Chapter 5: The Guardian

"Holgith does not understand this."

Ballan looked up from where he was painstakingly carving a rune into another tree with his only good knife. Every venturer worth their salt had a good knife on hand, and if he was worth nothing else, Ballan was at least worth his salt.

"Neither does Ballan…" He muttered, before realizing what he had said. He cleared his throat. "Neither do I." He repeated louder, so the orc could hear him. Distantly, the ground shook as the strangely silent undead behemoth marched ever closer to Reubenberg. Kahya had gone ahead on the carpet to warn the constabulary and evacuate the town if necessary. "Boots marked each tree that needs a glyph." Ballan pointed at a small, blue orb currently spinning frenetically around the trunk. "There’s…" Pausing his carving, Ballan picked up the sheaf of hastily inked papers Boots had foisted upon him. "About twenty of them, and we’ve only got a few more."

"No, Holgith understands plan. Find trees. Wizard boy does magic. Victory occurs." Holgith glanced around the eerily silent forest. All the animals had scattered far away from the risen Earthshaker, and the sky was beginning to turn orange with smoke. "But what is Holgith doing here?"

"Oh." Ballan returned his attention to the tree, and began carving the rune once more. The intricacies of the rune were mostly lost on him - runes had never been his strong suit, mostly because the amount of rote memorization often bored him to sleep. Of course, his lack of proficiency with runes had cascaded into a lack of proficiency with scrolls and incantations… Ballan sighed, and replied to Holgith. "Boots wanted someone to watch my back, I guess?"

"Wizard bear said no such thing." Holgith countered, and he could hear the orc pacing restlessly. "Wizard bear said boy must make sure Holgith is safe. Are you remembering?"

Ballan finished the rune with a frown. It was some sort of… mana channeling rune. He could tell that much.

Wait.

"...You’re right, he did say that." Ballan stepped away from the tree, brow furrowed. Boots had very (very, very) quickly explained the plan, and had - as was typical - kept most of the details to himself.. Still, he had assumed he had misheard his mentor when that particular command had been issued. Ballan protect Holgith? Anything that could hurt the hulking barbarian was surely outside of Ballan’s weight class.

And yet Boots had said that, and he was not one to misspeak.

"...Well do you feel safe?" Ballan asked half-heartedly. Holgith grimaced.

"Holgith feels useless…" The large orc grumbled, hefting his axe. "Holgith should face Savior Beast. It is Holgith’s duty!" The orc cast his gaze north, where the infrequent sound of shambling footfalls caused birds to scatter into the air. Smoke billowed heavily into the sky - getting closer and closer to Ruebenberg.

Ballan did not really know what to tell Holgith. He thought it was insane that the orc thought he should stand toe-to-toe with a hundred foot tall undead mammoth. However, he was not really interested in upsetting Holgith by pointing that out. He opted for something more neutral instead.

"...Maybe Boots is going to trap it so we can fight it?" Ballan offered, voice unconfident. Holgith gave him a lopsided, but flat, look.

"Where is next tree?" Holgith asked with a sigh, looking forlornly in the direction of the column of smoke.

"The last tree." Ballan corrected, flipping over the final sheaf of paper. As he watched, a real-time ink image of his surroundings began to manifest on the paper, plotting out a course through the undergrowth towards the final tree, and the location of the final rune.

There was a loud crashing noise from the direction of the monster. Holgith and Ballan exchanged a glance, and then hurried into the forest.

Elsewhere, Boots surveyed the destruction being left in the wake of Mortrunk with intense sadness. His old friend never would have wanted this… but this creature was not his old friend. He was scrying on this creature, and watched as it tumbled an enormous, hundred of years old tree with nothing more than a footfall. Life uprooted in an instant. Boots ended the scrying spell, reaching into his voluminous cloak, and produced a worn, leather-bound tome. It bore no title, and the pages were worn with frequent use. He had read the contents of the tome often.

He flipped to the current page with a frown, reading through the paragraph again. At the bottom, there was a warning.

"I cannot rely on you, Boots. I must do this myself, and you must trust me."

It was the same warning, at the end of each set of instructions. A painstaking guide for the future… penned in the hand of someone for whom it was the past. Boots sighed, closed the book, and returned it to his cloak.

