Illunia 20 - Road to Edgewater

At the man’s collapse, the soldiers all turned to Daulf in unison. He stood from where he was braced against the wall and looked the giant man over. “Let's bring a cart back up here and load him in. Keep scanning the water for more survivors.”

While we waited for a soldier to fetch the cart, I examined the form of the unconscious giant. His eight-foot frame was like a statue from the Age of Heroes, with muscles seemingly chiseled from stone covering every inch of his lightly clothed body. Even the backs of his hands showed the visible contours of muscle. I held out my own hands to compare and see if I had the same muscles, if less defined. I did not.

He wore a bear skin cloak draped over his shoulders, and affixed to his back, seemingly—likely—by magic, was a massive wooden paddle shaped club. The handle was almost two feet long; the entire weapon had to be over six. Along the edges of the club were affixed obsidian blades, honed to a razor’s edge, and intermingled in the pattern of obsidian rested teeth. One tooth looked to be from a massive shark, and the other was a canine from some large predatory beast. The flat surface of the club was inscribed in a flowing pattern, very similar to the tattoos that covered its owner’s body. Set into the flat face of the weapon were three stones, with the slots for two more. The central stone was the same purple-black as the obsidian blades, cut into a faceted sphere two inches in diameter. The stone closest to the hilt was an inch in diameter and looked like a ball of water; clear blue of the ocean, and perfectly round. The last was the smallest, the size of a copper bit. It was a deep brown, almost black, and was perfectly round and smooth.

When the cart arrived, it took three soldiers and Daulf to lift the massive man into the back of the wagon. Aside from his bulk, the task was more made difficult by the wooden sword inexplicably secured to his back. No one was able to remove it. After careful, strenuous labor, they hauled the man into the cart. The cart headed back down the bridge with its slumbering cargo. When it was halfway down, the strange sword fell off the man’s back of its own accord. A soldier ran to retrieve the weapon but struggled to lift it at first. The center of mass was far from the handle, and there was no other safe place to hold it. Eventually he was able to drag it onto the wagon bed, the blades slicing off a part of the cart with unnatural ease.

The soldiers and I remained atop the bridge for half an hour, searching the water for any more survivors. After the initial surge, the flow began to shrink from a torrent to a small stream. I examined the debris that I had first taken to be twisted tree trunks. On closer inspection they revealed themselves to be massively overgrown vines. Whatever force had caused them to grow so large, had also covered them in unnatural burl growths. The bark was twisted in an unnatural pattern; staring at it too long left an uneasy feeling in my gut, forcing me to look away.

When it was clear the flow was not strong enough to bring any more shipwreck survivors, we continued once more towards Edgewater. Somehow, I wound up driving the cart with the slumbering strange man. When we started moving, Trish appeared next to me on the bench and gestured to the man. “Who's the beefcake?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, all he said before passing out was ‘I’m debted.’ His tattoos look magical though, his sword too. I’ve never heard of magic tattoos before.”

“Well you just keep attracting handsome men, don’t you? Well, while you were playing the hero, I got the full rundown of the attack on Landing. Pay attention because if you want to keep your cover intact for Handsome Man #1, you need to know what went down.”

“That’s a good idea. I hadn’t thought much about my cover. Alright, I’m listening.” I said, turning to see her.

Once she was sure she had my full attention she began to recount the events of the “Fall of Landing.” She seemed particularly proud of the title.

“The attack occurred ten days back. It began just after sunset. Chaos broke out all over town. Buildings were lit on fire and dragon cult sorcerers were running rampant through the streets, killing indiscriminately. There were hundreds of them. It took so long for the city watch to identify what the threat was that the fires were out of control by the time the cultists were tracked as the source. The nobles mustered their house guard to assist the city watch while the citizens tried to put out the flames. The guards were pulled from the locks to help with both tasks. A resistance was formed, and the city started to fight back, but each cultist’s death only added to the destruction. On their deaths, they unleashed death spells, wielding far more Will with their death than they were capable of wielding in life. After the fires had raged for hours, and the sorcerers had seemingly vanished, the dragon appeared, shattering any hope of victory.“

