Are we on? We are? Ok. Hello, this is Heather Lockwood for the Redonkulas Information Network, and today we are here at the Sigurdsson Ranch with Pia Sigurdsson, widow of the Wayne Sigurdsson who was murdered by members of a Mexican cartel last month. It is nice to be here Mrs. Sigurdsson, you have a lovely home.
Thank you, Heather. Keeping this place clean is pretty much the only thing I have been able to do to take my mind off Wayne’s death. When I am sweeping the mudroom or washing the curtains, I can almost convince myself that he is just out on the range for the day.
I’m so sorry for your loss. From what I’ve heard from everybody I’ve talked to, he sounds like a great man. His loss has left a major hole in the hearts of many, and we are all reduced by it.
I appreciate that Heather, but what I miss is my husband, and father of my son. Paul hasn’t…been taking the loss well. He spends most nights crying himself to sleep.
My apologies for bringing up bad memories, it was not my intention. I’m just here to follow up on the events AROUND his death, with the strange lightning strike and the researchers from Texas University?
Well, yeah, I guess people WOULD want to know more about that. Not about a widow’s problems trying to run an entire ranch by hiring ranch hands, to replace somebody irreplaceable.
Ok, after the lightning strike and the flash, I grabbed the medical kit from the front room and tore rubber in the Jeep to get to him. But when I got there he was already dead, his body laying against the truck’s side from being thrown by that weird lightning strike. All I could see other than him in the Jeep’s headlights was several half-burnt skeletons. When I couldn’t see an intruder I called 911, and started doing CPR.
It took the ambulance over an hour to get here, but…Wayne never woke up. His heart never beat, he was gone.
It wasn’t until the sheriff came out the next morning to look over the scene, that we discovered the weird pattern scoured into the soil by the lightning.
My apologies, but we’ve heard several people claim that this is a hoax. That to get money and attention after your husband’s tragic death, you made the design YOURSELF. What can you say to that?
I practice my limited magic under Venradik’s guidance. It seems like his magical ability is being able to access nature-oriented spells on top of his normal Drow powers. I don’t know they come from the Call of the Wild trait or elsewhere, or even if this trait system is mine EXCLUSIVELY, and everybody else uses something different. But it still lets him have insights into how my magic is supposed to work…insights that I find invaluable.
As a result, later that winter, I manage to FINALLY unlock and take Eldritch Soul. I know that, while it gets access to the same spells as the Arcanism trait, it is usually used less for utility-type magic and more for “blow your face into the next COUNTY” stuff…and for good reason. When you are slinging spells like bullets in a Chicago neighborhood, you don’t want to drive yourself insane at the speed of applesauce, which is how Arcanism works. When casting an “Arcane” category spell with Arcanism, you have to make a Will save to avoid turning part of your mind into the aforementioned applesauce, so people typically take it for low-frequency use utility effects such as invisibility and mage armor. Then frequently use it to make one-shot items for later use, or enchanting more long-term objects…like Venradik’s necklace of disguise self. But the flip-side is that, unlike Eldritch Soul, Arcanism users can swap out prepared spells just by cracking open their spellbook and setting up a new one, giving them ULTIMATE customizability from one situation to the next. Combined with a few pre-made “just in case” items, plus the cash to make them, and you wind up with a highly versatile spellcaster capable of handling any situation. USUALLY with a minimal need to wear a jacket showing how much they love themselves.
So why am I taking Eldritch Soul instead? Frankly…because Laugash’s Intelligence sucks worse than a possessed vacuum cleaner in a Planned Parenthood clinic on Elm Street. Ok, it’s actually AVERAGE, and much of that due to age, but still…compared to his Charisma it is no contest. And I don’t want to have to WAIT several YEARS for it to go up high enough that I can access more potent magics than “make my coffee warm” cantrips! Plus, I’d rather utilize the Eldritch Soul’s “Pool” points, than risk blowing my brain out of my ass. I got enough problems keeping sane in this crazy situation, without INVITING it! All that…and I am FAMILIAR with it, from playing Herr Grey, as well as that nice “Breaking the Limits” Advantage that I seem to have inherited from the otherworldly soul currently piloting this meat-mech, and Venradik’s attempts to save his friend’s child.
Besides, just because Eldritch Soul isn’t PERFECT for using “utility” magic…doesn’t mean you CAN’T. My time spent playing Herr Grey proved THAT! Of course since there aren’t any cities around here, and I’m going to HAVE to do some combat magics anyways…so why not maximize it? Bippity-boppity-boo, brutal and short
SPELLCASTING:
* Chosen by Fate CL 1 (+2), Max SL 0th.
