hello pls enlighten me!!!
i dont really get it get it why people are hating golf as a sport ... nauunawaan na pang elitista sha (dahil sa presyo nga ng equipment at jusko, ung presyo lang ng paggamit ng course eh ang mahal na + the land grabbing shit) hindi kasi mawala sa side ko na as a sports advocate (dahil sa career ko rin ngayon) isa sa dream ko ay maging diverse and sports... yung ganyan ba na mawala ang stigma sa mga "elitist sports" like golf, tennis, archery etc. kasi nakakasad lang na puro vball bball ang pinipromote sa bansa.
so PLEASE PLEASE healthy discussion lang!! no judgement at all. i just want to be educated about this topic hehe thank you!!

Elitist Jerks, the guild from the forums, dates back to Vanilla WoW. Although the guild has gone through many iterations we still strive to clear the hardest content in a laid back atmosphere. We have continuously gotten CE throughout many expansions including clearing all mythic bosses in Dragonflight. We are looking for a few skilled players to round out our roster for TWW.
Class Needs: 1-2 healers of any class. 1-2 melee dps. 1-2 ranged dps.
Raid Times: Sunday, Monday, Tuesday 8:30-11:30 CST (9:30-12:30 EST). For season 4 of Dragonflight we are only raiding on Tuesday, taking a breather before TWW.
Requirements: A positive mindset towards raiding and hard encounters. Willingness to learn from mistakes and take constructive feedback. Current or prior mythic raiding or cutting edge experience preferred.
If you feel you would be a good fit for our raid feel free to reach out to me via DM on reddit, Gilga1 on discord, or Gilga#1352 on bent.

Hi fellow humans! I passed 3 exams from MS learn using Pearson platform. Being elitist jerk I am, I want to put badges in my e-mail signature. But the Credly badges seem to be discontinued ? I have no info in congratulation emails about shareable badges and the one from learn profile are not sharing ready. How to do it ?

Introduction

To start with, I want to clarify that this is coming from a place of passion, and I’m really trying to argue in good faith here. This is my attempt at giving thorough, honest feedback instead of hot takes and vitriol. Not everyone will agree with me here, but I’m hoping that spirit can continue. Just as a little background, I’m a data person and I’ve played a number of games casually and competitively across genres include MTG, WoW, various war-games, and I also coach a high school esports team in the spring. None of those things make my opinion any more or less valid, but I’m familiar with ideas like game theory, balance, and design, and ultimately I think most concepts in this space translate across genre well. As a side note, I’ll primarily be talking bugs because I know them better and don’t want to say anything incorrect about the bot side of things.
One of the big reasons I’m writing this is not just to make my own points, but to also suggest that there are a handful of distinct arguments happening over the eruptor right now and that they aren’t necessarily mutually exclusive. Namely, there’s an argument about the balancing of the gun relative to other primaries, and there’s also an argument about the design/mechanics of the gun and the change from shrapnel to just the AOE. I intend to make points on both arguments, but most important is I want to drive home that “I prefer the old design of the eruptor” and “the eruptor is viable as is” are not mutually exclusive arguments.
I think it’s important to step back and ask - what makes a game fun? What makes a game “well designed”? Where does “balance” fit into that? I bring this up because if we can’t agree on these terms, everything else is pointless(or at least we’ll be talking past each other a lot). I think that “fun” and “well designed” means a game where there are tense exciting moments, that I have the ability to make decisions and have critical moments as a player, and that my decisions on a moment to moment basis will affect my chance of success. The core gameplay loop should be interesting, there should be some variety to keep it fresh with different strategies, and I should be consistently rewarded for knowledge and skill and punished for mistakes. The game balance should provide an environment where trivially easy and impossibly hard situations are rare and not the norm. It’s not fun if you’re just going through the motions for a reward, and it’s also not fun to be in a failure spiral where you die 3 times in a row without the opportunity to make meaningful decisions.
Another important aspect of fun is player expression and tactical flexibility. People enjoy cosmetics because they like to stand out and be unique. People also enjoy being able to choose their play style and express themselves via their role. In the same way I might prefer to play a wizard in Pathfinder or main ranged DPS in WoW(fire mage/destro warlock for life), I might prefer to play Helldivers with a more stealthy approach, or where my kit excels at heavy weaponry, or where my kit excels at horde clearing. I might want to enjoy the game in a totally different way than another player in my party. If the game is designed well, both me and that person will have the ability to do that in a way that synergies and improves both of our experiences. These choices need to be meaningful and functionally different, both so that I can change the gameplay loop when things get stale and so that two people can have truly different roles instead of just different qualities at the same role.
In my opinion, in a game like Helldivers with no competition, the function of balance is primarily to create fun. It’s not that every gun needs to be balanced across every other gun, just that every gun needs to be balanced enough so that players can choose the mechanics that appeal to them and participate. Balance is an issue when a player option is so good or so bad as to remove the number of viable options from the pool. Balance is not an issue when a gun is simply a little better than another option in its class. There will always be a best gun, and some players will pick it and others will pick what they prefer to play. This goal of “no meta” is simply not how balancing a game works. Instead, the goal should be to have a broad meta.
I also think it’s worthwhile to bring up the context here and why so many people are frustrated. If this was just a regular nerf it might not sting so bad, but the saga so far is that: The self-ricochet changes go live and the eruptor starts to kill the user more often. As a result, the devs decide(within a day) to do a full rework on the eruptor. The CMs assure us this will result in an overall buff. Patch day arrives and it’s actually a massive nerf. Then a CM assures us this was unintended. A few hours later the lead balance dev steps in and says no, actually, this is intentional and everyone has just been “exploiting” the gun the whole time. And then, one day later, the CEO is on twitter saying they should stop nerfing all the fun things in the game. This communication whiplash is not helping.

