[MU] - DECEMBER STORYTELLING / MEMORY SHARE

[lifeaftr_mods]

Something is wrong.

This may not very well be obvious, at first. The Storyteller is not present to put forth yet another diatribe, informative or apologetic, and the backdrop of guttering flame and sandy campfire is as present as ever...albeit briefly.



Those who tell their stories will start to notice something...odd taking place. Indeed, no matter how they intend to begin their tale, the land of Mu will immediately start to warp to accommodate it, or something utterly unlike it, until storytellers and listeners alike may find themselves in an exact recreation of a seemingly random memory, in the most stark and painstaking of detail. There is no altering the memory, nor is there any preventing it once it's begun to play - you will simply have to witness memories that are not your own this go around.

Furthermore, stories that take place in worlds other than LifeAftr will be, frankly, inevitable. Those memories, too, will be recreated, to be relived by the teller and lived by the listener.

---

It is time, once more, for you to tell a story...with a slight twist! This is, in fact, our first player plot, as provided by Dragon! The initial setting will be familiar for oldcomers, and newcomers will recognize it from the introduction they received in their dreams.

Yet for this Storytelling only, people can imagine whatever stories they wish, from both their homes and their time on LifeAftr, as long as they don't mind the fact that others will be reliving those stories in the form of an impromptu memory share.

Even those who prefer not to voice their stories aloud are not safe this time around. If the memory is recalled in essence, Mu will shift to accommodate it in full.

There is, however, a benefit to this: those who venture memories to be relived will receive both a befuddled apology from the Storyteller, who will assert that this was most definitely not meant to happen (they're the Storyteller, not the Rememberer!), as well as a tired promise that the relived memories will be worth two offerings each, as if in compensation.

Not that it counts for much, probably.

Comments

3A Hel or High Water

[greatcleavage]

“Durkon...”

What do you do when you’ve been betrayed?”

“...tricked me.”

How do you intellectually respond to that? How do you react when you realize your best friend, the person you most respect and value in the world, turns on you and everything you hold dear?

“He tricked me into bringing him here, and in the process I've helped him sign the death warrant of every man, woman, and child alive—“

So easily, too. All it had taken is one vote. All Durkon had to do was get into this conclave, cast the spell that let him speak for his new goddess, and as her High Priest, deliver the final vote that would lead the gods to destroy the world.

“—a warrant that wouldn't have been issued if I hadn't destroyed Girard's Gate.”

Because that had been the fourth one. Dorukan’s. Girard’s. Soon’s. That fourth one he couldn’t remember offhand. Four of the five Gates had been destroyed, and if the fifth one failed, the Snarl – the god-killing abomination metaphysically trapped within the world – would escape. He couldn’t fault the gods for considering it, he KNEW it had been a possibility, but he hadn’t imagined they would act before the fifth gate was in direct danger. His own mistakes had led to this.

“And worse still, I've helped him condemn his own people to an eternity of suffering.”

Dwarves who died dishonorably were Hel’s purview. Being eradicated by the gods was dishonorable. That was Hel’s stake in the game, and why Durkon as her new high priest had manipulated everything to this end. And for one moment, one glorious moment, Roy felt nothing but raw fury at being used. Raw fury at his own mistakes. Raw fury at everything.

A glorious moment, because it faded a moment later. “Belkar was right,” he said, admitting the worst of his own failures. He’d ignored Belkar because it was easy to ignore Belkar. Because Belkar delighted in tormenting others. Because Belkar had no empathy and probably no soul. And… ”And I think I knew he was right all along.”

The Godsmoot was, for the moment, silent, as the priests and bodyguards present absorbed this twist in shock and horror. None of them had a moment to spare for Roy, which was perfectly fine by him. He didn’t have a moment to spare. Not for sorrow, not for grief, not for self-hatred, not even for the anger that welled up in him again at seeing everything so close to the end. No. He didn’t have a moment, he didn’t have one gods-damned moment to do anything but fix this.

