Thursday, November 16, 2017

The Hacks of Gorm, Part XXXVII: Whom We Elect


Torrent sword in hand, Gottschalk closed his eyes and concentrated.

To his surprise, nothing happened.

Gorm turned with a look of confusion too upon his barbarian face. Like the others, he had expected something terrible to happen to the man once he took the weapon from the dais. It was on a dais and had swirling lights around it after all!

Sir Jave, Tamara, and even the dog turned next. Gottschalk grimaced though: all their faces had either vomit, blood, or wizard on it. Disgusting!

“You don’t look so good yourself, Gottschalk.”

Gottschalk stared at Gorm, his mouth gaping open. He could understand the barbarian almost perfectly and even sense the spirit within him!

“It’s a fine looking blade, may I see it?”

Sir Jave sounded as if he had nearly no accent too. Gottschalk looked at Tamara next, but she only smiled. Being a woman, she was instinctively distrustful of the power the sword gave him.

“This weapon should work!” Gottschalk exclaimed finally. “We can use it to free them!”

“Good,” said Gorm. “Phantom in head would like to leave too.”

Gottschalk nodded. He knew this weapon was powerful, but his use of it would likely not come without cost.

* * *

The companions emerged from the mausoleum, passing the carvings of the Ancients along the way. Dawn was breaking over the Nuttens to the east. It was a strange light though: golden, yet unwarming. The sound of someone making speeches could be heard from the Monjaksen Town Hall in the distance.

They each looked at each other, realizing they hadn’t rested or even eaten in over a day. Still, Gorm, being a barbarian and also holding the presence of the Great Spence inside him, had plenty of energy. Gottschalk did too, for he held the enchanted sword and Tamara seemed strangely awake thanks to the company of the Face-eating Dog. Only Sir Jave was tired, since he had no possessing spirit, magic blade, nor wizard’s former familiar as a companion.

“I shall be returning to the mausoleum to rest.”

“Are you certain? It might be dangerous!” Gottschalk looked at Sir Jave with concern.

“Perhaps, but these lands above are likely even moreso.”

“Well then, catch up with us later.” Gottschalk patted him on the shoulder.

“One other thing,” said Sir Jave. “Remember: gentility is defended by fierceness. If you’re meek and not fierce, you’ll be replaced. If you’re fierce and not meek... then you’re a barbarian.”

Gorm looked at him suspiciously.

“... present company excluded, of course,” added Sir Jave nervously.

Gorm then gave a hearty laugh, strode up, and put Sir Jave in a great bear hug. Sir Jave laughed at first too until he started to lose his breath from the barbarian’s crushing comradery. Both Gottschalk and Tamara had to pull him off while the Face-eating Dog barked ferociously.

* * *

The remaining four soon approached the Town Hall again. Being Monjaksen, the place still seemed dark and fell, despite the morn, but there were many about.

A large crowd of both cowed citizens and celebrating cultists surrounded a few upon an outdoor stage. Two in particular shivered, though Gottschalk doubted that it was from the freezing air. Both Ramzeus and Laurissa Austral remained gagged and bound, demon-itized from the Ghul-Ghul spell the evening before (in Part XXIX). Otherwise, Demoncrats and Zombie Public Lords were also there with one man at the podium.

Gorm pointed very obviously at the evil ones on stage, as well as the many arrogant cultists around them, surrounded by the stench of their fell herbs. Still, Gottschalk felt it best to wait and see for now. He kept the Torrent Sword close by, hidden underneath the folds of his winter cloak. He nodded to Tamara and she and the Face-eating Dog moved around the other side of the crowd.

It was then that Gottschalk’s full attention focused on the man at the podium. His name was MacCalloff and he had apparently won an Election and was the new Governor.

“Citizens of Monjaksen, our Certified Vote Counters have made their Determination... and we are here to celebrate the Victory of Demoncracy! You, the People, have Spoken!”

At that point, one man made to call out a challenge, but was quickly beaten with urine-soaked clubs by a group of cultists nearby.