He could fix this. His magic was powerful enough to solve this problem (and every problem they’d encountered up to this point) right now. But there would be a circumstance, some day, that he could not fix. That he would fall short of. Ballan was the only one who would be able to measure up. And he needed to be ready.

…If the tome was to be believed, anyway.

And why wouldn’t he believe it? Half of it was written in his hand.

Boots cast the scrying spell again, this time to track down Ballan. The denouement of this little event was about to unfold…

Ballan found the final tree without incident. Unsurprising, as everything had fled the forest and the thing they were running from was steadily walking away. He triple-checked his work with the rune, and flipped the last sheaf over. That was all of them. Now they just needed to rendezvous with Boots and… confront Mortrunk. Nothing special had happened when the rune was completed, so Ballan assumed there must be some final step that Boots would complete when they arrived. All of the runes Ballan had inscribed on the trees had something to do with conversion… or transference. Clearly, Boots was trying to channel something.

"Alright, Holgith, let’s -" Ballan began, though he was silenced by the crack of a gunshot ringing through the air. A bullet blasted the rune he had just inscribed into the tree into splinters, narrowly missing Ballan’s ear. Ballan fell backwards with a yelp, looking around wildly. Holgith also let out a startled yell, though he had already located the threat and was charging towards it as a shadow darted over Ballan.

Nearly soundlessly, Kills-the-Joke landed, grabbing Ballan’s throat with a single, taloned foot. Ballan found himself staring down the barrel of a flintlock, and Holgith drew up short in front of the pirate captain, growling. Ballan heard the hammer of the gun click back into position.

"One step closer, brute, and I paint the ground with the inside of the simpleton’s skull." Kills-the-Joke warned. Ballan balked both at being called a simpleton, and the fact that clearly, he was in no position to protect anyone, let alone Holgith. What had Boots been thinking?

Holgith circled the pirate warily, and as they stared each other down, Ballan took stock of the situation. He was surprised the pirate captain was still alive - he must have used some magic to protect himself from the explosion. Whatever he had done had only been partially effective, however - the Kurkrai was missing an arm. The bloody stump of which had been hastily staunched by a tourniquet. He was missing feathers on his face, and his eyepatch was nowhere to be seen - the green witchlight of his magical eye on full display.

Kills-the-Joke, it seemed, was lucky to be alive - and so was Ballan.

"You’re going to tell me what magic you’ve been working." Kills-the-Joke demanded of Ballan, not taking his eyes off Holgith. "And then you’re going to tell me where else you’ve been working it."

"I-" Ballan began, but was cut off by Holgith.

"Holgith tells you nothing!" He roared, though the orc only flexed impotently, grasping his axe. Kills-the-Joke said nothing, simply pointed the gun at Ballan’s knee and fired. A hot explosion of pain, like nothing he’d ever felt before, exploded throughout his leg, and Ballan let out a strangled scream.

"Next time it's the head." Kills-the-Joke said, pulling the hammer back. Again. Ballan clenched his teeth and fought back tears as he tried to get a hold of himself, though the pain was making it nearly impossible. He didn’t relish the idea of being shot again, but… But Kills-the-Joke couldn’t shoot again without reloading. It was a bluff.

"No bullets!" Ballan managed through gritted teeth. Holgith needed no further prompting, and Kills-the-Joke swore as the orc charged him. Rather than take Holgith head-on, Kills-the-Joke took to the air again, reloading his gun as he did so. Ballan grabbed his shattered knee, rolling over, as Holgith stood over him. Kills-the-Joke hovered in the air above them, pistol pointed down.

"You don’t know what you’re doing." Kills-the-Joke growled. "What are you trying to save? That village? The city?" He beat his wings aggressively, agitated. "There’s nothing worth saving there, boy. This world isn’t worth saving. It’s been dead for millennia, and we are just the maggots infesting its fetid body."

"What are you talking about?" Ballan cried desperately. The last thing he wanted to hear was the ravings of a madman, but it behooved him to keep Kills-the-Joke talking. It meant he wasn’t shooting, and it gave Ballan time to think.

All he had were a scattered bunch of papers, and an orc that couldn’t fly.

