Walking through the forest, a breeze blowing through their hair, a lanky young man and a short gnome walked side by side chatting. The gnome had a camp set up somewhere and offered to help the young man with a certain dilemma once they arrived.

As they strolled through the cool shadows the canopy cast, Red asked his short acquaintance, "Can you really help me with the bad juju?"

"I believe so," Polopp nodded. Stroking his white beard, he expounded, "The soul is an intricate and wonderful apparatus that is not unlike a whole other body in itself." His tiny hands fluttered like butterflies as he became expressive, "There are parts, and then there are connections between those parts that all lead to the body itself, our corporeal being, if you will."

His rosy cheeks puffed out as he exclaimed, "And there is an ethereal part of it that can’t be measured! Can you imagine studying such an intricate and intangible entity as the soul? When you think you have one side of something thoroughly studied, another part proves what you just thought to be true to be, in essence, completely false!"

His blue eyes traveled up to the tall young man’s face and saw that Red was holding his head and that his eyes were swirling.

"…perhaps I said too much?" The gnome guessed warily.

Red never could follow logic well enough, nor could he fathom thoughts and ideas that were too abstract. When he tried, the young man would find his limit quickly. Varza Rombell, Red’s mother, had always warned her dimwitted son to be careful of thinking too hard. Otherwise, headaches would form in his mind.

What Red’s sweet mother had failed to mention was to never let intelligent people ramble on or they would take up most of your day, also, never try to listen too intently to them, otherwise a headache may be on the way.

A drop of blood dripped out of Red’s nose as his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

Mistakenly, Red tried to follow along with the gnome’s overly explanatory words. A chance had been found here for him to control the foreign memories, so Red tried his best to keep up, but little good that did. His intelligence was just too limited, to the point of being fragile.

"Mister Red…!" Polopp sputtered, expecting Red to fall over.

"Don’t call me mister," Red responded suddenly, his brown eyes snapping back into place. Looking down, he grinned, "Call me champ!"

The gnome could see something had gone amiss with the young brawler, but he wasn’t sure. After clearing his throat, he tried to continue his explanation, "As I was saying, my soul research should be able to help you—"

"Research?" The champ interrupted.

"Um, yes. Allow me to cut my diatribe here and answer you simply. As an alchemist, I can provide potions that could enhance, augment, or—"

"Enhance?" The champ cut in again, "The champ doesn’t take steroids, little guy." He began to shadowbox, punching while breathing sharply with each punch. "I train hard, and then I train hard some more. That’s the secret to the champ’s success!"

Being called "little" never sat well with Polopp, but he kept his peace in front of a young man who was strong enough to wipe out a whole crowd of undead alone.

I’m rather tall for a gnome, Polopp thought, indignant, tallest among twelve children in fact.

The champ stopped shadowboxing and then went into long strides while exaggeratingly swinging his arms, moving as if he were putting on a show.

Polopp focused on the way Red carried himself. Before, the young brawler was timid and shy, even walking with his shoulders slumped while keeping his head low as if he were afraid to be in the way.

Now, he seemed to have become another person.

That is not the young man I met in the clearing earlier, Polopp surmised with certainty.

"Stick with me, little guy," the champ assured with a smile, "You’ll see that no matter what enhancements my opponents cheat with, they still can’t measure up to me."

"Mister Red?" Polopp prompted while observing the changes that had occurred in Red.

The champ shook his head, replying, "Call me champ. I didn’t throttle the Gypsy Hound to be called anything else."

"Alright, champ. Where are you from?"

"Reeking Valley," Red answered as his exaggerated movements ceased. His head fell lower, and his chest caved in. The long strides he took turned into careful steps, as if he was unsure if Polopp could keep up with him.

The gnome was grateful for the change of pace. Red’s strides had caused him to go into a jog.

"You’re back," Polopp stated.

Red nodded, sniffing the drop of blood back up into his nose.

"Interesting. So very interesting, I must say," Polopp mused, his hand stroking his beard. After a few moments of watching Red, he said, "You seem to be combining with these other entities."

"Enteetees?" Red asked. He’d never heard of such a thing.

"Oh, I meant the other people you’ve mentioned that sometimes take control."

"Yes. They’re not good. Bad Juju. I’m certain of it now. Ask Dwindle. He’ll tell you."

"I’m not adequate to pass judgment on providence. Seeing as you’ve been afflicted by what I call soul intrusion, it can only lead me to assume, relatively speaking, divine intervention of such a high priority that I’m aghast at the thought of deconstructing its meaning, let alone reaching an adjudication on its merits of being either good or evil."

"But I digress…" the gnome said, but his words failed him seeing another dollop of blood fall from Red’s other nostril.

In that moment, Red’s stride lengthened again, and he began to swagger instead of walk. "Don’t worry, little guy," the champ assured Polopp, "as long as the champ is here, there is nothing to fear!"

Polopp smiled warily, "It’s you, the other combining entity."

"What’d you call my mama?" The champ snapped.

The gnome hiccupped. Was the entity turning violent?