The Balance Issue

I figured I would start off with the balance issue. For this section, I am exclusively considering the power level of the gun and not how it gets there. Hypothetically, there are two versions of the eruptor that do the same fundamental job and can both be balanced. The first with shrapnel and the second with just AOE.
To start off with, I just want to say that I don’t think the eruptor was unbalanced last week. Some will disagree with and that’s fine, but I was not noticing a disproportionate amount of players using it, I did not feel like my eruptor play was taking away from anyone else’s niche, and there were some significant downsides that come with the power. For full disclosure, I was not aware of the charger one-shot and did not use it. I’ll come back to that. The damage level of the eruptor has been discussed ad naseum. I want to highlight how it pays for those: First, the time between each shot is more than two seconds and your magazine only has a handful of shots with an even longer reload. Every miss is incredibly punishing, and you really can’t afford to use multiple shots in a row sub optimally. The second is that the horde clearing was pretty subpar. On launch this gun had great AOE, but that was brought down with the last patch that also halved the ammo carrying capacity. After the first adjustment, it was easy to end up in a position where you had missed a shot or two or just approached like an idiot, got surrounded by some hunters and a couple medium bugs, and just needed to book it or die.
Balancing and design should be considered on a full kit level. Comparing the eruptor(or any other primary) to other primary weapons doesn’t tell the full story, instead we need to be comparing what each primary allows a full toolkit to do(and not do).
Let’s travel back to a few weeks ago, with the quasar nerf. Arrowhead sees that a massive amount of the player base is only playing quasar, EAT, and autocannon/recoilless. Obviously these guns must be too strong if everyone is playing them. Well… why is everyone playing them? As the community pointed out, the reason every load out includes a quasar or autocannon is because every primary does the same job and the anti-tank has to come from somewhere. Past difficulty 7 or so, you are simply expected and required to kill more chargers and bile titans than your stratagems can handle. There are not enough 500kg bombs to take out every bile titan, and finding 2 chargers a minute means I need a way to deal with them. There’s a longer reddit post about this and I don’t want to rehash every bit about it. In my opinion, the problem arises with the balancing team’s narrow definition of what a primary is and can be. This position, in my opinion, is why we keep coming back to this issue and why both the individual experience and the team play feel lacking.
Because most primaries are balanced around not killing medium or large bugs, each person inherently starts with a primary weapon that kills scavengers, hunters, kinda stalkers, and does very very little against bile spewers, chargers, and bile titans. Many of the weapons that break this mold and are too effective against medium-large enemies are nerfed. Because the first part of the kit has been locked to one role, the choices for the rest of your toolkit become obvious. If I’m already taking a liberator, or a sickle, or a breaker, or the breaker incendiary, or any number of the other weapons that clear hordes well, there’s little reason to double down and bring a stalwart. I don’t need two guns that do the same thing, I can only use one at a time. Instead, I want a support weapon that covers my current weakness. If every player has the weakness of chargers and bile titans, every player will bring a support weapon that deals with them. This is how you get a parties with a liberator, two breakers, and a sickle as primaries and AC + EAT + Quasar in some combination as supports. These load outs are nominally different but fundamentally interact with the game in the same way. As a result, it doesn’t matter which of my team members goes to interact with the terminal, which stands further back to provide cover, and which sneaks off for samples. All players do each job about the same because their load outs are about the same.
In fact, the only time I’ve ever wanted to bring a stalwart was when I started running the eruptor. Why? Because the eruptor flipped the script upside down. Instead of being a primary that horde cleared and struggled against mid sized bugs, it was changed in the last balancing patch to reduce the AOE and it became a medium-large bug killer that really struggled against a horde. As a result, I either wanted to bring the stalwart to patch up that weakness and give me game against every non-bile titan bug, or I could bring the quasar and kill chargers/titans easily while having to be careful about hordes. No matter which of those options I landed on, I was still giving up some important part of my kit. With the stalwart I could solo an objective while my team did something together, but I just had to avoid large bugs and didn’t have the firepower to handle some situations. Alternatively, taking the quasar meant I needed to keep bugs away from me. Unlike with the liberator, sickle, or many shotguns, killing 10 small bugs at 5 meters wasn’t a freebie.
After this patch though, the gun doesn’t fill that role anymore. I played a game last night where a brood commander and 3 scavengers started approaching. It took 4 direct hits to kill the brood commander(about 7 seconds between first shot and last shot, with another reload) and the AOE failed to pick up any of the scavengers. That performance just isn’t good enough for a high difficulty mission. Why would I take that when a shotgun would kill all 4 bugs in shorter time? Or a sickle that can shred the scavengers and then focus the soft spots on the commander? I’m not actually sure what role this gun still does fill. I could take it with the stalwart and use it to clear bugholes like an auto cannon, but sickle/liberator+autocannon does that job so much better now that the eruptor doesn’t kill medium bugs well.
As a result, if I want to play the game I’m back to the same meta build that the community is tired of seeing full squads of and that the developers keep trying to balance away from. Nerfing the eruptor and forcing primaries into a horde clearing role is what creates the strict meta the devs have stated they don’t want to exist. This change directly nerfs the already underutilized non-anti-tank support weapons. This nerf goes against the stated design goals. Being more mindful about how the balance of each gun exists within the ecosystem and within a full load out will open up the design so that four players can actually do four different jobs. It also means that the design and development teams' hard work will be more utilized by the players instead of half or more of options going largely unused.
As a side note, I said I’d come back to chargers. I personally think that the anti-tank issue on the bug front is largely driven by the charger. If Arrowhead really wants people to take support weapons that aren’t anti-tank, perhaps the charger should be more vulnerable to primary and anti-chaff support weapons. I agree that in the current game’s balance, the eruptor should 100% not be one-shoting a charger. I’m just not quite convinced that it’s actually best for the game that chargers be so demanding on anti-tank given that the devs want stratagems to be the primary method of dealing with big threats. I could give up my Quasar if I didn’t need it to kill chargers. If I could kill bile titans with 500kg and chargers with other stuff, I would bring more fun support weapons. That’s not really the point of this post, but in my opinion chargers have been at the center of every one of these balancing discussions even when not brought up by name. If I could (actually) kill chargers by playing the movement mini game, dodging them or running them into a wall, and shooting the giant fleshy tail then I wouldn’t want a quasar shot every 12 seconds. I’m not even sure why that design exists when it’s more of a red herring than anything. The best direction to kill a charger from is the front and it has nothing to do with the unarmored bits.

