[Retro] Journey's End?

[Callimpsest]

[OOC: Continued from Look After You Leap, and still set in the past.]

*Callimwold's collective mind was blurred like the bushes and trees that were rushing past him. His pounding feet and pounding heart driving him forward to where he was needed. He had lost track of how far he had come, how much damage he may have done on the way (he was not sure if his memory of crashing into an Opposition minion is imaginary or not [OOC: but if not...]), nor how long it was since he had left the Crazed Heifer. But time didn't matter now: there was only arriving soon enough or arriving too late. Callimpsest had never known what it was like to run like this before. So fast; towards danger.

He wasn't sure what came first: the sight of the house or the sound of the scream. There was no doubt that it was an ogre's scream, yet there was no rage in it. Only pain and fear. One part of Callimwold urged him to scream back; another part urged him to approach with stealth. All they could agree on was that he absolutely must keep running. The metallic taste in his parched mouth reminded him of exactly why.

Here was the house. Here was the door. And there*

[Young Grimwold]

*was the librarian's friend and the ogre's son, pinned against the far wall by a technomagical warrior with no other purpose in its deranged head than to eliminate that which was called Grimwold.

After so many years travelling, voyaging, running away, Young Grimwold could not move. All the pain of his existence, the shame of the memories that he couldn't make not matter, the horror of the reflection that would ambush him day upon day, had been drawn into his shoulders as the Dreadnort tore at his arms. And he didn't know who this being was, nor why it was hell-bent on killing him, but YG too had his word: One word, one thought, bludgeoning all the uncertainties into insignificance. Good.*

[OOC: Not that he's in a position to celebrate just now, but today marks 8 years since YG's roleplaying debut.]

[Callimpsest]

*Callimpsest and Grimwold both knew what they were seeing. Young Grimwold was giving up.

He needs us.

Reasoning with the Dreadnort seemed a doubly impossible course of inaction, but Callimwold resolved to use his head one way or another. He lowered it and he charged.*

[Young Grimwold]

*Young Grimwold, jarred by an almighty clang, stared in shock as...*

[Callimpsest]

*...His father staggered away from his mother's cauldron, which was now adorned with a new dent. To expect both speed and direction from a charging ogre was apparently to expect too much. Callimwold managed a few steps before dizziness got the better of him and toppled him over, throwing up dust into a shaft of sunlight.

This 'am ram' performance had not gone unheard by the Dreadnort. It sensed that this was relevant to its endeavour and that it was necessary to gather further, visual information. But it had not been designed to process two targets at once. It would have to refocus. With a creaking that made fingernails on a blackboard sound like a harp, the Dreadnort's head rotated until the newcomer was within its field of vision.

Callimwold's eyes were fixed on the Dreadnort, but his pain-peppered head was swimming and he was sinking into a blurry malaise. Stay. Conscious. He couldn't stand up. He lifted a trembling arm in Dreadnort's direction - and beckoned.

And, while not built for rhetoric, Dreadnort's addled technomagical substitute for a mind presented a rhetorical question. Why target a resistant, impure Grimwold when I can have a semiconscious, non-resistant, pure Grimwold instead?

Callimwold's eyelids flickered and his head slumped to the floor as the creaking resumed.*

[Young Grimwold]

*Young Grimwold gasped with relief as the Dreadnort released its grip on his arms. He wanted to sob but he stopped himself. He watched as the Dreadnort shuffled and stamped what passed for its feet, manoeuvring itself with agonising slowness. Normally people are a lot quicker to turn away from me. If I didn't know better, I'd say he - it, she - was relishing this.

It was only when the creature was facing his father across the room did YG realise its new purpose. It took a step.*

No...

*Then another. His father did not move. YG was too winded to shout.*

No, no! Stop!

*YG reached for his club, forced from his hand when the Dreadnort had first attacked him. His fingers closed around it... and he winced. His arms were too weak to pick it up, let alone wield it. Growling, he grabbed a lighter object that had been knocked from a shelf and stumbled after the Dreadnort.*

No! Halt! Leave him alone!

