Enter Hogard Sunderfist

[Alex Mercer]

"Bah. Can't believe ya just gave up on yer quest! Ya coulda' been sit'n in tha Mithr'l Halls, gulp'n mead with th' King'm self!"

Hogard grumbled. He stares into his tankard, sloshing the cheap ale over the edges with gentle sways. His dwarven gut demanded the brew, but his mind was already too numbed to risk any more debilitation. "I wanted to live." That was the simplest answer, but he doubted his drunken friend would accept it. Hogard was not the most battle-worthy Dwarf, and he knew that. Too many years shirking his training had left him subpar. He had chosen to spend his time sneaking off with friends, sneaking ale before he had even an inch on his chin. Troublemaking, generally, but all in good fun. It was not that he disliked fighting, there was nothing like taking down one of those ugly, smelly, stupid trolls. He was just... a bit short sighted.

The drunken dwarf next to Hogard just laughed. "But wha' kinda life are ya liv'n, if ya just run'n all th'time, ehh?" He was speaking low as he could manage so that no one overheard him. Despite the alcohol causing his whisper to be more a raspy rumble, the commotion in the tavern kept it pretty well cloaked. "All ya need is a good ol' weapon, an' a few hunt'n buddies." The older dwarf brought a hand down against Hogard's shoulder in thundering pats of consolation. "Yer young. You'll find yer place soon anuff."

The force of the gesture shook him, but he was used to it. "I hope so. Here, have one on me. I'm not feeling up to drinking tonight." The tankard was sat in front of his friend as he stood. Hogard gave him a returned heavy-handed thump before turning for the door. 

"Jus' remember what I said, m'boy..." The concerned words of an elder, if Hogard ever heard any.



Hogard decided to take a long walk to clear his head. Eventually he found himself standing in the snow. Bitter cold wind gnawed at his cheeks and threatened to pierce the warmth of his short beard to bite at his chin. He squinted to look around, but saw little in the ups and downs of white. A guard here, a rock there... Could have been a guard, if I hadn't been so foolish. He was sure the word he was actually looking for was childish, but in his self-scolding, he did not want even the ability to rationalize. He was a child, childish in any other culture would have been fine. But not here; he was foolish.

Every step crunched in the snow as he walked. The sound, when combined with the roaring of wind in his ears, deafened the world around him. He did not wonder too far, he knew better than that. If a troll band attacked, he could call out to the guards and start a chain of warnings all the way back to Dwarfholm in a matter of moments. Was that why he instinctively came out here? To play Guard? No. He honestly had no idea why he felt he had to be alone. Probably just a melodramatic mood urging him to be... well... dramatic... 

Something sundered his thoughts. There was a sound that did not fit. A wet slurp. The next thing he noticed was his foot: it was stuck. His gaze dropped swiftly. Just beneath a thin layer of snow was something thick and squishy. "By all the damned nations! What beast set this trap!" Stepping in dung would have been the perfect way to make this day worse. Luckily, it was not dung. Sadly, it was potentially much worse. The flash of anger quickly turned to fear as the substance began to creep up his leg.

"What trickery is this?!" His first instinct was to step back and try to yank his foot free. The mass follows, pulled free from the snow. It slowly continued to creep up his leg, with something hard and sharp scraping along his thick leggings. "Begone! Begone!" 

Panic had set in firm when he heard the faintest whisper. "I don't want to die." All at once, the slime goes limp, its form sliding back down into the snow, after echoing the words of the old scout.

[Alex Mercer]

Six Hours Earlier: 

Through the odd gate it seemed the entire world simply changed, like a veil rested between whatever this was, and whatever it had just left. The Kyltar was not exactly displeased, the bitter cold was some remnant of a long lost home. It rolled through the snow, its trail slowly being swallowed by fresh powder. It knew not where to go, only that it needed to get away from this gate, in case the gun-wielding man decided to follow after he finished licking his wounds.