"Do you think this is how things were supposed to be!?" Kills-the-Joke shrieked. "People huddled beneath the Wards, never able to escape because all of existence is hostile to them? This was supposed to be a world of freedom, but it has been blighted! And when I try to remove that blight, what do I get?" He swung his pistol around in a wide arc. "I get maggots who fight back!"

"You’ve killed people! You’re still killing people!" Ballan insisted. The sheafs of paper containing Boots’ instructions were scattered on the ground around him. He spied the final sheet - the rune he had inscribed upon the last tree that Kills-the-Joke had destroyed. It was upside down. It looked like…

…An inverted enervation glyph?

"I am killing worms!" Kills-the-Joke shrieked, leveling the pistol again. His voice regained dangerously calm as he glared down at them. "Talk or die, boy. Now." Before Ballan could respond, though, Holgith shouted.

"Your battle is with me, feathered one!" Holgith raised his axe defiantly. "Face Holgith!" Annoyed, Kills-the-Joke pointed the gun at the orc. Ballan reached for the sheaf of paper and snatched it. Runes were just written incantations. Incantations were just spoken runes. If he could just remember the words, he could verbally complete the spell…

"Eryon, Talvas, uh… Le… Leskyr!" Ballan began muttering at first, but shouted as the culmination of the spell sent a shock of pain through his body. Still, he managed to wrap his fingers around Holgith’s ankle just as Kills-the-Joke fired. He heard Holgith roar in defiance just as his vision began swimming. His sight began to dark him, and the last thing he saw was Holgith… flying…?

Then, darkness.

Ballan found himself in between moments once more. In the calm, dark place. There was the same stone bench, and the same old man. Still facing away from him. This time, however, the old man did not immediately speak. Ballan remembered the events leading up to this moment in perfect clarity. Was he asleep?

Silence was his answer.

"We were friends, once." The old man said, eventually, with a sigh. "Kills-the-Joke and I."

Ballan blinked.

"What? That madman?" He asked. "Who are you?"

The old man chuckled, shaking his head.

"He wasn’t always mad." He continued. "Most of the time, he was never mad at all. He had a good sense of humor. Very funny. Optimistic. He…" The old man trailed off. "Well, we were friends once."

"...Well, what happened?" Ballan asked. The old man shrugged.

"Most of the time? Nothing. This time, though…" The old man sighed. "He was hurt. And he didn’t have anyone to help him through it. Not… not this time. Being alone… it can turn people into monsters."

Ballan frowned, angry.

"...That’s supposed to be a justification, then?" He gestured vaguely… somewhere. Behind him. "For killing all those people."

"No." The old man replied immediately. "Simply explanation. What I want you to understand from this is not that Kills-the-Joke is in the right - it’s that he’s not entirely wrong." The man shifted, and placed his hand on the bench, leaning back. "The world isn’t supposed to be this way."

"...I don’t think the world is supposed to be anything." Ballan replied. The old man laughed, and it sounded genuine, before nodding.

"Exactly right." The man patted the bench. "Come, sit. I will show you something."

Distantly, Ballan understood that what was happening right now was incredibly strange, possibly even alarming. However, he felt - perhaps intuited - that he was safe here. That this man could be trusted. And even the worry of why or what was making him feel this way was small, and distant. He did as he was bade.

After sitting beside the old man, he found himself staring out as if into a vision. Suddenly, he was not between moments, but back in the forest, although he was seeing it from a bird’s eye view. Below, he could make out his own unconscious body. Kills-the-Joke flapped into view, deftly avoiding some sort of projectile. As Ballan watched, he realized it was not a projectile - it was Holgith. The orc leapt from the trees with incredible force and speed, flying through the air in a savage attempt to ground the Kurkrai.

"It worked?" Ballan asked, watching the scene unfold. "I wasn’t sure…"

"It worked precisely as you intended. Well, nearly." The old man waved his hand, and the vision seemed to speed up for a moment. Holgith was standing over a now prone and unconscious Kills-the-Joke, extricating his axe from one of the Kurkrai’s shattered wings. As he stood, it became clear there was something different about the orc. Green energy seemed to course through his veins, causing him to glow. His eyes - even the ruined one - glowed with that same light. It was not at all like the witchlight Kills-the-Joke sported. It was vibrant. Vivacious.