“And You have indeed Spoken. Spoken Out to grant us New Tithes and Taxes for Enlightened Projects.”

A wealthy Patron smiled at MacCalloff knowingly.

“Spoken Out to Invite as Many New, Permanent Visitors into Our Lands as We Possibly Can!”

A large crowd of goblins beat their drums and laughed, throwing their voting tickets at each other.

“Spoken Out against Hate and Oppression, so that All Who Do It Will Never Do So Again!”

The cultists cheered and hauled the man they had beaten away. The citizens who hadn’t been clapping before certainly did so now.

“Those who Hate: Call it Off, or else! It Can’t End Well for you!”

Gottschalk grasped the Torrent Sword tighter, though he doubted he needed it in order to sense the evil within the man...

...or the tyranny of his words.


Next week: The Hacks of Gorm, Part XXXVIII!



Thursday, November 9, 2017

The Hacks of Gorm, Part XXXVI: To Claim the Torrent Sword


Long ago, the time of the Ancients ended. There’s was an amazing world, full of magical device that defied all belief, It is said that they could even communicate at great distances- with only the touch of a button- and that they sped along in chariots of metal, both upon the ground and through the sky.

That world ended when the Lights went Out, but the survivors cried out in the night. Who would give them conversation where they had forgotten how to speak to their neighbor? Who would give them entertainment now that the glowing images were no longer lit?  Who would give them love and guidance after a time where most had only found such through watching a box or listening to a cube?

One did hear, and it answered. And even though it had itself lost most of its earthly power with the end of the Ancient world, it knew it was time to go beyond. It had ruled the close of that world, happily monitoring every finger tap, every button press, to both fill its bloated coffers and to suppress any who might defy the power of its Equalitarian masters.

Like some undead thing, it arose again, but this time it came back more warped and potent than before. Like a ghoul it reanimated, though being a former thinking machine, it dropped the O and repeated itself as such things are wont to do, ironically sounding much like its name before.
A Demon Lord now, it rules from its dimension of Fell Interwebs and would promise succor to those fools who would seek communication, joy, and lore at a distance in pantomime of how the Fallen Ancients once did, centuries past. 

And, like then, there was only one way to cut through its power.

* * *

“Me hope we take Torrent Sword soon, Gottschalk. Phantom in head getting impatient.”

Gottschalk turned to Gorm and began to reply, but then he stopped.

A corpse lay before them and its face had been chewed off.

Sir Jave strode up, not aware of the corpse yet. “This place is most likely trapped! Who knows what sort of dastardly-”

Even Sir Jave was at a loss for words. He turned to the side of the passage and vomited.

Tamara came up next and nodded, ignoring both her sickened friend and the mutilated body. Across the room, passed the mutilated corpse, the Torrent Sword was visible on a stand upon a dais. A long, sharp blade, it had a wide hilt of gold. Even more striking, coruscating spirals of energy swirled around it, its magic clearly visible here far below ground.

“It must be well-protected indeed,” she said finally.

Gorm and Gottschalk knew that women often had a magical touch, so they took Tamara’s cautions seriously. Suddenly, they spotted movement across the room and got their weapons ready.

Something was coming at them fast: some sort of four-legged beast!

Gorm pulled his great axe back, ready to strike, but Tamara put her hand on his mighty shoulder. It was only a hound, though its eyes looked wild and its face, bloody.

“Aw, pooch!” she said sweetly.

Gottschalk wasn’t so sure. There seemed to be something very off about the beast apart from the blood and wild eyes.

“C’mere!” exclaimed Tamara.

The hound barked and ran to her. The men let out a sigh of relief when it didn’t bite, but then felt disgust when it licked her with its bloody face.

Gottschalk’s eyes went to the corpse on the floor again. It had been that of a man dressed in starrified robes and hat- obvious marks of a wizard. He then turned to the hound and saw it had a matching collar.

“Eh- Tamara?” Gottschalk was beginning to guess what had happened to the dead man.

