The Heroes Wake (Chapter 2 - Gregor)

A handful of strangers are drawn together by chance, blood, and fate.

Gregor pushed the remnants of his table aside, the large wooden pieces scattering to the floor. A violent cough tore from him as he spat out dust and fragments of stone. His body already ached as he cleared the rubble from his legs, pulling himself free. His knees wobbled slightly as he rose.

The ringing in his ears pounded relentlessly and his eyes burned furiously. Gregor wrapped his finger in the sleeve of his robe and attempted to clear the dust from his face. He squinted, trying to locate the source of the clicking noise. Something huge moved back and forth and a smaller shadow moved to avoid it, as if they danced in the darkness.

This was bad. Whatever it was, he knew he was in immediate danger. He could not do anything in this darkness. Gregor gestured, tracing a complex series of magical glyphs into the air. Three balls of bright white light burst into existence, slowly spinning around his outstretched hand. Their glow exploded against the darkness, causing it to retreat back into the night. Large particles of brick dust lingered in the air, reminiscent of the pipe smoke that had once filled the common room. Now, that was gone, the pungent smell replaced by mortar and blood.

The dust cloud seemed to move past the creature, escaping through the large hole it had torn in the tavern wall.

Gregor could see it more clearly now, his vision sharpening into focus. It was a huge insect, a beetle to be precise. It was as tall as the tavern’s walls and nearly three-quarters as wide. The beetle clicked furiously as it tore through a group of patrons who had been attempting to flee. Its huge, razor-sharp pincers sliced through them with ease, pieces of their bodies scattered across the floor.

A lone figure stood defiantly in front of the gaping jaws.

What a fool. He’ll be eaten alive.

Gregor watched as the figure parried the creature’s bite, striking back with a blow of his own. It was the other man who had been sitting at the table across from him. The man was broad, clad in scale armour. A tattered brown cloak swirled behind him as he ducked and dodged the increasingly furious creature’s attacks.

Gregor assessed the situation.

A rather large beast. Seems uncannily strong. Enhanced, perhaps? Chitinous plating would no doubt be thick, weaker at the joints, but with how big it is you would need a spear to reach anything vital. A lone warrior fighting it with a longsword, parrying only with a shield. No, the man stood no chance. No chance at all. Magic might help, but to what end?

Clearly, the best course of action was to leave. That was the logical answer, and this lone warrior was the perfect distraction he needed to get away.

Gregor mentally commanded two of the orbs to stick to what was left of the ceiling. The third began circling his head. He scanned the room for exits, starting with the most obvious, the front door.

The main door into the tavern was buried in rubble. Blast, he thought. Why is there only one way in and out? What fool built this deathtrap?
He moved toward the far side of the room, stepping over the small halfling girl who had been knocked down. She stirred, shifting slightly as Gregor passed her. No way out here either. The only way out seemed to be through the entrance the creature had made.

The girl began to open her eyes. Gregor hesitated, then came to a decision.

“Here,” Gregor said, bending over to start clearing some of the rubble. “Let me help you.”

He took the woman by the hand and helped her to her feet. She was short, which was expected, being a halfling. She had red hair, a pale face, and even in this lighting Gregor could see she was covered in freckles. Vibrant green eyes looked up at him through weary lids, confusion obvious.

The creature clicked angrily. Unexpectedly, the man seemed to be holding his own against the beast. To his credit, Gregor mused, he was a brave fool, but a fool nonetheless.

The girl coughed. Blood ran down her face. She swayed on unsteady feet, using Gregor to help her stand. He squeezed her shoulders.
“We need to get out of here!” he yelled over the crashing of jaws on steel. The man was being pushed into a corner by the creature. His window of escape was closing.

He shook her, trying to get her to acknowledge the danger they were both in. She looked around the room, disoriented.

“What… what’s happening?” she asked. She felt her scalp and stared at her now blood-streaked palm. The white light of the orbs shone into the room like bright moonlight.

“We need to get out of here!” Gregor snapped at her, shaking her more violently. “Is there another way out?”

The girl looked over his shoulder. She saw the other man being driven closer to the corner of the room. He was trapped. The creature closed in, snapping its huge scythe-like jaws again and again.

“He needs our help!” she cried.

