‘THE ARCHMAGE ZORBULON’ – Part 3
You feel that a stranger shouting at you in a foreign language is an act of hostility so foul that he deserves annihilation. The Free Races of Kwaydor (those various fantastical species that came to you for aid against an entity called The Dark Master) would surely be aghast at your reaction, which is to say they wouldn’t expect you to suddenly call down fire from the sky because a man raised his voice to you.
But they’re wrong to believe that you’re merciful (or indeed reasonable, at least today) and you channel your hatred into the first of the KILLING SPELLS OF GOOMBOLOR.
You raise your hands to this alien sky, calling upon the elements of creation to answer your arcane desires. The starjewel upon the Staff of Illik glows a lambent and fearsome purviolet, signifying the rise of immense power, which you feel in turn as a bubbling tickle in your bloodstream.
“What the shit?” cries the man in the chariot as the sky turns black. “Fucking hell!” he adds.
You unleash the gathered forces of the Elemental Lords upon the man and his metal chariot. As Goombolor’s Acidfire rains down from the sky like the tears of a mourning god, the man ducks back into his chariot and seeks to flee the scene. He’s immediately turned into unholy sludge as the sky-flames incinerate him and his unfriendly attitude, removing them from creation and perhaps depriving his children and lifemate of source of familial love and financial security. Or maybe both parents work, so they’ll ultimately be fine. Who knows how societal dynamics work on this world? If only there was someone you could ask.
What matters is that justice is done.
Unfortunately, in laying waste to this motherfucker, the collateral damage from the use of your formidable power has been somewhat immense. If this world has ghosts, as Kwaydor most certainly does, you’ve probably created a few right here.
Once the screams fade out with the last crispy fizzles of melting stone and barbecuing human flesh, you take stock of your situation.
You stand at the edge of the village, which is now a crater in the tortured earth.
You suspect no scargoyles were harmed in the absolute wholesale slaughter of this village, which may be considered a bit of a swing and a miss for the blue team, if you really think about it.
There’s a tickle from beneath your hat as BARNABUS, your faithful familiar, wakes up! He climbs up your hat, stretches his little dragon wings, and stares at the vista of pure, undiluted destruction.
“Yikes,” he says. “Well, whatever happened here, I’m sure it was justified.”
You feel warmed by his endless belief in your righteousness. Then he adds, “Have you got any breadcrumbs? I’m super-hungry, chief.”