Greg pondered his choices, all of them were bad. Turning back meant another afternoon of cold and walking, moving forward meant traversing another unknown stretch of bridge treachery over what looked like an intentionally hellish river of orange magma. The flow was quite lethargic, barely moving, but at least a hundred yards across, and the right side seemed to drop off of some ledge into the fiery unknown.
"Nothing about this is natural." Grumbled Muradin.
"You complain when it's cold, you complain when it warms up, you bitch about how endless and boring the walk is and you bitch when it gets interesting." Greg muttered back.
"I'm very glad I encouraged Bacon to stay." said a very overwhelmed Miranda.
"It would be an extra crispy side of Bacon." Greg joked, receiving no laughs. The bridge had a severe arc to it, almost appearing to drop off into the molten horizon. They reluctantly staggered on, following Greg into what may have literally been the mouth of hell. Muradin and Miranda slowly reduced clothing to compensate for the heat until it was borderline awkward. As they crested the top and looked down, they realized there was a slight problem.
"Hmm…that's disappointing." said a calmly irked Greg.
"Disappointing?" Muradin barked, exaggerating his question to make Greg feel targeted. "If this is disappointing, what catastrophe would it need to be to consider it infuriating?!" he added loudly.
"Well, it requires a little ingenuity, I admit." he said scratching his beard.
"We walked a hundred miles through frozen emptiness and then through a scorching chamber of death and all for a dead-end!" he hollered.
"It's not a dead-end, it’s a structural malfunction…a bit of a hazard or obstacle." he rationalized, not wanting to turn back without answers.
"It’s a ten dwarf long section of the bridge submerged in molten rock! Not only does that mean this bridge is unstable and prone to caving in…but we cant cross it to find out what lies beyond!" he said flailing angrily and throwing loose pebbles at the river of doom.
"It's not that far." Greg shrugged.
"What length of swimming in magma would you consider too far?" Muradin asked, bottling his anger.
"I mean…it’s a pretty wide mark to aim for. I'm not the most accurate thrower in the kingdoms, but I'm descent, and any idiot could hit a 2 meter wide bridge."
"There is no way in this Earth that you are throwing me across that. The rock would be searing hot several meters up from the magma even if you did.
"That's a good point. How high would you have to be in order to avoid injury?" he asked Miranda. They both looked concerned at Greg's question.
"If we survive this, I am considering this debt paid!" Muradin barked angrily as he tugged on the rope to ensure it was snugly tied around the torch-post on his end. Greg held the other end up with one hand as he neared the submerged section. He guessed the rail would be about the depth of his knees in the center and with his robe and gear bundled up in his other hand, he began lowering his foot into the rock.
Miranda stood frozen, one eye slowly blinking as she debated on weather or not to look away.
"Must you display yourself in front of the lady?" Muradin scolded.
"Not forcing anyone to look. You didn’t offer any magic robes that can withstand molten rock, so I assumed you didn’t have that either." he said wading through, to the knees-depth with no clothing on, holding the rope high. Miranda began to say something, stopping to change her mind.
"There was the option of turning back, which would have negated the need to wade naked through a river of fire!" he said as Greg balanced on the stone rail and kept the rope reasonably high. "I am deeply sorry." Muradin muttered to her.
"Okay." she muttered, still frozen in an awkward expression. Greg slipped a little, catching his footing but dropping some of the gear. His sword plopped into the rock beside him, tip-down and bobbing as a few gold coins and his flask landed around it. The flask popped and spewed flames as it melted.
"No, no NO SHIT!!" he muttered, scooping it and the sword up while keeping the rope above flash- distance.
"Well, that settles it. You have no booze or weapons. Pity we have to go back." Muradin said trying not to smirk.
"I'm not going back without answers, weaponless or not. If you two wish to go back without me, tell me now so I can stop wasting time with the rope." he barked angrily. Muradin growled under his breath.
"We could just say he fell in the magma." She suggested, shrugging without looking away.
