How to Be an Adventurer- World of Gimmok

by Damien Hanson

  Now it was time to encamp. The two did not sleep apart anymore, like they once had. Business had led to trust, and trust to love. Though the demons are often given the label of soulless embodiments of hate and violence, this is but a process of their creation. They are raised to be so—inside they can be entirely different things indeed.

  Now there was battle. Some shadowy things in some shadowy place, quite nondescript, battled the duo unsuccessfully. And one figure came into focus. A large and cloaked being that looked both human and marilith—a half-demon with the blood of a sea demon. Above him, there lay a tremendously alien stone that throbbed and pulsed with power. The being poured more energy into it as its hireling fought to keep the ceremony from being disturbed.

  Apparently, they won because the next scene was the two, exhausted, heading back to the surface world. The warrior was old again and seemed to be drained of power. He coughed in a fatal fashion, and often required assistance.

  In the next scene, the succubus gave birth to a baby, half of her heritage and half of his. The warrior looked upon the product of their love, laughed with joy, and then died. The succubus wailed and screamed her wrath at the gods above, swearing vengeance upon the world. She stabbed herself with one of her own mystical daggers, weaving her life energy into a cocoon about her child and prophesying that the world would suffer at the hands of her descendent.

  “Oh, crap,” Bern moaned. “Destiny!”

  As the demon died, the cocoon shrank and hardened into a dark-red gem that throbbed, dully, as if it were a heart on sedation. And then the story faded.

  ***

  The party looked at one another in surprise.

  “Ya know, I honestly thought there would be more to it than that,” Yenrab said, quite relieved.

  The gem began to shake.

  “Gah!” Bern yelled, kicking it hard. The gem cocoon sped away on an arc through the air, smashing to pieces against a wall.

  “Bern!” Carric yelled, not at all happy.

  Where the gem had struck, there came a blast of energy, from which a red-skinned hulk of a figure emerged, angry and stinking of sulfur.

  “Mwhahahaha! Death and destruction await all those who oppose me. I am the gift of Death and Destruction, Vengeance vowed, the End of the World! Bow in terror!”

  The half-demon stood enraged, small flames flickering from the stones upon which he stood.

  “Um. Hi?” stuttered Yenrab, both a bit tired and very surprised.

  “You were fools to release me.” Destiny stomped, cracking masonry and offending olfactory senses. “Vengeance will be mine!”

  “Hey, guys,” Svein whispered, “I don’t think I am afraid of vampires and undead anymore.”

  A fecal scent stained the air. Half of the party looked guilty.

  The fiend looked at them angrily.

  “I will not be ignored,” he spat, caustic acid burning a pothole into the floor at the tips of their feet. “I will be the end of this planet and all who dwell upon it!”

  Tracy looked nonplussed.

  “Why?” asked Tracy in a clinical and almost Freudian manner.

  The demonic figure spluttered.

  “WHAT? DO YOU DARE QUESTION ME?” it asked, its booming voice threatening eternal damnation and violence.

  Burn forever, Bern thought, and shuddered. Destiny and fate clogged the air, the fright and feeling of it making it impossible to breathe without choking. The whole group followed the gaze of the demonic brood as it glared at the diminutive half-elf.

  Tracy looked about hirself, confused, as if the conversation had gone to another person. Then ze looked at the hell-spawn before them, rippling with muscle and sparking with magical energy as it regarded all of them with scorn.

  “Yeah. I didn’t know it was a dare though,” ze said, a bit confused. “I’m Tracy. What’s your name?”

  The half-demon seemed a bit confused by this. Its angry face lessened and became thoughtful.

  “I, well, I don’t know,” he said pondering. “I was never given a name.”

  “I think you look like a Justin. And if you don’t, well, it’s a good solid name to be proud of,” Tracy confided in a loud and bold voice, clearly unafraid as the rest stood watching in wonder.

  “What in the seven hells?” Bern mouthed to Yenrab. The half-orc shrugged, making in plain that he was just as lost as the assassin was.

  “Or a Shane. That is also a good name to get behind,” the half-elven sorcerer continued, hir face shining as it became clear to them all that ze was rather enjoying this.

  “Justin? Shane?” The half-demon lost more steam as he began to consider things a bit. “They are both good names. I never really considered it.”