* * 0th: summon weapon
* Eldritch Soul CL 1 (+2), Max SL 1st. Spell Level Pool Points: 13 (0th-Level are free)
* * 0th: acid splash, detect magic, prestidigitation; 1st: color spray, mage armor
Acid Splash (Evoc): Orb deals 1d3 (+2 Breaking the Limits) damage [to Con]. [Acid]
Color Spray (Ill): Knocks unconscious, blinds, and/or stuns 1d6 (+2 Breaking the Limits) weak creatures [Material Consumed (colored red, yellow, and blue sand or powder)]. [Mind-Affecting; DC 12 Will save]
Detect Magic (Div): Detects spells and magic items within 60 ft. (+2 Knowledge:arcana and Spellcraft checks Breaking the Limits)
Mage Armor (Conj): Gives subject +4 (+2 Breaking the Limits) armor bonus [Focus Needed (piece of cured leather)]. [Force]
Prestidigitation (Universal): Performs minor tricks. (+2 to relevant skill checks Breaking the Limits).
Each of these new spells, modified by my Charisma and Breaking the Limits, jack-up their effective “power” level up by about halfway to the next-higher Spell Level. And since the potency of spells in The Harrowed Earth is exponential (1st-level is twice as strong and 0th, 2nd-level is twice as strong as 1st and this FOUR times as strong as 0th, and so on), this effectively DOUBLES their usefulness to me. Unfortunately the potency bonus goes down as the Spell Level goes up, but when I get my increase to Charisma WHEN I get older, the bonus will increase even more.
Plus…BONUS…it turns out that while Venradik has to use odd-looking gestures and words I don’t understand in an ear-slithering language to cast spells, I can use MINE by speaking their names in English and doing what I can only describe as “meme moves”. Even our same-function spells, like detect magic, we each use with different-looking components. His makes my head hurt if I try to understand what he says, and the gesture looks like he is trying to knit the air with one hand. I can do it by saying, “detect magic” and putting the circle of one hand’s finger and thumb over an eye…the other fingers don’t seem to matter. According to Venradik, this is because they are both used as mental shortcuts to mix the disparate concepts behind them, and by bringing them together we can “push” magic into the resulting construct to create the effect. Untrained magical concepts, or those whose components do not match them, create weak constructs that either cannot HOLD the magic, or…worse…CAN hold it but will break when filled with magic, “like boiling water in a cup made from fresh clay.” So, I guess that the descriptions I am getting from the character sheet, the mechanics I remember from The Harrowed Earth, and cultural idioms like “talk to the hand” basically constitute magic-ready concepts in this universe.
He thinks I am so good at magic due to a natural gift for it, created by the runes he used to try and save Laughash’s life. I honestly can’t say he is wrong, since those very runes MIGHT be part of the reason my Earth-born soul is in this body!
Thanks to studying plant-craft and medicine-making with Venradik, I can easily source the colored powders for color spray, which is consumed like…well…spell bullets in the “color spray” caliber. And to cast mage armor I only need a piece of cured leather, LIKE the very tied-town pseudo-diaper all the kids like me around here wear, ON HAND…giving me skin as resilient as the BEST armor around here! Between that and acid splash hitting as hard as an arrow, I got enough combat capacity to take a pissed-off squirrel in a fight, and for everything else there’s the age-old tactic of “color spray and RUN!”
Then I can use detect magic and prestidigitation (also known as “least wish” to those in-the-know) to practice my magical AND survival skills. Normally they would, at best, just ALLOW such a skill check – but thanks to the “to spell effects” wording of Breaking the Limits, ANY skill check a spell ALLOWS is…by definition…part of that spell’s “effect”! Of course I checked this out before selecting my spells, utilizing the automatic detect magic spell that just taking Eldritch Soul gave me, first. I’m 6 (going on 40), not an idiot
It turns out that, like in The Harrowed Earth, 0th-level spells are free ONLY while I still have a point left in my spell pool. I tested this by running my pool to one remaining Spell Level through casting mage armor repeatedly, then using prestidigitation to light my thumb on fire over and over again. Even after several minutes of playing “flick the thick”, I still had the same amount of “hollow” feeling as I started with. Then, when I popped out the last magical butt-nugget for the “FULLY empty” sensation, I couldn’t even light my farts.
