“I wonder what that is” he said aloud to Drake the war club as he spotted some kind of structure in the distance. Drake didn’t reply, he never replied.

Valtor turned the dial on his goggles, zooming them in on whatever it was. Hopefully it was a structure, which meant oasis, because his water was getting a little on the low side.

A structure it was, it looked like some kind of temple, with…snakes? Were those snakes? Hopefully they were just statues and not actual giant snakes.

“Off we go!” he shouted as he turned the sandcar towards the temple.

——

After a couple hours of sailing, Valtor started nearing the temple, giant snake statues they were. In fact, the entire temple was snake themed. “I wonder if they like snakes…” he mumbled to himself sarcastically.

As he pulled up to the front of the temple, he noticed that it seemed to have only one entrance which was flanked by two very large guards in snake themed armor. They looked at him angrily.

Valtor jumped out of the sandcar, strapping Drake to his back as he did. “Greetings!” he yelled to the snake guards, raising his open palm as a sign of non-hostility. The snake guards just stared.

He was shocked as he got closer to them, they were bigger than him, not something he was used to. “Hey fellas” he said finally getting within a few feet of the men “would you mind telling me where I am, and possibly point me to whatever spring gives you the water out here?”

The men looked at each other, and then one spoke. “This is the temple of Ga’gan, the only outsiders allowed inside are pilgrims.”

“What about potential pilgrims looking to top off their water stores while being willing to listen to anything you have to say about your religion?”

The guards looked at each other again before the same one answered. “Come with me, do not stray from the golden tiles, and don’t leave the spring room for any reason.”

“Thank you, thank you good sir!” Valtor gushed before following the guard to the door of the temple.

“I would ask that you leave your club outside please” the guard added as they got to the door. Valtor obliged muttering “I’ll be back for you soon, Drake” as he followed the guard inside.

——

Valtor followed the guard through the dark, maze-like temple for a good fifteen minutes before they reached a room filled with the sound of a brook babbling. “Wait in here” said the guard “Fill your casks and drink your fill. An acolyte will be with you shortly.” As he left, Valtor walked into the room and beheld the spring. It was a massive pool, fed by a spring coming from the stones somewhere. He quickly dropped to his knees beside it, taking his cup from his belt and downing a few mugs. After drinking his fill, he took the half a dozen wine skins from his shoulder strap on his back and filled them with the fresh water before replacing them. As he stood from the pool, he heard a soft voice behind him. “Hello?”

Valtor turned around to face a slim man in purple snake themed robes. “Greetings” he said, raising his hand to the man in the same way he had the guards outside.

“I’m told you wish to learn more about our religion and way of life?” the man said.

“I’ll level with you,” the barbarian replied, “I just said that because I was getting pretty desperate for water and your boys didn’t look like they’d want to help a brother out.”

“Ah” the priest replied “Well, you’re already here, might as well listen as I walk you out, maybe you’ll be inclined to stay a bit longer?”

“Sure. Lead on.”

As the pair walked out of the temple, following the path the guards had pointed out earlier, Valtor listened to the priest talk about their religion. They worshipped snakes and the snake mother. Snakes symbolize regeneration and regrowth; the snake mother embodies this. Looking upon her is sin. On and on the man went, getting more excited and trying flashier language as they got closer to the temple doors and saw that Valtor seemingly had no interest in staying. As they approached the door outside, Valtor thanked the man for his hospitality, but said that he thought snake worship just wasn’t in the cards for his life as it currently was.

He turned to go and that’s when he heard it, it was distant, but he couldn’t ever mistake that sound. A man screaming in bloody terror. “What was that?” he asked the priest, who visibly began to sweat.

“Nothing, probably an animal being butchered and just echoing through the temple.”

“Uh huh, you guys couldn’t have just waited until I was gone, eh?”. The priest paled.

Valtor sprinted back into the temple towards where he heard the scream. “HEEEEY!” he yelled as loud as he could “KEEP MAKING NOISE! I CAN’T FIND YOU UNLESS YOU KEEP SCREAMING!”

