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The thunder rumbles real loud in his mind. GROG STRONGJAW, it says.
It’s been there for a while, kinda just crackling around, mostly when he gets big. The talking’s new. And it knows his name, which is a little weird, ‘cause he doesn’t remember introducing himself to any storms.
Pike made him promise not to talk to voices in his head. So he’s not. It could be a sword.
It doesn’t feel like a sword, is the thing. The first sword was sneaky, and slimy, kinda, like a big pile of guts, and when it talked it made Grog feel hungry, not just his belly but his brain too. And even with all the learning he’s been doing since they took down the Whispered One, his brain ain’t normally hungry. The other sword was even worse. It told him to lie to Pike.
So if the voice in his head’s a sword, Grog’s not listening to it. It doesn’t sound like a sword. It sounds like him screaming in eagle form, and a bunch of horses running real fast all at once.
I HAVE NEED OF YOUR HELP, it says. Grog looks at the guy next to him. He’s kinda scrawny, but it’s what you get when you train with monks.
“Hey. D’you hear that?”
The monk cracks open an eye and gives him a dirty look. Then he shakes his head. He’s got some vow of sayance going on, so he doesn’t talk to Grog, or anyone else either. He punches good enough that Grog doesn’t care most times.
“Sorry,” Grog says out loud, just to be polite. “I’m not supposed to listen to voices in my head.”
I AM NO VOICE, it says, louder, closer, like being in the center of the arena when everyone’s cheering real loud. I AM THE STORMLORD.
It’s louder than the other swords were. They liked to be sneaky. Grog’d rather deal with a not-sneaky sword, he guesses, except it’s still hard to punch. YOU BEAR MY VESTIGE.
“Right,” Grog resolves. Stormsword or no Stormsword, he’s got work to do. The arena’s all busted up from his last bout with the Earthbreaker, and he won’t get to fight another one ‘til he’s cleaned it all. So he drags the rake across the dust to pick up all the little rocks in the temple yard.
It’s supposed to be meditative, the Earthbreaker keeps on saying. It’s gonna make him real strong if he gets good at it. Grog’s not stupid. He knows moving little rocks doesn’t make you strong. You’ve gotta move big rocks for that. It’s one of those things, like Keyleth staring into puddles or Pike lighting candles at night before she goes to bed. He still doesn’t get it, really, but he’s only been in Vasselheim for six months. And Pike and Keyleth and the Earthbreaker are all real smart, so maybe it’s good for something.
The rake bounces off a pebble and sends it flying into the stands. It pings off a railing and flies back down towards the quiet monk, hitting him in the head.
He opens his eyes and flips Grog off.
Grog flips him off too. It’s bonding. Vows to shut up don’t mean he can’t make a new friend.
The voice goes away, then, but it keeps on bothering him, day after day.
When he’s laying on his pallet, staring at the ceiling and wondering where Pike’s gone.
GROG STRONGJAW, SON OF STONEJAW.
When he’s eating in the mess hall.
HEAR ME.
When he’s just about got the difference between d and b, ‘cause one of them’s facing east, except he turns the paper and then it’s facing west and he can’t tell again.
I AM THE STORMLORD.
When he’s carrying a whole armful of timber for rebuilding.
YOU BEAR MY VESTIGE.
When he’s in the ring, Knuckles activated, twice his size and taking hits from the Earthbreaker, one after another, teeth gritted in a smile.
YOU ARE MY CHAMPION.
It’s kinda nice, actually. He’s been getting real lonely. Vex and Percy are growing a baby in Whitestone, so they aren’t visiting. Pike’s out traveling with Scanlan, which is great, ‘cause she needs a break after all the hard work she put in healing people who got hurt from the Titan. Scanlan’s traveling with Pike. Keyleth’s not coming within a hundred miles of the City of the Gods, Divine Gate or no, and Grog can walk through trees by himself but they don’t lead anywhere but the other side of the tree unless Keyleth’s there. And Vax is dead.
