The Legend of Mr. Baller
9/19/12 10:35pm
Trinkit's Blog Posts
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9/19/12 10:35pm
The Legend of Mr. Baller
9/17/12 2:59pm
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9/17/12 1:50pm
The Preferred Mending Club
The lich drifted silently across the floor, tattered rags just brushing the floor. His long, ghostly-white hair shrouded his back like a cloak of dust and cobwebs.

In the merchant corner of the hall, one young adventurer nudged his companion with his elbow and gestured at the lich leaving the room.

“Look at that guy,” he said with a smirk. “How creepy can you get?”

The other adventurer glanced over and flinched, then laughed at his own reaction, his voice overly loud in the quiet hall. “Man, that dude needs a bath,” he said.

“Or someone needs to put him back in the ground,” his friend joked.

“I’d reconsider those words, if I were you,” a soft female voice warned, her voice sharp as a blade against the back of the neck.

They whirled around, nearly stumbling over each other in their haste; dismay plain on their faces at being overheard by a guild member several levels older than them.

“Trinkit,” one of the adventurers said, recognizing the mystic that often trained in the hall. “We were just joking. I mean, you’ve seen that guy. He’s seriously creepy.”

Trinkit looked the two adventurers over, her dark brown eyes hard in a face that usually wore a smile. “You’re both new to the guild, aren’t you?” she asked. “And young, it seems. You’re what? 30 levels or so? Give or take?”

They nodded silently. One gulped.

“Then perhaps all you need is a little knowledge… and to learn some respect.”

She pursed her lips and looked at them thoughtfully. “That creepy guy, as you call him, is a legend in this guild.”

She propped her spear against the counter, then leaned against the edge and crossed her arms. The two young adventurers watched and waited, their eyes wide with curiosity.

“You may call him Mr. Baller.”

They blinked and gaped at her. “Mr… Baller?” one asked, his voice rising with disbelief.

Trinkit nodded. “Yes,” she said, giving them a stern stare. “You’ll never meet one more worthy of the title.”

They stared at her, speechless, waiting for the joke. But the mystic wasn’t smiling. Her expression was dead serious.

“What did he do?” the braver of the two adventurers finally asked, his voice near a whisper.

Trinkit nodded, a smile just edging her lips. Her eyes gleamed but it was with satisfaction, not humor.

“That gentleman who just graced you with his presence is a necromancer,” she began, her voice settling into the rhythm of an often-told story. “A bold adventurer who doesn’t laugh at death, he welcomes it with open arms… and then bends it to his will.”

“I was there that epic day when he became a legend in this guild. I was a member of his party that fateful day when we delved into… the Underdepths!”

The young adventurers gasped. Trinkit nodded.

“Yes. Only the strongest dare venture into that dark and perilous dungeon. We were sorely tested, our armor and our skills battered by the demands of the beasts that lurked within the shadowy halls. We became bloodied and bruised as we ventured further into the depths, combating foe after foe in an endless series of battles.”

“Through countless clashes, numerous deaths and resurrections, we fought on for hours. Mr. Baller fell, the same as the rest of us, but death could not conquer him. He did not require the spells or enchantments of another to defeat death’s cold grasp. Many a time, it was this skill that saved us all and allowed us to continue along our treacherous path.”

She paused and took a deep breath. They held theirs in suspense. Was she going to stop there?

“What happened?” one burst out finally, his eyes wide.

“After as many battles as you have levels, we at last reached the bowels of the Underdepths. There we faced our mightiest foe. It was a dragon!”

They gaped at her in awe, their eyes shining now with a hint of longing. Every adventurer dreamed of fighting dragons.

“Dozekar,” Trinkit said. “Perhaps you’ve heard of him, perhaps you have not. But you will, when you’re older.” She smiled, her lips twisted wryly and her eyes distant with memory. “When you have some experience under your belt, you will hunger to taste the challenge that is fighting this great dragon.”

She focused on the faces of the two young adventurers, her gaze sharp. “Perhaps you’re thinking that he could not be such a fearsome beast if a party of six adventurers, exhausted from battle, dared approach him.” She smiled, baring her teeth with a fierceness that sent a shiver up their spines.

“You’d be wrong. He is considerably more dangerous than anything we had faced before in that dungeon. So lethal in fact, that the rest of us hung back, away from his fiery breath, sharp claws, and thrashing tail. Only Mr. Baller dared approach him.”

She paused again but they stared at her, unblinking, entranced by the story.

“With the help of an ally, a chronomancer of no import to you now, Mr. Baller left his mortal body and entered the form a great metal golem. In this massive form, he confronted Dozekar, taunting him and striking blow after blow. When the metal golem was crushed under the dragon’s will, Mr. Baller entered another golem… and another... and another.”

“He inhabited innumerable golems in his unceasing battle against the dragon. And while his spirit occupied this endless parade of golems, his physical body was left lying on the ground… unprotected. An empty shell abandoned to the mercy of fate.”

She took a breath, shuddering a little at the memory. “We could not help him with the fight. We were confronted by wave after wave of deadly foes summoned by the mighty dragon, sent to destroy us and the necromancer that dared fight him in single combat.”

She spoke then in a hushed voice. “As he fought the dragon, we watched the life slowly drain from his mortal form, leeching away into the dirt with his blood. Our hope dwindled with his life.”

One of the adventurers made a sound, not quite a word, not quite a moan.

“With only a spark of health left in his body, barely 1%, the necromancer continued to defy Dozekar, taunting him with his laughter and his jeers, striking blow after blow against his scaly hide.”

A slow smile spread across Trinkit’s face. The young adventurers felt an answering glimmer of hope.

“And then an amazing thing happened. As we fought and watched and waited for the certainty of his death and ours, the necromancer began to heal. On its own, his life force slowly returned. Not to full health, no, but enough. Enough to give us hope. Enough to encourage us to fight on…”

“Enough for him to defeat Dozekar!” the mystic’s voice crowed with triumph.

The young adventurers broke into spontaneous cheers. Trinkit smiled on them benevolently.

“And now you know why he is a legend. He is the only adventurer known to fight Dozekar with 1% of health in his mortal body. Fight against the mighty dragon… and win!”

Trinkit didn’t wait for their responses. She turned and picked up her spear, a glint of emotion still shining in her eyes. Then, with a nod at the two silent adventurers, she strode out of the room.

They watched her walk away then turned simultaneously to look at each other.

“I don’t know about you,” one said. “But I’m going to roll a necromancer.”