Bengeo roars in agony as Remy and Ed struggle to lug him up the stairs of the crooked tavern.
“You’re so bloody heavy,” Ed groans.
“Muscle weighs more than fat,” Bengeo replies through gritted teeth.
“Well, I wish you were fat, then.”
They stagger through the narrow corridor, carry him to one of the guest beds and drop him on his back. The bed frame almost cracks in two as he lands on the straw mattress, and the bed itself is far too small to accommodate him. His legs hang off the end as he lies groaning while Esmerelda the innkeeper tends to him.
Remy looks around the small crooked room – wooden walls and boarded floors; the two small beds are separated by a beaten treasure chest. Daylight enters through a single window, and a small wooden door leads onto a balcony outside. It’s woefully bleak, and for a moment she finds herself lost in a flashback to a depressing family holiday in some dreary seaside town she can’t remember the name of. A smile creeps across her face as she fondly recalls playing cards with six-year-old Jessica, who seemed so happy that her big sister was paying attention to her. Bengeo howls as Esmerelda yanks the arrow from his side pulling Remy back to the crisis at hand.
“Poison tip, just as I thought,” the innkeeper scowls as she tosses the arrow aside.
“Is it bad?” Ed asks.
“Nothing too serious, but he’ll be sore for a few days.”
She scurries out of the room. Remy and Ed look worriedly at each other and listen while she clatters about and mumbles to herself in the hall. She returns with a bowl of juniper, hornwort and white hellebore petals, which she mixes into a salve and rubs over the wound.
“Never did like your medicine,” Bengeo grunts.
“It’s put you back together all these years, ain’t it?” Esmerelda places a hand over Bengeo’s side. The air under her palm fizzles green, and soon enough, his grimacing subsides and his head lolls on the pillow. She stands and wipes her hands against her linen frock. “That boy’s tougher than a Chromatoise shell. He’ll live.”
“How did you do that?” Ed asks.
“It’s good business for an inn to offer healing,” she replies.
“Could you teach me?”
Esmerelda looks him up and down and notices his dirty Converse sneakers. She frowns. “I don’t know who you two are, but you look like trouble to me. You can have the room until he’s better, but then you’re out, you hear?”
They nod like children scolded by a teacher and sit quietly until Esmerelda leaves the room. Ed kneels before the treasure chest. The lid has rusted shut, but he attempts to force it open while Remy plonks herself on the empty bed and stares at Bengeo, wrought with worry.
Noticing her grave expression, Ed looks surprised. “I thought none of these people were real?”
Remy looks away and bites her lip guiltily. “Nothing about this place makes sense,” she sighs, and flops onto her back and stares at the ceiling just like she’d do back home when throwing herself a pity party.
“Sure it does,” Ed replies. “It’s kind of like Tron, and I guess you’re Tron.”
After a moment of trying to figure out what he means by that, Remy sits up and shakes her head at him. “What?”
“You’ve got that magic thingy in your hand, so you’re the one who has to save the world.”
“Ha!” Remy gives a pained laugh. “I’m on the dole. I’m not saving anyone’s world.” She flops on her back again and stares at her hand.
“Well, do you feel any different?” he asks.
“Not really.” She wiggles her fingers and balls a fist. “Aches a bit, I guess, but so does the rest of me…”
“Well, if that really is one of the three magic crystal shards then it’s all powerful, right? Maybe it could be our ticket home. Try and use it.”
“Use it how?”
“I don’t know, maybe we should ask Esmerelda? She can do magic stuff.”
Remy turns her hand and frowns. “I don’t think we should tell anyone about it.”
“Why not?”
“Because, Ed, if this really is what we think it is then the worst kind of people will do anything to get it.”
“Worse than Grimoirh?” Ed replies.
A scream from outside steals their attention. They exchange a worried glance before Esmerelda bursts back into the room with a severe look on her face.
“Both of you, come with me quickly!” she barks.
Outside the tavern, a mob of angry townsfolk surround another troll, shorter and more slender than the others that came before her, with wild dark hair plaited behind her head. Two villagers jab their pitchforks in her direction, and another tries to grab hold of her from behind while the rest jeer and spit.
Esmerelda bursts out of the inn, flanked by Ed and Remy as a man takes hold of the troll girl, locking her arms behind her.