"I-I-I d-didn’t mean…" Polopp stuttered.

"I’m just joshing you, little guy," The champ laughed. He bent over just to nudge Polopp with an elbow and wink at him, "Don’t mind me. The champ just likes to have fun!"

"I liked the other Red better…" Polopp muttered under his breath.

"What’s that?" The champ asked, pointing up ahead at a cluster of trees where there sat a wooden frame of a carriage with fractured wood sticking out in every direction like a multitude of direction signs. A set of four wheels sat under the frame, which also seemed damaged.

"I sense mana," Polopp said, examining the area of trees and finding footprints, showing evidence of the presence of others in the forest besides themselves. "Badlanders."

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"Badlanders?" The champ echoed curiously.

"People from the Lorn Badlands. They are a nasty sort. Some are known as cannibals. They arrived here in the forest not too long ago and are trying to buy quality slaves from Soalde, from what I’ve gathered at least."

"Slavery is for the weak," the champ scoffed. "Hard work only pays off when you are the one working hard. Getting someone else to do the work is lazy and weak."

"You seem to value effort," Polopp said, remembering that this entity mentioned hard work more than once.

Punches flew as the champ began to shadowbox again. "Train hard, win easy," the champ laughed.

Dog barks echoed in the forest. They turned their heads to see a dog with an unusually large head sticking out from behind a tree, barking at them as if they were trespassing on its owner’s territory.

"C’mere boy," the champ whistled, clapping his hands to get the dog to approach so he could pet it.

The dog barked, "Don’t mock me, human!"

Red’s eyes enlarged as his expression stiffened. The "dog" came from around the tree and stood before them, dressed in linen clothes and wearing shoes, though a black collar did adorn its neck.

"It’s a beastman," Polopp muttered warily, knowing such creatures were always trouble. Looking at the beastman’s collar, he said, "This one seems like a tracker. It’s a common practice for groups in search for someone to use this kind of beastman."

The beastman barked over his shoulder, "Over here! Someone’s here! Come here! Come here!"

"Let us part, Mister Champ," Polopp implored, "There is no good to be had from waiting on this beastman’s party, especially if that party is filled with Badlanders."

"Let’s see who shows up," the champ denied.

"Um, Mister Champ. Though dog-type beastmen are used for searching, they are also used for hunting, and when I say hunting, I mean hunting people."

"No one hunts the champ."

Polopp exhaled a sigh of frustration and grumbled, "When is the real Mister Red coming back…?"

Human figures materialized among the trees not too far from them. There were four in total, each disguised in hoods and wearing leather armor. What brought out apprehension in Polopp were the gleaming metallic weapons attached to their belts and on their backs.

"You there!" One of the strangers shouted, "Halt!"

"Let’s go," Polopp muttered to the champ.

"I want to see what they want," the champ refuted.

The gnome could see instead that the "champ" was itching for a fight. That was the only reason the entity wished to stay.

"Mister Red," Polopp shouted at the champ, hoping he might get the other Red back, "Are you in there?"

"Pipe down, little guy," the champ chuckled, "Red Rumble is already here."

Before the gnome could try again, the four strangers arrived.

"You lot are here for a reason?" One of them asked, his posture aggressive, his eyes staring unblinking at the champ, correctly guessing who the strongest of the odd pair was.

"We’re just passing through, honorable human," Polopp answered respectfully, his moustache widening with a smile.

"Odd place to pass through," a woman in the group commented.

"We pass where we wish to pass," the champ smirked. "If we wish to pass through, if we wish to pass a ball, if we wish to pass a test, or even to pass gas, the decision is ours and ours alone."

The lanky young man’s clear hostility pricked the skin of the four-person group. Barks emanated from the dog man, sensing the champ’s ill intentions.

"Shut it, Bobo," the man at the head of the four, clearly the leader, commanded. The dog man, Bobo, whimpered into silence. "Now," the man said, "we are only here to find a companion of ours." He unfurled a parchment to reveal a picture depicting a devious face with blond hair and a plain appearance, besides a single hairy mole on the side of a weakly built jaw.

"His name is Caden." He pointed at the skeleton of a carriage in tatters. "That was his carriage, and as you both can see, he seems to have run into some trouble."

"No, we never saw such a face—" Polopp tried to answer.

"I remember him," the champ said, causing Polopp’s eyes to shoot at him with daggers, "He gave me a potion that made me go to sleep."

The four strangers exchanged looks. "Death Sleep," whispered one.

The leader nodded. Turning back to the champ, he said, "I’m sure you have some misgivings about our companion and his work, having obviously experienced it firsthand, but we would appreciate any information you might have about his current whereabouts."

A jingle sounded as he pulled out a coin purse. "In fact, it would be much appreciated."

"A prize?" The champ murmured with deep interest. His brown eyes went back to the group leader and he said, "I’m a prize fighter."

The leader’s eyes squinted in confusion.

"We fight. If I win," the champ pointed at the coin purse, "I get the prize. If you win, then you get the prize."

"Red!" Polopp whispered hurriedly, "This is a bad idea. They could be powerful!"

