Flashback
-Fobias looks at Gary’s outstretched hand as the man’s words are consumed by the flickering firelight. His eyes stare through the embers that are disappearing into the chill night air, and suddenly Fobias is on his back staring up at a slightly younger version of Gary, hand also outstretched in the same pose.
A more youthful Fobias, riddled with scrapes and bruises, reaches out towards the hand and takes it. Gary starts to help him up before landing a knee square between Fobias’ ribs. He collapses back to the ground as Gary chuckles.
“And that is why you never accept pity from people who claim to have your best interest at heart. They’ll take the tiny shred of hope you still have left. They’ll rip it from your cold, dead hands just because they can. That’s just the way of the world.”
Gary spins around slowly, appealing to the ring of muddy children that surround him. Across from Fobias, a boy two heads taller than him is panting loudly, holding his two fists in front of his face like an amateur boxer.
“Ain’t nobody who does nothin’ without wantin’ somethin’ in return. Memories are long and people keep tabs on their mental ledgers, keeping the score between them and you. There’s no such thing as ‘being even’ – there will always be a shifting of the scales until one of yous tumbles right off the damn thing.”
Gary pauses, looking thoughtfully out towards the treeline.
“Nobody ever helped me. Consider yourselves lucky. Get your ass off the ground Fobias. Petra. You’re up.”
Fobias’ cheeks burn with embarrassment as he slowly stands up and joins the other children on the perimeter of the circle. A short girl with ratty brown braids steps forward, glaring up angrily at the young boxer. She lets out a blood-curdling scream as she charges towards the other boy who is caught off-guard at the sudden outburst. Her punches are swift and precise. She lashes out, landing a blow directly to his throat and follows up with a devastating fist to the side of his nose. There’s a loud crack as the bone breaks and blood begins to pour from his nostrils.
The boy attempts to retaliate, splashing blood over his threadbare overalls. Petra ducks underneath the swings as if the boy were underwater. She pivots and throws a knee into his left kidney. The boy doubles over and reaches for Petra’s braid and pulls. She screams and whips her head around quickly, screaming a second time *fffffghhghgh*** as the boy is left holding a thick chunk of bronze hair. You can see tears welling in her eyes as she connects with the boy’s solar plexus. Again. And again. And again.
The boy falls over, coughing blood. His broken nose causes a disturbing wheezing sound as the air leaves his lungs in the quickest way possible.
But Petra doesn’t stop.
She picks up a rock from the sand and holds it up high before bringing it down on the boy’s shoulder. A gruesome pop echoes throughout the clearing as the boy wails out in pain, desperately trying to shield himself from a second blow from the stone, which lands directly on his hand. Several fingers dangle lazily from their busted sockets.
“Enough.”
Petra freezes before setting the stone down slowly and walking back to her spot on the outside of the ring. A few of the other children grab the sobbing boy and drag him towards one of the tents.
“Fobias.”
Whispers spark throughout the children like wildfire, edged with the surprise that Fobias would be chosen again so soon.
“Duncan.”
Fobias walks out into the ring, along with human boy about the same size as him.
“Go on.” Gary crosses his arms with impatience.
Duncan quickly steps up to Fobias who has already put his arms out in a fighter’s stance. They both hop from foot to foot, dancing in a tight circle across from each other, occasionally lunging forward to take an exploratory jab at the other. Fobias finds an opening and connects his shin to the boy’s side. As he goes to follow up the kick with a punch, Duncan pushes his fist out of the way and lands an uppercut to Fobias’ jaw.
Fobias catches Duncan’s next kick, twisting it opposite of how joints are supposed to bend. Duncan shakes free, deflects an errant punch, and smashes his bony knee into Fobias’ stomach twice in quick succession. Fobias whips his elbow around crashing into Duncan’s head as the boy swings with an intense fury.
Back and forth the boys exchange blows, each boy battering the other for several minutes. Finally, Duncan takes advantage of a mistimed dodge and lands a hard hook to the side of Fobias’ head that sends him sprawling back to the ground.
His ears are ringing and the sounds of the world are muffled around him. He shakes his head, dazed.
And there’s Gary, scowling with his hand drifting towards the hilt of his knife.
Duncan spits blood and marches towards Fobias, whose eyes suddenly go dark before flashing with an intense rage as his orc ferocity kicks in. He stands up forcefully, smashing his head into Duncan’s open mouth. The boy staggers backward as blood spouts from the place where his front teeth used to be. Fobias doesn’t even feel the two incisors protruding from the top of his forehead.
All he sees is blood.
Like a beast uncaged, Fobias begins to pummel the living hell out of this boy. Boom. Poogh. Crack. The sounds of his fists connecting with skin and then flesh and then bone. Rage clouds his eyes as another sound joins his carnal chorus.
Boom. Poogh. Crack. Clap, clap, clap.
The sound of clapping in perfect unison with Fobias’ wild punches. Without stopping, Fobias glances up and sees Gary bringing his hands together in harmonious cadence.
Fobias looks down at Duncan who had stopped twitching twenty blows earlier. He sees a mangled face, shattered bone fragments jutting out from the unrecognizable pulp. Fobias’ knuckles are stained red, save for the streaks of brilliant white of his own bones shining through.
