Far outside the cramped confines of a now-shared/commandeered mind a block of ice tumbled down a mountainside among a massive avalanche. A huge solid ball of ice ricocheted down the jagged cliffs and hills before plummeting hundreds of feet to the unforgiving ground below. A few dozen feet before impact, however, something quite curious happened; the ball began to unfold, small layers of gossamer frozen-feathers blooming in an artic ballet. As the ball blossomed it slowed in its fall, tumbling almost gracefully through the open air before landing gently on the earth where it cracked open upon the stones.
Snow and ice poured from the frozen center, blanketing the clinging scrubs from the valley in frigid dew. Stepping out from the center came the body of Rexx, piloted by Syman and wearing the legendary crown. Ber-Wyf emerged, finding that the tumble had somehow warped (or transmuted, had Ber-Wyf been smart enough to articulate the word) her body into the form of a small, understandably irate, penguin. The penguin, who Syman referred to as Gertrude, glared frostily at the new co-pilot of her master’s body, though her icy daggers were unable to penetrate the obliviously mad hide of the once-more corporeal ice-king. He danced and skipped with delight, trying several times to click his ankels together, failing each time and falling flat on his face.
Not even the cackles of wicked spirits could taint the euphoria coursing through Syman’s newly-won body. Freezing the surface of a pond into perfect stillness Syman wiped frost away to use the solid plane of water for a mirror, taking stock of his bod’; Thick, bulging muscles weighed-down much of the form, an extravagance the wizard Syman had scarcely been able to comprehend in his walking life. He grinned sharp yellow teeth at himself, the massive beard obscuring much of the rest of his body behind its bushy bulk.
“Now this won’t do, won’t do at all this won’t” Syman muttered softly to himself as he appraised the various loot Rexx had formerly possessed. He continued to ramble nonsensically as he dumped the contents of Rexx’s pack onto the pond’s surface, shrugging out of the too-heavy chainmail before realizing the beastly-man inhabitant prior hadn’t bothered wearing any undergarments. “This will probably need a remedy, Gertrude, who wants to see an old man’s potato?” Syman shouted power down his unresisting limbs and ice, frost, sleet, slush, and snow all began to swirl together, blending in artic harmony until the frigid water had formed a massive ice-centipede which thrashed about in newly bequeathed life.
Scooping up Gertrude the penguin under one arm Syman leapt onto the iceipede’s back and jabbed his heels into its frosty chitinous folds, urging it forward toward Dennovar and the legendary Hall of Heroes. As he they scuttled across the plains at blinding speed a storm of centuries of pent-up ice magic began to unfold, the sky darkening with heavy grey clouds loaded with flakes in the wake. Though the ride had taken several days riding bear-back, the untiring iceipede hauled thorax across the empty plains and reached Dennovar by the following sun rise.
After the first terrified scream from a guard and a volley of bolts raining from the battlements Syman had the good sense to dissolve the iceipede, the eruption of frost blanketing the farmlands in a thin white powder. He approached the city’s walls slowly, on foot, though the madness within him was enough to cause him to walk, hop, skip, crab-dance, and eventually samba up to the gate guard. The over-confused guard was nearing the end of his rope already, and by the time he espied Gertrude’s futile struggles to become disentangled with the monstrous beard he felt as though he was staring into the void of madness.
‘Er…Halt?” A slightly more composed guard at the gate ventured; Syman turned a patented radiant smile on him, assuming the guise of the Nice King he used when speaking with non-adventurers.
“Hello-sir-it’s-me-Mister-Grrramblington-very-busy-man-about-town-dontchaknow-no-time-to-chat-cabbeges-to-be-de-eyed-and-such-truly-lovely-byeeeee!” All of this was shouted to the guards as Syman breezed past them in a chilly gale. He knew the city, even if it had been years. He dropped a few snow-minions, mostly snow-crabs and snow-geese, as a deterrent for anyone trying to follow him. Still clutching Gertrude he tapped into a deep well of power to allow his beard to fly him over the roofs of the sleeping city, a trickle of snow billowing out behind them.
