady,
But soup, won’t you hurry up and JUST COOK ALREADY!?!” She finally screeched.
The witch jammed her hands on her thin hips and exclaimed in exasperation. “Merlin’s beard, you’d think this chicken broth would cook by now! I’ve seen frozen molasses move faster than that! Humph.” She gazed at the wall. “Perhaps I should add more wood to the fire, but then it might start smoking, and of course then I’d--”
It was that moment she caught sight of the hooded figure standing silently at the door. She jumped, and instinctively reached for the odd stick sitting in its sheath on her belt. She hesitated as she inspected the figure. Glittering eyes narrowed, she said. “Steve?”
The dark stranger flipped his hood back to reveal a tanned, brown-haired teenager. His dark blue eyes glanced around uneasily, but he wore a grin. “Hey, Matilda.”
The witch gazed at him for a few seconds more, then grunted. “What are you doing here?”
Steve shifted on his feet. “Just—just thought I’d drop by. Be a good nephew and check on my aunt.” His eyes drifted over the walls of the dimly lit house, inspecting the shelves lining the rooms and corridor.
Matilda’s fingers left her belt. “Humph,” She muttered. “Is that so.” She turned back to the steaming broth and poked at the meat with a long wooden spoon. “Close the door, kid. You’re letting in the cold air.”
The boy blinked, then quickly shut the door before his gaze returned to the shelves. Countless notebooks, journals, papers, bottles, and vials filled them, with the occasional clump of herbs or flowers bringing a faint, sweet scent to the room.
His eyes rested on a small blue-colored stone, displaying a mysterious, unearthly glow, nestled between several vials filled with hair. It was but on ordinary stone, with a thick layer of dust coating it, but the teen’s eyes gleamed hungrily at the sight of it. He flexed his fingers, but before he could move the woman spoke without looking up.
“How’s your sister? And Calvin?”
Steve started at the sound of her voice and glanced over at her uneasily. “Uh—they’re fine. Yeah. We, ah—“ He looked at the stone again. The shelf it was sitting on the wall right behind the witch. “—We found a jackpot of iron in the mines yesterday. We got to forge a couple of new swords and a new helmet for Calvin.”
“Mm.” Matilda didn’t take her eyes off he soup. “That’s good.”
Steve began to slowly edge his way around Matilda without drawing attention, licking his lips as he stared at the stone.
“Seriously, though, why are you here?” The witch asked.
“What do you mean?” Steve murmured, looking wary.
Matilda snorted. “When was the last time you visited me in the dead of night, trying to ‘be a good nephew and check on your aunt’? Do you think I’ve got dirt for brains??” She poked at a chunk of meat. “What do you want?”
“Well, ah—“ Steve began to stammer, but then he stopped. Lip curling, his eyes narrowed at Matilda’s back.
The witch stilled, suddenly sensing something amiss. Before she could turn around, a low growl sounded from Steve’s throat. Behind her, his eyes flashed dangerously. “I want. . . This!”
Long claws suddenly formed from the teenager’s fingernails, and he swiped at Matilda. The woman screeched in shock and rolled onto the floor, narrowly missing the cauldron. She whipped around and stared in astonishment as Steve’s pupils suddenly narrowed to vertical slits, spiky fangs gleamed from his mouth, and the tips of his ears turned pointed like an elf’s. With a hiss the creature sprung at Matilda and slashed his long claws at her cheek. She shrieked in pain and fury, and reached for the stick in the sheath. Her attacker stumbled and knocked over the cauldron with a loud splash and clatter. Both sprang back from the boiling broth spilling across the floor.
As Matilda stumbled to her feet, the creature whipped around and snatched the blueish stone from the shelf, clutching it in one huge, paw-like hand. For a split second their eyes met, almond-brown glaring into what was now ice-blue. The creature snarled, displaying sharp teeth, and sprung at the witch.
Matilda snatched her wand from her belt and shouted something unintelligible under her attacker’s roar. There was a flash of light, and the creature caterwauled in pain. He grabbed the woman and smashed her to the floor, knocking over a chair as well as knocking her head. Mind reeling from the shock, she tried feebly to defend herself. She moaned, her eyelids flickered, and she was dimly aware of a dull throb pulsing from her cheek and the claws wrenching at her shoulders. Despite her best efforts, she succumbed to unconsciousness, and slumped under her attacker’s weight.
* * *
The first thing Matilda was aware of was pain. It pulsed from her back, her cheek, her shoulders, and especially her head. With a low moan she forced her eyes open, and found herself in lying in a pool of chicken broth, all the lights out in the house, save for the dying embers of the fire. The door was wide open, letting in a cold breeze and faint starlight. All was still and silent.
With disgust she wiped chopped carrots, onions, and garlic from her soaked hair and robes as she hesitantly stood up. She picked up her wand from the floor and surveyed the room and shelves. Nothing else had been disturbed.
The witch rubbed her head, wincing from the pain as she tried to make sense of what had happened. Obviously a master of disguise had impersonated as her nephew in order to steal something from her. Steal what? She gazed at the shelf and found that the little blue stone was gone.