“It came from the lake, the water freezing as it flew over. The lizard was covered in dull white scales that appeared red in the light of the flames, but did not shine like the dragons of legends. The monster’s wings spanned fifty feet, gently beating as it glided lazily along the shore, killing the bucket brigades with casual ease. Its icy breath turned people into statues in great swaths. The Tower wizards in the city had exhausted themselves fighting the fires and tracking the sorcerers, but when the dragon came, they at least tried—which is more than I expected from those Tower fops. The Grand Magus, which I guess is a fancy title for the head wizard in a city or something, rode out with Daulf to face the dragon. The Magus shot the great wyrm with a massive bolt of lighting that momentarily lit the entire city, and succeeded only in drawing the dragon’s ire. The dragon abandoned its attacks on the citizens and came for Daulf and his charge. A magical duel ensued between the Magus and the dragon. Daulf shielded the Magus with his Blessing as the Magus unleashed a barrage of magical attacks into his foe. The dragon’s breath weapon would part harmlessly around the Magus.”

“Eventually the dragon tired of the ranged back and forth, and came in close. It grabbed the Magus with its claw, bypassing Daulf’s shield against magic. The white lizard ate him whole. With only a sword—and his perfect butt—Daulf charged the beast. A regular sword wielded by a regular man would not have proven a threat to a dragon, but our Daulf is no regular man. While the dragon was snacking, Daulf attacked the monster’s legs, his sword glowing brilliantly with the power of his god amongst the flame-lit night as it cut a deep gash. Surprised by the pain of the attack, the dragon batted him aside and took off. By then the city watch had trained the ballista on it, and there was hope that the battle could be turned, even if it was clear that the city was lost.”

“But then, it got worse. Much worse. Demons burst from the buildings; giant humanoid monsters composed of twisted amalgamations of the creatures of Kaltis. The cultists had gone into hiding only to summon more allies. By this point, anyone in the city had begun to flee. The only people remaining were the city watch, some of the nobles’ guards, and those too stubborn or unable to leave—and Daulf the Dragon Wounder. The remaining forces rallied at the gates to protect those still fleeing from the invaders.“

“While the battles were being fought at the gates, the dragon retreated to the now deserted locks and began to freeze the water in them with its icy breath. Once done, it dug into the newly formed mountain of ice and sat out the rest of the battle.”

“By all reports, Daulf was spectacular—and his martial prowess was nothing to sneeze at. He rallied the defense at the gates. The fire attacks of the cultists burst harmlessly off his armor, the lightning attacks struck the ground at his feet, and the ice attacks shattered on contact, leaving him unharmed. He cut through their ranks, ignoring their death spells as he did their regular magic. It appeared that the tide was starting to turn when a demon entered the battle. The demon was ten feet tall, with the head of a shark and the body of a gorilla, but covered in patchy scales that oozed puss—ewww by the way. In its grotesque hands it held a club that looked to be made of bone. It charged through the ranks of cultists, heedless of their fates, and Daulf ran to meet it.”

“They met with a brilliant burst of light. Daulf’s sword glowing once more, and the demon’s club burning with the energy of Fauell. The Chosen of Illunia traded blows with the spawn of Faust, and with each clash of their empowered weapons, the light on the battlefield grew until nothing could be seen but the white and red glow of their weapons. It was chaos until the red light flared brilliantly, briefing drowning out the white, but then both lights faded to reveal a haggard and weary Daulf standing before a field of fleeing cultists. All around Daulf the ground was scorched, save for a small ring below his feet where he stood. Then it was over. The city was lost, but some of its people were saved. Daulf took off after the refugee caravans to save our asses.”

I sat in silence, listening to her recount the tale. The Seeker was far more fearsome than I expected. I had heard of Blessed Seekers that could shrug off magical attacks, but if Trish’s recount were true, Daulf seemed almost immune. Being unfazed by the death spells of the sorcerers really showed his power. When a person dies, there is a large expelling of Will, far more than what the person could muster in a day. Some speculate this is the Soul leaving the body or the body expelling the Will it contained but couldn’t access. No one knows for sure, but that's not important. The important part is that this Will is an order of magnitude above what a person could muster in life. During the Dragon Wars, the Fel Dragons taught their followers a method to channel this Will into an overcharged spell. Each sorcerer's death on the battlefield became a devastating attack.

I really needed to avoid this man's notice.

We reached Edgewater near sunset, my passenger remaining silent the whole trip. A few times I was worried that he had stopped breathing, but Trish checked his pulse each time. She reported it as “strong, but very slow,” which was weird, but not the strangest thing about this giant man.