The Mechanics

Truthfully, I started with balance to get it out of the way. I think the balance issue is worth discussing, and I would prefer a balanced shrapnel-less eruptor over the currently awful shrapnel-less eruptor we have now. That being said, I think the mechanics and feel are actually a lot more important here. I also think they’re at the greatest risk of being lost to some nebulous balance needs that don’t actually exist.
Earlier I said that a fun game is one where player choices change the core gameplay loop. Part of this is because a game gets stale after so many hours, so being able to totally change it up can make things fresh enough to continue. The other reason is that everyone just has different preferences, so the more ways there are to play the game the more people it will appeal to. And, like I said earlier, in a cooperative team game there’s another bonus where being in a team with people using different strategies that actually change how that player behaves and performs, you also improves the other players’ enjoyment. Even if I don’t want to play the flamethrower, I like when my friend does and it handles parts of the mission that I can’t.
My major complaint with the rework is that the eruptor lost the majority of the unique gameplay loop. The shrapnel wasn’t just some incidental damage. It sort of sounds like the dev team thought of it that way(? Which brings up its own set of questions ?), but once you played a few games with the eruptor it became clear that you didn’t shoot what you wanted to hit, you shot where you wanted the shrapnel to come from. Essentially, your shot was actually about positioning the blast. The eruptor handled similar to the counter sniper, but instead of going for headshots every time you could shoot:

• underneath a bug to maximize shrapnel damage and avoid armor
• one side of a commander to send shrapnel into specific bugs
• a rock or wall and bounce shrapnel at a new angle
• in front of a few enemies and let the shrapnel spread into them

Learning how to handle the gun was rewarding and the gameplay loop was different than other guns. It was truly everything you wanted from a gun shooting explosive shrapnel and rewarded creativity and quick thinking. Removing the shrapnel wholesale and saying “it’s fine, we’ll just rebalance with AOE damage” is missing the entire point of why I played this gun. Sure, the niche it held in balancing was nice and I enjoyed using other support weapons for once, but primarily I liked the gun because it was fun, unique, and got me to think about the game differently. Loading up game with the eruptor was an entirely different mini game inside of Helldivers. Well, no longer.
To be entirely frank, I’m not sure why any gun is getting a full rework from concept to launch in a single week. This wasn’t a rebalancing, it’s just a different gun that isn’t unique anymore. Every skill I learned for using the eruptor is gone and it’s just another flavor of “hit the head” with the occasional mixup of "shoot the joint". There are already guns that do this task, and they do it better than the new eruptor. If I wanted to play the dominator I already would have been. I want the eruptor back that I specifically bought in a warbond and learned how to use. Why did the balancing team decide to throw out the entire design concept to address a different poorly received change within the span of a week? Designing a primary weapon should be more than a week-long process. If you need to rework a weapon that’s fine, it happens, but that should include a real design process that creates depth in the gameplay.
Further, why was the eruptor singled out for self and team kills in the first place? Actually using it, most of my self kills were from being an idiot. The shrapnel directly backwards thing happened to me once or twice, despite what the viral reddit post would have you think. If I killed a teammate, again, the vast majority of the time it’s because I was an idiot and shot too close to them. That’s why the description has in bold not to use it in close range. I’ve died to nearly every breaker incendiary I’ve gotten close to. I’ve died to countless eagle cluster bombs. I’ve died to arc throwers, EATs, Quasars, grenades, and even just the base liberator in the hands of a moron. The game has been intentionally designed so that team kills happen with regularity. Was it really an issue that the eruptor would sometimes kill people? If it really bothered me I would just stop equipping it and play a gun that appeals to me and is safer. Instead I just learned not to do that.
The crossbow is another great example of a gun with an unexpected rework. Most of the community isn’t just upset because the crossbow got worse. It seems like, similar to the eruptor, people are upset because the actual mechanics and core gameplay loop were changed without notice and for the worse. The movement conservation gimmicks, lobbed projectile, and weird damage profile made playing the game with the crossbow really different from other guns. If you hated it, well okay there are 20+ other guns to try instead. If you loved it, nothing else approximates it. Maybe the momentum preservation wasn’t intended in the first place. Who cares? Emergent gameplay is not the same thing as a bug.
Mechanic diversity in primary weapons should be a main design goal. If the game is at a point where every primary legitimately plays differently and has different decisions to make, you have succeeded at game design. If the game is balanced in such a way that each gun can contribute to success at level 9, even better. Every balancing decision should be made with those things in mind. Why would I buy the 10th warbond if the primary guns will all inevitably become “liberator variant”, “breaker variant”, “DMR variant”? Does the game benefit from having so many guns that are slightly different but feel the same? Paid war bonds are the perfect place for weird designs like this. In 6 months when a new player has to choose where to start, they shouldn’t be choosing which similar automatic rifle does the best DPS, they should say “wow that’s a sick electric primary” or “Shrapnel gun? Sign me up.” The balancing decisions should not be removing unique mechanical designs in a PVE co-op game. This is entirely backwards. Nerfs should target efficacy, breakpoints, ammo, rate of fire, etc. Nerfs should not be removing design and homogenizing options.