“Wrecan,” he said, turning to the crusader who’d helped guide him through the whole Godsmoot process, “am I correct in thinking that the gods must have a physical representation in the room in order for their vote to count?

“Yes.” Already resigned to his fate, Wrecan just lifted one hand in half a shrug. “I guess that's why your ‘friend’ went through so much trouble to get—“

Roy didn’t care about the obvious now, cutting him off. “So if one god suddenly no longer had a cleric present before the tiebreaker finished, would their vote be nullified?”

“...I suppose,” Wrecan said, though his eyes went wide at what he thought Roy must have been thinking. “But the rules of the Godsmoot are unambiguous: A bodyguard who raises arms against the priest of another god must be put to death immediately!”

“Are there any rules about what happens,” Roy said, reaching over his shoulder, “if a bodyguard attacks their own priest?” The familiar hilt of his grandather’s sword felt neither warm nor cool in his hand, as if it was part of his own body.

“ ...No.”

The moment the word left Wrecan’s mouth, the sword was in Roy’s hands, and he charged past Wrecan towards the railing even as the other said, in admiration, “No, there are not.”

“DURKON!”

The leap down from the balcony was farther than anyone ought to sensibly jump. The landing, frankly, hurt. But Roy ignored the pain as he ignored everything else but what was important – the sweep of his sword as it cut through the air, slamming into Durkon with every ounce of raw brutality Roy could put behind the blow. The vampire went flying backwards, though the divine spells of protection he’d cast about him absorbed the blow. But the indignity hadn’t been enough to wipe the smirk off Durkon’s face as he picked himself up, scooping up his staff once more.

“A fight? Already?” The undead didn’t talk like normal humans, expelling breath past vocal cords. Their voices were projected negative energy, one more essence of evil that clung to them. It was sinister enough even when Durkon had been pretending all was well, that vampirism had changed nothing about him but his status as a living being, but now, his cold words, no longer spoken with a dwarven accent, sounded like purest evil. “I fully expected to have to listen to another one of your tedious speeches first.” Talky man talk too much? Did everyone have to mock him? But what happened to the Roy that said, ‘I refuse to kill anyone because it's slightly more convenient than talking to them’?”

“This is different,” Roy said through his teeth as he pressed his attack, lashing out with his sword. The vampire took it on the pauldrons of his armor though, and Roy took two hasty steps back before Durkon could counterattack with the level-draining negative energy attack that all vampires possessed. “This is a lot more convenient.
When we walked in here, we were already planning on destroying your vampire body and resurrecting you. I'm just moving up the timetable.”

“Still... I don't think you want to fight me, Roy,” Durkon said, his eyes abruptly blazing red. “We've been friends for years.”

The mental assault hit Roy like a truck, even as he recognized its influence. A part of his mind retained its sanity, but the rest couldn’t help but recognize the wisdom in Durkon’s words. They had been friends for years. They’d watched each other’s backs and saved each other’s lives. Durkon had even raised him from the dead. I think what you want is to put your sword down and try to reason with me instead of attacking.
Wouldn't you rather talk than fight?” Durkon looked so reasonable, so sensible, as he looked up at Roy. “You like talking so much.”

“I...” Roy put his hands to his head with what little remained of his strength. Mental compulsions and dominations worked best when they suggested what the victim was inclined to do already. How many times had Roy proclaimed that he preferred diplomacy to violence? That even in dealing with creatures considered ‘evil’, he could reach a solution that didn’t end up with one side dead? Durkon was hitting what he knew to be a virtue Roy held highly. “Can...”

There really was no question. You didn’t simply have a reasoned discussion with someone trying to kill the entire world.

“ —multitask!”

The mental compulsion shattered. Durkon, who had put far too much faith into his ability to exploit his best friend’s – FORMER best friend’s – weaknesses, took Roy’s sword across his chest before he could even mount a defense. The weapon cut through his armor and into his undead flesh, not a final blow but certainly one that counted. Durkon retreated a few steps, his expression darkening as he realized his gambit had failed.

