Baldir BW XXXVI

BWXXXVI-Baldir’s Vision

Only adorned in a white toga, held at the waist with a golden belt, and brown leather sandals, the Grecian God carried no arms nor armour. His white hair was short, well kempt and was held in place by a circlet of platinum. Neatly trimmed, his beard and mustache partially covered his tanned, care-worn face. His deep green eyes were fixed on a point in the distance as he whispered, just loud enough for Baldir to hear, “So, you believe that this is it? The end?”

An ageing Norseman, slightly ruddy of complexion, with the brightest blue eye, long flowing white hair and beard, and dressed in weather-beaten fur-trimmed travelling clothes simply nodded and said, “Yes.”

As he spoke, the Norseman’s left arm straightened and his clenched, gloved fist partially unfurled as he jabbed a finger in the direction of their gaze. His right hand, clasping a golden spear carried the weight of his bent torso. The blade of the gisarme pointed vertically, reflecting the dying, red light of the evening sun. “That is the end of the Prime. Ragnarack will follow soon.”

The greatest Gods of their Pantheons were perched on what appeared to be floating marble thrones. Similar in design, they rose out of the surrounding cumulus like great, white wings from the back of a swan. Leaning forward, the Gods peered through a hole in the cloud at events unfolding in the wintery light far below.

“Then who wins?” Asked Zeus, casually, as if this was nothing more than a game.

By contrast, Odin knew exactly what this spelt, “I can only presume my daughter,” he answered dismally.

“And that is bad?” Zeus’s frivolous answer failed to prick Odin, who instead pointed out the obvious.

“If I were to say to you that Ares would rule all the dimensions of all the Planes…”

“Yes, yes…that would not do at all.” Zeus seemed to finally see the issue at hand.

Odin pressed the point, just in case, “You know this will be true for you – once the Sword and the Stone a brought together?”

“The heart and the arm; the thought and the motion…”

“Precisely; both wielded by an entity bent on harm and destruction – it would spell the end of all we have striven to achieve, you and I.”

“You are here because something is on your mind…Some possibility that might avert catastrophe?” Zeus asked, beginning to understand why Odin was not defending Valhalla if this meant that Heimdall would soon sound his horn.

“I am…” The Norseman answered solemnly.

Peering through the hole in the cloud at events unfolding in the wintery light far below, Baldir could just about make sense of things. Nestling amongst a high mountain range that ran roughly north to south was a mesa – an enormous table – which seemed to float on surrounding marsh land and rivulets. It was lit only by the failing evening sun which bathed the upper, westward-facing, slopes in blood-red light and which cast a lengthening shadow over the sodden battlefield to the east.

Unusual in design – not being the Norse standard with which Baldir is most familiar – the castle had stubby, round towers that heaped one upon another, echoing the mountain. In cross section, the keep resembled a pine tree: spreading wide at the base and narrowing at successive elevations. Each of the castle’s other towers was capped with smaller versions of the keep but which were mainly constructed from wood (which Baldir knew had come from Efferendil). No flags were flown, nor colours prominent; indeed, until a few moments before the fighting commenced, the castle appeared deserted.

However, it is to the gloaming, not the castle, that all eyes were drawn: to the fierce fighting below. The trap was sprung quickly enough but the intense fighting had lasted hours. The boggy ground made staying upright almost impossible for the men and horses of the vast oriental army. Of course, it did not affect the Gith and the creatures from the lower planes, sent by Hel to crush the once-proud legion, who swarmed above and between their foe, selecting the most opportune moments to strike. Arrows rained down from the mesa and the walls of the mighty fortress, which was suddenly fully occupied with Drow and Malor’s Bushi. Swift to realise this was a trap, Yishmay turned her forces back towards the Efferendil, which was extremely difficult to do given the terrain. After only a moment of relief from aerial assault, they encountered rank upon rank of Derro and, at their head, a vast undead dragon.

Baldir understood: Rantor had come to Amorsland and all was lost.

Zeus turned to look at the Norseman, “What have you in mind, Odin, my old friend?”

“Time, Zeus, time.” Odin answered, “I need your father’s help; there is only one way to undo all this mischief.”

“I would not help you with that, Odin” Zeus said, throwing his arms in the air, “rather Ares rule in my stead than Cronos.”

“It would not come to that,” Odin soothed.

Arms folded, petulantly, Zeus no longer held his friend’s gaze, but asked, “How so?”

“Because the Flore, not you, will ask.” The Norseman said as if he’d just solved all the Prime’s problems.

Zeus looked back incredulously, “They have asked before, my friend.”

“Oh?” Odin was shocked.

“Yes,” the Grecian answered seemingly stunned that his friend did not know the story, “It was the downfall of the Mage.”

“Now I am lost.”

“Well,” Zeus began as he always did, as if he were addressing a crown a school children, “you will recall that Anubis ordered all pathways the dead follow to their resting places to be one way, and such was the power of those Gods in that time that it almost came to pass – including in Hades and Tarterus.”

“A noble gesture that seems not to have made a difference to my daughter.” Odin confirmed, whilst shaking his head.

“That is because Lastar shattered all the artefacts, in effect sending sentient beings back to living planes…” The Greek God paused, waiting for Odin to understand, but when it was apparent the he had lost the Norseman, Zeus continued, “But anyway, Thoth told Anubis that Lastar had developed a method of altering Time, so Anubis felt betrayed by his most powerful follower. Lastar was abandoned to his fate in Limbo, from where he splintered the artefacts he had brought together, but that’s not all.”

“Go on.”

“Well, one of Lastar’s very faithful assistants, Orodruin – himself a symbiont – had realised that the Flore, together with their Dragon kind, were powerful enough to control time.”

“That’s what I needed to hear: a solution,” Odin became considerably more excited now.

“Let me finish, my friend. Orodruin claimed to have done it repeatedly but only for very short periods. Indeed, Lastar’s claims were largely based on Orodruin’s hard work.”

“Then we need Orodruin…”

“No, I’m sorry, you don’t,” came the blunt reply, “Orodruin, Flore and Dragon, were not powerful enough to reverse time, beyond a very significant event, which, for them, was the death of Lastar.”

“So how can he become more powerful?” Odin pressed relentlessly.

“He already tried. Orodruin travelled to Tarterus, protected by the Paladin, where he found Cronos.”

“And? Did your Father eat him as well?”

“No, Cronos, much repentant for all his evil ways, did what he thought was best. He would not help them to reverse time so that Lastar would once again walk the Prime, as to do that would upset Anubis. But he did give Orodruin an artefact that allowed time to be manipulated for short periods – even reversed if it did not disrupt the fabric of the plane on which it was used.”

“So, with Cronos’s handy tool, the power of a symbiont, and a dragon’s will, we might just prevent this battle from ever starting.”

“You might, but time flies…”