Edgewater was a logging town set at the confluence of two rivers. The river from the west was fed from a low point in the mountain range that held The Ocean at bay and was once again flowing by the time we reached town. The northern river was still dry and was fed from a cave that led through the mountain and into the depths of The Ocean—or that's what I believed at the time. In reality, it was a Hardune outpost that was used to maintain the flow of the rivers to the Great Lake.

The rivers were each large, nearly four hundred feet across, and the dry bed of the northern river was like a deep canyon with steep rocky banks. We arrived at Edgewater on the opposite bank of the flowing river. Evidence of a non-dwarven bridge could be seen, but it looked to have been very recently destroyed. Across the river, on the opposite side of the dry bank, lay a small army encampment, complete with camp followers.

The encampment set out a scout in a small boat to greet us, and Daulf went over to meet him. After a brief conference, the scout rowed back to the opposite bank and Daulf came back to the group of soldiers that had gathered around my wagon. I don't know why they gathered around me, after the incident on the bridge they started to hang around the wagon. Maybe the oddity of the man they had rescued?

Daulf reported, "Great news! Captain Mobear is alive and leading that camp. They returned to town from drills after the attack was underway and deemed they could best serve Landing by protecting its citizens. They have a hundred soldiers over there and nearly a thousand refugees. They will be sending boats across for us to come join them. They haven't been allowed to cross into Edgewater; the mayor has been—" he paused, choosing his words carefully,"—difficult."

In short order the soldiers brought a mismatched assortment of row boats, fishing vessels, and barges across the river to transfer our group of survivors. A ramp was set up for the carts and I drove the unconscious, and still breathing, stranger across the river.

When all others had crossed safely, Daulf finally crossed the river himself and came to stand by my cart to watch the rest of our group disperse. On the camp side of the river, our soldiers had already integrated into the larger encamped body, and our refugees were directed to the ordered chaos of the refugee camp set up beyond the military encampment.

In all the ordering about, no one told me where to go, and I sat there atop the wagon, unsure what to do. Trish had slipped away with the other refugees, leaving me all alone.

A retinue broke off from the camp and headed towards our landing site. It consisted of five men on horseback who headed straight for us. The leader of the group wore the Landing town guard colors, gray and green, and bore the rank of captain. The other four were city watch of various ranks I didn't recognize at the time.

The captain removed his helmet, revealing a smiling face. His hair was thinning but still dark brown, and he had a thick beard trimmed to not extend out of his helmet. "Daulf my friend! I'm so glad you made it out of that alive. I'd heard reports of what you faced. It's spectacular. Daulf Dragon's Bane they are already calling you."

Displaying an embarrassed smile, Daulf replied, "Hardly, Dragon Scratcher is closer to the truth.”

“Well, Scratcher, I could use your help. We have a few wounded that might not make it through the night, and the pompous ass of a man won’t let our people cross the bridge. He can’t exactly stop us, but I was hoping to handle this more diplomatically than throwing him into the river.”

“Of course, let’s see to the wounded. We have another patient for the medical tents as well.” Daulf said, gesturing to my passenger, and we set off towards the camp.

On the way, Mobear told us how he had been out of the city on a training exercise when the attack occurred. When they returned to find the battle lost, they focused on gathering all the survivors. He sent half his command south to protect any who fled towards Lake Side, and escorted those he found here. When they arrived, the leader of the town, Mayor Pitsmark, had barred their crossing of the bridge. He threatened to destroy it, which was absurd due to the riverbed being dry and crossable a mile upstream. Daulf in turn told Mobear about his recollection of the events of Landing. His account was much in line with Trish’s, even if it had fewer comments on his own butt.

After weighing the options on removing my passenger from the wagon, it was decided the best method would be to simply pull the whole cart into the medical tent and untether the donkey. Daulf quickly got to work tending to the seriously wounded, and I was inexplicably dragged along to ‘assist.’ Which is to say, I stood around watching Daulf close wounds and purge them of infection with his Blessing. In the case of the second, the infection would purge from the wound before closing. It was disgusting and smelled horrendous, and I was tasked with cleaning it up. I estimate Daulf saved another dozen lives or limbs that night, though some might have survived it without his aid. After all the healing was done, Daulf found a pair of unused cots in the medical tent, and we settled in for a few brief hours of sleep before the sun rose.