Communication

I would be remise if I didn’t mention Arrowhead’s communication in this post. It’s very jarring to log in expecting a sidegrade or even a buff and find my gun nonfunctional. It’s even more jarring to see back and forth responses about it from Arrowhead employees. It goes from confusing to infuriating when the lead balancing developer comes out and says everything is working as intended and accuses me of using an “exploit” because I picked up the gun, experimented, and learned how to use it effectively. Emergent gameplay is not the same thing as an exploit. I really don’t appreciate being defensively accused of misconduct because the devs didn’t understand a mechanic in the first place. It’s insulting. Why were there so many different statements yesterday that contradicted the previous statement? Why is the dev team making serious accusations because their rework didn’t go as expected? As much as I appreciate the CEO’s latest statements, I have to ask: Why is the CEO going on twitter to say the balance team is making the game less fun and saying they will talk to the team about it? I know I wouldn’t appreciate my boss publicly saying I’m making our product worse without having a strategy meeting first.

Conclusion

At the end of the day, I hope that Arrowhead seriously considers reverting the changes to the Eruptor. If we need to have a conversation about balance, fine. If the gun needs to have an extra shot to kill on the bile spewer and less power against chargers, fine. What I miss isn’t the power, it’s the gameplay loop created by its unique mechanic that has been stripped out of the game. This game has an incredible core. It’s fun, beautiful, cinematic, and the gunplay really has that satisfying weight to it that a lot of shooters fail to capture. Unfortunately, the way the team has handled balance with either wild knee-jerk number changes or fundamentally stripping mechanics has made it really hard to want to come back and keep logging in. Part of what makes a game like this fun for me is actually becoming good at it and learning the ins and outs of a load out and how to handle different situations. I do not enjoy have my stuff changed every two weeks because the balance team nerfed my favorite primary or support, taking away the gameplay I specifically chose and the time I spent learning how to use it

First / Previous / Royal Road / Patreon (Read 12 Chapters Ahead)

