The Blender

by LordsFire

This is my repository for miscellaneous story fragments that I thought were interesting, but not interesting enough, or perhaps worth enough effort, to turn into full stories in and of themselves.

17. Dead Adventurers Don't Wear Plaid

A/N: This is, of sorts, a spiritual successor to the Dungeon Crawler series. It's the result of me trying to break my writer's block by going out and writing whatever the hell I want; considering I put out 15k words in 4-5 days, I'd say it was pretty successful. It was originally posted, with interactive intention, on the SpaceBattles Creative Writing Forum. If there are some things that don't make sense in here, it's because not everything made it to here from there; if you'd like to sort it out, just hope on over to SB and look up the thread 'Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid.'

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Escape Night 1:

Sewage,. I am certain it will come as no surprise for you to learn, stinks. What is worse then the smell, however, is the texture. Especially when you're swimming through it with nothing more than enough fabric around your waist to preserve your modest, it is nasty against your skin, in your hair, but especially up against your face.

Sewers still do make an excellent escape route; unfortunately, these sewers are not so lovely as to be the wide open tunnels you'll see in movies or depicted in books. Make no mistakes, some old cities actually do have such constructs; but wherever I am, doesn't. Instead it has channels that are just large enough for a man to crawl through; somewhat cramped for me to crawl through, as at 6'2" (about 189 cm for those of you on Metric), I'm tall, if not excessively so. For an occidental, anyways.

Darkvision, by the way, is damn useful. It works less like a flashlight, and more like what I imagine a light-collecting or multi-spectrum lens would; there's some form of radiation emitted from basically everything that's not at absolute zero (and even some things that are). My re-engineered eyes are able to pick up such emissions, and the altered bits of my brain (which I can't remember the name of right now) interpret this into something much like what I can see in the 'visible' spectrum.

I came to a corner in the sewer tunnel, contorted my way around it, and found myself at a grate, on the other side of which I could see the night sky.

First time I've seen the sky since I arrived on this plane at least six months ago. Part of my heart that had been contracting tighter and tighter with every day since I woke up in the lab unclenched a little, and tears came to my shit-encrusted eyes. Shaking my head furiously, I focused myself; I had not escaped yet, and until the job was finished, I couldn't let myself get nostalgic.

Bracing my feet against the walls of the sewer, I planted my right hand against the metal grate, and pushed. To my considerable surprise, what had only been intended as a test of the grate's strength immediately began to make it give way; I knew my strength had been augmented, but the bars were a good half-inch thick, they shouldn't be giving away this easily. Pulling back for a moment, I shifted around so I could get a close-up look at the metal, and found that it was not only bending, it was already starting to shear.

Shrugging off the strangely good fortune, I repositioned myself, and began pressing against the edges of the grate. It was a bit more difficult so close to its anchoring points, but over a couple of minutes I tore the thing mostly out of place. With the grate bent to a near ninety-degree angle from its few remaining anchor-points (those on top), I slipped carefully through, then twisted around and bent it back into place as best as I could; close inspection would reveal my escape route, but it should stand up to that of a merely casual observer.

And then I scurried down the last dozen or so feet of the sewer channel, and was free.

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Escape Day 1.

The sewer had exited into a large saltwater bay, and I could see the lights of a city or town stretching along the coast to my right, with what looked a fair number of docks with three-masted sailing ships moored at them. My eyesight used to be just barely good enough that I didn't need glasses, but the researchers in the lab 'helpfully' fixed that for me, along with fixing me up with Darkvision. That was one of the procedures they conducted after I first came to consciousness six months ago, and you can damn well know that I would much rather they did it while I was still in an induced coma. Having your eyes remodeled from the ground up is a bitch.

The shore to my left was much closer, and I could make out the outline of a forest that ran nearly right up to the edge of a cliff of modest height. A large river was about a hundred yards to my left, and it looked to form the natural boundary between the town and the forest, especially with the cliff that formed the far side of the river bank. Considering that the cliff had prevented the settlement from spreading to both sides, there was probably either some sort of edict forbidding expansion in place, or the settlement was small enough that it just wasn't worth the trouble involved in trying to bridge both river and cliff yet.

So. Thoughts now; for what is at least supposedly my audience here. Since making it into the sewers from the mage-lab I just escaped from, I got a lovely little message, prefaced with a troll face.

Yes, that troll face. The message reads as follows:

"Congratulations! An Adventurer is you! Welcome to the wonderful and terrible world of Tyrin, where adventure awaits! As a ROB, I've elected to send you here as a sort of experiment; you're not here to amuse me, you're here for the purposes of SCIENCE! Go, learn about the world, interact with and attempt to change it as you see fit, and know that all the while, I'll be looking in on your progress whenever my other experiments aren't occupying my time, to see what sorts of changes you will effect. And while it's not the explicit purpose of this, feel free to amuse me as well.

A few notes, to help you out:

This world is, functionally, a low-magic Dungeons and Dragons or Pathfinder setting. Pretty much everything you've heard of from them is present here, though they may be hard to find.

Certain challenges that you stumble across through means less than entirely natural will earn you rewards. For example, I slipped you in amongst that lab's latest set of 'volunteers' for experimentation, so when you escaped, you won this little message and your techno-telepathic link for escaping.

Said link is a mental connection to that fascinating collection of speculative extremes present on your world's internet. You know the one.

Careful about getting yourself killed, no Clerics or other deific aligned magics, so death is rather more permanent than most D&D worlds!

If the message, which literally appeared as readable text in my mind, was truthful, I've been following the correct mental process for getting this to show up on SB. It's just getting to be dawn here, and while I've swum a little ways out into the bay to get away from the sewer drain, I've not gone towards either shore. I was a strong swimmer before they started enhancing my constitution (I know I could swim by 4-5 years old, I don't actually have any conscious memories of a time when I couldn't), but I'm going to need to pick one side or another before long. The saltwater's washed off most of the shit, but I'm still wearing, basically, a pair of grotty boxers, so my odds of being able to blend in inside of the city aren't the best, but on the other hand, while I'm not totally incompetent, I'm not the best at wilderness survival either.

It's not much, but does this setting sound familiar to anyone as a published D'n'D setting they could give me meta-knowledge about to abuse? Anyone got particular advice on whether the forest side or city side would be a better plan? Knowledge of forest survival skills to enhance my chances there? I'm a pretty accomplished climber, and in better shape than I've ever been in in my life, so I should be able to make it up the cliff face.

Either way, I can only wait so long for advice; they'll notice I'm missing before too long, and then they'll start looking for me. And considering they're mages (not sure what type, but definitely arcane), they'll have Scrying and other divinatory magic to try to come after me with.

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ROB's note to readers:

My test subject, LordsFire, doesn't get to read this bit, but you do! He's currently an ECL 2 ½ adventurer, no class levels, but a little bit of a magical template on him. You know how I told him he could earn rewards? Well, you guys get to set the challenges for him! Pick out a challenge (be it monsters, traps, or social encounters) within a reasonable distance of his ECL, and a proposed reward. If I like it, I'll use it, and we'll see how long he lasts for.

No telling him about this part though, it's a seeeecret! n_n

-Your friendly neighbourhood ROB.

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A/N: This whole thing is a case of 'writer's block, I'm going to go write whatever the hell I want for a while to try and break it.' As such, no promises for how long it'll last. I've already kicked out more words in an hour than I've managed in most 2-3 day periods over the last few weeks, so it's working at least somewhat well.

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AN: Back from playing the Game of Thrones board game. This was a lovely swarm of ideas to return to; thanks guys.

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Escape Day 1.

Originally, I was thinking of heading for the forest, less likely to attract attention, but the input from you guys has helped me realize something important, I need to know what kind of world this is. Am I in Forgotten Realms during or just after the Spellplague? Can't be Eberron, not without changing it so much that it wouldn't be recognizable anyways, not with it being low magic. Some distant part of the Dark Sun setting?

Yeah, figuring out where is going to be pretty damn important. So, I made my way to the docks, swimming quietly just above the surface, and keeping an eye out for prying eyes from the warf. I made it to the docks themselves without any issue, moving between a number of docked sailing ships; they were built like colonial-era vessels, but very notably, I did not see any cannon, or even cannon ports, on them. There were a few guards patrolling the quay in the lackadaisical manner of those not expecting any real trouble, their spacing was crappy though, and I was able to slip up onto the waterfront, and into the alleys between the warehouses that lined it with little trouble.