Huh, I might be getting a little jaded. I guess after a YEAR of using it, even full-on physics-fingering MAGIC can get to be old hat
Despite this new batch of toys, I’m still working on summon weapon every day. After getting some skill ranks unlocked by making all those daggers, I decided to try making weapons by hand so I can get even MORE points into “Craft (weaponsmith)”. Since it seems I can only get a couple points in from making stone-bladed knives or bone-headed arrows magically. I’m guessing that this is either because whatever force has been governing my “training” requirements considers me not OLD enough to learn more, or because the Difficulty Class (i.e. “DC”) of making these types of weapons is so low that I’m not “pushing” myself far enough to put in more ranks. Hell, maybe I am lacking the “smith” part of “weaponSMITH”…and need to get my thin-ass arms into the forge to smack some metal around. But in any case the experiment was a success, and I can now summon functional wood, bone, and even STONE small easy-to-use weapons almost 100% of the time.
But from my attempts to summon a duplicate of my old 1911, this time WITHOUT bullets, I can’t tell if I’m any more accurate or not. Too many failures, with only VERY sporadic seeming successes, so the pool of information is just too small to determine if I am getting closer to a FULLY FUNCTIONAL “wand-of-thunder”, as I described it to Venradik.
So until I can figure out how to get my near-caveman hands on some decent (or at least DIFFERENT) metal to play around with, I spend my days either studying whatever apothecary-like or magical skills Venradik tries to share with me, or searching the woods for useful and novel things. On days when it is raining too hard to make the walk to the woods, or the wind is blowing too hard to get there without being blown all over the fields, I just sneak around and spy on the folks in the village. I once even made it into the Jarl’s earth-works-surrounded longhouse fortress, but had to run like hell when I heard somebody cry out behind me to stop. Thankfully I had long since plotted out a veritable warren of small nooks and crannies all over the village, and was able to slip away once I got into it. Always know the terrain.
Yeah, despite the growing respect I am getting from the tribesmen as Venradik’s apprentice, and even from some of the villagers thanks my knowledge of basic hygiene and first aid from being a navy man letting me fix things even the village’s PRIEST sometimes cannot fix. Turns out telling people to eat their veggies, and stick to drinking ONLY small beer, to cure gout actually WORKS. Of course this doesn’t endear me to said priest, and he often dresses down Venradik like a Drill Instructor who found a prospective seaman’s boots untied. Despite this Venradik always tells me to keep it up, assuming that these “bouts of inspiration” are just a side-effect of my brush with the Elder Deities. Or maybe BECAUSE of it? I don’t imagine that a guy who is who-the-fuck-knows how many CENTURIES old appreciates being talked to like a naughty child by somebody barely HALF a century old.
But even if I doubt Veradik’s motives, I have ZERO doubts about who keeps putting the village children up to bullying me. That damn wannabe-druid has GOT to be the one doing it, since they ALWAYS seem to find me in the next couple days after I cure somebody’s embarrassing rash, or whatever, and beat the living shit out of me! I know I could use magic to win a fight against a bunch of other kids, none of whom are past 10 winters old, or at least put up a DAMN good showing of myself. But if I do that…THEN what? I’d be an “ungrateful savage” who “used mystic powers against unarmed innocents in a mere children’s squabble”. Plus, I’m TRYING to keep my magical skills on the down-low…a surprise resource ceases to BE a surprise once everybody knows you HAVE it. So in the interim, I take my lumps, and deplete Venradik’s stores of poultices.
At least he makes an oddly good potato-and-bird stew after each time he find me beat half to shit in our hut. I know he thinks of me as his child, but I think of him as…a good buddy? No, a BATTLE-buddy! We might not have slung lead on the same boat together, but we have supported each other in this SOCIAL battlefield, and he has taught me a lot. Maybe that makes him my senior NCO in our little two-man unit? Yeah, I think that’s pretty much it. I know that when I was the “wise old timer” I acted much the same way he does, took the E-1s under my wing, looked out for them, and taught them whatever I could.
At this point, how about a little intermission? I know you are wondering “why I am writing this”, “who am I talking to”, and so on. The answer is simple; there is a “notes” section on the character sheet…with seemingly unlimited room in it (but no search function, just a kind of scroll bar). The more I dictate into it, which I can do by just opening the field and THINKING at it (or speaking while it is open), the more it is filled and the larger it gets. I remember that the same spot on my The Harrowed Earth sheet was just a couple lines, usable for things like hair style or “looks like Marilyn Monroe” and so on. But this odd collapsible-and-popup system my character sheet HERE uses is…unlimited. Maybe I should be using for what it is obviously intended, like remembering things such as directions or people’s names, but…I’d rather use it to write this pseudo-memoire and stay SANE…ish. Some of the earlier entries in this I had to write in retrospect, and most of the entries later on have to be made once I get enough privacy to do so, but I am TRYING to write this all while it is at least fresh in my mind.
