The Village of Baphel

Calael had just cleared the mountain pass, bringing a small village into view. Smoke puffed through the chimneys of small cabins and he could hear the sound of livestock and some small chatter. As he approached the town the bustle was a little more apparent, though, there were not as many people as he had expected.

Outside one cabin, there were two boys playing a game on the ground with a pile of sticks. Each took turns trying to pick up a stick without disturbing the others. Around them, however, the adults were hurriedly walking to their cabins, placing small tables outside their doors. On the table, it appeared that they were placing some kind of offering. Ornate dishes, various foods, some kind of tapestry, decorative statues. The wood elf stood there confused as to what exactly was going on, when a woman stepped out of the cabin the boys sat in front of, placing a bowl of fresh fruits on her table.

“Oi,” she snapped her fingers at the boys, “get in here, it's almost time.” The boys groaned and began to pick up their sticks. “None o’ that grovelin’, mind. Get in here.” the mother said, and the boys obeyed.

“I get your pardon, ma’am,” Calael said, “may I ask what’s going on here tonight?”

“May I ask who’s askin’?” the woman said.

“My name is Calael Beaquirheal, of Harshys. I just cleared the mountain a few minutes ago.”

“You’ll be a wood elf, then.” The woman said.

“Aye,” Calael replied.

“And what brings you here?” the woman asked curtly.

“I left my home some five years ago. My parents passed away and I wanted to be there to help those in need. I set off to do that, and I found this village.” Calael answered, “you all seem to be in a bit of a panic. So I’ll ask again, what’s going on here tonight.”

The woman looked up at the setting sun, and then looked back at Calael with fear in her eye. “Baphomet,” she said.

“I’m sorry?” Cal said, raising an eyebrow and hoping for clarification.

“Every year, on the last day of spring, he comes.” She started.

“Baphomet?” Cal asked.

“Aye,” she replied. “We leave him an offering, all of us, in the hopes that he leaves us at peace. Otherwise, he may kill our livestock, or take out children.” The woman began to choke at the end of this thought in a sob. A tear rolled down her cheek and she sniffled and wiped her face with her sleeve.

“Have you been successful in your offerings before?” Calael asked.

“Not once.” She said, and the sobs came back with a vengeance. She fell to her knees and her cries were uncontrollable. Her 2 boys approached the door and watched their mother in worry.

Calael crouched down in front of her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Oi,” he said, “I’m goin' to help ye.”

The woman looked up sharply, her eyes red and her face a crumpled mess. “H-how?” she pleaded.

“I don’t know yet.” he said, “but as my family always used to say, if I can help, I will help.”

The sun approached the earth slowly, and the woman rose to her feet. She turned, and urged her boys inside, looked back on Caleal, shook her head, and closed the door. Calael could hear the latching of several locks from the other side. He thought that these locks must offer some comfort to her, though, it was probably helpless against the beast she feared.

As Calael turned to look at the rest of the houses down the dirt path, he watched all the other cabin’s doors and shutters slam closed, with a symphony of latching and scraping sounds. The sun dropped beneath the skyline, and the moon shone brightly. Clouds drifted past the light of the moon leaving shadows over the village for a moment as they passed. Cal walked the dirt paths between the cabins, waiting for some sign of Baphomet.

Calael had rounded the village twice, the clouds becoming thicker with each passing minute, obscuring the moon even more. As it grew darker, Calael began to wonder if anything would show. Is this all just superstition? He thought. He made his way to the village center, and it was covered in total blackness. The clouds so heavy, now, a normal man wouldn’t be able to see a foot ahead of him. Calael, however, could see more clearly with his elven sight; and what he saw in the distance was an orange light growing closer.

The light bounced ever so slightly up and down and drifted from left to right. As the light got closer, the shape became more clear. There was no mistake in what Calael was looking at; a bull with broad shoulders and large horns whose eyes glowed like wildfire. As the hoof beats came closer to the town center, Calael could see the beast breath heavily with trickles of flames rising from its nose. Baphomet growled and scraped its hoof on the ground in front of him, his face an unmistakable sneer.

