The Storm King

My first attempt at playing story cubes

Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

Some Background

Have you ever heard of the game, Rory’s Story Cubes? I came across it in a book store one day and it caught my eye. Basically, there are nine dice that you roll with pictures on them to prompt a story. I think the game was originally meant for young children to play to enhance creative thinking, but as a 29-year-old writer, I decided this was a game I needed.

I forced my boyfriend to play the game with me and he absolutely hated it. He determined this was worse that cleaning the apartment, going grocery shopping, and taking the dog out at 10pm to pee, combined. Unfortunately, we played a few rounds of the game and now my boyfriend bailed. This was our first attempt at using the story cubes, but I’m hoping that others will be inspired by the game.

Chapter 1

The clouds were moving in. What had been a hot summer day was coming to a premature end as they blocked out the evening sun. The forest had become silent but for the wind’s howls and rustling of the leaves. By the river, beneath some mercilessly tossed flowers, a turtle sat watching the lightning as the storm moved over the distant fields. His name was Horace. He had seen many storms in his time, but this one still worried him. As the lightning cracked across the sky again, he decided it was time to end his foraging for the day and head home. He gathered his things and turned away from the banks, shuffling towards the edge of the forest.

Although Horace looked like an ordinary turtle — green with a big, hard shell — he was anything but ordinary. Horace, was in fact, a wizard — one of many in his lineage, from the great Magdalon to Sir Hamelen, and finally, his father Gandor the Extraordinary. As Horace made his way back to his home in the forest, he watched the lightning continue to strike behind him. Growing anxious, he sped up a bit. Just a little boost, he thought as he used his powers to propel him in the exact direction of his family’s hut. Just relaxing, enjoying the ride through the air, his feet just above the ground, Horace strained his eyes to find his mom and dad. It was near impossible with the festival going on tonight — all those creatures dancing, singing, laughing — it was like a huge concert. Horace yearned for a quiet sanctuary after a long day, but he was definitely not finding one tonight. Music blaring, the festival grew closer and Horace could finally make out some of the other wizards and witches he was familiar with. There were Sasha and Kobi, his childhood friends. He waved genially, but continued on until he made out his father’s silhouette.

There was Gandor, making his way around the bonfire that sat in the middle of the clearing. The Festival of Lights occurs every year in Gon, so Horace wasn’t surprised by the scene before him, more so disappointed. This is such an outdated tradition. Why don’t we end this already? He asked this question every year, but of course his father never had a good answer for him, and all the others blindly followed his lead. They’re like a bunch of robots. It’s like father programmed them to just follow his lead.

Now that he had reached his father, Horace had no choice but to greet him.

He handed his father the herbs he had gathered from the riverbank. Gandor turned, conjuring an abacus from his shell. However, as he saw the bundle, he disappointingly said “That’s all?” Horace frowned. “The storm is getting close,” Horace said. “ Might be best to delay the festival.” Thunder conveniently broke the conversation, rumbling and drawing it out uncomfortably. “You know it must be today. The longest day. No way around it. I think we can make due.” His father grabbed the meager bundle he had collected and shuffled back to the fire. Horace turned to go back to his hut, moving through the well-tread clearing and ducking under several of the strings of torches his mother was busy hanging. The weather did seem to be keeping the crowd down, he thought, though it was still early.

Everyone gasped as they watched a burst of lightning blast on the river, exploding as it hit the water. Horace pulled out the magnifying lens from his inner shell pocket to get a closer look. Indeed, there was a large fire growing larger and larger, out of control. “We need to find cover!” Horace yelled. He turned to Gandor, “Now!”

“But-but the festival…”

“This isn’t an ordinary storm, father — surely you know that. Don’t you remember the last time?” Horace hissed. Then he turned to the frantic crowd. “You must find shelter now! The festival is officially cancelled!”

With a deep frown, and pitch-black, empty eyes, Gandor turned into the robotic follower that Horace had witnessed only once before. “Father!” Horace screamed in his ear, trying to save him from the dark magic that was taking over. Gandor’s eyes suddenly lit up, as did the eyes of all the wizards and witches of Gon. Like sheep being herded, they all walked toward the fire in the river — everyone except Horace. But he couldn’t just stand there and watch his loved ones be taken. No. Not again.

