Trying my hand at writing something after watching the Shield Hero anime and playing Pathfinder: Kingmaker. While the titular character's backstory is based off the player character from the game, most of the Dungeons and Dragons side of things is based very loosely off the 3.5e and 5e ruleset.
As with most characters in an isekai setting, there's also going to be a big issue in terms of power scaling. Don't take this too seriously.
Given that my only form of personal exposure to D&D is the Baldur's Gate games and Pathfinder: Kingmaker, there's probably going to be plenty of inaccuracies and differences with the core ruleset.
Hope you enjoy!
The battle is lost.
Rulk Wardweaver glared defiantly at the ball of golden light before him that even now blazed brighter than the stars of the Golarion night sky. A circlet of glowing glyphs orbited endlessly around the creature, their forms ever-shifting, colours ever-flickering. One moment, it was the green of amusement; the next, the red of anger and the black of malice.
Waves of surprised amusement and threatening intent emanated from the creature. Rulk continued struggling, feebly stringing together the threads of magic despite the protests of his already-battered mind. The creature continued, uncaring, regarding his efforts as one might an ant before one's feet. The glyphs rotated around itself, pausing fractionally intermittently as it inspected the downed forms of Rulk and his companions that had dared to defy fate itself.
"I did warn you," the Lantern King's voice echoed lazily in his mind, its nonchalance betraying none of the fierce battle that had been fought. "To challenge me is to challenge an Eldest. I am one of many strings that hold the world in place. Formidable though you may be, you are entirely insignificant before me."
Scorch marks littered the walls of the throne room from Octavia's errant casts of Scorching Ray. Tiles were shattered from mighty blows of Amiri's greatsword, leaving only deep gouges in the once-pristine floor of the palace that marked the Kingdom of the Stolen Lands. Nok-nok's daggers lay embedded deep into the ground, hands still clutching tight to his weapons away from where the rest of his body had been sent strewn across the room by the Lantern King's endless waves of destructive magic. Chunks of stone were rent from the floor and ceiling from Rulk's own Transmutation magics that altered the very landscape itself.
They had fought hard, but all their efforts had been for nought. He was a wizard of the eighteenth level, capable of casting potent ninth level spells, yet he and his party had barely even pushed the Lantern King past the point of annoyance.
Even while he tried to feebly push himself back to his feet, Rulk could see the slithering vines and tendrils of the flora of the First World creeping slowly across his throne room, spreading into the far reaches of his kingdom. High above, the night sky was tinted with an unnatural purple, the air howling and screeching as the lands of his Kingdom merged with those of the primordial First World itself. He could hear the cries of his subjects and his allies beyond the palace walls, the roars of Owlbears and Mandragoras still invading into the Material Plane.
Maegar Varn. Jamandi Aldori. Armag. One by one, familiar voices became silenced.
His companions lay unmoving, and he was unsure of whether or not they lived. It didn't matter. So long as one of them survived, resurrection magics could bring them all back to life.
Rulk snarled, letting his intent guide the words that escaped his lips. His head pounded as he shaped the Weave that linked all the planes known and unknown to the font of raw magic that was the essence of all existence. He thrust his hand out, the reverberations of his incantation tugging on the threads of magic, infusing his spell with the warring hatred and despair that currently roared within his mind.
It was to no avail. The Lantern King turned its attention once more unto Rulk, and with a forceful tug that marked the magics of Counterspell,the meagre control that he held over his spell faded, a painful backlash searing its way up his arm.
"How curious!" A wave of yellow light sparked from one of the glyphs. Joy. "Even knowing how insignificant you are before me, still you fight!"
The last vestiges of strength left him. He slumped over, unable to support himself enough even to kneel, barely able to elevate his head to face the creature of chaos and deceit that had cursed his kingdom.
"Finish it," he rasped. Through eyes that could barely remain open, the half-orc could see the flames that spread across the capital of his kingdom. Chunks of earth and stone lay suspended in the air, caught by the chaotic energies that marked the transition between the Material Plane and the First World.
"Finish it?" Words marked with genuine confusion coursed through him. The colours shifted once more. "My dear king, do you not understand?"
"You are but an insignificant gnat before me." The Lantern King continued its speech, its form slowly drifting toward him. Rulk growled, ignoring the pain that simple action brought. "What do you own? A meagre patch of land; a few thousand souls? I am the very essence of chaos and magic, madness and deceit. My dominion far overshadows yours."
Its endless prattling was only prolonging the inevitable. He was about to demand an end to this farce, for the Lantern King to claim its victory, but the Eldest must have sensed his thoughts. A disapproving 'tsk' flooded his ears.
"Such impatience." It had no arms or limbs to speak of, and yet Rulk had the distinct sensation that it pointed toward Nyrissa, equally victim and perpetrator in the series of events that led to this current moment.
As punishment for attempting to steal the power of an Eldest, the Lantern King had demanded from her an Apology, earned through the destruction of a thousand kingdoms across millennia. It was her curse that had led to the Stag Lord's defeat, to Armag's madness and Irovetti's fall at Pitax, and now the destruction of Rulk's own kingdom. They had made a final attempt to defy the being that possessed the power of a god itself, and for their hubris they now paid the price.
"You see, her crime was theft. She sought to steal a kingdom, to seize the power of an Eldest. And so, her punishment was to offer the grains borne from the fall of a thousand kingdoms." A single fiery orb wafted lazily from its body, and Rulk heard the screams of the proud nymph that he both pitied and despised. "You, on the other hand, committed a far different crime."
"Your crime is ignorance," it adopted a lecturing tone. "You believed – as impossible as it sounds – that you could match an Eldest! That you could defeat me!" The colours cycled quickly, malevolent black fading into jovial yellow in an instant. "Still, you have amused me greatly. Who would ever have thought that the play that begun in ages past could have changed so drastically? That the Tragedy of Nyrissa the Nymph would turn into the Comedy of the Fool Rulk Wardweaver?"
Rulk tried to make his indignation known, but the otherworldly pressure of the Eldest hovering before him stilled his lips.
"Still you remain ignorant!" It gave a single round of booming laughter, before falling into a deadly, silent calm. "I wonder," he mused. "Do you see me as a villain, or perhaps a simple joker? Make no mistake, mortal. I am not good, or evil. I simply am. I am the embodiment of chaos itself, born since the world was young. Being an Eldest means being such a vast and self-sufficient value that one's equals becomes strangers and one's inferiors are entirely insignificant. Can your mortal mind even conceive of the truth? Of the essence of what I am?"
It sighed deeply. "For all your flaws, you have been amusing. This play is not yet over."
"You… have… won," Rulk forced out through the exhaustion gripping him. "My kingdom is destroyed. Tuskdale lies in ruins."
"Ah! How refreshing it must be to be so ignorant!" The world was fading away now. No longer could he see his doomed kingdom as it merged into the wild lands of the First World. His vision was darkening, creeping in from the edges. Soon, it would all be over.
Rulk could only hope that the Lantern King would see fit to grant him the peace of death. Perhaps he could meet his companions once more in the afterlife.
"The punishment must fit the crime," the Eldest's voice continued in a tone equally sagely and mocking. "You believed yourself capable of challenging one who plucks at the strings of fate itself. And so, I shall enlighten you."
He lacked the strength to speak. Please, he thought. Let it end.
