The rain pittered and pattered on the monk’s thick canvas cloak as he splashed through puddles down the muddy path. His face was sour as he solemnly waddled through the thick mud, completely soaked from the unexpected showers. He clenched a large book against his chest, holding it as safely (and hopefully as dryly) as he could.

The night was pitch black, and he’d had to abandon his lantern as soon as it had begun to drizzle, for fear that the book would get wet if he didn’t protect it with both arms. He thinned his eyes to try to make out the path before him and to catch any obstacle that might impede or endanger the quest. In the distance, a bolt of lightning illuminated the horizon, and he saw a strange shape in the sky.

The monk began muttering to himself and quickened his pace, eager to get under a roof as soon as possible, and hopefully one with a roaring fire. Going faster was not much of an option, and his boots were completely submerged in mud, glopping up a heavy weight with each step. Another flash lit the sky, and he saw the unknown shape was much closer, as if it was flying directly at him. He was literally sick to his stomach with fear, but he had no choice but to push forward.

Why oh why did this ancient book matter so much? If it wasn’t for HER, he would just toss it over the wall right now and be done with it. However, he couldn’t let the tome go now, not for everything he lost to claim it.

…

It hadn’t only been the Monk who set out to find this ancient text, no, it had been an entire party of adventurers, explorers, and seekers who set out to collect the priceless artifact. The monk had been minding his duties at the monastic library when he heard a hefty knock on the large wooden door. The monk wasn’t used to visitors in his library, let alone this early in the morning. He gently set down his parsnip tea and shuffled some papers together for no apparent reason.

When the monk opened the door, his eyes protruded to see a group of wildly different folks, packed with gear, weapons, and horses. The man who had knocked was three to four heads taller than the Monk, with long red hair, leather armor, more swords than he could count, and exposed arms that were bulging with muscles. There was also a cloaked dwarf, a velvet robed elf, and a woman shrouded in black garments. When the monk saw her, he felt his stomach squirm in a way he’d never felt before. Had that been the parsnip tea, or her exquisitely chiseled jaw that caused the twinge? “Umm, yes, ah, good morn-”

“Are you Giaron (Jzee-Ron)? Library Priest?” the large man asked with a deep and gravelly voice.

“Pri-priest? No, I am not a priest. I am a Monk of the Father, and I-”

“Is your name Giaron? I don’t give a bloody corpse if you are a monk or a priest,” the large man said with an anger-scrunched face.

“Well, yes, I am Giaron, Scholastic Monk-”

“That is enough, Giaron, thank you,” the elf interrupted, kindly, yet directly.

“We heard you are proficient in both reading and speaking the ancient tongue of Before,” The elf continued, “and we need someone with this proficiency on a quest we are setting out on. Is there, by any chance, that our notions about you are correct?”

The Monk had been barely listening, he was so fascinated by the woman in black. But he shook it off and and closed his eyes before replying, “Not only do I read, write, and speak the Tongue, I am, simply put, the most knowledgeable and studied Scholastique on the subject in our kingdom and all surrounding kingdoms. To be frank, I-”

“Wonderful, wonderful, well pack what you need, Monk, because we are leaving now. Don’t worry about provisions, we’ve got everything taken care of. We’ve already paid your Lord Priest or whatever for your time, so it's all taken care of. Let's be on our way, shall we, Giaron?” The large, muscled man said.

Giaron’s face was dripping with shock, however, one look at the woman in black gave him more courage than he’d ever felt in his entire life. “Let me grab my things, and we will set off with haste.”

“Well thawt was easier than me thought’d be, boys!” the dwarf exclaimed.

Everyone looked pleased to leave, besides the woman in black, who looked physically enraged at the rest of the party.

…

After a week of traveling together, planning the recovery of the book, and sharing their nights around a fire, Giaron had never been happier. It took barely a single night to adjust to life outside the monastic library. Hearing wild stories from these adventurers, laughing deeply over pints of ale, sharing memories while enjoying a pipe around the campfire… These were already the greatest days of the Monk’s life.