Their caravan continued throughout the day. They passed by several different small towns, but as Evie explained, they weren't planning on stopping any time soon, especially since Kayla's father was at risk. And so they'd all kept riding along, only stopping in a small clearing just outside another town when night had fully fallen.
"That's enough for one day," Evie said, bringing her wagon to a stop. "You two need some bedrolls? I've got extra. I figure we can all cram into the back of the wagon if we're smart about it, that way we're not sleeping under the stars."
"You two rest up for now," Pale said. "I'll take the first watch."
"That's not necessary," Evie insisted. "We have caravan guards for that."
"Be that as it may, I would be much more at-ease if I was able to help them keep watch for a bit." Pale shifted a bit, unslinging her shotgun. "I will join you both in a few hours."
Slowly, Evie nodded. "Very well."
"Wake me when it's my turn," Kayla said.
Pale waved her off. "Not necessary, thanks to the guards; this is more for my own peace of mind than anything."
Kayla hesitated. "If you're sure…"
"I am positive. Get some sleep."
Kayla nodded, and as she laid down, Pale climbed out of the back of the wagon and stood just outside it, her weapon held at a patrol carry. She looked around, trying to get a read on her surroundings. They were back in a field again, with a thicket of trees nearby. A short ways away, she saw a small village populated with houses made of wood. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary with anything, but that didn't mean they were completely in the clear.
They were getting farther north, Pale knew. And the farther along they got, the more likely it was that they were going to run into more bandits. She wanted to be prepared for that, just in case.
Of course, that was the problem – if she wanted to keep her true nature a secret from Evie, then she wouldn't be able to use her drop pods. The thought made her scowl. She was being forced to deliberately handicap herself if she didn't want people to start asking questions. Evie and her group weren't bad people, at least as far as Pale could tell, but the last thing she needed was for word to get around about her.
Of course, that only mattered if things weren't escalating. If it came to preserving her avatar's life or revealing her secrets, Pale knew there was really no debate to be had. And in that case, the gloves would come off.
She was still a warship, after all, and if her internal diagnostics were correct, most of her weapons systems were still online. The majority of her armament was designed for ship-to-ship combat, but if push came to shove, it would be trivial to repurpose some of it for air-to-ground combat. The only problem there was collateral damage.
Pale let out a small huff. Coming planetside was an inevitability, given the state of her true form, but the longer she stayed here, the more complicated things seemed to be getting. Idly, she ran through her inventory, looking for something useful, only to find nothing but a few distress beacons. Given the sheer vastness of space and the fact that this solar system was completely unknown even to her, the odds of someone coming across the beacons were so small as to be almost non-existent, but that was no excuse for not trying.
And so, Pale snapped her fingers, and several distress beacons were ejected from the ship. They would be completely invisible to anyone not using her military's IFF codes, unless the Caatex had somehow managed to crack their codes in the time she'd been gone. But if that was the case, then the war was already lost, and all she'd be doing was speeding up the inevitable.
Pale leaned against the wagon, peering out into the forest, a scowl crossing her face. Her thoughts had been a mess ever since her earlier talk with Evie about family, and she wasn't sure why. Everything Evie had told her had gone against all the protocols that had been drilled into her mind since awakening on that operating table, and yet she couldn't help but dwell on her words nonetheless.
Humans had always been naturally curious, and apparently, that curiosity had spread to her, courtesy of the brain mapping. It was rare that she came across a problem that couldn't be solved immediately, but philosophical discussions like the one she'd had with Evie were a bit more complex than something like a mathematical equation, at least in terms of the steps needed to solve them. Still, in time, Pale was confident she'd find the answers she was looking for.
Pale's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by something out of the peripheral of her vision. Through the darkness, she was barely able to make out a figure approaching from the forest, breaking out from the trees and stealthily moving over to the caravan. Without missing a beat, Pale raised her shotgun and activated the weapon-mounted light attached to it. The light cut through the darkness like a knife through butter, illuminating a large man clad in furs and carrying a pair of miniature axes in his hands.
Pale didn't hesitate. She pulled the trigger; the man's head exploded in a shower of gore, and all hell broke loose.
From the forest, arrows and magic began to fly, impacting against the wagons. Pale ducked back behind Evie's wagon, thumbing a shell into her gun as she did so. All around her, arrows embedded themselves into the ground.
"Evie, Kayla!" she called. "We're under attack!"
From inside the wagon, she heard the two other girls scramble to their feet, then jump out of the back. Kayla was already conjuring lightning in her hands, while Evie had grabbed a longbow and quiver from somewhere and was busy nocking an arrow. They both ran over to her, crouching down alongside her.
