Post by CharlieGordon on Aug 22, 2015 19:53:48 GMT
Profile
Name: Malcolm Jenkins
Age: 70 (appears 30-50)
Gender: Male
Race: Human/magii
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 172
Rank» Citizen
Basic Appearance:
To meet Malcolm one would absolutely suspect they were in the presence of a wizard/mage of some sort.
He appears younger than his 70 Years and might well retain his current appearance for decades yet. His order boast a longevity that outlasts regular humans and it is not unknown for summoners to live well into their third centuries.
As for physical appearance, he has straggly long dark hair and his facial hair varies depending on how often he has time for a shave. He is diminutive of build and walks slowly, slightly hunched over to give an impression of great frailty. This is actually to conserve energy which is spent containing his various summons. More of that later.
He wears crimson robes and carries a Wizer Staff of enchanted oak. His feet are adorned by simple sandals and need regularly replacing owing to wear. He walks and travels the world constantly.
In battle, the robes are shed and Malcolm wages war in deerhide short trousers and fights barechested, revealing the true extent of his physique; taut, knotted muscled body with shifting tattoos or glyphs etched across his skin. These glow and seem to burn- emblazoned with magical light during battle. His eyes blaze in elemental colours dependant upon the magics he channels.
Combat Credentials
A master summoner, Malcolm has numerous entities upon which to call during battle. I will cover the specifics in 'Abilities'. The downside to his extensive ability is that the more powerful summons are barely at his command; beaten almost against their will- they are not above refusing to fight. They won't turn on him though; testament to the knowledge that Malcolm has the beating of them.
He can sometimes misjudge an opponent and call out the wrong summon which is less effective and in this circumstance a foe could emerge a victor.
In terms of physical combat; Malcolm would barely ever need to resort to punching and kicking but if necessity dictates it, his battle mode is well muscled and strong. He isn't well-versed in martial combat so would likely invariably lose a fistfight.
Combat Style:
I don't want to gloss over this at all but his style is that of a summoner/mage. He chants spells and uses magic to form attacks or to call upon his various entities to fight at his behest. He stands back from an opponent to allow room but also to maximise the closing distance of an enemy because the spells/summons can take a number of seconds or involve a few distinct steps to perform- during which time he is vulnerable to attack.
Abilities:
Malcolm has a huge pendant in the shape of a clock face with 12 slots. This is a rare and powerful amulet because 12 slots is unheard of and the Magic Attack propensity of his rare trinket is +57%
That's some souped-up magic right there yo.
In each slot there is space for a summon orb and Malcolm has filled most of these with various summons. The quality of these 'lower order' or Level 1 summons is moderate; they are generally successful in combat provided he chooses wisely an appropriate summon to suppress a given foe. If he were to select his fungus summon to battle a fire-breathing wraith (for instance) he would invariably lose. Cuz that would be stoopid.
Slot I
'Gus' is a mushroom-headed fungus monster that stands 6feet high. It's defense is negligible as it's made of mushroom but the foul, debilitating stench Gus is able to emit causes a range of status ailments; paralysis, sleep, confusion, poison and blindness are all possible side-effects of the 'Mushroom-Cloud' attack.
Slot II
'Sparky' is actually a fire sprite. An entirely magical entity, he cannot be hit at all by physical attacks. You're going to need water. Either that or find a way to weather the firestorm until he burns out and his attack is finished. That doesn't take very long but in that short time you risk searing temperatures, fireballs and blistering heatwaves.
Slot III
(Empty)
Slot IIII
'Saskia' is a Level 2 summon but with the amulet's amplification is as potent as a Level 3. It matters little because Malcolm seldom calls upon her devastating electrical attacks; choosing instead to treat her as a friend, confidante and associate. She walks with him whether summoned or not such is their relationship. If Saskia battles it is nearly always of her own volition- choosing to step in on behalf of her friend. Indeed, Malcolm keeping her orb in the amulet is purely to defend against any other summoner gaining power over Saskia. A dark and beautiful 5' 8" electrical vessel.
Slot V
'Nightshade' is a 4' 2" auburn-haired poison nymph. Her mellifluous voice is siren-like but her poison quills are deadly. Paralysis, grave nausea, agonizing pain and death await any that don't gain an experienced healer, a skilled alchemist or simply submit to receive the antivenom.
Defensively, Nightshade is demure and agile; difficult to hit. A nubile and evasive speedster; a swift enemy might hope to catch her. Put her out quickly if successful as she carries a noxious sleep agent in her breath as a last measure of defence.
Slot VI
'Maelstrom' is also a Level 2 summon, being a favourite of Malcolm's he has honed the Wind elemental's abilities through years of battling and training. Maelstrom is a powerful gust entity and, like Sparky, is impervious to physical attacks. This means again, opponents need wait for the storm to pass and Maelstrom to blow himself out. That is a surefire path to defeat though because the sheer F5 force of the elemental's tornado attack can blow away the heaviest enemy.
Cold attacks work best because a decent ice-mage can slow the particles that form Maelstrom and massively weaken him. High evasion and speed are the next best bet. But can you outrun a hurricane?
Slot VII
'Al' Al is a 5ft 7in 1 tonne metal man. He is comprised of some sort of Sky Iron which weighs an exasperating amount and the clockwork that drives him is possessed by a living parasitic spirit. Al can be stopped, destroyed and beaten in combat but this is very hard to do owing to his sheer mass and low centre of gravity allied to alarming speed and fluidity of motion. His strikes are avoidable but the power in them is horrendous.
Traps and relentless attacking work best because where other summons have a finite lifespan, Al will stop at naught until victory is secured.
Slot VIII
(Empty)
Slot IX
The Ovinor is a fell beast with the odd element designation of 'Meat'.
Half man-half Ram all terrifying, this creature is a bloodthirsty and rage-driven 7ft 2in devastator. His bloodshot eyes when looked on signify it's already too late as its powerful cloven feet could knock-out an Ox and its headbutt attack can cave in helm and skull alike before those diabolical inscisors slice into exposed throat cartilage.
Malcolm had to craft a special kind of orb to trap Ovinor's spirit as a summon as a means of ridding the countryside of the beast's notorious blight.
For all his power, Ovinor has no magical ability and can be dispatched best with long-range weaponry. Don't let him in close.
Slot X
(Empty)
Slot XI
'Snaps' is a Water sprite in the form of a human/turtle hybrid. Lobotomised before Malcolm encountered him, he'd been set as a guardian of the river to prevent anyone crossing onto private land.
Malcolm defeated Snaps and employs him as a summon spell which gives the miserable and wretched creature some sense of purpose. He has no memory of how he came to guard the river or who he was before.
Snaps is a proficient opponent; standing only 4'11" high, he wields his trident with blurring handspeed. He can also use it as a makeshift javelin/spear/projectile type thingamajigguh with fiendish accuracy. That thing don't tickle neither.
His water-gun attack is a hugely powerful hydro cannon that can knock even the biggest baddie off his feet. Whilst hardly ending the game, it usually suffices in turning the tides in Snaps' favour. Trident to the throat often begets a submission.
