Ganzorig: Liberator

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This book can be collected by Defiants and Guardians.

Found in the bookshelves on the middle floor of the Runic Athenaeum in Moonshade Highlands. /setwaypoint 7381 1567 height = 853

Book Blurb

The story of Ganzorig the Liberator and his unorthodox art of healing.

Book Text

Marvar leaned on his staff as he limped back to the Fortress of Fallen Stars. Every step was agony. He attempted to recite some of the Nightfall mantras to take his mind off the pain, but all that came out was a hacking cough filled with blood. As he approached the Gates of Eternity he winced, this time in annoyance. “It’s just a stupid portcullis. Not everything needs some fancy, mystical name. ‘The Exit’ would work just as well.” Marvar was again overcome with self doubt that was almost as painful as his broken bones.

With the Ascended victories over the dragons he thought that life would improve, no more rifts opening everywhere, no more monsters spilling out of the fabric of reality, maybe people would stop telling him he was so morose. But it wasn’t like that at all, soon the Ascended started fighting among themselves again, not in the traditional arguments over faith, reason, prophesy and free will. No, this was the most difficult of all questions for the war weary Ascended to answer. What now?

The Gates of Eternity started to open, and the ground began to shake.

“What now?” moaned Marvar before he broke into another ill timed coughing fit, for when he looked up from his blood soaked handkerchief he saw he was in the direct path of the onrushing heavy cavalry of Ascended knights of the Raven. Who promptly trampled him.

“You ok, Marvar?” an annoyingly cheery voice asked from above his battered and bruised form. It was that dwarven sentry Ivan, the one that always wore that novelty horse head mask because he thought it was funny. It wasn’t. Marvar was very sure on this point.

“Marvar looks hurt! Someone grab his legs!” Marvar tried to protest. Couldn’t they see the horses had broken his back? Hoisting him up was the worst thing they could do for him. “Help me carry him in to the Liberator.” Again, Marvar attempted to stop these fools, but all that came out of his mouth was a tortured scream as they carried him into the keep.

“Hello! I am Ganzorig!” said the huge, muscled Bahmi that approached the mangled and sobbing Marvar in the infirmary. “You seem broken. I will fix.”

Ganzorig started doing a flexing martial dance. He looked like one of the ridiculous performers from Carnival. Marvar wondered if his comrades in arms of Nightfall were having another one of their practical jokes on him. They were not as dour and serious as he thought they would be. “I should switch sides. Maybe those Dominion fascists will take things more seriously.”

“Am done warming up.” The now sweaty Bahmi pulled out a gigantic two handed sword. “Now we make feel better.” Ganzorig raised the impossibly large sword above his head and brought his sword down in a massive strike.

“Don’t kill me!’ Marvar shouted through the pain. Or the pain that wasn’t there. Marvar sat up, confused. He felt better. Not just better than before he was beaten up and trampled, but better than he had in years. “What did you do? You used no magic. You just swung your sword around a bit.”

“No more pain, yes? Is good! Is happy!” the Bahmi held out his meaty, muscled hand.

“But what did you do?” Marvar yelped and he was dragged up from his bloody cot.

“Is magnets!” Ganzorig said genially. “I bend aura. Learn from Earth Plane. Fix bones. Feel healthy!”

The alarm bell rang out. The keep was under attack. Ganzorig ran out the room with friendly wave of his mighty hand. “Must go! Is war! I fix everyone!”

Marvar, followed after him, it was much easier now that his bones were no longer shattered. He actually had a spring in his step that has been missing for years. This barmy Bahmi had stumbled upon something Marvar, in all his years of study, had never encountered. Ganzorig was part of the expedition to the Plane of Earth, recently returned to the seemingly endless conflict between the three factions. An expedition that was offered to Marvar, probably to get rid of him, but one he turned down in favor of the comforting routine of his bed. As Marvar caught up to the warrior, he had already added this expedition to the list of his lifelong regrets.

The Fortress of Fallen Stars was surrounded by the army of the Oathsworn. Though the road and hills surrounding the keep were muddy from recent storms, and the spilling of much blood, the entire army of the lion was shining in their resplendent armor, spotless white robes, and regal mounts. They looked every bit the iconic heroes their propaganda painted them to be. Marvar hated each and every one of them.

Ganzorig stood atop the walls, posing with his sword, posturing, flinging it about like a child at play. But as the mage squinted, he could suddenly see what the warrior was doing. He had grasped the ley lines that emanate from each and every being, and had entangled it upon his sword. The Bahmi then manipulated through sheer strength. Not strength of will, not through magical means, but he just bent them with his muscles. Marvar was stunned.

The assassins who had climbed up onto the wall to take out the Liberator were also stunned. Ganzorig took a momentary break from realigning the magnetic fields of his allies, grabbing hold of his enemy’s fields and shaking them like a rag doll until they were disoriented. The Bahmi then attacked those same magnetic fields with his sword and killed them without even laying a hand on their physical bodies, then flashing a smile at the cowering mage, he returned to manipulating his side back to health.
Marvar experienced a once in a lifetime flash of admiration. “Can you teach me this art? I must understand it.”

Ganzorig smiled at him. “Oh no! Too puny and weak.” Marvar’s heart sank. “Plus is for happiness. You are quite the jerk.”

Marvar left for the Dominion the next day. And every time they lost a battle, he would remind them of why.

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