"Do we know who they are?" Evie asked.
"Bandits," Pale reported."I was expecting we'd find more of them as we made it further north."
One of the nearby wagons suddenly went up in flames. Evie stared at it, a scowl creeping her face.
"We can discuss that later," she emphasized. "For now, come with me. We need to beat these guys back before the entire caravan is destroyed."
"You're right. Kayla, go with her." At Kayla's pointed glance, Pale added, "I'll be fine. Go!"
Kayla still seemed hesitant to leave her behind, but ultimately did as she was told, taking off after Evie as she ran towards the rest of the caravan. Pale, meanwhile, turned her attention towards the forest nearby, where spells were still being launched towards the caravan. Without a moment of pause, Pale ran for the forest, taking care to keep herself out of sight as she did so.
After a brief sprint, Pale reached the thicket of trees, dropping into a crouch as she moved towards the rays of light being fired at the caravan. She slung her shotgun, instead drawing her pistol in one hand and her knife in the other. Creeping along, she looked for one of the nearby mages, and eventually found one. He was midway through casting a spell when she pounced on him, driving her knife into the base of his skull and severing his brain stem. Immediately, the man fell like a puppet with its strings cut; Pale scrambled off him, flicking her knife to clean some of the gore off, then continued on her way.
The bandit mages, it turned out, were so heavily focused on the caravan that none of the others noticed her approaching them. She was able to take out two more in much the same way she killed the first. However, that was when the other bandits, having noticed they were no longer being provided with covering fire, decided to investigate.
Pale was midway through climbing off the last dead mage when two men wielding greatswords emerged from the trees ahead. She rounded on them, her .45 in hand, and began to fire. Hollow point rounds ripped through both men, and they jerked as the bullets struck flesh and bone, both of them eventually succumbing to a final headshot. Pale flicked the empty magazine out of her gun and replaced it with a fresh one, then holstered the weapon and shouldered her shotgun.
She was just in time, as two more bandits came sprinting after her. The first one was taken down by a spray of buckshot that tore his right leg off at the knee; he collapsed, screaming in agony as the second man advanced upon her, his sword raised high and glinting in the moonlight. Pale rolled to the side just as it was about to impact and split her in two, then began to pour shell after shell into her opponent, ending with a final shot to his chest that ripped his ribcage open and exposed his heart.
To her dismay, however, that red aura enveloped him, and he gave her a manic grin as he stomped towards her, hefting his sword. Pale's shotgun clicked empty, and she let it hang from its sling as she unholstered her pistol. Just before she could get a shot off, however, the bandit did something unexpected – he reached for a knife on his belt and threw it at her. Pale's eyes widened, but she had no time to avoid the throwing dagger before it embedded itself into her shoulder.
Pale bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, the sudden pain a new sensation to her. Her vision blurred; the knife was scraping against bone with every movement she made, she could feel it. Her left arm hung limply at her side, forcing her to retreat deeper into the forest. Behind her, she heard the bandit continue to advance, looking for her.
"I can smell your blood, little one," he said. "You can't hide forever."
Pale grimaced as the blood dripped down her arm and onto the ground below. He was certainly right about that – she couldn't hide forever. Running was also out of the question; she wasn't about to abandon Kayla and Evie.
She was going to have to fight.
Pale's gaze fell to her shotgun, still hanging from its sling with its action left open. Carefully, she dropped a single shell into its chamber, then rode the slide forward. The bandit heard the click of the weapon being loaded, then charged after her. She beat him to the punch, however, spinning out from around the tree with her .45 raised. The bandit closed in on her, his sword raised high, but she got there first – her .45 barked twelve times in the night before the slide locked to the rear, and each time, another chunk was torn out of the man's heart. He stumbled back with every shot, his eyes widening in disbelief. The greatsword came clattering to the ground, but he still wasn't dead – instead of lying down and accepting his fate, he ripped two daggers from his belt and charged her once more, a feral yell erupting from his throat.
Pale dropped her handgun, and with one hand, raised her shotgun, tucking the stock under her arm. She took careful aim, waiting for the right moment, and then fired. What was left of the bandit's heart exploded, and he immediately paused, his eyes widening for just a moment before glassing over. His body fell to the ground, lifeless, the knives he'd drawn embedding themselves blade-first in the ground beside him.
Pale slumped to the ground, breathing heavily. It only lasted for a moment before she shook off the pain and adrenaline, however. Hurriedly, she gathered her weapons and began to head back to the caravan, only to pause when she saw something sticking out of the bandit's pocket – a letter of some sort.
With nary a second thought, she grabbed the letter and stowed it in her backpack, then took off back towards Evie and Kayla.

