Bodkin's Story

Chapter 1 - In the beginning

Bodkin Sodoff was a village idiot by birth, calling, education, and profession. His father was a village idiot (may he Rest in Peace), and so was his father's father (may he also Rest in Peace). Fortunately for the Sodoff family tree their Rustic Village on fertile earth was an agrarian paradise that provided enough resources that generations of simpletons could pursue their dreams of staring at haystacks and tipping cows (when they weren't dying of starvation). Things in the Rustic Village were as they ever were and were ever meant to be… until the realm became contested.

The sky overhead was clear and blue when the yapping of Scent Dogs was carried over the rolling hills to Bodkins ears. The sound bounced into his ears, found their way past the hammer, anvil, and stirrup to the part of his brain that made sense of things. Unfortunately for Bodkin, that part of his brain was asleep in the sun with the rest of him. His sun wrinkled middle aged brain and sun wrinkled middle aged body was blissful in slumber, nestled into a scratchy haystack while dreaming of rustic idiot women. *“WAAAAAKE UUUUP BODKIN!”* became the call of the village as they gathered on the main road to see whom the Scent Dogs heralded.

Village tradition demanded that the idiot properly set the scene for any visitors by falling backwards off the low stone wall near the crooked tree. The ritual was as old as the village; it had always been this way, and today would be no different. Bodkin sat up, startled. He looked left and other left in confusion before removing hay from his hair. Groggily he realized they were about to have real life travelers, so he returned the hay to his hair, before hurrying to the small stone wall. There was a muted and relieved cheer from other villagers as he took his spot. Bodkin hitched up his simple worn and patched trousers, and loosened his rope belt, there was no time for stretching now, it was almost… showtime.

Showtime was the villagers time to show. First showing the idiot, then the mayor, then their best ox (the one who had kicked his mother during childbirth (may she Rest in Peace)). What happened after that was largely a mystery to Bodkin as he’d have to either stay behind the stone wall or sneak off under a haystack until the visitors left. Bodkin held his breath as the Midland Army rumbled into view. Nodding to himself in professional satisfaction, Bodkin made eye contact with the visitors, arched his back, then went heels over head backwards onto the cloth sacks he kept there to break his fall. Leaving just his straightened legs and bare feet above the stone wall he planned out the rest of his day. First there would be waiting, then some sleeping, and he’d probably try to find a cow to tip.

He was not expecting to have his feet grabbed and to be hauled over the wall, which is exactly what happened. He was greeted by three armed and armored Midland Mercenaries pushing a spear and tabard into his hands. “You're in the Border Militia now, welcome to the war, good luck!” they told him. The rest of that day was a blur. It turned out that Bodkin had been promoted (or demoted if you asked his father (may he rest in peace)) to Foot Soldier. The Midland Army rumbled on towards the front while Bodkin stood, completely unsure of what had happened. The rest of the village stared at him, agreeing it was terrible. Where would they find another idiot on short notice?

Chapter 2 - Adventure is not meant to be comfortable

It was evening by the time Bodkin reached the Crossroads, stumbling into the rear of the Midland Army. They had set up camp, with rings of tents, campfires and freshly dug palisades protecting great wooden war machines in their midst. Bodkin nervously approached the hastily erected palisade, wishing his spear was a hay fork and the palisades were familiar haystacks. He was met with a lazily held spear and a very familiar yokel drawl *“Bodkin, is that you?, what are you doing here?”*.

*“Ylermi, is that you?”* Bodkin called back to his presumed cousin from the Humble Village. As Ylermi approached from the palisade Bodkin could see that it was indeed his Cousin Ylermi, from his mothers side (may she Rest in Peace). They were related through Grandpa Ewan who had died after trying to use a horse as a blanket on a particularly cold winter (may he rest in peace). Bodkin remembered the drama that came from trying to distribute Grandpas belonging. The patched sock he left to his eleven children caused much friction until they agree to take turns wearing it.

*“Bodkin!, good to see you!”* Ylermi happily announced as he marched out of the darkness thumping Bodkin on the back enthusiastically. *“You volunteered as well! Good man! Your mother would be proud, may she Rest in Peace”*. Bodkin shifted his weight to one leg, not wanting to admit he had been press ganged earlier that day. *“Got tired of the idiot life did you? Well, can’t blame you there, all that falling off walls must of hurt, better you than me!”*. *“Errrrr…. So what are we doing here then?”* asked Bodkin, changing the subject before cousin Ylermi further shamed Bodkin for his career choice. *“We’re on our way to the Northern Battlefront, to fight next to the King of the Realm, Bodkin!”* Ylermi explained, as they both raised one hand to their respective hearts at the mention of the King of the Realm.