“I'm surprised you're not on our side. A world that's been destroyed can never be conquered by Xykon.” The black energy of Hel gathered around his hand, then lashed out at Roy. “Hold Person.” A brief paralytic energy settled around Roy, then snapped as he powered through it, bringing his sword around.

“Oh, yeah, trade one undead overlord for a new world filled with them. Brilliant!” His sword skipped off Durkon’s shield with a clash. “And you're not surprised at all. You lied to me about coming here!” Before Durkon could reach, he swung the sword backhand, forcing the vampire to duck further behind his shield, then struck another forehand blow. “If you really thought I might consider your position, you wouldn't have made it seem like a lucky coincidence.”

“True,” Durkon said with a smirk, “but then you probably wouldn't have listened. You've never been very good at listening to any idea that didn't originate inside your own skull. That's probably why the Domination failed.”

Idiot. Roy was so far past being insulted at this point that all Durkon was doing was giving him an opening. “Maybe. Or maybe it failed because you've never been very good at being assertive.” Roy abruptly converted his next swing to a thrust. Durkon, his shield ready to block a blow coming at him sidelong, took the tip of the sword directly to his chest, letting out a gasp of pain. That seemed put an end to the dwarf’s sass – rather than try for a second jab, Durkon hurled another spell at him, something Roy didn’t even recognize that send agony through him as he hailed more blows down on the vampire.

He was winning the exchange, he could tell. Durkon must have sensed it too, because he abruptly took off in a sprint across the nave. That choice was so bizarre Roy actually gaped in shock for a moment, before he took off after Durkon with a scowl. “This is silly. I'm the guy who used to carry you when we ran away, remember?” Was Durkon really so desperate that he’d try to flee this way?

“Yes, I clearly remember you leading us to flee encounters we should have bested easily,” Durkon said over his shoulder, his words uninterrupted by the breaths a human would need to take. So apparently they were back to talking again. Which was… Well, Roy didn’t want to kill Durkon. Or rather, Roy didn’t want Durkon to stay dead, which he would have to if he insisted on being evil and dooming the world.

Roy had the advantage. Maybe, he thought, he could leverage it. “Durkon, please... I know it must have been confusing to wake up as a vampire, but you don't need to do this!”

“Confusing?” Durkon almost skidded to a halt, as if he’d been waiting for Roy to say something like this. “Nothing could be simpler. I finally understand what all the humans are always talking about. Now I'm free to act on my needs and desires, to put myself first, without all those ridiculous dwarven traditions tying my hands.

Gods. This all – what even about becoming a vampire would give him such a sense of ‘freedom’? Was it the greater strength? The undeath? Did he feel like he had no choice, because his clan and his people would never accept him like this? Damn it, Durkon, what on earth had gotten into your head?

“And what I want right now is for you to go away,” Durkon said, snatching the holy symbol that hung from his chest. “Destruc—“

Yeah. Durkon was desperate at this point. At the exact moment the magics around Durkon reached their peak, Roy stepped in and, with a sweep of his sword, cut through them. The gathered divine energy popped like a soap bubble, and with a scornful frown, Roy slashed Durkon with enough power to send the dwarf reeling back.

“That's a nice trick you picked up,” Durkon said, regaining his footing. Roy let him – either he’d try to cast another spell, which Roy would interrupt once again, or he’d move in with staff and shield, a contest Roy would easily win. “I admit that I wasn't sure it would be effective against divine magic. But you must admit that it would be far more effective…”

Abandoning his staff where he’d dropped it, Durkon lunged forward, grabbing Roy with hands that crackled with negative energy. “ —against someone who can't fight!”

Level drain! He’d forgotten about level drain! Roy let out a scream as the vampire’s essence sank into his literal soul, corrupting and twisting it within him. “Get OFF!” he yelled, hurling Durkon backwards with one hand, before he could lose any more of his vitality. But Durkon twisted in midair, landing on one of the pillars that supported the balcony as easily as if it were the ground. More vampire powers, damn it.