"Tempting offer." he said as Greg tied off the other end and sat down to assess his losses.
As Muradin hopped from the rope and landed, hopping and skittering frantically to a cooler place to stand, Greg held up half a sword, a charred sheath and a flask that was useless for any purpose.
"Great… a knife for spreading butter and a fishing weight worth 3 silver."
"Three silver?!" gasped Muradin. "What is that flask made of?" he asked, snatching the warm blob.
"Copper. The liquid inside was worth most of that." he sighed, tossing the half-sword aside. Muradin quickly grabbed the sword, drawing his and comparing the heft and size.
"If you are discarding this, I am keeping it." he claimed.
"Balance ruined, tip geometry ruined, carbon cooked out of the last palm-length. It's garbage to most. Probably still better than your own sword though." he smirked, trying to add levity to disaster. Muradin looked insulted, and also unable to argue. He tied the burnt length of handle wrap in a knot and placed the tip on the stone bridge, dragging it behind him as he proceeded along. They neared a sort of opening, and Muradin lifted the sword up, slightly proud of his idea. The warm, soft steel dragging on the stone as they walked had ground a reasonable point to his new weapon, good enough to stab something with. They stepped into the opening, expecting another infinite stretch of bridge or a forest of giant bears, knowing their luck. The room was large and empty, fully floored with stone and in the back of it…a rather impressive looking pile of gold.
"Hazaa! We have reached the prize. Split 3 ways, it will fetch a fair-" Muradin started as Greg knocked them both down with a large swipe as a wall of flames rolled out of the darkness. They scattered both directions, preparing weapons for a fight as Greg patted out his smoldering sleeve. The Shadows shifted as a dark black creature woke from its nap.
"Dragon! Retreat!" hollered Miranda, taking cover behind the armored corpse of someone who had slower reaction time when they met the dragon.
"Something always guards the valuables." he said reaching for a sword and remembering he didn’t have one. His confident grin faded to irritation. Greg side-stepped the second wave of flames, darting for one of the corpses and drawing his rusty sword. He rushed the shadow-beast and leapt with a high spring as the next breath flowed below his feet. The rusty steel met claws and snapped off like a twig. Greg swiped with the nubbin and before connecting with flesh he was batted away like a bug.
An arrow pinged off the Dragon's nose and it flinched slightly, turning its toxic yellow eyes towards Miranda.
"Sorry, aiming for that guy!" she bluffed, ducking for cover as the nuclear exhale engulfed the armored corpse. She quick-drew another round and hit a blocking claw, giving her just enough time to reach an uncovered spot. She hesitated, feeling rather exposed and ready to die horribly. Suddenly, a badly constructed short-sword struck it in the face, clipping its ear a little. Muradin charged out with his new weapon and when he was confident he had diverted its attention, he scurried back behind some rocky cover. Greg dove from the darkness, teeth lowered and eyes glowing blue. With a triumphant roar he plunged another sword into the beast's eye, bending the sword and hitting the ground side-first. It let out a mighty flaming roar and cupped its wounded eye, now extremely irritated. It had chosen its dinner. The clawed hand struck Greg in the back and as he raked his nails across the ground, the beast flung him into the nearby stone pillar. He wheezed and tried to say something insulting as he re-gained his balance, but the dragon was rushing him too fast. As the wall of teeth and black leather pinned him to the stone, he felt it begin to crack. Greg heaved as the clawed hand pressed harshly, attempting to crush him into pulp. He let out a howl, his eyes glowing brighter, and with a grip on two of the beast's fingers, he snapped the claws in different directions. The dragon recoiled in pain, swiping its other hand and sending Greg and the section of stone pillar flying. The roof overhead collapsed and pinned the dragon to the ground with a whimper. Greg hopped to his feet, shouting a battle cry and missing a step, flailing to his face as gravity gave him a metaphorical middle finger. He staggered around and grabbed another discarded sword, tripping haphazardly to the fallen monster. He climbed the rock pile and began viciously hacking at its neck. Every swing of dozens let out a sharp clank and a few sparks as the blade dulled and bent, whittling away the beast's natural armor.
