Wing-Wang-Wo

by Kislath Kadendaar.


Ingalf was worried.

Up until now, the trip had been uneventful, but exciting and filled with anticipation, as he and the rest of his merry band of hooligan tomb robbers made their way to the mysterious village of Weyaark. His uncle had steered them to the place, as Ingalf had never heard of it, and indeed couldn't find anyone else who ever had.

He figured that it must just be some tiny little place hardly noticeable, despite the role it had apparently once played in the history of his homeland. That some tiny little village of radish farmers had once beaten an entire legion of Skyrim's finest soldiers was hard enough to believe, but that it had fallen into total obscurity afterward was stranger still. Nonetheless, the old book his uncle had found told the story of how the soldiers had been initially very successful in their raid of Weyaark, and how they were able to capture every single child in the village, thirty-six in all, and carry them over the Jerall Mountains as slaves. Weyaark had always been considered invincible, and for many decades after it's initial discovery all the elder war chiefs forbade anyone from ever trying to attack it, although they never, ever, said why. Nonetheless, young, bored soldiers and a new batch of war chiefs eventually gave in to the temptation, and they were happy to see that things went very smoothly.


The book then told of the ambush the surviving Weyaarkers had lying in wait for them at the bottom of the other side of the mountains, although the details were sparse. Apparently some great hero known only as Wing-Wang-Wo had led the Weyaarkers around the mountains in less time than it took the accomplished mountaineers to climb them, even though this was considered patently impossible, since the forest was impassable, and this was, in point of fact, the very reason the attack on Weyaark was executed by going over the mountains. It was well known, after all, that the flatlanders would never be able to give chase over the mighty rocks, giving the Nords the ultimate advantage.


One thing the book did mention was how this ragtag band of flatlanders and their champion did lay utter waste to everything for many miles around the battlefield, leaving the once mighty Nords licking their wounds.


Upon finally arriving in Weyaark, Ingalf found it to be pretty much as it was described in the ancient text, comprised of some dozen mud & straw huts and some meager crops. He wasn't certain what to make of this, and thought it odd that a village could remain relatively unchanged for centuries. The possible explanations for this raced through his mind, and unsettled him greatly. Still, he was glad to have finally found the place, and found it to be full of weaklings who would offer no trouble when he and his cohorts set about their task.


Their task? The book mentioned how this Wing-Wang-Wo had seized everything of value from the Nords, and that the haul of loot was huge. Ingalf surmised that some of this loot may still remain in the tomb of this hero, and he aimed to help himself to it, and may the gods have mercy on anyone who stood in his way.


Looking around, it was obvious to Ingalf that the treasure wasn't spent on civic improvements. This gave him some hope.


"You, there," he said to a small boy who had walked up to inspect the newcomers, "is this Weyaark?"


"Aye" was all the boy replied.


"Is this the Weyarrk of old? "Has it always stood upon this spot?" asked Ingalf.


"Aye."


"Have you ever heard of someone named Wing-Wang-Wo?"


"Aye."


Hmmm... not very talkative, this kid, thought Ingalf.

"Do you know where he is buried?"


"...Aye."


"Ah, that's good. Very good," said the Nord. "I seek to pay my respects to him. Could you tell me where he lay?"


"Aye," replied the boy, who then started walking away without another word.


Ingalf managed to rein in his fury at this insult just in time, for he realized that the boy was simply leading him to the spot. He and his men followed quietly, almost reverently, in fact, until the boy stopped at the mouth of a cave.


"This is it, then?" he asked the boy, who of course replied only, "Aye."


Ingalf and his men eyed each other with equal parts of greed and apprehension. This was too easy, he thought. Surely there was a catch. He turned to ask the boy some more questions, but found him already halfway back down the road. He decided against chasing him down, and instead led his men inside the cave.


The cave wasn't a very deep or winding one, and in no time the men stood before a great stone door. Carved upon the door, which was immense, were the simple words which indicated that they had finally found what they sought:
"Here lies Wing-Wang-Wo, savior of Weyaark, defender of the weak, terror of the wicked, and the truest of friends. May he always watch and guide us."


