Episode 11 - Say Anything!

🎙️ Borkum the Battler is an epic audio adventure steeped in the rich, immersive world of Dungeons & Dragons-style storytelling. Join us for a high-stakes fantasy saga filled with dangerous quests, unlikely heroes, monstrous foes, and moments of raw humanity in the face of overwhelming odds. 

Follow Borkum, a reluctant warrior with a tragic past and a heart full of fire, as he rises from lowly adventurer to battlefield commander in a desperate fight for survival. Alongside his motley crew of spellcasters, rangers, and rogues, Borkum battles giants, outwits dark forces, and navigates treacherous alliances in a world where courage is forged in chaos. 

Each episode blends character-driven drama with thrilling action, heart-pounding combat, and the signature unpredictability of tabletop RPGs. If you love D&D, fantasy storytelling, or immersive audio adventures, this podcast is your next obsession. 

🔥 Whether you're here for the dragons or the drama, prepare to laugh, cry, and roll for initiative. Welcome to Borkum the Battler—where the dice decide destiny. 

Transcript

BORKUM THE BATTLER

Season 2, Episode 11: “Say Anything!”

I told the townsfolk to gather their weapons, put on any armor they had, and meet me back in the town square in one hour.

But first... we needed food.

We were starving. Bone-deep hungry. If someone had served us Red Dragon steak, we’d have eaten it without blinking. I do hear they taste like chicken.

We trudged back to the pub where it all started. The keeper, a portly man with a kind face, met us at the door. “No charge,” he said before I could ask. “Sit. Eat. We’ll square up later.”

The pub owner and his wife brought out plates heaping with food—warm, crusty bread, thick honey, yellow cheese, and roasted meats and beef ribs that glistened with juice.

We ate everything. We asked for seconds. Then thirds. The pubkeeper just kept smiling and bringing more.

For half an hour, no one spoke. We were too busy devouring every bite, too tired for words. It was our first real meal in days.

Then came the bell.

The town’s alarm rang out, slicing through the quiet like a blade. I stood up, still chewing, and said, “Keep eating. I’ll go check it out.”

My companions barely looked up, too locked in on their plates.

“You’re doing great work,” Brindle called after me, with that familiar grin. Half-serious. Half-teasing. He knew I’d stepped into a role I wasn’t prepared for.

Out in the square, villagers were gathering. Some were armed; others just looked lost. They were staring toward the horizon.

Fires.

Multiple fires, dancing orange against the night. White smoke drifted in like ghostly fingers, the scent of burning wood hung heavily.

“What is happening?” I asked a nearby villager.

“The outlying farms,” he said, pale-faced. “The giants. They’re setting them ablaze.”

The butcher who’d volunteered to fight ran up to me, breathless. “Borkum, we’ve got to ride out! We might still save them!”

People turned to me, waiting. Watching. Looking for answers.

I breathed deep.

“If we ride out now, we’re walking into a trap. It’s dark—they’ll see us long before we see them. They want us to chase them. And if we do, we’ll be slaughtered. We stay here. We fortify. We prepare. This village is our best shot at survival. I swear to you—by the old gods and the new—we will take the fight to them. At dawn.”

There were murmurs. Nods and reluctant agreement.

“That’s it, then,” someone whispered. “We’ve sacrificed the farmers.”

“No,” the butcher said firmly. “Borkum’s right. It’s hard—but it’s smart. We survive together. Borkum—what’s next?”

I didn’t feel like a leader. I barely felt like an adventurer.

“I want you to finish preparing. Meet me back here in an hour. Keep all lights dim. Blow out candles. Shutter the windows. Tonight, darkness is our ally.”

Back at the pub, I dropped into my seat.

“What happened?” Brindle asked.

“The outlying farms are burning. The villagers wanted to ride out and chase down the giants. I said no.”

“What?” Hawk Tuah said as she shot to her feet. “Those farmers will die out there!”

I didn’t respond. I just bit into another rib.

“Say something, Borkum. You just gonna sit there like a buffoon?” she shouted. “Say anything!”

Before I could speak, Lykxnzzl did.

“Hawk Tuah, this is likely an ambush. Ogres and wolves can see in the dark. We can’t. We don’t know their numbers. The villagers aren’t trained fighters. If we go now and give chase, we most likely will die.”

Hawk Tuah looked like she might explode—but then, slowly, she sat down. She put her head in her hands and I thought I heard sniffling.

“Hawk Tuah,” I said gently, “you, Brindle, and Elaria need to rest. Study and prepare your spells. Tomorrow, we need you. Lykxnzzl and I will go prepare the villagers.”

She nodded, silently.

Later, the pubkeeper let us sleep right there on the floor. He and his wife brought out wool blankets and feather filled pillows, my companions each made a nest on the hardwood floor, and settled in for the night. They quickly dozed off. The fire cracked quietly in the hearth.

Lykxnzzl and I met with our militia.

Thirty villagers. They had mismatched armor, old spears, a halberd, some bows, and one crossbow. Lykxnzzl inspected the archers. I gathered the rest.

“These aren’t warriors,” I thought. “These are shopkeepers. Toymakers. Grocers.”

I said, “Stay together. Watch each other’s backs. No heroes. If you stay and fight as one, you will be the safest.”

“Will you fight with us?” one asked.

“No,” I said. “I’ll be fighting alone. I have the giant leader’s maul—they’ll want it back. I’ll draw them to me. I need space to swing it, or I’ll hit one of you by mistake. You hold the line. Stick together. Let Edward and the archers cover you. And we have spellcasters. They may be our saving grace.”

Hope flickered in their eyes.

“Tonight, patrol in pairs. Keep watch. If anything happens—come get me. Or ring the alarm. But be ready. The giants will come. And I’ll be here, fighting beside you. I’m proud to stand with you.”

They cheered. Three times.

Lykxnzzl and I returned to the pub. He fell asleep immediately. I didn’t.

I lay there, eyes on the ceiling, thinking about the battle to come.

“Borkum,” came Hawk Tuah’s whisper, “are you awake?”

“Just thinking.” I replied.

“I’m sorry I lost it earlier. Do you think we’ll die tomorrow?”

I exhaled. “Every day, I pray to the old gods, the new gods—any god who’ll listen—that I’ll die in glorious battle. A death with honor. But no, I don’t think I’ll be that lucky.”

And then… I told her something I’d never shared before.

“I have this nightmare Hawk Tuah. It is always the same. I am looking down on a home, my home, and I see myself. I’m old. Feeble. Bedridden. There is a winter storm raging outside and I am in bed. Surrounded by my children—and their children. I can’t stand. I can’t lift a sword. I can’t even piss without help. I am dying and my family has come to say goodbye. Goodbye to an old man. That’s my greatest fear. Not death. But living too long. Becoming weak.”

Hawk Tuah was quiet. Then she leaned in and unexpectedly kissed me—lightly—on the lips.

“For luck, Borkum, for luck,” she whispered.

She curled up beside me. And as she drifted off, I heard her breathing—soft, rhythmic. Like a cat purring. It brought me pleasure to hear her sleeping.

“Good night, Hawk Tuah,” I whispered. “Sweet dreams.”

I lay there staring into the firelight, my eye lids became heavier and heavier, as I began searching the dreamworld for my ancestors, hoping they’d guide my hand come dawn.