I was relieved to get out of the water; swimming over time had been more difficult than I had expected, leading me to suspect that part of the enhancement to my body had made me more dense on the whole. More thoughts about that could wait though, as I worked my way further into the town/city before dawn could fully break, and promptly ran into trouble.

I noticed the first thug laying in wait, and opened my mouth to speak with him; I like to avoid violence where I can, but he preempted me by taking an overhead swing at me with the crude club he was carrying. My... difficulties with the lab had lent me a ledge that a tough life on the streets couldn't hope to match, however, and I deflected the blow with my forearm; the blow stung, but did no real damage.

His partner creeping up behind me though, I almost missed. 'Almost' being the key term; and only applying to me, he missed terribly, and I could smell alcohol on him, even over the salt odor blowing in off the sea. My retaliatory strike, on the other hand, slammed into his jaw and almost knocked him cold, certainly knocked him off balance enough that his next wild swing was little more than an attempt to ward me off. It wouldn't have been enough by itself, but the first thug's follow up forced me back.

Letting them push me back turned out to be a bad move; they got a rhythm working between the two of them, hemming me in and landing a pair of hammer blows against my sides. I coughed up a mouthful of blood spastically; but I was not going to let a pair of punks take me out after I'd made it out of that damn laboratory. Brushing away the pain, I hurled myself forward in an aggressive attack, and took the drunk in the solar plexus, knocking him off his feet. Thug number one nearly took me over the head for my trouble, but the adrenaline (or whatever they might have replaced it with) running through my system had me hyper-aware, and moving at near-inhuman speeds.

I ducked, swept up the drunk's dropped club, and faced off against number one in a more defensive stance. Things went downhill for him real fast after that, he knew he was in trouble, and pushed me with an all-out attack, but he didn't have his buddy backing him up this time, and I slammed him in the chest, dodged a last desperate blow, then came around with the club again and crushed his skull. He dropped like a wet sack, very obviously down for the count, and I spun around to make sure the drunk wouldn't be getting up any time soon.

He wasn't; my second blow had put him out cold, and I relaxed, just a little. Then I hacked, and coughed up blood again, spitting in disgust, and some fear. Body-blows causing bleeding in the lungs is bad, and to the best of my knowledge, they hadn't given me any kind of Fast Healing or Regeneration. Not much to be done about it just now though, I needed to get out of here in case the fight had attracted attention.

But first...

Looting the bodies (the thug with the crushed skull was dead, but I didn't let myself think about that just yet) yielded me coins, in silver and gold (but no copper), ten gold and four silvers. They also were each carrying a crappy knife, and not much else. Probably most importantly for me though, the 'not much else' included clothes. Which meant that, so long as people didn't look to close, I could get around in town without drawing too much attention.

Well, aside from the blood that I was coughing up again.

((()))

A couple hours later (Wearing my wonderful new pants. I grew up in the middle east, and though I'm certainly not a muslim, it definitely had an impact on my sense of modesty), I was holed up in the eaves of a stable. My allergies appeared to have been removed as part of the researcher's work, something I did not mind, and I figured I could catch a few hours rest here. There were enough of them in the town that it shouldn't be too easy for a Scry to locate me immediately, and I needed some time to sort my thoughts out.

First off, there's damn little metalwork around, and especially, no noticeable iron, copper, or copper derivatives like brass or bronze. There's a lot of crappy tin metalwork for things like tableware, and silver is actually being used for some mundane tasks, but there's basically no iron whatsoever. The wood, stone, and glasswork in this town seems to be pretty damn refined though, lumber in the market being sold in forms almost indistinguishable from what you'd find at a modern hardware store or building supplier, glass windows being moderately common. I even saw some glass knives.

Second off, my appearance. I'm, as I mentioned earlier, six foot two inches tall, and when I was younger, I was incredibly scrawny. Between 5+ years of intentionally trying to gain weight, and six months since I woke up in the labs getting myself into damn good shape just as a matter of survival, I'm pretty fit now. One of the downsides to all the work they did on me, though, is that my skin is a patchwork of discoloration, dark blotches patterned all over the place, like oversized freckles and moles everywhere. This makes it just about impossible for me to blend in anywhere.

Third off, magic. It was hard to get much information without drawing attention, but the general opinion in the early-morning market crowds was that experimenting with and studying magic is bad plan. There are some, like Sorcerors and Bards, who just have an innate gift, and they were less feared, but extremely rare, and nobody knew anything about magic-users who didn't start casting from an innate gift. Never even heard of a Wizard, though the term 'Arcanist' was what they appended to 'idiots who blow themselves, and their neighbours, up messing around with what man was not meant to.'

I'll have to check with some other settlements to be sure, but from what I gather, prepared arcane casters and iron-ore about as common as blood transfusions in the Crusades. Well, not quite that rare, as they exist enough to be feared, either way, I won't be finding teaching/training any time soon.

I'll be breaking for either a caravan or convoy out of town, or making off into the woods on my own after I get some sleep. Anybody have any recommendations on other specific things I should try to find out before then?

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ROB here: Good idea with the pants, everyone, I approve! Remember, the deal is that if you want me to use your suggestion, it has to include the reward for overcoming the obstacle!

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AN: I'm using a 3d6 dice mechanic instead of a 1d20 mechanic. 1d20 is just too wildly variable for a 'realistic' setting; the only major difference this will be making (aside from the rolls being more consistent and only having a range of 16 rather than 20), is that critical hits will be less statistically likely, and higher crit-range weapons will have much larger advantages. Still trying to figure out a called shot mechanic that's neither stupid-broken nor too difficult to be worthwhile.

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Got a few hours sleep; I'm not coughing up blood anymore, but I feel like shit now that I'm fully off of the combat high. I've got at least a cracked rib, and as I'd never had a broken bone before in my life, this is a very unpleasant thing for me to cope with, largely because I lack experience. A few things regarding advice/input received those far:

First off, there's something that all of you need to know about Monk when it comes to powergaming; it sucks for offense, but two-level-dip is amazing for defensive powergaming. AC Bonus, +3 to all saves, Evasion, and Deflect Arrows (which is an auto-block on primitive ranged weapons once per round. There's no random chance, it just works). When I play D'n'D or Pathfinder, unless I'm playing a character that's designed just to be silly, I always AC/Save tank. Simply put, defensive specialization is the true path to power.

And yes, Pathfinder Monk is freaking amazing. Mostly to get the seriously badass stuff though, you need to get all the way up to twenty-ish, and it just can't keep up with the casters when you're monoclassing to twenty.

As to casters, considering the scarcity of Arcane casters that aren't working from an in-born talent, I'm going to try to hunt me up a Druid. Frankly, it's the most powerful class in the game, and I want that. My favorite classes for flavor/abilities though, are Swordsage and Psion. Swordsage isn't all that powerful in a pure number-grind mechanic way, but it is incredibly high-utility. Reusable short term/range invisibility and teleport, fire damage output, lots of defensive abilities, and at higher levels, it can go Incorporeal for a short time, walk on air, and smash people's bones to pulp. Also can make touch attacks at low levels, get massive bonuses to jump, etc, etc.

I also definitely plan to hunt down a Shadowdancer. ROB said they'd be here somewhere, and there is nothing as high for mundane-utility when you're just out to survive, as Hide in Plain Sight. Before I get into things like that more, however, I should go into what I already do know happened to me.

I'm far stronger than appropriate for my body mass and muscle bulk. I can lift just over three hundred pounds directly over my head, and get about six hundred and fifty off of the ground. As I recall, that's part of how the rules rate strength, so that should give you guys some idea where I am on the table.

I've always had good balance and coordination, but it's a lot better now. I don't know how much of this is because I spent six months constantly working my edge up, and how much is magical augmentation, but I'm really sharp now. Unfortunately, I can't really give a concrete test for this, at least none that I can think of that relates to rules mechanics.

I come from a family with chronic good health; my grandpa on my dad's side died about two months before ROB-intervention happened; he was about eighty-two, and he died when his heart gave out while he was moving the lawn. When he was seventyish, he 'retired' down to three part-time jobs, and he didn't quit bow hunting until he was eighty, maybe seventy-nine. He still went rifle hunting. My other grandfather, 79 years old, is still a practicing MD. I have good genes, and my only 'constitution' weakness was allergies. I've been made even tougher, though again, that's a hard thing to put an exact quantity on.