Another scream echoed through the temple and Valtor knew he was on the right track; even without berserking, he was really fast, and not just for an older man. As Valtor ran towards where the screams were apparently coming from, they got louder and more frequent, showing him the right path.

Finally, he turned a corner and entered another room, a very large room, and that was where he saw it. The statue gardens. Valtor’s eyes surveyed the large room at what looked like hundreds of statues of men, and some women, in various poses, all screaming with looks of pained horror on their faces. As his eyes roamed upward, he saw it; a giant cauldron bubbling with some strange orange liquid, and a pully system submerging some poor, now quiet, man into it.

“What in the names of the ten gods is going on here?!” he yelled. Suddenly, several more priests and guards all around snapped their heads and eyes to face him.

One of the soldiers drew a sword and charged Valtor, who just smirked. As the soldier brought the sword down trying to split Val’s head in twain, Valtor clapped the blade, catching it, and then front kicked the guard, sending him sprawling and disarmed.

Valtor tossed the blade into the air, caught it by the handle and said “Now. You can all explain what’s happening here, or I can berserk and remove your cult from the face of the planet.”

The guard on the ground looked up at the priests and other guards who were approaching. Several guards had drawn their swords as well, but now seemed to be thinking better of it. A priest with a golden headpiece began to speak. “We are the Cult of Medi’sa. We worship snakes and the snake mother.”

“Yes, yes, I got the pitch earlier. What’s going on HERE?”

“Well, as you may know, it’s a sin to look at the snake mother, Medi’sa. Outsiders who do must be put to death. They are dipped into the molten compound in the cauldron you see before you, and then placed here in the statue gardens.”

“Uh huh,” Valtor said “So even if someone accidentally sees your snake mommy, you grab them and dip them in the stew.”

“Yes. It must be so.”

“Must it?” Valtor smirked. “Listen, it’s time to knock this business off. I can’t help the people you’ve already done this too, but you won’t be continuing it. Otherwise, I’ll end your snake cult.”

The priest laughed. “Oh, will you? We don’t just have our guards you know. Ph’thon!”

The entire chamber began to rumble, “Oh boy…” Valtor muttered.

Suddenly, at the far end of the chamber, rocks gave way and burst, as a gigantic snake thundered into the room. It raised itself up and opened its mouth widely.

Valtor stood his ground. The air was heavy with a mixture of anticipation and dread as he gazed into the darkness of the snake’s pupils. His heart pounded in his chest, fueled by a potent cocktail of excitement and fear. He had heard legends spoken long ago of Ph’thon, the monstrous serpent that slumbered in a desert—a creature with scales as dark as the abyss and eyes that glowed with an otherworldly intensity. He never imagined he’d encounter it, especially after the magic left.

Valtor tightened his grip on the stolen sword, feeling its weight anchor him to the ground. The flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows on the damp cave walls, as if hinting at the imminent clash between warrior and serpent. With a deep breath, Valtor steeled himself for the epic battle that awaited him in the stygian abyss.

A low, sinister hiss reverberated through the cavern, as Ph’thon fully emerged from the wall. Its serpentine form coiled and writhed; its eyes fixated on the intruder who dared to challenge its dominion. The cavernous space seemed to shrink in the presence of this monstrosity, but Valtor stood firm, undeterred by the overwhelming odds.

With a primal roar that echoed through the underground chamber, Valtor charged forward, his stolen sword arcing through the air. The blade whistled with deadly intent, aiming to strike the impervious scales of Ph’thon. The serpent, agile beyond comprehension, evaded the attack with a graceful slide, its movements seemingly defied the laws of nature.

Undaunted, Valtor pressed on, his battle instincts honed to perfection. He danced around Ph’thon’s relentless advances, ducking and weaving with the agility of a predator. Each swing of his sword carried the weight of determination, as he sought the vulnerability that lay within the serpent’s impenetrable defense.