Zenith's blob-like form rolled aimlessly through the snow, collecting some of the mass as it went. At first, it melted, adding fresh water, a perfect way to hydrate. Then, as the slime's temperature lowered, it started to cling. Every now and then it would have to stop and shake, lest it become a massive rolling snowball, blinded by the packed powder. The stroll was relaxing. Emotions faded till all that was left was a desire to find a host.

Trudge-rolling along became even easier when the lumpy ground beneath the snow gave way to a near flat plane. Zenith rolled on, gathering and shaking of snow here and there. Had it any more awareness of the dire situation it was in, it might have been more cautious. Crackle... Zenith had just stopped and given a shake to free itself of gathered snow, when the ground fell from beneath it. It sank into the frigid waters beneath the ice.

Self preservation was quick to snap in. Its form reached out to stick to the entrance, keeping it from sinking. It felt the surface of its body become slowly more rigid as it began to freeze. That did not help anything. One heave, it was back to the surface. Two heaves, most of its mass was near one edge of the hole. Three heaves, it was half out of the water. Four heaves, it was entirely back on the ice. Memories formed, inherited from a past host. She watched a lot of survival shows... Like the man on the television, the symbiote flattens itself as much as its rigid form could, to distribute its weight.

It then slowly continued on its wandering path, crackling as its frozen surface fought to keep the water from freezing solid. It needed a warm body - soon.

[Alex Mercer]

Four Hours Earlier
The frozen tundra was unforgiving. The flat world seemed to stretch on forever – or the complete white-out had the symbiote traveling in never ending circles. It was not only direction made more difficult, but movement was growing slower by the passing moment. Zenith’s mostly liquid form was starting to freeze. Only its constant movement kept it from completely solidifying.
 
Time became a new enemy. The cold would not have been so bad, if there was not so much water. Zenith’s body normally did not freeze, but falling through the ice had drenched it. More water was mixing its way into the creature’s body, drastically lowering its freezing point. One of his past Hosts would have suggested a gentle heating stone, or sunbathing. There was no fire around, and it seems the sun has forsaken this world.
 
More traveling meant it would collect more snow. More snow mixing in with its form meant it would freeze faster. Stopping would collect no snow, but it meant it could no longer keep ice from forming internally. The Symbiote was damned if it moved, damned if it did not. The only option in the end was to keep trudging along, in hopes of finding a proper host.
 
The ice was another enemy. Each time the symbiote stopped to shake off some of the ice gathered around its surface, the ice would crackle and threaten to give way beneath it. Keeping its form spread out was taxing, it did not seem to be as amorphous as it once was. The symbiote was not enjoying this new world. Not one bit.
 
Change was welcome. When the flat world suddenly had curves, the symbiote struggled up the snowy slope. It was then, the creature discovered the first sign of life in this world. Prowling through the snow, not ten yards from its form, a large feline peered at it.
 
The feline’s fur was startling white with speckling of black. The Symbiote’s first sign of life in this arctic tundra happened to be nothing other than a snow leopard. Curious, the big cat padded closer, almost circling the squishy black mass.
 
Zenith had to keep moving. Since the living creature did not attack, it sloshed forward, its amorphous form crunching as formed ice Is broken. The large cat twitched at the sound, but only for a moment. As it rolled away, the feline followed. The Symbiote was not quite right to the cat; not prey, but not another predator. It was such a curious thing...

[Alex Mercer]

Three Hours Earlier

Moving had become so difficult. So much ice had formed inside the Symbiote that moving was more shifting the chunks inside itself to roll forward. The large feline was becoming braver, moving in to sniff and even paw at Zenith. Every now and then it would move the Symbiote in the direction it wanted to go, but normally it hampered its travels, pushing it off course if not simply backwards. The creature quivered in aggitation, but the feline was not being hostile. Zenith would much prefer this roadblock than one toting another gun.

