Grendel_Khan
Hero
Lief sits cross-legged on the massive oak door, rocked by choppy waters, trying to calm himself. The air is getting colder. The living lake is propelling him closer to the Dawnforge mountains. Toward his fate. Or something like it.
"You're a good man, Starn," he had said back on the lake's edge, before they parted ways. "Better than him," he said, nodding in Nimozoran's direction—the old wizard was staring at the sky, maybe calculating some impossible equation, maybe lost in time. He had clapped Starn on the back and smiled. Now, he wishes he'd said something about leaving Acamar to his void. Never even think about that thing, he should have advised. Don't let it infect you.
That maw, mammoth and tilting, impossibly huge and impossibly black, a ring of cosmic fire radiating from its fringes. Lief won't forget it. When he closes his eyes it's there, a backdrop hung behind every thought. He sees it—it sees him.
Vorn he hadn't know what to say to. This man was his elder, with a clarity of purpose that Lief had admired since the first time he saw the archer pin-cushion an enemy who clearly deserved it. But Pelor demands different. The sun-shaped brand on the shifter's forehead was a stubborn reminder for a stupid man. He imagined all the people Vorn still had left to murder. Lief judged him for it—harshly. It made him sick to realize that. Vorn would always be his friend, but Lief couldn't be his companion. Pelor dismisses vengeance, and now so does he. He hugged the archer roughly and smiled, and said nothing.
Rooter he would have given a pat, but the pig's body was gone and Lief didn't know anything else was left.
"Wake up," the lake rumbled. But Lief was simply calm, not asleep. He'd made a simple deal with the spirit—take me home, and I'll bring you an offering every year, on the summer's solstice. A gift of water from a lake or river that would never otherwise touch your waters. Some community. And if the spirits of those places want to come along, a little company.
The lake was standoffish. It made him wait an hour while it deliberated, or pretended to. "Meager," it sounded. "As expected." Lief pulled a huge, sodden door from the rubble and pushed it into the water.
That was hours ago, most of a day at least. Now, he opens his eyes. The tributary is narrowing up ahead. The mountains loom, their snowcapped bulk crowding the sky, massive and inevitable. Tiny compared to what he sees when he closes his eyes again.
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Goal for the coming conflict: Reach the Creep and convince it to help Lief stop Acamar, when that version appears 17 years in the future—even if it costs present-day Lief his life.
"You're a good man, Starn," he had said back on the lake's edge, before they parted ways. "Better than him," he said, nodding in Nimozoran's direction—the old wizard was staring at the sky, maybe calculating some impossible equation, maybe lost in time. He had clapped Starn on the back and smiled. Now, he wishes he'd said something about leaving Acamar to his void. Never even think about that thing, he should have advised. Don't let it infect you.
That maw, mammoth and tilting, impossibly huge and impossibly black, a ring of cosmic fire radiating from its fringes. Lief won't forget it. When he closes his eyes it's there, a backdrop hung behind every thought. He sees it—it sees him.
Vorn he hadn't know what to say to. This man was his elder, with a clarity of purpose that Lief had admired since the first time he saw the archer pin-cushion an enemy who clearly deserved it. But Pelor demands different. The sun-shaped brand on the shifter's forehead was a stubborn reminder for a stupid man. He imagined all the people Vorn still had left to murder. Lief judged him for it—harshly. It made him sick to realize that. Vorn would always be his friend, but Lief couldn't be his companion. Pelor dismisses vengeance, and now so does he. He hugged the archer roughly and smiled, and said nothing.
Rooter he would have given a pat, but the pig's body was gone and Lief didn't know anything else was left.
"Wake up," the lake rumbled. But Lief was simply calm, not asleep. He'd made a simple deal with the spirit—take me home, and I'll bring you an offering every year, on the summer's solstice. A gift of water from a lake or river that would never otherwise touch your waters. Some community. And if the spirits of those places want to come along, a little company.
The lake was standoffish. It made him wait an hour while it deliberated, or pretended to. "Meager," it sounded. "As expected." Lief pulled a huge, sodden door from the rubble and pushed it into the water.
That was hours ago, most of a day at least. Now, he opens his eyes. The tributary is narrowing up ahead. The mountains loom, their snowcapped bulk crowding the sky, massive and inevitable. Tiny compared to what he sees when he closes his eyes again.
---------------------
Goal for the coming conflict: Reach the Creep and convince it to help Lief stop Acamar, when that version appears 17 years in the future—even if it costs present-day Lief his life.