Before Gregor could stop her, she pushed past him and staggered toward the battle, almost falling as she stepped through the carnage of wood and stone. Gregor watched in wild bemusement as she picked up a chunk of stone and hurled it at the creature’s head.

What does she think that will do? Stupid girl.

The stone connected. The creature turned to face its new combatant, clicking at her with sharp irritation.

The halfling stood a few feet in front of Gregor. The man and the creature filled the only exit. There was nothing left for it now. He would need to fight his way out of this room, and if he could keep these other fools alive long enough, he might be able to bring it down or, at the very least, find an opportunity to escape.

The creature stepped toward the halfling, chittering furiously. Gregor signed another complex glyph, finishing the spell with a swish of his wrist. A bolt of fire soared across the room, an orange glow cutting through the unnatural white light as it shot like an arrow.

It struck the creature in the face, causing it to recoil as sparks leapt into the air, fading quickly into the darkness.

It cried out again with the chittering clacking of vibrating shell plates. A dry, rattling bellow echoed like bone grinding on bone.

The creature surged forward. Tables and chairs scattered across the room as it ploughed through the wreckage. Its huge mandibles snapped shut on the spot where the girl had stood just a heartbeat earlier. She had rolled aside, moving toward the bar.

The armour-clad man seized the opening and hacked at the creature’s legs, slicing back and forth with his sword. The creature whirled back to face him.

The halfling moved around to the left, trying to flank it. She grabbed a tankard from a nearby table. Her face twisted in rage as she roared and launched it at the creature. The tankard flew through the air, bouncing harmlessly off the chitinous shell. She looked at Gregor, exasperated, then at the bar. Her eyes widened.

Gregor moved to the right, firing another bolt of flame at the back of the creature’s head as he navigated the wreckage and bodies strewn across the floor.

A roar filled the room. Not the chitinous clicking, but something wild. Something primal.

What in the blazes could that be now?

Gregor gaped as a huge forest bear crashed through the hole in the wall. Pure fury and fur. Its teeth and claws swiped at the beetle’s legs.
The creature swung its head in a brutal arc, striking the bear with a sickening crunch. The beast was hurled sideways, crashing into the more intact remains of the wall. It let out a pained roar as brickwork and timber collapsed on top of it.

The armour-clad man seized the opportunity and plunged his blade into the creature’s neck without a moment’s hesitation.

The creature squealed and turned back to him. It was under attack from all sides and could not decide where to strike, moving its razor-sharp mandibles side to side. Suddenly it changed tack and thrust the harder, larger part of its head forward, pinning the man into the wall. He cried out.

The creature then flicked its head, catapulting the man over its back and into the same corner of the room as the bear.

It turned to face Gregor. Its beady black eyes locked onto him.

It charged.

The creature closed the distance quickly. Gregor held his breath, waiting for the impact. Out of nowhere, the bear leapt onto the creature’s head, clinging to its face and biting at the gaps in its natural armour, trying to blind it. The creature lurched, desperately trying to shake the beast free.

The halfling reached the edge of the bar and grabbed a bottle of spirits from a broken shelf.

“Wizard!” she cried. “Fire!”

She launched the bottle filled with deep orange liquid across the room. It smashed into the side of the creature’s face.

Not so stupid after all, he thought.

Gregor released another bolt of fire soaring into the creature’s head.

It hit squarely before bursting into vibrant blue flames. The fire spread across the creature’s face, highlighting the details once hidden in the darkness. Its crablike mandibles sat at the base of its huge pincers. The creature staggered back, clicking in agony. The bear leapt down and moved away, ducking and dodging the insect’s strikes.

That bear… that was strange. Unnatural intelligence. Fascinating.

The creature clicked in pain, its face now consumed in fire. The armour-clad man sprang to his feet, charging confidently toward the beast. He slid underneath its head, swinging his blade upwards in an arc of deadly precision.

It sliced across the underside of its neck. Thick black ichor spilled from the wound like a waterfall of liquid night. The creature staggered from side to side, clicking loudly at first, then quieter, before collapsing in a heap.

Dead.

Silence filled the room. The only sound was the faint crackling of the creature’s still-burning flesh. Thick black smoke rose from its body in curling plumes, releasing a foul, pungent stench which forced Gregor to hold his nose.