Ph’thon retaliated with lightning speed, its massive jaws snapping shut with a force that could shatter bone. Valtor, fueled by adrenaline and a warrior’s instinct, sidestepped the jaws of death, his reflexes pushing him beyond the limits of mortal capability. The resounding clash of their connection echoed through the cavern, as the two adversaries engaged in a primal struggle for survival.

Valtor’s strikes landed with thunderous impact, his sword finding purchase on Ph’thon’s scales. Sparks flew as the blade bit into the monstrous creature, yet the serpent’s resilience seemed unyielding. Ph’thon, desperate to overpower the warrior, coiled its immense body around Valtor, squeezing with relentless pressure. The very air seemed to be crushed from Valtor’s lungs, his muscles strained and tested to their limits.

Finally summoning the rage that burned within him, Valtor tapped into the berserker fury that lay dormant, waiting to be unleashed. A primal roar escaped his lips as his strength surged to superhuman levels. With an indomitable surge, he broke free from Ph’thon’s suffocating grip, his sinewy muscles bulging with newfound power.

In a final display of defiance, Valtor and Ph’thon clashed one last time. The warrior’s sword cleaved through the serpent’s scales, carving a path of destruction. A guttural roar mixed with the shrill hiss of the dying serpent, filling the air with a cacophony of triumph and defeat.

As Ph’thon’s lifeless body writhed upon the cold cavern floor, Valtor stood amidst the aftermath of his fierce battle. The air grew still, the weight of victory settling upon him. Valtor, the indomitable Berserker, had conquered the depths of the underground cave, forever etching his name into the annals of history and striking fear into the hearts of the cultists who worshipped above and around him. Unfortunately for them, his fury was not yet sated.

Valtor, foaming at the mouth, and eyes rolled back in his head, stepped forward. One foot following the other, his body moving with an inhuman grace and speed as he cut through cult guard after cult guard. Severed heads, dismembered bodies, rapidly dropping and replacing weapons as he went because they got stuck, or dulled, or broken in someone.

A guard managed to get a tone from a snake-shaped horn before Valtor buried a sword in the top of his skull and split him from top to bottom. It was loud enough to summon the rest of the guards and priests from the temple.

As more of them poured into the stone gardens, Valtor kept moving, his voice making occasional noises that sounded like they didn’t come from a human. Occasionally he would get a wound, they were never bad, and due to his conditioning, never bled. Eventually, no more came. The gardens were empty save Valtor himself, a few cowering priests around the head priest in a far corner, and what seemed like literal tons of carnage and viscera.

Upon hearing a priest’s involuntary squeak of terror, Valtor turned and saw the group. He began stalking towards them, pulling a large sword from a body as he went. In one or two strokes, he had sent the remaining cultists to the afterlife, leaving him face to face with the cowering head priest.

As he raised his sword above his head, he heard a familiar feminine voice. “Please, stop” it said. And Valtor was snapped from his berkerkergang. Images flashed through his mind “Daddy please stoooop hahaha” his children’s raucous laughter during tickle fights.

Valtor lowered his sword to the ground but didn’t drop it. He turned and faced her for the first time, the snake mother, Medi’sa. She was standing above him on the edge of the cauldron platform, cast in shadows, but he could tell she was just a girl, couldn’t be older than fifteen or sixteen. Her hair was an ornate series of braids shaped like slithering snakes that moved around her head.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“You know.” Came the reply.

“What is all this, what’s going on?”

“This is, or was, the cult of Medi’sa. Snake worshippers who believe that their holy snake mother is reincarnated into the bodies of young girls every time the previous one gets too old. Once she’s too old, they make her an addition to the gardens, and then search various towns and cities for her replacement, one that matches the descriptions in their writings. They modify her with various surgeries and then brain wash her using various techniques of torture and hypnosis.” She stepped from the shadows, revealing her face and snake eyes, the fangs they’d implanted into her extended from her canines as she opened her mouth.

The head priest yelled “Snake mother no! You must not reveal yourself!” as she launched from the platform at Valtor with a spitting hiss.