"End? My dearest king, this play has barely even begun!" it admonished. "Ah, but how best to educate your mortal mind?" It hummed in consideration, before giving yet another round of roaring laughter.
"Why, of course! Not entirely my domain, certainly, but it would be perfect! I could be but a spectator as events unfold! All enjoyment, and none of the hassle!"
The world shifted, exploding into light. In this vast expanse, there was only himself and the Lantern King.
What in all the planes was this nonsense that the Eldest was spouting? Where in all the planes was he?
"An actor does not ask questions of the playwright," the Lantern King scolded, but there was no real malice in it. "I do wonder whether you will continue remaining ignorant? Or perhaps your mortal mind is capable of learning? Will you be the god that crushes those who grovel at your feet, or will you foolishly struggle against higher powers that you can barely comprehend? Will the Waves have the same result as the curse that befell your Kingdom?"
'Waves'? The Ancient Curse?
"Oh, I can hardly wait to see the next act! Will it be comedy, or tragedy?"
The world continued churning around him, white light turning into the glowing yellows and reds of flame, the black of night and the green of grass. None of it made any sense.
"Ah, but I almost forgot!" The world around them paused for an instant. A tendril of flickering flame extended out from the formless mass of primal energy that marked the Lantern King's true essence. The moment it connected with Rulk, his entire world lurched. Some of the exhaustion faded from him. There was a sense of something more, altogether ethereal and incomprehensible.
"A gift, for the amusement you have already given me. After all, every Hero needs his mark, yes?"
Before he could even process a further thought, the swirling mass of colours shifted frenziedly, and then exploded into light.
-o-o-o-
Rulk was no stranger to teleportation magic. While still incapable of casting the ninth level Gate spell, he had travelled through teleportation circles and countless hastily-casted Dimension Doors in the past. The rush of wind and sound as the invisible threads of the Weave spun around him was something extremely familiar to him.
This was anything but that. He had been ejected from whatever plane of existence the Lantern King had brought him to, tumbling onto solid ground below before finally rolling to a halt. He grunted, pushing himself to his feet, eyes still clearing from the blinding flash of light that marked his exit following the Lantern King's final cryptic words.
When he finally got his bearings several seconds later, there were several striking observations and realisations that leapt at him simultaneously.
One: He was alive, and he was alone.
That was clear enough. All around him, there were no signs of the companions that had stood by him since they first met at the Aldori mansion five years ago. The solid ground and altogether mundane environment around him suggested that he had been deposited somewhere within the Material Plane. The threads of the Weave still permeated through him and all existence.
An experimental, mindless cast of Prestidigitation showed no differences in the workings of magic. Dust and soot disappeared from his robes that had been ruined both from the previous hours of fighting against the denizens of the First World and the Lantern King, and from his unceremonious arrival into wherever the Lantern King had brought him. A quick check of his belongings revealed that everything he carried during his final battle was still with him.
There was not much, of course. Beyond what he wore on his person, there were only a few healing potions, some basic spell reagents and the meagre contents of the bag of holding attached to his belt. He couldn't even remember the last time he ran inventory on the extradimensional space of his bag; most of his party's belongings were carried within the larger bag of holding that Valerie carried. Thankfully, his spellbook was still safely sequestered away within the bag.
Two: Something unnatural was happening.
He was no expert diviner, knowing just barely enough of the magics of the School of Divination to get by. Such experts could see into the workings of magic beyond sight itself, attaining an instinctual understanding over magic and all that it interacted with.
Still, he could feel how the threads of the Weave unravelled around him, mixing chaotically in the skies above that were tinted a dark red and purple. He had never travelled beyond the River Kingdoms of Golarion, but he highly doubted that this was its natural state. It was almost like how it had been hours earlier, when his kingdom bore the wrath of the Lantern King after he had dared rewrite the fate that the Eldest had in mind for Nyrissa and his kingdom.
Three, and an extension of the previous observation: There were monsters all around him.
They were creatures both familiar to him and yet entirely different from those he had encountered in the past. Swarms of locusts and zombies of all sorts advanced in all directions, some moving toward him while others continued toward fires in the distance. Now that the ringing in his ears had dissipated, he could hear the screams and cries for help that cut through the night sky, mimicking those of the subjects he had failed.
There was something unnatural about these monsters. The zombies he had encountered before had a distinctive sense about them, the necromantic magics that sustained the reanimated corpses plainly evident to virtually any wizard with an iota of experience even without the use of the most basic of divination magics. These zombies were unlike that, still likely magical in origin, but powered by an entirely different and unfamiliar branch of magic.
He cursed at his lack of preparation. He could probably have gleaned more information about his current circumstances with a cast of True Seeing, but he had deemed the spell unlikely to be of use against the Lantern King and had not taken the time to refresh his memory regarding the exact workings of the spell. A sorcerer could have casted it through natural instinct and control over magic, but as a wizard Rulk had always learned and utilised his spells in a more structured manner of study, practice and memorisation.
Four: The Arcane Focus in his hand was not one that he had previously encountered.
His previous focus was a delicate thing, an orb made of carefully carved crystal procured from the finest Pitaxian craftsmen. Virtually every wizard utilised an arcane focus of some sort, whether it was an ornately-crafted staff or gem-studded wand. With them, wizards could interact with the Weave in ways that their own bodies could not, bypassing the material components of some simple spells.
The orb in his hand was unfamiliar. It radiated an obvious sense of magic, but he could not even begin to fathom its properties. There were layers upon layers of arcane runes, wards and enchantments that he couldn't decipher. He tried to cast an experimental Identify spell, but even that failed to reveal its inner workings.
He didn't know whether this was part of the Lantern King's gift, or part of whatever twisted play that he was currently an actor of. It should have been concerning, but the next observation lowered its relative importance in the list of things that he needed to immediately deal with.
Five: He was either being subject to a potent mind-altering spell, suddenly a diviner beyond the likes of any he had encountered before, or hallucinating far more than the time that Nok-Nok had slipped some mushrooms gathered from their brief foray into the First World during the Season of Bloom into his food.
There were words and symbols scattered across his entire visual field. It was no True Seeing that revealed the inner workings of magic; this was an altogether different type of information being presented to him. He saw his name presented in bold script, alongside other information about… himself?
Rulk Wardweaver
Wizard – Abjuration Specialist
Level 1
Level one? Impossible. He was an eighteenth level wizard, and a quick check of his mental faculties and the beginnings of the utterance of several words of power revealed that yes, he was still capable of casting even the most potent spells of his currently prepared repertoire. There were yet more symbols and words strewn before his eyes, all of which he understood their literal meaning but had no clue whatsoever as to how they currently pertained to him.
He hardly had time to consider his current situation. Zombies – and yes, whatever accursed mind-altering magic currently affecting him named them as such – were moving toward him. He had no idea what twisted game the Lantern King was playing, but he was thankful that his parting gift had partially rejuvenated him, allowing him to continue casting some spells that he had already expended despite having been utterly exhausted and drained following their completely one-sided battle.
He took stock of their advance, and made a decision. Holding a single outstretched hand, he began his incantation, his voice the conduit that bridged his material self with the Weave to guide and order raw magic into devastation unto his foes. The words mattered not, only the pitch and resonance, but most wizards still tended to stick to tradition, selecting words that matched the meaning of the spells they were about to cast.
