The Chimera is a both a well known and feared creature. Its origins are as heavily debated as its characteristics, as not many people have survived to tell the tale. Its affinities differ greatly between each specimen, making it an unpredictable enemy to face.

Consisting of up to five different creatures, the Chimera makes for a truly absurd sight. With the main body of a large canine, its tail tends to be either a scorpion’s stinger or the head of a snake. On its back however is where the Chimera shows the greatest variety.

Everything ranging from an incredibly large head of a mice to that of an eagle have been documented. It is not known what brings these change in each individual, but what we do know is that each head is able to think and act independently.

From Bestiary of Ceraviehl, written by Acadia Boucher

Nothing disturbed the eerie silence of the woods. No birds were chirping, no rabbits hopping around. Like a lone wanderer, the wind searched its way through the trees, the branches swaying ever so softly in its caress.

Located to the side of the mountain range separating Ceraviehl from The Steppes, the woods very rarely saw any human visitors. After all, nobody wanted to accidentally stumble across a Chimera that just so happened to take a stroll through the forest.

The woods near the mountain range were dangerous.

Not because of the forest itself, but rather due to the mountain range towering above it. Various tales and rumors were spun about it. One such tale spoke of an adventurer who encountered a tribe of Endru, their avian forms soaring high in the mountains.

But whether it’s a tale or not, there was one thing that everybody agreed on.

The mountain range was not uninhabited. Nobody had ever ventured deep into the mountains, and those who did never came back. Henceforth, people steered clear of the forest near the feet of the mountains.

Most people, anyway.

A man and a boy stalked silently through the forest, their dark-green cloaks making them blend in with their environment. Not a stick was broken under their feet, not a branch was bend in their path. Suddenly the man stopped, pointing at something at the ground in front of him.

The boy understood the unsaid question and went down on his knee to inspect the tracks. Head tilted slightly to the side, the boy studied the markings. Dozens of small prints littered the ground.

Each footprint seemed to have made three small holes in the earth, two at the front and one at the back. Judging by the freshness of the tracks, the beasts had passed through recently.

Standing up, the boy spoke, his gaze focused on the ground. His voice was barely audible.

“Derots.”

The man nodded silently. Holding an elegant, but simple bow in his hand, the old man followed the trail. The boy tailed him, eyes darting from one side to the other.

They had left the cabin just after sunrise. Equipped with both bow and spear, master and apprentice went out to hunt. Now they followed the trail of a pack of Derots, the same creatures Tom had told the boy to avoid just a few weeks prior.

Derots were fast and ruthless predators. Their long claws and lithe bodies made them a serious threat for many inhabitants of the forest. Especially so in numbers.

Weaving their way through the dense woods, the two continued their silent walk. A while later Tom stopped again and turned toward Silas. Face impassive as ever, his master tapped his ear.

A low, but sharp hiss entered Silas’ ear.

The sound of something sharp repeatedly scratching against wood soon accompanied the hissing. Tom’s voice was soft and calm as he spoke.

“Ahead of us lays the pack. It’s a small one, probably around five strong. We are each going to take one shot before switching over to the spear. Don’t let them get near to you, or things can get nasty quickly.”

Nodding, Silas took a deep breath to calm his nerves. The sounds were getting louder with each step. Hidden behind a thick bush, they observed their prey. Ahead of them, three Derots stood around a dead rabbit. Sharp teeth ripped out huge chunks of the unfortunate rodent.

A fourth one raked its claws against a nearby tree, it’s long snout still red with blood. It was slightly larger than the rest and had matt black fur instead of dark green, like the others.

Pointed ears twitched as it sharpened its claws.

While Silas had heard of Derots before, he had never actually seen one. Or a whole pack. Despite them being rather small, the boy felt apprehensive about fighting these beasts. He shuddered.

A movement from his left caught his attention. Tom first pointed to the larger Derot sharpening its claws, then to himself. Nodding, Silas chose one of the smaller Derots near him.

Almost in perfect sync, master and apprentice nocked an arrow each.

Focusing completely on his target, Silas drew the bow. With the weapon in his hands and the Derot in his sight, all of the earlier anxiety dissipated. After drawing the bow as far as he could Silas exhaled and let go of the string.

Silas’ arm vibrated as he watched the arrow fly toward the Derot.

It struck the unsuspecting four-legged creature straight in the chest, causing it to stumble. Opening its mouth in a silent screech, it collapsed after a few heartbeats.