"YOU…BROKE…MY…LUCKY…" he roared as the sword shattered. "ROCK!" he finished, throwing the stub and going for broke. He opened his jaws wide like a snake, extending his canines and sinking them into the meat of the dragon's neck. With a demonic rage he jerked his head back, ripping a chunk of flesh from it, and silencing the beast. He wasn’t completely convinced it was dead, so he picked up the shard of the sword and gave it a few more stabs in the exposed wound. He took a triumphant pose, with a wobbly fist to the air. He proclaimed his sloppy conquest and slid down the rock pile.
"A feat of unparalleled glory that shall be told by Dwarven scribes and sung in the great halls by the fairest maidens!" Muradin hollered proudly.
"My back hurts!" Greg hollered, because he was too tired to think of a poetic addition, and he liked to have the last word.
They sat in the middle of the room, dividing out the piles of treasure and realizing it was not as epic as they had hoped. Much of the gold was brass, some unknown trinkets of questionable value, and a handful of seeds in a glass jar. Aside from the numerous slabs of dried and smoked meat, and the coins from the dead bodies…they made a fairly average haul, a lot of loose nothing to drag back.
"I cannot even retire with this." Muradin sighed.
"Obviously the treasure isn't the treasure." Greg huffed, digging around for the real prize.
"I think you hit your head." Miranda said, feeling rather pleased with her haul, more then she ever had at one time in her entire life, given her poor upbringing.
"Yes I did, but that is not the point. You don’t have something as rare and menacing as a dragon guarding a bunch of scraps, let alone buried away in the core of the world. The gold and trinkets are trivial. There is something worth its weight in dragon hidden in this room." he said shaking his cracked magic-stone to see if it had one last blue light in it. "And without my rock, it may take some digging." he sighed.
"Probably easier to find another Dragon Stone." Miranda said, halting Greg in his progress.
"A what?" he asked. She looked shocked.
"A…Dragon Stone." she repeated as if stating the obvious. "You know that is what it is…right?" she asked.
"Let's imagine I am unfamiliar with that title." He said growing impatient.
"I assumed you knew it. You are a Dragon Slayer and you don’t know the stone you carry is a Dragon Stone?" she asked shyly.
"Which iiiis?" he said gritting his teeth.
"A stone the gods wear around their necks. It is supposed to allow them to find and control the dragons. Obviously it does one of those since you tracked down two of them with it. It clearly doesn’t help much when you find them, and since both of us can read them, the part of the lore about how only the gods can use them is also incorrect."
"We are not Dragon Slayers." Muradin informed her softly.
"I technically am now, but I felt it was a necessary thing to do after it tried to kill us. I just slayed a dragon…dragon slayer." he shrugged.
"Then why did you track them?" she asked.
"I just had this rock when I was a child, my parents said it was good luck and I followed the little blue thing. So this rock just points to the nearest dragon?" he asked.
"Yep…see?" she said digging one out of the loot pile and waving it around to indicate the blue dot tracking the biggest, nearest, mostly-dead dragon. The light was fading rather noticeably.
"I've been following random dragons my whole life…so I am no closer to any destiny or purpose than the day I left my village. Just hearing voices and talking to magic rocks." he said shuffling around and losing what little victory he thought he had. "So there is probably no treasure, no meaning and no destiny here…just magic rocks and a few months pay at a soldier's wages in trade items." he said with a chuckle somewhere between despair and insanity.
"Maybe your destiny is to be a Dragon Slayer. You did pretty well without even knowing you were one. Most Dragon Slayers never even see one up-close, and a lot that do, retire quickly after that." she muttered. "Or die." she added.
