[Previous]
[Next]
Chapter 9 fork: Offender of the Gods
Phyr says, “Fuck all these guys,” and draw his blasters. While the others roll for turn order, he gets a surprise round, and he fires on Stig with both weapons for double damage. Stig’s torso erupts in an explosion of blood, guts, and flaming fur; his lifeless body falls over backward with a resounding thud!
Pannych screams, “You idiot!” as smoldering chunks fall to the ground around them. They all get 2 XP.
“Can it,” Phyr says, holstering his blasters. “I refuse to get bogged down in the boring-ass details of negotiating peace between a bunch of stupid NPCs! I came here to kick ass and take names, and if you don’t like it…” He trails off as the sound of thunder rolls from the forest ahead of them.
“Later,” Vector yells, and starts to sprint back to the town gates. Pannych and Phyr share a cross look for an instant before sprinting after him. Vector takes out the speaking stone and shouts into it, “Fire at will! Fire at will!”
“Belay that,” the captain shouts over him. “Fire on my command, and focus on the road in a retreating line. Cover the demigods!”
Pannych risks a look back and sees that dozens of noobs are emerging from the trees, running swift as horses on all fours. The adventurers are still about three quarters of a mile away from the gate, and the noobs are only a quarter-mile behind them. “You guys,” she says as they run, “I don’t think we’re gonna make it!”
Phyr and Vector look back at the noobs pouring into the no-man’s-land and share her conclusion. Just then, the captain’s voice comes over the speaking stone and shouts, “FIRE!” An enormous rippling explosion sounds from the direction of Noob Town, and long seconds later, the volley of shells lands along the leading front of the advancing noobs to devastating effect. The adventurers look back and see bodies flying amid earth and gore, but also that the noobs emerging from the forest now number in the hundreds.
Two more volleys are fired, each taking out a chunk of noobs in the lead, but the others swiftly close ranks and resume pursuit of the adventurers. With the last explosion, they can feel chunks of dirt rain down around them. “OK, that’s close enough,” Vector shouts into the speaking stone.
“Dammit, keep this channel clear,” the captain shouts at him. “I’m keeping them off your backs! Just keep running!”
As they do, Phyr extends his hands behind him and shouts, “Flame!” He pumps five thousand mana into it, and a cataclysmic conflagration erupts behind them. They feel the heat on their backs as several hundred yards of grassy earth erupt into a blazing triangle of fire, with them at the tip and a bunch of roaring noobs caught in the middle of it.
Pannych shouts, “No, dammit! Grassfires are fast as fuck!”
“Shit,” Phyr shouts. “OK, Chill!” With another five thousand mana, a sub-zero blast now takes the flames’ place, and he sustains the spell for a second turn. The earth and grass are frozen solid as the flames snuff out, as are the noobs in the former blaze, and the next artillery barrage shatters several of them into shards of frozen meat.
The rapid heating and cooling of the air, coupled with the impact of the artillery shells, makes for some freak air currents that buffett the adventurers about as they try to keep running along the road. Suddenly, Phyr says, “Vector! Tell them to stop firing on our position! We gotta stop!”
“Are you insane,” he shouts.
“Insane genius,” he says. “Trust me.”
“Pause! No, you run this by us right now before you get our asses killed!”
Phyr briefly explains his inspiration, and while Vector is skeptical, Pannych assures him that it will, in fact, work. When Pause wears off, Vector shouts into the speaking stone: “We have to stop! Stop firing on our position!”
“Are you insane,” the captain shouts. “Keep running! We have you covered! And keep this channel clear!”
“No time to argue, just stop firing within a hundred yards of us!”
“You’re still over half a mile out! Shut up!”
“I KNOW! JUST DO IT!”
“Your funeral,” the captain says. “Fire on the advancing line, anywhere but near the road!”
The adventurers slow to a stop, and Phyr gets to work, sustaining a very intense flame in a concentrated area on one side of the road. The noobs give the fire a wide berth, but are closing in from other directions. In three turns, everything flammable for twenty yards has been completely consumed, but the rim is still blazing. Pannych and Vector rush from the unburnt side of the road into the charred area, spent cinders crunching under their feet.
Phyr then gives the other side of the road the same treatment, and now they have a forty-yard wide burnout surrounded by a blazing grassfire. He gets as near to the edge farthest from town as he can bear, then casts Chill in a wide, flat fan aimed high up in the air - but with one hand only. With the other, he casts Flame in the same wide, flat fan, but aims it parallel with the ground. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” he repeats as the hot and cold air mix and the blaze continues below.