But he doesn’t feel a thing. Fobias feels nothing. He doesn’t know if Duncan is alive anymore, but does he even care? His eyes dart back and forth between the mangled mess of meat and Gary’s smiling face.
“That’s my boy.”
And that’s when it hits him.
He can’t stay here.
The adrenaline keeps him numb as some older boys tear him from Duncan’s lifeless body. As he is being pulled away, Fobias sees Gary bending over and spreading a thick layer of bright blue paste over Duncan’s wounds.
Their eyes lock. Just like they are locked right now.
“Whatdaya say, Fobias?”
Present
After experiencing this flashback, Fobias replies to Gary’s offer. He’s not necessarily worried about other ogres, or Kreegs, or monsters that will rise up to take Gary’s place after he’s gone; Fobias only cares about killing Gary. And to prove it, he charges into the fray.
The Battle of the Bloodless has begun!
Right away, the obese man next to Garitran spews a thick cloud of obscuring mist which blocks Gary, the wolf, and the magic user from view. Krask and Jak bury a few arrows into the closest Bloodless, who charges up to Fobias and brutally stabs him with his lance. Fobias lets out a roar and pulls the enemy closer while stabbing right back. With unrivaled concentration, Fobias steps over the dying man who is falling backwards from the deathblow.
Fyn hastens the party, tipping the scales on the action economy. Barnaby uses his enhanced range to fan out and stand toe-to-toe with another Bloodless who is wearing a magnificent bear pelt. As their mini battle rages, Richard charges up to support his master. Trace follows suit as the monstrous wolf bounds out of the fog towards the party. There are disturbingly odd markings around the wolf’s eyes, but nobody can seem to make anything out of it.
From the middle of the fog, the party hears a voice shout out something about ‘the Headless Lord’ leaving Fobias, Trace, and Richard to fight off a bout of confusion. Richard is ultimately afflicted, and spends most of the combat babbling incoherently wolf-speak.
That’s when a huge kodiak bear lumbers out of the fog, flicking with the visage of Garitran. He bounds straight to Fobias and lashes out with his massive claws. Fyn, thinking quickly, summons a field of jet-black tentacles to trap Gary, the wolf, and the obese man. On the sidelines, Barnaby finishes off the Bloodless he was sparring with and heads towards Garitran. Arrows from Shalelu and Krask finish off the last Bloodless grunt.
Gary swipes over to Barnaby, viciously clawing the halfling and holds him aloft above the waving tentacles. Fortunately, he becomes tangled in the writhing mass and is unable to move. The wolf continues to ravage any party members that get too close, and Fobias is forced to step back and accept Trace’s healing.
Being a frontline fighter means you take the brunt of the blows.
The archers split their focus between Garitran and the caster with the black splotches all over his skin. The magic-user steps forward and the nearest heroes feel their blood cool down and vibrate with chills. Once again, the tentacles come through, immobilizing the man before he can envelope the entire party in his aura. Although the caster tries to magically escape from his tentacled prison, Krask dishes out the final barrage of arrows that puts him down.
Strangely enough, the caster’s body erupts with torrents of blood, which is a stark contrast to the “blood-free” enemies that make up the rest of the camp. Barnaby slashes out at the wolf, ending its life as Trace steps up and smites the evil form of Garitran.
All that’s left is to power through and wear down Garitran. The party kicks it into high gear, swarming the bear from all angles with everything they’ve got. Fyn successfully lands a hideous laughter spell, and Garitran is the only one left laughing at the terrible joke. Trace hacks at the limb holding Barnaby aloft, weakening it for Fobias and Krask to deal the final blows.
Garitran falls.
As he returns to his old man form, Fobias lifts him from the ground and wearily buries Gary’s old knife directly into his heart. Fobias is spent; his whole life has been building to this moment.
But then the questions start to pile up…
First of all, there is already a knife in Gary’s back, and it seems to have been there for a long time. Furthermore, Fyn is able to tell that Garitran was likely under multiple spell effects – one to reanimate his corpse and one to compel or charm him. This revelation deeply unsettles Fobias, as it either cheapens his victory or suggests that there is a new target that requires his attention.
The dagger has an inscription: Property of the Headless Lord.
Barnaby examines the wolf but can’t determine anything odd about it other than the fact that it exhibits human-like traits. Its appendages are bound with broken shackles and its mangy fur is missing several tufts.
Meanwhile, Trace takes a look at the obese mage. It is clear that the black splotches on his skin aren’t birthmarks; the man is covered in engorged leeches. Coupling this fresh information with the amount of blood that poured out of the man on death, Fyn realizes that this was a Bloatmage. These magic users believe strongly in the magic inherent in a person’s blood, and they try to store as much of it in their body as possible to harness that energy.
Left with these burning questions, the party contemplates their next steps. Obviously the eminent raid on Sandpoint is a priority, but what about these loose threads?
As the party stops to think, the wolf’s body slowly reverts back to a human shape. A human that Fobias and Krask recognize.
It’s Avu. And he’s dead.
It’s been 45 days since the Swallowtail Festival. So much has happened between then and now, and there’s a lot to still unpack. The party isn’t what it used to be.
End of Book Three.
Who is the Headless Lord? Could the party have saved Avu from Gary’s influence? How can Barnaby take the head from someone named ‘The Headless Lord’?