Warner Papadopoulos
Surrounded by the possibility of danger, the brawler felt better than he had in days. This, of course, made him feel all the more guilty. It didn’t feel right to find peace when his debts were still high. Mostly to Molly, but also to everyone that had forgiven him. A gift and a burden to be offered such a divine act. Even Malachi had begun to look at him with softer eyes. Still an edge of suspicion there, that was completely reasonable. Trust was slow to forge after being broken.
As it should.
All of it was better than Warner thought he deserved. The brawler had made a fatal mistake of pride. A betrayal in no uncertain terms. He acknowledged this, didn’t deny it at all. Instead, devoted himself to be worthy of the chance they gave him to try again. To be everything that his friend believed him to be.
Molly.
That was one dagger of guilt that wouldn’t dull. Sharp and persistently worrying. It stole his attention every other moment, forcing him to consider how to bridge their troubles. A desperate want. He had made attempts in every way that came to mind. Warner had expected reconciliation to be hard, but never had it seemed impossible. Not until he saw the cool-eyed woman walk away with her new party. That made the loss miserably real, permanent.
There seemed no hope then. No chance for them to return to the old normal, or even a reforged one. Warner was more distraught than he expected, almost overwhelmed with the regret. Something precious had been lost and the brawler felt a little embarrassed about that. This was clearly that old cliche of only appreciating something when it was gone. An error that doubled his guilt. He had been unworthy of her. Their friendship was absently sacrificed and any future possibility was burned to ash.
It left him, simply, sad. A deep, chilly sensation that sunk deep into his gut. Radiating into every thought. A constant reminder of guilt that was coloring all of his choices and actions. To a degree, Warner was alright with this, as that meant that he wouldn’t repeat the same mistake. There was also a small part of him that raged at this. Grumbled and fumed at being castigated.
The hot ire might be wielded by himself against himself, but that spark of anger was turned towards Molly. That fraction grumbled at her disloyalty and refusal to forgive. Had not the rest of the team given him a second chance? What mistake had he made before that made this one the final straw? It belched flames of scorn. Thrashing about, demanding to know how it could be just Warner’s fault. She had overreacted. It was her choice to leave. Forget her.
He couldn’t and wouldn’t. That enraged piece made him feel sick. A molten core sitting in the pit of cold regret. Warner would not deny his wrongdoing nor lay a single shade of blame on Molly. The cool-eyed woman had every right to turn her away from him. There was no graver sin than betrayal. You could do no worse than break trust with someone. No greater despair than someone you trusted, turning against you. Worst as the leader of the team, he had broken the unspoken vow to look after her and all of them. Warner felt low. It was completely deserved.
That meant the last few days the brawler had been in a funk: Self-loathing and smarting.
It was a terribly familiar state. One that called back to the days when he was small and the world too cruel. Everything seemed against him, his constant failures burning bright. Molly gone. Zachariah watchful. Elena now noticeably cautious. Conor’s unchanged faith burned rather soothed. Only Jorgenson seemed unaffected, but she was harder to read than most. Their new member, Brice Reid, seemed just pleased to be there, but his x-factor was no less stressful than the rest.
Everything seemed fine if strained. Still, Warner felt trepidation as if a storm was on the edge of breaking.
The old decisions that had come so easily and confidently were becoming an effort. Any choice bogged down by considering their value from every angle. Making sure that he acted for the good of others. Warner knew it was a dangerous habit to fall into. Hesitation and overworking a problem left you openings for a mistake. In The Pit that was a good way to get yourself killed. The stress of trying to overcome that made it all the worse.
An unwieldy path that had led to a quick second death. An opportunity wasted in a flash. Sold far too cheaply.
That burned Warner. It whipped him out of his sea of shame. Passing by the edge of oblivion again was an undeniable wake-up call. He returned to life motivated to be better. A simple truth propping him up while the guilt lay heavy. Life was too precious to waste. Every moment priceless and an opportunity to improve. His eyes had opened with determination.
Molly’s silent rebuke was devastating, but he wouldn’t allow it to derail anything. A life already sacrificed to his grief. His hand couldn’t be allowed to become unwieldy. The brawler had made promises to himself, etched them onto his heart. There would be no more wasting of life. Not even in the pursuit of her forgiveness. Hopelessly begging in her wake. It wouldn’t change anything nor encourage the cool-eyed woman to look at him fondly. Warner knew her well enough to know what that would really do. Real results were needed. Actions for the sake of something read. Focusing on being better, and perhaps one day, the two of them could be… something.
Anything other than being scorned and penitent would be nice.
He would show Molly a better side of him. An improvement. In the light of that accomplishment, seek absolution. Or at least warmer eyes.
With that weight and goal in mind, Warner led his people up the river. The cliff walls on either side were narrow, but no worse than the looming pressure self-imposed. He flashed his old grin, trying to remember how to be confident and without a doubt. It seemed so effortless before, to be so sure of his righteousness then. That certainty faded, gone. The brawler didn’t see it as a bad thing, but he wanted to exude that strength as he did before. Felt it was necessary even.