"Infernus…" he began, the thrum of power distorting his voice. "Surgo…"
The sigil that marked the magic of the School of Evocation sprung into existence in front of his outstretched hand, glyphs rotating slowly at first, then quickly picking up speed as the metaphysical threads of the Weave vibrated.
"Rejicio!"
With a final burst of power that marked the completion of his incantation, the Fireball raced outward from the sigil of Evocation, landing in the middle of a group of advancing zombies and flying locusts with a massive crash of force and flame.
An instant later, all that was left of them was a crater in the ground, a mass of roaring flames, and ashes in the dirt.
Perhaps he had overdone it a little. They were but zombies, and a Third Level Fireball was a potent spell.
Cursed gods, his vision filled with strings of words of uncertain meaning once more.
+10 EXP
+10 EXP
+10 EXP
+10 EXP
It continued for several more moments, centred on his vision even as he turned his head. Alright. Now, there was no doubt that he was being subject to mind-altering magics. Thankfully, as a specialist of the School of Abjuration, he had the perfect spell to counter it.
After making sure that he was not in immediate danger of being attacked by the monsters all around, he began another incantation. The shield-like crest that marked Abjuration magic formed before himself, then stretched and encircled around him, rotating with increasing speed which each word of power that escaped his lips. More sigils formed within the primary sigil; an endless fractal coalescing inward as magical power raged around him.
It was an Eighth Level spell, entirely difficult to master, and many wizards died far before coming to learn of such magic. With each word, the pressure that grew in his mind only increased, yet he intoned each syllable perfectly as it shaped the threads of magic to his desired effect. When the final Word left his lips, the now-spherical matrix of the spell collapsed inward, centred upon his head.
Mind Blank.
It was entirely ineffective.
Nothing about his vision changed, and every bit of learning and experience told Rulk that failure of his spell should have been impossible. It was the perfect shield against all manner of magic that touched the mind, even against the most potent of spells that defied fate itself.
Which meant that this wasn't the result of some obscure mind-magic. He couldn't even possibly be hallucinating, because that spell had completely negated Nok-Nok's best efforts at spiking his food with substances of dubious origin and effect.
A loud explosion in the distance interrupted his musing. An arcing flare streaked high up into the reddened sky. There was no ignoring the increasingly desperate cries for help and the roar of flames all around him now. There were many more questions to be answered, but the time to act was now.
He had no idea what the Lantern King had in store for him. He had no idea where his companions were. He didn't even know whether or not he was still in Golarion. The Lantern King had sought to teach him a lesson in futility, to accept the destruction that higher powers may bring. It wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility that these encroaching monsters were the minions of said power, and that the Lantern King fully expected him to rush to combat them.
He could stand aside and ignore all that was happening, to try and figure a way to return to his doomed kingdom. Or, he could remain ignorant, as the Lantern King had so kindly put it, and fight to save these unknown people that were currently struggling against the horde of creatures, as he had done in protection of his own subjects what felt only like hours ago.
He was Rulk Wardweaver, wizard. He was an Abjurer, one that mastered the art of forming and breaking shields, of protecting and banishing. He was a half-orc, scorned and feared by both human and orc, and many other races of Golarion. Prior to his embarking on the quest to reclaim the Stolen Lands, he had met their derision with defiance, working endlessly in his pursuit of magic despite the rarity of such gifts among half-orcs. The very lifeblood that marked his heritage refused to yield even in the face of the gods themselves.
Fate and destiny meant nothing. His life was not the plaything of gods or men. If this was to be a lesson, the Lantern King would find him to be a slow learner indeed. Even gods could fall, and some day Rulk would see the Eldest that thought itself a deity defeated.
He could have imagined it, but the orb in his hand seemed almost to hum.
-o-o-o-
Iwatani Naofumi's shield flashed through the air, barely catching a zombie's blade just moments before it would have skewered a villager holding a pitchfork with trembling hands. With a grunt, he turned his arm outward, forcing the zombie to stagger backwards.
"Go! Run!" he shouted, his heart pounding in his chest, not sparing even a single moment to look toward the man whose life he just saved.
"You're the Shield Hero –"
The villager's cries abruptly fell silent as the zombie advanced once more. Naofumi readied to defend, eyeing the blade carefully. He was about to move, when a sword pierced through the zombie's chest from behind, blood spattering out from where it exited.
Perfect timing. "Raphtalia!" he yelled, as the girl in question withdrew her blade, the zombie's corpse sliding lifelessly onto the already-bloodstained ground. "Go help the villagers evacuate!"
"What?" she turned toward him, startled. "But what about you?"
There was no time for argument. Lives were at stake here.
"I'll lure the enemies away. Go!" He sprinted away from her before she even had the chance to answer. He hoped that she would follow his order.
"But – " He ignored her protests. This was the best way for him to perform his duty as the Shield Hero.
He held his shield in front of him, his feet moving rapidly as he bowled over the monsters in his way. The plan was simple: he would draw their attention, give the villagers time to regroup and evacuate, and stall for time while Raphtalia and Melromarc's soldiers provided reinforcements.
Of course, there were so many flaws in this plan. It relied on him surviving the endless horde currently running rampant through the village's streets, and even with his immense defensive abilities he was still vulnerable to their attacks. The soldiers, ever the loyal lapdogs of the King, would likely never provide assistance to the Shield Hero. The only one he could really count on was Raphtalia, and he had just ordered her away from assisting him.
He ordered the villagers to retreat, never pausing in his steps all the while. He was simply moving, his body and mouth running on autopilot, deflecting blows and drawing the ire of the invading monsters where he could.
He didn't know why he was even protecting these villagers. Since his arrival to this world, he'd been treated with nothing but derision, and barred from returning back to his own home. He owed them nothing. He didn't need to risk his life for them.
And yet, he wouldn't do anything else.
He laughed bitterly as he eyed the horde of monsters at his back. At least the villagers were gone now. Quickly, he eyed his surroundings. His best option was –
There! The tower!
He bounded quickly toward it. One step; two, three. He leapt into the air, willing the strange power of his shield into being.
"Air Strike Shield!"
He barely paused as he landed on the corporeal construct that formed in mid-air, riding on the momentum of his initial movement as he jumped toward the watchtower. With a gripped tight around the supporting wooden beams, he pulled, hard, vaulting over onto the platform above.
This would either be really awesome, or really stupid.
He inhaled deeply, then struck the bell of the watchtower hard. Once, twice, and then again.
Now, he definitely had their attention. Monsters were shambling slowly toward him, climbing up the ladder at the tower's base, tumbling over one another as they slowly ascended.
Here goes nothing. He doused the platform with oil, and ignited the now highly-flammable platform with the torch in his hand. With a running start, he leapt off the platform that had served its purpose.
'Rope Shield!' he thought, throwing his newly-morphed shield at a supporting beam of the tower. The rope grew taut, and for an instant he lay motionless in mid-air. With the momentum that he had, and the flames quickly laying waste to the wooden structure, it should –
The tower buckled. The ground raced toward him. He grimaced, transforming his shield back to a more durable one, holding it before him.
This was going to suck. He closed his eyes, bracing himself against the impact to come…
Except it didn't. Slowly, he looked around himself.