The door itself was a lot more...impressive... than the tomb robbers had anticipated, and frankly they had no idea how to open it without making a lot of noise. Something about the lack of concern the boy had shown had worried Ingalf more than he cared to admit, and he truly doubted that alarming the villagers would be a good idea.

"Look around, men, maybe we're missing something."


As it turned out, they had indeed been missing something, and they eventually found it. Turning a wall sconce near the door opened a small hidden door in the cave wall, and behind this door was a very large keyhole and a lever.

"Unferth," said Ingalf, "see if you can pick that lock."


Unferth gave it his best effort, but his tools were made for ordinary sized locks, and had no hope of opening this oversized curiosity.


They knew that they needed the key, and surmised that the key must be somewhere in the village. To the village, then, they walked. It was only a short walk which didn't give them very much time to come up with a plan, but they were confident that whatever their first plan turned out to be, they always had the same stock "Plan-B" to fall back on if it didn't work.

As it happened, they found the boy again very quickly, and decided to start with him.


"Tell me, boy," asked Ingalf, "do you know anything about the key to the door of the tomb?"


Ingalf cringed a bit when he heard the answer he expected.... "aye."


"Where is it?"


"There," replied the boy, pointing at a certain large hut.


"Thankee" answered Ingalf, as he started walking toward the hut.


He didn't bother to knock upon the door, and instead simply barged into the hut. He found that things like that tended to intimidate people and make them more cooperative.

Inside, he found only sparse furnishings and an impossibly old, blind man smoking a pipe. The man looked up and then somehow seemed to look right through Ingalf with his otherwise unseeing eyes. He spoke.


"You have come from the northlands," he said. "You seek the key to the tomb of Wing-Wang-Wo. You seek your fortune, your destiny. You will find only one of these today."


Ingalf was suddenly very afraid, to his very core. Unferth and the others looked no less unnerved.


"Yes," he nonetheless replied. "Give me the key."


"Very well, if you insist," said the old man. "First, though, I would ask you something. How did you find this place? "How do you know of Wing-Wang-Wo?"


"My uncle found an old book about it. It was found in an old pile of rubbish and records from ancient times in some old ruins not far from my home. It said that Weyarrkers somehow bested a great many of our best soldiers, and that they, along with this hero of yours, stole a lot of our treasure when they left. I aim to take it back."


The old man paused a moment, then smiled wryly. "Your people attacked us for no reason, and stole our children. Normally they never would have had any hope of doing this, but Wing-Wang-Wo was away at the time by sheer coincidence. Also by coincidence, he returned just in time, yes?"


"Apparently," replied Ingalf. "Still, I find the whole thing impossible to believe."


"Yet... you are here."


"Oh, well, I believe parts of it, just not all of it. I mean, really now, how can one man lead a bunch of farmers through an impassable forest, all the way around a mountain range, and do it in time to ambush a legion of highly skilled mountaineers who had a few day's head start on them?" For that matter, how were they able to defeat them in battle?"


The old man's stony countenance broke into a grin, and then into a smile, and finally into a grimace of uncontrollable laughter. This puzzled the Nords greatly, and then infuriated them.


"What is so funny?" demanded Ingalf. "Tell me!"


The old man regained his composure a bit, and continued.

"The first mountain men to come to Weyaark were a peaceful sort, just trappers and traders. They made some good trades with Weyaark, and we thought them friends. The next group was not so peaceful, though, and sought to make much trouble. We tolerated them as best we could, but eventually they became too obnoxious and we were forced to ask them to depart. They didn't like this very much, and began to tear this place apart in their rage. Wing-Wang-Wo happened to be very nearby, though, and he came to see what was happening. The mountain men were of course terrified by him, but still they fought. Half of them were slain before they even had a chance to reconsider their foolishness, but the other half threw themselves down upon the ground and begged for mercy. Wing-Wang-Wo granted them mercy, and sent them running home with a message for their people: "Never return to Weyarrk." For many decades following that day, we never saw another mountain man from the north. One day, however, Wing-Wang-Wo was called away on some important matter that he said we would never understand, and the day after that, the mountain men returned. It occurred to our elders that this could only have been a coincidence, for it would have taken a few days to reach us, meaning that the attack had been planned and launched well before our champion departed. Being only farmers, we had little chance against the invaders, and many of us were slain. All of our children were stolen away, and woe were we, for we could not give chase over the mountains to save them. We bemoaned our fate for two days and two nights until Wing-Wang-Wo returned. He was very angry with us at first, but then more angry at himself for not only having been away, but at not having helped us learn to defend ourselves. As our champion, we had always simply let him discourage any would-be troublemakers, you see, which had been proven that day to have been a big mistake."