  And then he paused, getting angry. “This is a trick. A ploy! You are trying to get me to forget my purpose!”

  Tracy looked at him nonplussed, “Not really.”

  The wild mage said with a yawn, “I mean, have you even decided your purpose yet? Technically, you were just born.”

  “I, well,” the confused behemoth of might and magic stuttered, very confused. “WHAT? DID YOU NOT SEE THE STORY OF MY BIRTH?!”

  “Yeah. You had a good dad and a good mom who loved each other and fought evil,” Tracy Riley summarized in a pleasant voice, “that, it looked like, was threatening our very world. And because of that fight that they both did, together, your dad became magically ill and died. And then your mom, in irrational grief, cocooned you and swore that you would kill the world for killing your dad. Did I miss anything?”

  The being before him grew in size and flames flickered out from all of his bodily orifices.

  “NO, YOU DID NOT! THE GODS COULD HAVE SAVED HIM! FOR THAT THE WORLD MUST PAY!” he bellowed, well back on track with his own bit of destiny.

  The very force of the being’s breath shoved the half-elf back a bit and singed hir hair. Ze stepped back forward.

  “But why?” Tracy asked, hir voice calm and full of curiosity.

  “Well, um, because the gods didn’t save him?” the half-demon faltered, and then coughed. “I mean, BECAUSE THE GODS DIDN’T SAVE HIM!”

  Yenrab elbowed the bard, who yelped in surprise.

  “Carric, you need to lay some knowledge down. Like now,” he commanded, a look of comprehension growing on his face. Carric saw that and nodded, beginning to get a feel for what was going on as well.

  “Uhh . . . ahh . . . Justin, or is it Shane? Actually, almost every god here today is a pantheon from another world.” The man halted for just a second, thinking and speaking on his feet, and then he pushed on. “The gods native to this planet have been pretty crowded out. If you kill this world, umm, they really won’t care at all.”

  The half-demon stepped toward him and looked down on the minstrel, his face contemplative.

  “Yes. I can feel that you are speaking the truth,” the powerful monster said, well deep in thought. “It is Justin, by the way. Shane sounds like a name that still has a lot of growing up to do. And I feel like that is not me.”

  The party looked at each other in slight surprise. Svein sheathed his sword, his face suddenly confident. The rest of them followed suit with their own variety of weapons. The clanking and sliding earned a confused, and then accepting, look from the half-demon, who himself was shrinking back down in size.

  “Now, um, where was I? Oh, yes.” The hellish being shook his head, and began, once again, to grow in size. “FROM WHAT WORLD DID THOSE GODS COME? MY MOTHER DEMANDED VENGEANCE!”

  Carric piped back up. “A lot of worlds, actually. So many worlds. We have a bit of a history in this world that makes us blaze forth like nothing else on the prime material plane. Basically, we have different rules of magic, more magic, and a whole lot of badness because of it.”

  Carric stopped and considered what he had just said. Then he nodded to himself over the veracity of his tale, and he continued.

  “We were all shamans and witch doctors before the merge. Now we worry more about too much magic ra
ther than not enough. You should have seen what happened when our fire magic thing ran into our cold magic thing.”

  “My braai!” Bern moaned with a bit too much volume. Everyone turned to look at him.

  “Sorry!”

  The half-demon wore a face that was thoughtful and placid. He sighed.

  “You have given me a lot of—urgh—I mean to say”—he straightened himself and deepened his voice—“YOU HAVE GIVEN ME A LOT TO THINK ABOUT.”

  “Yes,” said Tracy. “I hope so. You need to live your life as you wish. Your mother was incredibly sad and a bit heartbroken. But, look at your own story. She was also noble, strong, and independent. As was your father.”

  “YES, I SHOULD CONSIDER THIS. SHE WAS FATIGUED AND SORROWFUL. I DO NOT WANT TO FIGHT THIS WORLD WHEN IT DOES NOT ACCOMPLISH HER INTENTIONS. I SHOULD BE LIKE HER, AND HIM. I SHOULD CONSIDER THE PEOPLE MY PARENTS WERE AND NOT THE IDEAS THAT THEY LAID UPON ME.”