“Yes?” Tamara’s face looked strange. Some of the blood from the dog had transferred to hers.

Gorm readied his axe to strike Tamara now. Perhaps she also had gotten an evil spirit inside her that needed to be released the barber-barbarian way?

Gottschalk frowned, realizing that things were beginning to deteriorate. Sir Jave had only now stopped vomiting- it seemed a long time for even him- it was only a corpse with its face chewed off after all. Both Tamara and the dog had also started to growl at Gorm. The barbarian’s eyes glazed as the Great Spence began to take over. Perhaps there was some sort of spell that warded this place, making all his companions mad, or at least madder than usual?

So he strode up and reached for the Torrent Sword. Even if doing so would kill him, it seemed a better fate than doing nothing.


Next week: The Hacks of Gorm, Part XXXVII!



Thursday, November 2, 2017

The Hacks of Gorm, Part XXXV: Lands That Were Once Human


Gorm still clutched his ears at the resonation of the foul cult song. Even though he was a barbarian, he knew the hypocrisy at what it had said. Cultists often claimed to be for ‘Freedom, Peace, and Justice’, but they always did the exact opposite.

Still, their singing had been especially heinous.

Something else was different too, for it felt like someone or something was in his mind. The presence wasn’t hostile, but was different and could offer greater insight beyond what his usual barbarian sensibilities would allow. Still, the presence could also take control of his actions like it had done at the cemetery above. Best to remedy it the barber-barbarian way...

Gottschalk was startled when Gorm stopped suddenly, took a lower stance, and readied to strike himself in the head with one of the sharp ends of his own great axe.

“Er... Gorm?” His voice echoed slightly in the mausoleum tunnel.

“What Gottschalk?”

Gottschalk became even more confused since the barbarian wasn’t talking in his usual, choppy voice. He turned to Tamara, but the woman only pointed to the graves above. It must be the phantom possessing him!

“Resist it, Gorm! Don’t let the ghost kill you!” said Gottschalk. He tried to wrestle the large man’s arms down, but they were too strong.

“It not ghost! It only me! Only haircut save me now!” replied Gorm.

“But you’ll only slice your skull open!” exclaimed Tamara.

Sir Jave moved to assist too, but apart from stabbing the man with his Indo-European sword, he couldn’t figure out what to do. So instead, he turned to the metallic carvings on the walls of this place. Thankfully, they hadn’t been defiled like the similar ones above.

“Look at the craftsmanship!” he said. “Oh! What a people they must have been!”

“And nice women too,” added Gorm. His eyes went to the exposed breast of a woman displayed.

“Yes...” began Gottschalk nervously. The barbarian was nearly ready to swing. “But... you won’t be able to enjoy women very much if you hit yourself with that!”

“Me know, Gottschalk, but me must release evil spirit the barbarian way-”

“Oh phantom,” interrupted Sir Jave. “I beseech thee- leave this Neanderthal’s thick skull. Instead, entreat with us upon yonder representation.”

Sir Jave gestured to the carvings as he spoke; Gorm felt the urge to strike Sir Jave now.

Instead, the large man’s eyes glazed over and he spoke in a strange voice. “I am the Great Spence. This barbarian will serve well to help me free these human lands.” He pointed at the carvings with his one hand, though the other tensed as it held the axe.

Everyone else turned to look. They were finely crafted: metal high reliefs, centuries old. And though they showed the Ancients at war with their strange uniforms and weapons, they were all human.

Suddenly, something emerged from behind one and hissed. It was a serpent and nearly ready to strike Sir Jave! How such a creature could even stir in the wintertime, Gottschalk couldn’t say, but the possessed Gorm quickly dispatched it nonetheless.

Gottschalk then turned his attention back to the carvings. He could notice now that the Ancients had looks of serenity upon their faces. These were a people who had fought and died to make their lands great, to give a full inheritance to their descendants. Unlike the Bloomer that they had encountered before (in Part XXXII), they had sired enough children and maintained their natural rights and privileges to help those children thrive. And unlike the Demoncrats and the Swamp that had drained Salpinx, none kneeled when their flag was brought forth.