He had begun acting completely and utterly non-Monk like, boasting of his achievements, telling tales of pranks he’d performed when he was just an underling at the monastery, anything he could possibly do to impress or bond with Ellesia, the woman he had learned to be the thief in the party. Hired for her skullduggery, pensiveness, and quick thinking in a pinch, she was always brooding and the least talkative of the bunch. Giaron had brought a smirk to her face once or twice, and it was in those moments he knew that he would, in a heartbeat, leave the monastic lifestyle behind forever if he could only hold her hand for a single minute.

These happy times were quickly brought to an end when they reached the ruins that supposedly held the ancient tome they were searching for. The ruinous old castle was deep in an old forest on the edge of civilization, which Giaron had been embarrassed he hadn’t heard of before. Ellesia scouted the perimeter and deemed it clear of foes, so they breached the walls of the ruins and found something very odd indeed.

The castle was completely hollow, as if it had been built only to shield another structure within. It was a rectangular building topped with a golden bird. It was extremely dilapidated, yet still seemed sturdy enough to enter. The dwarf tried to open the glass door, but it was locked. As Ellesia walked forward to pick the lock, the dwarf foolishly used his hammer to shatter the glass.

An otherworldly ringing began echoing between the castle walls, causing Giaron to fall to his knees whilst covering his ears. The elf chided the dwarf, but it didn’t matter, as a gray, headless beast marched out of the ancient structure, crunching through the broken glass as it approached. Everyone’s weapons were drawn, waiting to see what would happen. In an instant, the beast dove towards the dwarf, and obliterated his face with fast repeating kicks from its front legs.

Calben, the tall redheaded warrior, swung his greatsword down towards the beast, but it reacted with such speed that he split the dwarf in twain as it jumped away. The beast was already diving towards Calben, but was stopped in midair, trapped within a translucent green bubble. Siperion, the Elf Mage, was in a battle stance, holding his hands in a circular shape. “Go, enter the ruins at once, I shall hold the beast for as long as the stars allow,” the elf blurted out.

Before he could realize what was happening, Ellesia grabbed the Monk by his chest and pulled him into the building. He, the thief, and Calben the warrior stood in awe in the middle of this ruin, looking at an architecture they couldn’t comprehend. Gaudy colors, ancient texts, large monoliths, and more outlandish things filled the room. The Monk could have explored for hours, but there was no time. They ran into a dark room filled with silver, and towards the back, found a staircase. Nearly twenty skeletons lined their way down the staircase, which had a door at the bottom they were leaned up against.

There was no time to waste, they crunched through the bones on their way down the steps, and Ellesia quickly picked the lock. When the door opened, an unimaginable, beautiful light poured out onto the steps. There was music, there was the smell of foods that the Monk could never and would never understand. And then, he felt a slam on the back of his head that sent him into a painful darkness.

…

The monk awoke outside, next to Siperion the elf. It was closer to night, and when he went to ask the elf what was going on, he found his head had exploded into a beefy pudding. The Monk screamed and stood to his feet, and saw nothing and nobody around. He felt the back of his head, which was both throbbing and stinging. The blaring siren was still sounding, which wasn’t helping his head at all.

Something shone towards the top of the ruined castle walls, he looked up and saw Ellesia was perched at the top, an arrow knocked and pointed down at the rectangular building they had entered. She had got his attention by shining the setting sun from her arrow tip into his eye, and pointed harshly at the exit. He didn’t need to think twice, and bolted towards the castle door.

An arrow landed right in front of his path, and he looked up at her, wondering what was going on. Just seeing her up there, doing what she did with such excellence, brought warm feelings over him. She shot another arrow near where had awoken, and laying next to the elf’s corpse was a giant leatherbound book. He ran to it, hoisted into his arms, and began making his way to the gate.

Just before the Monk made it to the exit, he heard a loud cry, and quickly turned his vision back to the building. Calben, the warrior who had survived more battles and wars than could be counted (or believed) stepped out, both arms ripped off just below the shoulders. The warrior's face was contorted beyond recognition, a mix of pain and fear that made the Monk wince.