My mind has been expanded. Literally, it has more processing capacity than before, and I can hold more detailed and expansive concepts in my mind at once. This was painful to experience and get accustomed to. I don't know if this is purely a physical aspect of brain augmentation, or if they worked on the metaphysical aspect of me as well, but either way, it was not fun. My memory retention is pretty much perfect now though, and it never hurts to be more intelligent.

I have at least some amount of Natural Armor or Damage Reduction now; my skin could more accurately be called 'hide,' it's tough; flexible but tough, and combined with my denser muscle mass, it takes a lot more physical force to injure me than before. As the club-thugs made obvious though, nowhere near enough to make me invulnerable to common weapons.

I have some form of spell resistance. I don't know how much, but some spells have failed to work on me, and afterwards I feel... energized. I've got my suspicions about this, but I'll leave off until I've either got more time or had another chance to test this. Tied into this, I can always tell when someone's trying to cast a spell on me, and whether or not it's worked, I think I've been able to distinguish when I 'make a save' from when the SR protects me, but right now the most important factor is whether or not the spell actually failed.

Some of my own abilities. I never actually took Calculus; sorry Xeno, not something an author really needs, and I topped out at Precalculus, having trouble with factoring polynomials. I could probably do it with my expanded mind now though, and I remember enough to reconstruct some of it if I need it, and I'm sure I can count on you guys to fill me in on the rest. I'm also have prior experience with archery; I'm horribly out of practice, but I remember a fair bit of it, and I've worked with compound and recurve bows both. If they haven't developed the recurve bow yet here, I will.

My final, and most likely most potent ability of significance, is that I read people, and I read them damn well. Crawling inside of people's heads and figuring out what they're thinking is a way of life for me. It's essential to effective communication, teaching, and if you want to be a good storyteller, three things which I value highly. I'm also passingly acquainted with being stealthy, something I intend to 'skill grind' as fast as I damn well can. I've never had any martial training, but I know the basics of keeping my balance centered, putting my whole body behind a blow, etc, etc.

Anyways, this town is called Tarsus, its one of the oldest settlements on a newly-discoved landmass in Tyrin, and I expect that as the population grows, its position at the mouth of a major river will make it a major port. I'll start asking around about other settlements, and the continent/island at large once I finish sending this message.

Also, I'll look for some leather or studded leather armor; I doubt chainmail will be affordable given metal's scarcity, and you actually have to know what you're doing with it to be effective in heavier stuff. I'm trying to decide whether or not I should attempt to sick the town guard on the facility I escaped from; for all I know they're in cahoots, and I don't want to get into another fight until I've had more time to heal, and get better equipment. Or, you know-

Shit. Somebody just tried to cast a spell on me; Spell resistance ate it, but it's time for me to move.

Thoughts; go to town guard, yes/no?

((()))

ROB's notes: I like your idea, Quincy! It needs a little touching up here and there, a little more detail, but some Iron would shake things up nicely.

For the rest of you speculative lot, it needs to be a challenge that isn't just a natural part of the world. I can nudge a couple thugs along to lay in wait in a certain area, or whisper in a bandit's ear that a particular caravan would make a juicy target, but things like disgruntled innkepers are perfectly natural occurrences, and not really worth a reward. Now, a disgruntled innkeeper who spots that our cute little PC has something he wants to hide, and tries to blackmail him into being a wage-slave, now that's something worth me putting a few thoughts in the innkeeper's head, and seeing how the scenario plays out.

Be a bit more creative, like Quincy there! Meteoric Iron; think outside of the box like that! I'm disappointed with how repeatedly mundane things have been! A few 'tweaked normal' experiments here and there are good, but I decided to conduct my tests involving you lot because you are all supposed to be noted for the extra-ordinary.

After all, 'normal' science is boring, we need to push the envelope!

((()))

Note from ROB: Vlad, Green, I think I'll take your similar ideas and combine them nicely; I'll send a little tip-off to the nearest Druid about those terribly rude researchers in Tarsus, and who they work for. I'm sure that'll make things... interesting.

LF is still busy evading pursuit, so I'll leave it until he's finished making it to a safe place to give everyone more time to contribute ideas.

As to the politics, I suppose I can let you all know this much; most of Tyrin is run by a variety of feudal systems, with the nobility forming various power blocs. Very few noble families have worked magical blood into their lines, and magic users are in general rare and reclusive enough that they provide little more than support and sometimes magical items to political struggles. They are around enough that all noble houses that prosper train their members to resist compulsion magic.

The only groups of magic users substantial enough to be considered a power bloc, are the Bard's Guild, and the Druids. The Bard's Guild don't play with politics, and mostly exist as an order to train new bards, and act in concert against anyone who kills one of their members. The Druids are very reclusive and secretive, and only really involve themselves with politics amongst the various races when someone is trying to wipe a species out, locally or on a large scale. You might not like those wolves raiding your sheep herds, and the Druids don't mind if you kill them when they attack, but if you try to organize hunting parties to wipe the local wolf packs out...

Balance and all that, you know? If I tell you all much more now though, that would ruin the experiment.

Anyways, one last little bit, in order to keep things simple; I'll alternate magical and mundane bonus challenges, so since the last bonus was the thugs, I'll use the magical rivalry one next, and then we'll give LF a chance to take up the caravan escort mission.

Like I said earlier, more input welcome until he makes it to a safe haven!

ROB, we're done here.

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AN: This chili is missing something.

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I made for the forest, ASAP, after the first spell was eaten by my SR. The second spell, an hour later, unfortunately got through my defenses. Speed, however, was my ally, and I'd been careful to choose a stable for a hideout that was close to the river in the first place. It took a while to cross the river, due to its sheer breadth, and it washed me halfway back out to the bay in the process, but once I reached the cliff, climbing that barely took a minute.

While I wouldn't wish the process involved in getting them on anyone, there's no arguing about the benefits of the enhancements worked into my flesh. I've always been a good climber; being able to lift my body-weight without much strain with a single arm has only made me that much better. I was well into the forest by the time the second spell hit, and the canopy was easily high enough that there was no chance of them seeing more than 'trees, and spell target' if it was a scry spell. Which I was pretty damn sure it was; none of the casters I saw in there were pulling off high-level spell tricks, and Scry is the lowest level spell with any real chance at picking me up.

So, operating assumption that they knew I was in the forest, which made this a game of hide and go seek, except at the start of the game there was only one hider, and an unknown number of seekers. I was glad I had the clubs, because in all seriousness, dogs would be one of the largest threats to me at this point. I had a half hour head start, and while magic could make up for a lot of speed, very few spells at low level gave enough speed over duration to make up that much ground. And considering that I'm actually in good shape, that means a 16-18 Con, and I doubt they've got that much...

Nevermind. They might have speed enhancing items. Time for me to focus on moving faster.

((()))

It took them nine hours to do it, but they tracked me down. I thought I lost them when I followed a stream all the way to the coast and night fell with no visible sign of pursuit, but they started scrying me again, and the second one one broke through my defenses. I was glad I had stopped bleeding in my lungs before this chase started, because I can tell you that there's no way I would have been able to keep up the pace I did otherwise.

They caught up with me at a Dolmen (a small standing stone formation for those of you not familiar), and I immediately began to suspect ROB-interference, because it was just too damn convenient for them to catch me just as I found a Druid.

There were four of them, one on foot with a bow, I was guessing a Ranger, and three on horseback, two wearing chainmail shirts, with shields strapped to their backs, and one that I recognized as one of the mages from the lab. The Druid was wearing a robe of woven leaves, carried an oaken staff, and had a brown bear seated beside him.

When I burst into the small clearing the Dolmen stood in, the Druid eyed me curiously; when the came in after me, his glare turned entirely hostile. I don't know if I have ever seen as much hatred as I did in that man's eyes, including in the eyes of the test subject whose death had incited my escape attempt.

"Sravit," The Druid spat, and then all hell broke loose.

I dove out of the way as the Mage and the Druid both began incanting, ducking under the Dolmen and twisting around to look out for spells coming my way. The Druid finished his spell first, and I caught my first glimpse into just how deadly D'n'D magic really is. A column of fire slammed down on the three horsemen; all of them desperately trying to dive out of the way, and meeting with only marginal success. The blast of flame killed the horses instantly, and seared the three riders badly; I could smell and hear their flesh cooking from here.