*YG gritted his teeth and swung his new weapon at the beast.

The Dreadnort stopped. Even for a merciless armoured automaton, being struck with a wooden spoon is a trifle distracting.

YG hit it again. It wasn't turning back. And it wasn't speaking, even though it had said his name earlier and kindly notified him of its intent to amputate. He would not be ignored by someone that wasn't even a proper someone. He would make it listen to him. Because if he couldn't even lift a club, then words were all he had to stop this pyre of poison from wrecking his life. He took a deep breath.*

How dare anyone threaten my father after all he's been through? He loves his family, he got stabbed by an elf, he has a ridiculous son, his wife turned out to be a harridan and a schemer and now he's going through a concussion battle. All you care about is... pulling limbs off us. He's a PERSON!

*He wiped his eye and smacked the Dreadnort.*

What you don't realise is that he's saving Wolfenden all this money, killing wolves before they can slay the livestock and the townsfolk, and all they do is talk a heap of manure about him! He hasn't killed a human in years. He roars for a reason because that's how he feels: raw raw raw raw RAW! LEAVE HIM ALONE!

*He whacked the impassive metal back again.*

Treguard's lucky he even performed for the Dungeon. LEAVE DADDY ALONE! Please!

*YG's legs were buckling. Every impassioned word, every passionless hit of the spoon, felt as worthless and futile as anything he'd ever done. And soon - he smeared more tears across his face - soon he'd have to choose whether to watch his father being maimed or look away like the useless coward he is. And his father, a man who knew little other than fighting, would be unable to fight back.*

LEAVE DADDY ALONE! Plea-hease! Leave my father alone right NOW! I mean it. You deal with me because he's not well right now. [OOC: If you don't recognise the parody, look up Leave Britney Alone on YouTube.]

*The Dreadnort started walking again. Behind him, an ogre was on his knees weeping, drying his eyes on the hooded cloak that the Dreadnort had earlier discarded.*

Leave him alone... He's a better man than you anyway... A better thing... you second-rate Talos.

*And it was at that moment that Young Grimwold stopped making tears and started making ideas.*

[Callimpsest]

*Although Young Grimwold hadn't had much luck with his spoon, Callimwold had stirred. It takes a lot to knock an ogre out, especially one with the strength of two minds beneath the skull. But Callimwold still could not move. From the sounds and shapes of which he was vaguely aware, he discerned what was happening. Soon the Dreadnort would be upon him, and he was not numb enough for it not to hurt. He sought to comfort himself by recollecting a favourite aroma, and thought of... rotting meat? Please, Grimwold! He summoned one for Callimpsest: new books. But from that came thoughts of the school library, of crushing bitterness, and he had to dismiss those. He thought instead of Young Grimwold, who would go on. Damaged, perhaps, but wiser and tougher.

Resolving if he possibly could to go out with a roar, Callimwold waited.*

[Young Grimwold]

*Young Grimwold considered what he had blurted out. The artificial atrocity had reminded him of Talos, the giant man of metal who was said to patrol the isle of Crete in the time of the Argonauts. Forged by Hephaestus the blacksmith god and mighty enough to throw boulders to ward off unwanted visitors (or more likely smash them to pieces), Talos himself was impervious to the weapons of men, even a hunter's pike. But he did have a weakness, and one that would have entitled him to sue Achilles for copyright infringement: an exposed vein on his heel containing a stopper. When the Argonauts removed this stopper, Talos' lifeblood leaked out of him and he was defeated. Perhaps, just perhaps, this successor to Talos had the same thing.

Young Grimwold crawled as stealthily as he could behind the Dreadnort, attempting to discern a weak spot. It was all too quickly evident that there was none. The foul creature was plated with metal from head to foot. YG started to feel sick. What now? Kneeling here behind this monster like a scorned supplicant, the only wretched advantage YG seemed to have over it was that he could bend both legs.

A plan started to form in YG's head. He needed time, just a bit more time. He'd never get the creature to stop and listen to him again. He had to try something else. As the upper and lower portions of the automaton's left leg separated, YG shoved the spoon in the gap.

