by Tom Hansen
Hillbender pointed insistently at the ground again, then turned to hold his wife.
Scarhoof realized he was too far away from the shard. There was no making it there, and Hillbender had used the last bit of his mana to protect him. Wasting the protection would waste the sacrifice the Shaman had made. He had to act.
Clutching tightly to the Litlin, Scarhoof shouted the Recall spell as loud as he could. He said the words carefully, slowly, making sure every syllable was perfect. Heat shot through his hands, as the spell fired.
In a blink, he stood on top of the stone, three inches of water covering the surface where the lines of the Bind Yantra glowed.
It had worked!
He looked up just as the massive yellow shard smashed into him.
The impact pulverized the shard instantaneously, propelling a circular shockwave through the arena.
Eldermother! Hillbender!
Two profiles from the raid blinked out of existence. No resurrection, No chance for survival. Just gone.
The impact vaporized the water around the immediate area, which mixed with the pulverized dust. Smoke blasted in every direction, blotting out the sun and making his world go yellow.
The Nagos closest to the shard’s impact were torn to shreds as tiny bits of razor sharp crystal tore their blue bodies to vapor in an instant.
The cloud surged through the arena, killing, destroying, burning everything it touched.
Inside the bubble, there was no sound, no damage, just a warm glow and a gentle buzzing.
His shoulders slumped as he stared outside the protective bubble. Nagos body parts, yellow shard dust, and forcibly aerated seawater churned through the air in a typhoon of chaos.
Scarhoof couldn’t move, couldn’t take his eyes off the massacre.
Then the bubble burst with a low-pitched pop.
The sound of the impact hit him, in the loudest, most violent sound he’d ever heard. Wind whipped all around him as the gale-force of the impact tore at his clothes and exposed skin.
On instinct, he grabbed the Litlin and shoved her under his vest, protecting her from the flying debris.
Each tear that welled up was stripped from his face by the destruction around him.
His thoughts dwelled on Eldermother, jumping on his back at the last moment. Hillbender, coming back for the one he loved more than life itself. He had lost them both in one instant.
His whole body trembled with grief and despair.
They had given their lives to save him.
As the winds started to slow, he could hear the choking distant cries of the dying Nagos.
Despite the chaos around him, memories echoed in Scarhoof’s head. He remembered Eldermother’s raspy voice as she forced him to eat before heading back to the guard shack. He imagined Hillbender’s sly smile as he put out his hand to pick up from the mat.
His heart ached as he realized that they weren’t coming back. Sorrow slowly seeped through his body. He slumped to the ground as his muscles gave out.
The cloud dissipated, but there was nothing around him. No army of encroaching Nagos. They were gone. Obliterated. Cleansed from the beach. Removed from the Eternal Plains.
Quest Update! The Fight for the Eternal Plains:
The remaining Nagos invaders are now scattered to the four corners of the Plains and will soon be captured. Tales of your heroic deeds will spread across Eloria. (Gained 500 XP!)
Way of the Shaman!
Due to your creative thinking and fast reactions, the Nagos threat in the Eternal Plains has largely been wiped out in one cataclysmic event, thus saving countless Tau’raj lives. Saving the life of the Litlin captain was a choice worthy of the most renowned Shaman. +10 Spirit.
The yellow cloud continued to clear, starting at the epicenter and working outwards. He could just start to see the perimeter of shredded boats in the distance through the dissipating smoke. The perimeter boats still stood, that meant his team might still live.
He remembered to look at his party window, noting the seven portraits still with him. They were all low on heath, but they were alive. Only two of their ten had died.
A small pinpoint of warmth pricked his heart, reminding him of those that still lived. Reminding him that because of their sacrifice, others might continue on. Their race would survive. He felt a moment’s peace, despite the ache in his heart. He would always remember their bravery, and what they had done for him.
He looked down at the Litlin in his arms. She was alive, as were others. Yes, it hurt now, but others lived.
But then he heard it; a rasping slimy wheeze from the slowly clearing miasma.
Chapter 44
Scarhoof knew that sound from anywhere.
He had investigated that sound around Sunset Cove after Sonvey was murdered.
He had cringed from that sound while he was a Kobold in the Misty Cave.
He had hated that sound as it killed one of his only friends, Kardkaw, and left him alive.
He had hunted that sound after Hanranan’s death.
And that sound still lived.
Scarhoof lay the Litlin on the ground, then stood, facing toward the noise.
His jaw ground, and his knuckles popped as he pulled his bo from its holster.
He gripped the weapon with both hands, standing with his hooves shoulder-width apart. His knuckles went white as he continued to squeeze with each labored moan coming from the lingering smoke.
He stepped forward, toward the raspy wheeze. The yellow dust tore at his nostrils, burned his eyes, but he didn’t care.
He saw him.
Grath’gar the Impetuous lay on his side. His tail had been sheared from his body, and one arm hung limp.
The massive Nagos boss lay bleeding before him.
Scarhoof dropped the bo to the ground, summoning his mana and readying his spells.
Scarhoof wanted vengeance.
