There was not a cloud in the sky as the old mare, Cottonbits, pulled the wagon lazily down the dusty road.  She was content to mosey on at the steady pace.  It was warm out, but a nice breeze was rolling across the farmland from the North.  And if you combined that with the cool forest on the left it was enough to keep the temperature pleasant.

Lazy afternoons like this were just the relaxing and peaceful thing he had needed to take his mind off the horrible week long travel he’d just endured.  Several bandit gangs had tried to relieve him of his valuables along the way, but, as always, he somehow managed to come out on top and unscathed.

“Hey!  Hey Flick!” a small voice called from some distance away.  

Groaning at the disturbance, he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that she would just not bother him.  Fat chance.

“FLICK!” the voice screamed in his ear.

Jolting upright, he rubbed his ringing ear.  Squinting through the bright light he tried to see the tiny form he knew was beside him.  “What do you want, Mippins!  Couldn’t you see I was trying to get some sleep?”

“No, I didn’t see you trying to sleep!  I saw you laying around and being lazy!”

Finally, his eyes adjusted and the fairy came into focus.  She was extremely beautiful, with long red hair and pale skin.  Her eyes were a startling silver, and she had tiny freckles on her cheeks.  Her foot tall form was hovering on a dragonfly’s gossamer wings in front of him, an angry expression painted on her face.

“Dammit Mippins,” he sighed.  “Haven’t I told you to keep your clothes on when we’re this close to a town?”

She looked around, exaggerating her movements.  “Yeah, ‘cause there are so many people around!” she said.  “Anyways, that’s not why I woke you up!”

Flick put his head between his hands.  “What in the seven hells did you steal this time?” he groaned.

“Hey!  I didn’t steal anything!” she buzzed.  “I just found it…”

“Right.  Go put it back.”

“No!” she yelled.  “It’s pretty, and I think it’s magical too!”

He perked up at that.  “Let me see!” he said, holding out his hand.

“No,” she said, folding her arms and turning her back to him.  “I don’t want to show you anymore.”

“Mippins, give it to me!” he growled.

Pouting, reality began to warp beside her.  She reached a hand into it and pulled out a tiny figure.  She handed it to him, trying to keep up the appearance of her anger, but leaned in closely to see what he did with it.

The figure fit in the palm of his hand with room to spare.  It was a tiny statuette of an old man.  He appeared to be meditating with his eyes closed, his legs crossed, and a serene expression on his face.  The statue’s hands lay palm up and they cradled a beautifully carved staff.  Flick had never seen such perfect craftsmanship in a figurine before.  It almost looked like the old man would stand up at any moment.

“Well,” Mippins’ tiny startled him back to reality.  “Is it magic?”

“Hold your horses, Mipps.  I’m getting to that.”

Breathing deeply, Flick reached out with his mind, gently probing the statue for contained magic or magical residue.  He slowly swept the surface, and finding nothing, delved deeper into the statuette.  

What was that?  For a brief second he thought he felt a pull against his magical senses.  But when he tried to hold onto the feeling, it slipped away.  Focusing harder, he dove into the center of the figure, and slammed up against a huge barrier.  “What is that?” he mused.

“Hey, hey, HEY!”

His concentration broken, he glared at the fairy.  “What?”

“Did you find anything?” she asked innocently.

With another groan, he said, “Shut up for five minutes!”  He was about to turn his attention back to the figure when the sound of a hooves could be heard.  Glancing over his shoulder, Flick saw a rider trotting towards them.

“Mippins, put clothes on and take child form!” he whispered urgently.

For once, Mippins obeyed without hesitation.  She set down on the bench of the wagon, her wings disappearing and her body growing.  Soon, she was the size of a small ten year old girl in a white dress covered in red roses.

As the rider came up along side the wagon, Mippins nestled up against Flick and pretended to sleep.

“Hey there,” the rider hailed.

“Hello,” Flick replied with a smile.

“Mind if I accompany you two into town?” he asked.  “I’ve travelled quite a distance and I’d appreciate someone to chat with.”  The man was, for lack of a better word, big.  He was well over six feet tall with spiky red hair.  He was wearing a dark green shirt with a black vest, and black leather pants.  Amongst his gear, he was extremely well armed.  Various knives and daggers could be seen strapped all over his body.  And on his back was the largest sword Flick had ever seen.  The blade must have been four feet long by itself!