She raised an eyebrow. Odd. Of all the things to steal from this house, why that? It was virtually useless, and nothing practical could be done with it.
Matilda quirked her lips in thought. While useless in this world, there was another in which that stone could become dangerously powerful. It was quite a long time ago, but she recalled vicious battles, heroic warriors, and ancient enemies, all an intricate story in a distant land. She remembered a dark warrior with a heart as cold as ice, a good friend with the power of earth, and a brave boy with eyes like emeralds. She remembered. . .
Her hands balled into fists, and her mouth tightened. That was no ordinary thief that stole the stone. If her worst fears were confirmed, if that creature was what she thought it was, then that meant. . .
The witch said a single word, a name that triggered the memory of a forgotten journey from long ago.
“Cole.”
She gazed at the stars out the door for nearly two full minutes, then whipped around and resolutely snatched a little blue teapot from a dusty shelf. With a determined expression she stared at the teapot in her hands. She then murmured. “Time to return to Ninjago.”
Song: “Always Gold” by Radical Face
“We were tight-knit boys
Brothers in more than name,
You would smash for me
And knew that I’d do the same,
And it cut me sharp
Hearing you’d gone away,
But everything goes away
Yeah everything goes away,
But I’m going to be here until I’m nothing
But bones in the ground. . .”
Episode 65/a: A Forgotten Enemy
Prologue
The stars glittered coldly from the clear night sky, with but a few faint wisps of clouds stifling their light. With no moon, the steep, barren mountainside standing high up with the mist was utterly pitch-black, and not a breath of wind disturbed the dry leaves on a lone tree sitting by a worn path of steep, stone stairs. All the world was still and silent, with puffs of water vapor drifting lazily around the mountaintop. In the dead of night, not a living thing stirred. . . Save for the dark figure slipping soundlessly up the steps leading to the top.
It paused at the final step, its face hidden under a dark hood and its body beneath a cloak. There was something chilling about the way the figure balanced on its legs, as if it wasn’t quite used to them yet. Something about the way it lifted its head and sniffed the air would make one think that this stranger wasn’t entirely human.
It inspected the grassy clearing, then crept through the weeds and to the side of the mountain. An enormous cliff stretched high into the night sky, its peak disappearing into mist. Nestled between a couple of dark boulders, built into the cliffside itself, stood a lone door. Seeping from the cracks of the ancient oak wood came a flicker of light, the only other sign of life on the mountain.
The figure crept up to the door, taking soft, nimble steps across the grass. It hesitated at the silent entrance, then reached out to grasp the rusted doorknob. With a small squeak from the hinges, the stranger slowly opened the door and entered.
It was a wide but cluttered room, holding the type of furniture and tools to accommodate a small living room, dining area, and kitchen. To the left of the doorway were a couple of sagging couches surrounded by ratty books stuffed on tall bookshelves, with an intricately designed rug upon the floor. On the other side of the room was a dark doorway, presumably leading to bedrooms or something of that ilk. The kitchen was to the right; with a counter crowded with groceries and the wood cabinets filled with dishes and ingredients for hot meals. A small dining table sat close by the counter, with only one chair.
The entire apartment was dimly lit by a couple of candles dancing softly by the movement of the door. In the center of the room sat a wide cauldron, where something hot and meaty-smelling churned and bubbled. Dark, unintelligible chunks drifted beneath the boiling surface, and a fire burned beneath it on a little portable stove. Steam rose like pale ghosts from the cauldron and over the head of the middle-aged woman scowling at it.
Long locks of scraggly down hair fell in soft waves down her shoulders over her midnight-blue cloak, which she wore over her forest-green dress. On the dress was a wide leather belt holding a couple of pouches and an odd little sheath carrying was looked like a carved, twisted stick. Wrinkles lined her mouth and almond-brown eyes, but there was a sort of energy in her movement showing that she still had some of youth’s fire in her. On her head sat a crooked, patched, pointed hat, adorned by a little green emerald sewn into the middle. One could look at her and one could immediately identify her as a witch.
The light of the flames reflected off her face, showing her frowning in mild frustration. She was mumbling crossly under her breath, casting dark looks at the contents of the bubbling cauldron. She began to chant.
“Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Wood beneath and meat within burning steady,
But soup, won’t you hurry up and JUST COOK ALREADY!?!” She finally screeched.
The witch jammed her hands on her thin hips and exclaimed in exasperation. “Merlin’s beard, you’d think this chicken broth would cook by now! I’ve seen frozen molasses move faster than that! Humph.” She gazed at the wall. “Perhaps I should add more wood to the fire, but then it might start smoking, and of course then I’d--”
It was that moment she caught sight of the hooded figure standing silently at the door. She jumped, and instinctively reached for the odd stick sitting in its sheath on her belt. She hesitated as she inspected the figure. Glittering eyes narrowed, she said. “Steve?”
The dark stranger flipped his hood back to reveal a tanned, brown-haired teenager. His dark blue eyes glanced around uneasily, but he wore a grin. “Hey, Matilda.”
The witch gazed at him for a few seconds more, then grunted. “What are you doing here?”