Grath’gar screamed as the first Spirit Shock severed his arm from his body. His eyes went wide and tears streamed down his face. Grath’gar pulled a health potion from his inventory, but it slipped from his grasp into the watery sand below.
Scarhoof wanted pain.
The second Spirit Shock hit him in his stomach, spewing charred blue scales in every direction and cutting into his flesh. Grath’gar cried out, trying to back away with his one good arm.
Scarhoof wanted death.
Scarhoof shocked him over and over, draining his mana. He ran out, then pulled a potion from his belt, sucking down the sweet liquid to restore. He relished the screams of his enemy, the tears and wails only added to his rage.
He attacked him over and over. Tendrils, Spirit Shock, Spirit Shock, Spirit Shock. All his fury, all the anguish and loss, all the frustration at being the last one left alive; Scarhoof unleashed all of it into his enemy.
The boss’s eyes clouded over as his life force drained away. Scarhoof hit him again and again until his mana was gone the second time.
He towered over the dying beast and balled his fists, taking to melee to finish the job.
“You killed them all!”
Scarhoof aimed for his face. Bones crunched with a sickening crack as his fist connected.
“You invaded our home, invaded our lives! You could have left us in peace!”
He hit again and again. His fist bled, raw and open wounds as he continued to pummel Grath’gar.
Scarhoof fell to the ground, unable to see, tears streaming down his fur.
The Nagos groaned. A painful wail.
“Don’t—”
“Don’t what, don’t let you kill any more of my family?” Scarhoof stood again, his knees weak. He kicked the Nagos’s quivering body. “Don’t blame you? I blame all of you!”
He kicked again, pain shooting up his damaged leg.
He didn’t care. This was the same enemy who had taken his leg from him, stripped him of everything he ever had, then continued to haunt his dreams twenty years later.
Grath’gar coughed, blue
foam oozing from his broken mouth.
“Don’t let me die. If you kill me, I won’t respawn.”
Respawn?
“And what if you kill my family, my friends? What about them? What do the rest of us do when they are gone?”
Grath’gar tried to raise one hand, reaching for Scarhoof, but he batted it away.
He clenched his fists once more. This needed to end.
“Please,” the broken Nagos pleaded.
His words were labored and pained, barely audible over the thrumming of blood through Scarhoof’s head.
“Please, I am not from Eloria. I am trapped here.”
Scarhoof pulled his punch before it connected, slamming his fist into the watery sand below.
“What did you say?” A knot grew in his stomach. He wasn’t sure if he had heard him right, but those words, the same words.
Trapped.
Panic flooded his chest, replacing the pure rage he had. What is going on here? He no longer wished to kill him, he needed answers, he needed to keep him talking.
“What do you mean you are trapped?”
Grath’gar looked up at him, his one eye swollen and bruised, blood poured from hundreds of wounds all over his body. “I work for Epoch.”
The Nagos coughed up blue foam that oozed out of his broken jaw.
“I logged in, and he took all my memories.”
Scarhoof’s, his heart pounded in his chest, his fingers twitched. After all they had been through, they were down to this. He wondered if he could heal the Nagos.
“Who took your memories?” Scarhoof grabbed the beast, Spiritmother’s admonitions forefront in his mind.
You are trapped, Matuk, trapped in a way you must discover.
The Nagos’s eyes rolled back, but Scarhoof shook him. “Who took your memories? What are you talking about?”
Vague recollections of his memories being taken from him flashed through his mind.
Grath’gar’s voice was strained, losing much of his snake-like patterns. He sounded foreign, his accent heavy. “I had forgotten, but now I remember. He can’t keep our memories forever. He can’t. My name is Bern—”
An arrow pierced the Nagos’s head with a slurp. Grath’gar’s eyes went wide before the intense blue glow faded.
Quest Update! Eloria’s Salvation (Private Quest):
Patterns emerge. While something is still amiss, and memory is hazy, you now have clues to its nature. Continue piecing together this puzzle. This is your quest.
Scarhoof stared in shock, trying to figure out what had happened. He couldn’t die, not now, not when he was finally talking.
His mind replayed their brief conversation, trying to memorize what his enemy had said. What was an Epoch? How was he trapped? None of it made sense.
The rest of his raid limped toward him, worse for wear but still alive.
Scarhoof stood, winding up Mending Force. He needed to know more!
Target: Grath’gar Zoran is dead. You cannot heal a member of the other faction.
He tried again with the same effect.
“Damnit!” Scarhoof fell on his knees, tears streaming down his face and terror gripping his heart. He looked around at his surroundings, the Nagos camp, and all the destruction caused by his hand.
His heart sunk as he thought about all the lives lost in that instant. It wasn’t just Eldermother or Hillbender. It was Grath’gar, and his army. So much destruction, so much death. And he was the instigator of all of it.
He stared at the permanent quest for a while as the rest of his raid made their way over to him. What did it all mean, and where would he go for answers now that they were all dead?
Quest Complete! Mysterious Blue Scale:
Grath'gar Zoran is dead. He will never trouble you again. (Gained 50 XP!)