“Calben, are you alrigh-” just as the monk had begun to ask, the headless gray beast burst through Calben’s chest, creating a giant hole. Calben fell to the ground, but before the Monk could react, he saw the beast running towards him at full speed. No horse, no falcon, nothing had ever come close to as fast as this beast. The Monk turned, screaming, but heard Ellesia scream. Arrows began shooting at the beast, clanking off of its hard body without doing the slightest bit of damage. The beast turned away from the Monk and began running towards Ellesia. “NO, PLEASE!!” Giaron yelled, a deep agony growing within his heart.

But when the beast made it to the wall, it could not scale it. The beast just stood facing her. The relief the Monk felt was liquid gold. However, the feeling was short-lived as the beast began to change. Its back opened as if it were doors, and a black iron cylinder arose from within. It pointed towards Ellesia, and the Monk screamed bloody murder. She was loosing arrows at it, pointlessly. “Run, Giaron, run for your life!” The beautiful thief yelled.

“I LOVE YOU ELLESIA, I LOVE YOU SO-” the Monk’s world was turned upside down as thousands of black spheres shot from the beast’s back up towards Ellesia, with extremely loud pops.

He watched her become a cloud of red mist, and felt the world pulled out from under him. The Monk’s stomach was a whirlpool in the ocean, a stormy night, a plague upon the earth. In spite of his agony, Giaron stumbled towards the exit, clutching the book under his arm, and sobbing uncontrollably. As soon as he passed the threshold, the popping noises ceased, and the beast ran to the exit. It tilted its headless body curiously at him, and then turned back towards the rectangular structure.

…

The Monk’s sorrow felt no end. His life had been completely changed; twice in a number of weeks. He had found true friends, who showed him life outside the monastery was where he belonged. He felt the burning hot desire of love. And just like that, it was all gone, and he was at his wits end, slogging through a muddy path in a worsening storm. He had been traveling back towards civilization for weeks. The book had an intricate locking system on it, so he hadn’t even been able to accomplish the single task he was hired to do.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the sky, and he saw that the weird shape was in fact an enormous colony of bats. As soon as the thunder subsided, he could hear them shrieking. The shrieks almost sounded like they were screaming “Giaron.”

Before he could react, they began diving for him and trying to bite through his thick cloak. When the bats realized they couldn’t get through the canvas, they sneered and began going for his hands and face. The Monk screamed and thrashed, tucking himself into a ball in the mud. The bats flew up into the air, paused, and then dive bombed him all at once. If he had to guess, there must have been thirty thousand bats in the colony.

They slammed into his ribs like a high pressure waterfall, each bat immediately going back to the sky to come back for another pass, like an endless fountain of wing-ed pain. Through his screams, Giaron saw a stick on the ground and reached for it. Just before he grabbed it, the stick turned out to be a snake, hissing and jutted its fangs out and into his hand.

The Monk couldn’t scream anymore, he was beginning to lose his mind. The bats weren’t doing enough damage to kill him, but they had the strength to keep him on the ground and in perpetual pain. A couple of the more hateful bats would walk over and bite at his eyes and nose before they flew back up into the sky. Giaron just stared at the bats as they smiled at him with evil intentions, flapping their wings in a taunting way, as if they were dancing.

Then Giaron heard a thud. Yelling. More thuds. Screeching. Then he watched chopped bats start falling around him. Within seconds, it was over, and the bats flew off in a fury. Giaron was too disturbed and physically hurt to even care what had changed. A hand gripped his shoulder, and pulled him to his feet. He never, not even for a second, loosened his grip on the book.

“Evening, stranger. Now that was bad luck, that was! What in the devil is a Monk of the Father doing on a muddy road on a dark and rainy night such as this!?” said a cloaked man.

To Giaron, he looked strong, and sturdy. A mercenary, most likely. “Thank you kind str-”

“No time for that Monk, we need to get you to the inn,” the stranger said, hoisting the Monk up on his shoulders.

…

Giaron couldn’t believe what he was experiencing. He was warm. He had a pewter mug of hot cider in his hand. He had been bathed, and he was sat beside a roaring fire. His belly was full of shark pot pie. His fortune had completely changed within an hour. The book was safe. He was safe.

The Monk regaled the bar with tales of his journey, the gray headless beast, the book, all of it. Everyone cheered, hooted and hollered as they bought him drinks and enjoyed their evening. They cried with him as he spoke of Ellesia, and her sacrifice to save his life. The room was pure warmth, he had never felt such a feeling as telling his story to such a captivated audience.