He was drifting toward the ground; slowly, leisurely.
What?
-o-o-o-
There were a lot of monsters, certainly, but Rulk had definitely overestimated the threat they posed during his initial inspection.
The zombies he was used to were fairly formidable in their own right, capable of taking out adventurers just barely starting out on their journeys. Entire adventuring parties could struggle against groups of the undead constructs made by some long-forgotten necromancer dwelling in a cave in the middle of nowhere. These zombies were, for the lack of a better term, goblin fodder.
Seriously, they could be destroyed by a single cantrip?!
He was currently nearing the entrance to the village he had seen fire the flare from where he had been sent by the Lantern King. With the result of his initial Fireball more than satisfactory, he had decided to tone down his spell-work, so as to conserve the higher-tier spells that he had prepared, memorised and engraved in his mind for more threatening opponents.
He couldn't possibly go lower than casting cantrips, magics so basic that they hardly required any conscious input and visualisation of the spell matrix to be used. Yet, the Firebolt he casted had seared its way through the chest of one of the lumbering monsters, then impacted against a second, the resultant shockwave launching it into another group that lay behind.
He shook his head. He couldn't let his guard down. Seeing as it was the Lantern King who sent him here, it certainly wouldn't be past the realm of possibility for an ancient dragon or lich to show up at any time. The Eldest was also known as the Laughing Lie and the very essence of guile and deceit for a reason.
He stepped past the threshold that marked the village's borders. Already, portions of the wooden walls had collapsed from both the assaulting monsters and spreading flames. The air was thick with locusts that still continued to stream down from the chaotic energies in the sky above, while zombies approached whatever targets they could find.
Then, he heard a scream. A woman hugged a child tightly, shielding the younger one with her back, as a zombie raised its sword toward the pair.
Mother and child. Rulk growled, raising his hand and uttering an incantation in a single motion. The Firebolt struck the creature, and the scent of charred flesh mixed with those of blood and soot. Even as it fell, he was already launching another spell toward other targets. Zombies fell to casts of Acid Splash and Ray of Frost, while Gust sent the swarm of locusts into disarray as harsh winds carried them away from their targets.
Level up! Level 3 attained.
For all that this was easy, it would certainly be better if those damned numbers stopped appearing in his vision.
EXP notifications turned off.
EXP notifications? He had no idea what in all of Golarion that was supposed to mean, but given that he could finally see again he wasn't about to argue.
In the corner of his vision, he saw the mother slowly turn around as the blow that would end her life never came, only to startle upon catching sight of him. He was about to yell for them to escape through the path he had cleared just behind, but she instead wrapped her child even more tightly and began to shriek. Words came rapidly out of her mouth, desperation and fear clear in her voice, but…
The words themselves made no sense to him at all.
He wouldn't claim himself to be a particularly gifted linguist, certainly nowhere close to the skill displayed by Linzi and the bards of the Pitaxian Academy of Grand Arts. He knew the common language of Golarion, some basic orcish owing to his upbringing as a half-breed, and a smattering of some of the more obscure tongues of the River Kingdoms. The lexicon he possessed didn't come close to matching any of the words spewing out from her lips.
Of course the Lantern King wouldn't make this easy. At least he was now almost certain that this wasn't Golarion.
He could probably understand her with a simple cast of Comprehend Languages, a rudimentary first level Divination spell that would enable understanding of any written or spoken language through the will of magic itself. It would require him to work on its ritual casting for a full ten minutes, given that he had not seen any reason to use the spell in a long time. He wasn't even sure whether he had ever needed to cast the spell at all before.
It didn't matter right now, anyway. He highly doubted these monsters would be willing to sit idly while he cast the spell.
Carefully, he moved toward the pair of humans, keeping an eye out for more of the monsters as he did so. "Peace," he said slowly, even though they wouldn't be able to understand him. Communication was more than just words and meaning. "I will not harm you."
She pushed her child behind herself, spreading her arms out to shield her with her own body. Her feet trembled, and fear was clear in her eyes, but it was mixed with defiance. She continued shouting rapidly, which by Rulk's best guess was some sort of threat.
He spread his arms out as non-threateningly as he could, then pointed toward the village entrance. "Go," he tried saying. "The way is clear. The monsters –"
A zombie tried to creep toward them from the side, but its life was ended by yet another incantation of power and blast of flame. "Go," he continued, his voice rising in amplitude. "Move!"
Slowly, the mother began lowering her arms, and ceased her speaking. She continued watching him cautiously, but she must have sensed the intent of his words, because she tugged quickly at her child's arm and moved past him.
He spared just a moment further to cover their retreat, commanding the winds to scatter the locusts that were flying toward them. Deeper in the village, he could still hear the sounds of clashing steel and cries for help.
He was still barely at the village entrance! Hurriedly, he continued, only to find yet more entrapped and injured people just in the street beyond. Quickly, he took in the sight before him, analysed the situation, and acted.
He froze a few zombies in their tracks with a cast of Ray of Frost, barking orders at the cornered villagers to escape. Like the woman, they froze, looking at him with equal amounts of fear and hate, caught by indecision. It required more forceful gesturing and pointing, coupled with him covering the retreat of their peers for them to leave.
This is going too slow. Their first instinct seemed to be viewing him as an enemy. He couldn't fault them for that, many orc clans did tend to be averse to human civilisations. But it seemed almost as though they had never seen an orc before.
Because they hadn't. It was simple. If his conjecture was right, this was not Golarion, which meant that orcs may not even have existed here, as implausible as it sounded. It certainly fit their reactions to him, and the unknown language that they spoke.
It did mean that he was wasting far too much time trying to get them to understand that he was on their side, at least until he could get his bearings. Between the denizens of whatever chaotic plane these creatures were currently spewing out from, and the terrified villagers that were the target of their ire, it seemed reasonable for him to lend them his support. Still, he couldn't afford to spend time convincing them of his intentions.
What options did he have? He could destroy entire swathes of the monsters, but such magics wouldn't easily discriminate between his enemies and the helpless villagers. Buying time and covering their retreat meant the loss of more lives deeper within the village. He needed a way to allow their retreat without spending precious moments striking down enemies that came at them from behind, which meant…
Now that was an idea.
A cast of Prestidigitation sent a shower of rainbow sparks flying overhead, flitting rapidly through the air around him. Lights danced and sounds boomed. Ideas came to him quickly, things that were certain to catch the attention of the swarming monsters. A simple use of Light on the sleeve of his robe allowed him to stand out amidst the darkness of the village street; Thunderclap was effective at both sending nearby zombies flying backward from shockwaves of force and drawing the ire of more monsters.
All these spells were the most basic of cantrips, but here they did the job. He effortlessly enshrouded himself with the semi-corporeal shield of Mage Armour, a First Level Abjuration spell that he had mastered casting with practised ease over his years of training.
He clutched tight on the protective magic, organising a strand of the spell's magic that was about to reform into its natural state in the Weave to create an arcane ward around himself. It was a technique known by wizards who chose to specialise in the School of Abjuration, allowing for the creation of secondary magical shields using magic that would otherwise be wasted in the wake of Abjuration spells.
Swords glanced off the essence of magical protection itself, sending zombies stumbling backward. Grinning widely, he began to run deeper into the village, drawing their attention all the while. He snorted at the dumbfounded look that some villagers gave him, as they stared at the sight for several more seconds before finally beginning to move.