Defensively, Snaps' shell, into which he can fully withdraw is impregnable, though it is possible to gas/suffocate him out of hiding. There is nothing remarkable about Snaps' flesh so getting a strike in is often decisive. His Physical DEF minus the shell is negligible.
Slot XII
(Empty)
Higher Level Summons
Malcolm has three Level 4 summons which are controlled (barely) via the large cavity atop his Wizer Staff. He can switch these out on the fly so it matters not if he begins the battle with one or other equipped.
============================
'Infernus' is a 20ft tall fire demon. Capable of flight and with the strength of 30 men, this terrifying creature resembles a monster from the very bowels of hell.
His attacks include;
Solar Flare: a huge fireball that engulfs everything in its path, leaving aught it touches desolate and scorched 600℃ at the centre.
Desert Heat: an incinerating wind that whirls around the vicinity, boiling lakes and reducing woodlands to ash. 400℃
Firestorm: a shower of 30-100 fireballs the size of human skulls that burn at over 200℃.
In addition to these blasts, Infernus can of course attack physically, which is like trying to wrestle a God.
Naturally, Ice and Water attacks are harmful to Infernus and the best way to pluck an unlikely victory from the jaws of defeat.
The other potential escape is via negotiation. Infernus believes himself intelligent and articulate. He is sore as hell that Malcolm defeated him "Tricked me, more like!" and now holds dominion over him. He is reluctant to do anything for the summoner but without a better option open, may decide that beating you quickly is the fastest way to make his exit. He hates hanging around and sees every minute of his being summoned as 'time on the leash'.
=====================
'Hukka' (hoo-car) is a 9 ft long 450lb wolf-like beast from the frozen plains of the far North. Owing to the magical energy taken to summon Hukka, he is designated as Level 4 though his potency is closer to base level 3 summons. Despite being the 'weakest' of Malcolm's larger summons, Hukka is a firm favourite owing to his steadfast reliability and boundless stamina.
Hukka is like a faithful pet except he could bite a tree in twain before he'd fetch a stick! Muscular and powerful, Hukka is an ice-element summon although his preference is for physical attacks. He enjoys bounding around the battlefield boisterously... Because dog (sorry Boss).
Malcolm trusts Hukka to always give his all and never let him down as opposed to the bullshit politics and powerplays favoured by the other two. Even if Hukka isn't in the mood to perform for Malcolm, Saskia (see Slot IIII) is adored by the beast and will obey her in all things.
Apart from crushing jaws and devastating headbutts, Hukka boasts an array of high-powered Ice attacks: 'Glacier' is a sheet of pack-ice that erupts from the floor around 100 metres in length and either crushes the enemy in an avalanche or entombs them in the ice itself. A sure-footed foe might survive only being severely sent sprawling but that just leaves them open to Hukka's slavering jaws.
'Blizzard' causes instant near-blindness as freezing winds bluster snowdrifts in a 100 metre radius around an opponent. This enables Hukka to close undetected on them owing to his keen sense of smell and thickly padded paws that move silently across most terrain.
Hukka is able to learn one further ability at this level but as yet hasn't gained another attack.
===========================
'Djinn' is a Level 4 shadow summon with Sand elemental qualities. A modest 8 ft tall, Djinn wields twin shadowblades that reap the souls of any with whom they pierce. He also carries a curious tattered flag that is inextricably bound to his existence on the physical plane. Seizing the flag instantly consigns him back to the darksands of the shadowrealm until the next summoning.
Djinn utterly resents Malcolm as his master, believing the circumstances of his capture to have been dishonourable. He will fight for himself rather than for Malcolm and has to see something to move him to dislike an opponent. Djinn's ability as a dual swordsman is seldom paralleled but his bespoke attacks are game-enders themselves.
Quicksand: a portal opens beneath an opponent of shifting sands, sinking beneath the surface transports an enemy immediately to the Shadowplane. Djinn himself can release the foe if he chooses upon his return to his own dimension.
Death Sentence: A sixty-second counter imposed upon the enemy that causes instant-death when at zero. Only defeating Djinn sooner or using holy water removes the curse. There are enchanted armours and amulets that ward against this attack- rendering it useless.
Petrify: A flash of brilliant light from his sapphire eyes renders opponents entombed in stone. On his own plane he can properly petrify an enemy but for some reason this attack is diluted in Malcolm's dimension.
Legion: What if your Summon can Summon? Djinn can raise a dozen sand-people to fight on his behalf. These soulless golems stand 5ft 11" high and have sand-swords as sharp as though they were diamond-edged. Carving through them causes them to crumble into particles again but whilst slaying twelve puppets, Djinn is manoeuvring into the optimum position all the while.
Weapon(s):
Wizer Staff: A mage's staff but this one only boasts a single slot for a magical orb. The upside is that that slot is able to house high-level summons and also allows switching in-battle so if he enters the fray with the wrong summon equipped, he can swap it out easily.
The staff is a simple design of knotted wood and is lightweight- making it very ineffective as a striking weapon. It's magical enchantment means it holds its form if hit though.
The Dorrenthall Dirk: a short blade that Malcolm can use to stick a foe at close quarters. Taken from the Ivory Palace treasury at Dorrenthall. Malcolm stole the trinket in anger at the elders of the order turning down his bid to train as a Paladin owing to his use of some dark magics. They even imprisoned him but he escaped (more of that later)
The blade has an edge that can cut any matter and an edge that purportedly can cut portals into other dimensions but Malcolm lacks the training to employ this edge. He keeps the blade in a thick sheathe lined with clay as if it touched the sides, it would cut through them!
Rod of Atrophy: mounted on his back, Malcolm wields an extendable metal rod that he claimed from a crypt in the Shadowlands. Whilst boasting no magical properties, it is lightweight, easy to use and at least gives him a melee weapon of sorts.
Gear: Malcolm has all the possessions he has in a large pair of rucksacks that he and Saskia (see Abilites: Slot IIII) carry with them whilst seeking lodgings.
A change of robe and breeches suffices for Malcolm whilst Saskia handwashes her own garments and carries them in her rucksack. They carry fruit, vegetables, sweet breads and casks of water along with a coinpurse and various items or trinkets that can be bartered for from place to place. They invariably pack flagons for wine that can be bought cheaply in one place and sold on at a profit in another. This is the travelling lifestyle to which they are devoted.
Background
Born in a quiet mountainside hamlet, populated by mage's of varying specialisms, Malcolm was the second son of Rhodri and Kathrynn Jenkins. Rhodri- a black mage and his wife Kathrynn- a healer made a good blend with the potential to spawn diverse offspring with any possible specialisms.
Elder son Thomas is a Dragonlord. But for Malcolm, he seemed able to harness large amounts of magical power without being able to learn any spells; be it white, black or red magic. Could the village have its first Summoner in 50 years on its hands?
Yes. Because I've told you all about him so you know this already. This was exciting and problematic too. To be a summoner was dangerous (as if dragonlord wasn't a dangerous enough calling!) but a specialism of great fame and renown. The problem was that to do anything with his power needed three things; none of which he had. Firstly he needed an amulet, piece of armour or weapon that contained 'slots'. These were recessions in the item into which magical orbs (sorta like big marbles) could be inserted. Secondly, he needed the magical orbs, or at least one magical orb with which to summon an entity that he had already beaten in combat or challenge. (Most prospective summons insist you defeat them in combat but some can be persuaded to compete against you in some challenge or other; win and you can call on them to do battle for you indefinitely- lose and you must pay some pre-agreed forfeit or price.