The interactions of the large feline were getting strange. As time rolled on, the Symbiote slowed. Each time the creature stopped, the large feline would move in close and nuzzle its near solid form. Zenith would just roll around the large cat and continue on, but the feline was persistent and Zenith was growing too weary to continue trudging on. The snow leopard had followed it for going on an hour, and the distance they crossed together was not very great, but the quadruped still lingered.

Exhaustion finally overtook the symbiote. It was starved, mostly frozen and still wounded from the attack hours before. It stopped moving, for what it felt would be the final time. Its form deflated slightly, as much as it could with the frozen chunks mixed in with its amorphous mass. The snow leopoard again nuzzled it. This time, it could not trudge on. It quivered in response, but it simply could not move.

The leopard laid there with it.

The snow had stopped falling and the air was still. The ground was still cold, but the warmth of the warm-blooded mammal next to it was comforting. Slowly, Zenith's mass pressed wider across the furry side of the beast. The warmth was welcoming, and the feline willingly gave it. Had the creature its telepathic qualities, it would thank the beast.

From the depths of its genetic memory an idea formed. Zenith had bonded with humans so many times it had forgotten that almost every living creature could be a potential host. It needed only a brain... and the large predator indeed had what Zenith needed. Warmth... Sustenance... Mobility... Zenith's form slowly began to spread across the creature. The oily mass mingled with the fur. For a moment, the beast allowed it, but when the symbiote had taken nearly half of its form, it was restless. It tried to scoot itself away from the mass, but that did little good. The symbiote had no hostile intent, no scent of pheromones or fangs to bare. The leopard's restlessness did not advance, but it did not settle as it was slowly overtaken - at lest till the slime reached up its thick neck.

As Zenith creeped closer to taking the head, which it left as last, the feline stood, shaking as if to free itself of the clinging mass. It had no effect. Soon, the leopard was completely overtaken by the symbiote. The salt-and-pepper fur of the beast was now a glossy black carapace. The long tail was further elongated and ended in a tip. Its head was surrounded by the mass, but it could still breath normally as air was filtered through the slime.

Bonding to a creature like this was foreign. Since landing on Earth, Zenith has bonded primarily with ordinary humans. This creature's mind was so much simpler, very rudimentary. It had no desires for greatness and so few worries. Humans were always riddled with worry, usually about things that did not really matter. This beast was so ... refreshing. Not just refreshing, it was almost enlightening. Zenith could relate to this mind more than any human before. This was pure instinct.

The Symbiote did its thing. As it slowly invaded the creatures mind, it increased the release of dopamine and adrenaline. Slow at first, too much might shock the poor beast. The effects begin almost immediately. Adrenaline gets the blood pumping faster, more warmth. The crunch exterior of the beast slowly softens back into a sleek liquid coating. The dopamine kept it calm, and opened its mind. The sleek black leopard bounds around in the snow, unable to sit still and easily excitable, like a little kitten. So care free...

Delving into the beast's memories, the Symbiote could see that this animal was a mother at one point in time. Her cubs had grown up and ventured off, but she still had that maternal instinct. With her progeny gone, she has been alone for some time. With the environment being so hostile, food was scarce. It was hard to find another predator that did not run her from its territory. She could not play with her prey, life did not work like that. The slime was neither predator nor prey. She had quickly taken an interest, hoping to sate her playful nature.

Both personalities just clicked, and Zenith enjoyed the change of pace. The playfulness was definitely a pleasant emotion to experience. For a moment, Zenith completely forgot its troubles and just enjoyed the way the leopard played. Eventually, the beast just started running, stretching its body with each stride, its speed enhanced by the symbiote. All was fun and games, when playing in the snow.

