Facing a trained mage is scary.

Facing a prepared mage is terrifying.

Though both of them have nothing on the mage willing to wait.

Why?

Try dodging a fireball in your bedroll.

See how that works out.

- Way of the warrior, by Grumnir Deephelm

“Message received, we’re heading your way.”

Mogrim immediately gripped his ax tightly, looking at the shadows all around them. “What was that?” he asked, pressing himself against the back of his wife as she branded her sword and shield in vigilance.

“Calm down,” I said. “Dagger just messaged our agreement with some Wind Magic. What you heard was their reply.”

Mogrim’s mouth fell open. “You mean that she’s a mage?” Martha’s mouth did that same when she heard her husband’s question. Both of them proceeded to stare in wonder at Dagger, causing the usually bold blonde to blush slightly, squirming beneath their combined gazes.

“Hold on a second.” I raised my hand. “Is her being a mage a problem?”

“No, no, Father forbid.” Mogrim backpedaled, frantically waving his hands in rejection. “It’s just that… we were surprised. The story’s my grandfather told me about the surface mages was nothing short of legendary. And to actually see one of them in the flesh…”

I managed to suppress an internal groan as Mogrim’s statement was overheard by the other dwarves, causing all of them looking at her in a new light. Should I tell them? One of the dwarves was so busy admiring the rat that he stumbled over a rock on the ground, scattering travel supplies all over the floor. This is going to be a problem.

I tapped Mogrim on the shoulder as he berated the poor dwarf, beckoned him closer as I softly whispered, “Don’t panic at what I’m about to say, okay?” The dwarf looked confused, but only briefly. He gave me a firm nod, before leaning his ear closer. “Actually, everyone in our group is a mage.” Mogrim did his best, though that wasn’t enough to stop the other dwarves from noticing his brief spasm. “But most of them are… underwhelming at best. I don’t know what stories you’ve heard, but don’t go expecting us to be able to solve every little problem you have.” I leaned back, speaking normal this time, “Do with that information what you will. You’re probably know best how to use it to our advantage.”

The man immediately clasped his hands, giving me a deep bow. “Certainly master mag-, master Sin-bearer.” The other dwarves could only look on in curiosity as Mogrim whispered some words into Martha’s ear, causing the female dwarf to suffer a similar kind of reaction. Not that they looked on for long; Mogrim’s second-in-command was busy kicking the asses, sometimes literally, of all those that slacked on his watch.

Gurtrum seemed to take this job very seriously, hounding the various bearded men to ever greater speeds, making sure that everything was packed up and ready to go for our departure from the outpost. I had tried talking to the black-bearded man in the beginning, but since it came to light that I was supposedly a Sin-bearer, he had avoided me like the plague itself.

Mogrim merely laughed at his actions, saying something along the lines of, “You should confront him with a bucket.” I was stupid enough to follow his instructions, unable to understand the few curt replies the man gave as he bowed so low he could have kissed his knees. Shortly after, he took the bucket, heading into a building before emerging again. This time with a full one. One he used to drench himself from head to toe. Why he did it, or what it meant, I didn’t know. But apparently it did the man some good as he stopped walking away whenever he noticed my presence.

That same Gurtrum briefly eyed me as he walked closer, stopping in front of the gossiping couple of Mogrim and Martha. Both of them too busy looking, whispering, and pointing at me to notice the five foot tall iron statue standing next to them. He cleared his throat, pretending not to notice his commander’s sudden fluster as he struck his breastplate in salutation.

He grunted a short series of sentences that caused Mogrim’s face to redden at a rapid pace. “What do you mean, the ale’s gone?” the blonde dwarf shouted, raising his arms high in the air. “How do nine barrels of ale just disappear overnight!?” Every dwarf in the settlement froze when they heard the news. There was a mixture of shock and stupor, that soon turned into anger and cries of outrage. Whatever had happened, it seemed to have taken priority over the looming threat of the incoming army.

“I want every beard present and accounted for!” Mogrim shouted. Dwarves hopped to his command, forming lines of ten dwarves abreast, several rows deep. All in all a good sixty to seventy dwarves stood still in the middle of the outpost, most of them still fuming with rage. “Men,” Mogrim said. “It seems we have an ale thief in our midst.” He began pacing in front of the group, eyeing each dwarf with careful scrutiny. “I don’t who of you had the stones to do this, but rest assured. I will find you soon enough. And when I do… shaving your beard will be the least of your worries.”

Mogrim gave Gurtrum a nod. The man barked out an order, one that caused all dwarves to take off any headgear they were wearing as they remained ramrod straight, waiting like statues as Mogrim and Gurtrum worked their way down the line. They would stand in front of a dwarf, inspecting his eyes and cheeks before making him blow softly in their faces. They sniffed the air, asking some individual questions before moving on to the next.