“What’s in the book, Giaron?” someone in the crowd asked.

Giaron took a huge gulp of cider, let out an un-Monk-like burp, and answered, “Why, I do not know, for the tome is locked. I dare not break it, for it was Ellesia’s last quest. I cannot disrespect her memory by ruining the treasure.”

“I can open that for you, Monk,” a small gnome said from a makeshift stool to accommodate his short stature.

Giaron inspected him, and found the gnome was the definition of a tinker. Apron, tool belt, thick, tinted spectacles. The Monk smiled. “You know what, why not? Why not end this tale with the greatest reveal of all. The actual text!”

The gnome hopped to the ground and walked over, patiently waiting for Giaron to place the book before him. Giaron realized he needed to take it off the table and brought it down before him, placing it gingerly. The gnome immediately placed his ear to the book, removed a small hooked rod from his belt, and began to twist it inside the lock. Every once in a while, he’d place his ear to the lock, eyes closed, his face pure focus.

The entire bar had gone as silent as a grave. The bartender was no longer working. The fire had even quieted down, its wild crackling dissipating into tiny clicks. All eyes were on the gnomish tinker. Click.

The book opened. The Monk picked it up and placed it on the table. The room started to clap and then went silent again. The bartender brought a pint of sweetened mead to the gnome who had joined the crowd of silent watchers.

Giarons eyes scanned as he flipped pages. “No words yet,” he thought.

Every page were drawings, drawings of things that the Monk could barely comprehend. Horseless coaches, lost coins, men screaming into the skies. What could it all mean?

He eventually came unto his purpose, the reason he was hired. A page in the middle of the large tome was filled with the Old Tongue. The Language of Before. To him it was immediately clear. The patrons had completely encircled Giaron, looking over his shoulders, mystified with what the text could be.

Giaron’s lips began to quiver. Sweat formed on his brow. He was wordlessly mouthing something. Over and over. “Well what is it??” The barkeep roared.

Giaron closed his eyes, and let out a deep sigh. “Life,” he paused, “Life… is Misery.”

A huge explosion came from the front of the bar as the door was kicked down. Eight impeccably dressed knights entered and surrounded Giaron, pointing their halberds directly at his head. Slow, sharp footsteps resounded through the bar until a lord in a brown silken robe walked into the room. As soon as he looked towards Giaron, the fire exploded into a green flame, and it sounded as if screams of “Please” had joined the crackling wood.

“Well, well, well. It looks like the little Monk decided to crack open my book… Not good, frankly this isn’t good at all. Not for anyone, definitely not for anyone in this joint. Unfortunately for you, little Monk, you were not hired in good faith. No, no faith at all in fact. The group I hired to retrieve this book for me was not meant to ever see inside, no, never peek, not even a glance. It was meant to be brought straight to me, but clearly, they had other intentions. And looking around this little inn, and looking at you, I see that they didn’t make it, they couldn’t hack it. Only you, the little Monk, made it out of that rat’s nest. What does this mean? Well, the secret knowledge of that tome may not seem very important, but, inside of your minds, something was just unlocked. And to be honest, all of you in this place can’t handle this truth, whether you feel you can or not. Bad luck, misfortune, whatever you want to call it. You’re done. All of yah. So little Monk, I hope you enjoyed your little journey, but this isn’t the end, no, not the end at all. Good luck,” the man in the brown silk robe exclaimed.

He touched the monk on the head, and everything went white. The monk rubbed his eyes, and when he opened them, it took a moment to adjust to what he was seeing. He was looking at a rectangular building with a golden bird on top. He got out of his car, and walked through the glass doors. He went behind the counter, and was grateful it wasn’t too busy inside.

As he entered the stainless steel kitchen, he threw on an apron and immediately began flipping some hamburger patties. “How is it today, Chuck?”

“Ah, not too bad Gerome, not too bad at all. It's still miserable, though,” Chuck said, heading to the basement to retrieve a box of patties.

Gerome laughed, and replied, “Well Chuck, everyone knows that life is misery.”