“Away from her!” Esmerelda barks.
“But she’s one of them!” a villager cries.
The troll girl wrestles herself free from the man holding her and whirls around, drawing two knives from her belt. She snarls at the villagers who raise their pitchforks, rakes, hatchets – and in one old woman’s case, a limp fish – ready to run her through.
Remy places herself between the mob and the troll. “Everyone, just chill out!”
The troll speaks. “I said I came in peace!”
“And you’ll leave in pieces!” cries the old crone with the fish.
“She’s an animal, string her up!” shouts another villager.
“Filthy troll sympathiser!” The haggard old woman hurls the fish at Remy. “Shaaaaaame!” she howls, pointing her decrepit bony finger.
“Enough!” cries Esmerelda, with sparks and flames erupting from her hands. Bringing them together she unleashes the energy, hurling a fireball at the crowd’s feet and with that, they reluctantly retreat.
“It’s alright, you can put those away now,” Remy says.
The troll stares her down, and after declaring that Remy is no threat to her, sheathes her knives.
“Are you alright?” Remy asks.
“Avarice,” the troll grunts.
“Sorry?”
“My name. Avarice.”
“Oh, err, Remy.”
Avarice nods.
“Get her inside,” Esmerelda says as she shoos the last of the villagers away.
Avarice perches like a cat on the empty bed and watches Bengeo cautiously while the room quakes with his snoring.
“What are you doing here? Are you with the others?” asks Remy.
“Trolls never break camp before a raid. Out with it, child.” Esmerelda folds her arms and tightens her eyes with suspicion.
“Terak has changed his plans. He has heard that you two…” Avarice points to Ed and Remy, “… are wanted by the Dread Knight. He will come at first light, to take you and burn this village to ash.”
“What makes you so sure?” Remy asks.
“Because,” Avarice mutters, “Terak is my father.”
“He’s the leader, right?” asks Ed, covering one eye impersonating the troll chieftain’s eye patch. “Scary guy.”
“Ignore him,” Remy says. “So why are you helping us?”
“Grimoirh is a monster and cannot be trusted. Trolls are a proud people, not monsters. We should not align with him. No matter the reward.”
Esmerelda gestures for Remy to follow her and steps outside onto the rickety wooden balcony overlooking the square.
“What do you think?” Remy asks.
“Run,” the innkeeper replies. “Take your friend and make your way west through the forest.”
“Please God, no more running,” Remy jests. “I’ve had enough of forests too.”
Esmerelda looks irritated. “Last we met, Bengeo had a ship and crew, now he’s got you two and a hole in his gut. If you’re just another couple of would-be heroes flouncing through the realm then go on off to the next village and leave this one behind.”
Remy leans over the balcony and hangs her head. She knows she’s a burden to Bengeo and without him would likely be dead.
Seeing the dour look on her face, Esmerelda takes pity on the girl and softens her tone. “I’m sorry, but I’ve seen far better adventurers die for less.”
Remy gazes out at the village as life unfolds before her. An old man hobbles across the market square, a young woman cradles her baby in her arms, a group of children laugh and chase chickens as the evening light paints everything gold. She sighs, tired of treading circles. Her head tells her this is just a game, that they’re all works of fiction, but her senses deem them real enough, which only weighs heavier on her conscience, because she can hardly abandon them to a mess she created.
“We’re not going to run,” she says.
“I figured as much,” Esmerelda sighs.
“Bengeo needs time to rest, but the rest of you could run?”
Esmerelda scoffs. “What kingdom do you hail from, girl?”
“Uh, Greater London I guess.”
“Well, Remy of Greater London, if someone threatened your home would you abandon it so easily?”
Remy thinks for a second. “Well, yeah. Probably.”
That wasn’t the answer Esmerelda was hoping for. This girl is trying her last nerve. “Well, there is nowhere for us to go. This is where we have built our lives. This is where we belong.”
“You’ve got magic, can’t you fight?”
The innkeeper laughs. “My fighting days are long behind me, child. Trolls come raiding sometimes. If we hide and let them have our things, maybe they’ll let us live in peace.”
“Sounds like an awful plan.”
Esmerelda looks downcast and descends the creaky wooden stairs leading to the street.
“Wait,” Remy calls to her. “About Bengeo. Me and Ed, we’d be dead without him. He’s the hero.”