So the voice in his head’s kind of nice. He’s not allowed to talk to it, but he likes it when the voice talks to him. It keeps telling him it needs him, and he’s strong, and all kinds of things a man likes to hear.
Then Pike comes back through town, just for one day, to say hi. The Everlight temple’s mostly restored, so she doesn’t have to come so often. She’s coming just for Grog.
She finds him out at one of the build sites in the Proving Grounds. He’s been doing a lot of lifting big rocks lately, but it’s all for building new stuff. The part of the recovery where he got to rage and finish off the buildings the Titan hurt is pretty much over. This is less fun than that, but he’s working hard when he sees her.
She’s a lil’ golden speck, in her shiny armor, and the sun glints off her like it’s welcoming her home.
Grog drops the beam he’s holding up and runs at her, lifts her up high and spins her around over his head. Behind him, the beam crunches down: one of the little monk guys yelps real loud as it falls onto his toes.
“Grog!” Pike says, spitting the hair out of her face. “Buddy! How are you? How’s the writing going?”
He sets her back on her feet. “Real good,” he boasts. “I can tell Vax and Vex’s names apart now.” He sniffs disdainfully. “Even though they should be switched, ‘cause Vax’s name has the feathers over his head in books, or it has the braid if you write it, and Vex is the one who has those.”
Pike gets real quiet for a second, the same way everyone else in Vox Machina does whenever Vax’s name gets mentioned. Grog’s sad too, but he doesn’t let it stop him from remembering. Vox makes sense, ‘cause when Grog looks at the center of the word it looks whole.
Then she notices she’s getting sad and gives him a big smile that’s only a little fake. “I’m proud of you,” she says, and that sounds real.
“Let’s go get lunch.” Grog puffs out his chest. “I’ll pay.” He never used to, ‘cause Vex carried all the money, but every week the Braving Grounds Restore-mation Project gives him a pocketful of silver to carry around for carting the heavy shit.
Pike tells him all about where she’s been on the way, and Grog’s kinda jealous, ‘cause he misses adventures. Except they walk to his favorite pub, and he points out all the buildings he carried the timber for, and he’s proud of that too.
“Oh, and,” he admits, when his drink comes, ‘cause Pike’s the one he’s supposed to tell about all this shit, “there’s another voice in my head. Real rumbly. Kind of like a big rainstorm.”
She freezes.
“It’s asking me to do stuff. Nice stuff, mostly! But it says it needs my help.”
“Fuck,” Pike says, scrambling for her holy symbol. She keeps it on her waist now, and not around her neck, so it takes her a second to find. Then she puts her hand on Grog’s forehead (he leans down so she can reach) and a shiny bright light washes all over him, and apart from needing to sneeze he doesn’t feel different at all.
He sneezes.
Pike’s got her big worried eyes on. “It—I don’t think the Greater Restoration worked. We need to go to the sanctuary of the Platinum Dragon. The Sword of Kas should still be sealed away, but it—”
“Oh,” Grog says. “Not Kas. It keeps calling itself the Stormward.”
“The Stormlord?”
“Yeah. ‘S what I said.”
She gets real quiet again then. It’s kinda like the quiet after Vax gets mentioned, only Pike’s still got her holy symbol in her hand, turning it over and over again.
Grog finishes his drink.
Pike looks up at him. “That’s a god, Grog.”
“Oh, good. I was worried it was a sword.”
She just stares at him, open-mouthed. “Is there anything else that’s been happening? Any omens, any signs, any dreams?”
He’s got dreams, all right. The kind where there’s a big scary monster, and Grog gets there, and he kicks ass until the monster’s a pile of blood and guts and everyone who was hiding and afraid cheers. But those are normal. Everyone gets those dreams. “Nope.” He flicks a booger off his finger, and it lands square in the center of the dart board. “Maybe the ones where I’m a big hero who saves everyone got more thunder to them. It makes a cool soundtrack. I shoulda made myself dream that shit before.”
“Fuck,” Pike says again, like he didn’t get it the first time. Then she stands up and walks out of the pub, which is rude, ‘cause the food isn’t here yet and Grog’s hungry enough that one beer isn’t enough for him. But it’s Pikey, so he gets up and leaves a handful of money on the table and goes anyway.