The chilled air is condensing, sucking the surrounding air into it. The hot air expands, pushing out around it. Where the two mix, there is turbulence, as the hot air wants to rise and the cold air wants to sink, and as the two thermal regions sort out their differences, an air current forms in a spiral like water swirling down a bathtub drain - also known as a tornado. Except when that tornado touches down over a fire - then, it’s called a firewhirl.
“Yes. Yes! YES! I AM A GOD!”
Pannych shouts over the roaring blaze, “Demigod, at most!”
“Whatever,” Vector says, “Just let him do his thing.”
Phyr starts several more firewhirls, and uses his spells to manipulate airflow with low and high pressure areas, sending them off in crazy directions. Then he starts casting Bolt at the sky repeatedly between bouts of maniacal laughter.
“I get the burn out,” Vector says to Pannych, “And I accept the firewhirls. But what’s all the lightning for?”
“It’s just for show,” she says impatiently.
By this time, almost all of the noobs have charged past their position, so Phyr directs the firewhirls side-to-side along the no-man’s-land. Wherever they travel, they spread the wildfire, burning the plain and roasting the noobs alive. They keep charging in a sometimes-broken, quickly-reforming front, stretching as far as the eye can see in either direction. But with the thick smoke of the wildfire darkening the sky, shafts of golden sunlight piercing the black clouds here and there, and the flaming tornadoes twisting hither and yon, “as far as the eye can see” isn’t all that far.
After a couple minutes of this, the Captain of the Guard says over the speaking stone, “OK, we’ve thinned their numbers enough, and they’re getting real close to the wall. You can turn off those flaming tornadoes now.”
Phyr blinks in surprise and says, “Turn… off?”
Vector says to the captain, “OK, we’ll figure it out.”
The archers on the parapet are firing down at the noobs while mages cast spells from on high and the infantry keep them at bay with their spears. The noobs have been reduced from their thundering tens of thousands to a mere several hundred. The adventurers are making their way back down the road, about a quarter-mile out now, while Phyr tries to think of how to get the apocalyptic hellscape back under control. He’s gotten himself down to about half mana, which is no mean feat.
Suddenly, there is an enormous explosion behind them, and a massive pillar of flame erupts from the ground and rises up into the clouds. “What the hell,” shouts the captain, “I told you to turn that shit off!”
“That… wasn’t me,” Phyr says in bewilderment. As the adventurers turn to face the towering inferno, a gigantic coal-black figure forms in its center, and the vertical blaze twists and folds around to wreathe it in licking flames.
“I AM RETURNED,” it says in a booming voice that echoes off the town walls, opening eyes that glow like embers, “TO DEFEND MY PEOPLE IN THEIR HOUR OF GREATEST NEED!”
“Oh, shit,” Pannych says.
“Fuck my life,” Vector says.
“Who the Hell are you,” Phyr demands.
“I AM IGNIS, GOD OF FIRE, AND I AM OATH-BOUND TO SAVE MY CHOSEN ONES.” Ignis raises an enormous black hand and closes it into a fist the size of a small car. Presently, every flame on the battlefield is snuffed out. “YOU WHO THREATEN MY FAVORED FOLK, KNOW THAT THE LORD OF EMBERS STANDS AGAINST YOU. SURRENDER, AND YOU MAY LIVE. RESIST, AND SUFFER MY WRATH!”
“Hey! That’s my schtick!” Phyr shakes a fist at the blazing deity, who seems startled to notice the adventurers standing alone and unscathed so far from the fray.
“WHO ARE YOU TO CHALLENGE A GOD?”
“I am-”
“Phyr, no!” Pannych claps a hand over his mouth, but he wriggles free.
“I’m not letting this chode cramp my style,” he insists.
“THEN LEARN YOUR PLACE,” Ignis says, and opens his hand. “BLAST.” An explosion erupts underneath Phyr’s feet. He takes 19 damage, is thrown into the air, and takes another ten damage when he lands. Pannych takes 16 damage from the splash, and is knocked to the ground. Vector was farther away and is staggered, but unharmed.
“That all you got,” Phyr shouts as he gets to his feet.
“BLAST.” Another explosion sends him flying again, for another 29 total damage after he has landed.
“I eat gods for breakfast,” he says as he lifts himself to hands and knees.
“BLAST.” He takes 29 more damage between the blast and the landing.