Esmerelda smiles with pride. “Don’t let him hear you say that.” She winks and leaves Remy to watch the villagers as they close up their shops for the day.
With a deep breath she sweeps her matted hair off her face and thinks. She longed for Ultimate Adventure VII to get away from her stress and problems, but here she is, neck deep in both without a hope in hell.
Inside, Ed manages to prise open the chest between the beds with his dagger. Beaming with triumph, he draws out its contents – a very, very rusty sword.
“I knew it!” he cheers. “Rooms at inns always have good loot.”
Bengeo watches Ed examine the sword thoughtfully and laughs. “That old thing ain’t gonna do squat against a troll. Besides, you even know how to use it?”
“Oh, I know how to use it,” Ed grins with unfathomable confidence, spinning the sword elegantly with a flick of his wrist and, immediately, it slips from his grasp and crashes against the wall. “… Guess I’m a little rusty too.”
“Just take Remy and journey west. Along the coast, there’s a village—”
“Not a chance. You wouldn’t abandon us.”
The bandit’s expression indicates otherwise, but Ed isn’t buying it.
“You grew up here, right? You’d really just run away?”
Bengeo laughs. “I ran away soon as I was able. My ma feared that the outside world was full of strange and horrible things that would corrupt me. Course she was absolutely right, but that’s mothers for you.” He tries to stand, but the pain proves too much and he slumps back onto the bed with a groan. “Aghhh, you and Remy are scrappy. You might make half-decent bandits, but heroes? It doesn’t pay well, and it always ends badly.” He rests his head on the straw pillow and with a sigh, shuts his weary eyes.
The boisterous tavern below is now empty except for Avarice, who’s tearing a roasted chicken to bits as she glugs down tankards of brew. Plainly, the townsfolk have boycotted the place in protest of the dirty troll sympathisers.
“Bah, this is weak!” She hurls her tankard, which clangs off the wall.
The commotion causes Remy to investigate, and she enters the room cautiously, then pulls up a seat beside Avarice who watches her like a cat stalks a mouse.
“Can we talk?”
“I am not interested in talking anymore,” Avarice grunts.
Avarice is obviously glum and resentful of the world around her. Maybe it’s because she’s a troll – a social outcast hated and ostracised wherever she goes – or maybe it’s because that’s how the game developers wrote her. Either way she’s a bit of a teenager, and Remy can’t help but be reminded of herself at that age, not least because of the permanent scowl plastered across her face.
“I know coming to warn us can’t have been easy with your father—”
Avarice snaps, “Careful when you speak of my father.”
Clearly some unresolved daddy issues there. Remy changes her approach. “Look, our friend is hurt, and no one else is strong enough or willing to stand up to the trolls.”
“I have given you fair warning,” Avarice says. “If you do not leave this place, it is on your heads.”
“I get it. You don’t want to stand against your dad. Families are complicated, believe me I can relate, but—”
In one swift, abrupt motion Avarice whips a knife from her belt, slams it into the table and speaks with a calm, dangerous rage.
“Long ago, before my father was chief, soldiers from Runegard raided the forest, attacked my clan and stole me away. They caged me like an animal, beat me with sticks and called me cruel things. I was a child, weak and afraid, but all they saw was a monster. They held this very knife to my throat and threatened to cut me open. Back then, it was forbidden for any troll of the Boulder Clan to venture beyond the forest, but my father left anyway. He tracked me for days, far beyond the Witched Wood and into the realm of men. He did not sleep, did not rest until he had found me, and when he did, he crushed my captors’ bones to dust and carried me home on his back. He risked everything, even lost his eye to save me from people who look like you, and you would have me betray him? You would have me fight my father? My family? Would you do the same for me, human?”
It occurs to Remy that her own family drama pales in comparison – first world problems and all that.
She looks Avarice earnestly in the eyes. “I’m sorry that happened to you. Really I am, but not all humans are alike. I don’t think trolls are monsters, but if your father does what he’s threatening to do then that will show all these people that he is exactly that. I don’t think you want that any more than I do.”
Avarice glares at Remy, who sighs and stands to leave. As she turns her back the troll mutters, “Five hundred runa.”
“Huh?”
