Gregor The Cripple

The group had trekked for nearly the whole day, and were presently engaged in the business of setting up camp. That first creature hadn’t made another appearance, but throughout their progress deeper into Der Hexenwald, many strange things had been seen creeping in the mist, just far enough away to defy identification.

There had been no significant encounters yet, but Gregor knew that it was only a matter of time. Those horrors in the mist – tainted by the magic of other times and places – could see the party just as the party could see them. They should count themselves lucky for not yet having been accosted.

Gregor was jostled from his thoughts by Dieter dumping a pile of firewood in the center of their camp.

Briar the Bastard’s forehead creased as he frowned at the young man. “That’s a bad idea, kid.” He denounced.

“What do you mean?”

“Fires are bright, especially in this moonless place. You’d be inviting the company of every man-eating nightmare nearby.”

“He is correct. Build no fires while we are here.” Affirmed Gregor, who stopped just short of calling the boy an idiot.

“Oh.” Uttered Dieter, dejected at being rebuked by these men who had already made their way in the world.

Greta, ever fond of timely interjection, cleared her throat and changed the topic. “So, um, how do you two know each other?” She asked, sitting down next to Dieter on his bedroll, knees clutched to her chest.

From his reclined position against the trunk of one of the ceiling-trees, Gregor shrugged and motioned toward the bandit, indicating that Briar should answer. He smirked slyly, wondering if the other would choose to omit anything.

Briar saw this smirk, and was understandably quite nervous upon seeing the wizard smile at the memory of the slaughter. What does that mean? Is he trying to tell me something? Briar began choosing his words carefully.

“Well, I was in the robbery business, you see. Mouths to feed, and all that.” At least one mouth, anyway. “Me and my associates decided to rob a small merchant convoy, but unknown to us, they’d hired a wizard for protection.” Briar nodded to Gregor. “He chased us off, and promised to kill us all at some point in the future. It’s not a particularly interesting story.” Seeing that the wizard didn’t protest to this version of events, Briar felt safe enough to ask a question of his own. “I’ve been wondering, why were you there at all? I can’t imagine that a turnip merchant has either the need or the coin for a wizard’s protection.”

“The cargo was mere pageantry.”

“Figured as much. You were on the road to Sine, right? Probably smuggling something.”

“Nothing so relaxing.” Gregor's eyeless socket began to throb. “I was escorting the duke’s daughter.”

“Corle’s daughter? In there?”

“She was.”

The man let out a low whistle, idly scratching the scar on his face. “Damn. That makes a lot more sense.”

Greta hmmed. “Y’know, considering your history, it’s fairly surprising that you two would agree to travel together.”

“I am very aware how fucking scary this guy is. If he’s not going to kill me, then the safest way to get through this forest is to walk right beside him.”

“Why do you want to go straight through that badly? Surely it would be more convenient to go around.”

“I’m fleeing something far more terrifying than death: Debt!” He could see that she was skeptical. “You’ll understand when you’re older.” He said, shaking his head.

“We’ve heard that one before.” She shared a look with Dieter. The group settled into silence.

“Sleep now.” Commanded Gregor, peering into the dark. “We need to move with the dawn. I will take first watch.”

***

White dreamscape stretched in every direction, infinitely, forever. Gregor didn’t know how he knew that it went on forever, but it did. He blinked, and then there was a cottage.

It was a cozy, well-appointed place of wood and thick-cut stone. Smoke billowed lazily from a squat chimney into the infinity above and the windows were aglow with warm light.

Another blink, and Gregor found himself knock-knocking at the door.

“Oh?” Sounded an elderly voice from within. “You’re right on time. Do come in dear, I just popped the kettle on.”

The door swung open under an unknown influence and Gregor decided to accept the invitation. He headed in, not knowing quite what was going on, but thinking that some tea would be nice right about now. It might help him unwind; it wasn’t easy being in constant pain and discomfort every second of every day.

Wait. Something occurred to him. Pain? There was no pain! Gregor was incredulous to find that he currently felt normal. There was no pain, no nausea, no headache, no brain-fog, no withdrawal shivers or cold sweats. Nothing. He had to bring his stump up to his face to make sure that he was still a cripple, which he was.

Peering past the cloth-bound stump and into the living space of the cottage, he found it to be very typical. To his left was an open doorway leading to a modest kitchen, with a few low benches and a cast iron stove. Directly before him ascended a set of steps, well-trodden and worn in the middle. To his right was the sitting room, with a quaint little fireplace and generously upholstered armchairs.

There were hand-crocheted doilies and drapes strewn about the place, accompanied by many vases and trinkets and paintings – the accumulations of a long life and a fruitful retirement.

Sitting in one of the homely chairs by the fire was a little old woman, swaddled in a knitted sweater and scarf.

“Come.” She beckoned with a wrinkled hand. “Don’t make me stand to greet you, dear. I’m not young enough to get up and sit back down as I please. We old people need to plan these things out in advance.”

Well, he wouldn’t want to make her stand, so he did as she bade, slightly mystified at the whole situation. Upon approach, Gregor noticed that she was knitting. He had no idea what she was knitting, but it was long. A scarf, perhaps? It dangled down to her knees, where it seemed to melt into an indistinct shimmering haze.