They were hard men though, and were advancing again, on foot, as soon as the wash of flame had passed; the Mage completed his spell, a Haste spell apparently, as the lot of them abruptly accelerated. The two fighters rushed the Druid, drawing longswords and readying their shields as they did so, moving in efficient cohesion to break past the Druid's defenses and slash at him through his cloak; one of them took a smack from the bear as he whipped past, but the other got past unscathed.

The tracker/ranger drew on his bow, ready to fire, but waited, and I realized very quickly that he intended to try to interrupt the Druid's spellcasting.

Well, we couldn't have that now, could we?

I exploded out from underneath the Dolmen at a full-out sprint, and body-checked the Ranger knocking him flying with my enhanced strength, before pressing on towards the Mage, hoping to land a hit on him before he got his next spell off; unfortunately I wasn't fast enough, and he got his second spell off. It immediately became obvious to me that it was a Hold Person spell, considering how every muscle in my body locked up and I tumbled flat onto my face, nearly breaking my nose in a painful face-plant. He'd probably meant it for the bear, but I ended up getting it instead.

Yeah, I wasn't having any of that. As roars and wet, slicing sounds came from the melee behind me, I mustered my will, snarled, and snapped the effect, just time to look up and barely avoid getting run over by a pair of bears (one a polar bear) bearing down on the Wizard. One smack put the already badly-injured Wizard down for the count, and the Ranger fled, the brown bear in hot pursuit.

Gasping, I rolled to my feet and stepped away from the polar bear, keeping him in my field of vision while I confirmed that the two soldiers were down for the count. The bear stared at me with intelligence far beyond human, and if I'd had any doubt the cloaked man was a Druid before, it was pretty much gone now.

For a long, tense moment, the Bear/Druid just glared at me, then it stood up on its hind legs, and rapidly shifted back into human form.

I cannot even begin to describe to you, just how strange it is to watch a bear turn into a man, especially a clothed man. Shrinking mass, retracting fur, spontaneously sprouting the fibrous material that made up his robes and cloak, his jaw and skull visibly restructuring themselves in a manner that looked extremely unpleasant, his joints rearranging themselves, it probably would have made me naseous if I hadn't spent the last half-year of my life in the care of scruple-less magical researchers, and seen far worse.

At least with this, the man was intact at the end of it.

"Greetings, traveler," The man rumbled in a deep, earthy voice once the shift had completed, "Few entire the land under my stewardship bringing such a prestigious gift as my traitorous apprentice," He paused a moment, looking me up and down in more detail, "It would appear that he treated you with as much regard as he treated any other."

Pausing for a moment, he stepped over to the Mage's mauled corpse, and stomped on its neck, then again, and again, and again, until I heard a sharp snap as the spine broke. Then he pulled out a knife, reached down and sliced off the... well, yeah, no reproduction for him, and uttered a swift spell that set his hand ablaze, and incinerated the removed organ.

"I promised you, Travers," The Druid growled, "That your new 'friends' would not protect you from my promised wrath. I'm half-tempted to bring you back, just so that I can kill you again."

Then he turned his attention back to me.

"I owe you a great debt," He said, "That cur's treachery went deeper than you could know. How can I repay you?"

"If nothing else," I said carefully after a moment's thought, "I could use a safe place to rest, and a full meal. It's been less than a day since I escaped from his," I nodded to the corpse, "Research facility, and I need to recover."

"I will do this for you," The Druid said with a nod, "But that is nothing more than simple courtesy for an ally, and my debt to you goes far deeper than this."

((()))

ROB's note: Well, what do you know? The local Druid didn't like the local mages, who'd have thought? n_n.

((()))

AN: Arglebarglebarglebarg. Letting the dice make some decisions for me tends to break my narrative train of thought something fierce. More later tonight, though it might be late.

((()))

AN: Sorry about leaving out the SI's reaction to Quincy dropping word about Spellwarped in these posts, it just didn't really fit. The actual story content of this post is not that long, just so you're warned, but hopefully I'll have something more substantial up late tonight.

((()))

When I woke up the next morning in the Druid's cave, there was a message blinking in my mind; '3,300 XP, level up! Take an intuitive class, or find a trainer!'

With the ROB's trollface appearing next to it. I really, really, really wanted to curse the bastard right then, but there's little point to doing such, so instead I rolled out of bed and went out to the stream near the cave, to satisfy the need for both fluid in- and out-take. That taken care of, I turned to find the Druid sitting above the Cave's entrance, watching me with patient eyes while he smoked a pipe. We had spoken at length last night, first over a meal of berries and smoked venison, then on until I had more or less dropped from exhaustion. He had healed both of our wounds as well, a mildly euphoric experience; the sight of his ribs, exposed by one of the soldier's sword-blows, was kind of sickening to me, mostly by how much I didn't care about it. After the number of times I've seen human innards on display, including my own, it has pretty much no effect on me anymore.

"So, Outworlder," The Druid said, "Have you decided what you would have of me?"

"It would seem appropriate," I said slowly, "Or perhaps ironic, that after leading your traitorous apprentice to you, I would replace him. Well, in a non-traitorous manner."

"It is no small thing you ask," The Druid said, "For either of us. It takes years to complete the basic training of a Druid, and even then one must have the mind and spirit to understand the more primal things of reality."

"I know, old man," I replied, staring him in the eyes, dead serious, "But if there's one thing I'm committed to, it's to understanding life at the most basic level. I may not be of a temperament to live out in the wilds full time, but as anyone who has known me when I'm not holding myself in check can tell you, I bring the primal with me anywhere I go."

"Very well then, Outworlder," The Druid said, "I will take you as my apprentice; I pray that we do not both come to regret it."

((()))

AN: I hadn't originally intended for Druid to be the first place to take this SI, but as the ROB-post explained, Druids were the only real magical faction that could function as a rival in the scenario suggested on the thread, and I'd already decided that they were going to have a hostile relationship with the faction that was conducting tests on the SI.

To keep from boring everyone (including the writer) with the first few levels of a character being mostly useless, this'll be the last post before a time-skip of a couple years, during which the SI will gain 2-3 levels. Haven't decided on all the details yet.

In the meantime, I'm open to suggestions for the general background/character for both minor/mid-boss antagonists for the SI to run into, as well as potential adventuring companions. If you want to suggest either, suggest a character as well as a class or build. A few more setting details for those interested to work with:

Humans originate from a different continent than the other standard D'n'D races; regular shipping back and forth (and thus diplomacy and trade) has only been established in the last fifty years. Some backwater places don't really believe the stories about elves, dwarves, etc, yet. Dragons were the only other fully sentient race humans knew about before making contact with this other continent.

This newly-settled landmass that the SI on is another continent that was settled about the same time as contact began with the non-human races, and is notable for having no known native sentient races, not even Dragons. Its total size isn't known, but nobody (except maybe the Druids, and they aren't talking) has been more than 100ish miles in from the coast, the southern reaches run into polar ice, and the northern haven't been circumvented by sailing vessels yet, only two attempts have been made, and no-one knows what has become of them.

Again, no divine-powered classes (except for Druid-types), and no arcane magic that a character isn't born with. Mostly that means no Wizard or Wu Jen, but I'm sure there are other ones as well. I'm treating all spontaneous arcane casters, fluff-wise, as basically Sorcerers who specialized in what they do with their magic. So in-world, a Beguiler, a Warmage, and a Duskblade would all be called Sorcerors. Bards are the only exception, and that's largely because they have so much information control.

Psionics, Incarnum, ToB, and anything else that has supernatural abilities will exist as well, but they're very rare, and probably poorly understood by anyone not a part of the community.

((()))

AN: This took a bit longer than I thought, but it's time for the story to truly engage; meaning, character interaction. Well, starting next post, ideally; this one will be catching things up after time-skip.

((()))

It's been two years, on this end, and they were rough. I'm sworn to secrecy involving how Druids form the most fundamental level of their bond with the natural world, but I can say this much: it involves getting up close and personal with the most primal forces in creation, and they aren't pretty. Awe-inspiring, breath-taking, awesome and terrible, but not pretty. The primal forces of nature don't care if you're there or not, don't care if you're young, old, sick, healthy, they just do what they do, and if you get in the way, you might get run over.

The Old Man though (he still won't tell me his real name), finds the uncaring forces of nature infinitely preferable to the 'safety' of civilization. Nothing can be cruel like a human can, and I could tell he was speaking from personal experience when he told me that it's the ones that people claim to love, that they hurt the most. Based on my own experiences, I can't say that I disagree; the only difference between me and the Old Man, is that I still hold hope to make things better, and he's just settled for stepping in when things get completely out of control, and the only way to stop it, is for someone to die.