Plus, if I ever make it BACK to Earth, I can transcribe it and give it to Paul to explain where his papa has been all this time. I’ve already missed his birthday once; I don’t want to be unable to answer his questions because of a failing memory, no matter HOW MANY birthdays I have to miss! Besides, Pia will be incredulous that I am “me”, after seeing my dead body! Being able to pass this journal to HER will…maybe…get me my wife back. She was pretty heavily into isekai anime, she MIGHT believe me. Or am I just insanely hoping in vain. Either way, I only guarantee failure by not TRYING, and I’ll take a less-than-1% chance of success over a 0% chance, every day of the week, when it comes to my family! End of interlude
It occurs to me that I haven’t covered the other developments I’ve made since the “incident” with Venradik and I uncovering our respective Swords of Damocles. I have managed to invest several points into many useful skills working as an apprentice herb-mixer, helping folks with their ailments, hunting small game and materials in the forest, and creeping around the village over this past year. Then the night-time secret spellcasting studies with Venradik has helped me figure out how magic LOOKS, how it SOUNDS, and so on. As a result, my “Skills” section has changed.
SKILLS (–3 to Social skills from Primitive):
* Charisma-Linked (+1)
* * (CbF) Bluff +0 (2 ranks) [–3 Social]
* * (CbF) Disguise
* * (P) Use Mystic Device
* Wisdom-Linked (+0)
* * Heal +2 (2 ranks)
* * Spot +1 (1 rank)
* * (P) Survival +3 (1 ranks) [+2 from Primitive]
* Intelligence-Linked (+0)
* * (P) Alchemy +2 (2 ranks)
* * (P) Craft (weaponsmith) +2 (2 ranks)
* * Knowledge (arcana) +2 (2 ranks)
* * Knowledge (nature) +2 (2 ranks)
* * Spellcraft +1 (1 ranks)
* Dexterity-Linked (+0)
* * (CbF) Hide +7 (2 ranks) [+4 from size]
* Constitution-Linked (+0)
* * Concentration +1 (1 ranks)
* * (P) Control Shape
* Strength-Linked (+0)
* * (P) Climb
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
* Linguistics +2 (2 ranks)
I want MORE skill points, I got to increase my magical skills, and I KNOW that I should be getting some from Intelligence…eventually. But in the meantime I can utilize skill points from bonus sources, such as my traits and the Human racial bonus skill points, it seems. So I am still creeping around town and spying on the villagers, trying to get the “Stalker” trait unlocked, which if memory serves ALSO gives a ton of skill points. Plus I am trying to get some much-needed wilderness skills, thanks to all the hunting in the woods to unlock “Wildman”. If memory serves, these two traits give some of the highest bonus skill points, and thanks to having taken “Skillful” as my favored trait at 1st-HD, I can allocate those skill points…anywhere. Like into my magical skills, heh heh heh.
And this was how I spent another year, evidently trying in vain to unlock more traits, until the spring of Laughash’s seventh year. MY second year stuck living a life from his abandoned “save game” file.
***
Spring comes, and I find myself spending less and less time playing “Dr. Wayne, Medicine Man,” and more time creeping around the town or the woods. Turns out using color spray to stun-lock birds and other small game makes them easy targets for a kid with a sling. I may not be bringing in the deer and boar that the ADULT hunters can get, but I always come home with enough meat for the day’s stewpot. With the ability to coat myself in magical armor for half the day using just a few points from my spell pool, relying on acid splash to scare off anything DANGEROUS I come across, I gradually gain enough confidence to creep further and further into the forested hills south-west of the village. Which is good, since it lets me find useful mushrooms and other materials that Venradik can use for his elixers, plus a more fecund hunting ground for small game.
But then my stable life got kicked in the nuts, went sideways on an elevator track, circled the black hole, and so on.
As I was wandering the deep woods, just far enough away that I could still find my way back easily, I heard the sound of combat. This wasn’t a rare occurrence since hunters would often wind up fighting boars, wolves, and bears. But THAT is the sound of shouting and animals bellowing in their bestial fury. THIS was the sound of men shouting, something making sharp high-pitched sounds, and METAL ON METAL! Has a group of hunters ambushed by hunters from another village, one too far out for me to have discovered? Maybe bandits, people kicked out of whatever village they were from originally, or having left them for whatever reason? Explorers from some far-off land? Whomever is fighting, the noises are coming from over the rise of a hill I am walking across as the time, so I can at least look at the fight…and maybe pick up something that could be useful for my magical studies.
With that thought in my greedy little mind I quickly hustle up the side of the hill to the top, where I start crawling between groups of bushes until I find a spot just over the other side where I can see the battle. And guess what? Each guess was TOTALLY wrong. Oh don’t mistake me, it’s still hunters from the village, I recognize several of them…but they are NOT fighting foreign people. There are about a half dozen still-standing hunters fighting what looks like…werewolves? Some sort of wolf-like creature that stands up like people, but are wearing thick hide armor and wielding long-handled axes with gleaming blades. No…with BRONZE blades!
