BECMI Chapter 32 – A Long Trek Backwards

In the end, the Northman company didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter. Without me, they couldn’t leave the building. I was leaving at dusk, and I wasn’t going to stick around for however long it took the dragons to leave, which might be just long enough for the horde to get here and kill them all regardless if they attempted to leave. I wasn’t worried about the horde coming in after I left. The dragons were watching, they were definitely dining well right now, and there’d been no trace of anything out of place years into the future. We were going to go backwards in time, until we could come forwards in time again. That was basically all there was to it. At that point, the point we could go no further back, we would be able to exit the loop if needed, and return to the future. Whether it would be THIS time period, or even close to it, I couldn’t tell them. I was the force furthest in the future, and I might be the lynch-pin of this effort going backwards. But first, we all had to get there. Supplies would not be an issue, as long as we lived. There was plenty of food and water waiting for us after every jump, and everyone knew it. There might even be decent loot, as my lads pointed out, bringing out the full of loot we’d run across. Plans were made. Unneeded stuff went into the middens, no need to leave it all laying around, it would vanish at dawn again. And, there was a teaching moment. --- “You’re all warriors, and you’re not expected to know a lot about magic.” Well, there was one priest of a thunder god, but he was all about smashing skulls in the name of his Patron Immortal, not intricacies of magic. My audience was a little suspicious, doubtful, curious, all in equal measure. After all, I was very powerful, very dangerous, and certainly knew things they didn’t, along with being elven and privy to all those strange magic secrets of my people, yessir. Then I used and sparred every single one of them, and beat them into the ground with . None of them were great warriors, and I was definitely really, really good with a staff. They were all stronger than I was, and they couldn’t beat me, or even get close to beating me. I Healed us all up after every fight, everyone got a chance at me, and I crushed all of them. My bona fides established and earning their grudging respect for being able to take care of myself without spells, they were willing to listen to me. “What I’m going to talk about now is Warrior’s Magic. Simple, ancient, profound, powerful, subtle, direct, and really hard to see, but also very, very basic.” I surveyed them all coolly, these humans with Class Levels and a hyn with Racial Levels. “One Level a day. One point of Soak a day. One point of Health a day. One Mastery of Weapon or Skill a day.” I held up a finger. “One.” I surveyed them all calmly. “You all know a basic truth among one another. You know who is stronger… but do you know how much stronger?” I let that hang in the air as I looked over them. “You know who is tougher, who is more skilled, who is more clever, who you look to as a leader, who is better with a blade… but do you know how much?” I shook my head before they could answer. “No, you do not. It is not a hard skill to learn, but it is one that none of you know, even Hammer Ogvier there. But you know what happens when you DO know those things?” There was curious silence as some of them shook their heads. “You can PUSH those limits. You can change what is default. You can improve yourselves in ways other than just ‘being a better warrior’.” I even shaped the words. “Buck, this is slightly different for you and I, but pay attention regardless.” The hyn nodded alertly, sitting on a table to see above all the Northmen and other humans around the room. “Men of Frokki, there is a path in life called the Warrior’s Road, and you are walking on it. It’s a straight and narrow path. You go out there, you defeat your enemies, prove your might and valor, come back home and practice a bit, learn some new things, and go out and prove your might and valor again.” Heads nodded all around at that simple vision, accompanied by a behind me of a young man going out to his first fight in leathers with a simple axe and shield, going into battle against goblins. He came back home, acquired mail, a better axe, a steel-rimmed shield, and went back out. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. He fought orcs. Then hobgoblins. Then gnolls. Then bugbears, ogres, and more fantastic creatures. As he did, he won greater treasures, gained better gear, until he was walking towards a line of hill giants, clad in gleaming plate armor, a shining metal shield, an Axe crackling with lightning, and the scene faded away… then isolated itself into snapshots of him at the various points in his life. Level 1, 2, 3, 5, 7, 10, 13, and 15. The numbers shone above him, and the warriors blinked, drawing parallels without too much effort as to what was going. “You, Masters Skifnersons, are Eights.” They blinked at me, then back at the illustration there, of a warrior who could take on multiple ogres… but not the trolls of the 10 version. Strength 15, 15, 15, 16, 18, 20, 20. They could all see him getting bigger, stronger as his Levels went up, until he looked like a human paragon of muscle there at the end. The other ability scores followed. Strength matched to Charisma, the 11 only