The World-Wound

Julion wiped a smear of blood from his cheek and pulled his blade from the young goliath's body, taking a moment to look over the battle. In every direction, roars of fury and screams of pain raged over him like a sea at storm. As he parried an incoming blow from a cleaver, he realized that this was the largest battle he had seen, and he wasn't a young warrior. The Battle of Sallow was vicious, but was neither large nor lengthy. Crown Hill was a tactical nightmare, but casualties were relatively light. Even Sikrak Run was lighter than this. Here, entrenched in the mud up to the ankles, combatants were killed by confusion as much as tactical missteps. *Yes sir*, he thought as he ran a muddy harengon through, *this is history in the making. A fresh cautionary tale*. Just then, his hair began to stand on-end, making him puffy in the damp evening air. The battlefield began to get cold. Unnaturally cold. His hobgoblin sense of honor insisted he keep face, but he knew he ought to run. As he cast about for the cause of the sudden change in temperature, he saw a crack split the air just above a howling gnoll, and a whole pack of yellow-colored... demons? fell on the unsuspecting hyena-man, striking at him with desperation and eagerness. Following this, a longboat of sorts fell out of the space-rift, crushing a nearby orc. Other rifts began to open as well. More boats, more of the yellow creatures, large creatures resembling hippopotamuses, oozing shapes carrying weapons, in short, alien chaos of all shapes and sizes.

And he ran. Julion sprinted from the fray pell-mell, bowling down anyone in his way. Just ahead loomed the welcoming cover of the forest. Thirty meters. A loud crack split the air as one of the hippopotamus creatures fired a trumpet-barreled gun. Twenty meters. A whole knot of amorphous blobs took human form a began to savage the remnant of the dwindling hobgoblin cohort. Ten meters. A rallying cry broke from the yellow elven fellows as they rushed the hippopotamus creatures, striking out with innate magic and unarmed strikes. And then Julion broke through the edge of the forest, sprinting through ferns and darting around trees. He ran until his breath would allow him no further progress. Trying to breathe as quietly as his ragged lungs could manage, he pulled himself into the upper branches of a tree, hiding in the foliage. *Just to catch my breath* he though as he tied himself to the branch.

Morning came in him dewy and bright. He cursed himself for being so foolish; if anyone detected him up here, that would have been the end. Untying himself carefully, he massaged his painful muscles until they seemed limber enough for the climb, and began to descend from the spruce. *Both sides lost this battle,* he thought as he retraced his steps from the previous night. *Well, may as well get to looting. Nobody left to pay me for my service*.

The clearing was beyond grisly. Hewn bodies of all different species littered the ground, and the grass was sticky with blood. He began to root through the bodies, seeking weapons in good shape, coins, keepsakes, hats, gloves, anything of value. As he was giving a bugbear's pockets a good going-through, he felt strong hands seize him bodily and yank him to his feet. Two of the hippo-men held him tightly while another twirled a battle-spade and gazed at him appraisingly. He puffed on his pipe and grinned. "Yes, I think this one will do. Enough of the violence and life in him to extend the rift. Let's head home, lads." With a surprisingly quick thrust, he ran Julion through with the spade, and Julion felt his soul wrench from his body. Eternity yawned before him, opening like a slash in the sky. As he felt himself siphoned off to he knew not where, he looked about him and saw his killer and captors take hold of ropes lowered to them from a tremendous galleon floating in the eternity. They climbed quickly aboard their ship as the spade-wielding one doffed his hat to Julion's ghost. "My apologies, sir. T'was nothing personal. Surely you understand what a fellow will do to get home; you wouldn't begrudge an old Giff his family?" And with that, his soul was whisked away.

*Recorded by Aurivit, Water-Caller of the Bestimmir*