  “Yeah, you be you, man. This life is yours,” Tracy replied. “People sometimes get angry with me. Sometimes, I’m a man. Sometimes, I’m a woman. Sometimes, I’m in-between. This is somewhat normal for the elves. A rarity among half-elves. And a sin outside of them, often. But I just flow with the changes. Coraellon, my god from a different world, tells me to just enjoy who I am at the moment. I want you to do the same.”

  “Yeah, I think Tracy is right. You should be yourself, not what your parents want you to be,” added Carric for emphasis.

  “YES! I SHOULD DO WHATEVER I WANT! I SHOULD HAVE THE FREEDOM TO DO WHATEVER I WANT! I SHALL GO TO THESE OTHER WORLDS, SYSTEMATICALLY, AND DESTROY THEM. UPON COMPLETION, I SHALL RETURN HERE AND JUDGE THE GODS THAT REMAIN.”

  “Um,” Carric wavered, seeming a bit unsure of this sudden development. Yenrab and Svein looked perturbed as well. But Wex slapped his hand over the lips of the barbarian as he began to speak and shushed him.

  “Exactly. You do you,” the wood elf piped in, glaring at the others to disagree. “Bring justice to the worlds and seek vengeance in the way that you seek!”

  Justin the half-demon nodded at this, his face decided. “Thank you, friends, uh, what are your names?”

  “Tracy,” the wild mage supplied, filling in the blank.

  “Carric,” the bard responded in an unhappy voice.

  “And always remember Wex,” stated the cleric of Mask with what was surely a hidden grin, though only the gods knew for certain.

  “Yenrab,” called out the barbarian.

  “Svein,” sounded the nobleman fighter.

  “Bern,” yelled out the triumphant assassin.

  “Jenn Eric Enpeasea,” screamed out the human bard. They all gave him a glare for his enthusiasm. He smiled and flipped them off.

  “Thank you, all. I now have a destiny that is my own yet still honors the sacrifice of my mother and father. And, importantly, I have a name! One that shall be spoken of long and far as my deeds are accomplished.” The half-demon paused and then raised up his arms in victory. “I will honor you, my friends. You have done so much for me. As I lay waste to each of these worlds, I’ll dedicate their deaths to you with every syllable that I utter. All shall know the beings that brought them doom. I will honor you everywhere I go.”

  With that, Justin rose up, spread his arms, and disappeared, perhaps teleporting to another world in which to reign terror and mayhem, in the name of justice, upon its people and gods.

  “I feel fuzzy and warm,” Tracy confided.

  “I, uh, feel good . . . and bad at the same time. Did we just convince him to wreck a bunch of worlds so that he might spare us?” Carric asked, quite upset.

  Yenrab and Svein seemed equally unhappy.

  “A tisket, a tasket,” Wex confided. “Does it really matter?”

  “Tracy, man, woman, mate, whatever, you just defeated destiny!” Bern yelled out, then ran up and hugged hir.

  The bard, the barbarian, and the nobleman, all frowned at them.

  Yenrab spoke up, “Hey, Wex, isn’t your god Mask going to be upset?”

  “No worries,” the cleric answered. “Mask loves it when I give him a challenge.”

  Chapter 36: Fiendbleed

  Yenrab’s pack shook with anger and vigor as it seemed to try to dislodge itself from his back. The half-orc sighed as he dropped it to the ground, his body shaking out the tension and stress of the last few moments right afterward.

  “I’m gonna guess that Jerold Frey has some words for us, guys,” he said with a wavering voice, his legs feeling like jelly.

  “Then let him out!” said Carric Smith in eager anticipation. “Let the great man sing!”

  They all clustered together as the big man rifled through his belongings and finally pulled it out. The book looked different now—somehow faded.

  Bern cheered and laughed.

  “We did it. Holy hells and damnation, we did it! Mates, we beat destiny!”

  The tome slipped through the barbarian’s fingers slowly and murkily, then plopped and popped on the ground. Where it had been stood Jerold Frey, Hero of Gimmok.

  “They say that free will is an illusion, adventurers,” he stated with tremendous voice and charm, emphasizing the last word. “The story that was written for you ended here, today, and yet here you are.”

  “Damn right!” Bern yelled again, his face shining and alive.

  “I was myself fated to be killed at the very first bar I played at,” the legend said, looking directly at Carric. “The brewmeister didn’t like me, and neither did the patrons. I didn’t even know this, and yet I survived.”

