Just to the west of the kingdom of Valoron rested the sedate, innocent village of Humbolton. The villagers were all salt-of-the-earth farmers, seasoned and passionate artisans, and tender loving families. They didn’t deserve what would become of them. Solspeaker Indigo Farthingsby had been assigned by the High Church of Solaria to preside over the ramshackle temple there, sermonizing to the short folk and aiming to guide their souls towards eternal salvation. He saw they were good people both in word and deed, merely needing some edification in the glorious history and miraculous works of the sun goddess. To that end, he regaled them daily with tales of her triumphs over the wicked forces that threatened the land. They enjoyed the pageantry of his performances, even if they didn’t quite grok the underlying messages.
Yet when that same evil came to Humbolton, his faith faltered. First it was the undead—mindless zombies slavering and slobbering for living flesh, skeletal warriors wielding battered weapons and wearing corroded piecemeal armor, ghosts, ghouls, and more galore. The militiamen took up arms to combat this danger, but they were small, outnumbered, and inexperienced. While the others boarded up their doors and windows, cowering in their hobbit holes, the Solspeaker attempted to heal the injured. Tragically, though, their necrotic wounds resisted his divine magic, and he watched helpless as they suffered and died before his very eyes. The bodies were quickly torched and salted to prevent their reanimation, much to the heartbreak of their loved ones who merely wished for a traditional burial. Then came the demons: towering nightmarish creatures with bruise-hued skin, wickedly curving horns and talons, mouths billowing acrid smoke and fangs dripping with venom. Their mere steps set the earth and all who inhabited it aquiver with terror. The tallest one stood at the forefront of their advancing ranks, and in a voice deep as an erupting volcano he shouted, “Bring forth your leader, puny halflings!”
Solspeaker Farthingsby stepped forward, the dewy grass and fallen leaves squelching softly under his boots. “That would be me.”
“You?” The demons exchanged quizzical glances, and then uniformly burst into laughter. “You are a man of the cloth! Would not your so-called ‘goddess’ punish you for commingling church and state?”
“In better times, yes,” Indigo admitted. “But the village elder passed in her sleep a fortnight ago, and we have not had time to elect her replacement. The people here look up to me, they respect me, and I’m sure if I walked with you through the gates of whatever hellish plane you crawled out of, they would follow me wholeheartedly.”
“Bold words,” said the lead demon with an ominously wide grin, “but you are only mortal, and you lack the will to see them made reality.”
The Solspeaker swallowed his spittle. The lead demon could see right through his brave face, to the nebbish and craven man he knew himself to be at his core. He blinked back tears and took a deep breath to steady his nerves. “May I be one with Solaria, and Her Radiance with me,” he began chanting. “All things under the sun revere her and fear her in equal measure. This is the truth, the light, the way of all life.” He continued repeating this mantra as the demons roared and charged at him—
“May I be one with Solaria…”
—as he drew his sword—
“…and Her Radiance with me. All things…”
—and carved a cross in the sod—
“…under the sun revere her…”
—as he plunged its blade into the X’s crux—
“…and fear her in equal measure. This is the truth…”
—and summoned all the willpower within his feeble frame—
“…the light…”
—eyes aglow—
“…the way of all life!”
—to conjure a great dome of golden sun around Humbolton. The halflings saw this opportunity and ran with it, as fast and far from the village as their diminutive legs could carry them. With his peripheral vision Indigo tried to get a headcount, but he couldn’t turn away from the shielding spell for fear of breaking his concentration. The demons crashed against the barrier and dispersed corporeally like waves upon the shoreline, seemingly ineffective at first yet slowly eroding it away with each successive soulless strike. Indigo was no rocky island; he knew his time standing here would be measured in seconds, yet if at least one halfling managed to escape and live because of his sacrifice, then it would all be worth it. As he heard and saw the cracks radiating inwards from the shield’s edges, he fell to his knees, closed his eyes, and prepared to face his just afterlife. The barrier shattered like stained glass and the lead demon stomped ahead, raising his claw to eviscerate the priest. Yet the finishing blow never came. When the Solspeaker dared look again, he beheld in confusion and awe that all the demons had been frozen solid as statues, icicles hanging horizontal from their outstretched arms. “What manner of miracle is this…?” he pondered aloud. Solaria smited with flame, not frost; this spellwork couldn’t have flowed from her through him. But no matter where he turned, he couldn’t see anyone or anything around him that could’ve cast the spell. Only frozen demons and abandoned homes surrounded him.