Horace used his boost of magic to propel him ahead of the herd. Flying over the rest of them like an arrow shooting through the air, he landed at his intended destination — right outside the circle of fire that was growing over the water and across the land. Knowing that he had mere seconds left to stop the beast, Horace did the only thing he could think of — he conjured the Lead Koi.

The Koi were the rulers of the river, and if anyone could stop the dark force, it was them. Please, Horace silently begged. Help.

Just as the flame was about to touch Horace’s face, the Koi shot from the water — at least 20 feet in the air, and then continued to travel over the land on a stream of water. As each Koi’s path crossed over a citizen of Gon, tears began to fall from their eyes. While Horace had never seen the Koi actually emerge from the river, and therefore didn’t even know what they were capable of, he was sure this was their last hope — their last hope to stop the Storm King from taking over.

Yet, even as the Koi cast their magic, the villagers marched on, finally reaching the water and continuing through the shallows. Horace was at a loss and in a panic. He could not watch everyone he knew become a victim of the river. A victim of the Storm King.

As the first of the village reached the ring of flames, the water was growing deep. Horace’s mind finally landed on a thought: Ice! Freeze them in the water! In a flurry he motioned the proper symbol though the water, pulling at the nature of the river.

A thin frost spread across the surface, but no ice of note. He barely could react to the failure of his spell as he looked up to see the first of the village reach the ring of flames. CRACK! Horace could see only white, and his ears were ringing. CRACK! CRACK! The lightning began to continuously rain down in front of him, disorienting Horace further. It seemed to go on forever. No! No, no, no! It was all he could think as fear consumed him. He attempted to gather himself and cast the spell again. He desperately made the motions in the river.

The lightning stopped and there was silence. He looked up into the waning twilight as his vision began to clear. “Hello?” He cried out. His eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light, he pulled out his sparkstone so he could get a better look around.

The villagers were nowhere to be found. His spell had failed. As this dreadful realization washed over him like the currents he stood in, something bumped into him. With a jump and a shout, he spun completely around. It was a block of ice, from which one of the Koi was struggling to free himself.

Not sure of what else to do, Horace held his sparkstone against the block of ice that trapped the last Koi, like a prisoner locked in a cell. The sparkstone continued to glow bright against the darkness, and Horace could feel the heat beginning to radiate from it, melting the ice, and freeing the Koi, which proceeded to jump in the air, flying high on a stream of water that propelled it several feet from Horace. It landed on its tail, as if it were his legs. The Koi smiled, and then it disappeared inside a tornado of rainbow light. Horace backed up, terrified that the Storm King was returning. When his feet hit the water, making a small splash, the rainbow was suddenly gone. Where the Koi was only seconds ago, there now stood a man wearing long green robes and a crown. Horace froze, not daring to take another step back or forward.

“Oh Horace,” the man said. “I know what you have been told — what all of the villagers have been told about the wrath of the Storm King.” He paused, then locked eyes with the magical turtle, “But we can still save them.” The man reached into the left pocket of his robes, and pulled out what appeared to be a piece of rope — maybe five feet long.

Is he going to tie me up with that? Horace wondered silently.

“Oh, dear boy,” the mysterious man said, chuckling. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

“Who are you?” Horace finally asked.

“I know this must be confusing for you, Horace, but I am Andor, one of the Protectors of Gon. And as it appears, I am the only Protector left after the Storm King struck.”

The man took a couple of more steps forward and reached down by Horace’s foot, his fingers running through the water. “We don’t have much time if we want to get them back.” Andor’s crown reflected the light of the sparkstone that was still in Horace’s hand, and then Andor pointed to something behind Horace. The turtle turned promptly and was shocked when he saw a rope bridge leading into the sky. Is that the rope Andor had just pulled out of his pocket? But he didn’t have time to think about it much more. Andor was already starting to climb up the rope. Where he was going, Horace had no idea, but weighing his options, he decided that following the Protector was his best bet. And so, he made his way up the rope bridge, to some unknown destination.

Andor turned back, and when he saw Horace following, he smiled, then stopped to wait for him to catch up. “Where are we going?” Horace asked as he reached Andor’s side.

“We need to follow the bridge to the Storm King’s palace — it’s the only way we can revive Gon.” Again, Horace tried to consider his options, and looking back at the destruction that was now Gon, he resigned himself to do what he could to save his village. I won’t let this happen again. This time, I’m stopping the Storm King.

