The Tales of Minz series is narrated and edited by fictional characters. This short story is set in their whimsical world. Learn more about the series here.
Many creatures great and small, magical and otherwise, call Minz home. It’s a wide, wide world, and so far, we’ve only just begun to scratch the surface of the stories told within its lands with these Tales of Minz. Like the ocean deep, there’s much hidden beneath the surface, waiting to be revealed—if only there is a storyteller willing to bring such tales to light.
—Barnabas E. Wooldridge
Editor in Chief of the Tales of Minz
As a storyteller, I’m ashamed to say that I have done a rather abysmal job representing the full breadth of magical and whimsical wonder found in our world. My Tales of Minz have focused on humans. Oh sure, I’ve mentioned other races and creatures from time to time, but they’ve been primarily anecdotal—with the exception of Vendradooks.
(By the time you read this short story, this confession might be inaccurate. But as I write this in the month of Coland in 1725 of the Third Age, it’s true.)
I’d like to begin rectifying this grievous oversight. Minz would not be the world it is without its diverse inhabitants. And their stories deserve to be told too. If they are not, rumors and whispers of rumors, tall tales, myths, fables, and fairy tales are told instead.
And such storytelling devices often misrepresent their subject matter. They have a bias—an agenda against such creatures and beings. To make protagonists appear more heroic, they must vilify antagonists whose only crime is that they are not the hero of the story.
Witches become wicked. Trolls hide under bridges to leap out and murder passersby. Wolves eat grandmothers. And giants go on rampages throughout the countryside. On and on it goes, until we begin to believe such lies as truth.
Come closer, Dear Reader. Let me tell you another kind of story—one that is fact, not fiction. I have no bias, no agenda beyond telling the truth as best I can…
Rogonds are sometimes mistaken for giants by the common folk, but they are not. Calling a Rogond a giant would be like calling a fly a flea. The vast difference in size between the two is honestly staggering. Adult Rogonds tower over giants by at least fifteen to twenty feet—imagine how much they would tower over you and me. (Unless, of course, you’re a Rogond. Then you might just be eye-level with your kin.)
Despite their enormous height and fearsome appearances, Rogonds are not normally intentionally hostile to the common folk. Indeed, they give little regard for the mortal world far beneath their feet. In the same way that you might not think much of the civilizations of ants, insects, and bugs far beneath your feet, Rogonds simply ignore the goings on of other species.
That is, unless they’re given a reason to pay attention. Unless they’re provoked. Or, perhaps, unless a Rogond happened to be a naturally curious individual, interested in the goings on of the world far beneath their feet. A Rogond such as the protagonist of our short story.
The Rogondian culture is simply fascinating. In preparation for telling this tale, I read every book I could find on them in the Library of Reldare. I had to sift through all of the conjecture and wild theories to find the truth, but what I discovered was incredible.
Did you know that Rogonds have their own language and that when they speak, it sounds like thunder to you and me? Did you also know that they roam the wilds, traveling through the high country and mountains, and make their homes among the crags and peaks of the Broken Mountains? Did you know that when a Rogondian child is born, they are named after some aspect of the natural world—like the sky, sun, moon, and stars?
Our protagonist was named Sky by her parents, Cliff and Cloud. Of course, in the Rogondian language, her name sounded like the roll of thunder in the sky. I’ve transliterated it into the common tongue for the purposes of this story.
Sky had a rather unremarkable childhood for a Rogond. For one thing, she and her family didn’t get hunted down and attacked by brave, questing knights in the name of honor and glory. That awful experience was unfortunately rather common for many Rogonds. Attacked for no other reason than that they existed. Justified because they were frightening to common folk. Is that right? Of course not, but fear does strange things to people.
Thankfully, that wasn’t Sky’s experience growing up. She and her parents lived high in the Broken Mountains where it was safe—far too high for anyone other than a Rogond to climb. (Breathing at higher altitudes was problematic for smaller beings who didn’t possess the same lung capacity as a Rogond.)
It was a rather secluded life, and it was the only one Sky ever knew.