“There is a mercenary company camped at the river east of here. For five hundred runa, they will fight. My father is bold, but he will not fight if he is outmatched.”
Atop the stairs, Ed eavesdrops on their conversation, and realises his gaffe with the mirror may have cost them dearly. There’s no way Remy could pay for that company of mercenaries now. He shamefully hangs his head and sneaks out the back door of the tavern for some air.
He walks the streets with his hands buried in his pockets. It’s dark now, and the red moon looms over the village. All but a handful of people are huddled in their houses, savouring what could be their last night. The midgey merchant still sits at his little caravan, and Ed, in desperate need of a shoulder to cry on, perches next to the little creature.
“Hey, it’s Buckle, right?” he asks.
“Greetings, traveller. Come to browse my wares?” the merchant says in a chipper tone.
“… I screwed up,” Ed sighs. “I’m an idiot.” He notices Avarice leaving the tavern from across the square, and watches as she rides off into the night. Holding his head in his hands, he pours his heart out to the merchant who struggles to keep his bulgy eyes open while Ed prattles on.
“… I’ll admit at first I freaked out, I mean who wouldn’t, right? But then I thought I’d be in my element here. I mean, it’s a role-playing game so why shouldn’t I get to be whomever I want? At least I think it’s a game, I don’t know anymore…” He picks up little trinkets on the merchant’s stall and examines them curiously before placing them back. “I can’t believe I got us killed for cosmetic customisation. Now we’ll never get home…”
The midgey merchant slumps over his stall and begins to snore.
“… Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Ed replies as though Buckle has said something to him. “Why worry when we’re all gonna die in the morning.”
He rests his chin philosophically on his hands and sighs at his reflection in a small, decorated mirror sitting on the stall. After a second he turns his attention to the mirror itself and then his eyes light up with the spark of an idea.
*
Lamp light flickers in the downstairs window of the Legless Arms. A gaunt elderly man, with uneven patches of white hair scattered around his otherwise bald head, sweeps the floor with a single-minded intensity, repairing some of the damage caused by Avarice.
Remy sits at the bar, staring at her right hand in deep thought. She clenches and releases her fist, trying to figure out a way to invoke the crystal’s power. With a deep breath, she stretches her arm in front of her, tenses every muscle in her body, and focuses her mind on the very rusty sword which is now resting on the counter top. Her hand trembles. She looks constipated. With all her might she tries to summon the sword as if the crystal would give her Jedi powers or something.
Come on, come on! Work! She strains so hard she turns purple and the veins in her forehead bulge, but it’s no use. That voice she despises clouds her mind with doubt. This is so stupid worthless useless can’t help anybody all your fault run away now now now.
Defeated, Remy plants her head on the bar. “Guess it chose wrong.”
The old man passes by her, swishing the mop over her boots. “Beware the forest. Dark and meddlesome spirits dwell there,” he mumbles.
Remy regards the old coot quizzically. “Sorry?”
“Beware the forest. Dark and meddlesome spirits dwell there.” The old man repeats himself in the exact same flat, lifeless manner as before.
“Thanks for the advice, but you’re a little late.” Remy takes another swig of her drink as she swivels back towards the bar.
The mad old man drifts away to sweep the other side of the room as Bengeo staggers down the stairs and sees Remy feeling sorry for herself.
He walks awkwardly towards her and gestures at her drink. “May I?”
She passes him the bottle. “Feeling better?”
“Getting there.” He takes a swig and savours the taste. “Still have time to run.”
“And leave all these people?”
The bandit shrugs. “They’re simple folk. Live or die, they’ll never make much difference in the world.”
“Yeah, been there.” Remy frowns. Taking the mead from Bengeo, she downs what’s left then glances at the old man sweeping in the corner. “I get it. He’s an NPC, I shouldn’t care. But how do you not care about someone when they’re standing right in front of you?”
“He’s a what?” Bengeo looks at the old man, puzzled. “Old Baul got lost in the Witched Wood when he was a kid. Scrambled his mind something awful. Ain’t that right, Baul?”
“Beware the forest. Dark and meddlesome spirits dwell there,” Baul mumbles again.
“Poor old bastard,” Bengeo sighs.
Remy shakes her head, and picking up the sword she examines the pointy end. “I guess real enough to kill me is as real as anything gets.”