“Wait’ll I get my-”
“BLAST.” Another 29, and he has 2 health left.
“OK,” he rasps, flat on his back in the dirt. “I give.” He doesn’t even try to get up.
“I HAVE SEEN YOU BE THE INSTRUMENT OF MY PEOPLE’S DESTRUCTION,” Ignis says. “NOW YOU SHALL BE REFORGED INTO THEIR SALVATION.”
Phyr groans, then rolls painfully to his belly as he says weakly, “I would rather…” He lifts his head to see Pannych and Vector staring at him. Vector’s face shows sadness and fear, but Pannych’s is a pitiless mask of open contempt. When they make eye contact, she shakes her head and turns her back on him. He has a change of heart. “I would rather… do that… than die.”
Ignis lowers his outstretched hand and says, “RISE.”
“Ugggghhhh, but it huuuurrrrts.”
“RISE, OR DIE.”
“All right, just gimme… just gimme a sec,” and he struggles to his feet.
“APPROACH ME.” Phyr staggers, one agonizing step at a time, across the burned and blasted ground. He stumbles at a few points on the uneven terrain and weaves around a few blast craters, but stands before the god soon enough. “KNEEL.” He yelps in pain as he does so, but obeys. “YOU SHALL MAKE A PEACE ON THIS ISLAND. AND YOU SHALL SEE TO IT THAT THIS PEACE PROTECTS THE FUTURE OF MY PEOPLE.”
“Do I have to do all the talking,” he asks in earnest. “Because I’m not so great at that.”
Ignis raises a hand to his chin in thought, and says, “VERY WELL. BUT YOU SHALL BE ON THE SIDE OF MY PEOPLE FROM NOW ON. AND IF YOU DO ALL THESE THINGS, THEN I SHALL ALLOW YOU TO LIVE. IF YOU FAIL IN ANY PART OF THIS, THEN I SWEAR THAT I SHALL RETURN AGAIN TO KILL YOU MYSELF.”
“OK,” Phyr says, struggling just to breathe. “Let me just… make sure… I got it all. Make peace. Protect their future. And be on their side. Is that right?”
“INDEED. SEE TO IT THAT YOU DO NOT FORGET.”
“I won’t.”
“SWEAR TO ME.”
“I swear it.”
“THE WHOLE THING.”
“I swear… to make peace… on the island… and protect… the future… of your guys… and be on… their side.”
“THEN WE HAVE AN ACCORD, AND YOU SHALL NOT FAIL. I RETURN NOW TO MY REST.” Ignis then turns and walks away toward the forest. As he does so, the tongues of flame lapping out from his body grow until they surround him - and then they begin to consume him. In a few great strides, the god has disappeared into the late morning air.
Pannych and Vector walk unhurriedly to Phyr’s side. He takes out his healing ray and goes to work, chanting “ow” all the while. After two rounds, Pannych kicks him in the ribs for 1 damage. He falls over, drops his healing ray, and doubles over in pain. “Ow, what the fuck? I’m doing the thing, I swear!”
“It took a resurrected god for you to start taking this seriously,” Pannych says as he retrieves his healing ray. “I’m hurt, man. I’m not saying that facetiously. You get to look how you wanna look, you started with great stats and items, there’s a whole fuckin’ world for us to explore together - and you go wavin’ your dick around until someone bigger comes along and stomps you. And you say, ‘What the fuck,’ to me?”
“No, not that,” Phyr says, healing himself once more as he sits on the ground. “I mean the kick. That hurt - it actually hurt. You know we feel real pain here.”
“Oh,” Pannych says, “Does it sting especially bad when your best friend kicks you where it hurts?”
Phyr hangs his head and says, “OK, I get your point. I’m sorry. I guess I had this wrong - I thought it was gonna be a power fantasy. Y’know, be overpowered and just lay waste to all comers.”
Pannych is taken aback. “That’s what you thought this was? This whole time?”
“I mean - yeah. Bolt! Isn’t that what escapist fantasy is all about?”
“I - well - no. Not for me, anyway.”
“What do you do it for,” Vector asks.
Pannych shrugs and says, “Get lost in another world? Be absorbed in an adventure? Focus on the narrative and forget real-life problems? Pretend to be anyone else besides me?”
The adventurers make up, hug it out, top up, and head back to town. Turns out, the Captain of the Guard heard just about everything over the speaking stone, and half the people in town heard Ignis’ side of the conversation. Hostilities have ceased, and the few hundred surviving noobs have gathered in an impromptu encampment near the open town gate. Now that combat has ended, the trio each get 12 XP for the noobs that happened to die within twenty yards of them.
