Session 51, VP1

The dawn’s light still lingered as our heroes returned to the temple of Tyr. Though a part of Takeru hesitated to leave, the road still called. He shared a private farewell with his mother while the others packed for the journey. As the group gathered once more in the entrance hall, Hervör pointed out that a landline phone had finally been installed at the temple. Now Takeru could call home on his travels!

 

Descending Skald’s Echo, the party discussed their destination. Both Gunnar & Eplina were eager to return to their own hometown. Thankfully, Streamsford had already been the group’s next port of call. They rode across the Varfjell Fields once more. Though they passed Pokemon & travelers a few times, they chose not to linger on any of these encounters.

 

Night reigned when the trainers came upon the town within Brynhilde’s Copse. Small, mossy huts were built both on & around a still lake. Wooden kayaks & similar craft were beached along the water’s edge with no worry of theft. At the far end of the lake, the largest building in Streamsford loomed: the Colosseum.

 

Strange white orbs drifted lazily through the air, providing a gentle light, mirroring the stars veiled behind the willow trees shading the town. They seemed to emanate from somewhere within a layer of fog occluding the water; their presence clearly did not faze Eplina, suggesting this was the norm.

 

Bergie asked Eplina to elaborate on the trouble she had been dealing with when the group had called a few days prior. Exhausted from the trek, she suggested that the group reconvene on the morrow. The healer retired to her small cabin while Gunnar left for his own dusty home. Saffa accompanied him, leaving the others to secure rooms at the Pokemon Center.

 

Grey clouds cast a slight pallor over Streamsford the next morning. After breaking their fast, the party gathered outside the Pokemon Center. Eplina began to lead the way towards the town’s Colosseum. Along the way, she & Gunnar pointed out various spots around their hometown. Our heroes noticed that the ghostlights were no longer present during daytime hours- they were a strictly nighttime occurrence.

 

The Colosseum was a tall building of wood & stone. Even from outside, the trainers could see that its height was due to levels of stadium seating surrounding the battlefield. Eplina pointed out two memorial walls flanking the entrance: one was devoted to past champions of the arena, with the other honoring all the healers who tended to those injured in combat. Eplina’s grandmother, who had raised her, had a plaque bearing her name & bindrune.

 

“Take a good last look, Eplina! That waste of space shall be torn down any minute now”, a loud, haughty voice called out. The muscular woman it belonged to loped out from the stadium’s entrance. A large metal club rested over one of her shoulders as if it weighed naught.

 

When Eplina chose not to turn or reply, the gladiator introduced herself to our heroes. This was Torveig, who proclaimed herself the strongest fighter in Vanachrom. With a cocky grin she examined the newcomers. She made no secret of the fact that she was duly unimpressed by what she saw. Still, she said, she’d be happy to kill any of them in the arena.

 

Gunnar seemed taken aback by this: having grown up here, he knew that deathmatches were few & far between. If all partaking fighters agreed to such a thing, sure, but it was typically only seen at the end of long-standing feuds.

 

Torveig explained that such traditions were flawed & outdated. The people of Streamsford considered blood, sweat, & tears sacrifices to honor Aegir. But how could any of those count as true sacrifices without death? Without such an ending, without such finality…was it not simply lip service?

 

The reigning champion of the Colosseum acted as a sort of arbiter & judge for the town throughout their tenure. Every few years, a competition was held to determine if the current champion would hold on to their seat or be dethroned. And it just so happened that the tournament was due to start in one day’s time.

 

Once the woman took up the mantle of champion- which she was certain would happen- she would rewrite the old ways. An arena is meant for true combat. It should not serve as entertainment, but as a killing floor, a sacrificial altar for their god.

 

Torveig was so devoted to this idea that she scoffed at the veneration of the stadium’s healers. Theirs was a foolish, unneeded “art”. Why, it was practically an insult to honor them in the same fashion as the previous champions. So, the memorial wall would go, to make room for more appropriate decoration.