*“I didn’t even know we were at war, Ylermi, who are we fighting then? It's not the Humble Village, is it?”* asked Bodkin, feeling slightly ill at the idea of armed confrontation. Ylermi crinkled his peasant eyes, the deep lines on his forehead reminding Bodkin of a neatly ploughed field. Ylermi shrugged *“I don't think so Bodkin, but I expect we’ll find out when we get there”*. Bodkin nodded in uneasy agreement, feeling less than reassured. *“Come on, lets find you a tent, best to get a good sleep, we’ll be in front of the King of the Realm tomorrow”* Ylermi explained, weaving Bodkin through the campsite, past soldiers playing cards and eating biscuits. Shortly after Bodkin was left alone with his thoughts or would have been were it not for the snoring soldier and homesickness that kept him awake all night.

Chapter 3 - It's good to be the king

It was a royal family affair in the tent on the Northern Battlefield. Resplendent on thick carpet were ornate but portable folding chairs around a map of the Contested Realm. The chairs were filled by buttocks with divine mandate, the buttocks chosen by their luck of parentage. Buttocks belonging to the stern and bearded King of the Realm, the less bearded and more benevolent Queen of Midland, and the less benevolent but far more entitled Crown Prince. They (the royals, not the chairs) were discussing the state of the war as they knew it.

*“And we’ll be home in time for the hunting season!”* smirked the little peacock otherwise known as the Crown Prince. The Queen of Midland turned her eyes to her husband, who grunted his agreement before speaking *“There seems little that can go wrong”*. They all paused at that thought, looking to each other as though they had dared the gods to interfere. The Queen of Midland broke the awkward silence with a question to the Crown Prince *“How was the mood of the army this morning?”*.

*“The peasants are revolting!”* explained the Crown Prince with a snide tone. *“They are? Why didn’t you tell me?”* roared the stern King of the Realm, remembering what happened last time a pretender to the Immortal Throne announced his claim (what a mess that was). The Crown Prince recoiled from his fathers anger, knowing just how replaceable he was *“I mean they are disgusting!”*. The Queen of Midland exhaled with annoyance before her wide and worried eyes returned to a calmer state. She lay a wise and restraining hand on the arm of her husband. *“Chose your words carefully next time!”* he growled gripping the edge of the table as though by squeezing it he was disciplining his son.

*“I mean they’re grubby and poor and repulsive! but who knows what they’re thinking… I’m sure they’re very loyal to me, I mean us, I mean you!”* the Crown Prince explained, slowly sinking down in his chair as he dug his own grave. The King of the Realm glowered at him before calling to the Royal Bodyguard outside the tent *“Bring me a peasant! RIGHT NOW”*. The King of the Realm leaned back glaring at his son, waiting in his ornate folding chair that creaked with the burden of leadership, the bulk of responsibility, and the weight of destiny.

Chapter 4 - Only Bodkin has what it takes

In a royal tent on the Northern Battlefield stood Bodkin the foot soldier, formerly Bodkin the Simple Village idiot. With his knees clenched to stop them from trembling, he stood before three of his betters; The King of the Realm, the Queen of Midland, and the Crown Prince looked down their noses at Bodkin. He had been brought into the tent by the Royal Bodyguard, who had found the most peasanty looking peasant he could find within the Midland Army. This was the greatest and most terrifying moment of Bodkin's inconsequential and unremarkable life. Bodkin made his best curtsey before the assembled royals like he had once seen a merchants wife do to the village mayor. The assembled royals all glowered at him. This was not going well. The Royal Bodyguard roughly grabbed Bodkin by the shoulder and kicked him in the back of the knees, painfully “*That is how you kneel, do not forget*”. With wide eyes Bodkin looked up from the royal boots in front of him.

“*Sorry m’lord*” apologized Bodkin to his royal majesty. “*Your majesty, you should address your king by saying your majesty*” corrected the Royal Bodyguard. Bodkin wondered why he was being told about the kings address. “*Now repeat after me, your majesty*” the Royal Bodyguard less than patiently instructed. “*After me, your majesty*” Bodkin dutifully repeated. The King of the Realms looked to the Royal Bodyguard “*I said bring me a peasant, not a Court Jester!*”. “*I am a peasant, m’lord your majesty*” offered up Bodkin helpfully “*…and a patriot. My name is Bodkin, I love our realm, with all my heart, m’lord your majesty*”. The King of the Realms eyes softened a bit “*You’re from the simple village, aren’t you Bodkin?*”. It was obvious to all in the room that Bodkin was indeed, very very simple. “*Yes m’lord, your majesty, and I always pay my grain tax, even during that famine year when all the children starved, may they Rest in Peace. You know, the one where you built that Zephyranne Airship*” he patriotically offered. The seated royalty shifted in their chairs uncomfortably.