“I’m sorry.” He said, holding his sword up to let her falling form impale itself. “Please Daddy, stooooop! Hahaha” flashed through his mind again.

At the last second, he reversed his stolen sword, allowing the girl instead to take the pommel right in the solar plexus and knock herself out. She fell limply across his arms. Valtor placed her on the ground, and as he did so the head priest rushed towards them screaming “Defiler! You sh—hrk…” as Valtor’s thrown sword pinned him through the throat to the wall behind him.

Without a word picked up the girl in his arms, tiny to him by comparison, and left the temple.

——

As Val walked out the door, he grabbed Drake “Have I got a story for you old pal.” He said, now carrying the girl over a shoulder. He spent the next hour or so filling up every available container he had with water from the temple spring, and then using some picks found within the temple itself, made some well calculated strikes to the temple entryway, collapsing it in on itself. “Rest in piece I guess.” He said, hoping this would be the end of the cult.

He laid the still unconscious girl across the backseat of the sandcar, locking the doors and putting the divider between them. He didn’t know how she’d be when she awoke. After finishing loading the car, he said to Drake “It’s time for us to go see an old friend.”

And with that, he expanded the sails on the sand car, and sailed off into the desert.

The post Wandering Valtor – Chapter 2 – Why’d It Have To Be Snakes? appeared first on NovaVerse Online.

In the twenty years hence, he met Lye’ta, the dryad woman who would become his wife and mother of their three, half-human/half-dryad, children. Lye’ta was beautiful, and like most magical creatures, didn’t suffer from the rigors of age typical to other beings. Where Valtor was very visibly in his mid-fifties, Lye’ta still looked early twenties despite actually being a couple of decades older than him. Age and appearance didn’t matter to them anyway, they were happy and had a happy healthy family. He stood on the porch looking out across their fields and continued to reminisce. Money wasn’t an issue, his military pension, and wage as a training officer, coupled with a good investment banker assigned specifically to help out the soldiers meant money would never be an issue.

This was coupled with the fact that Lye’ta was a dryad, a magical humanoid plant creature that had an affinity to growing things. After their wedding, Valtor bought her a farm and paid to get it up and running and run it she did. Their farm rapidly became the biggest food producer in the district. Times were good, and now that their kids were all school aged, they focused more on their jobs to keep busy and time with each other.

Because of all this good fortune, Valtor had instituted the house rule that every night, everyone puts everything on pause and sits down together for dinner. He knew that everyone in his family would probably long outlive him so he wanted to have as much time together as he could. He wanted to give them lots of fond memories of him.

“Vaaaaalll, dinner!” He heard Lye’ta from inside. As he opened his front door, he was tackled by three tornados. No, not tornados, children! Children with entirely too much energy.

“PAPA! YOU’RE BACK!” shouted Leanna, his youngest.

“Like a vertebra” he replied to her confused face, and then they both started laughing.

He let the children lead him to the dinner table, bantering all about their days and what they learned at school while he watched Lye’ta serving the dishes on the table. They shared a look and a smile. “She’s so beautiful”, he thought.

He picked up a fork and turned to look at his plate as the room was suddenly bathed in darkness along with a faint *pop* of displaced air. “What the name of the Maker?” he asked aloud, “Hon, did something happen with the generator? Hon?” no answer, no sounds of kids either.

As his eyes settled into the dim light coming through the windows from the dusk, he realized he was alone in the house. “What in the…” and he headed out the kitchen door to the back yard. All the field golems, that usually worked diligently and non-stop were slumped and unmoving, all of their lights off. That’s when something tickled the back of Valtor’s memory. Something half-forgotten from long ago. A warning everyone said was crazy. He sprinted around his house, entering the front yard and looking across the district toward the city and realized what had happened. All of the lights were gone, every one, except for the fires slowly starting that he could see. The age of mana had ended.

Valtor dropped to his knees and screamed himself hoarse.