As this was happening, an earth-shattering belch resounded from the main building. One that remained unnoticed to everyone, except me. I could only facepalm as I watched a certain demon stumble out of the stone door, with stumble being a generous description. I should have known. “Heee, heee, hee, hick.” Gob slowly made his way to the crystal filled mine cart, leaning hard to the left and right in opposite fashion, but never enough to topple over. Once there, he scrambled his way up, spreading his arms as he shouted, “I’m on top of the world!”

He wobbled. “Wohoho, hick, this world needz to pee… hihi.” He pulled out something I’d rather not have taken a look at. Something I did my best at to burn out of my mind whilst covering my eyes. Tell me this isn’t happening. What followed was the sound of water hitting rock. Yep, its happening. I peeked through my fingers. Its happening, and no one seems to give a shit.

Gob had his hands behind his head, shaking his hips left to right. “Make it rain! Make it rain! Hick.” He spread his arms wide. “Flood the unbelievers!” He tilted a bit too far backwards. “Oh oh.” He landed in the pile of crystals, fluid shooting upwards and drenching him thoroughly. He just sat there giggling as it happened; giggles that slowly changed to snoring over time.

He’s sleeping in his own piss… I groaned. Dirk and Dagger both gave me a strange look. My demon is sleeping in his own piss… After a minute I was able to bear the shame of looking at the cart again. Should I pull him out? He didn’t show any signs of crystallization, not even with the pure crystals all around him. Maybe I should do it anyway, just to be sure. But how was I supposed to transport him? No on else seemed able to. Not unless I carried him myse… Nope. Not doing that. He’ll be fine, no worries.

Instead, I headed towards Martha, tapping her on the shoulder before pointing at Mogrim. She seemed to get the message, managing to pull away the man after a brief discussion. Mogrim was struggling the whole way, complaining as his wife forcibly dragged him to me. “This is a grave matter, woman. Morale is at stake here. We can’t-” His resistance relented when he saw me waiting, causing his wife to almost topple over from the sudden obedience. The couple quickly bowed their head when I approached, clasping their hands in the process. “What is it, Sin bearer? Our lives are yours to command.”

“About that,” I said. “We need to have a talk.”

A shiver went through the man. “Is something amiss?” he asked, lips trembling as he looked up. “D-do you want to revoke your earlier mercy?” The question caused Martha’s hands to softly start shaking.

“For the last time,” I sighed. “I’m not going to kill you.” Mogrim let out a deep breath, before giving his wife a nod of assurance. “And please stop the whole bowing and scraping thing, it’s getting annoying.”

“Certainly, Sin-bearer.” He stood up straight, prompting Martha to do the same. “So what was it that you wanted to discuss?”

“This whole Sin-bearing business.” Their shoulders sagged. “I’m not going back on my word. You would know if you let me finish for once.” Seriously, how evil do you think I am? “With my group coming to meet you in short order, and the whole evacuation thing, I don’t think I’ll have time to grant your request any time soon.” I looked at Martha. “So my question was, would you mind me trying it out right now?”

Mogrim couldn’t nod his head fast enough. “Yes! I mean… certainly, Sin-bearer.” He hugged his confused wife, kissing her on the head before talking to her. “The Sin-bearer is willing to give it a try, love.” She made a small scream of joy, tightly hugging Mogrim as he twirled her around in the air.

“You know I’m just trying, right?”

Mogrim set down his wife. “I know, I know,” he said, wiping away a single tear. “But trying is already more than we could have ever hoped for.” He pushed her towards me, looking on eagerly in the background.

The woman’s brown eyes were still wet tears; a smile plastered on her face as she closed them. I began inspecting her Mark up close, looking for any clues to this mystical process they were describing earlier. “So these keepers of yours,” I said, following the dark lines burned into her skin. “They would know how to perform this ritual?”

“Indeed, Sin-bearer,” Mogrim answered. “The Keepers protect our knowledge, both new and old. If anyone would know, they would be the ones.”

I took some distance from Martha’s face. “And I don’t suppose you have any insights you can give me?”

“Ehm… no.” He hung his head, wringing his hands. “I’m sorry, Sin-bearer.”

This is going nowhere. “Do you mind if I touch her?” The wringing stopped. “The Mark, that is.”

“Yes. Yes. Certainly.” He spoke up a bit. “The Sin-bearer is about to touch you, love. Don’t be surprised.”

I took Martha’s nod as one for consent. I gently placed a finger on the Mark, ignoring the brief flinch Martha made. Slowly, but surely, I traced the entirety of the thing, trying to feel, see, hear… something. Anything. This isn’t working… or maybe I’m not seeing enough. I closed my eyes, maintaining contact with the skin as I retreated deeper into myself.