A scream ripped through the silence. A bloodcurdling wail of sorrow. A sound Gregor knew all too well.

He turned to see the halfling desperately pulling rubble from behind the bar.

“No!” she cried. “By the Gods, no! Please!”

She pulled a shape from the rubble. It was the dwarven innkeeper. Drulla, Gregor remembered. Not that he particularly cared, but his mind could recall exact details. It was a skill he had always possessed. Forced to remember everything, even when he did not want to.

He watched as the halfling struggled to pull Drulla away from the bar’s remains.

Gregor scanned the body. The damage was significant. Something heavy had caused that. Possibly a beam, he guessed, glancing up at the shattered ceiling. The chest cavity had been crushed, and with it, her lungs and heart were likely destroyed. The blood that bubbled around her mouth suggested that serious internal bleeding had taken place. The cause did not matter. The result was the same. She was dead.
Catastrophic internal injuries. Totally incompatible with life. Shame.

He bore her no ill will. She had been perfectly pleasant since his arrival. She had even given him an extra pillow when he checked in.
He turned to the creature.

An elf now stood next to it. He was tall and slim, draped in the signature leaf armour of the Eldari. The leaves shimmered with silver light, scattering it like thousands of tiny stars.

A Silverscale elf, if he was not mistaken. And a shape-changing one to boot. Their transformations were fuelled by natural magic, effective if not a little quaint.

The halfling was inconsolable. Gregor closed his eyes and tried to block out the woman’s wailing. Grief was a sound he was all too familiar with, and he had no use for it in this moment.

The armoured man opened his mouth as if to speak to her, then slowly walked over to where she knelt. He avoided stepping on stones or debris, as if trying not to startle her.

The elf turned his head, brow furrowed in deep thought, face full of remorse. He turned to the creature, inspecting it closely. He took a small crystal vial from his satchel, then drew a blade from his boot. It did not catch the light in the way that other metals did.

Stone, Gregor realised

He watched as the elf used the stone dagger to pry something from the creature’s chitinous husk.

The armoured man knelt beside the halfling. His face reflected concern and grim understanding.

“Let me look,” he said, gently touching her shoulder. “Maybe I can help?”

He knows she’s dead, Gregor thought. So why is he pretending she isn't? Then he realised. This is all an act, but for her? He hardly knows her. Pathetic.

But as Gregor watched him kneel, he noticed how easily the man offered comfort. How instinctive his empathy seemed. It came to him as naturally as breathing, and felt a pang of jealousy.

The halfling looked up at the armoured man, her eyes red and tear-filled.

“No… she’s… she’s dead,” her voice breaking with grief, barely audible.

Her gaze shifted back to the dwarven woman. Her eyes fixed on the stars now visible through the open roof. Dry blood clung to the corner of her mouth.

She began stroking Drulla’s hair, her fingers trembling. Then her eyes widened in realisation. Her head snapped to the other side of the room.
“Merril!” she cried, stumbling through the wreckage.

She started pulling rubble aside, right next to where the elf was still examining the creature.

“Traegar!” she cried, her voice desperate. “Here, boy, come on!”

Her voice softened, pleading.

“Please, boy… come on… please.” Her voice trembled.

Gregor scanned the room for anything of use. None of the patrons had survived. The band’s instruments lay in tatters, their owners strewn around in pieces.

No encore tonight, he thought wryly.

He looked at the halfling, digging through the rubble near the shattered wall.

He watched her with a mixture of pity and irritation. If these people all the way on this side of the bar were dead, then anyone sitting over there when the wall collapsed would be too. It was plainly obvious.

He watched as she clawed desperately through the brick and wood, then froze. A gagged scream escaped her throat, and her head fell forward in defeat.

See? They’re dead.

As sad as it was, there was no point in hope. There was no luck in this world other than that which you made for yourself.
She began stroking something from beneath the rubble, then leaned down into the hole she had made. She paused, whispering to the ground, then raised her head again.

In the silence of the aftermath, the tavern’s roof groaned ominously.

“May I suggest,” Gregor said, motioning to the group, “that we continue this grieving outside? This building does not seem to be structurally sound any more.”

With that, the magical lights he created blinked out of existence. Then he turned and stepped out into the moonlight.