Long they climbed the bridge through the pitch black night. Horace’s legs were aching, and he wondered if the bridge would ever end. It was as he was pondering this, that they emerged from the darkness into the bright moonlight. Horace blinked as his eyes adjusted and looked around. Andor’s bridge had taken them above the clouds. Horace would have stopped to marvel at the beauty of the heavy clouds drifting in the night, with the stars scattered above, but for the strange and malevolent tower that somehow stood before them. The night seemed darker around it, as if the moon and stars were forbidden on its grounds. The sight of it filled Horace’s heart with dread. “I must not fear.” Horace thought to himself. While this mantra did not rid him of his fright, repeating it did keep his feet moving as he followed Andor to the great black gates of the tower.

“Prepare yourself,” Andor said. “Remember, the Storm King can travel between worlds, so we have to stop him before he escapes with your people.”

Horace nodded. Then Andor reached into the pocket of his robes, and pulled out a sparkstone, just like Horace’s own.

“Where’d you get that!?” Horace demanded. “I thought mine was the last one…”

Andor studied the turtle wizard, as if Horace were a specimen under a magnifying glass. He then held out his sparkstone to Horace, an offering of sorts. Horace hesitated and then touched it, feeling the rough edges where it had been cracked. Wait, he thought. Horace took out his own sparkstone and matched its jagged edges to that of Andors — a perfect fit.

“Yours is the last, my dear boy,” Andor chuckled, “but that is only because I broke off a piece of mine years ago to leave in Gon. Now that we are reunited, we can achieve so much more.”

Andor stepped right up to the front of the gate, his feet meeting the iron bars. Horace followed in his footsteps, until Andor gestured to the spot on his right. The turtle wizard took his place, as if he was returning home after a long journey. Andor reached out both hands, silently urging Horace to place a stone in each palm, and the turtle obliged. Andor closed his eyes, and then seemed to be weighing the sparkstones, measuring something more than just physical mass. It was like he was determining whether each stone was powerful enough, and when his eyelids flew open and Andor smiled, Horace knew that they had what they needed to proceed.

Andor rubbed the sparkstones together, until a fountain of light emerged from the center, flowing up and over Horace and his Protector, swirling, and whirring. Nerves raging inside him, Horace scrunched his eyes shut, waiting for the magic to pass, and was surprised when Andor tapped him on his shell to get his attention. When he opened his eyes, he saw that they were somehow past the gate, right in front of the Storm King’s tower.

Recovering from his puzzlement, Horace realized Andor had begun striding towards the tower. He set himself forward through the heavy mist that smothered the grounds as quickly as he could manage. He barely caught up to his guide as they reached the wall.

Andor held the spark stone up to examine the black tower. There was no brick and mortar. The entire structure seemed formed from a single, impossibly large stone. In the arcane light, Horace also noticed that countless beads of water were continuously forming over its surface and lifting off into the air. Even if he were a good climber, there was no way anyone was scaling these walls.

As Horace continued to take in the building, now fruitlessly looking for a door or window, Andor slowly lifted his hand towards the tower wall. Eventually, just before touching it, he stopped. At that instant, lightning crackled across every inch of the tower’s surface. Andor smiled.

“With the spark stone complete, we can channel some of the King’s magic. Use his defenses to our advantage. Come, I will show you. And do try to keep your eyes open this time.” Andor took Horace’s hand and placed it with his on the spark stone, then touched the stone to the wall.

Horace forced his eyes to remain open, as the turtle wizard was sucked into an L-shaped tunnel that suddenly appeared on the tower wall. Like a vacuum, drawing him in, Horace and Andor flew through the air and into the bright room on the other side of the L. The wall closed up behind them, and Horace was surprised to see that they had appeared in a bedroom. Was it the Storm King’s? Horace looked around frantically, planning an escape route, but soon realized that the room was empty. Andor turned to Horace, who regained his confused look, and said, “The Storm King does not sleep.” Then he redirected his gaze to the back wall, where there were three doors, and Andor seemed to weigh their options. He held up the large spark stone and it spun in his hand, then stopped when the point reached the door on the left. “This way,” Andor instructed, already striding forward, not a glance back at his companion. Horace knew better than to question his Protector. Instead, he flew ahead, opened the door, and was met with the thing he most feared — The Storm King.