He's called me a fool more times than I can count, but I've long since decided that some things are worth fighting for, even if you can never win. That's part of why I'm leaving his tutelage; I want to go change things. And, you know, maybe try to find a way back home. I've been able to use second-circle spells for about two months, and being able to conjure what amounts to a Lightsaber made out of fire, I have to say, has boosted my confidence in my ability to lay down pain on anyone foolish enough to try and hurt me. If the half-ton wolf that's six feet tall, has teeth the size of a steak knife, and a growl deep enough to make your bones vibrate wasn't enough of a hint not to mess with me.

I call him 'Chuckles,' for the sound he makes when I give him a good petting; he's my animal companion. It says a lot about your life when the most comforting thing to come around in a number of years is a thousand pound killing machine.

Oh, and by the way, the ROB's little level-up message? A damn lie; it's still blinking away in the back of my mind, and there's nothing I can do with it. This world works a lot more realistically than that; you learn things when you damn well study them, or train in them. Means I can't break the system like I'd like, but there are upsides too. The magic I've learned only vaguely resembles that of Jack Vance; I have to 'prime' the structures for the spells I want to use for a day, but there's no 'spells per day,' just how much I've got the magical stamina to use, and just like with physical exertion, rest restores my stamina, whether it's eight hours of sleep, two hours, or fifteen minutes between spells.

Probably the single most important thing the Old Man taught me after my base Nature Bond formed, was how to craft magical items. A long, incredibly time and energy consuming process, but he's firmly of the belief that the rewards far outweigh the costs, and considering my meta-knowledge of the D'n'D mechanics, I have to agree.

Enough rambling, it's time for me to get moving, the Old Man won't be happy if I'm still here when he wakes up; I think he's bad with goodbyes.

((()))

Moving through the forest was pretty uneventful in and of itself; I've learned that there are some damn nasty predators farther inland, but here near the coast, there's nothing stupid enough to mess with a Druid and a half-ton wolf. I was heading back to Tarsus; there wasn't really much of anywhere else for me to go right now, and most likely enough time had passed that nobody would connect the Druid with the giant wolf with a single stranger who'd been in town two years ago.

That ended up not being much of an issue, as other more pressing concerns presented themselves. West of the river, the side that Tarsus is on, is beyond the range that the Old Man considered under his stewardship, and as such, bandits had been a growing problem as the regional population increased. Technically, this entire area was part of some Duke's estate, but he couldn't be bothered to send armsmen to root out the bandits, so long as his tax income didn't take a noticeable hit. From what little the Old Man bothered to say about the man, he'd probably send his soldiers after the town mayor and elders before bothering to go after the bandits.

So when I found an unarmed caravan on the road out of Tarsus, it was no surprise that the idiots had drawn the attention of bandits, and it looked like they were rather desperately trying to talk their way out of being butchered, and failing. I'm not much for bandits on general principle, so I decided to get involved; a quick application of the Barkskin spell on myself and Chuckles prepped things up, then I hopped on his back, and we slunk out of the forest onto the road behind the dozen bandits.

"Ho there!" I called harshly, "What's the problem here?"

That got everyone's attention fast, and the bandits immediately shifted to a posture confrontational towards me, pretty much ignoring the caravan they'd been harassing before. Considering that not a man, woman, or child amongst those I could see was armed in any way, that wasn't really surprising.

"Who the hell are you?" The beefiest of the bandits, and most likely their leader, demanded, hefting a tin greataxe threateningly.

"The Old Man called me Outworlder," I replied flatly, pausing to mutter a swift incantation and twitch my left wrist, conjuring a flaming scimitar, "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm The Bear," He said, and I could hear the capital letters, "And these are my woods, mage. Get lost before I take your head off."

What an idiot. I couldn't make it much more obvious that I'm a Druid if I tried, and he was picking a fight with me. True, he did have ten men backing him up, but...

Right. Just because I spent the last two years working closely with a Druid, doesn't mean these idiots are aware of just how dangerous magic really is. Might even think the flaming sword is an illusion. Well, time to muck out a bit more of the shit in this world.

"Well, boob," I said, stepping in front of chuckles and into a defensive stance, "These are my woods now, and you can either get lost, or I'll feed you to Chuckles here."

The rage that cropped up on his face was strangely gratifying, his cohorts charging me in a screaming mass at a gesture from his axe less so. Hunching down, I backed up slightly, preparing to meet the bandit's charge with my fiery blade, while Chuckles prepared to maul them. It was a tactic that the Old Man had trained us in, and I was about to see just how effective it actually was for the first time.

The rest of the bandits were wielding what looked to be wooden axes with tin-shod edges, and their eyes made it clear just how little they cared about the lives of anyone but themselves. They'd become little more than disgusting predators, casting off their ability to reason and make something better out of themselves, for the most basic of instincts: The strong prey upon the weak.

Unfortunately for them, Chuckles is more of a predator than they would ever be. The first two that came in range of his jaws learned this the hard way, taking a savage bite to their shoulders; Chuckles could have sunk his jaws in and torn them apart, but we had a better plan. He only held down long enough to hurl them off balance, throwing them back into their compatriot's path, blocking half of them from closing enough to land a blow against either of us, and almost knocking some of them down. One bandit wove between the two flying bodies, and took a swipe at me, but I was more than ready, and ducked out of the way.

A few of the bandits did come around on Chuckles' sides, but only one got enough force behind his blow to actually hurt Chuckles, and that just pissed him off.

Then their charge was spent, and it was our turn. I laid into the bandit who'd slipped in close with my blade of fire, but he was sharp, and caught the blow on his axe. Sharp, but not smart, the blazing sword sliced through the axe's haft like it wasn't even there, and the man dropped the pieces as the blade superheated them.

Chuckles turned his attention to the bandit that had actually managed to hurt him, even through the spell I'd laid on his already-tough hide, seized his primary weapon arm, and hurled the man to the ground.

Then the mess of men whose charge had been blocked by Chuckles bloody riposte sorted themselves out, and the whole thing devolved into a bloody brawl, blood, intestines, and seared flesh spattering everywhere. Ganging up on us, the thugs managed to rough us up a bit, but they were just the trash of society, trash by their own choice, and their weapons were almost as shoddy as they were, only a threat in numbers.

The only one who was really dangerous, was their leader, the king of a bunch of miscreants is still a king, and there's only one way to the top with these types, brute force. At some point, he realized that his thugs weren't going to be able to take us down by sheer weight of numbers, and charged into join the fight, spilling my blood with a heave of his axe in spite of its doubly-enhanced toughness. Things got ugly for a few moments there, the remnants of his band of cheap killers hemming me and Chuckles in while he carved me up; then I went for his axe.

The look on his face when that shoddy tin axe, still five steps above the crap his men wielded, came apart in his hands, filled me with a grim satisfaction. I doubt it'd even occurred to him that someone could do that to him, even though I'd done the same thing to one of his men less than a minute before.

One of the three other surviving bandits nearly took Chuckles out while I was busy with his boss, but I let him know what I thought of that with three feet of shaped flame, and Chuckles chimed in, taking the man's arm off, axe still in hand with a single snap of his jaws. The other two saw the falling night of their mortality in the dark blood dripping from Chuckles jaws, and tried to run.

They didn't succeed.

The 'Bear' realized he was alone, unarmed, and in front of the man and wolf that had killed his ten groupies about six seconds too late. He tried to go for one of the dropped wooden axes, but chuckles showed him what a real forest predator is like, by going for the throat. I'll give the man this, he was tough, and took one more swipe at me before we killed him, maybe hoping that with me out of the picture the wolf would back down. It was a panicked blow though, I could see the fear in his eyes as he realized just how fast the hunter had become the hunted, and I was too wary at this point to let it land.

By the end of it all, they'd carved us both up good, but we were still alive, and I was a Druid. I broke out the pouch of healing-infused berries in my pack, and took the edge off the pain. Wound closed, a nearly-severed rib healed up, and perhaps most importantly of all, the energy surge from the healing would keep me from getting the shakes as the adrenaline wore off.

I'd killed sentients before, on two occasions. Once when escaping the lab, and the second time when the two thugs tried to take me in the alley. Both had been purely self defense, and I hadn't stuck around; this time, I'd provoked the fight, it had lasted for more than a few seconds, and it had involved blades, which mean I was covered in blood, guts, and other bits of human detritus. When it caught up with me, things weren't going to be pretty.

