Secorro found himself standing in what appeared to be a small and narrow valley. A faint light spilled over the top of the valley he was in, giving just enough see his surroundings, but too dim to reveal fine details. The whole area seemed dull and muted, as if covered in a fine layer of ash and seen through foggy glass. Shifting his weight as he turned to take it all in, the earth beneath his feet felt hard and packed, as if it hadn’t tasted water in ages. With a glance to the ground, he also noticed that he was wearing his ceremonial robes, though the usually pristine white fabrics had faded to a dull gray, and the hems seemed to be beginning to fray. Disturbingly, the embroidered emblem of Tyr that lay upon his left breast looked as if someone had tried to slowly burn it away. He couldn’t believe that he had let his most treasured vestments fall into such disrepair, but then he couldn’t seem to recall how they had come to be so damaged. He ran a hand across his head, and was shocked to find light stubble of hair growth. He hadn’t let his hair grow other than his top knot since he was a youth. He quickly reached to the back of his head, and with a forced sigh of relief found his top knot was there, though it felt as if he hadn’t trimmed it or even washed it in months. How had he come here? Where was here? Why couldn’t he remember anything? He brought his hand into his vision as if hoping that it might hold all the answers that his mind was groggily groping for, but it too seemed unfamiliar as well as old and filthy. For an instant, he recalled a road and a simple meal of dry bread and even drier meat, but then it was gone. Had he been eating just now, or was it years ago, or ever? He felt as if he hadn’t eaten in days.
Feeling a sudden wave of heat from above him, Secorro raised his eyes skyward. Black clouds as dark as smoke roiled through the sky, as if driven by gale force winds in every direction, and yet he heard no sound. The clouds blanketed the sky above; to the point he could not be sure whether it was night or day. As he gazed upwards, he could make out what appeared to be the glow of light, slowly pulsing against the sea of black. Uncertainty tried to hold him in place, but his curiosity urged him to move, to investigate. He chose what looked to be the easier slope of the valley’s two sides, and began to climb. He found the going easy at first, but the closer he came to the lip of slope, the more he began to struggle. Soon his breathing became labored, and his boots felt like they increased in weight with each step. Before he realized it, Secorro was down on his hands and knees, losing strength and balance with every inch he climbed. His hands finally reached for the lip of the rock face, the sweat of the exertion of holding onto the rock face that suddenly felt completely vertical ran in streams across his head. He managed to grab the lip with both hands, and with a final pull and a heavy grunt, Secorro heaved himself forcefully over the edge before collapsing in a heap on the dry earth. As he lay there, panting in the heat, his heart beating furiously in his chest, and exhaustion trying to claim him, Secorro saw the light flare up for the briefest of moments, before returning to what had been.
Pulling himself slowly to his knees, Secorro looked to see what he had pulled himself up to, and found his eyes drawn ever upwards until at last his neck was bent completely back. He was looking upwards at a mountain peak, though he could not tell how high. Turning about his eyes widened, and he pushed himself to his feet as he staggered over to the edge once more, except there was no valley. He found himself standing on an outcropping part way up a mighty mountain. But what he saw next took his very breath away, and nearly brought his heart to a stop. In the distance, a once mighty city was burning. Enormous plumes of smoke billowed from the rapidly collapsing ruins. All around the city, what looked to be farmland also blazed, contributing to building firestorm. Flames spread outwards, racing through plains and forests, consuming everything in sight. The heat of the fires, though its source was distant, rolled into him as if he were standing on top of a camp fire. The pulsing and flickering light, the black clouds he had seen, this is what they were. As he scanned the carnage before him, he could see even more distant fires reaching for the skies, which could only be other towns and cities being burnt to the ground. His heart suddenly felt heavy, at the loss of life that would have to have accompanied such destruction. He began to feel an urge to help somehow, but how? His arms became suddenly heavier, and it felt as if a great burden had been laid on his shoulders. Looking down, Secorro found that his torn and beaten robes were gone, and that he was now outfitted in a suit of well tended scale mail armor. His personal armor, to be exact, including the bright blue tabard embroidered with the holy symbol of Tyr. A large circular shield of iron and wood was strapped to his left arm, and in his right hand he found a large mace much like his own, only it seemed much larger than was possible for him to wield.
A gravelly voice suddenly, but softly, called out from behind him. “Do you think yourself to be some sort of hero?”
Secorro spun around, the mace instinctively raised to a ready stance, his shield brought close and ready for an attack. He found himself staring at something that he could not put a name to. It seemed to be shaped like a man, two arms, and two legs; but its head seemed large and reptilian. Deep, dark blue scales covered the creatures form, and single jagged horn emerged from its forehead. The creature bared its sharp, yellowed teeth, and loosed a low growl, as it slowly edged toward him. It raised a clawed hand, gesturing behind Secorro.
“There is nothing left to be done. You are too late. This world will burn, now and forever.” It suddenly spread its arms wide, and loosed a terrible and foul smelling roar that made Secorro back up almost involuntarily.
Secorro finally found his voice since finding himself on this horrific landscape. “Stay back beast.” It came out much less imposing as he had intending, but truth be told he was only barely keeping his courage from turning to panic.
The scaled beast snarled in what could only be contempt and moved to close the gap between the two of them even further. Secorro inched back once more, only to almost lose his footing as the back of his heel left solid ground. He glanced down and behind him quickly, never lowering his weapon or shield, to survey what room he had left. The simple fact was that there was no where left for him to go, in fact his outcropping of rock seemed to have changed as well. Instead of a large open flat piece of earth jutting from the mountain, he now found that he was at the end of a long and narrow precipice that only barely held to the cliff face, and nothing but open air lay behind him. Turning to face his foe, Secorro tightened his grip on the mace, and hunched down to put as much of himself behind the shield as he could. Without warning, a heavy hand gripped his right shoulder from behind, and spun him round with such force that he almost lost his footing once more.