Quirking his head at this curious phenomenon, he noticed that the yarn with which she knitted also materialized from a similar fuzzy shimmer. For some reason, he felt that he probably shouldn’t ask about it.

“Sit and rest.” The elderly woman nodded toward the chair opposite her with a gentle smile. “It’s very good of you to drop by for a chat, Gregor. Friendly visitors are quite rare these days.”

“You know me?” He did not think that they had ever met.

“Goodness, I’m doing things backwards again. It’s becoming so hard to keep track of it all. You’d think that this would get easier with time.” She shook her head. “But that is not so.” She said, and then quietly to herself a second time, “Not so.” She lay her knitting needles in her lap and adjusted her half-moon spectacles. “I am Grandma Nancy. Very pleased to meet you.”

A grandmother. He couldn’t quite recall, but he was sure that he must have one – everybody did. Was this her? “My grandmother?” He asked, bewildered. Just what was going on?

“Not really, dear. It’s just what I am. Best not to dwell on it too much. Tea?” She offered him a cup from the table between them. Hadn’t she just put the kettle on? How was there already tea on the table?

Normally, such a fault in the causal workings of the world would be greatly alarming to Gregor, but for some strange reason he found that he didn’t really care. He just shrugged and accepted that things were odd, and that it was fine for things to be odd.

Thus, he sat in the comfortable chair and graciously received his cup, taking the opportunity to notice that he had a small plate of cookies in his hand as well.

“Oh! Young man, that was quite impressive. You show a lot of promise.” She resumed her knitting.

This had to be a dream, and dream manipulation is merely a matter of mental fortitude. “It’s only natural. I am me, after all.”

“Let me give you some honest advice.” She spoke softly. “Being capable isn’t necessarily a good thing. The best and brightest end up having to bear the biggest burdens, you know.”

Gregor felt that this statement carried more weight than he could possibly realize, but was unfazed. “I am me.” He repeated. “Any burden that I choose is one that I can bear.”

“Sometimes the burdens choose us. Are you fine with that?”

If this old woman wasn’t a product of his own imagination, he would think that she was speaking from experience.

“Power is worth nothing if it is not exercised. There is no point in being strong if you have no burden to carry. In other words, I am capable precisely because I expect burdens to come my way.”

“You have a very wizardly mindset.”

“Thank you.” Accepted Gregor with sincerity.

Grandma Nancy looked at him with appraising eyes, “That brat Kaius wasn’t very pleasant, but he did his job well. He raised you into a fine young wizard.” Her needles click-clacked away as more of the fabric melded into the void.

She looked out the window. “Isn’t it lovely out there? I try to keep my garden very neat.” There was absolutely nothing outside, just a flat plane of white oblivion that extended out to however far reality allowed things to extend. Possibly beyond.

Gregor blinked, and then there was a garden.

There were roses, tulips, grevillea, hydrangea, and more. She had a large vegetable patch and a modest collection of herbs next to an old wattle tree which stretched its gold-shod branches over an outdoor table and chairs, covered in fallen petals. A well-kept path meandered through it all.

“It’s nice here with all the open space and fresh air, but I’ve had some trouble recently. Unsavory sorts keep coming around, knocking on my windows and rattling the door. I think some of them have even gotten inside. Horrid brutes.” She shook her head. “What is to become of the world? People like that shouldn’t be free to wander in here as they please.”

Gregor’s face darkened.

Someone was harassing this kindly old woman? Some unknown enemy sought to make trouble for Grandma Nancy, who had given him tea and cookies and offered worldly wisdom? This was not permitted.

“As it happens, I solve these kinds of problems for a living. I could take care of them.”

“Would you, dear? That would be so nice, but this is no light burden. Some might even call it an impossible task.”

“The very notion of impossibility offends me.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Nancy gave a gentle sigh. “I wish I was like you, but I’m bound by possibility. I can make a great many things happen, but I can’t create new possibilities. It is ever so vexing.” She sat silent for a moment, sipping her own tea. “Oh.” She realized. “I’ll need to pay you. Just give me a moment, there’s an old money-tin around here somewhere.” With that, the elderly woman began the arduous process of standing up.

With haste, Gregor bade her to remain seated. “Don’t bother with it now, you can pay me when I’m done.”

“Such a considerate young man. But you know, it really is a big job. I should at least give you something in advance.”

Not one to spurn a grandmother’s kindness, Gregor accepted. “Anything is fine.” He wasn’t too concerned with securing proper payment for a job that only existed in his dreams.

“Anything? Then how about I knit up a scarf for that girl you fancy?”

This gave Gregor pause. He blinked his single eye. “Who?” Nancy must be getting him confused with someone else.

“Bother, I did it again. Too soon, I suppose. It’ll be ready for you next time.”

“I don’t quite understand.”

She smiled like a mother. “That’s fine. It wouldn’t be good to rush.”

At that moment, a fuzzy brown thing squeaked itself into existence above the little table between them. Gregor extended his functional hand to rub the rat between its ears.