"No family, never settled down, never stayed in one place long enough to call home. Had to hunt down my purpose and bring some kind of destiny to the world. Adrian Michael Greggarious, Hammer of Fate…half-assed Dragon slayer and collector of fancy rocks." he sighed, suddenly kicking one of the armored corpses. "And I burned up my best sword!" he barked. He walked over to one of the pillars and gave it a half a dozen angry right hooks, chipping away the rock a good bit before deciding that was a bad idea, given the previous example of the pillars tendency to break and bury things. He approached the Dragon and began trying to pull one of its claws off with his bare hands.
"What are you doing?" Muradin snipped.
"I killed a Dragon, apparently it’s the only reward I get so I'm taking every claw and tooth and scale this thing has with me. I'm retiring off the only thing rare and valuable in this damn room." he said crunching the finger back and forth and making no other progress.
"Greggory, my boy. You have friends. You have friends that risked their lives to help you find your destiny and that is more valuable than any gold or magic. We are more than any family you could find out there." Muradin said poetically. Miranda smiled and looked very moved by his words.
"Do you really mean that?" she asked in a whisper. Muradin leaned to her discreetly.
"No. I am leaving the moment we get to the gates. The longer he stays here angrily hitting things, the longer we have to stew in this damp room and hope it doesn’t collapse on us. We need him to get back across the broken bridge, remember?" he muttered under his breath.
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"We love you, Greggory!" added Miranda with a huge fake smile.
A group of rather half-assed warriors marched in a poorly formed cluster, all dressed in various battle colors and degrees of nobility and poverty. There seemed to be little coherent theme or leadership, just a few soldiers of Ash loosely guiding the crowd of barbarians, wealthy men, peasant horses. Elora marched beside her friend, Moose. He looked rather nervous, never being in a real battle before.
"It's okay to be scared." she muttered discreetly.
"What was I thinking?" he sighed nervously.
"The same as every farmer and rich man in the area. Your home was threatened and in order to protect it, you took up a weapon." she shrugged, adjusting her armor and getting comfortable.
"Honestly, I did it to impress you. I don’t have many friends, and money is little comfort when you are alone. When they messengers arrived asking for volunteers and you volunteered without hesitation, I knew you would see my refusal as cowardly." Moose admitted.
"I would have understood." she assured.
"But would you have respected me for staying hidden?" he asked.
"No." she admitted. "But I respect you for being honest, and I respect you for going with me, despite being completely terrified." she smirked.
"Then it worked well. Now I just have to not die tomorrow and the plan is complete." he smiled, hiding his fear.
"It's a formality." she shrugged. "Ash has the greatest army of the land, the best armor and training. The first wave will reduce South elm to dust and we may not even see battle. If we do, it will just be support to pick off the last troops of a fleeting South Elm force. Odds are just as good that we won't even see combat, as we will just be part of a clean sweep. You'll be fine. Just pay attention, and if we do get called in, don’t worry about me and watch your back. Pick a target and attack, finish, check your sides and repeat." she assured like she had seen combat. The cute, little, chesty, dwarf turned and stretched to get ready.
"Sounds like you have been to war before."
"Grew up in Ferria, part of the hunting group. If you can kill a wild animal twice your size, you can kill a man. Just remember, they are not normal men, they are animals. don’t think about killing someone with a family and friends and a farm back home. South Elm soldiers are bred for war, hearty and aggressive but dumb and soulless. They have no fear, but an arrow to the throat or a sword to the guts kills them just as it would anyone else." she reminded. "Or any beast of the woods. This isn't war, it's hunting."
"I heard they have dragons and giants. What if one of the gods is among them?" he asked.
"Giants are extinct and mostly hype…tall men like yourself with inflated legends. The gods will be with their dragons, safely behind the tall walls and hiding behind their wealth. Gods don’t fight, they sit and rule. Men fight, beasts fight, both are just as easy to kill if need be." she assured.
"You make war sound easy." he chuckled as they spotted the battlefield and the waiting Ash army standing proudly. One of the confident young men stepped into the conversation. He was wearing a necklace with 3 pendants. The symbol of his religion, and two combat tokens. He had seen action, and survived to keep his faith intact.