Finally, he needed to actually find a creature or being or entity or thingymahjig that could be controlled by one of these orbs... There are thousands in existence but they are scattered sporadically across the entire world and across varying dimensions! So... Work to be done!
As I said, there hadn't been a Summoner in the village or anywhere in the Apithean Empire for half a century. However, that Summoner was Marana Tha and he still lived in the vicinity. After obtaining written consent from the Summoner, Malcolm went to meet with him.
Marana Tha had become a prodigy in his teens through to his thirties but he had been captured by the Empire who confiscated his summon orbs and broke his armour. Marana Tha was in his late sixties but looked like a much younger man (in fact, Malcolm is only slightly older now than his mentor had been then) if not for his capture, Marana Tha would still be a famous summoner now, in the prime of life at around 110. Marana Tha had no end of advice for Malcolm but chiefly he advised he leave Apithea as soon as possible and not return lest a similar fate awaited him.
He also gifted Malcolm his Wizer Staff, which could hold high level summons and Malcolm's first armlet with a slot for a power orb in as well as an empty orb itself. Malcolm had a Summoner starter pack of sorts and the more experienced summoner agreed to train Malcolm provided they were discreet and stayed firmly under the radar of the Empire during his tutelage.
To begin with, the pair, Malcolm just fifteen years old at this point, travelled to without the borders of Apithea to a deep valley flanked by a belt of volcanic mountains, taller even than the Northern mountains the two knew as home. It was a place of Great spirituality and mysticism- abundant with elemental energies and, as Marana Tha explained, the sort of place where Summons could be readily battled.
The problem was that without any actual summon spells between the two, beating any elemental opponent would be hugely difficult
How the summons were acquired:
The fire sprite appeared after nine days and nights camped near the summit of the volcano. Malcolm had nothing with which to do battle and Marana Tha had only his basic black and white magics. In any case, if Malcolm was to claim the sprite for himself, he would need to battle alone.
He decided to try to trick the sprite into submission.
“Sprite of flame!” he called above the roar of the wind up there. “I cannot hope to best you in combat but I know I can prevail in a race.” Marana Tha frowned doubtfully.
The sprite was eager for the competition and if this opponent was not willing to fight, then at least a race was a contest of sorts. He nodded his agreement. Marana Tha was dubious his protégé could outpace a fire sprite but when Malcolm pointed out the course- down the mountain and across the frozen lake- he understood. The fire sprite was strong for a Level 1 summon but vain and prideful. They set off down the slope, the sprite soon vanishing from view as the trees smouldered at his passing. Malcolm ran too but only out of an urgency to be ready once his adversary hit the lake.
After twenty minutes of downhill sprinting, Malcolm’s muscles burned almost as brightly as the race leader. But the sudden hiss and distant gush of steam spurred him onward. Surely enough, the sprite had reached the Icy lake and burned straight through to plunge into the frozen waters. He lay helpless and extinguished by the shore and Malcolm was able to skate clumsily across to victory.
With disappointment but appreciation of the clever ruse, ‘Sparky’ as he became known consented to join Malcolm and became his first summon. His essence was absorbed into the orb which glowed a fiery red. Sparky returned to the volcano to heal, knowing that whenever called upon, he would appear to do Malcolm’s will.
With his one summon, one orb and one slot, Malcolm had reached the limit of what was possible without bettering his supplies and equipment. Marana Tha was confident Malcolm would make a great summoner and had to concede the capture of ‘Sparky’ was a stroke of true genius. Malcolm had used the terrain and nature around him to win an otherwise impossible duel. However to increase his arsenal meant finding proper Summoner armour. The Empire had confiscated all Marana Tha’s and probably melted it down- the one-slot armlet was all he’d salvaged and the attitude of those that governed Apithea towards magic was such that none dared to sell enchanted items of any sort. Returning home was no option.
Marana Tha told Malcolm of a famous legend about a dwarven treasure trove buried deep within a faraway mountain. The dwarves had lost the mountain long centuries ago but the rumour went that the treasure remained because all that had ventured there had failed to return. Malcolm reasoned that they could head that way and if they saw anything threatening they could adopt a different path. Their journey meant they faced many perils and “sparky” battled numerous beasts, each victory more irritating a reminder that if he had the orbs he would be increasing his power exponentially by claiming these enemies as summons. If anything, though, it only strengthened his resolve to visit this mountain and see what was what. Marana Tha had managed to pass on every helpful tip and shared every anecdote on this journey which took around four months. Sparky had grown in power slightly and Malcolm hoped the sprite would eventually level up (this has still never happened). The desolation of Rhymiadh (rim-ee-ad) was a thousand kilometre squared waste of dark brown sand that undulated as far as the eye could see but just before reaching this barren sandscape, was a range of flat mountains (all under 1000metres in height) at the front of this range was a squat, flat peak of lilac stone that boasted a narrow grove of cloud-forest; the Twilight Vale. Here, it was said, dread beasts roamed the mists and struck at any that strayed beneath that gloomy canopy. By now, Malcolm and his tutor were resolved to discover, for good or ill, what dark secrets this final outcrop of civilisation kept hidden and to gain access to the lilac mountain. Sparky was summoned and he blazed a path through the mist to illuminate the summoners’ passage. Queerly, no beasts approached at all. Even the parrots fell quiet at the sight of a fire sprite guiding men through their habitat.
They emerged utterly unscathed on the far side of the wood only a few hours later. The approach to the foot of the mountain was a gently sloping valley flanked by a gently flowing stream. Dragonflies and honeybees darted or drifted through the air which was thick with pollen. Wan sunlight streamed weakly through the thick haze to bathe everything in its celestial evanescence. The heady blend of aromas and dizzying humidity made everything feel dreamlike and surreal. Sparky departed, having burned lightly for some hours, he had to rest. Although the scene was tranquil and serene, there was something intangible in the ether that kept Malcolm’s teeth clenched and his eyes peeled. Yet again, however, they progressed unhindered to the tall dwarven gate that was closed but not bolted and, though the rust made the hinges scream like tormented souls, they exchanged a cautious glance and slipped into the darkness.
In the labyrinthine caverns below- they experienced several days of peril and adventure; but I have to cut this long story short somewhere and this is one area I will omit events. Marana Tha fell down a hole in the very first chamber and unable to do a damn thing to help him, Malcolm had to go on alone. He’d checked his mentor was alive and relatively unhurt and supposed he’d find some way of hauling him out again during his exploration. The complex was vast and included miles of underground mineshafts, vast caves and magnificent temples to forgotten deities. There was also a dungeon with a metallic golem prison warder guarding the inmates. Sparky was still recovering so Malcolm did not engage the possessed machine, instead opting to locate the treasure trove. This, too, proved tricky because there was no end of stairwells and howling shafts of blackness that could easily lead on forever underground. It was conceivable, Malcolm thought, that these tunnels burrowed through the entire world and spat you out hundreds of thousands of leagues from here. He’d never know. After stumbling upon a water basin and refreshing himself, Malcolm proceeded into a yawning metropolis; a huge and abandoned underground city. The architecture was stunning and rich- the marble and granite passageways threaded their dizzying paths between towering spires and great bridges of dark basalt.