Nor did any let snakes into their homes.

It seemed that Gorm then realized it too. His internal struggle seemed to end. He shrugged, slung his great axe, and continued down the mausoleum tunnel.

Gottschalk glanced back at the carvings before they left. These were once human lands, free of inhuman and cultist, and he hoped they would be so again...

If only finding the Torrent Sword would assist with that.


Next week: The Hacks of Gorm, Part XXXVI!




Thursday, October 26, 2017

The Hacks of Gorm, Part XXXIV: To the Underground, Where the Ancestors Dwell



One of the cultists was quicker and swung her wine bottle right at Tamara’s head.

“This is almost as bad as Carthia!” she exclaimed as she narrowly avoided the attack. “You scum show your Tolerance... by trying to bash people’s heads in!”

Sir Jave responded faster, unsheathing his sword. He parried the metal rod of another who swung at him- just in time. There was a great CLANG as the two weapons connected. Gottschalk cursed and made to get his miner’s pick in front of any attacks from the others. Luckily, most of the cultists’ ire remained focused on Gorm though.

Still possessed by some phantom it seemed, the barbarian only stared mildly at the fuming zealots before him. They swore in their vilest tongues that he was some sort of “Peddler of Hate” for saluting the fallen statue.

Gottschalk knew he had to act quickly; more were approaching. If they were taken by these cultists, then how would they find the Torrent Sword? How would they free Ramzeus and Laurissa Austral from the Ghul-Ghul spell?

 “So ... er... Sir Jave: what type of sword do you have?”

“Well, it’s very Indo-European, I can tell you that!” he replied, “As a matter of point, it possesses a finely crafted hilt indicative of my people’s honoring of both the cervine, as well as the heliacal cult! If it only had circumvolution!”

Gottschalk glanced over at Gorm as Tamara struck back at her foe. Sir Jave landed a slash on his too, despite being so animated and distracted by Gottschalk’s question. The man obviously loved his ancestors and was quite sharp, but his large words had irritated the barbarian before. Gottschalk had hoped that they would so again now, but Gorm seemed unaffected.

Gottschalk looked around in a near panic, seeing if he could find some way to prod the barbarian to axe-frenzy. He turned for a moment to look at the graves and mausoleums behind them. Otherwise, all he could see was the tabard on one of the cultists when he turned back, the same young woman who had screamed at Gorm first. It read: Only Orcish Lovers Need Apply!

He was surprised at such an arrogant and ridiculous statement- even for a cultist, but it also gave him an idea.

“If you’re so Equalitarian, why do you care what race your lovers are?”

The woman turned to him, bile rising at first, but then her white face went pale. The others turned to Gottschalk as well, ready to debate such an Obviously Hateful Statement, but they couldn’t quite articulate a response.

Tamara took the opportunity to kick the cultist woman in the shin and Sir Jave tugged on Gorm’s suspenders to get him to move. Unfortunately, the man was too large to budge very far. Gottschalk grabbed Gorm’s great axe, but the cultists, seeing that he was alone, moved past the hypocrisy of their warped philosophy and came at him. Cultists could never resist an opportunity to attack an isolated Heretic.

The young woman it seemed had found her words too, for she launched into him more arrogantly than she had even done to Gorm before. “We have to Correct Injustices, you Amaranthine Scum!  Get off our... um... Street! You And Your Racist Filth! ‘If I Had a Hammer, I’d Hammer You in the Morning...’  ”

Gottschalk knew that he was no racist, but this woman certainly was. She claimed to be ‘Against Racism’, but in reality, she was against humans, even if she was herself one. But being right didn’t matter to these zealots- they would try to beat and kill you regardless, spitting on their ancestral heritage all the while.

And that they had all now begun to sing their fell cult song only made it worse. “... kill all you Amaranthine Scum with the Bell of Social Justice... all over this land!!!!”