There were things to do first though; I sprinkles a couple dozen berries onto the dead bandit leader that Chuckles was messily eating; he was used to receiving them as treats, and would make sure to eat them all, healing him of the worst of his injuries. Then I turned my attention to the caravan I had been fighting to protect in the first place.

It was pretty obvious they'd never seen a real fight before, every last one of them was staring at Chuckles and me in horror, except for the kids whose eyes were being covered by their parents. Part of me squirmed at seeing the kids; I vaguely remembered being innocent enough to qualify as a 'kid,' that was pretty thoroughly beaten out of me by the end of my college years.

You don't need to see a war to see just how far man's inhumanity to man can extend. Dying on a battlefield, even slowly bleeding out, is a matter of hours of pain at the most, barring the extreme exceptions. I've known people though, that were the products of a lifetime of debasement, almost always by their family, and I'd call that crueler than death any day.

"Sorry you had to see that," I said gruffly as I approached the caravan leaders, dismissing my flaming sword as I did so, "Any of you hurt?"

((()))

AN: Cutting it off there, need some creative down time before I push it further. Any suggestions for people to encounter, serious suggestions, would be quite welcome at this point.

((()))

"N-no," One of the men said, then shook himself, and quickly walked up to me.

He was a tall man, with the muscles of a farmer, though he was lacking the usual tan, and a beard to do an Amish proud. His hands were shaking a little, but there was a steadiness and determination to his eye that I could respect, especially for someone who'd had their first real dose of violent, bloody, death.

"What about you?" He asked, looking me over with about the last thing that I expected, genuine concern.

"I'll be fine," I said, struggling not to sound dismissive; people displaying signs of concern makes me wary, "I'm a Druid, I know how to deal with it. Why are you out here unarmed?"

His jaw clenched, anger flared in his eyes, then was gone just as quickly.

"The Duke," He said, his tone painfully cool, "Forbade us from traveling armed through any portion of his territory, which specifically informed includes everything within ten miles of Tarsus."

Figures. Duke was pretty much signing their death warrants with that order, considering he had to know that bandit activity on the new continent was on the rise.

"Bandit activity around Tarsus has been on the rise for the last three years," I told him flatly, "The Duke was trying to get you killed. What did you do to piss him off?"

"We are worshippers of Eru," He said, "The Divine Fire, Creator God, something that the Duke's allies amongst the corrupt priesthoods of the false gods will not tolerate."

That was a bittersweet mix of Tolkien and the Mayflower story, though it sounded like the Duke had taken more of Melkor's course of action than the British government's. We were only two miles upriver from Tarsus; if bandits were encroaching in this far, things were worse than I'd thought.

"What brings you to the new continent then?" I asked, "This isn't exactly the easiest place to reach."

"Freedom to practice our faith," He said, "Without demagogues constantly attempting to roust mobs against us. The King may have declared a law of freedom, but few seem to respect it."

I looked past him, to the caravan. There were perhaps a dozen carts, some of them covered, and at least a hundred people, though most of them were adolescents or children. Maybe two dozen looked like men fit to fight, with twice that number of women and older children I'd consider possibly viable militia.

Dammit, they were freaking pilgrims. Leaving them alone would be leaving them to die, and I couldn't do that.

"My name is John," I told the man, reaching out with my left hand, the one not covered in blood and guts, "I am young yet, as Druids go, but I will try to see you safe through to a place where you can settle."

"I appreciate it," The man said, taking my hand and shaking it firmly, "My name is Neb, and I am the mayor amongst our community, even if we have no town of our own just now. How can we repay you?"

"You have a smith or a carpenter amongst you?"

((()))

"Not much of a conversationalist, are you?" One of the older women amongst the caravan asked me early the next day.

We'd put another few miles behind us before the end of the day, and had been up with the dawn, a quickly cooked breakfast fortifying those who weren't sleeping in the wagons before we set out again. A couple of the older men had spoken with me a little, but it was fairly obvious that the men, and particularly the women, were keeping the children well away from me.

Considering the smell of human blood and guts I hadn't had the opportunity to wash out of my clothing until this morning, I hardly blamed them. Now though, one of the women who looked like she was somewhere in her mid-forties, with gray beginning to tinge her dark hair, had approached me where Chuckles and I walked alongside the column.

"Depends on who you ask," I told her, "Some people go to great length to avoid having to listen to me."

"Oh?" She saiid, a note of wry humor in her voice, "Why would that be?"

I held my peace, looking up and down the caravan beside me for a few moments before responding.

"Neb," I said, nodding towards the front of the caravan, "Your leader. He is in a position of authority, and is responsible not only for making decisions that could see you all killed or safe in a new home, but also setting an example for everyone."

"Yes," She said, apparently to be patient while I got to my point.

"I read people," I continued, "I've learned a lot of survival and nature lore, and I am no stranger to a fight. If I think he's making stupid decisions that will get people killed, or set a bad example for the munchkins, I'll call him out on it. He wouldn't be the first person, and I have to tell you, I'm hard pressed to remember a time when a leader didn't let their pride do their thinking for them, rather than consider what was best for the people they were responsible for, when I challenged them."

"Hm," She said thoughtfully, "I can see where that could cause a lot of friction, especially coming from a stranger," Then she smiled, "Still, speaking the truth is to be valued, even if it has unpleasant consequences. I'm Lyn, by the way, I hear your name is John?"

"Yeah," I said, looking at her slightly askance, "That's me."

"And your wolf?" Lyn pressed.

"Chuckles," I said, patting the wolf affectionately, who nuzzled me in response, "Combination guardian beast, warm blanket, and rambunctious puppy. Also could probably serve as a pack animal, if I ever had need of such."

"How is he with children?" Lyn asked.

"I don't know," I said, "He's never really been around them before. He won't attack unless one of us is attacked, or I tell him to, though."

"Good," Lyn said with a nod, "The children will be curious. We can try to keep them away if you wish, but sooner or later one of them will slip away."

"Probably best we let them acclimate to each other," I said, "Less likely there'll be trouble that way."

Lyn nodded.

((()))

AN: Character interaction stuff is getting slower as I try to mentally establish the personalities of the various characters. It should pick up once I've got a better handle on who they are.

((()))

Over the next few days, there was little to do but talk while the caravan moved, and Lyn seemed to make a deliberate effort to get me into chatty moods. I was careful with what I told her, didn't want her taking me to be crazy, so telling her about the technology of Earth without a demonstration was out, I didn't want her prying into my personal past just yet, at least from before I came to Tyrin, and I was sworn to secrecy regarding my years of Druidic training, so the available topics for me to talk about were pretty narrow.

Mostly, we talked about parenting. Her children were fully grown, with kids of their own now, not surprising considering the earlier ages weddings usually took place at, but she had a sharp memory, and that rare commodity, common sense. I was hard pressed to not start ranting on the subject, as it's something I'm pretty damn passionate about, but the Old Man had forced me to see that it could turn into a form of 'Villain Monologue' if I didn't check myself more often. Instead, I only said enough to keep her talking, and let her show her character by how she spoke of her children.

The fact that she was willing to talk about the mistakes she'd made as a mother, and that her husband had made before he'd died, as well as the decisions she thought right, said a lot about her. Mostly, that she was too good for this world, and her kids were damn lucky to have her for a mother. Also rather telling about her character, she didn't ask about my mottled complexion. Maybe she just assumed it came from being a Druid.

During the evenings, after we'd stopped for the night, the group's carpenter would show me a few tricks of the trade. Carpentry isn't actually all that complicated; shaping wood is fairly simple, but doing it well takes skill. How to cut and split wood without splintering it, how to work with the grain, etc, etc. My augmented manual dexterity made it pretty easy for me to pick up; of course, I planned to cheat outrageously once we were in one place long enough for me to try for a beehive.

Neb also spent a little bit of time talking with me, asking me about which local plants were edible, which were poisonous, what dangerous predators were active in the area. So far, he was actually behaving like a competent leader, and I was begrudgingly impressed.

Starting on the second day, some of the kids started to approach Chuckles, and by the end of the day, they knew how he earned his name, and at least a half-dozen of the little rugrats were riding him at all times, rubbing, petting, and stroking his fur to make him chuckle, which would make them all vibrate. About as many of the adults were horrified, as were amused.