Secorro’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped agape, at he saw before him. Gone was the fiery scene of the dying countryside. Gone were the heat and the smoke and the mountain itself. There was only a gray nothingness; surrounding an elderly man who was easily a pace taller than Secorro. The man’s long gray hair and beard seemed to say that he was and old man, but the muscles that rippled in his chest and arms as he lowered his left hand to his side could have belonged to someone only a few years older than Secorro. Jutting above the older mans left shoulder was the hilt of a sword, and a large warhammer of intricately carved solid granite, hung on his left hip. But what Secorro truly gaped at were the empty sockets were the man’s eyes appeared to have gouged out, and his right arm ended not in a hand, but in a large metal cap made of gold and silver. Finally, one syllable managed to escape Secorro’s dried lips, and hardly a whisper at that.
“Tyr.”
The older man did not smile, but neither did he seem unpleasant or angry. He lifted his left hand once more and produced a helmet that Secorro had not noticed before. Gently, the man laid it upon Secorro’s head, and placed his firmly but not forcefully upon Secorro’s shoulder.
“Reveal the truth.” His voice was loud and booming, but it was not overly so.
“Punish the guilty.” Secorro immediately recognized the primary tenets that all Tyrrians knew to be their most sacred of duties.
“Right this wrong.” And with that the man spun him back around, and just as suddenly, Secorro found himself back on the cliff face, facing the blue scaled beast amongst the heat and smoke.
The creature roared and charged towards him, and without second thought Secorro launched himself towards the creature as well, yelling at the top of his lungs. The creature flung its claws wide, as if to bring Secorro down with a deadly embrace. But without out warning, Secorro suddenly stopped. As the creature closed the last few paces between them, Secorro brought his shield up before him and braced it with his mace. The creature collided into him with a force much greater than his size would suggest possible, but instead of trying to fight it, Secorro let his legs go limp and the pair of them began to topple over. In the brief moments as they fell, Secorro could smell the death that lingering about the creature, he could see into its eyes and all he saw was rage. But for a brief instant, the rage waned, and creature’s eyes widened with surprise and realization. The moment Secorro’s back struck the ground, he heaved up his knees and shield with all his strength. The creature’s momentum carried it forward and towards the precipice. It made a last scrabbling grab at Secorro’s shield that caused him slide over with it, headed towards their final rest. But as the creature fell, Secorro loosed his mace and clung to small chunk of boulder that caught in his gauntlet. He watched as the creature flailed and screamed as it fell out of sight, followed closely by Secorro’s mace. Grunting hard as he tried to pull himself up, his left arm hanging heavily at his side and still strapped to his shield, Secorro cried out as something suddenly smashed into the top of his hand. He looked up, and found himself locking eyes with a beautiful woman. Her dark black hair flowed down from a crown of five horns of bone. Her dress was made of red, blue, and black silks, all woven as if to be revealing of the person beneath, and yet revealing nothing. Her face was hidden behind a dark green veil, showing only dark eyes, glaring down at him. Secorro’s eyes wandered to his right hand and found the source of his pain. The woman had slammed her staff onto the back of his hand. The staff was unusually in appearance in that it had the look of being made entirely of scales. Secorro looked back at the woman as she began to chuckle in a low throaty voice.
“You are pathetic.”
Her voice had the sibilant sound of a thousand hissing snakes, each one trying to worm its way straight into his head.
“If you are the best your species has to offer, you and all you’re kind are doomed.”
Gritting his teeth as the woman began laughing in earnest, Secorro brought his shield up with all his might. As he had hoped it dislodged the staff from his hand, but the weight had been more than his tired arms were willing to manage any longer. As his swing followed through, his right hand lost its grip on the rock, and he fell. The sudden acceleration was exhilarating at first, until his conscious mind came to the realization that there was only one possible outcome for his current state. And as he fell, he could here the low and sinister voice of the woman as clearly as if she still stood next him.
“Who will save you now hero?”
Secorro closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable end to come. It was then that he heard another voice, this time clearly in his head alone. It was the elderly man from earlier, the one he had identified as Tyr. He was emphatically repeating his previous statements, this time making it sound more of an order or instruction.
“Right. This. Wrong.” And suddenly, Secorro stopped.
Secorro bolted upright, momentarily confused as to where he was. It was dark, but looking up revealed stars in a cloudless sky. He saw that he was lying next to dying fire, the fire he had started before he lay down to rest. Trying hard, Secorro tried to remember what just happened. He remembered falling, a man, a woman, and a beast? The thoughts slipped away even as he tried to conjure them. A sudden flash of memory, and his hands went to his head, and loud sigh of relief escaped his lips as he found his head as shorn as he remembered it should be and the hair of his top knot was smooth and trim if not perfectly clean. Secorro tried to remember more, but it was all a blur. It was obviously a dream, but yet was all too real. He decided that if anything else were to come to him, it could wait until morning. Being too tired to sleep however, Secorro spent the rest of the night and well into the dawn in reverent contemplation. All the while, the one thing that he did remember from the dream, echoed within his mind.
“Right this wrong.”
"Apparently getting your ass kicked is now part of a complete breakfast." -
Roy Greenhilt,
Order Of The Stick- An Answerer of questions, and Questioner of answers.