Bengeo goes behind the counter, rummages through the bottles and takes an ale that looks to his taste.
“You’re a weird girl, you know.” He pops the cork and swigs.
“Well, it’s a weird world you got here.”
“Drinking helps.” They share a smile as he hands Remy the bottle.
Whoosh! The tavern door suddenly bursts open and Ed looks elated at them both.
“I’ve got a plan!” he gasps.
Bengeo and Remy look sceptical, but his face beams like a ray of sunshine on a stormy day.
*
The sun creeps over the thatched roof of the inn and a chilling wind blows through Trout’s empty streets. The market is unmanned, the square, desolate. Ed and Remy stand alone in the centre of the village like gunfighters in a spaghetti western.
“This is an awful plan,” Ed whispers.
“What?! It’s your plan!” Remy gasps, anxiously tapping her fingers against the handle of the rusty sword.
“Yeah. But I’m starting to have doubts.”
Remy winces slightly and massages her head.
Ed looks appalled. “Are you hungover?”
“Shut up,” she mutters. “… A little.” She glances at Bengeo who’s standing before the inn. He gives her a little nod, signalling he’s ready.
Before long, a thunderous stampede tremors through the village, heralding the notorious Boulder Clan. They approach the main square and Terak raises a hand, halting his men. The troll chief dismounts and as he approaches, weapon in hand, Ed pushes Remy forward to greet him.
“We… we don’t want to fight,” she croaks.
The trolls erupt in raucous laughter.
“We do, Meat!” Terak raises his great club, fashioned of rock and bone, to smash Remy into pulp, but Ed pulls her back in the nick of time and the club strikes the pavement.
“That’s it! Let ’em have it!” Remy cries.
Bengeo boots open the tavern door to unleash hell, and the trolls peer at the doorway in anticipation, but nothing comes.
“Bah!” laughs Terak. “You think you—”
“Look!” cries one of the trolls.
Terak’s jaw hangs wide as a wave of living hair scurries out of the tavern towards him and his men. Interwoven locks of all colours separate into smaller bundles, which scatter like a swarm of spiders and wrestle the trolls from their mounts while the bald villagers watch the mayhem unfold from the safety of their homes. Honestly, Remy can’t recall a stranger morning.
Terak claws a bundle from around his throat and clobbers it into the ground. He looks at the ‘players’ with flared nostrils and charges toward the source of his ruin.
“Oh crap!” Ed squeals at the mad-eyed chieftain, who swings his club with such brutish barbarity that he tears the fish-headed statue asunder in a single strike. Remy pulls Ed away as the rubble crashes down around them and raises the rusty sword to the troll chieftain, but he disarms her effortlessly, sending the sword flying across the square.
“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” Remy implores Terak to show mercy, but he doesn’t know the meaning of the word. She shuffles away on all fours as the troll’s clunking huge feet shake the ground around her.
Ed, with all his might, lifts a chunk of the broken statue and drops it onto Terak’s foot, making the troll let out a mighty yowl. He thumps Ed in retribution then sets his sights on Remy. He raises his club to squash her again, when a knife plants itself in the haft of his weapon. He examines the blade and seems to recognise it.
“Stop this madness!” a voice from above cries out. Avarice leaps from the roof of the general store into the square and approaches her father.
“Insolent daughter, you shame me!” Terak cries.
“Enough, Father,” Avarice pleads, “these people did you no wrong. They merely took back what we took from them. Spare them and leave this village.”
“Why do you ask this of me?” the chieftain grunts.
“Because, Father, you taught me our clan is proud, we have honour, we answer to no one. How am I to believe that if we are pawns of the Dread Knight?”
Terak is inspired by his daughter’s pride for her people, but he is old, and male, and a troll, so of course his stubbornness gets the better of him.
“The Dread Knight offers power. He is turning the tide for our kind. Too long have we been shunned by the world, a world that we too are part of. Mankind has no greater claim to it than us, but still, they push us to the brink, force us into the wilds, hunt us like animals. You are but a child, you know nothing of what it means to provide for your clan. This Dread Knight can change things. Any blight to them can only be a beacon to us.”
Avarice, unwavering, stands tall and proud. “Grimoirh cannot be trusted! He knows only malice and death. We are trolls, Father. We take what we need. We do not beg for scraps! We must be better, better than the Dread Knight, better than humans.”