"War is hell when it's between good men with even numbers. Ash has no equal, and South Elm has no humanity. This isn't war as much as a display of dominance in response to a desperate enemy. The Prophesy is near, William has made himself known and he is armed with the Blade of Truth. It's already over, already won, just a matter of keeping our losses down and praying that the sacrifice of a few good men is as little as possible. The scrolls say we already took back this land and the gods will fall…the only concern is that they don’t say in the scrolls if we win without a few sad losses. Stay back, keep calm and don’t be one of those. Our assistance probably won't even be needed." he said kissing his medallion for luck.
William smiled proudly, his fine robes waving in the breeze and his silver decorated armor gleaming brightly like the sun. He was a radiant example of nobility if ever there was one, a true hero of legend and a knight of prophesy. His assistant handed him the massive blade. He took it and shifted slightly, not expecting it to be so difficult to move. He compensated and hid his struggle behind his confidence. It didn’t matter how heavy it was, he had destiny on his side and immortality in his veins. He rested the man-sized sword on his shoulder to save his strength. The 13th son of Ash, an unbreakable William clad in the finest metals, with a heart of gold.
"Men…listen to my words!" he roared, sending respectful attention through the crowd. "Today, on this cold morning, the Prophesy will be set in motion. With the Blade of Truth, victory is inevitable. Some of you will fall in battle and ascend to the afterlife in glory and riches, your names will be remembered. Those of you who are destined for more, will stand beside me in the dusk of eternity as the army that stopped this evil once and for all!" he bellowed to the sound of clanking shields and cheers.
The morning sun seemed to brighten behind him as the Earth itself seemed to cheer along with the men, a crispness in the wind.
"By the powers of the old gods and the strength of men's determination, we will send the evil back to the darkness where it will cower and wither. The new gods will bow to us, and before this frost has melted, the blood of the tyrant will decorate this immortal blade. So say the scrolls: The Chosen child of men will make his stand in the morning frost, and his victory shall echo into the depths of hell. The gods shall take the final breaths of their final days and the black throne shall run red with the blood of Elm. Dragon and man both shall bow to the new order, and he shall lead them into prosperity on a horse of justice and equality. The 4 Kingdoms will once again unite, and there shall be a thousand years of peace.
I may be Chosen to wield this sword, but you have all been chosen to reap the harvest of its blade. When Elm falls, Man, Elf, Dwarf, and Troll will no longer be divided, and the age of tyrant kings will have ended!" he said, holding up the huge blade with all his strength, digging deep into his heart for the power to keep it in the air. The crowd cheered and waited as the rag-tag second wave arrived and took position behind them. The ground shook slightly as Elm approached.
The men were intoxicated with confidence and motivation, having no fear and no hesitation, holding back for the moment William gave the word to charge. They watched the army of South Elm pour over the hilltop into the killing basin and scoffed at their rough armor and generally dingy appearance. Savages, dispensable beasts of battle, too stupid to have a chance. The wave of savages continued to fill the landscape as the end of them always seemed to be just beyond their view. The line of darkness always defied the expectation, growing and growling until their numbers began to invoke a slight concern. Very shortly, their numbers were more than the Ash Army, and no end was revealing itself. Some of the men began to feel nervous, muttering to one another under their breath. Of course the victory was guaranteed, but with such numbers, perhaps the losses would be far greater than expected. William and the empire were safe, but what of the lesser men? Moral was declining, but still strong. Then, a second sun began to rise from the horizon, fluttering in brightness and vanishing in short intervals. This was clearly a sign of the Prophesy, evidence that the old gods favored their destiny. The gods seemed to change their minds as the second sun grew brighter than the morning sun and each time it dimmed, the black dot behind it made it more and more obvious what was happening. It wasn’t clear to those behind the front row what it was until the air was filled with the faint roar of a dragons molten-battle cry. The death toll was now guaranteed to be heavy.