 

Like, for example, a statue to the brave visionary who saved Streamsford from their foolish traditions…

 

No friends were left in Torveig’s wake as she departed. The trainers were all discomfited by the proposed changes to the town, for various reasons. Takeru could be heard extolling how making tournaments exclusively fought to the death would severely limit the pool of potential competitors & lead to the tournament itself dying out. Gunnar was relatively quiet but openly wore displeasure on his face.

 

Bergie asked Eplina if she was okay, seeing that Torveig’s spiel had clearly cut her deeply. The healer took a few calming breaths before responding. This was the issue she had been anxious about when the party had first called her. It was no guarantee that Torveig would be able to topple the incumbent champion, but she had proven herself to be a capable fighter. The thought of losing her grandmother’s plaque sat ill with her, but it was the idea of the death-fights that truly worried her. It spat on everything her grandmother had taught her. She excused herself from the group to process things at home.

 

The trainers head into the Colosseum, hoping to gauge how popular Torveig’s sentiments were. A local man named Randolph greeted them warmly. He spoke briefly about how he disliked Torveig’s plan, before introducing the party to his friend Selby. She was another Streamsford competitor who, thankfully, felt the same. Apparently, rumors were that Torveig had been bullying or blackmailing other fighters into deathmatches, but nothing had been proven.

 

The pair explained the structure of the tournament battlers. Fights would take place in teams of two: one Trainer & one of their Pokemon, VS the same. They waxed a bit poetic as they spoke of how the crowd’s cheers almost seemed to give the fighters strength to do the impossible.

 

If the visiting entrants from out of town had opinions on the matter, they kept them quiet. Randolph & Selby were able to direct the group on how to find the reigning champion & returned to their training.

 

Beneath the Colosseum was a private sparring room. As they descended the stairs, they could see a woman in her late 50s facing off against a scarred Empoleon. Even in the rush of battle, the woman’s face looked tired. The combatants came to a stop when they noticed their visitors.

 

Gunnar made some remarks about the skill on display, while Takeru was awed by the powerful Empoleon. The champion, Tordis, took these comments with little reaction. Talk turned towards the proposed changes Torveig promised to make. Though the champion did not personally agree with them, she seemed…beyond caring about the issue.

 

Clear eyes stared from a thousand yards away within her weathered face. If the gods wished it so, she said, Torveig would strike her down with their blessing. If not, their voices would be heard in the contender’s defeat. The blades would fall as they must. It looked like Tordis would be of no help, preoccupied as she was with whatever lay upon her soul.

 

From here, our heroes split up. Bergie left on a private errand, while Gunnar, Saffa, & Takeru spoke a bit further about Torveig’s madness. The Martial Artist could not stand by as she ruined Streamsford. He would enter the tournament directly & take her down…by any means. He & Takeru spent some time speaking with the various medics around town. Given Torveig’s beliefs, perhaps they could withhold treatment if she needed it? Unfortunately, they failed to convince the healers to go against their oaths in such a way.

 

Soon, evening had come once more. Fog began to creep across the lake’s surface as the lights issued forth. Takeru asked some townsfolk for more details about the strange occurrence. Apparently, they came from a “lighthouse” at the center of the lake- though no such structure could be seen from the shore. The trainers were given leave to take one of the kayaks out onto the lake if they wished to learn more.

 

Meanwhile, Bergie had finished with his work. He knocked on Eplina’s door after seeing that her lights were still on. She opened the door after a moment. Her face was drawn, but she welcomed Bergie into her home.

 

The healer sat at a table bearing a now-cold teapot. An undrunk cup sat in front of her chair. Bergie laid a finger on the side of the cup, heating it with his inborn fire. The two spoke of Eplina’s grandmother & the lessons she had imparted. Of the way she had taught that being kind could be its own form of strength.

 

With the threat of Torveig’s reign, maybe Streamsford could be Eplina’s home no longer. Maybe she needed to let her grandmother go…

 

Bergie took one of Eplina’s calloused hands in his own. There was no telling what the future would bring, no way to know for sure if someone would be able to stem the tide. But, he promised, her grandmother would not be forgotten.