Quest Complete! The Fight for the Eternal Plains:
Grath’gar the Impetuous is defeated, and the Nagos invasion has stopped. The thirty-year war between the two nations is at an end. The Tau’raj can now live in peace. (Gained 500 XP!)
Level Up! You are now Level Ten.
+100 Health. +100 Stamina. +100 Mana. +1 Talent Point. Note: Talents are now unlocked! Current Talent Points:10. XP Needed for next level: 1100.
New Skill! Mending Pulse (Core Class Skill):
Heal: 500. Cost: 100. Duration: 10. Cast Time: 0. Spiritual energy melds with the target’s heartbeat, healing Minor wounds over time. Also restores 10% Stamina.
Chapter 45
“Scarhoof, are you ready?”
He looked up to see Nitene, dressed for the funeral bonfire. She wore a white linen dress that reminded him somewhat of her nightgown. He still couldn’t look at her without seeing Eldermother’s features; the same wrinkles around her eyes starting to form, the smooth light-brown fur.
All of his sorrow had melted away, leaving him numb. He didn’t want to do anything. Moving, or even talking seemed like wasted effort. How she was able to function after learning about her parent’s deaths was beyond him.
He frowned. “Shouldn’t you be relaxing, resting, processing all this?”
She gave him a curious look. “There isn’t any time.”
“No time for what?” He was standing now, the anger struggling to stay down. He made sure it did. It wasn’t really meant for her, it was … he didn’t know where the anger should go.
Certainly not Nitene.
He was angry at himself. That was where the anger resided. Why had Eldermother insisted on going up with him, up to the sky where she knew most likely wouldn’t have ported them out? He kept trying to think of a way that he could have done things differently, as if it would change anything.
It should have been him. He should have been the one pulverized into nothingness instead of her.
Images flashed through his mind; Eldermother hitting the ground, the split-second flash of her body right before the shard impacted, Eldermother entirely focused on delivering that shard where it would do the most damage to the Nagos army, Helu’s smile as he hugged his wife to the very end
It was there whenever he closed his eyes; that snapshot in time, that mere moment frozen in his brain would be there for all time, haunting him.
“You haven’t heard?” Nitene replied.
Her question snapped him out of his thoughts. “Heard what?”
Nitene coughed quietly, almost like clearing her throat. “Chieftain Bloodhorn has asked me to become the next Eldermother.”
He should had expected it. This sort of thing was often passed down from mother to daughter, but still it shocked him.
“And you accepted?” He couldn’t believe he was even asking. Of course, she had accepted.
A pained smile spread across her face. She took a step forward, cupping his jaw in her soft hand.
“I miss her, of course I do.” Her face was solemn now, tight, tense with emotion. “I don’t want you to think I don’t. She taught me that there is work out there bigger than us. Helping others is our true calling. She lived her life by that mantra. She died by that mantra, and I won’t let her sacrifice be in vain. There is a lot of work to do to rebuild our society. Thirty years defending our homeland means we have a long road to get us back to normal.”
She stepped away, her face taking on a somber look. “If we can ever become normal.” She looked up, her eyes glistening with moisture. “Can you come with me? Help me rebuild? I want you by my side.”
She pulled two objects from her bag, holding them out to him. One was a scroll and the other was a small box. “Mother wanted you to have these. She told me to deliver them to you if anything ever happened to her.”
He glanced at his four remaining quests. One to continue investigating shards, another to answer Spirit when she called, and a third to escort Hanrahan’s body back to the Dwarves.
He paused, his breath catching in his throat. There was one more, a separate, more personal quest that had recently been updated. He still didn’t know much about it, or who had given it to him, but
he suspected it wasn’t Spirit. If not her, then who?
The admonition from Spirit filled his head. Just like he knew the answer to her accepting the calling, she needed to know his answer to her request.
He stepped up to her, pocketing the items then taking her in his arms, burying her face in his chest. “It will be a long road to rebuild our society, that is true, but I cannot be here with you for it. I’m sorry, but just like you have to do this, I too, must follow my own path, but I will not stray too far.”
He told her about his visit with Spirit, the shards, the traveling. The Dendrant that tried to attack him in Spirit’s Dream. He told her of the different parts of the world, and Spirit’s request.
He told her everything, but one detail.
One detail that only he and Spirit knew. A detail that he hadn’t finally understood until he was facing down the hordes of Nagos. He had first noticed it while he was watching their armies, and then reiterated while in the arena. He realized it again when Grath’gar died.
It was true what they said; some things you can’t be told about, you have to experience them for yourself. And some things you still won’t know until you have experienced it more than once. Some things you just had to trust fate, or the gods, or the word of your dying enemy.
Some things just were, and you had to have faith that it would all work out in the end.
Epilogue
Celdia Moonrunner shifted silently from foot to foot on the wooden floor, her bare feet once again feeling the connection to Eloria through Dendradix. It was good to be back.
Skyweaver sat at the head of the table, his long, fingers intertwined as he pondered her report. “And you overheard this whole conversation while hiding in the shadows?”
“Yes, Skyweaver.”
He pondered for a moment longer. “And neither of them knew you were there?”