But that didn’t mean Sky didn’t dream of something more. She did. She dreamed of traveling throughout the world of Minz and seeing its many wonders for herself. She heard plenty from other Rogonds who braved venturing beyond the Broken Mountains. In their rumbling, thunder-like language, many spoke of beautiful landscapes and oceans. Vast forests and icy tundras, rolling hills, and vast mountain ranges.
(Of course, for Rogonds, many of those sights were smaller than they are for you and me, but that made them no less impressive. A tree is bigger than a flower, but we do not call a flower any less beautiful for its lack of size.)
Other Rogonds who left the mountains brought back word of dangers throughout the land—the ones who returned, that is. Not all of those who left came back.
To call a Rogond unaware of the goings on of the smaller folk, who had the audacity to claim the land as their own, would be unwise and untrue. They noticed. They knew much of the activities of the inhabitants of Minz, much in the same way that if you sit and watch a colony of ants for long enough, you start to see the patterns they live and die by. You understand their drive—even if you yourself aren’t about to go off in search of crumbs from picnic lunches.
For Rogonds, they knew of the wars, the brutal killing and fighting between the smaller folk. They watched it as a cyclical pattern over and over again throughout the Ages. Rogonds once went to war too. Back when the world was still young, near the Dawning of the First Age. But their battles shook the land to its foundations and rent it asunder. From then on, Rogonds knew that they had to find another way. They had to find a way to keep the peace between them and their fellow Rogonds. If not for their own survival, then for that of their world. And they did. They found peace. But that’s a story for another time.
This is Sky’s story. It has nothing to do with war and violence and bloodshed. It has everything to do with wonder and excitement and adventure.
One day, when Sky and her parents were tending to their garden on the highest peak of the mountain range they called home, Sky made a rather important announcement.
“Mom, Dad, I’m going on an adventure.”
It wasn’t a lengthy announcement. Just seven words. And yet, even though Sky had practiced them for hours in her reflection cast by the icy lake deep in the mountain range, they were some of the hardest words she had ever said. Why? Well, Sky’s parents were homebodies. Cliff and Cloud preferred quiet moments over excitement. They never left the mountain range, even though the vast world of Minz lay before them. Sky didn’t want that. She wanted to see the world. She wanted to be free like the birds in her namesake overhead. But Sky didn’t know how her parents would react to her greatest wish.
They took it surprisingly well.
“An adventure?” Cliff rumbled and scratched his mustache. One of the bristles from his mustache fell and snapped an evergreen in half with its impact. Cliff paid it no mind. “I’ve never been on one of those myself. Too much unknown and uncertainty in my opinion. How about you, Cloud?”
“Hmm? Oh, I suppose I went on one when I was younger.” Sky’s mother replied airily, still focused on weeding the garden. “Watch what you’re doing, dear, you just broke a tree.”
“Sorry.”
“Wait.” Sky wasn’t going to let Cloud’s comment pass by. “You’ve been on an adventure, Mom?”
“Oh, sure, sweetie. My father was one of the great chieftains of our clan. Grandpa Volcano would have thrown a fit if his daughter didn’t bring honor to our family by proving myself on an adventure. So I went off and fought in the Giant Wars. Have I never told you this before? I’m sure I must have.”
“I think I’d remember if you had,” Sky said faintly, trying to picture her mom—kind, smiling, and caring—going to war and fighting giants. Then she shook her head. “But nevermind that now. I don’t want to go to war. I want to go on an adventure.”
“All right then. What sort of adventure do you want to go on?” Cliff shooed some birds off the vegetables, scattering them to the winds in a flock of feathers.
“First, I want to see the ocean,” Sky said immediately. “Old Peak tells stories about when he saw it years and years ago. It sounds beautiful. Then… Well, I don’t know what I want to do next.”
“You should go, sweetie.” Cloud smiled at her daughter, and Cliff nodded in agreement.
This was all going very calmly and reasonably. Sky didn’t expect this at all. She had thought she’d need to convince her parents that she should be allowed to go on adventure. And here they were… encouraging her?