popping to 12 at Ten, then 14 at Thirteen, and 16 at Fifteen. Likewise, Dexterity stayed at 13 the whole time, until Ten, when it became 14, then 16, then 18. It was matched to Intellect, which was 9 and hit 10 at Ten, then advanced to 12 and 14. Constitution was a base 16, advancing to 17 at Ten, then 19, then 20, while Wisdom was an 11 and hit 12 at Ten, then 14 and 16 as well. “Our nameless warrior did a few things that you did not.” The two images of him appeared next to one another, a lean and ripped young man, and a heroic and amazingly tough-looking older warrior. “He did not advance just along the Warrior’s Road. He invested in himself as a person and as a being. He improved himself mentally and physically. “He widened his road to include two roads: the Road of a Warrior, and the Road of a Human. “If he had not…” The image of the heroic Northman changed. He was no longer quite so ripped. He… just looked like an older, more scarred version of that younger man. Even with the same kind of gear on, he didn’t look anywhere near as impressive. His eyes were dimmer, his posture poorer, obviously weaker, holding himself differently, less confidently than the other version of himself. It was like looking at a workhorse next to a warhorse. “So, which would you rather be?” I asked them all. Without any hesitation, they all pointed to the heroic image on the right. I nodded slowly, but that image faded away. “But you’re on that Road.” I tossed a thumb negligently at the more realistic image as they all frowned and grimaced. “You’re walking the Warrior’s Road, not investing in yourself, just the path. Oh, don’t get me wrong. This fellow can still take out a hill giant, sure enough. But can he take out two at a time? Three? Four or more?” My expression gave them no confidence, but the other image came back in. “This fellow can probably kill four of them with a little effort. His foundation is just that much better.” Both images faded out, but the lines of Stats did not. I faced them all coolly. “You are on the Warrior’s Road, and that’s all you’re on. You have little to no flexibility or control on how you improve.” I waved my hand, and the improving Stats faded into a completely identical set of Stats at every Level, drawing winces from all of them. “Are you stronger than you were when you were a young warrior, starting this path? How was your running endurance? Are you nimbler on your feet? Do you figure things out much faster that you’ve never seen before?” The Stats glowed in series. “No. You’ve not invested in yourselves. You’ve not built up your foundation to do so. You’ve run down the Warrior’s Road, and ignored all the camps off to the side for improving yourself.” “I am definitely a better fighter than I was five years ago, Lady Edge! And I’ve learned new things!” Bjorn called out proudly. “The Warrior’s Road improves these things by rote.” I waved my hand, and and were added to the display. “… this is your skill as a warrior. Your ability to get through an opponent’s defense and armor, to strike clean and true where you need to. This is the main thing that those who are not warriors see, who is better than whom at wielding an axe or blade.” Everyone there nodded understanding, watching that number start at +0 and advance all the way to +10 for the Fifteen. “The thing warriors notice is . Why is that rat bastard so hard to kill?” HIT POINTS gleamed behind me, and the d8 at every level rose, modified by Con of +1, until at Ten it only improved by 2 per Level to Fifteen. “This is your toughness. This is how magic says how hard you are to kill when you are trying to defend yourself and stay alive.” I eyed the two brothers calmly. “I’m sure you and everyone here has seen the two of you take blows that should have killed you, and you kept right on coming. I’m sure some of you others wondered how you survived some fights, wondered how you’re still alive, and credited it to the favor of the gods. “That god is the Warrior’s Road, and your . It is you screaming out to the world that you are here, you are not going to go quietly in the night, and it’s going to take a lot more than the one hit it took as a younger warrior or a civilian or a farmhand to take you out of the fight.” I let that all sink into them, the notion of it really not so hard to understand. “There are two kinds of Hit Points: , and ,” I informed them precisely. “Health is your meat, your flesh and bone. Health is what you hack through on an ogre, when you finally crush the skull of the orc, when you weave through the defenses of your opponent in a duel, and finally stick a sword in his liver and he’s done… or when an ogre’s club comes down after you’ve been twice wounded, and it’s your turn to fall.” I pointed at the two souls I’d saved from death, and they both flushed as all eyes turned on them, then back on me. “The reason this guy looks so heroic is because he’s got more Strength, and he’s got more Health. He’s a Human/3, and can probably take more physical punishment hacking into him than an ogre can.” The heroic fellow in mail towered behind me, confident and poised. “In addition, he maxed out his Soak, the lucky shit that keeps you alive when you should be dead, turns a stab through the throat into a graze along your cheek, and turns a clubbing bLow to the chest that should have collapsed your ribs into a painful bruise that really didn’t slow down your fighting at all, Bjorn.”