[Alex Mercer]

Two Hours Earlier

The symbiotic relationship that had formed was wonderful. Between Zenith and the leopard, there was a perfect synergy, one that did not involve complex emotions or a drive to do anything. The run they had embarked on an hour ago was still underway, though the pace had slowed considerably. The she-leopard was panting, gulping down air filtered through the mask-like structure the slime had created. Zenith had lowered the adrenaline, and constantly reduced the lactic acid buildup in the beast's muscles, staving off fatigue.

Sudden stop; they had come to a road block. The path they traveled, in between two steep hills, was blocked by a solitary guard. The massive mound of meat had tusks, despite appearing mostly humanoid. Zenith had never met such a creature and the leopard did not know language, so it could not gleam much from her. They stalked from a distance, peering at the ugly monstrous man-thing. It did not look pleasant. Its face littered with scars, the numerous grimy furs draped over its shoulders and tied around its waist were filthy. The crude but massive club in its hand rested idly against the ground. The creature was clearly ready for a fight.

A moment of peering and a sudden urge rises from the leopard. She had taken notice of a particular pelt. It was that of a snow leopard. Zenith had been probing memories from the leopard, and it recognized from them the pattern on the pelt. It was one of her cubs. Through this symbiotic relationship, there was a feedback. Suddenly, the leopard remembered this as well. Rage filled the beast's mind. Zenith could not maintain the mental bond for long, lest it suffer mentally.

Enforcing her control, the leopard rushed the troll. She was not quiet, the adrenaline and dopamine running through her clouded the predator's better judgement. The troll spotted her immediately. Just as the massive feline leaps, claws bared, the troll lifts his mighty club and swings. The bulk of wood connects to the Symbiote's left side, absorbing most of the damage, but the impact sent it sideways. They slam into the side of the wall. The twin impacts leave Zenith's host veering. The Symbiote insisted they turn back, but all mental connection had been severed.

The troll comes in for a second swing, aiming straight down towards the leopard's head. As quickly as the battle had begun, a sickening Crunch ended it. The troll chuckled at the twitching mass at his feet. Reaching down, he attempts to clutch the odd creature by the throat. Still in shock from the situation and new injuries, the creature replied as instinct instructed. It slithered from the deceased host to the new potential candidate.

Grunts and a confused look were the troll's response to this odd slithering mass. He let go, but Zenith was already clinging to his arm. He goes to wipe it off, as if it were just splattered blood. The moment he does, after dropping his club, there is an instant wave of regret. The creature is now creeping up both arms. Confused, startled and not the brightest of trolls, he struggles. With all his might, the troll riped his arms free, one by one, before slamming the pitiful creature on the ground.

He grabbed the club from the snow and grips it solidly between two hands. The trembling ball of slime was still stunned as the club rose up, then came down with an arc. The troll laughed mockingly as the club dug into the snow, slamming into the Symbiote's side, and sending it rocketing away. The corpse of the she-leopard was left behind after the Troll's powerful line drive sent it sailing further up the mountain.

[Alex Mercer]

Present Time

What is it?

Hogard had never heard of such a creature roaming the Frozen Fields. The invasion of his mind put him on edge, but the words, the emotion that the invasion held... it was intense. The raw feeling was not falsified that he could tell, this creature was genuinely afraid for its life. That made it sentient, right?

Could it be a prime?

If that were true, what was it trying to do with him? Feed, maybe? Maybe not, though. And maybe it was not feeding maliciously. Hogard's first reaction had been to sneak the odd mushy mass to his abode for further questioning. If it was a threat, it had to be dealt with. If it was a young prime, bullied by the trolls that roamed the mountains, he and this blob had a common enemy. What better ally to have than a Prime, after all?

The slime remained inert for a while. During that time, Hogard poured it into a clay pot and sat it near the fire. Some of the hard objects in the creature appeared to be frozen chunks of accumulated snow and its own mass. An hour in, a few scraps of metal surface, ejected by the Prime's slow healing. "Seem's you've had a rough time..." Bullets had a Coruscant feel to them, but a lot of Primes run around with such weapons. The odd shrapnel had him at a loss.