Time to Strategically Transport Equipment to an Alternate Location…specifically, MY greedy little mitts! Bronze isn’t hard enough to make a 1911, but it MIGHT be ductile enough to make a single-shot pistol of some sort, I just had to get my HANDS on some of it. HEY ho, there are several short-length spears with bronze heads on their backs…and…YEP, some of them are in the ground near the hunters and a couple IN the hunters on the ground. I have a snowball’s chance in Los Angeles of stealing one of those big-ass axes, but a stick with a pointy piece on the end nobody is paying attention to? THAT I could do…
I decide to increase my chances of going unnoticed, grabbing a handful of leaves from the forest floor and casting prestidigitation, with the intent to muffle the
Just then I realize that these are GNOLLS, If memory is correct they are a type of humanoid mutated into a canine hybrid by wild magics, that raid travelers and villages for that sweet-sweet manflesh. I never faced any as Herr Grey, but I remember seeing them in the rule book. With this in mind I hurry down to the stomped-down area behind the tree-based defenses, probably faster than I should, as one of the hunters blocking the gap falls down and gets dragged away into the pack of gnolls. From the sounds that followed, I guess I got their diet correct.
As I am reaching from behind a small fir tree for the spear closest to me, a foot STOMPS on it. A small foot in a well-made boot, quickly followed by the full body of a child dressed in well-made armor, his leather cap flying into my face as it leaves his head during his collapse. “No my prince, you MUST stay back!,” shouts the hunter who shoved the kid back, sending him stumbling straight into my carefully-laid plans like a bull in a box of lightbulbs.
Oh…great…there I am with a bloody nose, cursing in ENGLISH, while exchanging stares with the freaking SON OF THE DAMN JARL! “What are YOU doing here?!,” he says, obviously as thrown for a loop by my presence, as I am by his clumsy ass planted on top of my prized poking-stick.
Ok, I admit I was being short-tempered from pain, so maybe I SHOULDN’T have shouted out, “Well I am NOT wandering around the woods like a juicy fresh-cooked deer thigh, about to get eaten by a bunch of damn WOLF-MEN now, am I!” Thanks to that little outburst, the hunters that were evidently GUARDING Prince Torden, turn and look at me in shock…surprised that ANYBODY was even there let alone a kid from the tribesmen! A reaction that almost cost one of the men in the melee his life, as he barely turns back around and ducks an axe swing in time.
“YOU! Take the prince back to the village, before we are overcome!,” shouts the hunter/guard nearest us both. What an idiot.
“No! While I can get away easily, THIS lumbering pile of rocks would not be quiet enough to avoid being seen or heard. Then we are just two rabbits trying to run away from…well…a pack of wolves with axes…easy pickings.” See? I can be diplomatic. At least once the shock of getting socked in the face by a flying helmet fades away.
I was going to have to do something TRULY stupid, wasn’t I? I’m going to have to pull out my secret weapon, and save their collective butts…but NOT without getting something OUT of it! “I am Venradik’s son, I have some magic. I can use it to save you all, but I want something in return,” I say as I stand up from behind the bush, still pinching my nose closed.
“Whatever is in my power to gift you, consider it yours, if you can save these men,” says Torden as he stands up and holds his hand out to help me rise. DAMN, is this kid for real?! What a noble IDIOT, that’s a fucking BLANK CHECK!
“You got a deal…and MY spear under your foot, be sure you bring it!,” I say as he pulls me to my feet.
I move to behind the two warriors, one covered in cuts and nicks from the strikes that got past his shield and through his armor, to tell them, “When I say ‘spray’ step back, or you will be left for wolf food!” And I spin the leather sash I am wearing around so the small belt pouch where I keep the mixed colored powders.
Grabbing a pinch from it before dropping the bag so that its weight pulls the leather thong tight again, I hold my hand upwards in front of me. With a strongly spoken ‘color spray’ I step forward opening my hand in front of me, as if tossing the sand, while the two hunters step back to either side. A brief second’s bright multicolored light fills a 90 degree arc in front of me, 45 degrees to the left and right of my outstretched hand, catching the entire pack in the blast. While one of the two closest to me stops fighting to rub its eyes and whine, the rest stop to shake their heads and drool, their brains restarting like a car whose battery cable has a broken connection.