"To destiny!" roared William, rushing ahead and down the hill. The tiny blue and silver dots poured down the hill towards the tiny black and gold dots that were already at the bottom. The numbers were daunting, even before a dragon was involved.
"We are going to die." sighed Moose to Elora.
"Perhaps, but not in vain. Whether we die or life awaits us…Glory and victory are still ours to claim!" said the now slightly nervous soldier, fondling his medallion, praying for strength.
Greg sat in the morning fog, wondering what the odd lights were in the distance. He assumed some battle was raging on, too far to reach before it was over. He peered down at the bottom of the mine shaft, admiring the scale of the whole thing, as he puffed his pipe and pondered if there was any point to it all. He made his blade, followed a lie to the ends of the Earth and finished his part. At the age of 25, his life was only about half over, and he had nothing to show for it except the sore pinky and the residual soreness of the memory, knowing what it was for… nothing. The regeneration was complete, the blade now bringing the glory of the future to William's hands and here he sat on the morning of battle, no longer knowing where to go, his future unsure, his life without a good woman or a sturdy home to return to, his name only a footnote in the tale of William the Chosen, and only his glorious weapon to sit on display with no more than a maker's mark or a credit plaque to unite him with his purpose. He felt completely alone. His friends rejoicing in the bustle of the city below, no doubt enjoying the spoils and victory of slaying a dragon as he sat on the ledge and smoked his tobacco and questioned his remaining life. He felt a strange presence, something familiar, yet new. He checked his new stone, the blue dot pointing to the sunrise and obviously to the dragon they must be slaying. He suddenly realized how screwed they would be without the mighty Chosen William and his sword of hope and Prophesy. The feeling of being watched was coming from the woods. He knocked an arrow into his bow and slowly walked to the trees, hoping for a beastly animal to provide some entertainment and a series of hearty meals to come. He spotted a pair of eyes, reflecting a strange red color. It took him a moment to size the creature up to just over 6 foot, and he realized the eyes were not reflecting light, they were glowing an eerie crimson. He smirked, realizing this was something new and exciting. The creature passed into the dim light of the morning fog and he slowly let off tension, resting the bow in its relaxed state. It was a woman, a woman of unusual ethnicity. Her crimson eyes illuminated the tinted lenses of a very dark pair of glasses, the gold gleamed in the light from its numerous decorative sources and her pointy ears had a familiar vibe to them. There was an odd earthy quality to her, and a familiar combination of features that he only saw in part, when looking at his reflection in the bathwater. Her canines were visible from her confident smirk as she slowly and discreetly clicked back the mechanism of the heavily gilded device in her hand. Some manner of crossbow, foreign and missing it's necessary bow limbs. An ornately carved gold axe blade decorated the tip, a functionally engineered device if it worked at all.
"You are the one they call Greggarious?" she asked.
"For you…that is correct." he said hesitantly gripping his bow.
"Come with me. Your true destiny awaits." she said poetically.
"Flattering as that sounds, I often question offers too good to be true. Persuade me with details and motives and I will oblige." he said reaching into his robe and remembering he had no sword anymore.
"You don’t belong with them…mortals." she sighed, circling him like a predator, finding the angle of attack.
"No kidding." he scoffed. "Let me guess…Prophesy?" he said rolling his eyes.
"There are many Prophesies, Greggory, not all of them agree with the meaning. Ash believes the Chosen one will slay the gods and bring an end to the age of their reign, making Men and Elf the rulers of this world."
"And you disagree with that." he yawned.
"The age of the old gods will end…but not by the hand of William. The blade was crafted by you, and you must wield it. The age of Men and Elf is not on the horizon, but the age of the new gods. Do you know where the name came from that they shout so proudly…ASH?" she smirked.
"Boy, what a mystery?… could it be the famous woods of Ash that the castle is made of? The famed sacred Ash timber that is as hard as stone and cannot be burned?" he said sarcastically.