Syman touched-down in the garden he recognized from the sky as the façade for the Hall of Champions; he let out a shriek of disbelief when he discovered the charred wreckage of the hall cordoned off from the rest of the city. Fire had clearly devoured the bones and flesh of the building, and all that stood now as the testament to heroes passed was a ruined pit of ashes. Syman unleashed frigid blind fury into the churning clouds above, bolts of ice hissing through the night air to send mana crackling in angry patterns over the looming sky, the snow becoming a bitter hail as it pelted over the cobblestones.
Just then a strong, slender hand clenched over the wrist of Syman, shaking his fury from him. He turned to a familiar face; Amyria gazed up at his towering form, grief welling in her eyes. Her soft voice was saddened, reproachful. “Oh Syman, you’ve stolen another one. You can’t keep running from your own body, old fool.” Though her words were harsh her body-language warmed as she spread her arms to accept Syman in an embrace. He sobbed into her sculpted shoulders, grief long-gone unexpressed shaking through him. Frozen beads of tears clinked down her simple cloak to shatter on the frozen sod beneath their feet.
“Princess Amy!” Syman wheezed, his age showing in his tone. “What happened to the hall!? Last I remember we had agreed to rest in our items should evil ever rise again? How were we so dispersed?” Amyria felt the madness shiver over Syman as the tears suddenly stopped and he picked up Gertrude and lifted her high in the air, calling her an ‘err-plain.’
“I weep to see the madness still holds you, dear friend,” Amyria replied, though no tears stained her perfect cheeks. “We were right to have stayed; evil has risen once more. Yet more cunning have they shown, as they first sought to disperse our allies before torching our sanctuary.”
“Whaaa?” Syman spun, rejoining the critical conversation. “What about Fonzie? Or surely Cut & Hammish haven’t turned tail?”
“My knowledge at this time is infuriatingly limited; whoever is acting against us has taken time to plan. Though I have been able to locate Khun-Bron I am afraid the other members elude me. But tell me, Syman; how did you come to possess this form? The shifter you have commandeered is from the party in whose care I have placed the Brightshield.”
Syman told Amyria (though the narrative wandered more than a child willfully lost to the forest) of all he knew; after what Amyria confirmed to be the theft of the Champions he was given to a foul Kenku-Blighter whose mind was too sharp to be dominated as Syman had assumed direct control of Rexx. The kenku, Blight, used his power to imprison and enslave the tribe of shifters before foolishly attempting to pawn off the power onto Rexx, as Amyria informed Syman he was so-called.
“After that, it was a simple shwoop-zwap-fwooo and I was here.” Syman turned to face the hall after his long exposition. “Good Graces! Princess Amy! The Hall of Champions has been destroyed!? Who could have done this??!!” Amyria attempted to re-jog Syman’s memories, but the psychic trauma he had endured while still (or at least, more so) alive had left his capacity for memory a tattered patchwork. She explained everything twice more until it appeared to have settled and been accepted by the icy void of Syman’s mind.
“Syman dear, listen to princess now,” Amyria instructed. She hated to indulge in his regal fantasies (in which he referred to any female as Princess and most elves as well regardless of gender), but knew him well enough to be confident that a Princess’ command would not be easily forgotten in the blizzard; “You must seek out your old clown compatriot. Acquire your relics. The Party to whom your body belongs, and in whose care I have entrusted Brightshield, has journeyed to the Temple Between. You must find the entrance here in Dennovar after becoming equipped and aid them however you can. I have had visions that however the looming evil will rear its foul head this party will be integral to its defeat. Can you do this for me, Ice King?” Amyria pleaded, hoping her faith wasn’t misplaced and that Syman’s mind hadn’t further degraded after centuries in solitude inside the crown.
“You can count on us, Princess!” Syman offered a luminous salute as snow cascaded in his silhouette.