With a sense of savage revenge, the two hunters leap forward to stab the still-aware gnoll to death, as the ones behind me quickly shake themselves out of their amazement. One grabs the prince and starts to run back north, as he clutches MY spear, while the others grab men that are still moaning to drag along. I turn to slowly follow them, when I feel a jerk on my leather sash, and am quickly pulled up into the arms of a hunter fresh from his vengeful gnoll-stabbing. We all run hell-for-leather, the bouncing aggravating my bruised face to the point where I have to lean my head to the side and
About a half minute into the “retreat” we all hear the remaining gnolls howl and yip, as they come towards us. But for some reason they stop, the sounds of their pursuit ending shortly after it began. Out of curiosity I pull myself up my involuntary mount’s shoulder, to see behind us, and …yuck. They were EATING the dead men that had to be left behind!
Remember what I said about trying to keep my sanity? Yeah, let’s put “watching people be eaten by wolf-men” on the list of things NOT to do.
After maybe 15 minutes of running, getting slower and slower, we eventually stop a couple hills closer to the village. The five remaining able-bodied hunters flop on the ground or against trees, panting from exhaustion after running like the fires of hell were behind them WHILE carrying nearly-true veritable dead weight of their fellows. I take the opportunity to examine the survivors that were carried along, noticing that only two of the three rescued men are still alive…one having evidently bled out during the run. But I always bring some of Vendrik’s medicines with me whenever I go into the woods, just in case of a boar or wolf that won’t be scared away by balls of acid. One empty bag of medicines later I am sure that the last two will survive the trip, and have patched up the worst of the wounds the rest have.
Fuck, what have I gotten into, and how can I get OUT of this mess? But at least…BRONZE!, I think, as I see Prince Torden clutching my (yep, that’s a javelin) prize to his chest, staring at me with obvious wonder and surprise on his gobsmacked face.
***
The day wears on before everybody is ready to move again, but thier strength is obviously blown out. Asking around I find that they brought trailbags with them, full of breads and smoked meats to eat while escorting the prince on his hunting trip, but had to leave them behind to carry the injured. After the savage fight, and even more desperate flight, they just DON’T have the energy to carry anybody any further. These asshats left their supplies behind, and need grub…
Thankfully, my old navy supply sergeant instincts come to the rescue here. It is a good thing I’m more than just a magic-slinging apprentice apothecary. Prince Torden still has some pep in his step, the benefits of youth and being carried instead of running himself. It takes a bit of explaining and cajoling, but I manage to convince him that stealth and speed are more valuable than wearing his armor on our little food run.
So there the two of us are, him in the precious goat hair cloth undershirt he had on below his armor, and me in my leather near-caveman getup, as we travel a few hills away. It takes us almost an hour for a round trip to the pile of rocks I had dug up and placed at the norther foot of a big-ass former tree at the apex of a hill, the remains of a lightning strike sometime in the distant past. Enough of a landmark to be located from several places in the forest, and where I have placed several wax-coated leather-wrapped packages of bread preserves and smoked meats. Between the stones buried in the ground on the underside of the cairn, and the constant shadows cast by the dead tree, it is kept in near year-long frosted shade that lets it serve as a kind of unpowered refrigerator…and the stones keep the off any beasts that might be attracted by its errant scent.
On our return the hunters have managed to dig out a stone-ringed fire pit, with a low flame going to provide light and warmth in the growing late afternoon shadows. It isn’t enough to fill their bellies after splitting the packages open and sharing them out, but it IS enough to put pep back in their step.
So, with several village hunters singing my praises and back-slapping me like I was one of them fresh from the hunt, we march into the settlement that evening. With a wave to them I take my broken-off bronze prize, and move to walk down the path around the edge towards the tribe’s huts, when the prince himself steps in front of me, “Where do YOU think you are going? Father will want to reward you himself, and I still have gifts to give to the boy who saved my men!”
With an overly-friendly yank on my arm, I feel my safe and secure life of semi-anonymity fading away further and further behind me. A little more with every step towards the Jarl’s fortress. Fuck my life, I’m screwed aren’t I?
With a sinking heart, and after a few attempts in vain to escape the veritable electric chair, I am drawn to the earthen ramparts around the longhouse and handful of outbuildings, inside of which I can see the doors of the Jarl’s longhouse. Why does it feel like I’m walking to my own execution?
I am practically frog-marched into the longhouse by one of the prince’s guards, past another guard at the open log gate between earthworks, which forms a kind of castle-wall gate. As the longhouse’s doors open with a low resounding groan, I can almost hear the “Imperial March” playing in my mind…Is there going to be a Sith lord on the other side? I’ve never seen the Jarl except at a distance, I don’t even know his NAME?! How am I going to beg for my life, if I don’t even know his name?
