Short story or Novel idea?

     As I spend time playing and writing adventures for D&D, I occasionally come up with characters, settings, or ideas that just stick in my head. A while back I wrote a short about a man cursed with immense power. 
      I've now re-written those few pages again and again trying to make that story perfect. Which, of course, is why I've started this writing blog. I need to stop trying to write the perfect story and just write!
     To this effect, I took one of those character ideas that was stuck in my head and I wrote another short story, set in the same world as that first one. I liked it so much I rewrote it and actually went through the draft, looking for typos, grammar, etc... I now want to continue that tale but my Roommate slowed me down, as always.
     Until I can continue this tale, I invite you to partake in this first glimpse at Mr. Barroway. And as always, I am looking for criticism, responses, and advice. Enjoy!

                Ragnor Barroway was a simple man; he made his trade as an herbalist and a healer for the town of Old Cormem. He worked out of his own home in town, just off the market square. His wife helped him hang and prepare the herbs and tonics he used and kept track of their finances, she was always better with numbers than him.

                He also did his duty and took his turn as town guard, rotating with the others to stand post at the town’s small gate. The all-volunteer town guards had seldom dealt with anything more troublesome than petty theft or public intoxication. The surrounding countryside was calm and peaceful, grasslands as far as could be seen.

                His family lived on the edge of town and his wife’s family ran the local Inn. Both sides pressured the young couple regularly to start expanding their family. His wife was starting to hint that she was ready too.

                The second week of the month fell to Ragnor as town guard. He closed up shop, kissed his wife, donned his simple armor and round helmet, and walked to the town’s gate. The guard on duty, Vitor, passed Ragnor his spear and went home with a smile.

                 The town behind Ragnor began its nightly ritual. Doors were closed, friends bid each other farewell or goodnight, the cats were let out, the dogs were let in, people began their individual formalities before laying down to bed, the cry of “last call” came from the Inn, and Old Cormem went to sleep. Safe, secure, and routine.

                Ragnor leant against the wooden post of his station and looked out over the dark countryside. The burning torches below him lit very little of the packed dirt road and the pale moon above only outlined the horizon and hills in the distance.

                Ragnor took in the ever unchanging landscape that had always been his view. He turned and looked over the wooden shingled roofs of the homes and buildings of the town. These too were unchanging and he was happy to call them home. Ragnor had no desire to travel as some of the other young men did.

                He smiled at the small town where he’d been born and raised and decided right then that he would continue the tradition and raise a family of his own here. Perhaps he’d start trying as soon as he was relieved in the morning.

                The moon began to dip in the horizon before he turned back to look out over the countryside. Where before there had been nothing but darkness, a single dot of light could now be seen. Ragnor watched it, mesmerized.

                The small light glowed an unnatural purple; it did not waiver as a torch or fire but remained constant. As he squinted it seemed to grow larger but at a slow pace. Mystified, Ragnor peered beyond the purple light in the hopes of spotting whoever or whatever carried this strange apparition.

                For a moment he was certain he could make out a shape beyond the light, tall and bald and maybe bearded? Before he knew it, the light and shape had found their way to the edge of the torchlight.

                The figure behind the light was clearer now. It was shaped like a man but its posture was odd. Its beard was braided or possibly styled in dreadlocks and seemed to move on its own. An unseasonably cold air wrapped itself around Ragnor and he could see his breath on the air.

                Stepping down from his post, more than unnerved but determined to protect his town, his home, his wife, Ragnor Barroway raised his spear and called out a challenge.

                “Who goes there?” Ragnor was proud that his voice sounded strong despite his misgivings. “Speak stranger, if you have no ill intent you’ll be welcome here. But if you seek wrongdoing you’d best be on your way.”

                The shadowy figure did not move or respond though Ragnor was certain its eyes were gazing into his own. Ragnor squinted at the figure before him, uncertain how he should proceed. He was still deliberating when the intruding shape finally acted.

                The purple light in its hands flared causing Ragnor to stumble back, shocked at the sudden brightness, and then the small glowing orb flew! Faster than the eye could truly follow, the purple orb streaked over the land, just feet from the ground. As it traveled it left a bright glowing line and an eerie mist followed as it began circling the town.

                The mist gave off a light of its own and at last Ragnor could truly see what stood before him. It was indeed tall and bald but it was no man. This creature appeared human, but its head was longer, misshapen and where a man had a beard, tentacles writhed. Its dark eyes stared into Ragnor and it raised its too long fingers towards him. Dark magics began to shudder and warp from this abominations hands.