Looking to his left, Silas saw how Tom’s arrow had firmly pinned the creature against the tree. Limbs growing slack, the creature was dead in an instant.

Both arrows had hit their respective targets almost simultaneously. The remaining two Derots locked their gazes on Silas, fletching their long teeth. Hind legs catapulting them forward, he dropped the bow and grabbed his spear.

Silas took a step back to stand beside Tom. Glancing to his left, he did a double-take as he looked at the empty spot beside him.

Tom was gone.

Hands clenching on the spear, Silas watched the two Derots approach him. Where was his master? There was no way he could fight two Derots all by himself. Silas knew there was no way he could outrun the nimble creatures. He had to fight them.

A shaky whimper escaped his throat as he saw a third Derot emerging from a bush far to his right. The two Derots in front of him were almost upon him by now. Reaching out with his magical sense, Silas connected his Inner Landscape with the weapon in his sweaty hands.

Gnarly stood on his shoulder, its amber eyes completely focused on the incoming creatures. With only a couple of feet between them, the faster Derot suddenly jumped and lunged itself toward Silas.

A heartbeat passed as Silas locked gazes with the creature.

Arms moving of their own accord, his spear struck to meet the creature midway. The Derot impaled itself on his spear, the weapon piercing it deep in the lower chest. Snarling viciously, its forelegs reached toward Silas, claws glinting in the midday sun.

With every moment, its body pushed itself further onto the spear in his hands. Dark blood flowed along the shaft of the weapon, coating his hands.

Silas barely registered the second Derot lunging at him.

He tried to swing the spear around and stop the incoming creature. But with the first Derot still impaled on his weapon, it was simply too heavy. Forgoing any semblance of control, Silas desperately pushed energy along the connection and into his spear.

The previously heavy spear abruptly jolted to the right, slashing at the Derot in mid-air with surprising speed. Sweat and blood coated his hands, making his grip on the spear slippery. The sudden movement of the weapon caused his hands to slide forward along the shaft, if only a few inches.

But a few inches were enough.

Sharp claws ripped at his hands. Silas screamed in pain. He almost lost control of his weapon as the impaled Derot collided with the one jumping at him. As if it weighed nothing at all, the lunging Derot got bashed away. A sharp crack could be heard as the creature crashed into a nearby tree.

Looking down, Silas saw that the collision had killed the creature still impaled on his spear. Its neck twisted at a weird angle, the Derot hung lifeless on his weapon. Silas groaned with pain as he gripped the spear with his bloody hands and pushed the creature off his weapon.

His breathing was labored and the spear trembled in his hands, but Silas could not afford to slow down now. The third Derot, the one coming from his right, had already jumped at him.

With the creature so near him, using the spear to block was not an option anymore. Letting the weapon go, Silas shielded his face with his arms.

Biting pain went through him as the Derot’s claws slashed at his arms. His clothing was ripped open effortlessly, the creature’s sharp claws ripping through tunic and skin alike. Silas instinctively stumbled back, desperately trying to put as much distance as possible between him and the creature.

The heel of his right foot tripped on a root, and he lost his balance.

It was at this precise moment that Silas truly feared death. He saw the creature holding onto his arms as he fell, spittle flying from its mouth. Its hindlegs slashed repeatedly at his chest while it bit into his arm. Silas’ eyes watered as the bones cracked.

Suddenly a wooden spike from his right shoulder shot forward, hitting the creature in the head. A not-so fierce creak accompanied the wooden spike. While not piercing its skull, the attack was still enough to momentarily daze the Derot now lying on top of him. Silas realized the wooden spike came from Gnarly, trying to help him.

Frantically, he thought of any way to escape the situation. His spear lay a few feet away from him. It was so close, yet he knew he would never be able to reach it before the creature woke from its daze. Desperation gripped his heart and stopped the breath in his lungs. Silas froze, unable to move.

Fear.

Once more, it was his fear that overwhelmed him. His parents had died because he had been too afraid to defend them. And now, Gnarly would share the same fate as they did. All of it because he was too afraid.

Silas screamed.

Yet his was not a scream of pain. Neither was it one of fear or surprise. The scream was born by pure, unadulterated rage.

Rage at his inability to protect those around him. Rage directed at the world, for making him suffer. Rage directed at Tom, for abandoning him.

Like a fire spreading through him, the rage extinguished the fear that froze his body. Mouth twisted into a snarl, Silas stared at the Derot on top of him. The connection with the spear was still intact, the weapon lying a few feet away from him. The tip pointed in his direction.

