Bitter Omens

It had taken the entire duration of John’s conversation with Nancy, and some more, for the bickering gods to resolve their dispute. Well, ‘resolve’ was a strong word, more like it was begrudgingly agreed that they would stand down. Come Aurora’s turn, however, the proverbial shit hit the fan when, instead of putting down her arms, her elven bard unleashed a tier nine spell. Perhaps this would have been fine and dandy if she’d aimed for the boss, but she hadn’t. At least, John hoped not; it would have been a pretty bad miss. The captive princess let out a small squeak before her head exploded like a firework on the Fourth of July, bursting into blood, brain matter, and splintered bits of skull.

Inari let out a heavy sigh, while Hemet’s face turned from a bright tomato to bruised beetroot. He looked so livid he was ready to flip the table.

“Would you look at that? Guess we don’t need to fret over the ‘trout’ now,” Richard observed, the inflection of surprise or outrage absent from his voice.

Odin quietly chuckled but had nothing to add, the situation could speak for itself. The fire mage, Vulcanum, furiously rose from his throne. Rolling for initiative saw both Richard and Odin land perfect twenties, while the boss himself scored seventeen. John could’ve sworn Aurora also rolled twenty, but after a suggestive glare from Nancy, she sighed and the digits on the die reconfigured to a humble twelve. Inari and Hemet rolled second-to-last and last respectively, with numbers under ten.

At face value, you’d think a five to one fight would be a cakewalk in favour of the group of gods. The group in question begged to differ, however. John had long since learned they were a dysfunctional unit, but by Gaia, you’d think an entire campaign would be long enough to work on their problems. It was like they’d flipped a switch from bickering and squabbling toddlers to not communicating nearly enough, with the exception of the occasion cuss of “ye focker” or “fockin’ whore” or “bloody mother focker shitting on a fockin’ mother”... yes, Hemet loved his words.

Vulcanum was an exceptionally powerful fire mage, as you’d expect of the final boss of the campaign. He made up for numbers by summoning fire and stone elementals, which succeeded in separating Hemet, Inari, and Aurora from the two gods with future sight. Said future sight wasn’t helping them much in the fight, however. They were getting destroyed by AOE spells in their relatively small portion of the room and looked to be severely in need of a meat shield like Hemet’s dwarven barbarian.

Yet, for all their faults as a group, they were individually talented, and that, while barely enough, pulled them through, nonetheless. Nancy clapped his hands when Vulcanum let out one last shriek of fury as he was slain, before congratulating every member of the party for their effort. Unfortunately, as the princess had not survived, they had failed one of the two win conditions, hence, all of them were sentenced to **** upon their return to her kingdom to collect the bounty -- all except Aurora’s bard who managed to whore her way out of a **** sentence. “And she lived happily ever after,” Nancy finished.

“Hurray,” Richard said sarcastically. “It’s just like the fairytale ending we all dreamt of having.”

“Why the fock do I even play with you mangled cunts?” Hemet grouched.

“Because you need some source of entertainment in your exponentially vapid life,” Richard drawled. “Welcome to godhood, young one.”

“Well, you lot make my blood boil. I need to find a nice dwarven lass with a wet twat to release some tension, so I’m off,” Hemet said as he flipped the skaven off, before glancing at John. “Perhaps we’ll see each other around, laddy?” he said in passing as he shuffled out of the room.

‘Yeah… that’d be great!” John replied, before immediately regretting how much like an excited fanboy he sounded. However, on the whole he was pretty content with how he was handling himself in the presence of gods incarnate, so he allowed himself that one slip-up.

“So, Johnny, my boy, what do you plan to do now?” Odin asked, running a thumb along his wrinkled chin.

“Shouldn’t you be able to tell me that?”

The old man shrugged in response. “My eye sees possibilities, not certainties - and this old brain is easy to confuse.”

“Well… after my meeting with the Brightons, I suppose I’ll be farming for cash to buy a sword from Ina,” John replied, casting a sideways glance to the fox deity, who was quietly sipping tea.

“I see,” Inari said, taking that as her cue to enter the conversation. “Yes, Nancy mentioned your powers had assumed the skin of a video game. It seems as though you will not be wanting for cash, then.”

“Ah, so you’re on that path,” Odin mused, moving his finger through the air as if writing something.

Richard inclined his head towards the old man. “Should we tell him?”

“You tell him -- it’s your domain. Give him the full package, I say,” the god with a strange fashion sense replied. “Theatrics, riddles, the works. It’s better when they have to figure it out, it builds character.”

The skaven god nodded and sat forward in his chair, cracking his neck and knuckles, as the room chilled and the air seemed to grow heavier.

Nancy patted John’s shoulder and beamed like a giddy child. “Oh joy! I love prophecies. They’re such fun.”

The sun above the table flickered and vanished, casting the room in darkness before a flickering blue flame burst into life at the table’s centre. Resting his elbows on the rim, Richard leant inwards so that the blue light danced along his lower jaw.

And he hummed.

A single, long note that was soon joined by a chorus of voices that seemed to echo from every corner of the room. Their tones fluctuated between high and low as he launched into the arhythmic chaos of the prophecy, chilling John’s blood but simultaneously sending his heart racing.

Make no mistake, these words will come true, but
Open your eyes, you may yet see the clue, and
Mayhaps you will avoid this tragic twist of fate,
Where words are spoken without any weight.

It seeks ****, you surely know why,
Limb for limb, eye for eye.
Like a wolf, it hungers, though it is not wholly such kind,
Disguised ‘tis, seek truth revealed by those it confined.

It be by silver you’ll reclaim your white sheep,
Else expect not victory, but tragedy, to reap.

The cacophony seemed to hang in the air, casting a gloomy silence over the room. John’s mind whirled, trying to dissect its meaning. **** seemed to be a pretty big theme here, though he had no clue what was meant by a ‘white sheep’.

The silence was suddenly broken as Odin, with seemingly unironic enthusiasm, began clapping. “It’s always a treat, Rat.”

“Likewise, you creepy old man,” the skaven replied, somewhat hypocritically.

John watched the two blankly, too busy trying to calm the swelling anxiety that the skaven’s words had caused to really care for their casual conversation. He didn’t have much time to ponder, however, before he was interrupted when Aurora exploded into a fit of melodic laughter, clutching her belly as if to try and contain it. Whether it was John’s fate or Richard’s delivery that was the source of her amusement remained unclear.

“Can you tell me what that means?” John asked, bewildered, when she managed to contain her laughter to sporadic bursts.

“Of course, but there’s no fun in just telling you…” she grinned slyly.

John could see where this was going, and he wasn’t interesting in making a deal with her. Honestly, he was still a little spooked over whatever she’d done to him before. It had been like he was stuck in some sort of listless dream. “No thanks,” he interjected, causing her to frown.

“Mmm… you might come to regret that, boy,” she warned before gesturing to her body. “But here I am, offering my services to you, perhaps you may want to reconsider?”

John refused to bite. He figured he would be better off in the long run solving this riddle on his own.

“That is an unfortunate prophecy indeed,” Inari sighed, her eyes full of sympathy for John.

Well, it seemed everybody but him was in on whatever fate had in store for him. He opened his mouth, but she beat him to the question. “I wish I could help you, John, but it is not my place to guide you in this matter. Fate is a road best travelled by one’s own action; my influence would only complicate matters,” she smiled gently at him before rising to her feet and politely bowing to him. “I wish you well in this matter, John, and trust you will emerge a better man from it. It was a delight to meet you, and until we meet again, may the grace of the spirits and Gaia’s favour keep your sword sharp, and your wit sharper.”