Understand, the only times I have seen him is when the tribespeople were gathered at the fencepost gates between the huts and the town, twice. Each time was for the execution of a tribesman for some crime, and those were…brutal. I don’t want MY skinned-still-breathing carcass hanging from my wrists, over the middle of the path!
With an uplift in his voice, Torden calls out, “Father, you would not BELIEVE what happened on my hunt!” before he goes running to the pelt-covered throne at the other end, where a giant-muscled grey-bearded man stands up after talking to…Yep I’m boned, that’s the freaking priest who hates my guts.
Torden runs to his father’s smiling arms, his voice muffled by the Jarl’s bear fur cloak, before he holds the kid at arm’s length and shouts, “Where have you BEEN!” his angry voice mitigated by his obviously concerned look. “It is sunset, you should have been back my mid-afternoon!”
“I’m sorry father, but…oh yeah, we were ambushed by wolf-men and nearly died, isn’t that great!,” Shit, this kid’s an adrenaline junkie.
A well-dressed woman in her late 20s or early 30s comes out about from the back then, to pick up large child even younger than I am who is stumbling around the back of the room swinging a wooden sword as he shouts, “Ulf-men! Kill ulf-men!”
With a kind smile at me, she picks up the little boy and carries him into the back, “
I have a hard time not laughing at the dumbfounded look on the Jarl’s face. Unfortunately my barely-contained
Something of what I was thinking must have shown on my face, because after looking at me the Jarl laughs at the priest’s suggestion of my culpability, “
“That’s right father, he SAVED me and half of the guards AFTER we were ambushed!,” Torden nearly shouts with glee, his arms swinging as he gesticulates wildly under his father’s hands. “Then he fed us and tended our wounds afterwards, so we could make it home,” Torden is practically vibrating with excitement as he proceeds to tell the story, Borden having to duck back quickly to avoid a poked eye from a wild flail. Rapidly he keeps up the story, with a lot of “and then” statements, and focusing mostly bragging about our deeds. By time he is done, you’d think I flew into the battle on a black horse, and laid waste to them all with lightning bolts after Torden single-handedly held them off with a stick, before pulling mana from heaven to feed them all like some angelic champion. Borden humors the kid, all while Sikan’s face grows redder with anger, but once he winds down the Jarl turns to one of the guards next to me and commands, “So, what REALLY happened?”
At least the guard’s rendition of the tale was recognizable, but he starts with stuff I didn’t know, as they gathered for the prince’s hunting trip that morning. When I appear in the tale, evidently they had already lost people to wolves, and fallen back to the tree-blocked spot I found them in, after having to abandon their game thanks to the wolves that harried them along the game trail they were following. Then I come in, having snuck through the brush to meet up with the prince, and help them escape the remaining wolf-men. I used a fragment of the northern lights to stun and distract the creatures, letting them run into the woods with enough time to get out of sight and eventual escape. After stopping to catch their breath and make a fire, I healed their worst wounds and provided food to get them mobile again.
Ok, THAT sounds closer to what happened, but I am coming off sounding a LOT more heroic than I remember
“Yes my lord, as far as I can remember it sounds like what happened,” I say, I’m not going to ruin his good opinion of me!
“No Borden, the tribe child MUST be lying, why was he alone in the forest if NOT to treat with the vile things within?,” Ooohhhh yeah, that priest HATES my guts!
“Sikan brings up a good point, WHY were you in the woods?,” he says, my chances of getting out of this with my skin attached getting smaller with every word.
In a rush I try to explain, forgetting that I’m supposed to be a 7 year old kid, and talking like an adult, “I often go into the woods when it is warm, to hunt small game for food and find plants for Venradik, the tribe’s medicine man, who is ALSO my adopted father. He trusts me to be safe since I have been gifted with magic, the very same magic that I used to save your son. I am not a warrior, nor a hunter, but my magic lets me distract and protect myself so that if pressed I can FLEE! And so, when I was going deeper than normal because I had a hard time finding squirrels and such after so long hunting them closer by, I heard the sounds of battle and crept in to investigate. I thought that some of your hunters might be getting attacked by bandits, or scouts from another village intent on attacking yours, but it turned out to be gnolls! So I helped and…you know the rest.”
He just stares at me in wonder, Uh oh, I think I went too far. Then he speaks, and I KNOW I did, “Gnolls you say? NOT wolf-men? You can tell the difference? You have a surprisingly sharp mind for a child, young…what is your name?”
Yep, I let my maturity slip out, “Laughash my lord.” I’m bowing my head, looking at his feet, trying in vain to appear “less” than I revealed.
