Chapter CVI: The Endless Landscape

North closed his eyes as the wind caressed him, a gentle touch drifting over his skin.  The tied drifted in, lapping at his feet and leaving tiny foam bubbles across the sun-drenched sand.  Across the horizon, the sea sparkled as if fireworks were exploding across its surface, the water constantly changing, rippling, flowing, moving with endless momentum wherever the tides bade it.  The Elvaan's iron-gray hair stirred in the wind, lifting from his scalp only to droop back down, and he gave a contented sigh as the scents of the sea breeze mingled with those of the island and wafted past. 

"There are dolphins," he said, pointing towards the shimmering sea, "just a few hundred malms out.  A whole pod, seeking warmer water.  They're further south than they've ever been before."

"They're explorers," November mused, shuffling through the sand to stand beside him.  "Adventurers, seeking their fortune, letting the sea take them where it might."

North said nothing, not wanting to break the romanticized imagining of dolphin life.  He could sense their confusion, their doubt, their pain at being so far from familiar surroundings.  Then again, he considered, perhaps that was part of the adventurer life as well.  Maybe November's assessment was not terribly off-base. 

Purgonorgo's sand crunched through his fingers as he stood, and he let it slip between them and become lost again in the bright beach with its infinite companions.

"I feel like those dolphins do," North muttered, chin drooping towards his chest. 

The tide splashed around his ankles as he looked down.  A moment later and Virtue's voice called to them from her home, beckoning them inside.


The white witch's house was a simple place, a hut of graying wood with a thatched straw roof.  A dirt path led from the beach through Purgonorgo's tropical foliage to her doorstep.  Tiny animal tracks embedded in the soil told short stories of prowling, romping, chasing, and stalking.  North followed them with his eyes as they made their way through the brush, enjoying the tales in every step.  They ran right up to Virtue's door, a collection of planks nailed together and painted cherry red.  Smoke was puffing up from her chimney, despite the tropical heat of the island.

As he opened the door, a hiss of air and a flash of light birthed a flame as Virtue lit a candle, placing it in circle of others on the musty floorboards of her house.  The sunlight streaming in through her solitary window illuminated countless particles of chalk in the air, rising from the six-pointed star she had drawn on the floor.  The smoke from the scented candles was creating a thin, sweet-smelling haze which drew a veil over the room.  North sniffed, detecting the aroma of flowers and herbs not native to the small island.

Virtue's home was littered with a collection of curiosities.   Stout wooden shelves housed rows of books of all shapes and sizes, bound in leather, tied in string, made of paper or parchment.  Some were old and musty, with dog-eared pages and worn covers, others looked practically brand new.  On her wall was mounted a collection of insects, dried and preserved, pinned and labeled in a velvet case.  Maps of areas North had never ventured to were strewn in a corner, alongside stacks of boxes marked in languages ranging from common to Old Elvaan to runic symbols.  Of those he could read, North saw one labeled "Clothes," another "Songs," and yet another "Tonberries."

Odd mathematical instruments cluttered a desk situated before the window.  From their arrangement their purpose seemed to be divided between actual study and weighing down the papers beneath them.  Papers and scrolls were scattered in piles across the maple-wrought desk or shoved into drawers and shelves lining the wall.  Atop one of them was also a glass jar with what looked like an Orc hand preserved inside.  This was just a sampling of the strange an inexplicable collection of the white witch.

Virtue stood up, brushing chalk and dust from the knees of her white frock.  Her star, two overlapping triangles, filled half the room.  Each of its six points contained a runic symbol beyond North's reckoning.  A chalk circle encompassed its entirety, and in the middle of it, laying where Virtue had bade him place it, was Guttler.

"I don't understand," he swallowed, reflexively placing a hand over the scar on his chest.  "None of this was necessary when you aided November."

Virtue crossed the room, taking him by the hand and leading him into the center of the star.  "Lie down," she commanded, being careful not to step on any of the chalk markings herself.

"Tell me what all this is, Virtue," he demanded, standing over Guttler.  It stirred in his presence, but its malice was noticeably subdued.

"Guttler's teeth bit November but once, and she was afflicted with the same choking curse it transfers onto everything.  Few enough survive the axe to realize that it inflicts this suffering upon all that it cuts into.  It is strong, not easily broken, but all her healing required was essentially physical recovery and removal of the curse."

"And what makes this different?"  November stepped towards her.  "This pattern - these preparations - you needed none of them to help me."