The King of the Realm leaned forward in his folding chair “*Yes yes Bodkin, it is the duty of every peasant to pay taxes to their king. It is the only way for the Realm to remain properly governed. If you didn’t pay your taxes, and that isn’t an option, by the way, then we wouldn’t have a Border Militia, and you’d all be eaten by a Bosk Troll*”. Bodkin swallowed, hard; Everyone knew that being eaten by a Bosk Troll was the worst way to go. The Crown Prince smirked then sniggered as the King spoke “*Bokdin, I can see you’re a patriotic and loyal peasant. This pleases me. I have a reward for you. A special mission, that is just right for someone of your… station. Oh, and don’t worry too much about next year’s taxes*”. With that, Bodkin was dismissed from the King of the Realms presence and led out to the vanguard of the Midland Army.

“*Bodkin, based on your unique… qualities, you’re been chosen for a special mission by the King of the Realm, you should be very very grateful that the King of the Realm has seen such potential in you*” said the Royal Bodyguard, placing a small chest in Bodkin’s hands. Bodkin puffed out with pride “*My mother, may she Rest in Peace always told me I had what it takes, or would have, if she didn’t die in childbirth*”. The Royal Bodyguard snorted through his nose as he opened the chest and sparked a long fuse on the Doomsday Device “*She told you you were expendable and insufferable?*”.

Chapter 5 – I thought the fuse was longer

“*What does this do then?*” asked Bodkin looking at the brightly sparking and fizzing fuse on the Doomsday Device “*Is this one of them fancy lanterns what makes the room smell nice?*”. The Royal Bodyguard looked at the fuse which was burning a lot faster than he had planned for (in fact it was burning 2 turns faster than he had anticipated!). “*Oh fffffuuuuu…….*” was all Bodkin heard as the panicked Royal Bodyguard started running at athletic speed back towards the camp of the Midland Army. “*What about my special mission!?*” Bodkin shouted after fleeing figure. With no response forthcoming Bodkin dutifully started walking with his spear and Relic back towards the camp, from which Mortal men (and one woman) were scattering out of in all directions (other than towards Bodkin). “*WAIT FOR ME!*” called Bodkin, still carrying his presumed room freshening lantern (which was sparking ominously).

By the time Bodkin made it back to the camp, he found himself alone. It was a very odd day. “*This is a very odd day*” remarked Bodkin as he walked past pots still cooking on the campfire, war machines abandoned, and the royal tent with flap left ajar. He dared to peek inside and was both disappointed and relieved not to see the angry King of the Realm growling at him. Still, he felt incredibly lonely with everyone gone, so he slumped onto a hitching post wishing he had some chocolate cake to comfort eat in a haystack where no one could see him. Why had they all run away? Was it something he had said? Was it something he had done? Was it something he should also be running from? It was all very confusing, which made him homesick for the Simple Village, where everything made sense and he knew which wall to fall off and when. He missed the golden fields of barley, and the green grass the oxen would graze on. He longed for the trees that would turn yellow and red in Autumn, and the wooden walls of the buildings that lined the main (and only) street. He yearned for the haystacks that would scratch and itch but would make the best beds for a summer day nap, unless you got accidentally stabbed by a hay fork like his uncle (may he Rest in Peace). He pined for the mayor who met all the visitors, the milkmaid who once showed him her ankle on a dare, and village children who looked up to him as a role model.

It had been an eternity (it had only been two days) and Bodkin felt like his heart was breaking. He sat with his arm around the Relic and sniffed at the Doomsday Device. It didn’t smell like it would freshen the room. It smelled like it looked, which was strange and bronze. Bodkin looked to the sky for guidance and cast his mind back, trying to remember what he was meant to be doing. The last thing the King of the Realm had said to him was not to worry about next years taxes. He sighed with patriotic love. The King was a true shepherd of the people, a protector of all the villages. Not paying next year’s taxes would hurt his heart of hearts for Bodkin and his village loved paying taxes knowing they were contributing to the King of the Realm’s coffers. Expensive silks and gems for the Crown of the Victor did not buy themselves, after all.

If only his mother (may she Rest in Peace) was here. She would know what to do. She would have said something sensible like “*choooop*”. Choooop? That didn’t sound right. No, she would have said… “*choooop*”. The “*choooop*” sound repeated for a second time then a third (“*choooop choooop choooop")*. Once again Bodkin looked to the sky for guidance as the faint sound became louder and more regular. Was that? No, surely it couldn’t be… “*It’s a chooop dragon*” concluded Bodkin looking at the Zephyranne Airship with a lowered rope ladder rapidly approaching the camp, proving that you can still be an idiot, even after starting a new career.