“I appreciate the breathing room—so to speak. Flame Strike.” Roy barely had time to brace himself before a torrential column of unholy flame smashed down on him from the sky. He had to close his eyes against the heat and the light; when he opened them again, it was to see Durkon scrambling up the pillar, his hands and boots sticking to it like a spider.

“No! Don't you dare run—“ No good. Durkon had gained too much height. “DAMN IT!” Roy whipped his head left, then right, looking desperately for any resource to turn this tide – then spotted the ceremonial spear held by the High Priestess of Odin. “Sorry,” he said as he snatched it clean out of her hands. “I'll make a donation later.”

Ranged weapons weren’t his specialty, and he didn’t have time to aim. Worse, the spear wasn’t intended as a weapon, merely a piece of regalia – its twisted shaft and crude construction made for one unwieldly throw. Frankly, Roy thought he deserved a medal for almost hitting Durkon. Maybe ‘trying’ would count in his favor again when he ended up dead from all this.

“What, still no ranged weapon of your own, Roy? Maybe you can throw a summoned weasel at me,” Durkon sneered as he cast a spell to heal his own wounds. Fine, whatever. Roy checked the hang of the spear where it still quivered in the wall, embedded from the raw strength of his throw, then burst into a run. His own strength, plus the power of the belt still wrapped around his waist, pumped through his legs as he launched himself upwards, just high enough to grab the spear and clamber onto it. Praying that it held, he grabbed the railing around the balcony, then hauled himself up onto that in turn.

Just in time for Durkon to stretch a hand down from the ceiling, pouring more negative energy into Roy’s body and soul. His scream was, once again, purely involuntary, even as he forced his muscles to respond, even as his sword bashed Durkon clean off the ceiling and into a heap in front of him. With a snarl, he reversed his sword, then drove it two-handed into Durkon with enough force that it passed clean through the vampire’s chest and about a foot into the balcony beneath him. “I don't know why you're doing this, Durkon,” Roy said, with the first breath he could take, as he stared down at the dwarf impaled in front of him, “but I can't let it pass.”

“Why am I doing this?” Durkon seemed particularly unconcerned by his extreme disadvantage. “Gee, I don't know...”

His body dissolved. In its place, a cloud of mist blossomed outwards, as dark and malign as the vampire’s deeds. To Roy’s irritation, he still didn’t need lungs to talk. “Maybe it's because I'm an Evil vampire now?”

3B

[greatcleavage]

Well, this was a pain. Roy yanked his sword out of the floor, following after the mist as he swiped at it. A magic sword could theoretically hurt mist… and he didn’t exactly have anything else to do. Actually, if he kept Durkon in mist form, that might count as Hel no longer having a representative ‘on the floor’. Gods were big on literal wording that way. “You'll forgive my insensitivity to your new personal identity when I say: So what? Xykon is an Evil lich. Tarquin's an Evil human. Neither one of them wants to actually destroy the world. Heck, Belkar is an Evil Halfling, and he's like 70% towards wanting to save it. You need to have some underlying reason for supporting this scheme.”

“My mistress Hel desires it. That is all I require, now.” The mist drifted over the edge of the balcony.

“So you're just a puppet, is that it? Shouldn't you be worshipping Elan's clown instead? I thought vampires were supposed to be free-willed undead.”

Durkon’s voice remained audible even as the mist slipped out of sight. “We are, and I have freely chosen to serve.”

That was… a really poor argument. Roy shifted his sword into a guard stance, stepping back to begin a slow circle of the balcony. He knew another attack was coming, but – could Durkon possibly be under some mental control? His actions just didn’t make sense. “Sounds like a convenient rationalization to me. You said you could do whatever you wanted now, unbound by tradition- yet here you are, foot soldier to someone new. Meet the new god, same as the old god. If you really want to experience freedom, you should go tell Hel to go to herself and spend the next hundred years backpacking across Tarterus, or whatever vampires do to find themselves.”