"The Castle was built by the old gods before they let it to rot in the hands of men. The Prophesy that some follow, say that the destroyer will burn the castle down to ashes and rebuild an empire of gold and stone in its place. The One who will slay the last of the old gods with the blade of his bones." she smirked.
"I didn’t tell anyone about that." he muttered to himself. "But maybe I did that to follow a similar detail in another prophesy. Action chosen by legend that confirms the legend. Self fulfilling details that lead believers to the place they wanted most." he suggested.
"Prophesy is what you want it to mean, opportunities presented by wise men for those in power to decide themselves. What suits you better, Greggory? The blacksmith who hands his destiny to men…men who have cast you out as different and strange for your very blood? Does it really suit you to be the passive Hammer that sits back and reaps what sad little glory men permit you? Or perhaps you want more. How about the hand that slays the old god and takes his place. One of the new gods that rules men and Elf alike for the mortal peasants they are. The old god feared the Prophesy, because it spoke of his demise and the rise of another. For that reason, when the children of the stars were sent here to replace him and his old ways, he killed them one by one, sparing only a few to raise and corrupt as his faithful servants. That was his greatest mistake, by leaving any of us alive, he did not ensure his reign be fortified, but that his demise would be guaranteed.
"What are you?" Greg asked.
"Have you been asking yourself that very question? Have Men and Elf been asking that of you your whole life? What answer would comfort you? Halfbreed? Mistake? Just another rejected spawn of illegitimate crossing of species that belongs nowhere, impure and inferior by birthright? Perhapse you would prefer something more suiting, the child of the stars, one of few who survived the great butchery of the old gods. Superior in every way to the ants that scurry around us, judging and rejecting.
We are the chosen…not them. Mortals are not meant to rule, they never have been, sad little chimps with rocks and sticks that can barely understand fire. How have they convinced you, one who can tame fire with his bare hands, that you are anything but a god?" she asked.
"Tempting theory, but I never wanted power and rule, nor riches and superiority. All I ever wanted was to be seen as something with value, to have a simple life and be left alone, free and unchained of factions and Prophesy and kingdoms. All I ever wanted was to fit in somewhere and be left alone." he sighed.
"And you can be. You belong with us, and when the old god is dead, you will be one of the new gods for all to respect and fear. If you want simple obscurity, we can guarantee that right. To live however you want, all kingdoms united under the rule of a single house, the new gods united in a single rule with a single goal." she said with sweetened words.
"And what of mortals?" he asked.
"Short flashes of life in the greater plans. You will outlive them all…and one day when we have made this our world, man will be little more than a memory or a pet to feed scraps from the tables." she said confidently.
"So you want to kill the tyrant that enslaves and murders the peasants, just to become a group of tyrants who does the same?" he asked.
"The apes of this world cannot help themselves, they are primitive beasts with primitive ways and they must be guided and ruled by someone. Why does that taste so bitter to your tongue, when you can sit on a throne and make your own will manifest?"
"Just seems wrong. I have grown up being treated like dirt because I was given to peasant farmers. The gods draped in gold and silk had no caring for them, my sister, my parents, my village." Greg argued.
"You have come a long way to slay a god in revenge, why is it so wrong to fill the empty throne with your own bloodline?" she asked.
"Because we would be no better than the gods I despise. By killing him, I am ending the cycle, honoring my family's name with retribution, by sitting on that throne and becoming the same tyrant, I dishonor them and keep the cycle going."
"What have they done to you? How have they reduced your will to such small remnants?"
"Being raised poor and exiled will do that to you. I will kill your old god, and I will do so with pleasure and glory, but when he is dead, so is the empire he created. So the only question is…will you help me, or do I have to go through you to get there?" he asked, lowering his canines. She extended hers as well.
"Oh Greggory, you have fought men and beast and grown confident in your strength. Have you ever felt the sting of defeat?" she asked.
"I just killed a dragon, I think I can handle you." he said tightening his grip on the bow.