The howling emptiness of those ethereal walkways seemed to secret dark shadows of long passed souls. A real-life ghost town. It troubled Malcolm to think whether the citizens were shades of dwarves long dead or partly comprised of hapless visitors to this bereft civilisation. He did not dwell there any longer and turned back. He’d found no treasure and could think of no way to defeat the metal-man guarding the prison corridor so resigned to search only for a length of rope that might free Marana Tha from his gloomy trap. The moment he ran into his tutor made him yelp in shock for he couldn’t think of any way he might have escaped. Marana Tha explained that he’d fallen into a tomb and the tomb led to a wall covered in dusty glyphs. Touching these had resulted in a form of teleportation to a different part of the labyrinth. Malcolm explained all the queer, deserted venues he’d explored without so much as a silver teaspoon to claim and they turned their search leftwards- down a narrow broken stair.
They came, at last, unto a vast ocean of ancient gold. Gleaming yellow trinkets cascaded and tumbled upon a brilliant metallic sea. The horde was here after all. Rather than greedily fill their pockets, the pair took only enough to buy provisions for either the return journey or the journey onward (for they had yet to decide upon the course they would follow) and began a search for amulets with orb-slots or for orbs themselves. Marana Tha even entertained the notion that if he could find spare equipment and surplus orbs, he might begin to summon once again… That would mean never returning to Apithea but, oddly, that course didn’t seem to trouble him.
It began to dawn upon them what curse might have befallen any and all that had ventured here previously: There was no way carrying all the riches a man could would even begin to make a dent in this sprawling blanket of coin. They wandered for a half hour into the gloom, each footfall punctuated by a crisp, metallic crunch. They came, at length to a broken altar and, hanging from a gleaming candelabra, was a ponderous golden talisman fashioned into the shape of a clock-face. Runic numerals marked twelve concaved recesses that matched the one in which Sparky’s orb dimly gleamed. Twelve! It was a rare trinket indeed that boasted twelve summon-orb slots and Marana Tha stood open-mouthed at the find. His stupor was momentary as his gaze fell upon a roughspun sack beneath the altar tied lazily with a thin tweed cord. A perfunctory second glance revealed the sack filled with multi-coloured summon orbs of various denominations. Yellow for light, brown for earth, white for wind, blue for water, black for shadow, red for fire, a darker green for poison, a silver for metal, even a translucent orb for non-elemental summons. Their colour was dull as opposed to Sparky’s orb’s lustrous sheen which told them these orbs were empty but it was exactly the find they’d dreamed of making and scarcely believing their fortune, they made back for the exit- taking no more gold than they had upon entry. It took half the time to return as it had to wander out but as they reached the top of the stair, they heard a yelp. A human, anguished yelp. It came from the cells Malcolm had passed and he knew he ought to intervene. Maybe the prisoner was a loathed criminal but, more likely, they were simply a fellow plucky adventurer seized by the metallic guardian and subjected to daily torment.
Rounding the corner, the pair happened upon the sight of a bedraggled, raven-haired maiden, queerly bedecked in tight black leather garb being dragged roughly by the hair by the mechanoid gaoler. She seemed to issue sparks or an electrical charge from her gloved palms that tightly wrestled the smooth chrome forearm of her tormentor yet whatever power she exerted upon it had no effect.
“Release her! Fiend!” Cried Malcolm at the mecha, but having briefly turned to regard the pair, this clockwork captor returned to dragging the woman along. His mind raced- how could he suppress this enemy with only a fire sprite. Marana Tha was already circling right though to draw the guard’s attention. Malcolm summoned Sparky who whorled into life and awaited specific instruction.
“Sparks! You must take out the metal being but do not harm the girl! Watchout for Marana Tha too…” Sparky needed no further instruction as the mechanoid menace tossed his prisoner aside to engage the flaming sprite; clearly programmed to give battle to the most powerful force in attendance. The woman swiftly crawled aside and rubbed at her scalp angrily.
“Fire won’t hurt it. My electricity made no difference..” she spat bitterly. The mecha charged suddenly at Sparky who simply bounced off the cold, hard torso and remained floating a few feet away. Before another ineffectual charge could be made, the sprite scorched through the mecha- superheating the metal exoskeleton. The very air became a blistering furnace and the girl and Marana Tha cowered from the searing backdraft. Malcolm was resolute and beckoned the sprite back again. The mecha had no answer to these onslaughts but didn’t appear weakened either… until the metal began to glow red, then white. At this point, Sparky was spent though and had to return. Could it be over? Marana Tha had circled fully around the back now and was comforting the girl, but when he saw how the tide of battle had reached stalemate and Malcolm was out of summons, he delved suddenly into his pocket and produced handfuls of gold. Was he going to bribe the mecha? No.
He threw the coin up high and as it reached the pinnacle of its ascent, the girl blasted it with electricity- sending the gold into a meteoric cascade upon the guard. As each piece struck home, it buried itself in the molten metal and the entire structure began to fragment. Marana Tha moved quickly in and used the twine cord to wrap around the mecha’s legs. Then he and the girl ran to opposite sides of the corridor and heaved upon the cord. The mecha twisted in agony at the gold buried in its casing and as it tried to forge away; toppled to the ground and shattered its entire torso casement entirely. Malcolm stood agog at the incredible show of ingenuity the two had shown and moved quickly to fetch the ‘Metal Orb’. He claimed the victory and the mecha disintegrated into golden light particles which swarmed into the orb. It finally gleamed a bright silver and the battle was done.
“We have to leave.” Malcolm announced flatly. Marana Tha gathered up the orbs and collected the twine- which had remained after the mecha dispersed. “We make South from…”
“I can’t leave.” The girl rolled her eyes in futility. “It’s the curse. If you… If you use the teleport runes you end up trapped here. The cells are just for fun; this whole place is the prison.”
Malcolm turned to Marana Tha who smiled wanly. He knew.
“I suppose I thought it worth eternity down here if I could help you on your path…” the mentor admitted.
“Then the city?” asked Malcolm, remembering those deserted eerie streets.
“A city of ghosts. It’s where the prisoners go after they die here.” Said the girl.
Malcolm hadn’t used the teleport runes as he hadn’t fallen into the trap Marana Tha had. He was free to go but had to go on alone.
“I have to leave you both?” Malcolm was crestfallen.
“Not both of us… young lady, what is your name?” Marana Tha asked gently.
“…Saskia” came the toneless reply.
“Saskia, I want you to tell Malcolm here that you submit to him, just say those words for me…”
“But, what?”
“Just say them, I promise it will bring you escape.”
“Marana Tha no!” Malcolm realized the implication of this and thought there had to be another way. His reaction helped Saskia to the same realisation.
“I’d become… one of those…?” She frowned.
“A summon, yes” said Marana Tha, “however, you’d be totally free to go wherever after you get out of here. Malcolm would never actually summon you.”