*5 YEARS LATER*

Valtor sat back on his haunches, listening intently to the young idiot in front of him monologuing. He felt the tightness of his bindings and thought could almost discern what knots they’d used to tie him up. His goggles itched next to his nose.

“…And THAT is why the Counterville Cannibals were able to catch you! You’re going to feed us for a week!” the idiot laughed. He began to continue his rant, but Valtor interrupted him, to his visible annoyance.

“Sonny, sonny, sonny, I get it. The pull of the ego, you NEED people to realize how badass and smart you are, how you’re the best leader of the Cannibal Carnival—”

“COUNTERVILLE CANNIBALS!”

“Right, right, that’s what I said. I get where you’re coming from, but I need to ask you, have you ever heard of the Barbarian Berserker Corps?” and the cannibal laughed.

“Of course!” he said sarcastically “They were all killed in the skirmishes after the magic went away and they all lost their strength, bunch of pathetic losers. Why?”

“Well,” Valtor began, “The thing about the corps was, not all of them died, and not one of them used a lick of mana”, he smiled, and everything went red.

——

Valtor awoke on his knees. “Am I still kneeling or kneeling again?” he asked out loud to himself.

The sky overhead had some light, but he couldn’t tell the direction the sun was in, so he didn’t know if it was dawn or dusk. His club was sitting next to him. Good old Drake. It had been a while since he and the war club had had a good chat. Granted the club never replied, but their conversations were decent enough Valtor had thought.

As his wits slowly returned and his senses came fully online, Valtor was aware of several things. One, he was covered in blood and viscera, two, none of it was his own, three, he was surrounded by cannibal bandit parts in various states of carnage, and four, their entire camp was destroyed with some of the remains of it being on fire.

“I hope it was worth it” he muttered to any cannibal hearing organs that might still be nearby.

He got up, a bit stiff and sore, picked up his Drakebone Maul and slung it over his shoulder. He made his way to the freshwater spring where the bandits had made their home and drank using a ladle made from a bleached human skull “waste not want not” he said, muttering an apology to the skull.

After his thirst was satiated, he decided to head to see what they had for transport and then he saw them. Desert wind skiffs. Sail boards made for surfing across the desert dunes using the powerful winds. Valtor smiled and, after securing his gear and club, set out on a skiff.

He followed the stream that flowed from the spring knowing he’d reach some kind of settlement eventually. After about three hours of sailing into the morning light (turns out it was dawn after all), he came upon a small village. Upon seeing his skiff in the distance, the people started ringing a gong and running for cover, locking, and boarding up their doors and windows.

Valtor pulled up outside their town and walked into the village square of the now, apparently abandoned, hamlet. “Hello?!” he yelled. “Villagers?! I come in peace!”

“Look, I’m not a bandit, cannibal thing. I, well, I brutally killed the lot of them and left their pieces in their camp by the spring head. Look, I’m a field commander of the Barbarian Berserker Corps, none of you have anything to fear from me.”

“You mean you WERE a field commander” said a voice from behind a barrel. A feminine voice. “The berserkers were defeated when the government collapsed after the mana left.”

“I suppose you’re right” he replied “but old habits die hard. And name dropping being a leader of a heroic group of soldiers who protected the innocent can only help build trust, right?”

“Unless you’re a liar…” the voice replied, then continued “You know,” it said, “you don’t sound much like a dumb brute.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I am, years of conditioning from my wife just corrected my way of speaking.” The girl finally came out and smiled.

“Anyone who would find a wife to tolerate him long enough to fix him can’t be all bad. Come out all of you! What’s your name barbarian? Or would you just prefer ‘Barb’?” she smiled again.

He laughed, “I’m Valtor, and I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.” He offered his hand.

“Oh, fancy words, I need to meet this wife of yours.” She quipped back, accepting his hand and shaking it. Valtor’s smile faltered but didn’t fade entirely.

“So, tell me about the bandits, how long had they been raiding your village?” The girl noticed he changed the subject but didn’t press.