  The spirit of the man turned and looked at them all, a lecturer in the classroom of destiny.

  “All of you, here and now, you are heroes. Unsung heroes whose victory will never be told. But you’ve got potential. The new story being weaved, well, I won’t tell you your future, but they are grand, and if they are realized, then perhaps you all may become legends in your own right.”

  “Even me?” asked Svein Novogord in doubt, his head filled with visions of failure.

  “No spoilers,” Jerold Frey winked and then faded to nonexistence.

  ***

  The party spent a long time hunkered down in the tower, each seeing to the re-preparation of their abilities and skills in between bouts of simply sleeping and relaxing. Carric sat in the corner, a quill and a stack of parchments in hand, people-watching as he was often wont to do.

  Svein had a novel out and was leafing through its worn pages in a look of ecstatic joy. Carric expected that it probably had more pictures than words, though he said nothing near so crass to the haunted fighter. Such a mind deserved peace wherever it could be found.

  And there was Tracy. Ze sat in meditation, occasionally murmuring words of magic and grasping out at invisible things. Or perhaps he, now, as the wild mage looked to have become a man for today. A quite well-endowed one, the bard accidentally noticed. He quickly shifted his gaze elsewhere.

  Yenrab spent his time sleeping, snoring, and scratching—gods there was so much scratching—and then sniffing where he scratched, or his fingers if his nose couldn’t reach. But, also, he did other strange things. He wrote equations on the dusty floor with his finger and muttered philosophical questions to himself about life and existence. At times, he seemed almost like the sorcerer Tracy as his excited fingers flitted to the air and traced out imagined figures and answers. That half-orc was something special indeed.

  Bern was also a figure of mystery. He mixed various vials, making annotations in his own stack of scrolls. Then he slept, but like a cat, curled up and seemingly very aware, in his slumber, of the goings-ons around him. Awake again, he sharpened his blades and worked on what looked to be some sort of ledger. Then he stuffed it all away and went over to share a flask of whiskey and some conversation with the masked cleric Wex.

  Wex, ah, yes, there was a figure. He prayed, with his mask glowing a slight sky-blue hue as it energized in the radiant blessings of his god. Then he went into some sort of meditative reve
rie, after which he emerged and exercised his nimble elven fingers. Before he had been joined by the assassin Bern, he had looked a bit haunted himself. There was something to this elf from the woods. Something painful that, perhaps, underlaid his constant quips and humor.

  And there was Jenn Eric Enpeasea. That man was good and kind, but he wasn’t really the adventuring type it seemed. Carric gave him a thorough watch as he tried to figure the man out.

  He looked miserable, again and again casting his gaze upwards for more spiders in the ceiling and sleeping in fitful bouts. After enough time had passed, Carric’s heart couldn’t take it anymore. He got up from his place, stopped his pastime, and joined the man in bardic gossip and trade talk.

  Sometimes, the half-elf thought, we all need a hug and a shoulder to cry on.

  ***

  Tracy. Trrrrraaaaaaccccy.

  “Woah. Uh. Yeah?” Tracy asked, taken out of whatever thoughts had occupied him. It was afternoon now and nearly time for the party to rise up and continue.

  Not out there, Tracy. In here. In your mind.

  “Cool! That’s where we all usually meet.”

  The voice made a sound in confusion.

  Wex and Bern stopped their conversation and looked over at him.

  Talk in your mind! I’ve got a secret.

  “Oh, cool! Um,” Tracy trailed off.

  Oh cool, so, like, what voice are you now? You’re a new one. I look forward to getting to know you.

  The voice was surprised.

  You have others?

  Tracy was nonchalant. Outwardly, he yawned, prompting Bern and Wex to stop regarding him with so much curiosity and to continue in their conversation.

  Yeah. I’ve got a few. But there is always room for more. Who or what are you? the Freemeetian investigated in askance.

  I am the blade that you saw in battle. It was wielded by the skeleton with the green eyes. I am Fiendbleed, a champion of this world. I battle to drive off the outsiders, the demons, and the abominations of our planet and seek to bring us all together into a utopia devoid of such monsters.

  Tracy mentally nodded.

  Yeah. Okay. I’m in.