"I see, sort of," replied Ingalf, "so what happened next?"


"Knowing that we could never hope to catch them ourselves over the mountains, and knowing that Wing-Wang-Wo, who could have easily done so, would have been unable to bring back the children once he found them, we had to come up with a better plan. It was decided that the only option was to walk around the mountains and meet the north-men on the other side as they came down them. As you already mentioned, this wasn't so easy, as the forest was impassably thick and it would have taken months to get through them over the required distance. On this day, Wing-Wang-Wo began his most renowned feat, and began to cut a path through the forest for the men of Weyaark to walk upon around the mountains. Wing-Wang-Wo worked tirelessly for three days and nights, sundering every mighty tree in his path and leaving empty space behind him. In a short time our force, such as it was, did lay in wait for the north-men to finally reach the flat ground. When they did, they made camp to rest as we watched. Already rested, we attacked and caught them unawares, easily defeating the ones who Wing-Wang-Wo did not dispatch himself. The battle itself lasted only a few minutes, and by the grace of the gods, all the children were spared. Wing-Wang-Wo then went on a righteous rampage, destroying everything in every direction for three days' walk."


"Impressive!" Said Ingalf. "Outrageous, but impressive. By the way, just how long ago was all this? You keep saying things like "we" and "our' so much that it almost sounds like you were there, HAHA!"


"Aye." Said the old man. I was there. It was so very long ago. So very long..."


"How long, then? Fifty, sixty years?"


"No. Much longer. Nine hundred and sixteen, it was. We have rememberance days each year to celebrate the event, so we've kept good track of it."


"AAIIEEE!" shouted Ingalf as he and his men rapidly drew their swords. "Away from me, vampire!"


The old man did not move. He only looked up serenely and reassured the Nords that he was no vampire. The door of the hut was still open, and a beam of sunlight was playing on the old man's arm.

Truly, he was no vile bloodsvcking fiend of the night.


"What trickery is this?" demanded Ingalf.


"No trick, north-man," replied the old man. "I believe that you wanted the key, yes? You will find it hanging on the wall behind you."


Afraid to turn his back on the old man, Ingalf had his henchmen look for him. Indeed, there was a huge key hanging in a prominent place on the wall.


"Let's go," ordered Ingalf, and the men took the key and scrambled out of the hut and back down the road to the cave, pausing every few seconds to make sure they were not being followed. When they made it back to the big keyhole, they gave the key a try and found that it worked perfectly. Once the key was turned, the lever was free to move, and once the lever was pulled, the cave was filled with the sound of stone grinding upon stone as the mighty door slowly opened.


The tomb was indeed filled with riches, more than enough to make them all wealthy beyond their wildest dreams, but also with a lot of junk. A LOT of junk. In the center of the pile, in a clearing amid the huge heap of assorted and sundry stuff, was a huge stone dais, upon which lay the bones of a dragon, with all manner of little bouquets of long-dried flowers and other trinkets heaped up beside them. At last the Nords understood the the legend of Wing-Wang-Wo.


They also understood just how much trouble they were really in at that moment.

They spun around at the slight sound of a little pebble skittering across the floor, and found themselves facing the entire village. Before their horrified eyes, the villagers started to sprout wings, claws, teeth and scales. They also had a very hungry look.


The little boy from earlier, it turned out, was fully capable of saying more than one word at a time. Even though his speech was now considerably slurred due to the transformation his mouth was currently undergoing, he was able to say, plainly enough, "it loookss like rememmmbrance day iss earrleeee thisss yearr."