On and on it went. The monsters were chipping away at his Arcane Ward, but it still remained fairly strong. There was no need to renew it with a second cast of Mage Armour just yet. There were occasionally monsters that refused to acknowledge his existence despite the now even more eye-catching sight he had created courtesy of basic cantrips. Crude figurines made of sparks of bright, glowing colours were crafted through his use of Prestidigitation, paired alongside the most obnoxious sounds he could think of (Nok-Nok's laughter) that he made manifest through Minor Illusion.
For those monsters, he spared a moment to dispatch of them with a simple Firebolt or Ray of Frost, before continuing on his way.
He was almost about to reach the centre of the village, if the large clearing that demarcated the village square was any indication, when he heard the sound of bells ringing off to the side. Slowing down just fractionally, he turned to look at the commotion, his natural darkvision that stemmed from his orcish heritage allowing him to catch sight of just what was going on.
There was a human with messy hair ringing the bell atop a watchtower. Some of the monsters trailing behind him turned their attention toward the newcomer, moving toward the tower. What was he doing? His position would be overrun at any instant, which meant…
Ah. He must have had the same idea.
It was bizarre, though. As far as Rulk could tell, this human held only a shield, and no weapon in his other hand. Even Valerie, fearless and talented with the Tower Shield as she was, wouldn't charge into battle without a sword or mace at her side.
He took advantage of the distraction that the human posed to send blasts of fire and waves of acid at several more zombies, but kept notice of the human's actions all the while. Rulk hoped that he had a plan, because as far as he could tell, he was about to become swarmed at any minute.
He narrowed his eyes as the human began to set fire to the tower. Surely he wouldn't –
The human leapt off from the side, his shield somehow magically transforming into a rope. Rulk's eyes widened at the sight. Enchanted weapons and armour weren't uncommon, but he had never heard of one with such a strange capability. Surely it wouldn't be worth the time, effort and gold to enchant a shield for so mundane a purpose?
Rulk cursed as the tower began to collapse. The human was falling, curling his body and holding his hands out as he raced toward the ground. Rulk had but moments to act.
He reacted on pure instinct. Everyone knew the perfect spell to use in such a situation.
Feather Fall.
It took just a moment longer before he realised that he had no idea what the matrix was for that exact spell, having been hastily scrawled in his spellbook a long time ago. It shouldn't have worked.
Yet his mouth and lips moved of their own accord, as magic warped around his chosen target, sending him drifting slowly toward the ground below.
It was impossible. It should be impossible. He was a wizard, not someone gifted in spontaneous casting such as a bard or sorcerer. Every single spell he used had to be meticulously prepared, its sigils and glyphs carved firmly into his mind, repeated as though a mantra each day.
Then, something changed in the glowing text that littered his vision.
SP: 10/20
Something strange was afoot, but this was not the time to dwell on it. The human was about to land right into an advancing pack of zombies. Aiming carefully, he launched the second and last Fireball that he had prepared, annihilating the entire group. Had these 'EXP notifications' not been disabled, no doubt he would have been blinded by their glowing messages once more.
"Human!" Rulk shouted, altering the battlefield with repeated casting of Control Flames to spread flames across the scattered debris. Separated as they were, Rulk couldn't immediately provide any immediate assistance to the human. The shield-warrior took a moment to regain his bearings, shaking his head, before catching sight of Rulk. He took a wary step backward, holding his shield before him.
Rulk swore. This was hardly the time for hostility. Based on how the human had acted, no doubt the pair of them had attracted virtually all the monsters assailing the village. He continued working his way through the horde of monsters, conserving his higher-tier spells where he could, but made sure to keep an eye on the warrior.
Unfamiliar shouts cut through the battlefield. Rulk turned at the sound. The villagers had reorganised behind the warrior, clutching makeshift weapons. An admirable effort, but their stances suggested they were utterly untrained. The warrior must have thought the same thing, because he was exchanging fierce words with the villager leading the rest.
So caught up in their argument were they that they didn't notice the giant zombie wearing what appeared to be spiked plate armour approaching them, a giant club raised as it charged. Probably more formidable than the rest, then.
Rulk prepared a spell, a single pointed finger outstretched toward the giant. It was probably overkill, based on how weak the other zombies were, but better to be safe than sorry.
"Pulvis!"
His incantation consisted of a single word, but it betrayed none of the complexity that the spell required to reorganise the threads of the Weave for his desired effect of unmaking. A thin, green beam shot forth from his finger, connecting with the creature at the base of its neck.
Disintegrate. A Sixth Level Transmutation spell. From where the beam struck, the substance forming the creature began to vanish, order giving way to entropy, extending upward to the entirety of its head and downward to its knees. Plated greaves remained stationary in the dirt, the rest of its body and armour turned into dust that still slowly scattered in the wind.
That certainly caught the attention of the humans. "Pay attention!" Rulk yelled, gesturing at the remaining monsters. He didn't have many good options to take them out, at least not without potentially harming the humans that were now alternating between staring at him with wide eyes and fending off the approaching monsters.
With the battles leading up to his doomed clash with the Lantern King and the spells he used since his arrival in this strange land, he had used up all of the spells of Sixth Level and above that he had prepared. He had some mid-tier utility-based magic left available to him, spells aimed more to control the battlefield than for outright destructive purposes. His role had always been more geared towards providing support to Octavia, Nok-Nok and Amiri while they demonstrated their destructive capabilities. Beyond that, all he had were cantrips and the Mage Armour spell that he could freely use from all the time he'd spent devoting the spell's nature into memory each night.
Of course, there was that strange single episode of spontaneous casting, but Rulk had no idea how he had managed it. It wasn't an option that he could rely on.
The humans were rallying. The warrior was shouting orders at them, moving them about the battlefield. After a moment longer, Rulk decided that he seemed to know what he was doing, and could probably devote a few more spells to support his efforts.
He took a quick glance at the battlefield, noting the chokepoints leading up into the square that they were now boxed in. Too narrow, too wide, too close to the villagers, but that one…
Perfect. Rulk inhaled, stamping hard on the ground. "Fingo…" he incanted. The pressure began building up, as the earth at his target location slowly vibrated. "Voro…"
The earth sunk inward, and he hurried to the final word of power of the incantation, the words flowing together with the natural ebb and flow of the Weave. He reached to press a single finger down into the ground below, and completed his spell. "Fero!"
Erupting Earth. Monsters were equally churned and crushed by the tectonic movements of the earth, as they were forcefully ejected out into the ranks of their peers behind. Some were launched toward the rallying humans, who, to their credit, reacted quickly and cut them down before they could recover.
The zombies were being slowed in their tracks at that particular entry point, easing the humans' burden slightly. Still, though, more zombies were advancing, and a second use of the same spell removed that as an option he could use.
At that moment, a flash of steel caught his eye. He turned, barely paying attention as a zombie's claws bounced off his Arcane Ward, only to be launched away by a Thunderclap a moment later. There was a humanoid figure moving rapidly through the scores of monsters, deftly wielding a sword to cut them down. She looked almost human, except for a tail and animal-like ears that he could just barely catch between the instants where she slowed her movements.
Rulk could quite fairly say that he had never met a race like that before, but given that she seemed to be on their side, he wasn't about to continue down that line of questioning. There were more pressing matters.