“You're only saying that because you don't want the world to end.”

Nnrgh. “Of course I'm only saying that because I don't want the world to end!” Roy shouted at the air. “This is not an otherwise common topic of conversation!” And gods, would he like to stop having these conversations!

Durkon continued, as if he were being perfectly reasonable, “Is it so unbelievable that I could willingly choose Hel? Thor shuns my kind, while Hel has exalted me. Why shouldn't I be thankful and do as she asks?”

Another flawed argument. More and more, Roy was becoming convinced that all of this discussion was hiding something. Durkon was making excuses that sounded plausible for people who weren’t Durkon. “If that's the only thing tying you to this crazy scheme of hers, then let one of these clerics raise you,” Roy said, still carefully watching inevitable for the attack. He could at least keep pulling at the threads of this tapestry of lies. “I'm sure Thor will take you back with open arms, and Hel will lose her vote.”

“Maybe I no longer want to serve a god who would reject me so casually,” Durkon said. “Maybe I would continue to worship Hel even after I was resurrected.” He’d made a mistake; his voice had in that moment come from one specific place behind him. Roy turned, his sword cutting through the air even as Durkon coalesced. “Ha—“

His sword cut into Durkon’s shoulder, chopping down a more than twice its width into the dwarf’s body. A living being wouldn’t have that army any more, merely a useless lump of flesh hanging half-off their body. But a vampire, held together by foul magics and unclean essence, barely noticed it—and as Durkon reached forward and almost gently laid one calloused hand over Roy’s where he gripped the hilt of his weapon, Roy realized he’d mistimed his blow. He hadn’t interrupted the spell energies.

“—rm.”

The spell coursed through Roy’s body. His back arched with the sudden pain, muscles spasming so violently he actually threw himself off the ground a few inches, before his shoulders slammed hard into the balcony and his body went limp.

“Maybe I don't care who I serve,” Durkon said, smiling, “as long as I can hurt the world that has always hurt Durkon Thundershield.”

His world was nothing but hurting and the scent of his own necromantically-scorched flesh. Durkon drew it out as he tried, and failed, to do anything more than groan hoarsely. “Do you know what my favorite part of my mistress' scheme is?” he said, as blood-rust energy coursed around his hands?

“Unnnh...” He still had strength left. He wasn’t dead. He could still move, damn it. He could still do something! Roy Greenhilt, you are not allowed to just give up and die!

“The dwarves will suffer worse than anyone!” Durkon lunged in just as Roy’s fingers touched the hilt. The feel of it against his skin, the knowledge that he still had a weapon to fight back with, was all he needed. Roy shoved the pain aside, yanking his head up off the ground just in time to see the incoming spell and intercept it with his sword.
“They're... your own... people!”

“So?” Durkon leaned back, letting the divine aura fade from his hands. “They exiled me for no reason! Almost twenty years gone by! They will have all of eternity to contemplate their error!” Again, he pounced – but this time, Roy couldn’t ward off the energy drain. Couldn’t escape, not this hurt. What now? What the hell was he going to –

“SNEAK ATTAK FROM BEHIND!”

Both Durkon and Roy paused, and the two of them sat up slightly to peer at, of all people, Wrecan – who, once he had their attention, simply shrugged. “—is a thing I absolutely cannot do, because it would be against the rules.

Durkon might be a vampire, true – but at a moment like this, Roy was stronger, faster, and perhaps most importantly, still smarter. Smart enough to mentally recover, fast enough to take advantage of Durkon’s hesitation, and most important, strong enough that his disadvantaged blow with only the strength of his arms and back behind it was still enough to knock the dwarf clean off the balcony, down into the nave below. As the sound of Durkon landing heavily and hopefully painfully gave Roy a brief sense of satisfaction, Wrecan hurried over to offer a hand up. “Thanks.”


“It's the least I can do. Also, the most, unfortunately.” Wrecan acknowledged what they both knew with abstract resignation.