"You don't matter to Guttler," the witch told her frankly.  "When it cut you those years back it made no distinction between you and anything else it has hunted.  You received a wound and a curse, both curable without extraordinary means."  She turned her head back towards North, ageless face inscrutable.  "You, on the other hand, Guttler is actively trying to kill.  Even if I remove the curse for now it will inflict it again.  It will fight you, fight against you, turn on you.  The cure for your ill can only be achieved by confronting its source."

North felt a stab of pain his chest as he looked at the axe.  "And how do I do that?"

"Lie down," Virtue told him again, "and take Guttler in your hands."

Silently, she moved towards the cast-iron stove tucked into the corner.  Flames licked the black metal as she opened the hatch, using tongs to remove a tin cup hung over the fire. The amber broth within steamed and bubbled, and North eyed it warily as she brought it towards him.  She repeated her command with her eyes, and reluctantly he obeyed.  Taking the silver-bladed axe by the hilt, he lay down in the center of the star, back pressing against the floorboards as Virtue leaned over him.  Carefully, she extended the cup with the tongs, taking care not to step within the chalk circle itself.

"Open your mouth," she told him. 

"What is all this for?"  He demanded, even as he did so.  She poured the liquid down his throat, and he licked his lips after swallowing.  It tasted like syrup and lemongrass, and he coughed twice before getting it down.

Virtue withdrew, watching North intently.  "I am sending you to meet Guttler," she explained.  "This seal is for protection."

"To guard me from the axe?"

She shook her head once.  "You are on your own, from this point on.  The seal is to protect us."

"What - "

Something suddenly grasped his heart, biting and twisting with teeth made of fire.

He convulsed, trying to shoot up, but found himself pinned to the floor.  The chalk was melting into his skin, and Guttler had burst into black flame against his chest.  Virtue's dark eye were upon him as flame engulfed him entirely, his cries unable to escape his frozen throat.  The world tore open around him, and fire consumed all. 

North screamed with all his being, but his voice was lost in the void which swallowed him up, Guttler's booming laughter following him into the dark.


November looked at North's body, sleeping peacefully on the floor of Virtue's cottage.  He was gravely still, and looked far too much like a corpse with his arms crossed over his chest and Guttler upon him as it was.  Still, he gave no sign of discomfort or distress.  Moments after the witch's tonic had passed his lips he had fallen deep into slumber, and she had kept vigil by his side.

"Will this cure him?"  She asked of Virtue.

"No," the witch raised a hand to silence November's immediate reaction, "but it will provide him with the means to cure himself.  The rest is up to North."

"Then all is well," the Summoner declared.  "North cannot fail."

"I hope the same is true of us."  Virtue gave a weary sigh, sinking into a wicker chair near her desk.  Through some trick of the sunlight, November thought, or odd shadow cast by the particles of dust in the air, she suddenly seemed a much older.  The white witch hunched over the table, the streaks of gray cutting through her hair like twin snowfalls from her temples.  She turned towards November with her eyes hooded, a grave look on her ageless face.  "The demons have followed you."

She gave a slight gasp, but quickly collected herself.  "This was not unexpected.  I will protect us while North sleeps."

"Then steel yourself well, November, for they come in numbers, and with murder in their hearts."


The pain left North with a gasp which emptied his lungs.  He collapsed on the ground, head bowed as sweat dripped from his chin and brow.  His hair was matted with perspiration, and the whole of his skin felt hot to the touch.  Eyes closed, he clenched his fingers and grit his teeth, composing himself with no small effort.  Some time passed before he was able to raise his head and stare out across the landscape.  What he saw there locked him in place.

In the distance, further off than a hawk's eye would easily perceive, lightning rained down from roiling clouds suspended over jagged peaks which scraped the sky.  Above him was naught but gray, a grim and lightless sight which stretched on without end.  Suddenly he became aware that a rain, so light as to be a mist, was washing over him.  It left no mark or ripple as it touched the ground, for indeed there was no ground to speak of.

What it was he was crouched upon, he could not say.  It seemed almost a liquid, though he rested upon its surface without sinking.  Colors shifted and swirled below the surface, a maelstrom light flickering and flashing with no discernible pattern.  Here and there images he thought he recognized appeared only to vanish before he could process what they were.  His nails scraped against it as he stood, but the ground rippled and restored itself like a pool disturbed.  The rain continued to fall as North looked around the vast, lifeless landscape surrounding him.  He was unclothed, naked against the elements, yet felt neither warmth nor chill as the wind sifted through his iron-gray hair.

He needed only to look across his surroundings once before taking notice of the rock jutting up through the liquid surface below him.  Several yalms off it stood, the lightning in the distance and the swirl of colors beneath him casting a wicked gleam across its surface, was Guttler.