It was on my fourth day with the caravan that we ran into our second problem.

((()))

Goblins are ugly little bastards, with uglier dispositions, and the Wargs they ride are only worse. So when I spotted one of them making eyes at our caravan out of the woods, I knew trouble was coming. I waited until it backed off, no doubt off to summon more trouble, then moved up to Neb, and warned him we were probably going to be raided by Goblins within a few hours. He had us step up the pace, in hopes of finding a clearing where we could fort up, and lucked out about an hour latter with a large clearing, nearly a quarter mile across.

The wagons were circled, and weapons were passed out. It wasn't much; two bows that had been crafted during our night-time stops, the nine axes that'd been looted from the Bear's men, and a dozen tin-tipped spears the carpenter and blacksmith had put together. We were well past ten miles from Tarsus, and after my little scrap with the bandits, there was no way these people were leaving themselves unarmed, even if they were loath to accept violence.

One thing that became pretty obvious really damn fast, was that Neb was no kind of battle leader; fortunately, they had me on hand, and while I'd never commanded troops in battle before, I had been a leader, had been in fights to the death, and have a history of crushing almost all opponents at strategy games. Further, I'm the kind of guy who, even when playing computer strategy games, tries to complete each mission with as few losses as possible. It took some thinking back to put myself in the right mindset, but at least I wasn't going to need to rewrite my playbook in order to get half these people killed protecting the other half.

Didn't mean they were going to like all of my orders though.

"Neb," I called as I rode up to the man on Chuckles, "Take one of the spears, and show the children how to use it. I don't want them to, but it's better than them being completely helpless."

The look in his eyes made it clear that he did not like the idea, but understood the reasoning of it.

"Vagyr," I called next, addressing one of the huntsmen in the group, "Gather up all the men, the women willing to fight, and the adolescents strong enough to hold a spear decently well, and bring them to me outside of the circle."

Then Chuckles turned and leapt over the circled wagons, and sat down while I thought. Everything would ultimately depend on numbers. If there were too many goblins, the only real chance would be to fight a suicide defense to kill as many of them as possible, then break out with the children while the adults played distraction by sending the horses and oxen that pulled the carts stampeding in the other direction. Considering just how many children there were, and I'd be their only real escort, odds were that that would turn out very poorly. Most likely it would devolve to me getting out maybe a dozen of the smallest on Chuckles, while the rest were run down in the forest. Or...

Scratch that, better chances of running for the river, and letting it carry us away, if things were that bad. With some tree trunks wood-shaped into crude rafts or boats, getting the children out would be a lot easier; the Wargs could probably swim, but all the loot would be with the circled wagons, not the fleeing children, so it was doubtful the goblins would try to follow us into the water. That was the worst case scenario, barring ridiculous things like high-level casters backing the Goblins up.

As for less-dire circumstances, well, Vagyr and the others were approaching.

"Outworlder," He called, "What would you have us do?"

"Simple plan," I said, surveying the roughly four dozen able-bodied people he'd brought, "Best way to avoid it going wrong. Men take the axes, women take the spears. Plant the butt of the spear and point it at the little buggers; they're smaller, their reach will be inferior. I'll split you up into teams, one covering each gap between the wagons, with a mix of men, women, and adolescents. If someone gets injured, rotate in the adolescents, and I'll try to come by and provide healing.

"In the meantime, I'll be on Chuckles, moving to support anywhere it looks like they're rushing. Archers'll take targets of opportunity, but if you see any that look like shaman, or with more fancy clothing that doesn't include armor, shoot them and tell me immediately. If there are any casters, they'll be the most dangerous of the bunch.

"If everything goes to hell, stampede the horses West, those left on the East side will try to breakout with the children, and take them to the River. Not the best chance, in the water, but better than being run down by Wargs in the forest. Any questions?"

There was a long moment of silence before Vagyr spoke.

"You've been in battle before, haven't you?" He said quietly.

"Not like this," I said, shaking my head sharply, "But I've trained for strategy and tactics extensively, and as you saw with your own eyes, I know how to handle myself on the battlefield."

"...Good enough for me," Vagyr said after a while, then helped me set about the business of dividing the men and women up into eleven combat teams.

Once we finished dividing them up, all that was left was the waiting for them, and for me, to prime my mind with spells more appropriate to the needs at hand.

((()))

I spent about half an hour in 'meditation' (not really how it's done, but again, Druid Secrets), prepping up my modified spell selection, put together a few more pit traps, then shifted to trying to get the followers of Eru into a solid war-chant. It took a bit, but once the kids got into it, they got the gist of it, even if they weren't much in the way of singers. I would have liked to spend more time on getting them psyched up, but didn't end up having enough time.

When the goblins did catch up with us about two and a half hours after we stopped, there were roughly thirty of them, armed with maces and javelins, except for about half a dozen which carried no weapons, and had blue fur. Something about that niggled at my memory, but I decided exactly what didn't matter. They were wearing better clothes, carrying no weapons, and no armor; that made them priority targets whatever they were.

The instant that the pack of Warg-riding Goblins entered the clearing, Chuckles and I moved to place ourselves between the circle of wagons and the Goblins, casting Shillelagh as I moved. I raised my free hand and... paused for a moment. With a quick litany under my breath, I cast Produce Flame, wreathing my raised fist in fire, then called to the followers of Eru.

"Begin the chant!"

Stomp-Stomp-Clap

"Naare O Firya!" The children cried, the adults not speaking for some reason.

Stomp-Stomp-Clap

"Naare O Firya!" The children cried again, and this time, I joined my voice to theirs, while the adults stared, startled at the flames covering my hand.

Stomp-Stomp-Clap

"NAARE O FIRYA!" All of them now roared, and I felt a fire rise in my own chest, and I could see it in their eyes.

Stomp-Stomp-Clap.

"NAARE O FIRYA!" We roared as one, and I turned to face the goblins, whose advance had slowed slightly.

Better for us, they had pulled in to a tighter group, surprise at the unexpected spirit of resistance facing them causing them to feel tremors of fear.

"Inras, dru Kon!" One of the blue-furred goblins shouted, and the Goblins began to advance.

"NAARE O FIRYA!" I roared, unleashing an Entangle spell, then spurring Chuckles into a charge myself.

The Entangle spell incited the simple grass of the clearing to sprout into virulent growth, which leapt up to seize the Wargs, and the Goblins riding atop them.

"NAARE O FIRYA!"

It seized every last one.

My heart leapt in my chest; this just went from a perilous battle, to a chance at crushing victory.

"NAARE O FIRYA!"

The eyes of the Blues glowed, and my mind exploded into pain as psychic attacks slammed into my mind.

"NAARE O FIRYA!"

I roared all the louder, nudged Chuckles into a leap as we neared the Goblins front ranks, and cast Obscuring Mist as we descended, dousing the entire mass of Goblins in a chill mist. Panicked cries began to erupt all around me as I descended on their leaders, bu-

"NAARE O FIRYA!"

They were drowned out, even through the mist, by the roaring chant of my allies. Chuckles slammed down onto one of the Blues, his flaming teeth closing on the creature's neck, and crushing it instantly. I went for the Warg beneath it, lashing out with my magicked club, crushing one of its eyes as we landed.

The Wargs retaliated savagely, tearing strips of flesh out of Chuckles flanks, and the Blues attempted to assault my mind again, but-

"NAARE O FIRYA!"

-I was more prepared for them this time, and though my head hurt, it was nowhere near enough to even slow me down, much less stop me, after what I had experienced in that damn lab, and I could feel a part of my mind instinctively seeking to defend Chuckles and myself.

Chuckles himself had determined that he was going to show the Wargs who the real Alpha Male was, and seized the Warg I had already injured by the neck and began shaking it visciously. I helped him out with a rounding swing at the thing's neck, snapping its spine, which allowed Chuckles to tear its head the rest of the way off-

"NAARE O FIRYA!"

-and hurl it at one of the Wargs that had dared to wound him. The Wargs continued to try to fight, but the aggressively growing wild grass was continuing to tighten its grip on them, and only one was able to do any kind of damage, which earned it a much more vicious counterattack from Chuckles, and a swipe from my club, though working around Chuckles head proved more interference than I could effectively work around at this point.

The Blues tried to assault my mind again, and this time, one broke through, sharp pain erupted in my right temple, and blood began to flow from my ear and nose-

"NAARE O FIRYA!"