The newcomer regrouped with the shield-warrior, exchanging a rapid conversation between striking down the approaching monsters. She briefly recoiled at the sight of Rulk, pointing at him and exchanging hurried words with the warrior. He must have had convinced her that he was on their side in this conflict, because she only regarded Rulk for a moment longer before slaying more zombies.
She was competent, but was being forced to retreat more than once in order to avoid swipes of the monsters' claws and weapons. Evidently, though formidable in offense, she couldn't deflect attacks the same way the warrior had. Mentally, he compared her to the rogues that he was more familiar with. If it worked with Nok-Nok, then…
Temporarily ceasing his casts of Firebolt and Acid Splash, he concentrated hard on his desired spell, willing magic to suffuse an area as large as was possible, imparting his intent to restrain and bind. His voice brought form to his desire, a simple whisper that reached the ears of his foes by the will of magic, and with a final forceful slam of his palm on the ground his spell was completed.
Phantasmal Web. An Illusion that existed only in the mind of his desired targets, the Fifth Level spell was the perfect solution to his current issues. In the past, it had allowed Nok-Nok to flit between foes encumbered by illusionary webs made very real for the victims of the spell, striking them down without mercy while Octavia rained down bolts of fire as they stood completely still.
Now, it enabled what looked to be his temporarily allies to move between monsters unhindered, attacking with whatever weapons they held in their hands while evading the monsters' retaliatory attacks with their movements restricted as they were.
It was working. With the way he had shaped the battlefield, the flow of monsters toward the village square was slowing, allowing the villagers to hold their position despite their obvious lack of skill. Rulk was able to slowly carve his way through the monsters that stood between him and the humans. There were probably less than twenty zombies that separated them now. His Arcane Ward was still holding strong, although he would soon need to replenish the protective magical energies suffusing it.
Whoosh. The sound of rushing air reached his ears, but he didn't even need to turn to identify their origin. Bright sparks were being launched into their air just beyond the village's borders, trailing high up in the night sky.
What? Rulk's eyes narrowed, watching as the flares coalesced high above the middle of their village. He could sense that they were of magical origin, but their purpose eluded him. What could they –
The glowing orb that hung high above exploded, and a shower of smaller balls of flame began to rain down. It didn't take much longer for Rulk to understand their purpose. Melf's Minute Meteors was an Evocation spell he was well familiar with, and while probably not the same brand of magic the purpose of these flares was probably the same. The problem was that there were a lot of them.
Abandoning his position, he rushed toward the band of humans, who were now beginning to come to the same realisation as himself. To his credit, the shield-bearer was feebly trying to protect those under his charge, shielding the swordfighter with his own body while she hid under his cloak, but there were far too many villagers for him alone to protect. He projected a shield above the villagers' position – some form of Abjuration magic that Rulk was unfamiliar with, perhaps? – but Rulk could tell that the construct was too fragile and covered too small an area to protect the villagers.
The Arcane Ward flared brightly as he ran right into the strikes of several zombies. It shattered to another blow, but now Rulk was positioned close enough to the group of scared villagers to offer help of his own. Closing his eyes, he muttered an incantation, focusing on the desired effect and the organisation of the spellform.
Shielding. Group. Flames. Let the will of magic prevail against the flames above.
Protection from Energy, Communal. From a hand raised up toward the sky, the glyph flared into life comfortably above their heads, holding strong as the projectiles of magical fire impacted against his shield. The cowering villagers looked at the sight with amazement, watching as the semi-corporeal blue shield absorbed what would have almost certainly been their deaths. Outside of the barrier, monsters were being burnt to a crisp by the dozens.
When the magical barrage was at last over, he replenished his Arcane Ward with the residual power of the Abjuration spell, restoring it to its pristine state. Looking around, it seemed as though that from the combination of the monsters he'd slain from where he'd approached the village, the path that the warrior had taken from the opposite end of the village, and the flames that had scorched all those they had brought with them, the monsters were now almost completely cleared out. Idly, he launched a Firebolt at a badly burnt zombie that was clawing its way up from the ground, having miraculously survived the assault.
Someone had launched the spell to destroy the monsters, possibly after having seen the same distress flare that alerted Rulk of the villagers' need for assistance. Had they known that the villagers hadn't yet evacuated?
He turned to face the humans whose lives he had just saved. Caution was clear in their eyes, and Rulk couldn't blame them for such. From their perspective, he had managed to take down more of those zombies than the rest of them combined, and hadn't received so much as a scratch, having had his Arcane Ward to take the brunt of the monsters' attacks. He'd certainly received the same look from the people of Pitax, back when he and his companions had taken the war that King Irovetti started to the streets of Pitax itself.
But where there was wariness, there was also a sense of gratefulness. As far as first impressions went, it was a fairly decent one, especially considering that he was incapable of conversing with them.
The villager in front tried to speak with him, but again it was a fruitless endeavour. As it was with the woman earlier, they shared no common language. After making sure that his companion hadn't been harmed, the pair began to approach Rulk. They had proven themselves fairly capable during the battle, and while he had met and fought both alongside and against more formidable fighers, they were clearly a cut above the villagers.
He was curious of their identities and station, adding on to the list of things he needed answers for that had grown immensely since being transported to this land, but he couldn't see a way of getting information short of casting both Comprehend Languages and Tongues. Those spells would need to be a priority for him as soon as he could spare the time to study them in his spellbook.
The one with the shield began speaking, gesturing with his hands for emphasis. But unlike the previous attempts with the human villagers, this time there was a single word that Rulk knew.
Orc. Rulk's eyes widened with surprise. Did he know of his race?
"Orc," Rulk repeated, pointing at himself. "Half-orc, to be precise. Do you speak Common?"
His newest acquaintance looked equally surprised at having been understood, but stared uncomprehendingly at the rest of his question. He didn't speak the Common tongue of Golarion, then. But how could he have identified his race?
"Orc," he tried with the villagers. Unlike the shield-bearer, the term seemed to be unfamiliar to them, as they looked between the pair with confusion. By his side, the female sword-fighter didn't fare better, asking rapid questions to her companion.
At that point, the red skies and swirling vortices high above suddenly cleared, and were replaced with their normal blue, dotted all around with clouds. The chaotic energies that had been ever-present since his arrival into this land abruptly vanished, which only added on to the questions Rulk needed answers for. There was an almost analogous similarity to the changes in the landscape at the Bald Hilltop after his party fended off the waves of creatures of the First World that emerged from portals, each time the Ancient Curse befell his kingdom.
Wait.
'Wave'? Hadn't the Lantern King mentioned something similar?
It was perplexing. Rulk was about to begin the ritual casting of Comprehend Languages despite the long period that he would need to channel and guide the magics of the Weave, if only so that he could at least understand what they were saying. Before he could even step back and explain his intentions as best he could with charades, however, the sound of screeching steel and loud shouts interrupted him.
-o-o-o-
The one who had come to the aid of the village was definitely an orc. Naofumi didn't even need any of the any Heroes who were more familiar with this world to tell him that. Virtually every fantasy world portrayed orcs in almost the same way.