The dwarf sat and waited. The longer he waited, the more curious he became. Eventually, he was kneeling beside the pot and peering down into its contents. The slime quivered once in a while, but for the most part it was as if it had fallen asleep. Fainted might be a better term, all things considere. Hogard almost felt sorry for the poor thing. The key word though, was almost. He was still very cautious of this potential threat.

Finally boredom caught up with him. Hogard rose and thundered his way to the kitchen for a late night snack and a well needed tankard to clear his thoughts and keep his mind open. He was always more accepting - even gullible - when drunk. At this point he hoped it meant he would jump to the wrong conclusion, or at least if he did he could blame the alcohol, not his character. Either way, it was an excuse to quench his thirst and dull his mind in one swoop.

Once again, he returned to waiting. The large drumstick and small wedge of cheese alongside his tankard made sitting and staring a bit more bearable. When that was gone and still no change, he stretched out along the floor with a grumbling breath. "Are you just going to sleep all night?" And deprive me of mine, he mentally added. He received no response.

Eventually, he fell asleep, hand propping up his head, eyes too heavy to hold open. His last memory is of the inert slime and the pain of boredom drilling into his skull.

[Alex Mercer]

The slow malignant growth that was reality penetrated Hogard's slumber. His dreams of odds and ends came to an abrupt halt when his groggy mind conjured the image of black slime. As quick as a whip, with a matching snap of his back - for which he thanked the hard stone floor - his gaze fell to the clay pot. He breathed a sigh of relief when it was still home to the enigmatic creature. He did notice that the top of the slime was littered with ejected shrapnel, and quite a bit of it. If he was helping nurse the poor... thing... back to health, he might as well go the extra distance.

With a grunt, Hogard rolled to his feet. He set off to the kitchen for his set of tongs and breakfast. The latter was a simple, cold hunk of fowl left over from yesterday's dinner. Just as he cut through the last inch of meat, he heard an unsettling sound. Metal against stone. The light tinkling of shrapnel, he deduced. A chill ran up his spine. Breath, Hogard. Be calm... no cause for alarm... The self-coaxing did little to help.

As calm as he could manage, Hogard returned to the pot. Sure enough, the mass had seemingly awoken, and was - from what Hogard could tell - peeking over the side of the pot. It just sat there. Hogard got the sense that it was watching him. For a moment it felt menacing, but when he forced back fear and approached, it ducked. It's afraid of ... me?

Fear slowly melted away to pity. Hogard, as well as many others, saw himself as a jolly fellow. His long beard was braided with many colorful beads and his cheeks always had a ruddy red tint as if he had laughed for a few hours too many. He was very rarely called an intimidating man.

"Easy... I won't hurt you..." As an offering of peace, he inched closer and sat the torn turkey breast on the floor, just outside of the clay pot. After a few seconds, the creature showed no interest. So it isn't carnivorous... He was expecting it to devour the cooked flesh after it had tried to swallow him.


Zenith's instinct was to flee. This world has been nothing but cruel and hateful. However, something held it here. The warm clay pot was a great contrast to the icy tundra that had frozen its form. The fire was a safe distance away that it did not boil. And this man... he was using such a gentle tone. He even offered food, though... the human form of sustenance did not interest the symbiote. For the moment, Zenith simply began pulling the shrapnel up along its surface, then dumping them out of the clay pot it currently claimed as a safe zone.


When the creature remains in the pot, Hogard sighed. Maybe it doesn't understand? But if that were true, how did it speak earlier? The questions piled up, but no answers came. When it started moving the metal scraps out and dumping them on the floor, it seemed intelligent enough. Maybe it was little more than an animal? Could animals be considered Primes? That would be both interesting and terrifying. No telling what a wild animal prime would do. But if it was an animal, how could it speak? Its level of intelligence was so confusing, especially to a dwarf who hardly questioned such things before.