Reaching out to Gnarly, Silas forced as much energy into the spear as he could before commanding it to strike at the Derot. He felt how the power in his Inner Landscape was almost drained, but he kept infusing the spear with energy regardless.

With both Gnarly’s and Silas’ energy infusing the spear, the weapon shot forth like the bolt of a crossbow.

The creature barely managed to react before the spear reached it. The force of it was so great the spear destroyed the creature’s neck, almost separating the head from its shoulders.

Blood gushed out of the lethal wound and onto Silas’ chest.

The Derot collapsed, dead in a heartbeat. Rolling to the side, Silas pushed the creature off him. The mangled corpse was mere inches from his face.

A few pieces of skin were all that kept the head connected to the rest of its body. Silas vomited, his puke coating the still-bleeding creature lying in front of him.

Silas tried to stand up, his legs shaking. He grimaced as he looked down at his arms. The bone could be seen in various parts. Blood kept flowing down, collecting on his fingertips before falling on the wet earth.

The adrenaline was starting to wear off, giving way to an intense pain that kept getting worse with each heartbeat. Silas groaned, trying to stay conscious.

He knew he had to bandage his arms, but with both of them in the state they currently were he doubted he would manage before passing out from the pain. His shoulders slumped. Gnarly tried to comfort him, but no amount of ear-patting could help him in his current situation.

“To be honest, that went better than I expected,” a voice came from above.

Silas raised his head. Face serene, his master calmly floated down. As if nothing had happened, the old man looked at the swaying boy. Clenching his fists, Silas’ eyes bulged out of their sockets.

“I almost died! Where were you when the Derots attacked me?” he shouted.

Seemingly unperturbed by Silas’ screaming, Tom cocked his head.

“Oh me? I was up in that tree, watching you,” he said, gesturing to a rather large tree above them.

Silas’ arms shook as he tried to contain his rage.

“Why didn’t you help me?” he screamed.

“That is a good question, my young apprentice. However, I think we should head back to the cabin before answering that one. You look a bit unsteady on your feet, are you feeling alright?”

That did it for Silas. The pain in his arms was almost unbearable at this point, his vision swam, and now his master stood there asking him if he was alright?

Pulling all his remaining energy from his Inner Landscape and pushing it into the spear lying a few feet away, Silas commanded it to shoot toward the old man.

His wrinkled face did not change one bit as he saw the weapon approaching. Instead of piercing him in the chest the spear did a graceful arc around him before settled itself on his back.

“Of course I will take the spear for you, since you so kindly asked,” the old man said. “Now, you might want to sit down before”

But Silas could not hear him anymore. For the third time since meeting his master, he lost consciousness.

Dozens of leaves rose from the ground, cushioning Silas’ fall. In an instant, the leaves formed a somehow solid bed under him. With the unconscious boy on top, the bed floated toward Tom.

“Creak creak creak!” came from somewhere between the leaves.

“Don’t you worry Gnarly, I’m healing him already. It’s not half as bad as it looks.”

Muscles started to knit themselves back together, the various lacerations on his arms contracted as if pulled by an unseen string. The bleeding soon stopped.

“You see? He’ll be as good as new in a day or two. Besides, I think he learned a lot during that fight,” Tom commented to Gnarly, who emerged from the bed of leaves.

The wooden creatures crossed its arms, scrunching its brows together as it looked at Tom.

“Creak!”

“I could have intervened during any moment, he was never in any serious danger,” Tom assured Gnarly.

The wooden creature gestured to the unconscious Silas.

“Creeaak!”

Tom sighed. “Okay, I admit I may have been a bit hard on him.”

The two of them spend a few minutes in silence, the bed of leaves floating smoothly alongside the old man as he walked. After a while, Tom turned his head to glance at Gnarly.

“What do you think, when is he going to make his first empowered shot?”

Gnarly looked at the sleeping form of Silas beside him. Putting one wooden hand on his head, it spoke, or rather creaked, with confidence.

“Creak.”

Tom’s eyebrows shot up. “You think so? I have to admit, I’m curious to see when he’ll get the hang of it.”

The two continued their conversation while making their journey back to the cabin. It must have made for a bewildering sight. A tall, old man dressed in a dark-green robe with a floating bed of leaves beside him and an unconscious boy on top of it.

All the while talking to a little wooden creature as if it was nothing unusual at all. If anyone would be able to see them, they would surely be more than a bit perplexed.

Not that anybody would even be able to sneak up on the old man living in his cabin, of course.