Luckily, Gorm seemed to come to his senses somewhat and knocked most of the cultists aside with his mighty thews. Tamara yelled out a warning though- even more were coming!

It was time to fall back to the mausoleum, the place of the ancestors, and go underground. There they would hopefully find the Torrent Sword. But even if they didn’t, it would be a great relief to not have to worry about listening to any more cultist songs...

... nor hear any more of their hate for their ‘brothers-and-their-sisters’.


Next week: The Hacks of Gorm, Part XXXV!



Thursday, October 19, 2017

The Hacks of Gorm, Part XXXIII: Dishonoring the Past Leads to Unquiet Dead



With the Bloomer gone, the companions continued north towards the cemetery. The moon was lower now, but cast an even stranger light on this wintry land. They shivered, hoping that their quest might soon be at an end.

Gottschalk’s mind went to Ramzeus and Laurissa Austral- were they still under the sway of cultists, Demoncrats, and the zombie Public Lords? In any case, he hoped that the relic would be able to help them- at least Tamara had claimed so. She was quiet for now, assisting Sir Jave down the street. The young man still looked drained by the creature’s nefarious attack upon his youth.

Gorm had recovered though and took the lead. Luckily, the man had only been injured in the head- a place where barbarians were notoriously well-protected due to its thickness. “Me not like this place, Gott-chalk. That Bloomer might come back.”

Gottschalk shook his head. “Perhaps, but we couldn’t slay that undead thing without your mighty axe.”

Gorm nodded. He hoped to be able to use it again soon.

And that opportunity sprang up quicker than he had hoped. Down the avenue, outside the gates of where the cemetery was supposed to lay, the companions spied a crowd. It was obvious even in this strange light what they were. With dyed hair, bandanas on their faces, obstinate placards at their sides, and wine bottles in their hands, they could be nothing but cultists.

And even if they hadn’t been so obviously attired, Gottschalk could sense the false righteousness that they held, their unwillingness to notice the truth of the current situation beyond their warped Cult Doctrines. They yelled outside the gates, demanding to enter and destroy the apparent ‘Symbols of Hate’ within.

Gottschalk signaled to his companions to fan out. Gorm smiled, his axe now ready. It seemed like he hadn’t used it in weeks!

Gottschalk stopped the barbarian though. “We can’t fight them all; we need to find the Torrent Sword!”

Gorm’s eyes narrowed. “No more talk, Gott-chalk! Me want fight!”

Gottschalk was at an impasse: he had learned that there was no point in debating cultists, or even barbarians for that matter... unless you had no other choice, but he also knew there were too many standing in front of the gates for even Gorm to slay.

Sir Jave came up then. And though still weak, he added his advice, “When one cannot war or converse, one can always engage in subterfuge.”

Gorm grimaced at that and began to angle his axe towards Sir Jave’s neck.

Tamara intervened before the barbarian could strike though. “He means that if we can’t fight or talk, we can... sneak.”

Gorm nodded and lowered his weapon. It helped that the woman used various gestures to demonstrate what she meant.

The companions soon jumped over the far fence. The cultists still had not broken through the cemetery gates; it seemed that most lacked the upper body strength to do so.

But it also really didn’t matter. The place had already been defiled.

Despite Gottschalk not sharing kith or kin with this land, he was appalled at the destruction: statues toppled, tombs desecrated, and even bas reliefs defaced. It looked too like this outrage had been done long ago, though the graffiti left behind suggested that those who had done so shared many of the warped beliefs as those who were trying to get inside now.

It was no wonder that the dead did not rest so easily here.

Tamara came up to examine it too. “It never ceases to appall me. It’s never enough for cultists! They always push for more, to topple any remnant or reminder of human civilization that might remain! And then, they want to topple it again!”

“The sword?” Gottschalk knew that time was short.

“Yes, it’s in one of the mausoleums. We should-”

Tamara stopped in midsentence. She thought she saw something move from behind a gravestone.

