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The local militia captain rapped on the doorframe, "We've found the suspect, Judge."
"Excellent! Bring me to him. Let's get this headache over with," Theod replied.
A short walk later, the captain gestured to a door. "He's in here."
Theod held himself tall and thought of the ideals that had brought him to The Judge's Order. He hasn't been out in the field long, but even a new judge's rough cloth robe and wooden badge of office can project the presence of the original for long enough to make an imposing entrance.
Stepping through the door to a suddenly hushed room, he asks "Which is the accused?"
He's presented with a slightly bruised man, hands tied with ropes.
"Do you swear to tell me the truth today, as I have sworn to use that knowledge well?"
The man growls "Yes", which Theod knows is true, and then "Much good may it do you!"
There is a feeling of overwhelming light, and cracks in it, spreading through space.
When he can make sense of his surroundings, he is... not there.
fairshot
winterlight
Instead, he is on a grassy slope in the open nowhere, uncomfortably close to a bunch of zombies. The zombies - rotting ambulatory corpses, gaps in their cheeks and unseeing bulging eyes and powerful stench - lurch in his direction.
"Stay back!" cries a woman's voice. "Ragnar, get that one, mind your wings!" And the zombie nearest Theod has its ribcage clawed open by giant eagle's talons, attached to an improbable hybrid creature, and it overbalances and falls into its neighbor. Another zombie falls to a sword on the end of a staff, which grants its armored young wielder impressive reach. The smell gets worse every time a zombie's guts are opened to air.
"Stay back!" cries a woman's voice. "Ragnar, get that one, mind your wings!" And the zombie nearest Theod has its ribcage clawed open by giant eagle's talons, attached to an improbable hybrid creature, and it overbalances and falls into its neighbor. Another zombie falls to a sword on the end of a staff, which grants its armored young wielder impressive reach. The smell gets worse every time a zombie's guts are opened to air.
fairshot
Judges are not assured of staying out of brawls. Theod has a knife. In a few minutes, he may even remember that it exists.
Right now, he's stuck on 'what the hell is going on here?'. His screaming is internal; his stunned expression and blinking eyes are not.
Right now, he's stuck on 'what the hell is going on here?'. His screaming is internal; his stunned expression and blinking eyes are not.
winterlight
"Get back, you fool!" roars the lady in the armor, cleaving a zombie's head from its shoulders as another, unable to stand but still moving, gnaws on her boot with an awful teeth-on-metal sound. She staves in its skull with the blunt end of her swordstaff, nearly but not quite too slowly to interrupt one that nearly grabbed the griffin's tail.
fairshot
Another blink. Right, this is not time to be a dignified judge, time to listen to the probably-Knight with a clue.
He scrambles toward somewhere where she will be between him and the walking corpses.
Oh, and screams. He also screams.
"WHAT THE VOOOIIIIIIIIIIIIIID!"
He scrambles toward somewhere where she will be between him and the walking corpses.
Oh, and screams. He also screams.
"WHAT THE VOOOIIIIIIIIIIIIIID!"
winterlight
"Don't distract me!" She separates the left half of a zombie from the right, most of the way up, groin to sternum, and while her sword is stuck in it punches another with her gauntleted fist hard enough that it and its jaw go flying in different directions.
It takes another minute and a half before all of the zombies stop moving. The griffin lands and starts spitting as best it can black zombie gunk out of its beak and then eats some grass, presumably as a palate cleanser.
It takes another minute and a half before all of the zombies stop moving. The griffin lands and starts spitting as best it can black zombie gunk out of its beak and then eats some grass, presumably as a palate cleanser.
fairshot
Sure. Shutting up, that is a useful thing. He can do it. (As is remembering the knife. And almost laughing at the utter uselessness of it.)
Sometime around the time the griffin starts eating the grass, he regains a semblance of proper judgely composure.
"Should I stay undistracting, or are you done fighting corpses for now?"
Sometime around the time the griffin starts eating the grass, he regains a semblance of proper judgely composure.
"Should I stay undistracting, or are you done fighting corpses for now?"
winterlight
"I'm done," she says, wiping her blade off on the nearest un-zombie-gooked patch of grass. "Where did you come from?"
fairshot
"The town of Yellowford, near the city of Skyridge. I'm Judge Theod Linberg, newly on the rural circuit. As for how, I have very little idea."
winterlight
"Well, I've no explanation either. You're not a mage? Were you near one?"
fairshot
"Mage isn't an archetype I've heard of, and I'm a Judge, as I said. Something magic was involved, but other than a sense of space shattering and a quip the man gave, I don't know what he was channeling."
winterlight
"I'm not sure what you're talking about."
She's still holding her swordstaff.
fairshot
"Then we are both confused. Wonderful."
He pauses for a moment, looking slightly thoughtful.
"I'm doubting I'll like the answer, here, but: where are we, exactly?"
He pauses for a moment, looking slightly thoughtful.
"I'm doubting I'll like the answer, here, but: where are we, exactly?"
winterlight
"About six leagues out from Little Brookshield, twenty from Andivar. ...In the country of Talpath."
winterlight
"I couldn't say. You weren't near a mage at the time? Do you know what the order of paladins nearest you is called?"
fairshot
"'Paladin' isn't a term I've heard used. There are Knights, but they don't have," he gestures toward the griffin, "winged hybrid beasts. I think I've heard of winged horses, but it sounded more like a myth than anything either god might have left in the world."
winterlight
"...Ragnar is a griffin. Winged horses are also real. And you must be from astoundingly far away if you have no paladins - or even if they are simply called something else - and know of only two gods."
fairshot
"There are only two. If that's not true here, then I am not in the world my god made."
winterlight
"I mean, you could say that the Lights aren't gods, but then you have zero gods, not two."
fairshot
"Where I was born, there is the Lonely God, who broke themself into pieces to make the world and the people in it, and the Jealous God, who was the Lonely God's first creation and resented them for creating more. They've come to earth in many forms, and left legacies like the Order of Judges and the Great Library, and occasionally there is a cult worshipping one incarnation specifically, but there is no record of any magic ever happening that was not, traceably if indirectly, their doing."
winterlight
"...Well, here there are the Lights, mine being the Winter Light, and they do not have this infighting problem."
fairshot
"It's not as bad as you might think. Everyone can choose any legacy to carry on, in theory, but the legacies tend to fall out in the good guy's favor, since we can cooperate much more effectively. And you do still seem to have nasty things such as those walking corpses. Speaking of which, could we be somewhere not downwind of a bunch of oozing corpses?"
winterlight
"Well, the alternative is walking, and it's hilly." She gets on her own griffin, tells him "Calm," and then offers the newcomer her hand. "I'm Kaja di Ragnar. What's your name?"