Yet when that same evil came to Humbolton, his faith faltered. First it was the undead—mindless zombies slavering and slobbering for living flesh, skeletal warriors wielding battered weapons and wearing corroded piecemeal armor, ghosts, ghouls, and more galore. The militiamen took up arms to combat this danger, but they were small, outnumbered, and inexperienced. While the others boarded up their doors and windows, cowering in their hobbit holes, the Solspeaker attempted to heal the injured. Tragically, though, their necrotic wounds resisted his divine magic, and he watched helpless as they suffered and died before his very eyes. The bodies were quickly torched and salted to prevent their reanimation, much to the heartbreak of their loved ones who merely wished for a traditional burial. Then came the demons: towering nightmarish creatures with bruise-hued skin, wickedly curving horns and talons, mouths billowing acrid smoke and fangs dripping with venom. Their mere steps set the earth and all who inhabited it aquiver with terror. The tallest one stood at the forefront of their advancing ranks, and in a voice deep as an erupting volcano he shouted, “Bring forth your leader, puny halflings!”
Solspeaker Farthingsby stepped forward, the dewy grass and fallen leaves squelching softly under his boots. “That would be me.”
“You?” The demons exchanged quizzical glances, and then uniformly burst into laughter. “You are a man of the cloth! Would not your so-called ‘goddess’ punish you for commingling church and state?”
“In better times, yes,” Indigo admitted. “But the village elder passed in her sleep a fortnight ago, and we have not had time to elect her replacement. The people here look up to me, they respect me, and I’m sure if I walked with you through the gates of whatever hellish plane you crawled out of, they would follow me wholeheartedly.”
“Bold words,” said the lead demon with an ominously wide grin, “but you are only mortal, and you lack the will to see them made reality.”
The Solspeaker swallowed his spittle. The lead demon could see right through his brave face, to the nebbish and craven man he knew himself to be at his core. He blinked back tears and took a deep breath to steady his nerves. “May I be one with Solaria, and Her Radiance with me,” he began chanting. “All things under the sun revere her and fear her in equal measure. This is the truth, the light, the way of all life.” He continued repeating this mantra as the demons roared and charged at him—
“May I be one with Solaria…”
—as he drew his sword—
“…and Her Radiance with me. All things…”
—and carved a cross in the sod—
“…under the sun revere her…”
—as he plunged its blade into the X’s crux—
“…and fear her in equal measure. This is the truth…”
—and summoned all the willpower within his feeble frame—
“…the light…”
—eyes aglow—
“…the way of all life!”
—to conjure a great dome of golden sun around Humbolton. The halflings saw this opportunity and ran with it, as fast and far from the village as their diminutive legs could carry them. With his peripheral vision Indigo tried to get a headcount, but he couldn’t turn away from the shielding spell for fear of breaking his concentration. The demons crashed against the barrier and dispersed corporeally like waves upon the shoreline, seemingly ineffective at first yet slowly eroding it away with each successive soulless strike. Indigo was no rocky island; he knew his time standing here would be measured in seconds, yet if at least one halfling managed to escape and live because of his sacrifice, then it would all be worth it. As he heard and saw the cracks radiating inwards from the shield’s edges, he fell to his knees, closed his eyes, and prepared to face his just afterlife. The barrier shattered like stained glass and the lead demon stomped ahead, raising his claw to eviscerate the priest. Yet the finishing blow never came. When the Solspeaker dared look again, he beheld in confusion and awe that all the demons had been frozen solid as statues, icicles hanging horizontal from their outstretched arms. “What manner of miracle is this…?” he pondered aloud. Solaria smited with flame, not frost; this spellwork couldn’t have flowed from her through him. But no matter where he turned, he couldn’t see anyone or anything around him that could’ve cast the spell. Only frozen demons and abandoned homes surrounded him.
