explains. “But is actually a flesh eater.”
“Yuck,” Rostejn says. “That is nasty.”
Byr shoots Rostejn a look like
real nice, idiot,
and the mother starts her crying again, even harder this time, and everyone is looking at me to do something, so without a word I leap straight into the mound, diving into the creature’s body to grab the halfling kid, and then hacking my way out with a scythe. Which is messy, to say the least, and costs me about eight hit points, but in doing so, I level up. Everyone congratulates me, and I’m feeling pretty good. Even Trin looks impressed, and for a moment it doesn’t seem so impossible that she might be in love with me after all.
The good feeling doesn’t last long, though. The next battle is Battle 254 and we just aren’t quite ready for this kind of onslaught yet, not tactically, not in terms of speed or weapons or as a team. Byr nearly dies, Rostejn nearly dies. Even my health dips down into the red zone.
I start to flicker in and out, a warning that my existence on this plane is in danger.
I know what I should do, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
Another hit, direct to my torso, and that’s it, my health is critical. My soul starts to tug itself out of its mortal coil, and my POV is floating up toward the clouds. I watch my body down there, fighting without spirit.
Frëd help us, I cry out, in a moment of desperation.
I can’t see him, but I feel Frëd’s presence next to me. “I thought you didn’t believe in me,” he says.
“Really? That’s what you’re going to say right now?” I say. “Seems sort of petty.”
“Um, yeah,” Frëd says. “Do you know anything about gods?”
He’s got a point, I suppose, although really what I’m thinking is how come I’ve never noticed how high Frëd’s voice is. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but for the first time I realize there’s something off about him.
“Byr’s down there,” I say. “She prays to you all the time.”
“Yeah, but you’re the one that’s asking for help,” he says. “Get on your knees.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“For real, dude. I want you to pray to me.”
So I start. “O Sort-of-Great One. O Exalted Mediocre One, Frëd.”
“Get on your knees.”
“You’re pushing your luck.”
Frëd uses some kind of POV shift power to direct my attention back down to the earthly battlefield, where my team is getting slaughtered. “I don’t think you’re in a position to be talking about luck right now.”
I sort of get on one knee, like I’m going to ask him to marry me. Then I hear a woman’s voice.
“Frëëëëëëëëëëëëëëëëëd,” she yells. She sounds angry. Great, now there are two gods, one petty, one angry, and I’m still floating in the sky, getting farther from life with every passing moment. “You are in big trouble, mister.”
Wait a minute. Is she? No. She can’t be.
“Um, Frëd?” I say. “I think your mom’s calling you.”
“Not a word,” he says. “To anyone.”
“Sure, sure. Just kill those monsters for us.”
“I, uh, I can’t do that. Sort of used up all my juice for a while. But here’s a chicken leg,” he says, and disappears. “Sorry, gotta go.”
I eat the food and gain just enough health to return to the plane of the living, where I see that Krugnor and Trin are in berserker rages and Rostejn has just used his Daily Power Move. The battle’s pretty much over. The mini-boss, a frost giant, is on the ground, and one more thrusting attack by Krugnor does the trick.
Trin spots me reappearing and says, welcome back, nice of you to join us.
The mood at dinner is somber. No one’s much inclined to be bawdy, or even merry. We chew on chicken in silence.
After dinner, I find Fjoork over by a stream, washing his face.
“Hey buddy,” I say.
“Hey.”
“Tell me again why you think I’m destined for greatness?”
Fjoork gazes off to the north, stands there just looking at nothing for a long time
“Yuck,” Rostejn says. “That is nasty.”
Byr shoots Rostejn a look like
real nice, idiot,
and the mother starts her crying again, even harder this time, and everyone is looking at me to do something, so without a word I leap straight into the mound, diving into the creature’s body to grab the halfling kid, and then hacking my way out with a scythe. Which is messy, to say the least, and costs me about eight hit points, but in doing so, I level up. Everyone congratulates me, and I’m feeling pretty good. Even Trin looks impressed, and for a moment it doesn’t seem so impossible that she might be in love with me after all.
The good feeling doesn’t last long, though. The next battle is Battle 254 and we just aren’t quite ready for this kind of onslaught yet, not tactically, not in terms of speed or weapons or as a team. Byr nearly dies, Rostejn nearly dies. Even my health dips down into the red zone.
I start to flicker in and out, a warning that my existence on this plane is in danger.
I know what I should do, but I can’t bring myself to do it.
Another hit, direct to my torso, and that’s it, my health is critical. My soul starts to tug itself out of its mortal coil, and my POV is floating up toward the clouds. I watch my body down there, fighting without spirit.
Frëd help us, I cry out, in a moment of desperation.
I can’t see him, but I feel Frëd’s presence next to me. “I thought you didn’t believe in me,” he says.
“Really? That’s what you’re going to say right now?” I say. “Seems sort of petty.”
“Um, yeah,” Frëd says. “Do you know anything about gods?”
He’s got a point, I suppose, although really what I’m thinking is how come I’ve never noticed how high Frëd’s voice is. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but for the first time I realize there’s something off about him.
“Byr’s down there,” I say. “She prays to you all the time.”
“Yeah, but you’re the one that’s asking for help,” he says. “Get on your knees.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“For real, dude. I want you to pray to me.”
So I start. “O Sort-of-Great One. O Exalted Mediocre One, Frëd.”
“Get on your knees.”
“You’re pushing your luck.”
Frëd uses some kind of POV shift power to direct my attention back down to the earthly battlefield, where my team is getting slaughtered. “I don’t think you’re in a position to be talking about luck right now.”
I sort of get on one knee, like I’m going to ask him to marry me. Then I hear a woman’s voice.
“Frëëëëëëëëëëëëëëëëëd,” she yells. She sounds angry. Great, now there are two gods, one petty, one angry, and I’m still floating in the sky, getting farther from life with every passing moment. “You are in big trouble, mister.”
Wait a minute. Is she? No. She can’t be.
“Um, Frëd?” I say. “I think your mom’s calling you.”
“Not a word,” he says. “To anyone.”
“Sure, sure. Just kill those monsters for us.”
“I, uh, I can’t do that. Sort of used up all my juice for a while. But here’s a chicken leg,” he says, and disappears. “Sorry, gotta go.”
I eat the food and gain just enough health to return to the plane of the living, where I see that Krugnor and Trin are in berserker rages and Rostejn has just used his Daily Power Move. The battle’s pretty much over. The mini-boss, a frost giant, is on the ground, and one more thrusting attack by Krugnor does the trick.
Trin spots me reappearing and says, welcome back, nice of you to join us.
The mood at dinner is somber. No one’s much inclined to be bawdy, or even merry. We chew on chicken in silence.
After dinner, I find Fjoork over by a stream, washing his face.
“Hey buddy,” I say.
“Hey.”
“Tell me again why you think I’m destined for greatness?”
Fjoork gazes off to the north, stands there just looking at nothing for a long time
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