Well within an hour of the fire god’s disappearance, the adventurers have arrived at the town hall and are immediately ushered into Jim’s office. Inside, they see Alice and Jim, accompanied by a dapper middle-aged man. A haughty voice says from a speaking stone, “Bah, I’ve seen guards half-drunk on the job, and they’ll exaggerate anything!”
“No, you don’t understand,” Jim says into a speaking stone. “The entire guard saw this. It was a god all right, and it turns out the noobs are actually under its protection.”
“Hmm,” the other voice says. “I’m still skeptical. But if you’re so convinced-”
“Look, they’re here,” Jim says, waving them in. “Lady Pannych, Lord Phyr, Lord Vector, meet Sir Stevington, mayor of Noob Town.” The well-dressed gentleman stands and bows deeply. “And on the speaking stone is Sir Briansworth, mayor of Leetsburg.”
“Oh, I’m not a lord,” Vector says. “I’m just some guy.”
“Master Vector, then,” Jim says.
“Pleased to make your acquaintances,” Pannych says with a curtsey.
“Hi,” Phyr says brusquely.
“Greetings,” Sir Stevington says with another bow. “I have heard surprising tales of your brief time here.”
“It is… an honor to speak with you.” Sir Briansworth’s tone is grudgingly deferential. “Elder Jim tells me you three are here to negotiate a treaty on behalf of the noobs.”
Vector says, “I think the noobs can speak for themselves. We’re just here to make sure everything works out equitably.”
“Then where are they,” Sir Briansworth asks.
“One second,” Jim says, retrieving another speaking stone and setting it on the desk. “Captain, can you hand a speaking stone over to whichever of the noobs is in charge,” he asks.
There is a commotion, and then a noob voice says, “I am Tilda of the Mountains. To whom do I speak?”
“Hello, Tilda. I am Jim, the elder of Noob Town.”
“We await a peace summit, as foretold by our god.”
“Well, I’m afraid he didn’t involve me in the decision,” Jim says. “Had he done so, I would’ve told him that we need to involve a number of community leaders, and they are very busy people.”
“We have time to wait,” Tilda says. “This is our top priority.”
“I’m afraid it’s not ours,” Jim says with a sigh. “It could be weeks, even months, before a delegation can be selected and work an opening into their schedule, and-”
“Listen, Jim,” Phyr interrupts, “I just swore to a god that I would see this done, and I am not a patient man. So you, and Briansworth, and Stevington, and all your pals damn well better make it your top priority!”
“It doesn’t work that way-”
“It works that way when I say it does,” Phyr interrupts.
“We can’t just-”
“No more excuses! This happens today, or you answer to me!”
Jim scoffs and says, “Is that a threat?”
Phyr takes a deep breath and says with too-calm gravity, “Tell me, Jim: do you make a habit of defying demigods with a divine mandate?”
The elder is silent for several long seconds.
“My apologies,” Jim says at last. “The gods have been dead for so long, and so few remember them. My knowledge of them was only academic, until today. But you are right to remind me of my place, and I thank you for doing it gently. I shall inform our people that this is a matter of utmost importance, and I assure you that their schedules shall be suspended.”
“And you expect me to negotiate like this? Under threat of divine retribution?” Sir Briansworth’s disdain is palpable.
Sir Stevington softly clears his throat and says, “I think there is a great deal of tension here, but the resurrection of a long-dead god, along with both an oath and a prophecy, certainly constitutes an extenuating circumstance. It may be incumbent upon us to make some... allowances in light of today’s extraordinary events. Sir Briansworth, I would strongly encourage you to reconsider your perspective, and measure your words carefully when next you speak.”
Sir Briansworth’s grumbling is audible over the speaking stone, but he says with restraint, “You may be right, Sir Stevington.” The mayor of Noob Town gives a slight nod. “But even so, there’s no way we can negotiate this treaty without industry leaders present! They have a stake in this!”
“How many can you get in an hour,” Phyr asks.
“What?! An hour?!”
“Let me rephrase: how many can you get in an hour, when every human on this island dies if you try to run out the clock on this? An hour is more than generous from me an’ Tilda here.” Sir Briansworth sputters, but ultimately relents, and they agree to reconvene in an hour.
[Previous]
[Next]
No comments:
Post a Comment