She’s staring up at the big tree in the middle of the city, the one that makes the Sun Tree look piddly. It looks like a little baby tree next to the shadow of the Earth Titan. “I haven’t—” she sighs. “Grog, I haven’t communed directly with the Everlight since the last battle. Scanlan hasn’t talked to the Knowing Mistress, and I don’t think Vex has heard from the Dawnfather, either.”
“Right.” It makes sense, kind of. They all got together and helped ‘cause the Whispered One needed killing, and now he’s killed, they’re quiet again. Put in god jail. Whatever it was they did. Grog stabbed him through the heart with one of them Divine Rambles, so he’s not coming back, anyway. “So… why’s the Stoneforged talking to me now?”
“Still the Stormlord.” She sighs. Her little shoulders go up and down, and Grog scoops her up and puts her on his shoulder. “I don’t know. What do you think?”
He loves it when Pike asks him that. Nobody else ever does. “Well,” he says, real slow, thinking hard about it, “he keeps saying he needs me. And I guess the part of the dreams where there are people scared before I get there are new. Maybe he’s recruising.” He shrugs, and Pike has to hold onto him tight so she doesn’t fall off. “Now I know he’s not gonna take over my brain and use me to try and kill you like all the other stuff that talks in my head, maybe I’ll do it.”
FINALLY, the voice thunders.
“Shut up,” Grog tells it back. “I didn’t promise nothing.” He pauses. “What do you think, Pike?”
“I don’t know, buddy,” she says. She sounds frustrated, and kinda confused, which is how Grog feels whenever the gods shit comes up. It’s good to be on the same page. Which is where words are, together. It’s real useful to be able to read. “I—we did a lot for them already. The Stormlord didn’t show up against the Whispered One. It’s not like we had the time to ask him, but - we saved their asses, you know? And they didn’t save ours.” She sniffles, and rubs her nose with the back of her gauntlet. “I love the Everlight, and I know she loves me. But—”
“Yeah,” he agrees, ‘cause he’s also been thinking about the way Vox Machina said goodbye. “But… he’s asking now. He keeps saying he has a task, or I have his vestmage, or he needs my help. I keep getting dreams about beating shit up where there’s someone scared behind the shit that needs beating, and when I wake up I wanna go help them.” Pike’s quiet, so he keeps on going. “Maybe he’s doing it ‘cause he can’t save them himself. Gods can’t do shit here, right? That’s why we shoved the new one out the gate. Maybe he’s trying to send me ‘cause we’re all we’ve got, and we’ve gotta save each other.”
“Okay,” Pike says, from his shoulder, where she’s always fit. “Yeah, Grog. I think I like that. It—it’d be nice, if that was how the gods showed us they cared.”
“I dunno about your god,” he says, even though the Everlight seems pretty cool, and she’s Pike’s goddess, so she can’t be too bad. “But I think I’ve done enough not-listening.”
She hugs his neck. “You let me know when he calls,” Pike promises, “and I’ll be there, okay? You and me, just like old times, fucking shit up and saving some people along the way.”
Grog sets her down gently, and shakes her little hand with his big one, the way Percy makes all his agreements. He’s got a title to maintain, after all. “Promise.”
That night, the thunder rolls into his dreams. Grog’s got his knuckles, and his axe, and he’s staring down a whole tangle of snakes with one body that keep hissing at what looks like a group of crying humans in ragged clothes.
MY CHAMPION, the voice cries, and it sounds like the roar when he fell out of the sky at Kevdak, the blazing surety of knowing what he’s got to do to protect the people he cares about, all of Westruun or Pop-Pop or Vox Machina counting on him.
Grog smashes together the Titanstone Knuckles, and he gets big. “Fuck yeah.”
The snake-monster rushes towards him, and he doesn’t flinch when lightning crackles down his arms and strengthens his strikes.
He wakes up.
“I’ve gotta go,” he tells the monk on watch duty. “Be back when I save the world.”