“Of course we wouldn’t mind, mister!” a sweet voice sang.  Mippins popped her head up from the other side of Flick, and looked at the newcomer with a big smile.  “Wouldn’t we da?”

Clenching his teeth and attempting to hold his smile, Flick could only nod.  He wanted to kill Mippins at that moment.  She knew how much he hated random strangers, especially ones this well armed, and she took every damn opportunity to use it against him.

“Great!  My name’s Kale.”  

This was going to be a long ride into town.

--

After stabling their horses, Kale, Flick, and Mippins – who’d now taken the form of a tall, young woman – headed for the common room of The Boot Hole, which, despite its name, was one of the nicest inns in town.

After they got rooms, Kale headed off to put his stuff away.  “Mipps,” Flick said.

“Yeah?”  Her voice had changed with her transformation.  It was deeper and much more feminine.  Her body was also a gorgeous sight; tall, lithe, and curvy in all the right places.

“Don’t touch the ale.”

“What?  That’s totally unfair!” she whined.

“Oh come on!” he said, rolling his eyes.  “We both know that if you start drinking you won’t stop until you’re passed out naked in the gutter!”

“One time!” she shouted.  “That happened one time!”

“Stick with water, for now,” he begged.  “I really want to have a good night’s sleep for once, and I don’t need an incident tonight.”

“Fine.  I won’t touch the ale,” she pouted.

“Good!  I’m going up to bed then.  Goodnight, and don’t stay up too late yourself.  We need to make it through Darkmoss Forest tomorrow.”

“Did ye say Darkmoss?” a crackly old voice asked from behind him.

“Oh for the love of Nephos’ beard!” he exhaled sharply and turned to meet the drunken old fart.  “What is it with the old creepy people eavesdropping in these inns and spouting their dire warnings?”

Choosing to ignore his response, Flick turned and walked up the stairs to his room.  Let Mippins deal with him.

He tossed his stuff in the corner, kicked off his boots, and tossed his shirt in the corner.  Walking over to the cracked mirror he stared at the face he saw.  Long black hair was swept back into a small ponytail.  A couple days’ growth marred his cheeks and made the deep green of his eyes stand out.  He wasn’t a big man, maybe just over six feet, but he was well built.  Defined muscles covered his torso, accompanied by a multitude of oddly shaped scars.  He splashed some water onto his face and plopped down onto the bed.  Pulling out the tiny figurine that Mipps had found that day, he began to examine it once more.  Sure enough, the barrier was still there.  Probing the barrier with his mind, he searched for weaknesses, deviations, cracks, seems, or anything that would allow him to worm through.

Nothing.  It was probably the most complete barrier he’d ever come across.  And on something so small too.  What could be the secret to this thing?  And where in the seven hells did Mippins find this?  In frustration, Flick cast a small Reveal spell, in the small hope that it would give him a small clue.  Not expecting anything, he was extremely surprised when the designs on the staff the little man was holding began to glow.

“Interesting,” he whispered.  He watched as the glowing blue designs flowed and began to form words in one of the Four Languages.  Thankfully, it was one he knew.  Squinting at the tiny symbols he read: “The power of Life, I protect.”

A flash of light blinded him.  When he was finally able to see, he saw that the figure was gone and in its place was a large staff covered with the same intricate symbols as the miniature.

“Extraordinary,” he breathed.  Tentatively, he reached out a hand and grasped the wood.  Power hummed beneath his fingers.  Potent power.  

“This would be a perfect replacement,” he murmured, as he recalled the day his previous staff had snapped.  “But this would draw a lot of attention.”  As soon as he said it, the staff changed.  The runes faded, and the wood became a smooth ash white.  Even the magical aura was masked, but he could still feel it thrumming beneath his hands when he touched it.

Before he could continue his pursuit of extremely odd item before him, he heard a woman’s scream coming from a common room, followed by a loud uproar from the patrons.

Shit!  I’ll bet that damn fairy is involved in this!  Picking up the staff, he raced out the door and crashed into a solid wall of flesh.  Reorienting himself, Flick took a defensive stance before he noticed that the big man was Kale.  “What’s going on?” he shouted.

Hearing another loud commotion from the common room, Flick ignored him and jumped down the stairs.  As he was coming out of the hallway he prepared some magic.

“WHO WANTS TO SEE MY JUGS?” Mippins screamed to her audience.  She was standing on a table in the middle of the common room, dancing with a mug of ale in her hand as all the drunkards cheered her on.