Bodkin Chapter 6 - Ignorance is bliss but what bliss could lead to this?

Well, this was awkward. It turns out that Bodkin was quite prone to air sickness. The Doomsday Device was safe? in a basket strapped to the rail, it’s fuse quietly sputtering away. Bodkin himself was draped over the same rail, his lunch noisily falling and scattering away. On either side of him was his new allies from the Fire lands. The Wayfaring Pilgrim and the Doomsday Prophet both patted him on the back as he fertilized the Steppe far below. They shared a knowing look over his back; Mortals not born from the Fire lands were known to be weaklings (and terrible travelers).

Bodkin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He felt awful, like the time he got drunk on fermented stump water then went cow tipping. Instead of tipping ten cows one time, he'd tipped one cow ten times. The milk maid had complained of the buttery milk and mastitis the next day. He sighed now feeling homesick as well as airsick. “*You have bought rain to the deserts*” joked the Wayfaring Pilgrim. Bodkin looked at him, about to reply, before turning to dry retch and once more take in the view below. “*THE END IS NIGH*” the Doomsday Prophet offered with one eye on the quietly smoking Doomsday Device. The Wayfaring Pilgrim could not help but nod in resigned agreement.

*Where are we going?*” groaned Bodkin, taking in the slow-moving scenery below him. “*The Edge of the World Bodkin, that is the where*” answered the Wayfaring Pilgrim before explaining “*A place where the Realm ends and the Void begins, where nothingness can be seen and marveled at… one of the corners of the Realm*”. “*WHERE WE SHALL ALL PERISH IN A CATACLYSM OF FIERY DEATH, LET THE VOID BEAR WITNESS TO OUR SINS*” bellowed the Doomsday Prophet, ringing his bell. “*The last corner of the Realm, yes, sorry about the other part*” noted the Wayfaring Pilgrim, patting Bodkin on the back once more. “*What are the cats of cism?*” Bodkin groaned, the Wind taking his mumbled words and whipping them away. Dying did not sound so bad to Bodkin who was as miserably sick as he had ever been.

Some time later Bodkin had recovered, and the Steppe below had given way to the Red Desert. The sun was dipping below the horizon of the flat world. The fuse of the Doomsday Device continued to sputter on a wick that had oddly not seemed to burn. The three airship mates sat below deck around a table. “*Why are we going to the Edge of the World?*” asked Bodkin directly of the foreign pair. Now he was feeling marginally better, Bodkin felt less like dying, especially to cats. “*Well Bodkin, travelling to the corners of the Realm is my purpose, it is how I…*” the Wayfaring Pilgrim paused, searching his brain for the right world “*…draw*”. Bodkin nodded, as though he understood, though he did not. “*I WILL BEAR WITNESS THE END OF ALL THAT IS AND WAS AND WILL EVER BE*” the Doomsday Prophet feverishly shouted in the small cabin. The Wayfaring Pilgrim winced at the volume before explaining in depth to Bodkin about the nature of the Relic that had been given to him and how the Doomsday Prophet would make it twice as powerful through some kind of poorly understood enthusiasm for things ending in magical violence. “*And the King of the Realm chose me for this special mission?*” Bodkin spoke in wide eyed wonderment, his chest puffing out with pride. “*Because you are insufferable and expendable*” reminded the Wayfaring Pilgrim. Bodkin nodded, pleased with himself, his illiteracy saving his pride.

“*I think I understand*” Bodkin surmised, “*This Relic is going to explode soon?, and we’re doing it in the corner of the Realm at the Edge of the World because…?*”. “*Because the King of the Realm needs time to get to safety, but also because we can take the enemy Avatar to Deaths Door in the explosion*” concluded the Wayfaring Pilgrim. “*SHE WILL BURN IN THE FIRES OF SALVATION! SHE WILL KNOW PAIN BEYOND ALL RECKONING!*” yelled the Doomsday Prophet. She? Bodkin frowned, despite his new profession, he was not feeling good about actually killing anyone, and especially not a woman, his mother (may she Rest in Peace) had taught him better than that (or she would have, had she not died in childbirth). The Wayfaring Pilgrim saw his concern, but completely misinterpreted it “*You’re worried about dying, aren’t you?*”. “*I had almost forgot you’re just a Token*” the Wayfaring Pilgrim reached out to put his hand over Bodkins “*I’m sorry, Bodkin, but you will not be going to the Cemetery, nor getting shuffled back to the Spellbook*”.