While shorter and of a less stocky build than Naofumi would have expected, based on the common fantasy depiction of orcs, he was still larger than most humans he'd seen in this world. With his grey skin, coarse facial features, prominent canines and generally intimidating appearance all around, the orc certainly fit the image of the monsters in many of the fantasy novels he'd read.
The orc had as much as confirmed it, when Naofumi asked him if he was an orc. Strangely, though, he couldn't understand the rest of his words, even though since being summoned to this world he had been able to understand the local language instinctively through his Legendary Weapon.
It was strange, though. Weren't they supposed to be bloodthirsty creatures that ate humans alive? Weren't they created from shadow and flame to destroy the realms of men? Why had he come to the assistance of the Village of Lute when no one else had? He had destroyed the monsters so easily with the magic he possessed, and then even protected the villagers when Naofumi couldn't! He wasn't certain of just who or what had caused the shower of meteors, but he had his suspicions.
At least the Wave was over now. Ren, Itsuki and Motoyasu must have defeated the boss monster. Surely, now, they could have a chance to attempt to communicate with the orc.
"Naofumi-sama?" Raphtalia asked by his side, interrupting his thoughts. She still gripped onto her sword tightly. Now that the battle was over, the others were uncertain about the orc's intentions.
"It's okay, Raphtalia," he said, turning to look at her reassuringly. "He doesn't mean to hurt us, I think."
He pointed at the orc for emphasis. He was currently speaking to one of the villagers that had returned to fight by Naofumi's side, repeating the single question of "Orc?" to the villagers.
"Shield Hero, do you know what he's saying?" the villager asked, backing away slowly from the orc, uncertain of his intentions. This world had never heard of orcs, then?
"He's an orc," he replied simply. "I can't understand the rest of what he's saying, but from where I come from –"
His words were interrupted by the sound of marching feet and booming laughter. Conversations fell silent, as the group turned toward the sound.
"Hah! We burned them all to death at once!"
Soldiers.
They were the ones who had launched that spell, and would have killed him, Raphtalia and the villagers without a second thought. Naofumi gripped his shield tight, and in the corner of his vision he saw Raphtalia's body tensing.
The first of the soldiers began to enter the village square through one of the streets. "Oh? The Shield Hero? You're quite tough. And what –"
For the tiniest of instants, he didn't speak. When he finally reacted to the orc's presence, it was with the drawing of swords and orders to the rest of his soldiers.
"MONSTER!" he shouted, holding his sword and shield before himself. Behind him, others were readying their weapons. "TO ARMS!"
"Wait, don't –" Naofumi's voice joined those of the villagers. Just wait a moment, damn it!
Most of the soldiers didn't even pause, but some hesitated for a moment. The one who had given the order charged toward the orc, sword raised high. Naofumi tried to intervene, but he and those that followed his orders were moving too fast.
"WATCH OUT!" he warned, both for the orc's and the soldiers' sake. The former because he'd come to protect the village where others hadn't; the latter because he really didn't want their stupidity to piss off an orc that he'd seen destroy a countless number of zombies, literally turn a boss monster into dust by pointing his finger, and easily shield against a rain of fire that he wasn't completely certain even he could have defended against.
The orc hesitated for a moment, looking between Naofumi and the soldiers, but came to a decision quickly. He held a single hand in front of him, pointing at the charging soldier. A bright glyph the size of his palm formed in the air, and though the soldier started slightly he did not stop in his advance. Naofumi could only hope that the orc wouldn't turn on the rest of them because of the actions of these soldiers.
He was in the middle of swinging his sword, when the orc unleashed his spell. With a single, unfamiliar word, an array of dazzling light was released, a spectrum of colours that erupted in a cone outward. Even though Naofumi was standing well away from the spell, for an instant he too was blinded by the brilliant light.
"Magic!" the soldier shouted, his attack now stalled. He staggered backward with his sword held loosely in one hand, the other rubbing at his eyes. "I can't see!"
Behind him, the others that had been caught in the spell didn't fare any better. Other soldiers paused mid-charge, eyeing the orc warily.
"Don't! He helped us!" one of the villagers tried. Others quickly echoed his words. Some soldiers regarded them incredulously, but began to lower their weapons. Most, however, were beginning to encircle the orc.
"Stop!" Naofumi tried again, and Raphtalia joined in with her own shouts, already drawing her sword. None of the soldiers paid them any regard. They had almost gotten himself, Raphtalia and the villagers killed with their earlier stunt, and now they were turning on the one that had saved the village? He turned to look at the orc, preparing to defend him if necessary, but he…
…he was smiling?
For all that the situation looked dire for him, the orc only looked amused.
He pointed his hand off to one side, sparks and crackles appearing in the air some distance away in that direction. Heads turned instinctively at the noise, and though Naofumi couldn't see the orc he distinctively heard a loud snort and a single word being uttered behind him while his back was turned.
When they looked back toward the orc, there was no trace of him. As one, the soldiers, villagers, Naofumi and Raphtalia began looking around quickly for any sight of the orc.
"Where did he go?"
"Find him!"
"Kill the monster!"
"I see him!" One voice cut above the rest a moment later. Naofumi turned, seeing a soldier pointing over toward the other end of the village. Again, heads turned to face that direction. Well over a hundred metres away, the orc was standing on the roof of a building, yet another small glyph forming in the air.
An instant later, with a wave of his hand, he vanished completely.
"Find him!"
Despite the best efforts of the soldiers, there was no longer any sign of the orc. The one who had given the initial order cursed loudly, having only now recovered from the spell that the orc had used.
"Damn!" he swore, turning toward Naofumi and the villagers. He tensed. "Where did that monster go?"
"Like we were trying to tell you, that orc was on our side!" Naofumi retorted. "He protected us from the spell you casted that would have killed everyone in the village!"
He gestured behind himself at the villagers, who were now glaring fiercely at the soldiers, offering their own support to him. The knight remained unfazed, storming up toward Naofumi.
"Orc?" he repeated. "I've heard rumours about you, Shield Hero, but colluding with monsters? Have you truly no shame? But considering the company you keep…" He looked toward Raphtalia, shaking his head. "A demi-human? Really?"
Naofumi held his hand tight on Raphtalia's shoulders, despite how much he wanted to see that knight gutted. She shook under his grip, her sword-arm only kept restrained by Naofumi. Still, though, he shot a warning look toward the knight. Any further insult, and he might just be tempted to let Raphtalia deal with him.
"That's right. Know your place." With those final words, he turned to address the group as a whole.
"Listen up! For the safety of the Kingdom, this monster is to be hunted down and killed!" There were loud protests from all those that had fought in the village, but the knight continued to speak. "The King will be notified about the existence of this monster! Everyone with information about this monster is to report to me immediately! Those who fail to comply will be considered criminals and enemies of the Kingdom!"
The shouts continued for several moments longer, but the knight was unfazed. Naofumi was caught with indecision. The orc, hunted down and killed? He should come to the orc's defence, but he couldn't just directly oppose the soldiers either.
For a long while, no one came forward. Other villagers that had earlier been evacuated were beginning to return to the ruins of their homes, only to come across the impasse between the soldiers and villagers. Finally, under the threat of arrest, the first of the villagers began to speak, and the story was slowly pieced together.