“Gods, no!” agreed Malcolm quickly “never!” The plan began to make sense.
“I submit to you Malcolm” she held his gaze as she spoke and he was suddenly struck by her beauty. A dark and magnetic power resonated from her. Her pupils dilated slightly as her body dissolved into electric-blue particles of light and flashed in an instant into the yellow electricity element orb in the baggy sack. A gleam of brilliant sheen told them the capture had been successful. Malcolm scrambled to the bag.
“What are you doing?” said Marana Tha, his voice raised in alarm.
“I have to release her, we agreed!”
“Not until you’re clear of this place.” corrected Marana Tha.
Malcolm nodded and suddenly wept for his master.
“I cannot leave you here. The curse must be broken! I’ll find a way..” He nodded again, this time in determination.
“My task was to lead you on your path. You now have three summons and the equipment for a whole dozen. Switch Sparky to the talisman and put the others in there too. I sense it has huge boost properties. Your summons’ magic will be stronger when equipped to the clock-face. You already show more potential than I ever possessed. I’m glad I could help you to this point Malcolm. You must go forth and further our cause. Find greatness and shower Apithea with the glory of our kind. Through you, magic can flourish once more!”
They spoke some more, shared old memories and even joked about Marana Tha’s existence as the only living man in a city of the dead! They’d always had that dark humour.
“If you should return here, I will see if I can find things that might help you, but I fear there may be little to eat down here. My end may be in sight…”
“Could you submit too? I could use this translucent orb?” Malcolm suddenly seized upon a possible get-out clause but though Marana Tha did say the words and they did try to repeat Saskia’s salvation, Marana’s theory that a summoner could scarce summon another summoner proved true. They embraced and finally parted ways…
Once the mountain was no more than a haunting memory and all sight of it had receded from view, Malcolm released Saskia into daylight, cursing for not having considered the effect of the brightness upon her eyes. She shook her head at his apology and sat upon the grass, her back to the sun whilst squinting to adjust to the light. The questions followed: Yes, she was bound to the summon orb. Yes, she was effectively immortal now. Yes, she could go wherever she pleased but yes, she would materialise at Malcolm’s side should he summon her. No, he had no intention of doing so but no, she couldn’t keep the orb herself because if she were to get injured or killed- she would return to it and then be trapped indefinitely. There was a lot to take in and some of the stipulations of her new existence were hard to take; however, no news Malcolm could tell her was worse than the idea of eternity in those dark cells or in that abysmal haunted city. So she thanked him and decided that she would accompany him on his journey in lieu of the companionship of his doomed mentor. He vowed not to equip the orb but Saskia offered that if she had to fight, why wouldn’t she want the magic boost the talisman offered? Indeed, she was quite keen to test out the effects of her capture. He fitted Saskia to Slot IIII and Sparky to II. The metal man which he had almost forgotten he had just captured was fitted to slot VII and Malcolm nicknamed him ‘Al’ (short for ‘Alloy’). Hopefully it might bring him luck- The talisman was a ponderous trinket to adorn his neck but he concealed it beneath his summoners’ robes and they pressed on.
Since to continue into the West meant forging across the seemingly endless nothing of The desolation of Rhymiadh, the pair turned South and traversed the high altitude valleys across which, Al claimed his first victory; A huge wind elemental that Saskia bet couldn’t blow one of them over. The elemental, named ‘Maelstrom’ chortled at this and accepted the foolish-looking gambit. Malcolm released the tonne of squat metal and an enraged wind elemental blasted himself calm trying to topple the resolute little Al. Aside from the creaking of his metal joints, he didn’t move an inch and Maelstrom was claimed and fitted to slot VI. This proved decisive in Malcolm’s ongoing journey as Maelstrom was hugely powerful for a level 1 summon. Most enemies were easily felled by the elemental’s powerful blasts. He beat a mushroom monster in swampland by blowing its deadly spores back into its face (‘Gus’: Slot I). He beat a poison nymph in seconds by blasting her frail body against a tree (Nightshade: slot V).
They came out of the swampy forests at last into plains of Southern tundra and entered the most melancholy desertion of a little hillside village that e’er they’d seen. Indeed, if you forgo the fact they’d both looked on the underground dead city in that bleak dungeon whereon they’d first met, you might suppose that this was as miserable a settlement as existed on the face of the world. The meagre wattle & daub homesteads boasted thick oaken shutters that remained perpetually latched come rain or shine; night or day. The marketsquare boasted a selection of broken stalls strewn across the cold cobblestones, surrounding the shattered visage of a rustic wishing-well. Suffice it to say no wishes had come true here in a generation.
Until today.
The village was named Threkholm and its population had dwindled from near 200 three years ago to a lonely 61. The reason? A bulging-eyed fell beast that ravaged the community. Part man, part sheep; the Ovinor was over 7ft tall and built of taut muscle, trimmed with coarse, rank, yellowing wool. The aforementioned eyes were perpetually bloodshot and deranged and the diabolical muzzle of this demon-ram was brown with dried blood. No arrow could halt nor no sword subdue this utterly atavistic monster in its insatiable bloodlust. Malcolm and Saskia exchanged a glance. It was no time to be ‘sheepish’, they offered as they sat by the unlit fireside in the dishevelled village tavern.
“We ‘wool’ do our utmost!” decreed a slightly drunken summoner after hearing tale after tale of the monster’s exploits down the years. Saskia stifled a laugh but the citizens, who had all seen loved one killed were unimpressed at the attempted mirth. They almost looked forward to Ovinor disposing of these two cocky outsiders. They were abandoned by the villagers who left for their several homes before dusk fell. Only a wizened ancient old man remained, sucking on a long pipe in a rocking-chair with a broken runner.
“You’re some kind of a wizard?” He asked Malcolm after a lengthy silence.
“A summoner.” Malcolm admitted tonelessly, sobering quickly at the evident fear of the villagers as darkness approached.
“They think you’re an imbecile.” Continued the old man. “Maybe they’re right. But if you do this. If you can rid us of the Ovinor, I will give you my master’s staff. The Wizer staff. With it, you can practise magic up to any level. He wanted me to have it, but I never had enough power to make use of it. I can cast a protective shell around all inside my beloved tavern when he attacks and that is all.”
Malcolm promised he would defeat the creature and take him far from there, albeit he couldn’t think how a non-elemental entity could be claimed as a summon. It hadn’t worked with Marana Tha. He could scarcely imagine what life would be like with no limits to the level of summon he could claim. He’d heard of hugely powerful summons from Marana Tha but had yet to encounter any more powerful than Maelstrom, who he suspected to be close to Level 2.
Darkness came and so did the Ovinor. Malcolm wondered why the villagers didn’t all gather in the Tavern if the old man could protect them there but he had no time to ponder further as a sickening bleat from the very bowels of hell cascaded over the undulating tundra. He was ready to release Maelstrom when a leather gloved hand stopped him.
“I’ll take this one. You’ve been promising me a turn for ages!” smirked Saskia determinedly.
