A stench fit for a sea hag’s cave.
The hallway is blessedly small and I’m able to exit into cleaner air in short order, but the discomfort never leaves. The cheerful little town is a stark contrast to the frigid mountains, warm and gentle winds flow along the well planned series of gravel roads, surrounded on both sides by tall stone houses with thatched roofs. The joyful atmosphere feels exhausting and irritating to my worn mind.
Along the road are many shops that are lined up, catering to the long procession of merchants and travelers as they pass on their way to or from Dragonforge, though I’ve only ever come this way on the rare trips to reach Grimnorn Fortress on the border. Many times I’d thought to visit Skypeaks, but I’d never followed through, always busy with one thing or another. When I learned my parents had passed I saw no reason to try anymore. The once burning question of why they sent me alone, why they didn’t come with me or visit is forever unanswered.
My desire for answers has long since grown cold, why must I be reminded now?
I dispel away the reminiscence that seems intent on displaying every poor decision and missed opportunity in my life as I come upon my destination. A wooden sign with a pack engraved on it that’s meant to indicate a general store. I’ve yet to visit, but a few of the caravans I took would often refresh their supplies here so I’m hoping that means they’re reasonably priced. The slatted wood door slides open smoothly, ringing a small bell placed atop the doorway, the sharp noise stinging my ears.
Taking in the various smells of oils and preservatives as I survey the crates and shelves lined with goods, a whetstone and sharpening kit catch my eye. I grab a rough leather satchel to help carry the few supplies I’ll need, feeling what might be a slight pulse of relief from the soul in my armor. It’s not much altogether, some weapon maintenance tools, a canteen of water, flint and tinder, as well as the pack to place them all in.
The young human man behind the counter doesn’t say much, counting up my things and adding the weeks worth of hard tack I requested to the pile. He goes through the motions of tallying my order and listing the prices, same as every other purchase, same as every other day. All told it cost me 5 silver for the bunch, most of which was the satchel.
Let’s hope the preserved food isn’t as bad as I remember.
The hard biscuits are even worse than I remember as I begrudgingly gnaw one down, finally addressing my growing hunger pains. There’s no use in regretting it now, and they were cheap enough at a silver for three dozen.
A fitting food for my current life.
As I walk down the busy road and take in the lively atmosphere, I’m struck by how peaceful and carefree everyone seems. Far enough from Dragonforge Pass to not know or be affected by the horrible tragedy that just passed. It’s irritating. All of those people who were murdered, whose lives and futures were callously stripped away from them and absolutely nothing has changed. As if to say they didn’t matter, that their deaths don’t matter. It makes me want to scream at every person I pass, to curse them for being so uncaring. More than anything I’m upset at myself for feeling this way.
I grit my teeth as I storm down the main street, hoping to make it out of town before I do something foolish. My temper doesn’t fade when I pass into farmland, nor does it abate when I cross the last fence into the area outside Bruzak, the grip around my poleaxe only tightening as my fists clench. I’m unsure of how far along the path I travel before the arrow strikes me in the arm, but immediately I snap my head toward the forest where it came from.
Who dares!?
Loud battlecries echo out, answering my question as half a dozen or so goblins in tattered equipment all rush toward me. Stained rags are tied around their bodies in makeshift clothing and foaming spit pours out over their sharp yellow teeth as they screech. I can see the blank eyes of The Devourer’s puppetry as they close in and I try to calm myself and settle into something of a stance.
Flashes of blue uniforms and tortured wails in the night assault my mind, overlapping the scene in front of me. Fear creeps in, warning me of inevitable death, but blinding white fury burns it away. When the first one reaches me I'm an inferno of hatred, pouring my ire into a heavy swing that cracks through skull, sending shards of bone and gore spraying across the ground and others.
The goblins pounce as I whip the poleaxe back around. Rusty daggers scrape my metal greaves as I bring a blur of steel crunching into ribs and send a mangled body pinwheeling across the ground in a spray of blood.
A headless body of a dear friend etches itself into my vision ripping a mournful roar from my lungs that splits the air and rattles bones. Pitiful blades plink off adamantine plate while I crush the arm of a goblin in my grip and slam it into the ground with a heavy thump. The body bounces up before I stomp it back into the dirt with a wet squelch.
Hellish images of a slain father and murdered daughter join the carnage and I grind my teeth against the squeezing pain in my heart and lungs. My right fist snaps into a goblin’s head with a sharp crack and I swing the poleaxe down with my left, the haft crushing its shoulder and neck.