“Dammit Mippins, what the hell did I just tell you?” he yelled at her, but she couldn’t hear him over the roar of the crowd as she attempted to take her shirt off with one hand and not spill her drink at the same time.  Flick tried to force his way through the crowd of onlookers, but it was too tightly packed.  She quickly gave up, and Flick noticed a sparkling in the air.  “Oh, shit.”

Throwing out his hand, he cast a sleep spell towards the drunken woman.  She stood there for a minute, a strange look on her face.  Then, she promptly collapsed into the crowd.  Trying to get through the press of people, so he could get her out, he quickly realised that he wasn’t going to make it.  

Suddenly, the crowd shifted in front of him.  He was being pressed back, further away from Mippins as someone ploughed through the press of people.  One of the farmers in front of him was abruptly tossed to the side, and there in the gap he’d made, was Kale, holding the sleeping form of Mippins.  “Let’s go,” he shouted as they made their way to the back stair and up to their rooms.

I shut the door as Kale tossed her on the bed of my room.  “You know, you’ve got some explaining to do,” the big man rumbled.

“Why?” he asked.  “Why do you think our affairs concern you?”

“But, it does, my friend,” he replied amicably.  “You see, I’m a very curious person.  And I’d like to know why a shape shifting fairy is traveling with you, Flicker Dorn, one of the most well known sorcerers of all time.”

His blood ran cold.  “How did you find me?”

He shrugged.  “It was easy enough.  I just had to follow your trail from your last known location.”

“What do you want?”

“I need your help.”

“No.”

“How can you say that without knowing the details?” he asked.

Flick shrugged.  “I don’t care about your problems.  But, I thank you for grabbing Mippins here.  Now, if you’ll excuse us.  We must be on our way.”

He moved to bar the door and he unsheathed that strange black sword.  “I don’t think so.  You will help me!”

Flick began to laugh.  “Right, nice try.  I’m a sorcerer.  Do you really think that would stop me?”

“No, but I do have this,” he said, pulling out a small crystal.  It was glowing with a soft light.

“Wow,” he said, genuinely surprised.  “I haven’t seen one of those in a long time.  Aluvia Crystals; crafted specifically to hinder magic.  Too bad they’re useless against me.”

“Wha-”

With a snap of his fingers, Flick teleported himself, Mippins, all their things, and Cottonbits to the center of Deepmoss Forest.  It was pitch black out, so Flick used his magic to create a campsite.

Looking at his little friend, he asked quietly, “When are you going to let me have some peace?”

--

The next morning, Flick was cooking breakfast as Mippins was waking up.  In her sleep she’d reverted to her fairy form.  Her gossamer wings fluttered weakly as she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and squinted at the light.

“What happened?” she sleepily asked.

“You made another raucous, you idiot.”

A smile broke out on her face, but it quickly faded as she groaned and rubbed her head.  “Where are we?”

“I teleported us to Deepmoss,” he said, lifting the kettle off the fire.  “It turns out Kale knew me and wanted my help with something.”

“Oh,” she squeaked.

Flick filled a small cup with the special tea he’d prepared.  “Here, this should help you.”

“Thanks.”  She took the in both hands, and lifted it to her tiny mouth.  “Bleh!  This tastes awful!”

“Shut up and drink.  You wouldn’t have to deal with any of this if you’d just listened to me.”

“Hey, I did listen!” she chirped.  “I drank mead and not ale like you told me.”

“You little bugger!  You know what I meant,” he tried to keep an angry tone, but he couldn’t help but chuckle at his friend.

They sat in silence, watching the fire as the light slowly began to increase.  “Oh.”  Flick suddenly remembered something.  “What did that old man say about Deepmoss?”

“Hmm?”  Mippins looked up at him.  “Oh yeah, something about people disappearing and monsters and crazy magic.  I don’t really remember.”

“It’s always the same,” Flick chuckled, shaking his head.

“I know,” she piped.  “Just once you’d think they would be right.”

A sudden wind rose and started whipping through the trees.  Dark clouds covered the sun, cloaking the forest in a dark gloom.  Flick could see his breath as the temperature suddenly dropped, and the fire winked out.  A preternatural keening rang through the forest, rattling them and causing goose bumps to run up his arms.

“Just bloody great, Mippins!” he whispered, just as the first beasts burst from the underbrush.