Gottschalk thought he had seen it too, but shook his head in disbelief. He doubted it was a cultist- perhaps it was a trick of the eye? Suddenly, a phantom passed right into Gorm!

The three of them took a step back. If it could control the barbarian and make him do fell things, then they were in for some dire trouble.

Gorm’s eyes did glaze over, but strangely, he marched to one of the toppled statues. He stood upright and saluted it, like one would to a commanding officer. At that, some of the cultists at the gate shrieked and vaulted inside, seemingly possessed with fearsome power now that they had apparently seen some ‘Hate’ occur.

Of course, the only ‘Hate’ that Gottschalk could see came from the cultists as they made foul gestures and shouted profanities at Gorm. Still, the barbarian’s face remained unmoved, though theirs were vile masks,

Stranger yet, Gorm then calmly turned to one of the cultists, a young woman far shorter than him and said, “There’s going to be a lot more crying before we’re done, honey.”

All she could do was shriek back at him.

“As if by providence, this Neanderthal seems to have gotten a new spirit- fascinating!” said Sir Jave.

Gottschalk was fascinated by it too, though with all the cultists closing in on them now, he wished the old Gorm would return.

And use his axe.



Next week: The Hacks of Gorm, Part XXXIV!


Thursday, October 12, 2017

The Hacks of Gorm, Part XXXII: In the Clutches of the Bloomer


The aged, strangely-preserved creature pressed its enshrouded hand deeper into the young man’s chest. With the other, it snatched his meagre coin pouch.

Sir Jave’s face turned pale from the attack; he tried to say something, but couldn’t. It appeared that his very future was being taken from him.

Seeing that this ‘Bloomer’ was draining the essence of his friend, Gottschalk wrestled the thing around the neck. But though he pulled with all his might, he couldn’t get it off of Sir Jave. He looked to Tamara for help, but the young woman only shook her head. It seemed that this creature couldn’t be defeated by brawn alone.

So he tried talking then. “Leave him be! What gives you the right to steal from him so?”

The foul creature turned to Gottschalk, growing more potent now thanks to a good part of Sir Jave’s life force coursing through its body. “This boy is lazy- all he does is... narrate! In my day, it was easy as pie to find something to do, to find a good job! Now butt out and let me get what’s owed me...”

Then with a simple push, it sent Gottschalk flying a dozen paces, landing on his back with a thud.

Tamara looked around in a near-panic. Gorm still lay against the far wall, unconscious. Sir Jave struggled for breath.

She steeled herself before her own attempt, making sure to stay out of range of the Bloomer’s decrepit grasp. “You would take his future and then claim that he doesn’t do enough?”

“Oh honey,” it hissed as it clawed for her, “You know that we need to just Give Peace a Chance... c’mere!”

“Why won’t you give your own children a chance?” replied Tamara, barely avoiding its clutching hand, “Why would you take their wealth... give away their birthright?”

“It was a Revolution! We Changed the World! We had to shut down the hu-Man! See: you’re a woman; we ended the Slavery of Motherhood! Isn’t that Far Out?”

“More like you ended humanity! This land has no families now! It has no future!”

“We Liberated you!” insisted the Bloomer, “Power to the People!”

Gottschalk struggled to rise. It looked like Gorm was beginning to stir too, though he seemed to have a nasty wound on his mighty head. Tamara maneuvered herself away again as the thing let go of Sir Jave and began to lumber fully towards her.

With the Bloomer now distracted, Gottschalk dashed over to Sir Jave. The young man still lived, but was very pale.

“What is that...  thing?”

Sir Jave struggled to reply, but couldn’t at first, so Gottschalk gave him a sip from his wineskin.

Finally, he was able to speak, “Yes... it is a... type of... wight: one of the intelligent living dead here in Monjaksen. There are so many of them, and they just won’t die, so they’ve become a sort of caste, draining the life force of the youth so that they could live an indulgent life forever. There’s actually a fairly interesting story about-”

“How do we stop it?” interrupted Gottschalk. The Bloomer was closing in on Tamara.