Steve shifted on his feet. “Just—just thought I’d drop by. Be a good nephew and check on my aunt.” His eyes drifted over the walls of the dimly lit house, inspecting the shelves lining the rooms and corridor.
Matilda’s fingers left her belt. “Humph,” She muttered. “Is that so.” She turned back to the steaming broth and poked at the meat with a long wooden spoon. “Close the door, kid. You’re letting in the cold air.”
The boy blinked, then quickly shut the door before his gaze returned to the shelves. Countless notebooks, journals, papers, bottles, and vials filled them, with the occasional clump of herbs or flowers bringing a faint, sweet scent to the room.
His eyes rested on a small blue-colored stone, displaying a mysterious, unearthly glow, nestled between several vials filled with hair. It was but on ordinary stone, with a thick layer of dust coating it, but the teen’s eyes gleamed hungrily at the sight of it. He flexed his fingers, but before he could move the woman spoke without looking up.
“How’s your sister? And Calvin?”
Steve started at the sound of her voice and glanced over at her uneasily. “Uh—they’re fine. Yeah. We, ah—“ He looked at the stone again. The shelf it was sitting on the wall right behind the witch. “—We found a jackpot of iron in the mines yesterday. We got to forge a couple of new swords and a new helmet for Calvin.”
“Mm.” Matilda didn’t take her eyes off he soup. “That’s good.”
Steve began to slowly edge his way around Matilda without drawing attention, licking his lips as he stared at the stone.
“Seriously, though, why are you here?” The witch asked.
“What do you mean?” Steve murmured, looking wary.
Matilda snorted. “When was the last time you visited me in the dead of night, trying to ‘be a good nephew and check on your aunt’? Do you think I’ve got dirt for brains??” She poked at a chunk of meat. “What do you want?”
“Well, ah—“ Steve began to stammer, but then he stopped. Lip curling, his eyes narrowed at Matilda’s back.
The witch stilled, suddenly sensing something amiss. Before she could turn around, a low growl sounded from Steve’s throat. Behind her, his eyes flashed dangerously. “I want. . . This!”
Long claws suddenly formed from the teenager’s fingernails, and he swiped at Matilda. The woman screeched in shock and rolled onto the floor, narrowly missing the cauldron. She whipped around and stared in astonishment as Steve’s pupils suddenly narrowed to vertical slits, spiky fangs gleamed from his mouth, and the tips of his ears turned pointed like an elf’s. With a hiss the creature sprung at Matilda and slashed his long claws at her cheek. She shrieked in pain and fury, and reached for the stick in the sheath. Her attacker stumbled and knocked over the cauldron with a loud splash and clatter. Both sprang back from the boiling broth spilling across the floor.
As Matilda stumbled to her feet, the creature whipped around and snatched the blueish stone from the shelf, clutching it in one huge, paw-like hand. For a split second their eyes met, almond-brown glaring into what was now ice-blue. The creature snarled, displaying sharp teeth, and sprung at the witch.
Matilda snatched her wand from her belt and shouted something unintelligible under her attacker’s roar. There was a flash of light, and the creature caterwauled in pain. He grabbed the woman and smashed her to the floor, knocking over a chair as well as knocking her head. Mind reeling from the shock, she tried feebly to defend herself. She moaned, her eyelids flickered, and she was dimly aware of a dull throb pulsing from her cheek and the claws wrenching at her shoulders. Despite her best efforts, she succumbed to unconsciousness, and slumped under her attacker’s weight.
* * *
The first thing Matilda was aware of was pain. It pulsed from her back, her cheek, her shoulders, and especially her head. With a low moan she forced her eyes open, and found herself in lying in a pool of chicken broth, all the lights out in the house, save for the dying embers of the fire. The door was wide open, letting in a cold breeze and faint starlight. All was still and silent.
With disgust she wiped chopped carrots, onions, and garlic from her soaked hair and robes as she hesitantly stood up. She picked up her wand from the floor and surveyed the room and shelves. Nothing else had been disturbed.
The witch rubbed her head, wincing from the pain as she tried to make sense of what had happened. Obviously a master of disguise had impersonated as her nephew in order to steal something from her. Steal what? She gazed at the shelf and found that the little blue stone was gone.
She raised an eyebrow. Odd. Of all the things to steal from this house, why that? It was virtually useless, and nothing practical could be done with it.
Matilda quirked her lips in thought. While useless in this world, there was another in which that stone could become dangerously powerful. It was quite a long time ago, but she recalled vicious battles, heroic warriors, and ancient enemies, all an intricate story in a distant land. She remembered a dark warrior with a heart as cold as ice, a good friend with the power of earth, and a brave boy with eyes like emeralds. She remembered. . .
Her hands balled into fists, and her mouth tightened. That was no ordinary thief that stole the stone. If her worst fears were confirmed, if that creature was what she thought it was, then that meant. . .
The witch said a single word, a name that triggered the memory of a forgotten journey from long ago.
“Cole.”
She gazed at the stars out the door for nearly two full minutes, then whipped around and resolutely snatched a little blue teapot from a dusty shelf. With a determined expression she stared at the teapot in her hands. She then murmured. “Time to return to Ninjago.”