It was embedded, blade-first, into the protruding rock.  A rumble of thunder crashed somewhere far-off as the two became aware of each other.

Tiny pebbles began to shake free from the craggy stone, and a low growl filled the air.  North braced himself as a wave of contempt swept over him, more powerful by far than the wind or rain.  His heels dug into the ground, impossibly finding traction.  He questioned it not.  At Guttler's core, a lick of flame sprang forth as the axe began glowing red.  The sensation of malice was palatable.

North scowled.  Defiantly, he ran forward, arm outstretched, to tear the blade free from the rock and drag Guttler to submission.  A wall of flame erupted from the weapon, and the Beastmaster halted close enough for them to singe the hairs on his arms.  He bound backwards like a rabbit, halting as he stared into the flames.

The fire was shifting, congealing from a shapeless mass into a distinct form.  As North watched, spellbound, what had been uncontrolled flame formed claws and teeth, eyes and a snout, arms and legs all composed of Guttler's acrimonious blaze.  The fire-beast stood tall as a Behemoth, and thunder answered its call as it reared its head back and let a howl shake the land.  It resembled in some ways an enormous dog or wolf, but was a creature altogether the stuff of blackest nightmare.

Blistering heat and bloodlust swept over North as the rain began to intensify.  Thin drops were now prodding at him, needle-like, as he cast a hateful glare at the beast.  Its flames leaped at him, targeting him clearly, yet they did not burn.  He cast his voice to the wind, howling greater yet than it had.

"Be you weapon or beast, fire or flesh, I will bend you to my will, and failing that I shall exterminate once and for all your blighted presence!  I will not yield!"

The beast roared, and both came forward to join in mortal combat.


"What manner of protection do we have?"

Virtue waved off the question dismissively.  "Had we enough I would not have even mentioned the demons coming.  No sigil or ward will hold them long.  The most we can hope is delay, but this late in the afternoon it only works in their favor."  She cast a look towards the round sun, hanging low in the sky.  "Night is no ally to us, November."

"How long until North recovers?"  the Summoner asked, casting a worried look back towards Virtue's isolated house.  They had moved outside, into the dense rock and jungle which naturally defended the white witch's home.  The wildlife North had so enjoyed when they arrived had grown silent, and an unsettling stillness had gripped Purgonurgo Isle.

Virtue looked at her gravely.  "Minutes, or perhaps years.  Perhaps he will die in the next moment.  He faces Guttler itself in the realm of his own soul."

"Die?"  November sputtered.  "You said nothing of death!"

"It was not important."

"How?  How could the chance that he might die in this undertaking not be important?"

"Because if he did not do it, he would definitely die," she told her, eyes glinting.  "I gave him a fighting chance.  The rest lies with him.  Do not let your confidence in him waver."

November glared sharply at the white witch, but turned away without response.  Her faith in North was unshakable, but under these conditions she could hardly be optimistic.  "I am not concerned for his success, for he is North, King of Beasts, and there is no foe he cannot tame.  I worry we shall falter in this task and demons will take him as he sleeps."

"Then you will have failed, and forfeit my aid in any case, because I am counting defending my home now as payment for my services."  She had taken a long staff from her home, and let it lead her now as they walked.  "Come with me.  Time is short, and we must plan our defense with all haste.  This island is ill-prepared for such a siege, but we must do what we can with what we have."

"Do you know how many of them we face?"

"Too many," the white witch replied, leaning for a moment heavily upon her staff.  "But whether or not we are overwhelmed shall be determined before the night is out."

November followed Virtue out into the bleached sands of Purgonurgo as the sun dipped towards the restless ocean. The witch faced the tide, head tilted skyward. November felt a chill run through her as the wind suddenly changed direction, gentle breeze transforming into a harsh and biting gust. The sand at their feet tore up from the ground and sprayed outwards as Virtue lifted her staff towards the heavens. Tiny granules assaulted them, and November pulled her robe over her face defensively as the wind cut across the island. A blast of air howled past her, nearly knocking the Summoner from her feet, and then in an instant the wind ceased, returning to its gentle state.

Lowering the folds of her black-and-white robe, November blinked sand from her eyes and looked out upon the beach. All across Purgonurgo, etched into the sand, stone, and soil, lines radiating from the point where Virtue stood had been carved out by the wind. Snaking and twisting along the island, a complex web gripped the isle, and November's eyes widened as she felt the steady pulse of eldritch force emanating from the ground all about her.