As I catch the last one in my grip, hefting the squirming thrashing form by the neck, but the moment of Sierri’s death freezes me in my place. All of the anger and fury bleeds out of me and I'm left with only a hollow loneliness. I snap the goblins neck with a quick twist and drop it to the ground, no rage left to fuel my rampage.
Empty. Meaningless. All of it was pointless, everything was.
Looking around at the bloody mess I've made leaves me feeling nauseous as I drop to a seated position on the dirt road. I take hoarse breaths in the sudden quiet, drawing air into lungs while staring numbly out into the forest. A deep desire to lay down and sleep fills me, to stop trying and give in to the nothing that consumes me.
Why bother?
The sentiment echoes in my head. Every action feels like lifting an anvil, even the slightest twitch of my limbs, and I lack the energy to press on. I finally give in and curl into a ball on my side, waiting for the heavy weight to lift or for an ounce of energy to move it.
Why us? Why her? For what reason? Will I ever find out? Was there ever a reason in the first place?
All I have are unanswered questions and a missing piece of myself I'll never get back.
It's not long before I feel that familiar pulse of life, Sierri's soul tapping mine with a faint concern. A reminder that I've obligations left to fulfill in this lifetime that won't allow me to rest. It's like wrestling with a rusty hinge, but I manage to drag my body to its feet. To get one foot moving and then the other, a walking corpse much like the reanimated remains of the goblin barrow that floods the region.
One day I’ll be put to rest, but today is not that day.
The light of the midmorning sun shines down on the packed dirt road as I continue heading east. The path skirting along the edge of the forest that sprawls out from the base of Frostwyrm Mountain, visible far to the north. The cold breath of frost fog and snow covered peaks paint the horizon with a serene beauty. It tempers the torrent of emotion that storms inside me, restrained only by a wall of apathy.
I keep alert for any more surprise encounters, surveying the area to the south. The rolling hills of the Serpent’s Coast crest and dip like verdant waves as it stretches to the ocean, the water too far to see from this close to the mountains. A refreshingly sharp scent of pine carries on the spring breeze as I trudge along the road at a steady pace, satchel strung across my hip and weapon resting on my shoulder. The shadows of deer and other wildlife dart between trees deeper into the forest, but nothing dangerous has made a reappearance. Left in the peaceful silence of the long road I lose myself in thought.
What will I do when this is all over, when Sierri is free and the monsters who raided us are dead. I can’t imagine going back to being a smith, it feels selfish to try. I’m not sure I’d like a life of bloodshed as an adventurer either, slaying monsters is a means to an end not a goal. Perhaps I’ll wander into the mountains around Dragonforge and let it claim me, bury me in the snow and frost of my home.
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I march in dour contemplation on the long journey toward Grimnorn Fortress, catching sight of a blue feathered bird flying overhead and watching it land on a nearby tree branch. It tweets out a chirping melody, a bright tune that reminds me of spring and years past. Most of my traveling in the past few years had been by wagon, the rumbling a constant companion on the journey, without which I clearly hear the vibrant life of nature around me.
A peaceful life, that would have been nice.
I pass a fork in the path after some time, an old wooden sign letting me know what lies down each road. Continuing on my way is Grimnorn, a simple castle carved in the wood with an arrow alongside it is used as the indicator. A small house and boat next to the arrow pointing south for the coastal town of Lezul and an anvil for the arrow pointing back where I came. Not for Bazruk, but Dragonforge Pass as is most travelers true destination when headed that way.
The salty tang of ocean air carries on the wind, well before the water comes into view, the grassy hills giving way to long stretches of sandy beach. The Depthless Ocean sparkles in the light of the sun, a sapphire jewel hiding gargantuan creatures of legend in its endless trenches. Only the desperate would risk straying from the coast and venturing out into the open sea, often becoming the shipwrecked and lost. Letting the majestic view of the waves wash over me, I can’t help but notice the lumps of sand scattered across the beach.
Strength, everything I’ve left to do needs me to be stronger.
Reluctantly I scan around the now much smaller grassland for a suitable rock, spying a fist sized one that I rip up from the ground in a solid grip. It has a good heft to it I conclude as I plant my feet at the border between grass and sand, twisting my body back and then launching the rock with all my might. The plates on my armor interfere with my aim much to my chagrin, sand spraying in an impact slightly off from the nearest monstrous crabs hiding spot. It bursts out of the pile at the sudden agitation, a torso sized critter, red shelled and with snapping pincers. It skitters at me in an angry sprint that matches the shade of its body, but for all its fury it moves barely the speed of my jog.
