Zephnos' Story Part 1: Creation

I awoke to warmth and purple. I raised my head, shielding my eyes from the brightness in front of me. Once my eyes adjusted, I surveyed my surroundings: A small clearing in a dark forest with a purple campfire in the center. I sat on one of many logs that ringed the fire, expertly placed there for that purpose. Another pile of logs sat some distance away, presumably to continuously feed to the fire. The fire itself was unremarkable, aside from its beautiful deep purple color.
I stared into that fire, unable to look away. The longer I watched, the more colors I saw in conflagration. It started as light blues, then reds, oranges and greens. They began to shift and dance, making pictures. The crackling began to vaguely sound like words. I listened harder, trying to make it out.
"You're in the Campgrounds, inside the Dark Forest."
I jerked, looking around. The voice was hard to hear over the crackling of the campfire in front of me, but it was definitely there.
"In the fire. Welcome! I'm the Salamander of the Campgrounds. Feed me logs and I'll keep you safe. Feed me stories and I'll keep you entertained." I finally located the voice. It was a small black lizard (or a salamander?) that sat just underneath a few of the larger logs in the campfire, with just its head poking out.
It squinted at me and sighed. "It seems you'll be here for a night. I wouldn't recommend trying to leave before then, the Forest will probably try to kill you. It's not happy with you right now. Not happy at all." As if in response, a biting wind hurled itself through the trees. The campfire, unaffected, crackled merrily. "Shush!" the Salamander grumbled.
Its voice was small and soft, pleasant to listen to. As I watched the creature it pulled itself into better view, knocking aside some large cinders to make room. It crawled to the edge of the fire and squinted at me. I stayed silent, unsure of what to make of this creature. It kept staring, inspecting me from the top of my horned head down to my feet. I drew those under me self-consciously. It paused, then looked back up at my face. "How do you feel Zephnos?"
Zephnos. That was my name. Not one I had picked, but it was mine.
I followed the Salamander's example and took a good look at myself. Starting at my hoofed feet and moving up my goat legs covered in black fur. I flexed them experimentally. Got up, walked around. Nestled back down onto the log. Looked at my hands. Closed and opened. Everything seemed to be working. I twisted around to look at my rump, complete with a goat's tail, which flopped around with a will of its own. And finally, my head. Crowned with a pair of goat horns, curled magnificently around my ears. Eyes, a nose, a mouth, a tongue. Black, messy hair. Everything seemed in order here.
I looked back at the Salamander, who was dancing from one front foot to the next, and said, "Nothing off here. Should there be?" I idly wondered how I seemed to be so articulate given, as far as I knew, this is the first memory I had. That started to bother me. "Why can't I remember anything Salamander?"
"Because there's nothing to remember. You don't have a history before now."
Now that's worrying. By my inspection and bafflingly complete knowledge I seemed to be fully grown. How could I not have a history before this point? "You're lying. Or joking. Or something. I can't believe there's just nothing." The Salamander cringed, backing into the fire a little. So it was lying. Clearly this wasn't how it had hoped for this meeting to go.
"It's true! I created you! I wanted a friend. It's so lonely here. I can't leave, and no one comes to visit." It looked at me pleadingly. "All I want to do is tell stories, but what good is a storyteller without someone to tell them to?" It stopped and looked away, then admitted, "So I made you. And I hoped you would be my friend and audience. I gave you everything I knew about stories so you could appreciate them too, and maybe even make your own." Something seemed to dawn on it, and it said desperately, "Please don't leave me alone! You'll die like the rest!"
Ah. That explains the strange knowledge I had. Yet the nervousness from earlier only grew. "So if you made me, can you unmake me? Will you destroy me if I don't listen to your stories or tell you new ones?"
The Salamander paused, and it took me a few seconds to realize that it was shocked. "No! That goes against everything I want! Even if you decide not to stay, you are free to leave at any time." It cocked its head to the side. "But you can't come back once you do. You have the laws of the Forest written into you, as much as I tried to change them." The laws of the Forest? What does he mean? If he can make me, shouldn't he be able to make the rules?
"Another question then. How did you make me?"
"I can't answer that." I frowned, and the Salamander shifted uneasily, not meeting my eyes.
"Can't or won't?"
"Can't. Please don't ask more. I don't want to lie to you Zephnos. I want you to be my friend." That now-familiar pleading look again.
"And who are the 'rest' you talked about?"
It seemed relieved to talk about something other than its recent act of playing god. "Other people lost in the forest. Not like you. From outside the forest. They get in but they never make it to the Campgrounds. This Forest kills them before they can. You're the first person I've talked to since..." It falters, confused, then says, "I think you're the first one I've talked to."
"Can't you leave? If you can create things like me, I imagine it wouldn't be hard for you to make something to carry you out."
"No. It won't let me. It takes my stories but doesn't let me leave."
"What is this 'It'?"


"Can't say." The flames pop as another log crumbles to ashes, releasing a shower of sparks.
That old nervousness only continues to grow doesn't it. Considering my position, I don't trust this Salamander. There's too much it's not telling me, and it's clearly hiding information, whether intentionally or not. Even now, more questions burst against the inside of my skull, shoving each other aside to be asked. What was this 'Dark Forest?' Why was it special? Why does 'It' take the Salamander's stories? What happens if it runs out? If this thing can create life, what could make it so afraid?
And then there's the fire. What was it that had held my attention so badly earlier? Was it just my imagination or was the fire trying to talk to me?
No. Stop. Right now I needed time to think. Maybe I could humor the Salamander until morning. It wasn't much of a plan, but given my limited info it was all I had. I looked back at the fire, and immediately felt that pull I had experienced earlier.
Fascinated, I muttered, "Alright then Salamander. Tell me a story."
And he did. Several stories in fact. Stories of strange worlds of wood and chrome, and of void and tentacles. It was hard not to lose yourself in them. Thanks to the Salamander's gift of knowledge, I was able to listen along without needing to ask too many questions.
The night passed quickly and I eventually fell asleep, unable to withstand Salamander's voice for long. When I woke, I was somewhere deep in the Forest. But not in the Campgrounds. Far from the safety of the fire.
I found out I had no words to swear with.