But it had been enough. “You gave me enough space to drink a potion. Or two.” Roy dug into his belt pouch for one, the better to put words to deed. “Even with his vampire powers, his short little legs should give me a moment before he—“

“Hel's Might.”

Wrecan and Roy both turned as the lighting in the room suddenly shifted, both because of the magical aura that still shuddered around Durkon, and the fact that the dwarf now clambered over the balcony railing at a height that put giants to shame.

“Now who's the short one? Other than your lifespan, of course.”

That first line would have been better alone, Roy thought. The second one kind of ruined it.

Durkon’s fists descended in a blow that shattered the balcony beneath them “You should stay out of this, crusader. The Church of Hel cannot be held liable if a balcony just so happens to collapse under where you've foolishly chosen to stand,” he said, giving Roy some relief – Durkon wouldn’t taunt Wrecan like that if he’d actually chosen to crush him. Roy wasn’t even certain if that would disqualify Durkon from voting, he couldn’t remember the damn rules right now! All he could do was scramble away, ripping the cork out of the bottle with his teeth and hurriedly slamming the potion back.

“And as for you Roy—I know I probably should just turn to mist and float out of your reach until time's up.” So much for that mist-form-only technicality he’d been hoping for, Roy though, as the potion slid through his shuddering body and mended his wounds. Durkon didn’t seem to care much, as he picked up a giant section of the balcony. “But I'm so tired of watching your smug self-righteous face all the time. Do you know how tiresome it gets that it always has to be about you, Roy? To always have to be the trusty sidekick to you?”

What was he going to do? At this point, he seemed resigned to waiting for yet another miracle to save him. Belkar showing up. One of the priests deciding the world mattered more than their life. Increasingly unlikely circumstances. All he could do now was fight the best he could. “And what do you want? Revenge?” He punctuated the statement with a full-force attack that cut through Durkon’s boot and the foot beneath. Durkon didn’t even notice it. The Durkon I know wouldn't want to condemn his entire race over that.”

“Well, I'm a new Durkon now. Or maybe an old one. It's touch to tell, honestly.” The massive chunk of stone smashed down. Durkon really was holding nothing back, as he broke it open over Roy’ s head.

“You'll never figure it out if the… world ends.” Gods, but he was tired. The blow left his head spinning, and he shoved stone off himself as the dwarf sneered at him.

“Listen to yourself. I'm beating the tar out of you and you still can't bring yourself to stop trying to reason with me. Must be that good old fashioned heroic guilt at work.”

What to do, what to do – first, put some space between him and Durkon. He might be able to run out the spell duration…

“Which is not misplaced. I died on your watch, after all.”

And that was true. Roy knew it was just a cheap shot, hardened himself against the blow. He’d deal with his grief and guilt later – again.

“None of this would be happening if you had kept me safe. That just seems to keep happening for you, doesn't it? There's me, and everyone Belkar ever hurt before I threw him off the side of a mountain, and the entire population of Azure City— and your brother, of course.”

Funny thing, really. All the spells Durkon had flung at him, trying to paralyze him or render him nonfunctional and unable to fight – none of them could have succeeded as well as that sentence did. Durkon was hitting his weak spots, true, but that…

Eric Greenhilt had died because of Roy’s mistake. Hearing that now was worse than dying. He’d at least seen his death coming. This was a knife to the gut worse than Durkon’s betrayal, a sudden ripping pain that brought him up short. It was past belief, far past, to have even heard that – Roy, for a brief second, convinced himself he’d imagined it. “Did you just say—“

A titanic fist slammed directly into his face. Durkon scooped him up, his crimson eyes flaring once again as he pulled Roy in closer to his face. “I said that you failed to protect your little brother, because you did.” His mental influence hammered at Roy, and he could feel the cracks in his defenses giving way. “You're a pathetic guardian and you should give up. This is all your fault and everything would be easier if you just gave up.”