"An old and feeble dragon, sleeping in his cave. Where do you think you got the strength to slay such beasts…and why do you assume that same strength doesn't flow through the new gods of your generation?" she chuckled maniacally. "or me?"
"One way to find out. I'd prefer you let me go decapitate an old god before we have this little feud, but you don’t look like the kind to back down."
"We were made to adapt to our world, able to mold to our environment to become stronger than the old gods…purpose bred. You have adapted to an anvil and hammers, armed yourself with weapons of men and Elf…I have adapted to rebellion and war, armed myself with the magic of gods…do you really think you have any advantage over me?" she scoffed.
"I'm pretty angry about my family…so there is that. Never underestimate the strength of a wild dog who has been starved and kicked around his while life. I have seen hungry and angry dogs with teeth and determination take down hunters with the best bows and armor gold can buy. So do we negotiate, or just settle this like dogs?" he asked.
"You have my offer, I do not negotiate with dogs. Stand on your hind legs and rule upright, or be hunted down like a mutt…the choice is yours, and I can wield the blade without you." she sighed.
He drew his bow and sent an arrow into her shoulder. She winced and stood stationary, pulling it out as if it were a thorn or a bee's stinger, a light irritation at best. She chuckled slightly and raised her weapon. The dim woods illuminated with a faint flash and the arrow struck his shoulder, suddenly erupting into white light and sending him flying backwards into the clearing. He blinked and felt a very unfamiliar sensation…it was called burning, and he was not used to it. He grabbed for the arrow to pull it out and noticed a rather large missing chunk of his bicep was missing.
"Oh that is fascinating." he muttered, rolling to avoid her next round. She sighed angrily through gnashed canines and approached for a better shot.
"I will give you until I kill you to change your mind. After that, your Prophesy dies with you." she hollered. He needed to buy time, assuming the magic crossbow had limited bolts to fire. He leapt behind a nearby tree and felt it detonate behind him, throwing burning timber in all directions. His cover was pretty feeble, so he abandoned it and hoped there was a delay in reloading. There wasn’t. The next crossbow bolt hit his chest, ripping a deep hole in the muscle and placing him flat on the ground. He wheezed and exhaled a puff of smoke and vapor, realizing it had hit bone. Not only would that have likely killed him had it found a space between ribs, but he realized his ribs were not what he expected them to be. His anatomy seemed quite alien indeed. He tried to stand up and the weapon was already pointed at his face.
"Too late to negotiate?" he asked, as smoke rolled from his nostrils.
"Negotiate yes, surrender, no." she offered.
"Damnit…how about I just throw this out there for you: If you are anything like me, you enjoy a good fight. If there are only a few of us left, this may be your only chance to really test your skill against another god. Isn't that worth savoring and enjoying, or do you really want to just finish me of with your magic toy and spend eternity wondering if you could have actually beat me in a fair fight?" he taunted.
"You son of a bitch." she smirked.
"Neither of us is going to settle, so a fight is inevitable, and someone is going to die tonight. Either way, someone walks away confident to go murder a tyrant. Shouldn’t the fate of the weak be determined by who is strongest and most qualified to lead? After all, your very reason for seeking the throne is because the weak mortals have no right to lead. So are you really the stronger of us, the one truly qualified, or did you just get better toys and embrace the easy way of winning with your magic crossbow?" he smiled, bearing his teeth. She pondered a moment, extending her arm and the weapon behind her. She chuckled to herself and sent 4 trees consecutively to the ground in a rapid execution of fire and debris. She inhaled the smoke and walked to the nearest stump, placing the weapon down and removing her jacket. She adjusted her glasses and walked to her bag of goodies, returning with a pair of cruciform swords. She stepped to where he was sprawled out and waited for him to get up.
"You are a lot like me." she admitted.
"Maybe you are a lot like ME…I could be older." he grinned.
"You assume that makes a difference." she said planting her feet firmly, tossing him a sword.