The ram charged and the ground shook…
As he lay there quivering, his heart stopped by Saskia’s thunderbolt; the angry villagers charged out with axes, pitchforks, bricks, bats and knives. Mutton would be on the menu for the foreseeable unless Malcolm acted quickly. He took the translucent orb and closed his eyes. Whispering into the glassy veneer he mouthed the word ‘Meat’ and watched the orb change a dull, fleshy brown. As the first club swung down, Ovinor dispersed into the ether and the orb gleamed afresh. There was almost a revolt- The villagers wanted vengeance.
“This was the deal!” bellowed the summoner. “You have your peace! Now go back to your homes. You will never see that creature again.”
The next morning, a tentative knock at the door heralded the visit of the ancient landlord. The Wizer staff was a confusion of gnarled wood but upon receiving it, Malcolm felt an overwhelming sense of its power. It made his nipples tighten.
A period of calm ensued after this. They had ventured as South as they dared go and finally turned West again. The desolation of Rhymiadh lay long leagues North and they passed dank wetlands, picking up Malcolm’s final Level 1 summon to date; a bad-tempered water nymph called Snaps. A turtle-man with part of his brain removed that guarded a watercourse they needed to pass. Snaps was made short work of by Saskia, who was thrilled that Malcolm equated her power with that of a Level 3 summon when allied to the amulet’s amplification.
They came by several large summon stones that fit Malcolm’s staff and no doubt held more powerful summons than the little spheres that adorned the amulet. A darkstone, an icestone, a firestone and a lightstone. Malcolm stopped collecting level 1 summons after discovering the powerstones; determined instead to track down high-powered beings and become a summoner of world renown. He and Saskia had become closer friends than ever he had been with Marana Tha but he thought of his mentor often. Would he be dead by now?
His journeys took him through years. Thousands of miles, across oceans and deserts they went. Battling all the way. Maelstrom grew to Level 2 and his other summons proved their mettle often. Only Ovinor proved stubborn and unruly; attacking like a berserker rather than adhere to any sense of command. Whilst frustrating, Ovinor’s success rate was 100%. Marana passed into what we would think of as Middle age but still the prime of youth for a summoner. Saskia remained ageless. The two had grown to love one another, totally platonic because any deeper feeling was encumbered by the complex nature of her freedom or perceived freedom and the nature of it. Suffice it to say, whilst never crossing a romantic boundary, the two would defend the other to the end. Albeit, Saskia’s death merely results in her returning to the orb to regenerate.
The big four:
Dorrenthall. A majestic mountain citadel housing a community of priests and healers became the scene of Malcolm’s most notorious escapade. The Knights of Kesler are an ancient order of paladins; holy sentinels that governed the lavish temples and the small populace below. Saskia and Malcolm had been ‘mistaken’ for fugitives and pursued through the narrow, icy passes to the point of exhaustion. At length they gave themselves up, deciding that to fight would look like guilt.
Regrettably, there had been no mistake. Indeed, Malcolm had been no fugitive of Dorrenthall and had never been anywhere on that continent before. Saskia, however, was the rogue they were looking for. She had been orphaned and taken in by the priests. However, as she grew to adolescence, they began the beatings and one trainee paladin even seemed content to let his hands wander a little too freely. When they found him shaking violently on the church floor, smoke issuing from his singed hair, the hunt began. He was healed back to health but an attack upon a Paladin, even a trainee, was a grave crime. Saskia fled and never returned.
Until now.
In the cells deep within the mountain, both of them remembered the dim dungeon where they’d met. Actually, releasing Al would nearly make the reunion complete but again, they resisted any show of belligerence until being heard out. A trial was set-up but as they walked to the dock, Malcolm was pulled aside and granted a reprieve. It wasn’t him they were looking for.
Sitting high in the dock, he tried to resist the impulse to recall Saskia. Imagine the consternation of the assembled religious zealots were he to make their quarry disappear! He’d only incriminate himself though; Saskia would doubtless accept the death penalty and simply return to the orb to renew. Then they could get out of there. But he had enough curiosity for now to watch this trial play out.
Trial? A kangaroo-court is all it was. Saskia was allowed only to answer yes or no whilst all sorts of obscene charges were levelled against her. Her ‘victim’ had since died and, as it turned out, had been a dwarf. Saskia only smiled at this news. Malcolm swelled with pride. It occurred to him that she was the thing in life that he valued above all else. He wouldn’t let her come to harm even if it had no long-term detrimental effect.
Guilty: A unanimous verdict. Saskia laughed bitterly and was marched out to the sunlit court beyond where the public galleries hurriedly followed. Malcolm raced outside to see her tied to a stake atop a bunch of faggots smeared in pitch. A burning. Killing or wounding a man, a paladin in training no less, with electrical energies was tantamount to witchcraft it seemed. She glared out defiantly during these preparations and when asked if she had any last words, she simply spat. She could have told them everything. She could have screamed out how he grasped at her adolescent frame vilely but she didn’t give them the satisfaction. As the pitch ignited, Malcolm waited until the flames licked at her ankles and the pallid smoke obscured her form.
Moments later he stood on a lonely bridge high above a dizzying precipice. Paladin Knights were streaming from the temple and making their way to the courtyard in a mass confusion. Hooded and bent over, they mistook Malcolm for nought but an elderly stranger in their frenzy to locate the fugitive who had escaped the stake. He was within sight of the exit gate when he released her once more.
She turned and hugged him. Her dark eyes defiant still as she uncoiled from his robes once more.
“The vaults. Quickly.”
Nothing more, she scurried away, keeping her head bent low lest anyone noticed her reappearance. She needn’t have worried. The priestly community’s attentions were all back by the courthouse and she and Malcolm were sweeping down long stairs into the darkness in the bowels of the Mountain. At length, they emerged into a vision of candlelit splendour; the treasure house of the Paladins boasted a vast wealth of ancient weapons, ornately gilded ornaments, sacred trinkets and amulets and untold armours of priceless worth.
“What is this place?” whispered the Summoner as his eyes sparkled from the refracted flickers of a thousand candles.
“The Ivory Palace Treasury: Their most precious horde” scowled Saskia. “They keep all this stuff from Holy Wars past and are too damned pious to do anything with it.” She sneered, sensing a measure of vengeance. “Take something.”
“Saskia, no.”
“Please. Anything. They took my innocence, my dignity, my pride. I want something from them. I want to remember how they tried to erase me but I got a piece of them instead. Please Malcolm.”
All her vulnerability poured upon her at that last three syllables and she looked away from him for the first time.
A silence.
“I do need a dagger…” He smiled wanly.
He took a short-bladed Dirk and didn’t stop to inspect it; deeming it the least significant treasure he could take whilst still restoring some honour to his beloved companion. They ran. Steeling up stairwells and flying across the bridge as swiftly as their muscles would allow. No alarm was raised, no shout was heard. Malcolm frowned.
“Why do they keep all that treasure unguarded?” He panted in exasperation once the other side of the gate.
A silence.
