Sorry Please Thank You (9 page)

It is foretold that there will be two hundred fifty-five battles in our path to destiny.

In the Final Battle, Battle 256, we will face the final boss.

Sounds pretty exciting.

And it was, for a while.

Today is Battle 253.

I think.

Hard to tell, though.

To be honest, epic battles of good and evil, they’re pretty epic, but after about the first two hundred, they all start to kind of blur together.

Before setting out to the battlefield, we pray to our god, Frëd. He’s a minor deity, but sort of an up-and-comer. At least that’s what he tells us.

We get a lot of shit from other groups for worshipping him, but he’s really Byr’s deity. Now that I think about it, she’s partly responsible for this mess we’re in. Before we became acolytes of Frëd, we all kind of did our own thing. And we definitely never talked about it, it was just sort of no one else’s business who or what you worshipped or sacrificed poultry for, so long as you pulled your weight and your deity wasn’t some imp who was going to screw with everyone or make us give up gold coins for safe passage or cause us to suffer ordeals. But then Byr went away to the north over summer vacation and when she came back she had that look like someone had cast Slightly Crazy on her, and she was all Frëd this, Frëd that, she couldn’t stop talking about the guy, and we were all like, okay, cool, but you’re not going to go all druid on us, are you?

“Frëd,” Byr prays, “O Sort-of-Omnipotent One, protect
us today. Keep us safe, body and soul. Let us fight without fear, and vanquish our enemies.”

“Or at least let us not get our asses kicked like last time,” Rostejn adds.

“Goddammit, Rostejn,” Byr says.

“No, no, fair enough,” Frëd says, from wherever he is. We can’t see him but his voice booms from on high. “I have to apologize for not doing such a great job the last few moons. I have gotten all of your prayers. Honestly, I’ve just been going through kind of a weird time.”

Byr reassures Frëd. “You’re fine. Seriously. You know we love you,” she says, and everyone murmurs in agreement, but it’s not the most reassuring thing to realize that the god you worship actually just wants you to believe in him.

Krugnor turns out to be an absolute beast on the battlefield. Not that anyone is surprised. He’s ripped.

“Has to be at least Sixteen Strength,” Rostejn says, watching him tear through some bad elves.

Byr’s like, “Nuh uh. Seventeen, man. Easy.”

Trin isn’t even fighting, she’s just standing there staring at the dude’s muscles while he brandishes his +3 broadsword. I’m not even sure I could pick that thing up.

“Does he really have to fight with his shirt off?” I ask, but no one’s listening. He flexes a lot, even when it doesn’t seem necessary, and he can do that back-and-forth thing with his pecs. Ugh, look at him, just standing there
in the river as it rushes by and splashes on his hardened body.

Even Fjoork gets in on the love fest.

“Did you see what he did to that kobold?” he says. “Split him clean in half, one-handed, with his short sword.”

If I didn’t know better, I’d think Krugnor had cast Infatuation on everyone. The guy is a totally cheeseball beefcake brooding sulking warrior type. Such a cliché. Although, I have to admit, I do feel safer with him out there in front.

Maybe that’s what a hero looks like.

And for the first time since the quest began, I start to feel a little wobbly, as if my POV isn’t so stable. As if the center of things is moving. As if the frame is unsure of who to follow, whose story it is. As if, maybe, I’m not so destined for my destiny after all.

We cross the highlands and come to a ridge, on the other side of which is the Valley of Aaaa.

“I’ve always wondered how that’s pronounced,” Rostejn says.

Byr says a prayer to Frëd as we begin our descent into the valley. We trudge through the Bog of Uncertainty. Trin reminds everyone to be careful of what we eat or even look at. Last time we were in the bog, Rostejn fell under the sphere of influence of a powerful mage in the Abjuration school and almost got everyone turned into black pudding.

Now we’re in a dead zone for magic. Alteration prevails on one side, and Necromancy on the other. Neither one
can practice in the other’s region, as they are mutually forbidden schools. We walk the tightrope in between, maneuvering carefully, taking the narrow path, as shown on our scrolling map.

Krugnor follows my lead. Everyone else does, too. I try not to look too happy about it.

At one point we encounter some halflings, a quiet, intelligent people who live around these parts. One of their young has disappeared. The boy’s mother is sobbing. Trin goes to comfort her. The mother explains that her son had fallen asleep on what he thought was a nice soft pile of leaves.

“Shambling mound,” Byr says. The mother looks at us, unsure.

“A creature that looks like a heap of rotting vegetation,” Byr explains. “But is actually a flesh eater.”

“Yuck,” Rostejn says. “That is nasty.”

Byr shoots Rostejn a look like
real nice, idiot,
and the mother starts her crying again, even harder this time, and everyone is looking at me to do something, so without a word I leap straight into the mound, diving into the creature’s body to grab the halfling kid, and then hacking my way out with a scythe. Which is messy, to say the least, and costs me about eight hit points, but in doing so, I level up. Everyone congratulates me, and I’m feeling pretty good. Even Trin looks impressed, and for a moment it doesn’t seem so impossible that she might be in love with me after all.

The good feeling doesn’t last long, though. The next battle is Battle 254 and we just aren’t quite ready for this kind of onslaught yet, not tactically, not in terms of speed or weapons or as a team. Byr nearly dies, Rostejn nearly dies. Even my health dips down into the red zone.

I start to flicker in and out, a warning that my existence on this plane is in danger.

I know what I should do, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

Another hit, direct to my torso, and that’s it, my health is critical. My soul starts to tug itself out of its mortal coil, and my POV is floating up toward the clouds. I watch my body down there, fighting without spirit.

Frëd help us, I cry out, in a moment of desperation.

I can’t see him, but I feel Frëd’s presence next to me. “I thought you didn’t believe in me,” he says.

“Really? That’s what you’re going to say right now?” I say. “Seems sort of petty.”

“Um, yeah,” Frëd says. “Do you know anything about gods?”

He’s got a point, I suppose, although really what I’m thinking is how come I’ve never noticed how high Frëd’s voice is. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but for the first time I realize there’s something off about him.

“Byr’s down there,” I say. “She prays to you all the time.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one that’s asking for help,” he says. “Get on your knees.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“For real, dude. I want you to pray to me.”

So I start. “O Sort-of-Great One. O Exalted Mediocre One, Frëd.”

“Get on your knees.”

“You’re pushing your luck.”

Frëd uses some kind of POV shift power to direct my attention back down to the earthly battlefield, where my team is getting slaughtered. “I don’t think you’re in a position to be talking about luck right now.”

I sort of get on one knee, like I’m going to ask him to marry me. Then I hear a woman’s voice.

“Frëëëëëëëëëëëëëëëëëd,” she yells. She sounds angry. Great, now there are two gods, one petty, one angry, and I’m still floating in the sky, getting farther from life with every passing moment. “You are in big trouble, mister.”

Wait a minute. Is she? No. She can’t be.

“Um, Frëd?” I say. “I think your mom’s calling you.”

“Not a word,” he says. “To anyone.”

“Sure, sure. Just kill those monsters for us.”

“I, uh, I can’t do that. Sort of used up all my juice for a while. But here’s a chicken leg,” he says, and disappears. “Sorry, gotta go.”

I eat the food and gain just enough health to return to the plane of the living, where I see that Krugnor and Trin are in berserker rages and Rostejn has just used his Daily Power Move. The battle’s pretty much over. The mini-boss, a frost giant, is on the ground, and one more thrusting attack by Krugnor does the trick.

Trin spots me reappearing and says, welcome back, nice of you to join us.