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The Shaman (Part 3)
In this chapter, our hero Shaman must escape from the Tower of London and the King’s grasp! Can he find his allies all the way back in Hammersfield, or must he renew his forces elsewhere? In the third part of this story, John Roberts plans to give you another climatic end before the next chapter.... should there be one....
I am free of my iron chains at long last, as proven by the disfigured bodies that lay before me, filling every last piece of the floor. It looked like the decorator of the Inferno had been here - making tiles solely out of flesh. While I do not like the sight I have made, a smile of relief breaks my hardened skin, as I no longer hear the annoying tip, tip, tip of water hitting the stone on the ground. Bloody leaks. The guards were even courteous enough to leave the door open for me, instead of locking me in as if dealing with a ferocious tiger of a sort. Well, they provoked the bull and they got the horns. I step over the bodies, making bones snap before my heels as I do, leaving the cell to navigate this huge spire. The obvious thing to do is go down, but no doubt there will be an ambush. Ha! Since when have ambushes stopped the mighty Doomhammer?! I laugh to myself, shaking my head with an even bigger smile as I head down the stairs. I wrap the chains around my lower arms and knuckles, making them excellent fist weapons. Should I encounter anyone down these narrow spiral stairs, using chains to swing around will have little to no effect. No, I must be ready for face-to-face combat, using anything from my skull to broken-fingernails. With fists the size of boulders, my melee attacks are slow, but if I manage to hit, my victims tend not to live and speak of the pain. Like the penguin, I waddle down the stairs slowly, minding that I don’t trip over my robes, or slip while wearing my sandals. A squeak comes from further down.
“Let’s go check on our green-skin friend,” said one of the guards coming up the stairs. It was close! I’m almost at the bottom! My fists instinctively clench, and I feel ready to fight. The rush of adrenaline.... something I never felt as a Human. No motivation, just work. A life of misery for 18 hours a day, seven days a week, 365 days a year. For a decade I slaved away in the mines, but no more. I am a fighter. I am the Shaman. I must remain strong. The urge to fight is too great, and despite the risk of slipping and rolling all the way down these stairs, I still insist on killing every Human that stands in between me and the door below. I get dizzier as I storm down the spiral, but find relief when I blindly throw my fists in order to make fast and killing swings, most of which hit the wall. Everything is dark, and it’s not because of the human armour. Am I dead? My arms.... they’re numb! They’re cold.... I feel blood. Am I dead? My lips tremble, and I feel yet another tear trickle from my right eye. Opening my eyelids to release it, I find that everyone who attacked me lies dead, and that there are probably more punch-marks in the walls then there are in the humans. I won a fight with my eyes closed? Impossible! They were armed with stun-sticks and clubs, and only I with my fists.... with my eyes closed? PAH! Despite having my duties as a Shaman delayed, and having little combat experience other than in defence of Hammersfield, I still have the powers of an immortal warrior!
“HAHAHAHA! CAN ANYONE FACE THE MIGHT OF GRIMHAMMER?!” I holler in hysterics, beginning to bound down the stairs like a man on the moon and found myself outside. The light isn’t as blinding as it was when I left the cage, but maybe it’s because I’m used to it now. My laughing comes to a nervous halt when I see guards surrounding me, armed with rusted rifles and snipers on the houses. Bloodforge’s balls! I curse, gulping at the sight of them. Their laser lights flicker on and off unintentionally, as these weapons have been affected much by the presence of magic users, causing them to jam and have their sights frosted over. I try to wave the red dots off me, showing no fear, but the King standing with his best guards knows I am near to soiling myself. To think that the most feared Shaman in England is scared of ranged weapons. Gun encounters were common, but chances are they’d jam in my face, or if they were close enough I’d bend the barrel with a single squeeze. But against 100.... Thréda preserve me. I loosen the chains around my wrists and get ready to swing them, hoping to bring some of my enemies down if I die in battle.
“By the Act of Anti-magi 2013, I sentence you, J--,” The King began. But even he could sense something changing. The ground beneath him trembled, but not to his words. To the words of Earth Queen Thréda! She whispers smoothly, making the dirty streets shake even more violently. Houses begin to collapse, people fall into the cracks the earth makes, revealing a bottomless pit and perhaps even a glisten of lava. Yes, Thréda demonstrates her power.
