Post by Monday
Thorgrim staggered to his feet and looked blearily around. “What happened?” he asked, holding a hand to his head and wincing slightly. As he drew it away, they could see that it was stained red with blood oozing from a large wound on his head, along with a nasty bruise along his temple. “Something hit me on the back of the’ head, and now we’re - ah!” He wavered and fell over.
Funden jumped to his feet and ran over to the downed dwarf, bending over and shining a light in his eyes. “He hit his head pretty hard. Might have a concussion,” he said, frowning intently.
Thorgrim shook his head slightly and pushed himself back up. “I’m alright,” he said, waving a hand. “Just a headache.”
Funden and Khaz traded looks. “Um,” Funden muttered, “I’m not sure if ye should be up and about so soon. Tha’ looks like a nasty bruise.”
“I’ll be fine,” Thorgrim replied, waving a hand absently. “Just need a moment to clear my head and I’ll be ready to go.”
Khaz frowned and asked, “Are you sure?” Thorgrim nodded, and Khaz sighed as he pulled Thorgrim to his feet. “Alright, but you will stop by a priest in Honor Hold, got it?”
“But,” Thorgrim started to protest, but Funden held up a hand.
“I agree with Khaz. Yer goin’ to a priest.” Thorgrim opened his mouth to protest again, but Funden leaned in, glaring from under the rim of his hat. “You
will go see a priest at least. I’d rather a medic, but it’s yer choice. And if ye think about weaselin’ out of this one, we’ll leave ye out here fer the demons.” Thorgrim’s eyes widened slightly on the last threat, and he nodded frantically.
“Yes, sir!” he said, turning north and breaking into a jog. Funden placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from going any further.
“Honor Hold is back that way,” he said, jerking a thumb behind him and gesturing beyond the mountain ridge blocking their view to the south. “Ye’ve been there before.”
Thorgrim shook his head, sending his yellow beard wagging. “Of course,” he said, and started off southward towards Honor Hold, picking his way carefully through the dust and avoiding holes. Funden frowned at the dwarf’s sudden strangeness.
Leaning over to Khaz, Funden muttered, “Bloody hell is wrong with him?” Absently, he rubbed the haft of his axe, eyeing Thorgrim warily. He wasn’t sure if Thorgrim would turn violent, but he was definitely acting strange, very strange. He was acting a lot more careful than usual, and his speech pattern had shifted to be focused and precise, instead of the usual drawl with the typical dwarven accent.
Khaz shook his head, eyeing Thorgrim in much the same way. “Maybe the concussion is worse than I thought? We best keep close. I don’t want to let him out of my sight.” Slinging his rifle over his shoulder, Khaz stumped off after Thorgrim, unconsciously rubbing flakes of dried mud off of his armor. Rolling his eyes, Funden followed.
The sprawling fortress of Honor Hold spread below them, although simultaneously being raised from the ground on a large plateau. It had taken a beating in the many years since it had been first established by the Alliance forces had invaded the dead world long ago to pursue the old, demonic Horde.
Funden inspected the fortress appreciatively, but noticed several gaps in the wall, which appeared to be wreathed in flames. “The fortress hasn’t weathered well,” he remarked to Khaz as they descended after Thorgrim, who was almost to the valley floor. Khaz nodded in reply, but said nothing, too concerned with setting his armor straight to bother. Finally, he nodded in satisfaction and looked up.
“Best hope there’s a mage there we can purchase a portal from. I don’t fancy running back through those demons to Nethergarde.”
“Aye,” Funden replied, as they reached the valley floor and started towards Honor Hold. “I’d not like to leave Fjarn alone like that for much longer. Hopefully he’s doin’ better.” Khaz shrugged, but said nothing, glancing back down at his armor and frowning, rubbing a few different areas until powdered mud fell out.
“Thank the Light, that was itchy,” Khaz said, groaning slightly in relief as they entered the gates of Honor Hold. He opened his mouth to say something, then stopped, frowning. “Where’d Thorgrim go?”
Funden frowned. “I wasn’t really payin’ attentnion,” he said, glancing around. “You there!” he barked, focused on a nearby soldier, who snapped to attention. “Have you seen a wounded dwarf carryin’ a shotgun come in ‘ere by chance?”
The guard nodded, and pointed over at the inn. “He went in there. Be careful, he didn’t look hap...” The guard trailed off as he realized he didn’t have an audience anymore. Funden and Khaz were already heading towards the inn, moving at a quick pace. They entered, and froze in shock, then both hands darted to their weapons.
Thorgrim stood near the back of the room, and all the patrons were kneeling on the floor with their hands on their heads. He held his loaded shotgun to his shoulder, and a pulse, barely noticeable, but definitely there, was emanating from him. It flowed out and into the people, silencing them.
“Thorgrim! Put the gun down!” Funden roared in a tone of complete command. The scene, which would have frozen almost anyone else, barely rattled him. “And stand. Down!”
Thorgrim lazily cocked his head and smiled at Funden. “Why would I do that?” he asked, and his voice was noticeably different, smoother, and missing the traditional dwarven accent. “And don’t give me anything about forcing me. I can give you reason enough not to press me.” Without looking away, he pulled the trigger on his shotgun. The blast took a man in the chest and blew him against the wall. “Ah, ah! Don’t come any closer,” he grinned evilly, holding out a hand.
Funden, who had been about to charge, stopped and took a deep breath. “Fine. What do ye want?” he asked quietly. He itched to grab his axe and slice that shotgun in two, but he knew he’d never arrive in time to stop him from killing somebody else, which may just happen to be a certain dwarf.
“First, I want you to let me go,” Thorgrim replied. “I didn’t want you to rescue me from those demons, and I want you to let me go back to them.”
“Where?” Funden asked in a resigned voice. Khaz shot him a look, but Funden replied with a barely noticeable shake of his head, while at the same time slipping a hand into his coat.
“The Hellfire Citadel,” Thorgrim replied.
“The Citadel? But it’s been cleared for a coupla years now,” Funden muttered, confused.
Thorgrim shook his head. “It was,” he said, putting emphasis on the last word.
“Well, now that
that’s cleared up,” Funden said in relief, “BEGONE!” He lifted an icon taken from his coat, a
Relic of Khaz'goroth.
Thorgrim laughed at Funden. “An icon of that sort cannot harm - ACK!” Khaz tackled him from the side, knocking the shotgun from his hands. Thorgrim, more concerned with survival now than with controlling the people on the floor. Some stayed on the ground, sobbing, but one jumped to his feet and strode forward.
“An icon,” he panted angrily, “of this sort
can!” He lifted an icon of the Light and thrust it into Thorgrim’s face, who screamed in agony as the Light washed over him.
“No!” the downed dwarf roared, struggling madly against Khaz. “No!”
“Yes!” yelled the man back, pushing the icon at him harder. Slowly, Thorgrim’s face turned red, then he roared out a wordless scream. Then he collapsed.
The man stood, and Funden grinned. “Brother Walker, it’s good to see ye again,” he said, kneeling down next to Thorgrim. “What happened?”
Brother Walker collapsed into a chair. “Your friend,” he said, “was possessed.”