So he smiled, laughed, and made jokes over the roar of water. Trying to show that nothing had changed while promising with his manner that everything would be better. Warner took point as was normal and watched carefully for any threat. He stirred the mood of the party as he scanned the shadows. The heavy rapids of the river weren't just loud, they made the water opaque. White foam and rippling waves. Sharp and abrupt, the edge of the cliffs narrowed their view of the top. Anything could be waiting above. Just beyond the lip of stone.
The path was narrow enough that they had to move in a single file. Zachariah held the rear while their range members were protected in front with Elena. Should a fight break out, Warner could move freely and the tanks would guard the softer targets. Not that he thought of Jorgenson as soft. The acolyte of storms had once punched a Ratsin and the distance wasn’t just from her wind. Conor and Brice were the issues, but they would be perfectly secured. Free to throw their might into any conflict.
They were tested by the occasional attack. Those strange rocky lizards made an appearance, but everyone was alert to their presence now. The only thing those tongues touched was the steel of shields. If those monsters ever coordinated with the giant otter there may have been an issue, but Warner’s team lucked out there.
A few of the aquatic beasts did dive out the river, their cute faces distorting into a terror of needly teeth. Something about Conor attracted them and Zachariah was busy keeping their healer safe while the rest of the party eliminated the threat.
It was an easy rhythm for them to fall into. March up the slight and constant incline, battle a monster pack. Progress some more upstream and repeat. The cliffs stayed at a steady height as the wall of the floor came closer and closer. They came around a bend and the view of a waterfall came into view. There had been hints of the white water, but this was the first unblocked view. From a hole in the ceiling, it fell, crashing twice into outcrops before landing into the bed of the river flowing beside them. The area was misty, but the path appeared to go right up to the falls instead. Perhaps even bending behind them falls. That sparked a gleam of greed in Warner’s eye.
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Always treasure behind a waterfall, thought Warner sagely and excited.
In the way though, was a very obvious and massive den. Sticks, logs, and mud formed together in what could have been just a flood stack. Flotsam was forced into a solid lump, yet there were too many shapely holes to be natural. Dark entrances honeycombed the rickety structure, leering like hungry eyes. There was a musky smell that announced the den even more strongly than the sight. Getting by without a fight wasn’t in the cards.
Scanning carefully, Warner signaled everyone to backup. Choosing a place just around the bend where the porous mound was still in sight. They huddled there to set a plan of action.
“I thought it was beavers that made a home of sticks and mud,” blurted out Conor in confusion.”
“Beavers I think do a sight better than that!” spat Jorgenson. She eyed the chaotic mess with contempt.
Distantly, Elena answered, “Actually, otters mostly steal the burrows of other animals or make do with debris piles like that. It’s honestly a pretty reasonable example of an otter burrow. Much bigger than I’ve ever heard of, but they do like staying in groups. Course, that’s normal otters. Not monstrous otters with a water gun ability. Who knows what’s normal with them? ”
Everyone turned in surprise at the normally silent woman and she stared back in confusion.
“What?”
“You sure know a lot about otters…” smirked Zachariah. “Didn’t know you were such a fan.”
“O’ um yeah,” she replied shyly over her ax. “They’re cute… did a report on them when I was a kid. Left an impression, so I never forgot the details.”
“Cause those adorable faces burned themselves into your brain,” nodded Conor sagely.
Elena shook her head gravely, “Nope, it was because despite those “adorable faces” otters are vicious and deranged creatures. The very image of something fluffy turning out to be some kind of xeno horror.”
“Sooo you mean like, people forget their vicious predators?” probed Brice, a little perplexed by the imagery.
A cold exhale of sour humor before the ax wielder replied, “No. Worst. Brutal and savage are the words that come to mind. Otters will often defile baby beavers… ruined any positive feelings I had for them. I could tell you…”
“Later,“ cut in Warner with a tight grin. “Focus people! We can discuss the morality of animal species some other time. Right now there’s a mound, likely full of beasties. I’d like to neutralize it and take a peek behind that waterfall. The mist is obscuring it, but there might be a path across the water. Opinions? Anyone feeling like poking an otter beehive?”
He watched them carefully over his perfectly plastered grin. The brawler was confident of their answer. Even with the switch out with Brice, his people were good. Nothing to waste time worrying about. They would follow and the monsters were just chaff in the wind to them. Yet that new worm of doubt caused hesitation. Concern.
Whispered in his ear, “What if they have lost faith in you?” Warner’s world rocked, but the grin didn’t falter an inch. Couldn’t. He wouldn’t allow the world to see him cracking up. Especially not his people. Losing face was a haunting thing.
A chorus of smug agreeance followed in the wake of his moment of panic. Everyone fell into discussing the details as the brawler’s heart slowed. Strain passing allowed the grin to fit more naturally. The doubtful voice returned quietly to its pit. Not gone, but departed for now.
“I’d like to start it off with a big boom,” said Warner, joining in the flinging of ideas.
Zachariah laughed, “Well, of course! That’s our style!”
“Really the only way we know how,” reflected Elena without shame. Showing off her muscles, they rippled in sync with the group’s mirth.