Holgith looked down at his hands, and then looked towards the column of smoke, and the shaking of the earth.

"Holgith understands now." He said to himself, and then leapt into the air.

"There will be some… side effects." The old man informed Ballan, as the force of Holgith’s jump covered hundreds of feet. The orc sprinted through the forest, and it was only a few moments before he found himself standing before the enormous, undead Mortrunk.

Even in a vision, Ballan was flabbergasted by the size of the creature. Holgith stood his ground, however, hefting his axe.

"Savior Beast!" Holgith’s voice boomed, and Mortrunk’s enormous bulk lurched to a halt. It spread its legs wide, shaking with a silent, roaring fury. "I am Holgith! I am the Strength! I am YOUR strength!"

As if called forth by that statement, green energy began to swirl around Holgith, and Ballan could scarcely believe what he was seeing. The green energy coalesced around him, raising him into the air, creating some new shape. The shape of an elephant. An enormous green elephant made of light.

It raised its trunk, and bellowed, and the two enormous creatures charged each other. There was a cataclysmic crash… and the vision ended. Ballan was between moments once more.

"Holgith was imbued at birth with the essence of the Earthshaker." The old man explained. "As were many before him, in preparation of a moment such as this. For they could not know the hour whereon that strength would be needed." He nodded once. "This was the hour."

"And… now?" Ballan asked.

"Now?" The old man replied, and took a deep breath. "Now’s the hard part."

Ballan blinked, and then woke up.

He was in bed. A comfortable bed - although the comfort was mitigated heavily by the dull ache in his knee. He groaned quietly as he opened his eyes, and found himself looking directly up into Boots’ furry face. The bear smiled toothily at him.

"Well done, my boy!" He said cheerily. "You’re safe in Reubenberg - and Ruebenberg is safe because of you! What’s more, we retrieved what was left of the Arcanum Crystal." Boots held the small red rock aloft, its vibrant light reduced to a dull glow. Ballan sighed, nodded, and closed his eyes. He was exhausted, and sleep threatened to take him again. But he needed to talk to Boots.

"Where’s… the pirate?" He managed to ask.

"He’s been taken into custody by the authorities." Boots explained. "He will undoubtedly be imprisoned to await trial."

So the captain survived, although Ballan wondered if he’d lost a second limb. Holgith had not been gentle in grounding the Kurkrai. It was neither here nor there, after all. He needed to be stopped.

We were friends, once.

Ballan opened his eyes.

"Kills-the-Joke said… that the world was wrong." Ballan murmured. "That it was ruined. He said he was trying to fix it." Boots paused, and then his expression became thoughtful.

"You spoke with him? I’m afraid I didn’t have the… opportunity." Boots folded his enormous paws into his enormous lap. "The fellow was unconscious when he arrived, and sullenly silent when he awoke. I would not put too much stock in his motivations. He seemed mad."

"He… wasn’t always." Ballan said, feeling certain. Boots gave him a strange look, but Ballan was also feeling a little dizzy, and then the world dropped out from under him once more.

Lord Malcom reclined in his chair, studying the fireplace in his spacious lounge. The flames crackled and licked, helping him focus. Reports from Reubenberg had been flooding in all morning, with sightings of an enormous monster, and its subsequent defeat at the hand of a small anonymous group… and their Archmage companion. Malcolm’s erstwhile crystal thief had been among their number - something he was pleased to learn.

He had assumed someone else had come to collect the Arcanum Crystal from the temple of Pythogoras. But if that bumbling bear had taken on a few companions, that meant he had the Crystals. Both of them, now. He would have murdered Stonefeet for losing the crystal, if the dwarf was not already dead. As it stood, things seemed to have simply… worked out.

This time.

And… every time. All the time.

It always worked out. It was inevitable, after all.

He closed his eyes.

He… needed more information, however. The interference of a third party was… unsettling. Nothing about what Malcom had been told about this grand undertaking mentioned a small group of meddlers. Malcolm was savvy enough to know that any deviations from the plan could have disastrous, cascading consequences. He needed eyes on this merry band.

He tented his fingers, and smiled. He knew just who to ask.