Calael pulled his bow off his back, equipped it with an arrow, and aimed it down, waiting for Baphomet to make the first move. Baphomet shook his head vigorously and let out a growl that sounded like a warning. “Oi!” Cal shouted, and the bull charged.

Calael raised his bow quickly and let loose an arrow that shot straight between Baphomet’s eyes. The arrow aimed true, but Baphomet lowered his head and knocked the arrow away with one of his massive horns. Without time to move, Cal jumped just before the bull reached him and braced himself for impact. Cal collided with Baphomet between his horns and was thrown back 5 yards.

Turning in midair, Calael landed on his feet and rolled, his back turned to the monster. Quickly, he nocked another arrow to his bow, turned on one knee, aimed, and fired. The arrow met its mark on Baphomets left shoulder. The beast howled, rose up on his back legs, stomped his front hooves hard to the ground, and broke off the arrow with one horn. Calael stood quickly and turned to face the beast. Baphomet paced, recentered on Calael, roared at him, and scraped his hoof again. Calael pulled his bow over his back, raised his right arm, and waved his fingers to Baphomet, as if to say, “come get me.”

Baphomet charged, full force with no recognition of the arrowhead still in his shoulder. He dropped his head down, horns racing closer to Calael, and Cal quickly pulled out one short sword from its sheath, duck beneath the horns, and swung hard. The blade chopped halfway through the left horn and the beast roared again. Before he could turn, Calael swung the blade again with all his force and the horn flew through the air and planted itself in the side of one cabin. Elated at the damage he had caused, Calael didn’t see Baphomet rearing his head back to swing his remaining horn at him, and the horn pierced deep into Calael’s left leg. He shrieked and swung at the horn, but Baphomet pulled away and charged in the other direction.

Limping, Cal centered himself on the dirt path to face Baphomet again. Blood trickled down his leg, and Baphomet swung his head violently, trying to recenter himself. Baphomet faced his enemy, and then Cal heard a voice in his head. It was deep and gruff. “You have been a most worthy opponent,” it said, and Cal realized it was the beast.

“Aye,” he replied, “tanks.

“I will have to kill you now, though. For once, these puny humans have left me a worthy sacrifice.” Baphomet said in Cal’s head. “Have you any last words?”

The beast scrapped his hooves on the ground, and stomped. The flame in its eyes shone brighter than before. The flames from its nostrils rose thicker than before. Cal smirked, and said, “good luck.”

With that, the beast roared, and charged. With more speed than the human eye could register, Calael resheathed his sword, grabbed his bow, nocked it with an arrow, and leapt into the air off his one leg, in the direction of the missing horn. Hanging upside down, the arrow pulled back, it was as if time slowed. As they lined up, Calael released the arrow, landed on his back, and rolled. He used the momentum of the roll to hop up on his good leg and turned to look back at the beast.

Baphomet was rolling without resistance, down the dirt path. As he came to a stop, Cal looked to see the light in his eyes dim, and die out. He limped over to the corpse to see his aim was true; the arrow had shot through one ear and exited the other. The arrowhead was sticking, bloody, out one end, while the fletching protruded out of the other.

The clouds cleared, and Cal’s shadow covered the dead beast. From behind him, Calael could hear a symphony of latches coming undone, and doors creaking open. Calael turned to see an elderly man, with a lit candle on a brass candle holder, approaching him in his nightshirt. When the man reached Calael, he looked at him in disbelief, and then down at Baphomet, and then at Cal again. Tears filled the man’s eyes, and he whispered, “you did it.” His face broke into a smile and he said again, but more loudly, “you did it!” His voice echoed through the streets of the village, “He did it! He did it! Come look, everyone, he did it!” the man’s voice was cracking with excitement and the tears streamed down his face. The rest of the village people exited their homes and made their way to the scene. Many of the adults were sobbing with relief, but the children looked at Cal like a God.

The villagers approached Calael and thanked him, taking his hands and kissing them, embracing him in powerful hugs. Some tried to give him their offerings for Baphomet, but Calael refused them. The curse of Baphomet had presumably been lifted, and it was all thanks to Calael.

Calael was given a place to rest, and the village healer came to remedy his leg. After a week's time, Calael was able to walk without his limp again, and with the reluctance of the village, which Calael now knew was called Baphel, he took his leave.