“…They don’t…”
Valkyrie
The dirk lay in a battered sheath and was lined in soft clay, yet as Malcolm knelt on the rocky goat-track that led down the mountain from Dorrenthall, he noticed no residue whatsoever remained on the blade itself. He was on the cusp of running his thumb along the glittering edge to test its acuity, when the clouds above evaporated in an instant and the pair found themselves bathed in celestial evanescence. Choral music seemed to echo down the mountainside and a great shadow fell upon all. A goddess, surely, began to descend from the outer atmospheres and regarded the crouched summoner fixedly- Skin like polished gossamer, this deity, reified by shafts of iridescent light- her pristine, white wings gleamed in their mercurial benevolence so that Malcolm and Saskia could do nought but gawp in awe. She wore armour that shone in silver sheens, scattering shards of speckled sunlight sporadically. All the while, this being drifted deliberately downwards, her golden lance twirled in loquacious leisure beside her.
“I am Valkyrie.” A voice as sweet as syrup. “You stole from the treasures of Dorrenthall and now must face judgement.”
Malcolm had been humbled by this vision of untold glory but the charge rang clearly in him and he rose to answer it; “I have seen the punitive farce that masquerades as judgement here and will give you battle.” This was like no beast he’d ever defeated before; Valkyrie was easily Level 4 if not 5. He had no doubt this may well be the end for him but this level of battle was what he was born to.
He sent out Maelstrom. Valkyrie spiralled up on his whirlwind and danced an aerial ballet with every gust and gale the Wind elemental could muster. After a short and concentrated effort, he diminished and withdrew. Valkyrie mocked Malcolm’s efforts. He grimaced and sent out summon after summon: The Ovinor was impaled by the Lance of Atrophy within seconds and lay stricken and motionless. Valkyrie’s impatience was evident. This was no contest. Sparky’s blaze reflected ineffectually from the lustrous sheen of the silver-enamelled armour and he promptly burned out too. Al stood firm for a time but simply couldn’t reach the airborne guardian and, once bored by his curious appearance, Valkyrie crumbled the ground beneath him with a shaft of holy light and watched him rattle down the slopes like a cast-iron kettle. Malcolm gritted his teeth. Poison had no effect; Gus’ spore attacks did nought and Snaps’ water cannon simply missed every time. He did avoid impalement by withdrawing into his shell but when Valkyrie peremptorily kicked the shell down after Al, Malcolm frustratedly withdrew the water sprite.
“My turn” frowned Saskia.
“Forget it Saskia. We can’t win this.”
“This whole thing’s about me. Let me try. I can’t die anyway, right?” She ran forward suddenly and engaged the enemy. He hadn’t formally summoned her but she raced into the fray. Valkyrie had been toying with these beasts as though they were ragdolls. Saskia went all out; powerful bolts and electrical waves pulsed through Valkyrie’s armour and succeeded in trapping her in a static field. The amplification offered from the talisman was posing problems for the level 4/5 summon and Malcolm sensed the unlikeliest escape. But the strain upon Saskia was immense and Valkyrie broke clear. Angered at being inconvenienced by a lesser being, she flew at her counterpart with lance pointed. Saskia was dizzy from the effort of holding Valkyrie prone and knew she had nothing left with which to repel this counterstrike. She bowed her head and awaited the coming blow.
It never came.
As Saskia opened her eyes following a period of sudden quiet, she saw the holy lance sliced in twain upon the mountain track before her. Valkyrie hovered above, her expression one of stunned disbelief. Malcolm stood between them, his arm outstretched and the Dorrenthall Dirk held aloft. It had bisected the Lance of Atrophy with one cut.
“That lance had been my own for a millennia.” Chided Valkyrie. “There is more to you than meets the eye Summoner. I don’t know how you came to steal so priceless a blade but in honour of your feat, I shall allow you and your companion to pass on from here. This is the judgement of Valkyrie.”
A defeat. Valkyrie showed mercy at losing her weapon but it was plain that but for Malcolm’s intervention, he and Saskia were spent.
“That blade will slice through any matter. It is a curse as much as it is a blessing. Protect it and do not allow it to fall into the wrong hands and you have the protection of Dorrenthall.”
Not another word. She burst into shafts of light and permeated the ether. Cloud covered all once more.
Hukka
Snow. So much snow and misanthropic ice dominated the terrain here. It had been four years since Dorrenthall and the pair had salvaged one half of Valkyrie’s weapon- the shaft which Malcolm fashioned into a king of fighting rod. This gave him a slightly better ranged weapon in the event he became physically engaged in battle. A last resort but had it not been for the Dirk vs Valkyrie, he’d have undoubtedly been killed. The Rod of Atrophy was uncommonly light yet hard as diamond. He had no doubt it was blessed with holy properties yet could think of no use for its particular skillset.
By and by, they encroached into the bounds of a village ‘Ogogry’ had existed for many centuries, its chin tucked in against the bitter South winds and every soul looking out for one another. Visitors were rare and the population (only about 82) had grown introvert and wary of any that crossed that snowswept threshold uninvited.
So when Malcolm and Saskia traipsed their snow-caked boots through the door of the Village Inn, they were met with a measure of hostility. No. There was no room at the Inn (despite their being the only visitors as indicated by the empty hat-stand, empty coat hooks and the guestbook with a last entry some SIX YEARS previous) and a ‘problem’ with the stove meant there was no food to be had either.
“A drink then? We ‘ve walked for days! Our canteens are empty!” pleaded an exasperated Malcolm.
“Time you were on your way.” The squat, gloomy Innkeeper was resolute.
Malcolm and Saskia headed south. They came unto the hot springs and filled their casks without permission. Suddenly, a fissure in a rock cracked and out bounded a huge Ice-White hound. Easily 9 feet long, and clearly the Guardian of this sacred spring. Malcolm’s mood was foul; he sent out Sparky and had the Fire-Sprite bake the landscape bare with searing heatstorms. Hukka, was actually one of the easiest victories.
He watched as the exhausted, frazzled dog evaporated into white-gold particles and filled up the Ice-stone fitted to the Wizer Staff. He had a powerful summon but as he had proved; elements are everything! A level 1 fire sprite had bested a high Level 3 Snowdog because fire melts Snow!
They filled their canteens and travelled on; Hukka becoming a firm favourite, provided they didn’t use him against fire-based enemies.
The Shadowlands
More years rolled by and more travelling miles reeled off. They still had little idea where they eventually intended to stop. Malcolm was nearing seventy whilst Saskia’s status as a Summon kept her ageless; good thing Summoners’ lives are ordinarily far longer than humans’.
The Shadowlands were a dread place. Filled with Warlocks and Wraiths. Dark forces lurked in every town and Malcolm would have avoided crossing this bleak and barren plain. Curses were common here and roaming hordes had controlled the entire district for two thousand years. Dark, dark magics indeed. Malcolm pressed onwards because he intended to reach the Firepits an then press onward towards Etirath; a mountain Kingdom of solidarity and kinship. Indeed, he heard a great warrior from Apithea had gone there and keenly wished to make his acquaintance.
There were battles against Wraiths and there were encounters with Wizards and Warlocks but he overcame them all. He had quite an impressive arsenal of decent mixed-element summons now and was confident he would traverse the final few miles of this plain without further peril. To exit the Shadowlands required the pair to cross a long rope-bridge, like the type that always collapses as you cross in cartoons! Halfway along stood a figure from a different dimension; A tall, sombre grey-skinned figure with grey skin and eyes that glowed with menace.