 

From his pack, Bergie removed his battle-hammer. Etched into the side was the bindrune of Eplina’s grandmother. The Breeder explained that he had found a blacksmith to emblazon the sigil, so that he might carry her spirit into the Colosseum as he stood against Torveig’s madness.

 

The lake waters remained preternaturally still, even as the others paddled their way towards the center. Without warning, the kayak came to a stop on a small ring of rocks just beneath the surface. The water poured over into a massive sinkhole.

 

A round, flat pillar of stone sat in the middle of this hole. Upon its barren surface sat a single, withered tree, overlooked by a run-down shack. The dancing lights drifted upwards from the husk of a chimney on the shack. Hesitating only to secure the boat, Gunnar set up a rope to climb down.

 

Strange: even by the time they had finished descending the rope, the shack seemed somewhat more put-together. Its doorframe lay open & unbarred. The remains of furniture lay strewn about within, surrounding a blackened fireplace.

 

Gunnar entered the building first, with the others just behind him. As he spoke an introduction, a door materialized & shut gently behind them. A dim fire now began to chase away the shadows. It gave just enough light to discern a hunched figure sitting at a circular table.

 

A withered old woman, with clouded eyes, her head sagged against her chest. Her skin looked as brittle as parchment & she did not appear to be breathing. Yet, somehow, she moved her hand in a welcoming gesture towards additional chairs- which had not been present until this moment.

 

Sitting, they took in their surroundings. Slowly, mostly when their eyes were elsewhere, the shack appeared to be re-building itself. Broken timbers healed, furniture rose from the dust, & the ghostlights slowly moved towards the woman’s chest. Was it their imagination, or did she also appear to be rejuvenating over time? Her eyes already seemed much clearer, her face less sunken.

 

It was practically a whisper when the woman spoke her name: Kolga. She thanked them for visiting her & cryptically stated that each could ask a single question. With that, she held her hands out for the group to form a circle with her.

 

Unnerved as he was, Takeru had heard enough myths to know this was a boon. He wanted to atone for his past. To make up for the harm he caused as a youth & set things right. How could he find the Pokemon he had once fought alongside, that he may earn their forgiveness?

 

Kolga stated that though many claimed the first step on a journey is the hardest, this is not true. It is the second, the third, & every step further. Each time your heart re-makes the decision to continue on a difficult path. Redemption is a road that may never reach an ending…but for those committed to walking it, peace will one day come.

 

Breaking the circle briefly, she gently laid a finger in the center of Takeru’s palm. There was a slight, distant sense of pain that quickly faded as she withdrew. Where she had touched, there was now a shallow indentation, hued in the pink of burned flesh. Takeru could feel something in the scar, the sort of pull that north exerts on a compass. With this, Kolga explained, he would be able to find his lost kin.

 

Both the home & their host had continued to wax stronger. The river spirit looked to be a middle-aged woman now, as she turned to Saffa. Of course, the Bard could not contain herself as she spoke her piece. She listed off a litany of questions about how her music had reanimated those fossils atop Skald’s Echo. Kolga smiled, showing she was not offended at the breaking of her rule. Saffa took a breath before condensing her matter down to a single sentence.

 

All those in the circle suddenly saw a murky vision of years past. A basket being laid upon stone steps by a cloaked figure, a baby mewling from within. The hand that had set the burden down reached to lay gently upon the child’s head. The stranger’s thumb brushed back & forth across the babe’s forehead- leaving a thin, bleeding line in signature.

 

It was clear that this did little to assuage Saffa’s curiosity, but she appeared thoughtful as the vision faded. Finally, Kolga turned to Gunnar.

 

Like his love, there was much he wished to ask. Things they had seen he had not understood, shadows lurking in the future. But in the end, the question he asked was quintessentially Gunnar: “What can I do for you?”

 

The river spirit paused. Youth & vigor had now lent a healthy color to her face, as blue eyes blinked away tears of surprise. She opened her mouth a few times in vain before finding her voice.

 

“There will come a time, soon, when I & my kind will fade”, she said.

 

“Remember me.”