“Wrong.”

My concentration faltered, winking out what few light were springing up in front of me.

“You’re dooing it wrung, Bosz.”

My vision returned as I looked beside me. There stood Gob, in all his drunken glory. Drooping ears, unfocused eyes, and pale skin that now flushed deep crimson in certain places. He let out a belch, scratching his butt as he ranted at me, “Thatz not how you doo it.” He stumbled forward. “Thiz is how.”

Before I could pull my hand back, Gob’s claw had latched on, and with it—agony. Mind numbing, soul scorching agony. My vision went white as I screamed, wails mixing with those of Martha to form some fucked up chorus of torment that drowned out everything but the pain.

It may have lasted seconds, but those were seconds too long. Whatever it was, it blasted us apart, knocking the wind out of me as I smashed into the floor. What followed were muffled voices, and hands touching me, but I couldn’t care less. All I wanted was for the pain to stop, that scorching sensation on my face that drove me mad.

Slowly the white began to retreat. “Ma…” Color returned to my world as the pain subsided. “Marc…”

Figures were moving about, holding me down as they spoke to me. “Marcus!” It was Dirk.

“Ugghh,” was all I managed to voice.

He immediately forced open my eye, looking at it move as he snapped his finger next to my ears. “Can you hear me, Marcus?” I nodded, but then froze. “What is it, Marcus?” Behind Dirk stood Gob. But that wasn’t the problem. It was that Gob was grinning at me. Grinning, and still drunk. I began to struggle, causing me to be pushed down by multiple hands. “Keep him down!” Dirk shouted. “He’s not fit to move yet!”

“Open wide for papa...” Gob said with a hick. My struggles intensified when he turned into black mist, snaking its way towards my face. My body revolted, lungs gasping for air, but not finding any as the revolting thing forced its way through my nostrils and mouth.

“Don’t let him bash his head open!” Bodies pressed down on me, hands keeping my head steady as every part of me spasm-ed and twitched in primal disgust, gasping for breath.

Moments later, it was over. Fresh air entered my lungs as I inhaled deeply, savoring like it would have been my last breath. I lay still for a minute, just enjoying the sensation of being alive and not in pain. That, and I needed some time to think about what happened. More importantly, how to not get murdered by the dwarves. Those were definitely Martha’s screams I was hearing.

I finally opened my eyes, only to find my entire group sitting around me, looking worried. Dirk snapped his finger to get my attention. “You okay, Marcus?”

“I’m fine-fucking-tastic, thank you.” I looked at him. “Now help me get up.”

“You sure?”

“Is it that bad?”

“You’re fine, but…” He looked behind him. “I don’t know what you did, but I don’t think them crying is a good sign.”

“Shit.”

“Shit indeed.” He turned to me. “So what’s the plan? We running… or what?”

And go back to the tunnel without water? That wasn’t going to work. And I doubt the dwarves would be happy to share theirs with my recent fuck-up. Gob’s recent fuck-up. But that little runt would come later. “Help me up.”

Dirk and Dagger both supported one of my shoulders, heaving me up in one go. I thanked them as I dusted off my clothing, taking the time to get a better look at my surroundings. The dwarves were all huddled on their knees around Mogrim. He cradled a still Martha in his arms, crying like no other. Not that the other dwarves lost for lack of trying, the man was simply on a whole other level.

Gurtrum lurked at the edges, coming my way the moment he saw me stand up. Here we go. I stepped forward, signaling the others to be ready. The man came steadily closer, demonstrating the intimidation factor that full armor brought to bear. Let us see how fucked we are. A few feet away, I could see the tears falling from his eyes. Pretty fucked. I prepared to retaliate when he stepped closer, only to find myself swept up in a big hug.

…

…

…

What?

The man released his hold, grabbing my arm as he pulled me towards the crying mob. I just let him, mind still catching up to the complete absurdity of it. Once there, dwarf after dwarf reverently made way for me, prostrating themselves with tears in their eyes as I got closer to the inner circle. Each chanted the same two words, over and over again. Whatever it meant, it was creeping me out. Big time.

And then we reached the center, where Mogrim softly lay his wife on the ground, her chest softly rising, before giving me something that resembled more of a death grip than a hug. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” the man said, face buried into my shirt. I could only gasp for breath while snot and tears were rubbed all over my clothing.

“Marcus!” a voice shouted.

I craned my neck to find Sly and the rest of the vanguard looking at me in amazement from the circle’s edge. She stepped forward. “What the fuck is going on here!?”

My vision was beginning to darken, but not before I made my last reply.

“Diplomacy, lieutenant.”

“Diplomacy.”