Readying myself with the emotional intensity of an iron ingot, I pull my poleaxe back and swing it hammer side down with a splintering crack that pulps the crabs shelled torso. Several others burst from the sand nearby at the loud noise and I bring my weapon back up, poised to strike. Three attempt to swarm me, their otherwise dangerous claws rendered useless against my armor and I simply wait for them to scuttle close before cracking another open in a swift downward arc.
There’s a familiarity to the form, one I’ve used many times for breaking rocks and splitting wood. A part of my brain realizes I might be forming bad habits so I move finding a combat teacher to a higher place on my task list. The remaining two crabs manage to get their pincers around my greaves, ineffectually pinching at the legendary metal. I take the opportunity to stab through one’s head while it’s preoccupied, the sharp end of the poleaxe making quick work of the monster. The other doesn’t fare much better, frantically snapping at me in desperation before I swiftly end its life with another spearing thrust.
The remaining crabs turn shell and run, a smart decision considering their effectiveness so far. I don’t bother chasing, especially in the sand where I’d lose what little mobility I have left. The surge of energy I feel pulsing in me lets me know I’m ready to advance to level two. It comes far too easily, but I’ve been to the peak and I know just how steep the climb becomes and how quickly it gets to that point. If a legendary set of armor I crafted couldn’t trivialize a fight with such weak monsters I would have hung up my hammer a long time ago.
I’ve barely broken a sweat, but I see no reason to delay leveling up while I take a brief respite, the long day having worn more on my mental fortitude than physical. Dropping to sit in the soft dirt with a thump I lean back and take in the salty air, exhaling out the tension in my muscles. The divine energy coalesces in me when I allow it to, strengthening my body, mind, and soul with ethereal power.
Eliza Maughth Miirx
Class: 2 Valkyrie
Race: Half-Human / Half-Dragonkin
XP: 203 / 900
HP: 24 / 26
AC: 20
Attack Bonus: 6
STR: 19 | +4
DEX: 13 | +0 (Armor Penalty)
CON: 16 | +3
INT: 16 | +3
WIS: 10 | +0
CHA: 11 | +0
Fortitude: 5
Willpower: 4
Reflex: 4
Skill Bonus:
Athletics: 6
Diplomacy: 2
Medicine: 2
Perception: 4
Religion: 5
Traits:
Fire Resistant 5/- (Racial Trait)
Darkvision 30ft (Racial Trait)
Feats:
Battle Trance
Blessed Armaments
Wings of The Valkyrie
Equipment:
Unnamed - Cursed Adamantine Fullplate
Masterwork Steel Poleaxe
I’ll have to decide on one of the class feats for the level, considering the close range combat I'll want something movement related. Three of the options stand out to me as being useful.
Lunge
Experience a short burst of intense speed when engaging a foe just out of reach.
When an enemy is no more than 5ft outside your maximum range you may activate Lunge to close the distance with your next strike.
No Escape
Gain swift and enduring speed while pursuing a fleeing foe.
While engaged in combat, if an enemy within 30ft of you attempts to flee you may activate No Escape to double your base movement speed while in pursuit.
Sudden Charge
Close the gap between you and a distant foe in moments.
When an enemy is more than 30ft, but less than 200ft away you may activate Sudden Charge to double your base movement speed to close the distance to them. This feat can only be used for level + CON bonus seconds every minute.
Little Eliza had been set on Lunge when first considering combat classes, back when I thought I would be wielding a longsword. It’s the classic hero’s weapon and who wouldn’t want to be like the warriors of legend. Waving around a wooden stick and claiming to be the duchess of swords, fighting to rescue my friend Anabelle playing the part of the captured empress.
Divines, I got such an earful from her parents, mostly for claiming to be a duchess and not for hitting other kids with a stick. Skypeaks nobles always had such strange priorities. I wonder if she’s still living in Falwing all these years later.
My thoughts continue to bring forth old memories, as if to taunt me with better times. I shake the phantoms away and focus on what's in front of me.
Dwelling on the past won't change anything.
Lunge I’m going to pass on for now, it seems quite useful for a skilled combatant that can keep their opponents at a range, something I am currently not. No Escape is very situational, though I have no doubts the moments I'll need it will be critical ones. Unfortunately I think Sudden Charge will be my choice solely based on needing to make up for my shortcomings. My situational awareness is not good enough to ensure I'm within range of an opponent when need be without the assistance of an ability.
With my choice set I finish up my leveling and stretch out my stiff limbs. I'm almost at my destination so there's no need to rest before making it the rest of the way. My recent power increase helps push me along as I begin walking the few remaining miles to the fortress.