 

Kolga smiled, & everything disappeared in a flash. When their eyes cleared, the trainers found themselves standing once more upon the stone pillar. Their only company was a hunched, withered tree.

 

In companionable quiet, our heroes climbed back to their kayak & made for the shore across the lake. No more ghostlights lingered, but the moon now shone bright overhead. One last look behind showed no sinkhole, no ring of rocks. Just still, sleeping waters.

 

Rain was a promise from the darkening clouds in the morn. An omen…? When the friends regrouped, both Bergie & Gunnar explained that they would be entering the tournament. Though they both worried for each other, it gave them increased odds of preventing Torveig’s victory. Takeru chose to study the battles from the stands, excited to see what Pokemon would be on display.

 

The first bout was Torveig facing against a competitor from out of town, Orvar. No one could hear the words the pair exchanged, but it was no surprise when their referee held up as black flag: to the death.

 

Torveig & her Chesnaught made short work of the Orvar’s Pokemon, leaving him to face the pair of them alone. Her Pokemon managed to grab the man in an armlock. Torveig turned to hype up the crowd as her foe struggled pointlessly. When she had gotten the roars she desired, she swung her club into the side of Orvar’s head with bloody finality.

 

Selby fought another visitor next, to first blood. Both combatants shook hands after her well-earned victory.

 

This led to Gunnar facing off against a local named Ingolf. Their duel was the quickest thus far. The Martial Artist had correctly predicted that most Streamsford natives would use Water types & prepared accordingly to earn his win.

 

Next, Bergie fought Randolph. Even with only meeting the day prior, both entrants exuded warmth & friendship as they wished each other good luck. Randolph proved himself to be a solid fighter, but his Pokemon had some difficulty in holding its own. After quite a bit of back & forth, Bergie was declared the winner.

 

The semi-finals were announced: Torveig would be facing off against Selby, while Gunnar & Bergie would be forced to battle each other. Neither looked forward to this & were unsure which outcome they would prefer. Still, they had a brief window of time to mentally prepare, as Torveig’s match was up first.

 

Selby appeared stoic as Torveig attempted to goad her into accepting a deathmatch. When the aggressor gave up, the referee held up a red flag: to first blood.

 

Once more, Torveig had a type advantage. Selby’s Greninja showed no fear as she faced down her natural predator. Both sides gave their all in the fight. Selby’s seax tasted no small amount of Torveig’s blood as she dodged the stronger woman’s massive club. Unfortunately, her Greninja could only withstand Chesnaught for so long.

 

Much like the first match, Selby now stood alone against both Torveig & her Pokemon. She had learned from watching Orvar’s death- though it opened her up to some of Torveig’s swings, she refused to let the Chesnaught get behind her. One of these hammer blows crunched against a shoulder. Her dominant arm hung uselessly as she read the writing on the wall.

 

If she was to go down, she would do so only after leaving everything on the field. And how right she would prove to be.

 

One final gambit: Selby baited the Chesnaught into charging at her. Seconds before impact, she sprung into the air. She vaulted off the behemoth’s back in one fluid motion, surging into the sky. Reversing her sword’s grip, she began streaking downwards like a Machprey, aiming to take down her foe with one desperate strike.

 

And in response, Torveig bared bloody teeth in a berserker grin.

 

The gladiator crouched down with her club at her side. Rather than swing, she instead braced her club vertically…before thrusting its head straight up with all of her considerable strength. Directly into the falling Selby’s throat.

 

Did the crowd truly fall silent at that moment? Or was the heart-wrenching sound of Selby’s windpipe getting crushed just that loud? Regardless, she crashed to the earth in a jumbled heap. Her seax bounced along the dirt floor until Torveig pinned it with her boot.

 

Bergie, Eplina, & the other medics were already running. Randolph had bolted from where his own injuries were being seen to, wishing only to help his friend. But by the time they all came to a stop around her crumpled form, they could nothing but bear witness to her final, choking breath.

 

Torveig lifted her arms in triumph, a look of feral pride on her face.

 

And the crowd roared their approval.