“Not sure,” replied Sir Jave. “They always thought that they were special after they threw out the morals of all the generations that had come before them. They claimed that they were the ‘youth of all time’- unlike any before- and they did change the world. They enriched themselves in the process, draining all wealth and potential from future generations in order to live forever. Now they even seek to bring goblins into these lands; they don’t have enough human descendants left to maintain their unnatural state.”

Gottschalk struggled with that. It was hard news for him to swallow. He had certainly encountered plenty of cultists intent on destroying their own people, but to learn that elders had done it on a massive generational scale, selling away the future of their own children- it was almost unbelievable.

Still, Sir Jave had no reason to lie.

Gottschalk spotted then that Gorm had risen, though he still looked dazed. He turned too to see that the Bloomer had cornered Tamara with some sort of two-wheeled wagon full of junk that it must have brought with it. Perhaps the Bloomer was a wheelbarrow wight?

“Let me taste some of that sweet, sweet Liberated essence you have! I’ll get you, babe!

Gottschalk shuddered: this Bloomer was ridiculous! It would consume all the youth in order to preserve itself if it could. But then an idea came to him.

“Ho there! I have something even better than life force for you, Bloomer!”

The creature turned to him, intrigued.

“A place where you can be waited on hand and foot; where you can indulge any mid-unlife crisis you might be having, repair any decrepitude, acquire any goods, no matter what the cost. A place where your children fully get to experience all your ‘Revolution’ has wrought while you remain unharmed by any of it.”

The Bloomer looked impressed. It knew it was entitled- what better way to experience it?

“And even more,” continued Gottschalk, “it has plenty of goblins, so you can drain their life too, perhaps they have a distinct taste? In any case, you can feel better knowing that you have made the world more ‘Equal’, while still maintaining your ‘Youth’, even if your own descendants die out in the process...”

Now he knew he had it. The Bloomer couldn’t resist. It readied its wheelbarrow, junk sliding to and fro within, waiting for which way Gottschalk would tell it to go.

“Caelum Mount.”



Next week: The Hacks of Gorm, Part XXXIII!


Thursday, October 5, 2017

The Hacks of Gorm, Part XXXI: The Land That Sold Its Children


The moon arose over the benighted streets, casting strange shadows upon the chill road. Dark structures sat lurking, their arched rooves and many spires rising menacing upon the winter sky. The four companions walked cautiously, ready for whatever horrors Monjaksen might have in store.

Still, despite the haunted reputation of this place, it was preferable to the horrors that they had experienced inside the Town Hall. What could be worse than traitors, zombie politicians, goblin ‘screamer-dreamers’, and a Demoncrat vampress? Stranger still, he and Gorm had entered that place with two other companions around noon, but time seemed to have flowed strangely, for what could have only been less than an hour inside had brought them now to full on night.

Gottschalk glanced at their new companions, the ones who had led them out of that place. The dark-haired woman, Tamara, and the blond-bearded man, Sir Jave, had mentioned at the outset of their walk that they were from some far-off land named Britanstan, but had to flee the tyranny there. Both were young and spoke with a strange accent which was pleasant, somehow familiar and yet one he could not remember hearing before.

Not caring much for such things, Gorm spoke up then. “We need go back for Ram’ and Laur’, Gott-chalk. Me not trust them around Sal-pink’s burning hat.”

Gottschalk turned to the barbarian, but shook his head. “Now we’re going to find a way to help them. We need to break the spell, the one that the Patrons cast.”

Tamara nodded at that. “I suppose the Torrent Sword should do the trick. It’s been used to defeat Ghul-Ghul before.”

“Yes, it’s actually quite interesting,” added Sir Jave, “it essentially slices through the warping effect that Ghul-Ghul can have on people, allowing direct communication, normal conversation if you will, between them again.”

“Where would we find it?” said Gottschalk. He hadn’t known Ramzeus and Laurissa for long, but had come to already consider them friends.