“3 seasons on and off” she said, “The Counterville Cannibals, more like Counterville Cranium…voids.”

Valtor smirked, “So I take it this is Counterville?” Valtor gestured around him.

“Oh, more of that barbarian brilliance,” she began, smiling “but yes, this is Counterville, or what’s left of it.”

“They really were cannibals?” Valtor asked her.

“I don’t actually know, *I* don’t think they truly had the balls, but lots of people did go missing over the last 3 seasons. Part of me thinks they just used what was going on to try and bolster their reputation.”

“Makes me almost feel bad for letting them set me off…” he muttered.

“Don’t worry, they had it coming. Stole medicine that led to people dying, actually did kill townsfolk, stole food that led to some starvation. I just don’t think they were cannibals.” She finished.

“Welp, I’m gonna help you improve and fortify your town, but then I want something in return.” He said causing her to raise an eyebrow.

“You’ll have to talk to the elder.” She said, looking away. “FATHER! Come here, he has a proposal for you!”

An older man approached, about the same age as Valtor, “Thank you, stranger, for taking care of the bandits. I am the elder, and I see you’ve met Nadja. She says you have a proposition for us?”

“I do sir,” Valtor began “I noticed you have a magicar parked in that shed.” he said pointing at the vehicle.

“Yes, it was the only one in our town, we used it to travel to the ocean and trade at the port there, but we’ve since had to abandon it for obvious reasons. We modified the trailer it towed to be towed by a horse, but it’s very slow going.”

“I’ll make you a deal; if you give me the car, in return I will improve your town in every way possible.”

The elder looked at him skeptically. “How?”

“Well first, I’ll teach you all how to make medical supplies and set up a duty rotation schedule for maintaining your stores. Then I’ll teach you all the most in depth field medicine I know. After that I’ll teach you everything my wife taught me about farming. Irrigation, companion planting, crop rotation, animal-based soil regeneration, swales, wind breaks, and water storage. Then we’ll work on making and maintaining improvised weapons and you’ll all get a crash course in using them and how to practice with them. After that I’ll help your men refurbish the trailer to be comfortably towed by two horses instead of awkwardly towed by one, and I’ll fix both of your single-horse wagons. Get you running a proper caravan for trading.”

“You would do all this for us, for nothing more than the broken old magicar?” The elder asked incredulously.

“That and some assistant labor to help with all the projects and with the repairs I want to make to the car.” Valtor nodded.

The elder smiled “It’s a deal!” and shook Valtor’s hand, “come, let us feed you and give you a place to sleep and we start tomorrow.” And with that they went to Nadja and the Elder’s house.

Dinner was succulent pork and chicken, along with some sad vegetables and salad. Valtor ate heartily and thanked them profusely. They put him up in their guest room.

Over the course of the next few weeks Valtor stayed with the people of Counterville, accomplishing everything he said. He had, in a couple months, transformed their town, giving it back some of the civilization he thought it might have lost. The people were most happy and agreed to everything he asked.

They helped him dismember the sand skimmer and fix its sail and steering mechanism to the magicar. He took some supplies and a smart and diligent worker named Krine and “set sail” for the bandit camp.

It took them the better part of a day to get back to the camp, moving a whole car with one sail, but they made it. That night they made camp in what was left of the bandit’s camp and the next morning set to work disassembling the rest of the sand skimmers.

Over the next few days, Valtor and Krine worked diligently to build an entire array of sails onto the frame of the magicar. Attaching all the pulley systems to spots in and around the old steering wheel. With some trial and error, Valtor got pretty good at driving it, and after about a week they headed back to Counterville, covering the distance in one forth the time of Valtor’s original trip following the stream.

They got back to the town and Valtor bid Krine, Nadja, and the rest of the town farewell, but not before the elder could heap supplies onto him, and then headed out in his refurbished mag—no, his Sandcar, with Drake the club in the front seat beside him.

The post Wandering Valtor – Chapter 1 – Reawakening appeared first on NovaVerse Online.