Chapter 7 – This is the end

The Zephyanne Airship *CHOOOPED* at the Edge of the World. Over one rail the Realm could be seen, stretching until it met in a single point, far in the distance. Small islands gave way to a distant beach with red sand which gave way to deserts which… faded to nothing he could make out, no matter how hard Bodkin squinted. All he knew is that back that way, some way, some how lay the Simple Village, his home. Or at least the place he thought of as his home. Over the opposite rail was… Chaos? Possibility? Clay? Stuff? Bodkin didn’t know much what to make about the void, other than it roiled. Like any idiot he knew the Realm was undeniably flat and had an edge, he just never thought about what lay beyond. Seeing it for his own though… was something unthinkable only a handful of days ago. He was born to fall off walls, not to see things, not to have a remarkable adventure.

“*It is time, Bodkin*” cautioned the Wayfaring Pilgrim, laying one hand on his shoulder while pointing with his free hand “*There she is*”. Bodkin turns his head follow the shoulder then forearm then finger of the Wayfaring Pilgrim to a single solitary figure standing on the white sand beach of the island below them. Bodkin swallowed hard, suddenly reminded that this wasn’t a remarkable adventure, but had become a Nightmare. With the Doomsday Device safe? in rough backpack, Bodkin descended the rope ladder. Over his shoulder the fuse sputtered, so much shorter than before, only a few finger widths remained before the spark would find the inside of the device.

From far above the Doomsday Prophet called down to him, his shouted words now reaching Bodkin at a comfortable volume “*We're all born to dieeeee*”. With that reminder Bodkin moved closer to the lonely looking figure on the beach. The now familiar *Chooop Chooop* of the Zephyanne Airship quietened the further Bodkin walked away from it, and the closer he drew to the Edge of the World. With every step his sense of guilt increased, as though it was filling a precariously balanced bucket beneath a cow, one drop of milk at a time, until it would topple, and tears would be shed. Walking along the beach Bodkin looked down at his feet, paying scant attention to the bootsteps behind him being lost to the advancing waves. He stopped, and pulled off his rough boots, marveling at how sand felt beneath his gnarled peasant toes. If today was to be his last day, then he would know what it felt like to walk barefooted on a beach at the Edge of the World. With his feet now planted and connected fully to the earth which had birthed him, he looked up at the so-called enemy Avatar.

He was close enough to see she had white hair, and a cloak of creamy soft looking feathers. He moved towards her, with his boots in hand, and his backpack carrying impending doom. She was facing him now, and he could see the expression on her unearthly beautiful face. She looked… sad, and it broke Bodkins heart then and there. “*I’m sorry*” he cried, as the emotions of the last few days caught up to him. Dropping to his knees, he collapsed towards her bare feet, a lifetime worth of small unrealized and unresolved hurts given permission to come to the surface in his final hours. “*It’s not your fault Bodkin… it’s not your fault*” she comforted him with a voice that whispered, then rose and fell like the breeze that sometimes passed through his Simple Village. Gracefully she knelt next to him, and held him as he cried, his body wracked with the guilt he felt, for the terrible thing about to happen.

All wells must eventually run dry, as so it was with Bodkins tears as well. In the arms of the enemy his sobs slowly eased and his tears slowly ceased. He sniffled and drew back, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. Her gossamer gown was wet with his blubbering and soiled from his peasant hands. Bodkin felt immediate and further regret for having soiled someone so perfect with his sheer… coarseness. The Avatar of Air sadly smiled before speaking in her lilting and perfect voice “*For what it is worth Bodkin, I am sorry as well. That there is war is not your failing, it is ours. Our pride, our jealousy, our greed. We lied to ourselves, saying we were protecting you all while sending you to die far from home*”. Bodkin nodded, hearing her words, but not understanding the context of what she was saying.

“*What happens now?*” asked Bodkin, the backpack feeling unbearably heavy. The Avatar of Air looked to his shoulders, then shrugged sending hidden butterflies hidden in her cloak to flit around them both. “*We wait, the turn ends, and we shall die*” she softly spoke. Bodkin pleaded “*Is there no other way? I could go back to the Zephyanne Airship, I could…*”. She quieted him with a look “*It is done, Bodkin. Neither of us can outrun the Relic. It surely spells the end. There is one thing I want you to do though. I want you to listen.*”. Bodkin nodded, his eyes wet with tears, for the last time.

The Avatar of Air leaned forward and whispered her true name in his ear, moment before the explosion took them both.

- A story by Rumple/SpelljammerSCR