"This ward will tell us when they arrive, and offer us some defense. As long as its power holds, they shall be weakened while on the island, while our own powers shall be in a small way augmented." Virtue lowered her staff, but seemed unsteady as her hands grasped at it. She leaned on it like a crutch, but only for a moment before straightening. "They will be forced now to wait for nightfall, when their strength is greatest."

"That gives us hours yet to prepare."

"You prepare," Virtue huffed, shaking off whatever weariness she exhibited a moment before. "I will go fix something to eat."

Her ageless face seemed twenty years older for a moment as she turned from the sun, but her stride was strong as the White Witch left November on the beach, alone with the tide, the sand, and a growing sense of dread.


The beast came again, fangs of fire clamping down over North as he pressed his heels into the liquid ground. Where he saw only flame, his fingers found substance, and he held the creature by tooth and by mane as they grappled. His own teeth were bared, eyes alight with the blaze which did not burn. Though  Guttler's fire engulfed him, the only heat he felt was that of his own rage.

"You will kneel to me, monster!" He said from behind clenched teeth. "I will see you bow or I will see you broken!"

It only howled in response, tearing itself away from his grasp and swatting at him with burning claws. Though the fire was harmless, flesh was torn away from him. North staggered back instinctively, clutching at his chest to find a fresh red rip stretching down the length of the scar Guttler had already given him. His blood bubbled and boiled away in the heat. The rain was coming down in torrents now, washing over both of them and leaving the beast only a ruddy glow behind he sheets of water. No matter how much poured down, it would not extinguish. North sneered at it, wiping wet strands of hair from his face.

The beast lunged, and North quickly sidestepped its claws. He delivered a swift kick across his muzzle which it barely even acknowledged. It came at him with its maw wide, but he ran directly at it, leaping up as it lowered its head to bite him, and planted his foot in its snout. Immediately it jerked backwards, but North used the momentum to gracefully propel himself into the air. At the apex of his flight, he spun completely around and extended his leg. He gathered speed like a plummeting stone, and came down directly upon the back of the beast's neck like a guillotine. It collapsed forward, and North went with it, skidding to a halt some dozen or so feet away. No sooner had he regained his feet than it was already recovered, howling with fury at the assault.

Surging forward through the rain, North closed the distance between himself and the beast and sprang into the air. It snapped at him with its jaws, but he twisted acrobatically and evaded. When he landed upon its back, he grabbed fistfuls of what his eyes told him was fire but his hands perceived as thick strands of hair. It roared as he pulled back upon it, rearing off the ground, trying to dislodge him. North held firm, digging his heels into its sides and pulling even harder. The rain was pouring so hard it felt as if his skin was being scoured, yet still the flames of Guttler's monster burned. Lightning danced around them, and deafening thunderclaps shook the endless landscape. The Beastmaster was tossed like a rag doll as the beast thrashed, yet still he held on.

Then, with a roar to rival the thunder, the beast reared as high as it could, and then came down upon the aqueous ground. The shockwave rattled every bone in North's body, and the surface beneath them, which had shown not a ripple or divot or any sign of disturbance through their entire struggle suddenly surged outwards. With a mighty heave, the beast finally broke North's grasp, and the air rushed from his lungs as he struck the ground. The flaming creature loomed over him, paw raised in the air. Its malice was so intense that it burned where fire could not.

In the next instant, the ground it had forced away came rushing back like the tide. One moment North lay on his back with the beast perched over him, and the next he was overcome with the feeling of being swept away by some massive undertow. When he gasped for air, his eyes shot open and he found himself now surrounded by darkness.

The beast was there with him, the shining silver blade of Guttler gleaming at its core. Together they fell, no end or beginning in sight, and North realized that the were going to fall forever.


Virtue turned an eye on North as he lay perfectly still within her circle of protection. His breathing had grown shallow, but he gave no other sign of anything he might be feeling. Resting on his chest, Guttler was dull and silent. A draft blew in from an open window, and the candles surrounding him flickered. For a moment, the flames cast a shadow which resembled some manner of great beast, but the impression faded in the blink of an eye.

The White Witch stood, leaving her ceramic plate on the table. The last few scraps of her meal went untouched. Outside, the last feeble rays of sunlight were sinking beneath the waves. Never before had the darkness swallowing the mainland felt so near.

She took one last look about her ramshackle little house, allowing a thin smile as she stepped out the front door.

In the distance, close to the shore, a jet of fire suddenly filled the night. The sound of beating wings and guttural howls was near, much nearer than she would have thought.

Resolutely, Virtue took hold of her staff and swiftly walked towards where November was. She had done everything she could for them.

Now it was time to die.