“Now, Shaman! Use the power of Aqua!” She demands of me. No-one else hears it, but I do loud and clearly. I nod, and push my hands together, suddenly feeling a chill and a moist orb forming in between them, pushing my green waffle-iron paws away from each other! My first spell was being cast, but it needed a target! I lifted the huge water-ball up to my chest, then forced it away, but it merely hit the ground with a splash. I was doing this wrong, and I guess Thréda has her rocky palm over her crystallized face. But something else occurred. I feel dizzy, and as I swagger, my lower body starts spinning violently, as if it’s going to snap off! Am I in an elemental blender or something?! I shoot up into the air, but with a whvoooooosh! rather than a pop - I look down and find my legs transformed into a tower of water, allowing the rest of my to hover above ground! The power of clean water is amazing! I storm towards the guards, blasting them away or bringing them into my pillar of water, drowning them before allowing their corpses to be blasted into the chasms Thréda’s whispers made. The King was in shock, and he was frozen in place. My upper body changes.... I witness my arms turn into a blue jelly, whirling around violently yet I can still control them. My chest.... turning into a stormy ocean.... my face, turning into that of the avatar of elemental water, Neptures!
“NOW FACE THE WRATH OF PURE WATER, FALSE KING OF ENGLAND’S HUMANS!” I shout, or was it me? Have I been possessed by someone who is the king of the sea?! The voice that hollers is not mine, nor is the body I believe I share. I unwillingly grab the King with a huge hand, shredding him like barbed wire is being wrapped around him tightly. The waters are cruel, whirling around fast enough to tear him to pieces. He screams in agony.... screams I wish not to hear. Am I not a Shaman... a peace-keeper?! What makes me different to the other power-hungry fear-mongers? I attempt to scream, but the avatar’s lips do not move, no noise is emitted. I regret calling this a blessing - it is nothing than warlock trickery! A mage’s polymorph, nothing more!
My heart’s pounding is clear. It replaces the screams of people once tolerated me as a Human. The booming of this muscle.... it is unheard by anyone else. Of the three prisons I have been trapped in this week, this has to be the worst. The wrath of the elements has been realized. They must have their vengeance. And somehow, I am expect to allow it. I close my eyes, not wishing to see the paste the King has been reduced to in my right hand, still swirling. Helene.... take me away....
I’m surprised I haven’t woken up in a huge pool of water, but I remained conscious as I descended back down to the ruined road, my true form returning to me. Neptures has left an example of his destructive vengeance, but few lived to repent against this god-like creature. Water pollution won’t be reduced by destroying a few factories - humans, Orc, Taurus, Worgs, Trolls, Lizarians and Goblins alike must unite to fight what they have created. The world must know, not just a capital city. My goal now is not to find the other Shamans in order to restore order. No.... I must restore my crown jewel, the pinnacle of my life’s success - Hammersfield must be reoccupied!
The road is rocky, with loose stones, pebbles and rubble blocking a lot of ways out of London, but I usually find a way. The fortifications that defended this beacon of Humanity have been toppled with ease by Thréda’s burning hatred, so to some extent she paved the way to my escape. Could we just not rebuild here in London? There are plenty of strongholds, that much is true, but it reeks of human. Even Orcs have standards.... no, we will rebuild Hammersfield and create a much larger city, and begin our takeover of England! With territory, we can find the Shamans faster and challenge them.... one shall stand, the rest will fall.
And Helene, I will find you. Be you here or overseas.... I will scour the universe followed by a destructive, green wave as long as I draw breath. And I will see no rest in the after life - I will come for you no matter what, when my Shamanistic duties are done.
I hope you remember me, Helene. Because I don’t.
Continue the adventure here!
- The Shaman (Part 4)
Due to high demand, John Roberts releases the fourth chapter of the thrilling tale of "The Shaman"! In this part, the Shaman returns to Hammersfield, finding that his city is in ruin and he must duel one of his generals for honour. Can he hold the Gr