“Um… Okay, then, I will.” Sky was confused. “Aren’t you going to tell me it’s dangerous and that I shouldn’t go?”
Her parents just stared at her. Somehow, they looked even more confused than Sky. Then, her dad scratched the back of his head and said, “Er, it’s probably dangerous, but I don’t think that should keep you from going. Just travel at night while the little folk are sleeping.” Cliff turned to his wife. “Right, dear?”
“Right.” Cloud cupped Sky’s face in her hands. “Sweetie, if you go to see the ocean, it might be dangerous, but that shouldn’t stop you. Nor should we. What kind of parents would we be if we stopped you from doing this thing? You’re eighteen hundred years old. We can’t keep you in this mountain range forever, you know. It’s high time you go and experience life beyond this place. Go see the ocean. Go on as many adventures as you need to. Just know that you’ll always have a home to come back to.”
(Perhaps you’ve already picked up on this, Dear Reader, but Rogonds have extremely long lifespans. Time doesn’t work differently for them, they just experience it at a different speed than we do. But what do you expect? They’re bigger than us, so it makes sense that time affects them differently.)
Sky hugged both her parents tightly with tears brimming. “I love you both,” she whispered. She didn’t know what else to say, so she just hugged them. And that might have been the best response her mom and dad could have ever hoped to receive.
Not long after that, Sky set out on her adventure to see the ocean. She packed her knapsack with snacks—okay, her mom packed those—and she took a long walking stick in hand (her dad fashioned it from the tallest tree on the mountain that had withered and bore no fruit for several winters). Sky made the arduous trek down from the highest peak of the mountain range, knowing that her parents watched her the whole way down and that they would be watching and waiting for her safe return.
Some stories, Dear Reader, are all about the protagonist’s journey. Their efforts to reach the final destination is the adventure. That, and the friends they meet along the way. The final destination almost becomes an obligatory afterthought.
However, even though the mountain range she called home was many, many miles away from the ocean, Sky was a Rogond. What would have taken a regular-sized person months took her a few days at most. And she didn’t meet anyone either—Rogond, little folk, or otherwise. She faced no dangers or threats to her health and safety. Being well over five stories tall helped. (She also traveled at night like her dad suggested, which really limited the number of people out and about.)
So no, Sky’s story and adventure didn’t have much at all to do with the journey to her final destination. It had everything to do with what she saw when she finally got to the ocean, sat down on its sand shore, and beheld it in the pre-dawn, morning light. She saw a vast, endless expanse of blue-green water, as far as Sky could see. And as a Rogond, she saw pretty far. Waves crashed, and gulls cried in the cool, ocean breeze. And Sky felt something she had never experienced before. She felt small.
As Sky sat there, staring out at the ocean, she thought deeply about that feeling. She didn’t think it was a feeling of insignificance, as small sometimes means. Rather, it was a feeling of appreciation for the vastness of the world she lived in. Sky felt small and the world felt large, and that was a good thing. It meant there was so much more of it to see and experience. So much more of it to consider and study and learn from.
Sky also thought deeply about words and how they took on various meanings for those who used them, based on experiences and worldviews.
Her dad didn’t want to go on an adventure because he considered the unknown to be uncertain, unpredictable, and perhaps even dangerous and terrifying. Her mom didn’t want to go on an adventure because she had already gone on what she thought was an adventure, when it was really just a violent and bloody quest of conquest through the land.
When Sky thought of adventure, she thought of something else entirely. The unknown didn’t frighten her, it excited her. Because who knew what would be just around the next mountain range? Adventure wasn’t about violence and bloodshed to her. It was about wonder and discovery.
What would be around the next mountain range? Sky didn’t know. But as she sat there on the sandy shore watching the sunrise over the ocean, she couldn’t wait to find out. Because that was all part of the adventure.
“Beautiful,” Sky whispered, and she wasn’t just talking about the sunrise over the ocean.
What else shall I write about Sky the Rogond who left her home to see the ocean? Perhaps this, the first of her many, many adventures, is enough.
For now.