Durkon wanted him broken. Durkon didn’t want to kill him, he wanted to make him watch placidly as the world ended. “That's... not true!” Roy gasped out, a weak defense born of defiance.

And Durkon knew it. “It is true,” he said, his voice the merciless condemnation of that best friend who won’t let you escape the truth about yourself. “Your mother was distracted, and you knew your father was doing something dangerous.”

“I was... ten years old...” Roy said, grasping at the only rationalization he had left, an excuse even he knew was too weak to consider. Even at ten years old, he’d known better. He should have done something. He should have done something…. And he didn’t, and his brother was dead. And Durkon was dead. And Belkar. And Azure City. And now the entire world. He should just…

”Here's one thing I've always wondered since you first told me this story,” Durkon continued, battering at the last vestiges of his mind as a smile curled his lips beneath his beard. When you found his dead body after you failed to warn your mother, how many pieces was it in?” He paused a moment, the same exact sort of pause a murderer takes right when they’ve plunged the knife in, before they twist it. Enough time to know that the final blow has already been struck – that what follows is purely for the joy of inflicting pain.

“More than five?

Roy looked up into the giant face of his former best friend. “Oh.”

Everything came together in that moment. Roy shut his eyes.

“I understand.”

The Durkon he knew would never have wondered such a thing. Not ‘always since you first told me’. Not once. Not ever. The Durkon he knew was a kind, decent soul.

The Durkon he knew would never have killed Belkar. Would never have attacked him. Would never have served Hel. Would never have done any of this, even through a forced alignment change. Hell, the Durkon he knew didn’t know the first damn thing about pronouncing words without an accent.

This wasn’t the Durkon he knew. And he knew Durkon.

Roy had been angry many times in his life, to be certain. But through everything he’d ever been through, his anger had never crystallized so cleanly around him, like a blazing fire that pushed nothing else but his raw determination away. No more pain. No more doubt, no more fear. The giant hands squeezed tight around him might as well have been gossamer and morning dew. Roy brought the Greenhilt family sword around like a comet, green fire radiating explosively from it as the weapon tore through the vampire’s beard, armor, and chest.

“YOU'RE NOT DURKON AT ALL!!”

The spell around the vampire shattered. Even as he flew backwards, his form shrunk back down, till an ordinary dwarf-sized dwarf crashed to the nave. Roy couldn’t say how he crossed the distance between him – it felt in this moment like his will was his way, like he had fallen faster than gravity itself to cut down through the vampire before he could so much as bounce. “You are just some undead thing hiding behind his face! I don't know whether you started out as Durkon and turned into this, or you're just squatting in his corpse, but I was stupid to think it even matters!”

The vampire rolled to his feet, more dexterous than something in Durkon’s shape had the right to be, but to Roy’s eyes he seemed to be moving in slow motion. “Slay Liv-“

The swell of energy around him practically invited Roy to cut through it. He brought his sword down hard, before the vampire could more than recoil. “How many different levels of denial was I in, anyways?!? I am going to stop you, and if that means I never get my friend back because he was twisted into being you—“ Roy hacked sidelong at the vampire, then drew it back – “—then I will be sad—“ The blade whirled around in an arc that barely cleared the floor, cutting through the vampire with such force that it launched him three feet off the ground.

“ —but you will be DEAD!

His backhand stroke connected in a burst of green energy and a horrific scorching noise, like the very air itself burned in his sword’s wake. The vampire shot across the room, impacting the far wall with a heavy crunch of crumbled stone. As Roy drew his sword back, he noticed the aura swathing it not only lingered, but surrounded him as well… and at that moment, time seemed to speed up again, as the green energy dimmed and died.

“Well, that was weird.”

No time to think about that now, though. Roy stalked towards the vampire where it was slowly picking itself up. “ Normally, this would be the point where I would offer you one more chance to surrender and retract your vote peaceably… But as a certain half orc once said, ‘Talky man talk too much.’”

Sword raised, Roy charged the vampire down.