“Glad y'all are on board!” preened the brawler. “Jorgenson, I’m thinkin’ of somethin’ like a bomb droppin’. The kinda thing that would shatter the mound into smithereens.”
“Elena, how deep do you think that burrow goes?” asked Jorgenson. “Is there a foundation, do I need to guess what's under the surface?”
“I’m not an expert, but I doubt it,” frowned the ax-wielder. “The mound should be hollow and have holes on the bottom. That way they can come and go directly from the water.”
“Ahh, a piece of cake is what you're saying,” decided the storm acolyte. “One hammering blow coming up!”
“That’s what I like to hear!” cheered Warner, the two of them shared a vicious grin. “Me and Elena rush in the aftermath and see if we can tag a few while the beasties are disoriented by their house blowing up. Zachariah, protect our softies. Jorgenson and Conor, you know the game. Brice, you got any questions? Suggestions?”
Their new member shrugged, embarrassed by the sudden focus from everyone. “Hell, I’m just following all of you,” sputtered Brice. “Whatever you need from me, just trying to fit in here. Please don’t expect Queen Clarissa's levels of skill. I’ll shoot whatever you want me to.”
Warner blinked, “Ok… queen, really? Never mind, I don’t need to know. At all. Focus on thinning out the backline. Anything immediately in front of us isn’t gonna to last long. Trust me.”
“You got it!”
“Alright that’s the plan, let’s get started! Conor, beef us up and throw on some of that luck!”
Their healer raised his staff, silver light pulsing outwards from him and flowing over the party members. First, a chant of defense that made the air tinkle over the skin and then words of encouragement that passed over as waves of warmth.
Thunder cracked the air as Jorgenson raised her rod to the air. Green wind swirled in the air in a great eye as she charged the atmosphere. The phenomenon grew until it rapidly snapped inwards and bulged towards the burrow. A sphere of electrified air descended like a raindrop for a moment before screeching downwards. The desired big boom came and destroyed the mound on impact. Shattered sticks and hardened mud clattered against the barrier of their shield-wielders. Even the giant otters were tossed about by the destruction of their home. Several tossed violently into the cliff walls before dropping to the path ahead.
Warner and Elena charged forward as electricity surged through the river. The bestial monsters rose to the surface with painful screams at the same time as fish rose dead to the surface. When the two melee fighters arrived at the shocked otters, they made efficient use of the opportunity. Out of focus, the wily creatures were easier to put down when the hit was unexpected.
Their easy dispatches came to an end when an especially large specimen of the beasts gave a sharp cry of alarm. The furry heads swiveled to their kin and then to the humans. Smiles full of needlely teeth announced the second phase of the fight. The survivors swarmed toward Warner and his people. Some dived madly at the closer targets while some branched off to come at the flanks. Just a few had the foresight to hold back and begin their jet streams.
The head of a casting otter exploded as Brice’s bow twanged. Slowly a new arrow was put in place as their archer took aim at another target. His rate of fire was slow, but every shot would make an unforgettable point.
Balls of electrified air sprayed from Jorgenson's rod as Zachariah rolled into place to block the oncoming monster wave. Shield and spear in perfect position, appearing unmoving and dreadful. Warner got a feeling that his friend would one day be an army breaker. The sort of man to hold a bridge alone and win.
Elena’s ax cracked the earth as a mass of the giant otters tried to overwhelm her. The monsters tried to dodge her blows, but in their frantic push, they got in each other's way. Wounds added up simply by the ax wielder swinging to hold the ground. More than one skull broke like an egg as the cleaver passed by.
In the middle of it, Warner danced. Orange Mana flaring as he dipped and ducked in the wriggling horde. Spending his efforts on dodging until that right moment lined up. When an opening came, he followed through masterfully. The brawler’s power flashed brightly over the battlefield. Every hit calmed his heart. Each was a moment of simplicity that reminded him that power hunger wasn’t the entirety of his soul. He was a struggler, fighting the good fight however it could be done. Always choosing the best path no matter how dirty to make the world a better place. In the old world, that had been rising in power. Raising and expanding his influence.
A new world calls for something different, thought Warner. I just need to figure that out.
The flood of monsters turned to a trickle and then Zachariah speared the last one. It’s violent teasing from the river only prolonging the inevitable. Around Warner the party regrouped. They scanned the area for any stragglers. If there were survivors, none decided to show their presence.
Warner’s gamer instincts tingled as they headed towards the waterfall after a breather. There was some argument about whether there would be anything behind the falls. The brawler wouldn’t hear of the idea being dismissed. Proclaiming it was the law for something to be there. They crept along as the mist grew thicker and the water roared louder. Everyone kept their eyes and ears pricked for any sign of hostility. Waterfalls were good spots for boss fights too.
As the brawler had expected, the stone path curved around behind the falls to a carefully carved staircase. Warner was happy he could return with news of a route to plateau across the river. However, he was perplexed. Directly behind the waterfalls was indeed something. Maybe treasure, maybe not. Carved delicately into the damp stone was a single phrase.
A KING CAN SLUMBER UNDER THE MIGHTIEST ROAR