As the Dreadnort straightened its leg, there was a splintering sound. The Dreadnort halted, contemplating why it might have emitted such a noise from an appendage. It couldn't bend over to investigate. It would have to proceed and assess any damage at a later time. It also registered a series of rustling sounds that it attributed to the half-Grimwold. That too would be investigated in due course. But first there was a full Grimwold to neutralise. And if the ogre would not put itself within reach of the Dreadnort's arms, it would just have to amputate using the force of its feet.*

[OOC: Bonus points to anyone who can spot the reference to early Star Trek in this post.]

[Callimpsest]

*Callimwold was regaining his senses, but still felt too dazed to mount an adequate defence against the imminent attack. The Dreadnort was but a stride away from him now: he could feel its unnatural aura and the cold maw groaning his dirge in its vacuous chest. He glimpsed Young Grimwold shuffling behind it, his arms still too weakened to wield his club, and thought of the guilt and sadness that would descend upon him in mere minutes. He hoped there would not be too much blood for YG to witness.

Then Callimwold saw a flurry of movement, heard a crack, and watched as the Dreadnort froze, trying to comprehend the concept of noisy wooden cutlery turning up in its ridiculous leg. If things of technomagic were one day to rule the world, they had a long way to go. But what Callimwold saw next was far more encouraging: a pair of ogre's hands, with a deftness learned at sea under Captain Nemanor, firmly knotting a cloak around the Dreadnort's legs.*

[Young Grimwold]

*The Dreadnort refocussed its attention on the full Grimwold - unable to stand yet twisting his fat frame around with little more grace than a landed fish in its death throes - and took a step. The step took the Dreadnort toppling forward. YG gasped: the thing was going to crush his father.*

[Callimpsest]

*Callimwold had turned his body around just in time. As the Dreadnort toppled toward him, its legs incapacitated, he willed his own legs - legs that had tirelessly pounded passage after vale after dale after tunnel - to remember their strength and he thrust them upwards.*

[Young Grimwold]

*Hearing his father's roar, Young Grimwold rolled to the side as the metal monster swung backward and smashed against the floor. Even if its legs weren't bound, it would probably still struggle to know how to right itself. And its two adversaries - one more than it was ever designed to handle at any one time - were unlikely to give it a chance.*

[Callimpsest]

*Callimwold had retrieved his club and was approaching, a little unsteadily. He looked down at the Dreadnort, not at all wistfully. The futile twitching of the malfunctioning automaton's arms against the ground sounded almost like a drumroll. The crash of Grimwold's club against its torso sounded like cymbals.*

[Young Grimwold]

Good afternoon, father. You seem much better.

*With the exception of the odd prolonged wrestling bout, ogres do not tend to hug. But never before had two ogres wanted to so much as now. Instead they settled for an alternative means of further bonding: hitting stuff together. As Callimwold's headache eased and YG's arms regained their strength, they clubbed harder and harder. Then YG looked up and saw his father holding out his club. This abrupt lack of intellect did not surprise him, and for once did not embarrass him either.*

N-no, I already have a club, I've been using it.

*Then he realised. Soon YG stood, a club in each hand, regarding the Dreadnort. He thought about all that it had sought to take from him. And with a roar, he swung the clubs down, his mindful strikes carrying many times the force that his mindless ones had. He handed back Grimwold's club.*

Thank you.

*Between the ogres, the Dreadnort was rasping still. It seemed that they had only inflicted superficial damage on it.*

Perhaps removing the head would...

[Callimpsest]

*Despite his best efforts, Callimwold's grip was not strong enough to detach the Dreadnort's headpiece. He and Young Grimwold had battered the automaton extensively, yet not into submission, and he worried that they failed to deactivate it soon, this creature of technomagic might repair itself and renew its attack. Though given the deceptively simple nature of its structure, perhaps the head could be forced from the body by other means. Callimwold fetched a stool, positioned it next to the Dreadnort and stood on it. He looked at Young Grimwold -*