Bobo began barking again, the champ’s clear hostility being too much to tolerate. The dog man was not silenced this time, however. Instead, the leader whistled and commanded, "Sic ‘em, Bobo!"

The dog man blitzed forward at the champ, and as it came close to sinking its teeth into flesh, it suddenly blacked out.

The four strangers and Polopp witnessed the dog man charge haphazardly with its teeth bared, only to be fed an uppercut as soon as it got near to the champ. Leaves and twigs rustled as Bobo’s unconscious body, carried by momentum, slid to a stop at Polopp’s feet.

A locking mechanism clicked, and a crossbow bolt flew toward the champ. One of the strangers had already joined in. With a whistle, the bolt missed its mark as the champ tilted his head ever so slightly. Another stranger grimaced at such evident skill before he too joined in and equipped two sizeable daggers that he used to rapidly attack with, his blades moving in metallic gray blurs.

The champ’s upper body moved like an eel as he bobbed and weaved under the strikes. Another click, and a crossbow bolt sped through the air, missing its mark again as the champ tilted his head. A third member of the group brought out a metal stick that glowed with a sage symbol that then unfolded to form a spear, which he used to stab at the champ’s exposed back.

The champ made his stance linear and allowed the spear to pass by like the wind.

A metal claw nearly cut the champ into pieces as the group leader dove from the air in an attack with, attached to one of his hands, a claw made of sharp blades. The leader leapt to a tree to kick off and hurtled his whole body at the champ again, spinning along with his outstretched claw.

The champ smiled widely, watching him. Suddenly a sage symbol came to life on the metal claw, and as the leader spun, blue streaks of light flew out, cutting down trees and branches while some sank deep into the soil below.

None of the blue lights had touched the group of four, however. It was evident they were familiar with one another enough to fight cohesively as a group.

The champ dodged every blue light with a smirk planted on his face.

He’s enjoying this! Polopp realized in disbelief. We both could die and he’s enjoying this!

"Mister Red!" Polopp began to shout, "Hurry and come out now. This entity is crazy!"

The champ laughed again, but a blue light almost cut his foot in half, refocusing him. Another crescent shaped light nearly took out a knee, causing him to become serious.

"His legs…" the group leader murmured, reflecting on how their last exchange against this strangely skilled youth went. "Yes…yes!" He addressed his group, "It’s his legs. His upper body moves well, but his lower half doesn’t! Aim low!"

The champ cursed as he had to raise a foot from a spear stabbing at it and then have to shuffle hurriedly when a dagger nearly got him in his ribs. A crossbow bolt drew a line of blood across his left thigh as it zipped by.

Blue light cascaded down on him like a waterfall, every light in its trajectory going toward his legs. As the light fell, dirt shot up and trees were cut down.

"Fine then," the champ grunted, and leaves were thrown upward as he disappeared.

"Where’d he go—" the leader tried to ask but was cut short when a heavy fist hit him in his abdomen and sent him flying, leaving a trail of spittle and blood mixture in his wake.

The rest of the group stalled, unable to get over the initial shock of their leader suddenly being defeated.

Wood splinters burst as a fist went through a crossbow and landed on a chest. In being hit, the crossbow woman fell over face first into the dead leaves below.

Was he just playing with us earlier…? Thought one of the last remaining strangers. He didn’t have another thought afterwards, as his world became blank. A fist had hit him in the temple and cleared his mind.

The last stranger dropped his daggers and put his hands up submissively.

"I surrender," he said quickly.

The champ chuckled, "Of course you do. The champ expected it. Now, get me my prize."

"Right away, good sir."

As the stranger leapt atop his leader’s body to fish out the coin purse, the champ looked to Polopp and smiled, "See? I told you. There’s no fear when the champ is here."

The gnome’s expression was still. He shook his head and replied, "But to take such a chance with so many unaccounted variables…"

The champ flexed and then posed like a heroic statue.

The ego on this entity, the gnome criticized with chagrin, is rather large. Polopp wanted to turn away from the champ’s unseemly boasting but spotted the last stranger returning with his hands behind his back and a dark light in his eyes.

"Behind you!" Polopp shouted, pointing a sausage shaped finger.

The stranger’s hand suddenly looped through the air with a vial of gray substance in his hand, aiming for the champ’s head. His wrist was caught easily by the champ’s grip.

“You've got to get up pretty early to get one over on the champ," the champ laughed.

The stranger smiled mischievously in response, "I guess it must be early then." A sage symbol appeared on the vial in his hand. Below, his other hand had already drawn a sage symbol, which activated the vial.

A cloud of gray exploded from the vial and engulfed them both.

"Mister Red!" Polopp shouted. He tried to move forward, but the encroaching gray gas forced him into a retreat. He sniffed the air and caught a small whiff of the substance now permeating the area. "Some sort of paralysis poison," he grunted. "I’ll have to wait for it to clear."

His ears caught the sound of creaking like an old chair. Looking around, the gnome saw white figures approaching with eyes of topaz-colored fire.