                Ragnor was certain the creature was smiling behind its face tentacles. Its eyes watched him with a knowing amusement as it prepared to unleash dark powers on Ragnor and his home. The man pushed aside his horror and leapt towards the monster. The tall creature raised an eyebrow at this obviously doomed man and unleashed the magic it had been preparing.

                To its surprise, the man’s leap had been a ruse, he spun away from the dark energy meant to snuff out his meager life and was now thrusting again. The creature was forced to step back to avoid the man’s weapon and hastily it began preparing a second, more potent spell.

                Neither noticed the return of the purple orb until it was too late. The creature stood outside the line the orb drew but Ragnor, spear arm still extended, could not move away in time. The orb passed directly through the man as it completed its circuit of the town. The mist it had trailed now filled every inch of the town. It seemed to pierce walls, windows, doors, and surrounded the peoples, most of whom were still sound asleep.

                The creature roared in frustration as the man screamed in fear and there was a bright flash. Then, like a candle going out in the dark, the orb, the mist, the town, and Ragnor Barroway vanished. A deep hole of dirt remained where Old Cormem had stood. Only a fence post here or piece of litter there were any indication that anyone had ever lived here.

                The tentacle creature was alone.

                After a moment of shocked silence the air split with a scream, as if the very sky and ground were crying out, and the man reappeared. He landed in the dirt near the deep crater that had once been his home. Unable to fathom what had happened he lay in a heap on the ground.

                The creature, his spell almost ruined by a mere human, unleashed another spell. Ragnor Barroway was only just coming to his senses when a bolt of dark lightning struck him in the back, killing him instantly.

                Slightly satisfied, the creature reached into its robes and revealed a second orb. This one was not purple, but a clear glass. And inside it, the creature could see the town of Old Cormem, grassy fields, homes, the large Inn, and even the wooden gates.

                As it looked, the creature was disturbed by a mark at the edge of the orb. It squinted at the glass ball in its long fingers. There! A smudge in the shape of a man, just outside the town gates, mid-lunge with spear outstretched.

                On the ground, Ragnor’s eyes opened and he gasped, breathing deep and sudden. The creature was confused and startled. It lashed out with its dark power again. Again a bolt of energy jumped from its long fingers to the man, this time striking him in the chest. Again Ragnor Barroway died.

                The dark countryside was still, the tall grasses swayed only slightly. The crickets remained silent, as if in mourning. The tentacled creature watched the man’s body intensely. The moon traveled on, unconcerned with the world below.

                Again Ragnor Barroway awoke. His back arched as he breathed deep. His lungs burned and his eyes watered.

                Confused, fascinated, and frustrated, the creature began probing its own vast intellect for a theory. Its spell had gone off and even though the man had stepped into the path of its orb, the town was indeed now trapped. Surely the man should’ve been trapped inside the orb with the rest of the town.

                Ragnor Barroway scrambled to his feet. He still held onto his spear though his simple armor was now ruined and he’d lost his round helmet. The creature was standing there, seeming lost in thought, barely visible in the moonlight.

                No longer visible was Old Cormem. The entire town had vanished! Nothing left but a massive hold in the ground. Anguished, terrified, and confused, Ragnor dove towards the creature, tears blurred his vision as he thrust his spear towards the thing that had taken his home.

                With a disinterested wave of its long fingered hand, the tentacled creature magically summoned a barrier between Ragnor and itself. The man’s spear shattered on the invisible wall and he was left holding only a splintered haft.

                Still shocked and pained, Ragnor began swinging the broken haft as though it were a club, aiming for the things large head. The creature caught him in its gaze and Ragnor found he could no longer move. Blinding pain seared into his brain, his eyes rolled back, and yet again Ragnor Barroway died.

                The tentacled creature had a theory. This pitiful man had been standing at the exact point of the spells termination, he must have been caught in both planes. Both here and in the town. The universe couldn’t accept his death because he shouldn’t have been on this plane of existence. He should’ve been inside the orb. And so long as he was magically in ‘both’ places, he couldn’t die.

                The tentacled creature cursed in a language no one within a thousand miles could translate. It watched as, yet again, the man gasped and jumped up. The creature watched as the man stepped back, still wielding the pathetic remains of his weapon.

                Perhaps, the creature mused to itself, this could prove to be advantageous. The man didn’t know it, but ideas began formulating in the tentacled creature’s vast mind. The man could be coerced into service; after all, it literally held his entire town in the palm of its hand.

                With a quiet laugh that chilled Ragnor Barroway to his bones, the creature held a long fingered hand out towards the man and its voice echoed within the man’s mind:

                “Mr. Barroway, we have much work to do.”