Putting down her needles once more, Nancy clicked her tongue in annoyance. “Time to go.” She locked eyes with the wizard. “Goodbye Gregor. I sincerely hope that you stay alive. Randolph, be a dear and wake him up.”

Then, the rat bit him.

***

Gregor woke abruptly to a warm weight in his palm and a sharp pain in his finger, the dream nothing more than a distant memory.

Looking around blearily in the low light, Gregor cast his darkvision spell. Immediately, he noticed that something was wrong. There was a figure standing silently in the center of their camp.

It was insectoid, with barbed, double-jointed limbs and scything mandibles. The abomination stood bipedal, its three prehensile eyestalks jittering and roving about, appraising the four juicy meatsacks it had found.

Greta and Dieter were resting peacefully, but Briar was clutching a dagger and his breathing was odd; he was pretending to be asleep, presumably to catch the thing off-guard when it decided to make its move.

What to do? Was there an interesting way to kill this thing? Probably not. It was probably best just to be quick and boring.

Gregor stood. “Bandit, I will distract it and hold it in place.” He announced loudly as a means of distraction. “Stab it somewhere that looks vulnerable.” All three eyestalks snapped in his direction and the creature began chattering, bent toward him in menacing readiness.

Briar jolted up and was on his feet in a second, making no sound, eyes wide as possible to take in all that the dim twilight would allow. The bug had no way of perceiving the threat behind, having focused all three portions of its attention on Gregor.

Chittering and hissing, it attempted to lunge forward and latch its slavering mandibles onto the wizard’s face. However, it was surprised to find that it could not move. All of its limbs were pinned close to its body in their bent positions – it was effectively immobilized.

This was a rather energy-efficient method for holding something in telekinetic bonds. If one attempted bind a victim’s whole body, it would be far more magically exhausting than the effort was worth, and if the victim’s limbs were bound in an outstretched position, the victim would be able to more easily leverage their strength to break free.

As it was, the bugman struggled with surprising strength against the invisible restraints. It wasn’t easy, but Gregor managed to hold it for a good few seconds. More than enough time for Briar to approach from behind and thrust his dagger into a chink in the insect’s exoskeleton, near the base of its neck.

It gave issue to a horrible clicking screech as it squirmed under the assault, thrashing wildly against Gregor’s telekinetic grip. A foul green gloop began spewing from the wound.

“Try the front.” Gregor advised, and Briar moved to comply.

He passed both hands over the abomination’s shoulders to clasp the dagger on the opposite side of its body. With a colossal heave, he pulled the dagger back toward himself, plunging it into the less-robust front-facing chitin of the bug’s neck.

When he felt the dagger strike something hard, Briar twisted, and the whole insect went limp with a wet pop as stinking fluid splurted against his hand.

“Bug juice. Yuck.”

“What the fuck was that?!” Demanded a wide-eyed Greta, gun clutched in one shaking hand while the other firmly grasped Dieter’s arm. Both had been startled awake by the horrible noise.

Gregor honestly didn’t know. As far as he was concerned, insects didn’t get that big. It must have slipped though from somewhere else, he thought.

“It doesn’t matter, and we need to get moving. The sound will have attracted attention.”

***

They broke down camp in the feeble gray light and set out just before dawn, the whole group munching on road-fare while they walked. It was a frugal breakfast of salted meats and stale bread.

As the light intruded ever more into the dark and the gloom, they began to notice changes in the forest around them.

It seemed that the deeper they went, the more the environment deviated from normal. The towering spruce obelisks that blotted out the sky had become twisted, uneven things that fought glacial wars with their gnarled branches. When Dieter looked at them just the wrong way, he could almost convince himself that they each bore traces of a face. It was unsettling.

Closer to the ground was an abundance of shrubby growth which Gregor frequently directed them to cut away and collect. More than once, the vegetation had sprouted teeth and violently protested.

“We are getting closer to the center of the pollution.” Gregor could feel it. Deep down in the earth, there was an unnatural disruption. It was as if something had punched through the walls of the world and become embedded here, holding the way open for further intrusion.

Whatever it was, it was a manufactured phenomenon. Something intelligent had done this an eternity ago to further unknowable goals.

For the first time since the death of Kaius, Gregor was forced to admit his magical inferiority. Something like this would require a truly monstrous power. It was utterly beyond his capabilities, furthermore, he had no idea how they’d even done it. He quietly wondered if some foreign god had tried to enter reality.

“Uh, Greg?” Called Dieter from the front, “I have no idea what I’m looking at.” The boy tuned back to the rest of the group with agitation and puzzlement in his eyes. They were treated to quite the startling sight upon reaching him.

A road of ruin had been carved into Der Hexenwald, paved with the body of the forest, and packed hard with the imprints of what must have been thousands of cloven hooves. The trees had been stripped and scraped and pushed violently aside, whilst everything else was trampled to mud and mush.

“Tracks.”

“Well yeah, but what the fuck.”

“I’m with him.” Agreed the bard. “How many goats could there possibly be in this forest, and what could make them do this?”

The devastation was drawn in a straight line through the wood for as far as the fog allowed them to see.

Gregor scowled. He had an idea, and he didn’t want to be correct.

“We need to keep going.”