-but the chanting was getting closer, and the blow with my club I laid out in response crushed his skull like a melon, while Chuckles began to dominate the Wargs that remained close enough, and free enough from entanglement to even try to fight them, savaging one and kicking the other away when it attempted to bring its jaws to bear on him.

Another sharp pain in my head marked another of the Blues getting through my defenses, as the more experiences psychics began to figure out ways to get around my defenses, but-

"NAARE O FIRYA!"

-even as blood began to flow out of my other ear, and well up out of my eyes, I crushed another's skull, and they were dying far faster than me. Chuckles took one more hit from the surviving two Wargs before-

"NAARE O FIRYA!"

-I finished off the remaining pair of Blues, killing them before they could break into my mind again, and after that, the battle devolved into chanting, roaring, screaming death, as Goblin after Goblin fell to my club, or Chuckles bloody maw, while their tougher Warg mounts either were torn apart, or ripped free of their bonds and fled off into the mist.

When the mists finally cleared, some minutes later, I found that the armed pilgrims had followed me in my charge at the goblins, and slaughtered the warband while it struggled against the bonds I had conjured to restrain them. My hand was still ablaze with supernatural fire, as I had cast the Produce Flame spell twice more during the fight, and many of their eyes were fixed upon it. A number of them had been injured in the fighting, but only one had died, and as I quickly moved to tend to the wounded, infusing vital energies into their bodies so that they would heal from their wounds in seconds, rather than days, they began to chant again, taking up the stamp and clap once more, this time with a note of victory.

Stomp-Stomp-Clap

"NAARE O FIRYA!"

Myself, I was just glad that the death toll on our side had been so low, and that I had listened to the advice of others, as the Entangle spell had proven the decisive advantage, and I had not even thought to use it myself.

"NAARE O FIRYA!"

The Fire is With Us.

((()))

AN: That didn't go the way I expected, at all. Every single Warg and Goblin failed their save. With the 3d6 instead of 1d20 mechanic I'm using, that gave them decreased odds of making it, sure, but the Wargs at least had a decent chance. Especially since I effectively dropped the DC a bit to count for the lower dice range and probabilities. Then they failed all of their checks to attempt to escape too! I guess the Fire Pilgrims really did have divine favor on their side...

Then with the Mist, and the pitiful rolls the Goblin Warband made against morale effects I calculated out for everything, the battle was pretty much a wrap. I'll make sure to ask you guys for advice more often; the chant is something that would have occurred to me eventually anyways, but not in time for me to have included it.

Oh, and no, the pilgrims won't start seeing the SI as some sort of deific avatar or anything. That is not in the plan, at all.

((()))

When we returned to the impromptu wagon-fort, we were rushed by every single woman who hadn't been part of the combat team, and most of the kids. I was more than a little surprised when I was rushed by Lyn, given that I knew two of her sons and one of her daughters were amongst the caravan, which given the ages, meant at least the sons had been part of the combat team.

"I thought you were a healer!" She shouted somewhat breathlessly as she approached me, warily raising her hands towards my face.

I flinched, taking a full step back before I regained control of myself.

"I am," I said roughly, forcing myself to step forward again.

"Have you exhausted your magic then?" She asked, and I could hear 'frustrated parent trying not to be angry' all over her voice, "Why are you bleeding from your eyes?"

"Oh," I said, surprise overcoming my instinctive reaction to attempted physical contact, "I'd forgotten."

A quick mumbled Lesser Vigor later, and the burst blood vessels in my head began to rapidly close, Chuckles wounds likewise beginning to close. Her reaction was understandable; she had no way to know that I'd been forced to learn to functionally ignore pain if I wished to accomplish anything in the lab. Considering the developing horror in her eyes, probably wouldn't be the best to tell her about that any time soon.

"I will not ask you about that right now," Lyn said, her voice strained, but she was attempting to be warm; her arm twitched, but she stopped herself from trying to touch me again, "I'm glad you are apparently well; I must now go and check on my sons. Who do not have blood streaming down their faces."

((()))

It turns out two of the Goblins did manage to escape, probably by holding tight to their Wargs while the psuedo-wolves ripped free to flee. Most likely, it's better that way; they'll spread the word to any other Goblin warbands that this particular group of humans are not to be messed with. Once the post victory hubbub had died down, I led some of the men back go the battlefield, to loot the bodies. There was some initial disgust, but when I pointed out that not only could we benefit from whatever we recovered, we would be denying it to whatever goblins came to find the battlefield.

There was also a lot of grief over the dead man, a middle-aged farmer named Arin; I mostly stayed away from that, I never even spoke with him, and I don't see any real reason to be any closer to that kind of woe right now than I have to. I spent my time piling the bodies up and digging a fire break with Chuckles instead, so that they could be safely burned. I was regaining a second wind after all the spells and fighting tired me out; the goblins were hardly difficult to move with my enhanced strength, and Chuckles moved most of the Warg corpses.

I set the bodies alight around dusk, and when I rejoined the Fire Pilgrims, I found that they were having something between a Wake and a goodbye party, with laughter and tears, while Arin's body was burned. I suppose it didn't really surprise me that believers in a fire deity would practice cremation, but it still wasn't the prettiest sight; they'd wrapped him in a shroud, but that only went so far. After that, things mostly died down for the night, and after posting a watch rotation, we set down to sleep between the circled wagons.

To clear things up amongst those of you talking about working with metal, our group has a fair bit of recovered scrap tin from the goblin's weapons now, about twenty pounds. We've also got some miscellaneous silver. It's enough to experiment with, but not to get going full-steam on. Also important, I've earned enough trust at this point for the smith, Roikus, to reveal his greatest prize, and primary tool; a smithing hammer made out of Aluminum. The stuff is, literally, worth more than its weight in gold, but according to Roikus, it's the top-tier metal for making tools, and truly wealthy nobles will have armor made out of it, though that's damn rare.

When we get to a place worth settling, I'd like some info on how to find Aluminum, Tin, or even Iron deposits. This continent is mostly unexplored, and we might find here what hasn't been found anywhere else. Also any summaries of refining techniques for Titanium and Aluminum; if it's at all possible to make these metals more workable, I could start an industrial revolution based on that alone.

Finally, I think the Blues cracked something loose in my mind, as I'm starting to feel a new sort of energy at my disposal; hopefully it's Psionic something, as after that battle, It's been made pretty clear how much I need to up my game. I hate to do it, but I'm going to start to intensify my spell-training over other things, me functioning as a support caster will do these people more good than another melee combatant, as much as it goes against my nature to put myself in a support role when people are risking their lives on the front lines.

We also need more bows, badly.

((()))

The next day, I woke with a headache, and with sore muscles. I dealt with it, and Chuckles similar grumpiness, in the way that the Old Man had all but beaten into me; a long, punishing run through the forest. When I returned to the camp, the Fire Pilgrims were halfway through packing up, and Lyn came out to greet me when I emerged from the treeline.

"I'm glad you're back," She said warmly, "Some of us were worried you'd decided to leave."

I just shook my head in response, my breathing still somewhat labored for speech.

"You don't seem the type to leave without telling anyone," She said, "Even if you never said how long you would protect us for."

"Unless something more pressing comes up," I said between deep breaths, "I intend to stay with you until you are better able to protect yourselves."

"That's uncommonly generous," Lyn said, some surprise in her voice, "I thought Druids believed in predator and prey, the strong preying on the weak."

"Then why do you think I've stayed with you so far?" I asked, carefully restraining the instinct to take offense.

"Well," Lyn said carefully, picking up on the restraint in my voice better than I had expected, "The brigands were easily explained, as they were challenging you for dominance of your territory, most of us expected you to stay behind once we left your territory."

"And you?" I asked, and this time a harsh tinge did make its way into my voice.

"I've been reserving my judgement," Lyn said, "All the Druids I've heard of back on Astur, and some of those were stories from the person who dealt with them personally, did think like that. On the other hand, you didn't have to confront those bandits just as they were about to attack us, and you don't talk like someone who doesn't care about what happens to people who are 'weak' either."

"Damn right I don't," I growled, turning away from her, because I didn't want her thinking I was angry with her, "It's no kind of man that just abandons those in need when he can help."

"Too true," Lyn said with a gentle, wistful smile, "I wish more men, were men. Come on, get something to eat before we leave."

((()))

In spite of the funeral, the general mood amongst the Fire Pilgrims was bright, cheerful even.