He had arrived from the other end of the village from where Naofumi and Raphtalia entered. He'd saved the lives of a mother and child, covering their escape with spells that they and the soldiers had never seen or heard of before. Other villagers had been rescued by blasts of ice and acid that appeared from nowhere that ate through the flesh of zombies. He had moved rubble aside with but a word and a wave of his hand, freeing the villagers who had been trapped behind them as flames slowly but surely would have killed them.
At some point, he had changed his tactics, working in a way remarkably similar to what Naofumi had done. Lights and sounds caught the attention of the monsters, and he lured them to the village square where he'd then slowed Naofumi's descent from the falling tower with yet another spell.
He was clearly a wizard or mage, although Naofumi couldn't think of a single orc wizard in any of the fantasy settings he'd read. Weren't they supposed to be bloodthirsty savages?
Though clearly unwilling to betray the trust of the orc who had saved them, the recount of events had been forced out of the villagers. When at last there was nothing left that they could tell the knight, the soldiers gave only a further warning to report any further information about the orc immediately, leaving the villagers with only the ruins of their homes and the grieving over the lives that had been lost in the devastation.
"Naofumi-sama," Raphtalia spoke quietly. "Who was he?"
"I don't know," he replied honestly.
"He helped us."
"He did," he agreed.
"This isn't right." She looked at him directly, and Naofumi could see his own indignation over the situation mirrored in her eyes.
"No," he echoed hollowly. "It isn't."
For a long time, neither of them spoke, watching the villagers as they grieved over the losses that they had suffered. The people of this world had never treated him with anything close to respect or fairness, but looking at these villagers now he very distinctly felt the pain that they were currently experiencing.
"Come, Raphtalia," he said, moving toward the villagers. "Let's help."
This wasn't just a simple isekai anymore. The Waves and the destruction they caused were so very real, and it would have only been worse had the orc not come to the village's defence. He hoped that when the next Wave came, he would stand alongside them as allies, rather than turn against them as enemies as a result of the stupidity that the knight had displayed.
-o-o-o-
Journal Entry #1
Seeing as circumstances have changed in light of my current predicament, I have taken the initiative of restarting the numbering of my journal entries. Although this organised method of recording my thoughts and plans bores me, it is a necessity if I am to figure out the Lantern King's motives and my actions going forward.
Where to begin? Following my untimely deposition into this new land, I chose to come to the defence of a nearby village. While the monsters themselves were far easier than those I had come across in the River Kingdoms, they were far more numerous. Note to self: prepare spells effective at dealing with multiple targets.
The denizens of this land seem to be mostly humans. There was a single female wielding a sword who looked to have animalistic features, most notably a tail and raccoon-like ears, but I have not yet determined whether or not she is an anomaly. Regrettably, communication remains a big issue. I will make sure to memorise and prepare the Comprehend Languages and Tongues spells for future use, following the completion of this journal entry.
Of note was the shield-bearing fighter who seemed to recognise my race. I will endeavour to uncover more information about him, and why he might be in possession of such information.
Unfortunately, before I could begin to attempt casting the ritual for the Comprehend Languages spell to attempt communication with the locals, a group of what appeared to be armoured knights interrupted with open hostility directed toward me. I do not recognise the emblem that they bear, but such information would certainly be helpful in identifying my next course of action.
Intriguingly, they do not appear to have a high opinion of the villagers and the shield-warrior, given that the knights ignored their attempts at de-escalation. Clearly, I will need to further study the social structure of the local land, as much as I abhorred such a hierarchy in my own kingdom.
I had decided that perhaps reacting to their hostility with force may not be the wisest decision, since they do seem to hold a position of authority within this land. I instead chose to escape from their assault, with remarkably simple uses of Colour Spray, a secondary distraction that they (rather humourously – Nok-Nok would certainly approve) fell for courtesy of Prestidigitation, and a quick Dimension Door onto a rooftop some distance away. Greater Invisibility then allowed for my swift escape.
I am currently writing this entry in a forest clearing a few hours following my escape. Leomund's Tiny Hut should provide me with sufficient safety for the next several hours, and I should be able to prepare my spells for the coming day. I have also taken the time to sift through the contents of my bag of holding. Aside from my spellbook, some reagents and potions, there is only just slightly more than five thousand pieces of gold in my possession, with the vast remainder having been placed with Valerie. Hopefully, this amount will be sufficient for my use, without any knowledge of the local economic situation as of yet.
I believe that it is in my current best interests to find out more information about this land. As such, I will be studying and memorising spells suited for this particular purpose. Alter Self, Disguise Self, Comprehend Languages, Tongues, Dimension Door, Greater Invisibility and various Enchantment spells immediately spring to mind.
Speaking of spells: the blasted orb and strange phenomenon affecting my sight revealed yet another mystery! During my period of escape, I had somehow been able to cast Expeditious Retreat, despite not having had the spell prepared. That bout of spontaneous casting again drained this 'SP', and a 'notification' appeared detailing that I now had access to spells of the School of Transmutation.
At that point, the orb transformed itself, and a tree-like lattice appeared with the images of several First Level Transmutation spells. There were even spells that a Wizard should not have access to, including Cantrips such as Thaumaturgy! Most of these are inaccessible at present, although I hypothesise that further use of the orb will reveal more of such mysteries and unlock the use of these spells. In time, perhaps there would be Second Level spells added to the branches of the tree?
Further experimentation revealed a similar phenomenon with Abjuration spells, with an associated transformation of the orb, although I am unable to access any of the other Schools of Magic at present. Would they also be unlocked with time, perhaps?
The orb itself worries me. Is it part of the Lantern King's machinations? I have heard of patrons of deities granting power to devout followers, but he is certainly no deity, and such a power had never previously been documented. But from where else could it have originated?
One thing is clear from my interactions with the orb, though. It is magical and sentient. Many tales of old have cautioned against such sentient weapons, although thus far it has seemed fairly benign. Further attempts at peering past its wards and arcane locks have failed, and I suspect that even potent Divination spells such as Legend Lore would yield little result. Wish remains an option following a period of rest, but I am loathe to utilise such a dangerous spell for so mundane a purpose. Many a wizard have been crippled by the strain of altering the very fabric of reality with that spell.
Ah, but perhaps this is enough prattling for now. I shall spend the next several hours studying and choosing spells for the next day's use, and hopefully achieve mastery of Alter Self or Disguise Self, which I daresay will see much use in the days to come, given the hostility that had been shown to me previously. I intend to investigate the nearby city tomorrow, which looks to be far larger than the earlier village.
Thus ends this entry.
- Rulk Wardweaver
'Mercy before Law'
-o-o-o-
Penning down the motto under which he had ruled his kingdom since Linzi's impromptu coronation ceremony just more than a year prior, Rulk sighed, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. Now that he had some time to think, he couldn't help but wonder about what had happened to his companions and his kingdom.
Had the Lantern King destroyed them utterly, or had he returned it to Golarion? Had they suffered the same fate as himself, transported somewhere in this world? Perhaps they were even in another world?
Were he a more talented Diviner, he could possibly Scry their location. Unfortunately, he had never learned the spell, seeing as Harrim and Tristian were both capable of using it. Hopefully, he would be able to come across someone who had access to such magic, or a scroll detailing the necessary spell-work.
He closed the enchanted journal, watching the glyphs on its surface flash as the locking magic worked its course.
Still more work to be done. Taking out his spellbook, he continued the preparatory work for the next day.