“You should listen to your daughter,” Remy whimpers from where she’s cowering in as dignified a way as one can cower.
Terak hesitates to strike her, thinking on his daughter’s words. “You warned the humans of our coming?”
“Yes…” Avarice bows her head shamefully, “… I have seen you kill for less.”
“Yes, you have…” Terak lowers his club, “… but they were not my daughter.”
He opens his arms wide. Avarice hesitates for a moment, but unable to resist the lure of her father’s love, runs to his embrace.
Remy sighs with sweet relief that their plan actually worked… well, sort of. A bit. Her moment of repose, however, is tragically short-lived. Any hope of respite fades as Grimoirh’s airship casts a foreboding shadow over the town. The wind dies down, and the birds and critters of nature go deathly quiet. The villagers and the trolls all stare in fear at the ship, then a moment later dozens of goblins rappel from it and start burning the houses with torches and flaming arrows.
Terak holds Avarice tightly. “Run, Daughter!”
“No, Father, I will not leave you!”
“Stubborn, like your mother was,” he grins.
“Remy, we gotta go!” Ed’s cries fall on deaf ears.
Remy looks stunned as Grimoirh’s forces tear the village apart. The bundles of hair scatter about the square in a blind panic. Even the magic enchanting them fears the darkness Grimoirh brings.
“Remy! Let’s go!” Ed tugs at her arm, but the familiar thud of footsteps – cold, hard metal greaves grating against stone – steals her attention.
Then she spots Grimoirh himself across the square, while screams of terror echo around her. The Dread Knight raises a hand, conjures a fireball and hurls it into the tavern, setting it ablaze.
“What’s the matter with you?! Come on!” Ed continues to pull at her desperately.
“No, I’m sick of running.” She tears her arm away from him and charges without a second thought, taking up the rusty sword as she crosses the square.
“She is crazy!” Avarice gasps.
“Bah, forget her, come.” Terak raises his club to the goblin soldiers, and with his daughter’s help, he cuts Ed a path to the burning tavern where Esmerelda and Bengeo, axe in hand, smite any goblins that rush them.
Remy lunges at Grimoirh who lifts his God Cleaver to block her attack. Her blade prangs off his and in a flash he strikes back, knocking her clean off her feet. A second strike breaks her rusty sword in two.
“You have the shard?” he asks.
“Take your shard and shove it! Because of you my sister’s a statue!” She clambers on her feet, swipes a shield from the midgey merchant’s market stall and readies herself for another hit.
“What is that idiot girl doing?” Bengeo looks on in disbelief as Remy tries to hold her own against Grimoirh. “Everyone with me!” Like a raging bull, he charges through a group of goblins, toppling them like bowling pins.
Amidst the chaos, the cowering midgey merchant throws a sword to Ed. “Take this, stranger! May it aid you on your quest!” the little critter cries before he tucks himself underneath his wagon.
Much to his surprise, Ed catches the thing and with a renewed sense of bravery backs Bengeo in his charge while Avarice and Terak cover their rear.
He unsheathes the sword ready to fight the three armoured adversaries blocking their way, but the blade goes limp and droops to one side. Bengeo looks at Ed to demand an explanation, but he shrugs at the bandit. Determined to make the best of it, he flails it wildly and bashes his foe until Avarice hurls a knife into the monster’s face. Terak brings his club down upon another, smashing it to mush, and Bengeo finishes off the last one, severing its head with his axe.
The head rolls at Avarice’s feet, and she removes the helmet to gaze upon her foe. The creature is no goblin. In fact it looks as though it were once human. Now its pale, sickly flesh is rotten, with eyes sunken and faded.
“Accursed! Corrupted!” she exclaims, holding the head up to the others. Ed heaves at the sight, while Terak looks on in horror.
“You were right, Daughter.” The troll chief bows his head shamefully.
Determined to save Remy from her own recklessness, Bengeo hurls his beloved axe at Grimoirh. The weapon soars across the battlefield and lands true, pranging off the Dread Knight’s plate mail, bringing him to his knees. Remy leaps onto his back while he’s down and furiously tries to prise off his helmet. In defence, Grimoirh conjures a burst of fire that hurls her across the square and into the fountain with a whopping splash.