“That’s also very interesting,” replied Sir Jave. “Don’t believe what you might have heard about it! It’s at the center of what made Monjaksen what it is today. You might even call it the ‘crux of the supernatural, the paranormal, the-”

“Where!” interrupted Gorm. Barbarians didn’t care much for unnecessary talk either.

“Oh yes, the Cemetery, it’s truly a-” Sir Jave would have continued, but stopped when he noticed Gorm begin to point his great axe at him menacingly.

Gottschalk would have replied, but then spotted something odd a dozen yards away. It seemed to be large, roundish, white, and glowing, though it may have just been a trick of the eye from some errant beam of moonlight shining. He started to turn to check if the others had seen it too, but then could have sworn that it moved slightly...

With his fear now rising, he patted Gorm on his shoulder. The barbarian was still distracted glaring at Sir Jave though, so Gottschalk reached up to pull his head in that direction. By the time he was able to do so though, the glowing was gone.

“I saw it too,” said Tamara. “We need to keep moving here...”

Gottschalk could see the fear on the woman’s face. It was strange: she hadn’t seemed afraid of those in the Town Hall earlier- what would make her so afraid of some glowing thing now?

The companions moved on, quiet again, but more wary. The structures they passed made strange creaking sounds, though they could feel no wind- only some distant, frozen scent of rot and death coming from within. From each open doorway it felt like they were being watched.  It seemed that there might be folk inside, though none would be any that they would wish to approach. Gottschalk and Gorm looked at each other, but Tamara and Sir Jave bade them continue moving, grave looks upon their faces.

Knowing no fear though, Gorm entered one structure. Inside was a bleak, lone middle-aged man staring at some Ghul-Ghul box. The place he inhabited could have housed a small family and yet the only possessions inside seemed to be his. He didn’t even react to the barbarian invading his home, but instead only glanced at him for a moment blankly. Gottschalk began to enter too, but Gorm left, disgusted: it wouldn’t be any fun to pillage the place if the owner didn’t even fight back!

Gottschalk noticed too that none of the other structures showed the usual accoutrements of family life. No children’s toys or jump match squares in the yards. No wedding wreaths or even Othala runes upon the doors.

What sort of place was this? All knew that Monjaksen was haunted, but there seemed to be something else at work.

Gottschalk could take it no longer. He turned to Tamara and said, “What has happened to this place?”

Her face turned even paler than before, her voice rising with her increasing fear. “I dare not mention their name- and you SHOULDN’T EITHER!”

Sir Jave looked afraid too and stroked his blond beard as he considered his next words. He wondered if Gorm might threaten him again for saying too much. Still, it seemed that now was as good a time as any. He made sure to whisper at least.

“Monjaksen used to be prosperous, but one generation became too greedy, and wished to live forever...”

Jave paused then, making sure that the barbarian didn’t have his axe out again. Gorm did, but his attention wasn’t on Jave- it was on the sounds of something approaching down the alleyway. All four of them could detect it now.

“... and they gave away their children’s....”

Before he could finish, something came at Sir Jave. It seemed old, yet unnaturally preserved somehow, like one of the zombie Public Lords from the Town Hall. This thing seemed almost vampiric though, like the Demoncrat woman and yet not, its hands outlined in some sort of enervating shadow.

“Hey man,” it hissed, “In the garden of Eden, don’t you know that I... I... I... hope you die before I get old!”

Gorm made to wrestle the thing off Sir Jave, but it was strong. With a slap, it sent the much larger barbarian hurtling back into one of the structure’s walls. It then grinned and began to let the shadows around its hands creep into Sir Jave’s chest, almost as if draining the young man’s life force. The creature then seemed to ‘bloom’ as a result, growing a little larger and beginning to glow.

Gottschalk turned to Tamara in shock: if the barbarian couldn’t defeat this bloomer thing, then how on earth could they?


Next week: The Hacks of Gorm, Part XXXII!