I quickly look up, as he tells the other guard to go fetch Venradik, and then hesitantly walk to him after he waves me to join him and Torden. Looking up as I walk to the two, Torden at a side table stuffing his face with breaded meat buns brought out by the woman from before, evidently his mother. I see that the priest is practically apoplectic. “Go feed your belly, kids should be well fed, and you look like you haven’t had a good meal since birth! Hahaha,” says the Jarl with a smile on his face.
So there I am at the same side table, eating surprisingly tasty treats and making agreeable sounds to Torden’s rambling diatribe about whatever. Sorry I wasn’t paying any attention to him, lost in my own worries while starting at the Jarl and the priest on the other side of the room having a quiet argument.
Eventually the same hunter that was guarding me returns to join the remaining guard, who was enjoying a flagon of mead and small loaf of bread brought to him by the…Queen? Is THAT the right term? And there, a step or so behind the returning man, was Venradik looking about as worried as I was, “Jarl, I have returned with the man you called for.”
With a sharp but quiet word to the priest, Borden steps back to the foot of his primitive throne, before sitting in it with a barely-concealed wince, “Venradik, healer of the tribesmen, is it true that this child here is yours?”
“Not quite Jarl Borden. I adopted him and have been teaching him the healer’s arts, ever since his father’s death two winters ago,” Venradik said, standing proudly and speaking with a strength of voice I didn’t know he had. “If he has offended you then please, I plead to take his punishment in his place. I should have taught him to behave better, so in truth his failure to do so is my fault more than his!” Fuck Venradik, I think I’m going to cry. Now THAT is a father! Although some of his sincerity loses its potency, since I know he can utilize his magic to escape if push comes to shove.
In a benevolent tone Borden informs him, “I think that there is some misunderstanding here, healer. I did not bring you into my presence to yell at you for being a poor father, you are evidently NOT. Nor is clever young Laughash in trouble, despite what others might say. I brought you here to discuss your place as his adopted father…I would like to take that place.” Say the fuck WHAT?!
“Pardon, my lord? I do not understand. We are just simple tribesmen, taken into your lands under your kind care, following our attack on this place. You have children of your own, gotten with your wife, as well as the health blessings of Sikan the priest. WHY would you want to take in a healer’s apprentice, from a people that were your ENEMIES so recently?,” he replies in puzzlement. You go Vendrik! The second-to-last thing I want is being forced to deal with some iron-age court intrigues! Of course the VERY last thing I want is to get executed, but since being stuck around that priest will pretty much mean the same thing, just delayed…
“Earlier today he selflessly travelled into the deep woods, where he rescued not only several of my warriors using potent magics, but also my firstborn SON. Evidently you taught him VERY well, healer,” Borden says with a chuckle.
“I seek to take him in, as a brother to Torden, in hopes that my son picks up SOME of his intelligence and maturity. And until he does, at least I will be comforted in the knowledge that Torden is playing with somebody who can get him safely out of whatever trouble he gets himself into,” the Jarl says while giving me side-eye, or maybe Torden who is standing gobsmacked beside me. Half a meat bun is still in his mouth, forgotten at the news that his father wants to adopt his new friend.
“Isn’t that GREAT Laughash! We will get to play together ALL the time! I can show you my favorite places to fish. We can practice swords together, my teacher is SO mean. And we can go on adventures together EVERY DAY!,” says the proto-fratboy while he grabs me in a bear hug and lifts me from the ground, pieces of meat and bred go spewing from his overexcited smiling face. Great, just perfect. I’m doomed to be a glorified babysitter for a kid in DESPERATE need of ADHD medication?!
While he is shouting his joy in my ear I miss a large part of Borden and Venradik’s conversation, but at least I catch the end of it after Torden puts me down. Or at least Venradik’s side, “Very well my Jarl, Laughash will return here tomorrow with his belongings. And he shall visit with me every day of the full moon, to continue his studies.” Ok, THIS I cannot allow, I NEED Venradik’s help with my magical studies…I can’t ask that damn priest for help, after all!
“Jarl Borden, please, Venradik has been a father to me for as long as I can remember! How can joining your household is to be a reward, if I am to then lose so much time with the man who has raised me, and taught me to behave in the very ways that have earned me such a reward? Can we not bring him into your service as well? Surely you have a station that a man with such skills with plants and healing could serve?” Time to put those skill ranks in Linguistics to use, and maybe I can shift some of Borden’s good will from me to Venradik. It may not be the Gettysburg Address, but I got to try SOMETHING…I can’t lose access to my only real ally in this time and place, except for three days out of every damn month!
Borden just grins before responding to me, “Hearing such mature words coming from such a young man…this is not something I think I will EVER find normal
And THAT is how I fucked myself, my easy casual days vanishing from my grasp. That’s what I get for not being able to leave well enough alone.