Bengeo lunges at the Dread Knight, picking up his axe again and swinging it in a violent rage, but a few ferocious blows against Grimoirh’s seemingly impenetrable armour break the head to pieces. Countering the bandit, Grimoirh plunges his great sword forward, stabbing visciously. Bengeo stumbles backwards but turns the tide and, like a brawling sailor, hits back with his hulking fists. For a brief moment, it looks like he has the upper hand until a hard strike to his arrow wound sends him tumbling down with a cry.
Desperate to help somehow, Ed brazenly rushes the Dread Knight too and leaps onto his back, yanking his head backwards and clinging onto the horns of his helmet while Grimoirh tries to swing him off.
Avarice rushes to help, but her father takes her arm and pulls her back.
“No, Daughter. You are no match for that demon! We must flee.”
Avarice looks back at him and reluctantly complies. The two trolls slip away as mayhem tears apart the town. Around them, the village burns to ash and goblins cut down many of the townsfolk as they scatter.
Esmerelda leads a group safely into the meadows surrounding the town and towards the forest. She pauses at the treeline and looks back at her home with a heavy heart before fleeing into the woods.
Grimoirh hurls Ed over him, and his back slams against the craggy street. He fights to breathe as Grimoirh presses a foot on his chest and grips the God Cleaver with both hands, raising it to guillotine Ed in two. For a split second Ed wonders whether dying here would truly end his life or would he awaken back in his room, sweating over the whole thing like it was some vivid fever dream, but after seeing Matt reduced to a bloody soup he’s more than certain it’s the former.
“Wait!” He gasps what could be his last word as Grimoirh shunts the sword inches from his head. Braced to meet his maker, Ed squints one eye open and breathes a sigh of relief before Grimoirh thumps him in the face.
Remy picks up her dazed self and staggers out of the fountain. She looks up as the Dread Knight strides towards her. Lunging forward, she hurls her fist at him but almost breaks her hand as it collides with his plate mail – rookie move. He takes her by the throat and throws her to the ground, kneels over her and presses a thumb on her forehead.
“Sleep.” Once more, he utters the word like a spell, and in an instant her eyes roll back in her head, and she drifts away. Sheathing his sword on his back, he takes her in his arms.
Ed takes up a spear from one of the fallen goblins and charges to Remy’s aid, screaming bloody fury.
“You bastard!” he roars at Grimoirh, who turns to him just as the blow lands. The spear tip shunts the faceplate of his helmet, but he doesn’t flinch.
He glares at Ed, who for the first time gets a proper glimpse at the man beneath. Dark eyes burn with a cold rage, but hours spent people-watching while working in retail has gifted Ed with an ability to see between the lines, read a person for what they really are, and there is something distinctly human about Grimoirh’s gaze, something hidden beneath the malevolent intent.
In a flash he headbutts Ed, who collapses with a groan. All he can do is helplessly and hopelessly watch as Grimoirh steals Remy and the crystal shard away. Defeated and deserted, he mops the blood from his brow and stares up at the looming airship through the plumes of smoke, then Ed’s eyes grow wide as a second much larger airship unexpectedly eclipses the sky.
The few remaining townsfolk cheer as the Thanatos – the flag gunship of the Runegard Army – fires upon Grimoirh’s vessel as it retreats. At its helm stands a tall man clad in gleaming golden armour. General Gilbertus Gigas, famed leader of Runegard’s military, a renowned tactician, warrior and not to mention a notoriously difficult to beat in-game boss, grins, eager to decimate Grimoirh’s airship and bring an end to the scourge desecrating the realm.
“Blast them to oblivion,” the general orders his second in command, Captain Diamond, named for the unbreakable ornate rapier hanging on her belt.
“Yes, General,” the captain salutes. Turning to the crew she relays his order. “Give them hell!”
Cannon fire roars across the sky, and smoke and fire engulf Grimoirh’s ship as it is bombarded.
“Looks like the cavalry showed up,” Bengeo growls, clasping a firm hand on his side.
“They’re gonna blow them right out of the sky!” Ed cries.
“That’s the idea, I expect.” The bandit grimaces as he tries to get on his feet, but the shooting pain in his abdomen keeps him down.
“But Remy’s on board that thing!”
Leaning on Ed for support, Bengeo looks up at the warring ships. “Worry about us right now.”