Special thanks to my good friend and co-writer, Ickbard for the help with writing this story.

Tiamat let out a hissing laugh as she raised both hands, unleashing a wave of twisting and churning purple mist at the party standing before her. The mist expanded towards the group before Misha rammed his great blade into the ground, fire erupting from the impact as he and Ludwig roared in unison, Ludwigs claws clapping together before separating wide as he shouted:
”AEGIS!”
A barrier , made of Ludwig and Mishas magic mixed together, formed around them and the others, flashing and warping as the miasma struck it, battering the barrier like a horde of smoky tendrils.
Tamil hissed under his breath, bow snapping up and twangling as the smaller dragon unleashed arrows as fast as he could, each one glinting with green magic and fizzing as it struck the miasma.
“Cyka….” Svet mumbled, her blade at the ready, breathing in and preparing to unleash more Dragons Fire-
The red clad mage sprinted forward, ignoring Tamils panicked shouts as he hung low to the ground, right as Svet breathed out, unleashing a amethyst blast of plasma.
The Lich Queen laughed as she held up a claw, a barrier of miasma erupting to block the flame. “Silly, foolish welp~ I Know how to keep Cleansing Fire from-” she jerked back as a metal fist erupted out of the miasma, much to her shock, followed by the mage, unharmed, if a little singed. Her hand shot up and caught the metal fist, a smirk forming on her face. ”Fascinating~ I wonder, how did you survive the Fog of the undead, little squishy~?” she purred, before a click was heard.
“That's for me to know, and you to ponder” Talos said with a tone indicative of a smug grin-
BOOM
The pipe on the back of his arm went off, its payload breaking the claws that held his metal hand and drilling into the face of the dragon Lich, making her stumble back as the sound of shattering metals could be heard behind her.
She swung her arm, using the remains of her claws to throw the smaller magic user across the room, and spun around to stare at the remains of the odd pedestal she had been messing with. Sick sounds of cracking bone, splintering and reforming to maintain her shape, were heard as she realized what the little mage had done.
”.......no…..no no NO NO NO!” She snarled as she looked up into the darkness of the massive room behind her and began to slowly step back….
Around them, they heard the sound of something whining, rising in pitch and volume as Talos heaved himself up from where he had been thrown, his glowing irises locked on the Lich Queen in horror. “You actually tried to activate and control it!? Are you FECKING insane!?” He shouted, as a single, massive, crimson light suddenly illuminated the darkness.
“WARNING. PURGER ONLINE. ALL REMAINING PERSONNEL ARE REQUIRED TO MAKE THEIR PEACE AND PREPARE FOR IMMOLATION.”
The strange voice seemed to echo around them, as around the crimson light, two blue lights ignited, burning with a baleful glow, swiveling around in the shadows, aimed at them.
“GET TO COVER, NOW!” Talos yelled, diving for a hole in the wall as the rest of the party ducked out the door they came in through, escaping just before whatever was in the darkness unleashed a storm of blue energy, filling the room with a blast of light and destructive energy.
/zzzzzzzzzz/
WARNING! Mana Regeneration nullified due to Mana acclimators in use within vicinity
WARNING! Mana loss detected! Rate of .05 per second!
Mana Low, Mana:20/75
Talos cursed as he twisted through the air, mentally berating himself as the light from the smoldering, immolated room above him illuminated the area he had thrown himself into. Before him stretched a massive room, lined with concrete and rails designed to carry heavy assembly arms, one of which hanging just on the edge of the illuminated area…… and as he was taking all in he caught sight of a metal hydraulic piston swinging out at him, easily multiple times bigger than himself.
Channeling a little Mana to his feet, he twisted himself upright, before expelling it out in an explosive, bright blast in an effort to slow himself down. Despite his efforts, he still slammed into the piston hard, slid down and catching on a metal panel-
“UN4L1GHN3D 4UT0M4NC3R D3T3CT3D. PR10R1T151NG T4RG3T.”
“......feck.'' Talos sighed as he heard the blast of binary shake the room, thankful he didn't have eardrums for the machine to damage, despite its best efforts.
WARNING! MANA CRITICALLY LOW!
Mana:9.95/75
The automancer cursed to himself softly as he saw just how little Mana he had remaining, and how much he had used to slow himself down, before movement catches his eye. He barely swings himself around the piston as a massive metal, arachnid like leg slams down where he just was.
Shaking his head from the clouds, he began to pull himself up the piston he was on, climbing on top and running along it, a malevolent optic focusing on him as he moved.
“T4RG3T L0C4T3D.”
The sound of rocket motors filled the room, bright lights from missile exhaust partially illuminating the machine as they arched through the dark chamber, forming a pseudo eclipse of their own engines as they angled at the running skeleton.
Sounds of metal shutters opening were heard, accompanied by the whine of something charging up and dozens of pinpricks of light illuminating underneath, around and above the massive optic focused on Talos, along with the two larger Plasma casters on either side of the eye.
Talos wasn't playing fair, however. Reaching down into his bag, he pulled out the metal grapple and rope he still had on him from going spelunking in that cave for ores, and twirled it as he ran….
Just as the missiles were about to hit his cloak, he let the grapple fly, swinging it down around the slowly moving machine’s leg, only for it to come back up and hook on its armor on the other side. Once hooked, he leapt off the side of the piston, letting his weight and momentum swing him to avoid the missiles, if only barley, before landing on the other side of where he jumped from. Once he landed the hook slipped free, as his weight wasn't pulling down to keep it in place anymore.
Talos pulled the rope back, twirling it again before letting it fly forward, latching onto the leg once again, this time at the height of its knee joint that was sticking out into the air, a blue, crystal like cylinder jutting out from it, armor covering the half of it aimed away from the main body, and glowed brightly.
It seemed to be pulling some form of mist into itself…
“Bingo.” Talos muttered as he spotted the cylinder, clambering up the rope as fast as he could, even as the chatter of weapons fire erupted around him and the leg began to move, forcing the rope, and himself, to be flung back and forth.
“THR34T 45535M3NT, T4RG3T 4PPR04CH1NG 4CCUMUL4T0R. CUTT1NG 0FF R0UT3”
Weapons fire screamed through the air in a flurry of energy, the projectiles launched all traveled slower than a bullet, but were easily able to singe the rope burning it in half as Talos watched helplessly.
He cursed as he fell, spinning about as he saw another leg aimed at him, and grinned, grabbing onto it as it barely missed him and using its momentum to fling himself back to the piston.
He drew his revolver from its holster and ran, ducking and dodging around blasts of prepared spells and mana, ignoring the explosions and debris the spells sent flying off the concrete walls of the room, leaping from the piston to its casing as it moved, and began chanting quietly to himself, a golden energy forming around the barrel of the ring action pistol, Aurebesh swirling around the glowing sphere as he moved.
One particularly nasty blast of energy forced him to jump, and he took advantage of it, spinning around in the air and aiming, before pulling the trigger.