“I am Djinn” He smirked as the pair approached. “Only defeating me will see you safely to the other side. Lose and die!” He taunted.
Malcolm had heard tell of Djinn. Mischief was their game and powerful enemies they were. Malcolm flicked through his options in his mind. This was as powerful an entity he had faced since Valkyrie and he was certain that none of his regular summons would do it. Hukka would bound around and inevitably topple them all over the edge of the bridge and into the briny waters hundreds of feet below.
“Powerful Djinn! I fear a battle up here on this narrow bridge would endanger us all. I would rather offer you a test to see if you are better than me.” He shouted above the howling wind.
“You mean to trick me?” I am the master of trickery Summoner!
“No tricks! You are the most powerful entity I have ever faced save for one! If you can prove yourself greater than that being, then I will turn back and never seek to cross your bridge.”
Djinn’s eyes boiled fire at this. “Send it out! I will defeat it and then send you both to your death.”
Malcolm hid a smile. “I cannot send it out for it defeated even me. But I did break its lance in half!” He presented the Rod of Atrophy that was fashioned from Valkyrie’s Lance. “All you need do, mighty Djinn, is break this weapon as I did and I recognise you as the victor!”
Djinn laughed. “If you can break this weapon Summoner, then I can smash it into atoms!” He held out a clawed hand. “Give it to me. I accept your challenge, fool!”
Malcolm smiled disarmingly and handed over the slim, lightweight rod. Upon touching the Holy relic, Djinn collapsed to his knees. His entire strength was instantly sapped yet he could not let go of the shaft.
“What is this trickery!?” He wanted to smash Malcolm’s head to pieces but found he hadn’t the strength to even stand. Even look up. His eyes began to close…
“Hear Me Djinn! You hold the shaft of the Lance of Atrophy in your shadowy grip! In moments, its Holy power will drain away your entire life-force. Unless you submit to me and be saved!”
“Ne..v..e..r” Djinn found the word harder to say as he enunciated it. He had but a shred of life left.
“Yield!” Malcolm panicked because Djinn might just be stubborn enough to die rather than submit.
A simple nod of acceptance, a nod of defeat and Malcolm absorbed this Level 4 foe into the shadow stone. He had just claimed his most powerful summon. Saskia eyed Malcolm with wonder. Where did he get these ideas from? She picked up the Rod of Atrophy and handed it to him.
“How come it doesn’t do anything to me?” she asked.
“It’s Holy elemental. Like Valkyrie. He’s a shadow elemental. Simple. Come on! I don’t want to stay on this bridge or in this land. We press on.”
Infernus
Djinn was only summoned once and refused to fight at all. Malcolm was learning that his own power level needed to grow in order to control these higher-powered summons. Hukka was great but Djinn was going to be problematic. Hell, even Ovinor couldn’t be trusted not to charge around smashing everything in sight. Whilst that was mostly effective, it did mean Malcolm became nothing more than a spectator once the Sheep was off the leash!
The firepits were underwhelming; there was a great slate wall with some runic emblems to decipher in order to proceed onwards towards Etirath. Malcolm had no idea how to figure these out and where he would usually sit and patiently work through the problem, he was impatient. He drew the Dorrenthall Dirk and proceeded to cut into the ancient rock. The blade sliced through the stone as easily as waving it through air; but as soon as the first runic symbol was disturbed, the rock-face released a 20ft fire demon that blasted he and Saskia backward in a searing blast. A visceral roar echoed across the landscape and the fire pits erupted magma jets high into the air. Malcolm cowered for cover and withdrew Saskia instantly for her own safety. He’d endure her annoyance about it later… if there was a later!
“I am Infernus!” Bellowed the Ifrit, for now Malcolm could see what he was dealing with. “Who dares deface these sacred runes?”
Malcolm realised his crime now and scanned the floor urgently for the Dirk. It had slipped from his grip and now lay buried to the hilt in a nearby boulder. He crossed to it as he spoke.
“My Name is Malcolm Jenkins of Apithea. I am passing through your land bound for Etirath.” He slid the dirk from the stone effortlessly. “I am a summoner and will gladly challenge you in exchange for passage beyond this wall!”
The Ifrit, this ‘Infernus’ snorted. “Send out your pathetic summons! I do not fear you.”
Malcolm had no idea this would work. He knew Hukka would be baked in seconds, Maelstrom would just fan the flames. Ovinor would be roast Mutton in a heartbeat and even Al would be reduced to a puddle of alloy. The others all were similarly too weak and his calculations left him only one option.
“Djinn” he whispered.
A whirlpool of blackness swirled across the floor and out sailed the shadowmancer.
“I told you Summoner!” Snarled Djinn “I will not…” He fixed those stone dead eyes upon an opponent wreathed in flame, 20ft of towering inferno.
Infernus was furious. “A Djinn! A filthy shadow-walker! You would send this undead thing to face the great Infernus!?”
“Hold your tongue Ifrit!” Djinn loathed Ifrits as much as Ifrits hated Djinn. “You know your flames have no effect upon me! If you back down now then I won’t make a mockery of your kind!”
“Enough!” Bawled Infernus. “I will have your flag ripped out and you consigned back to the shadowplane in seconds!”
Malcolm’s eyes widened at the realisation of the significance of the tattered flag Djinn wore upon his back. It was a key he used to travel between worlds. Claim it and he was defeated.
“Do your worst!” Roared Djinn.
Infernus hurtled at the Djinn at a binding speed, he peppered the ground with fireballs; Djinn languidly stepped aside each one that crashed to earth by him. He was quick. Yet he was going backwards! Infernus smirked as the distance between them closed in fractions of seconds and, at the second he met Djinn’s gaze, two hideous flashes of light suddenly lit-up the skyline. Infernus crashed to earth entombed in stone. He skidded right past Djinn, who stepped aside and then quickly raced to the gigantic statue of an Ifrit. Within stunned seconds, it began to fracture. A red-hot arm punched through the stone and Djinn hopped up beside it. With no pause in motion, he whipped out two shadowblades and whirled them above his head. Malcolm instinctively held the Firestone aloft. At the moment Infernus’s head crashed out of its stone casing, Djinn brought both blades together against the Ifrit’s forearm and the creature evaporated into shadow and filled up the stone, which gleamed a rich fiery red.
With a glare that in itself might turn him to stone, Djinn expressed his contempt for his captor and instantly dismissed himself back to the shadowstone.
Etirath
So with two incredibly powerful Summons that loathe their master, Malcolm and a slightly peeved Saskia (more because she missed the fight than the temerity of withdrawing her) passed the wall (which crumbled at Infernus’ defeat) and walked the long leagues to Etirath…
Malcolm in his everyday attire/apparel
Malcolm in battle mage mode.
The Ovinor - Meat Summon
'Snaps' - Water Summon
Poison Summon
Al - Metal Summon
Gus - Fungus Summon
Maelstrom - Wind Summon
Saskia - Lightning Summon
Sparky - Fire Summon
Infernus (elite summon- Fire)
Hukka (Elite Summon- Ice)
Djinn (Elite Summon- Shadow/Sand)