The muted explosion of the cartridge going off went unnoticed as the glowing round streaked from the barrel, striking the Mana Accumulator and causing it to cave in on itself-
WA-BOOM
The ensuing detonation blew the leg off and unleashed a wave of stored mana, slamming into Talos and being absorbed by his body, and more importantly, his Phylactery.
WARNING! MANA SURGE DETECTED!
MANA POOL OVERLOADED! Mana: @>²()!?/75
WARNING! MANA LEVELS RISING!
EXPEL MANA TO PREVENT CRITICAL FAILURE OF PHYLACTERY!
Talos hissed as his prosthetic arm spasmed and twitched, fighting with it to get it under control, using the sudden surge of power to speed up his perception and buy time to think.
The room was illuminated by the ethereal glow of the Mana, some being absorbed by him, but much of it was flowing back into the other crystals of the massive, six legged machine….
Well. Five legged, now.
The machine in question looked odd, a sphere connected to the arachnid like legs, acting as a central hub, with a second sphere acting as its abdomen, massive and covered with weapons, arranged in a ring pattern and pushing out of hatches on its back. The outermost ones looked to be some sort of anti infantry armament, fast and able to overwhelm infantry armor and shields, while inner rings seemed to contain artillery and anti aircraft weapons. On its head area was the spherical optic, the twin plasma casters on either side of said optic appearing like some form of facsimile of fangs. The machine itself clung to the wall, its optic swiveling to look ‘up’ from its perspective, tracking him closely from its position.
Waves of mana pinged off it, like echolocation, striking him, though slower now with his altered perception, letting him see how they interacted with the machine-
New skill gained!
Mana Scanning. 1/10
By sending out a pulse of mana, Talos can do an in-depth scan of a target to find weaknesses in its armor, weapons, and many other things. Mana absorbing materials, however, can nullify this ability unless overcharged
The scan showed there were little in the way of weakpoints….well, short of the Mana Accumulators on the ‘knees’, but that could make things worse then better, if destroying one was anything to go by.
He hissed as he saw exactly what he feared in the very Core of the machine, a beating, pulsing heart consisting of radioactive isotopes and severely unstable Mana, both providing power for the mechanoid’s destructive rampage……
And the final end. If he removed the legs, he suspected it would trigger its own self destruct, and if it was anything like a Mjölnir class core he was used to, anywhere from the surrounding area to the whole continent was going to be a uninhabitable crater, and the entire planet would end up irradiated.
He didn't have a team to coordinate with, so he would make do with what he had.
Twisting around, he examined the chamber, now illuminated by the mana… and saw massive, mechanical armature laying around the room, likely meant for other mechanoids like the one he faced down now, but never being completed or having been discarded to be cannibalized for parts, even another one of the massive bucket wheel excavators from the entry hall lay off to the side, mostly disassembled except for the arm….
It clicked. The mechanoid was designed for infantry or armor….
But not another one of its Own.
/zzzzzzzzzz/
Tiamat, the Lich Queen, floated above the fight, watching in fascination as the massive warmachine she had tried to control focused down the Automancer, her smirk widening as she saw the mage run headlong into the fight, pulling out some quite clever tricks when he realized the mana drain in progress. She herself could feel the negligible drain on her mana, but ignored it, having the mana to spare, watching as the mage shot the Mana Accumulator, causing it to explode.
She sighed, a pity. The little mage was far too close to the explosion, such a thing would fry any normal organic, and even a Lich like herself would have an issue with such an influx of mana…. Truly, a great loss. Not many would think to close the gap between herself and them under the cover of their own allies' fire and use a Force Multiplier at point blank on her. The aim was a bit off, but she attributed that to him thinking her Heart for this body was in her head-
WHOOOORACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK
She flinched and shot back as a flood of golden mana erupted from the tiny pinprick that was the mages body, acting like ethereal mechadendrites, ripping the long dormant machines around them off the walls, from their resting areas on the floor or in storage. As components flew, they started to pop apart and began swirling around the tiny mage as he floated back up, hovering before the Purge Machine, much to its, and her, confusion.
The Automancer spread his arms, and the machinery began to assemble itself around him, first forming what looked like a Command Throne, which floated up for him to sit in, before a shell surrounded him…..
And then the components bound themselves together, forming a massive, bipedal body, digitigrade legs keeping balance as pistons hissed once it touched the floor, feet designed with three toe claws in the front and one in the back, capable of digging into the ground if needed. One arm ended with the massive bucket wheel of the excavator rather than a hand, while the other arm was tipped with bladelike claws, around a massive Mana Cannon, glowing with ethereal golden energy.
The shoulder joints were protected with rectangular pauldrons, the arms made out of massive pistons and supports. The upper body was designed like a knight's cuirass, though the belly area was segmented armor plates, while a short, segmented tail stuck out like that of a dragon, allowing for balance.
Along the spine area were dormant Mana Accumulators, retracted and shrouded to protect them, hidden underneath short, sharp spines. The head was ripped off one of the older bipedal Purge Machine frames, like the legs had been, and designed to look draconic, its optical bar igniting, a glowing point of light panning back and forth on the visor as the machine stared down its competitor.
“ŔØŮÑĎ ŤẀØ, MÓŤĤÉŘFËĈĶƏŔ.”Came the distorted voice of the automancer at the heart of the monstrosity, as the war machine dropped into a combat stance. Leading with a brutal right hook, the mech brought the spinning bucket wheel slashing across his opponents back before it could fire, the sound of screeching metal ringing out and filling the chamber.
/zzzzzzzzzz/
“ACH DU HEILIGE SCHEISSE! SVET, DIE HÖLLE DID YOU FIND!?” Ludwig said in stupefied horror as they watched their teammate pull machinery around him apart and form a massive Automail armor.Its optical bar light going back and forth was all they could make out in the distant shadows, until the sound of screeching metal and the sight of sparks illuminated him and the machine he was fighting.
The others around the pearly white dragon were watching in shock, all of them looking out the window of the room they were in, which appeared to be some kind of control room. Around them stood a variety of destroyed machines, and what looked to them like something where one would stand and place a book or scroll, but nothing but ash remained on it.
The room just outside the window looked like a arena, the massive spider like machine leaping off the wall, its legs spinning around to try and pin down their mages Automail armor, only for a glow of mana to erupt from the armor, launching it to the side and bringing the other hand to bear. The barrel in its ‘palm’ began to charge up as the claws retracted, unleashing a bright golden blast of energy and punching a massive dent in his opponents armor, causing the spider to screech loudly
“THR34T 45535M3NT R41S3D, T4RG3T C4P4BL3 0F C0MB4T C0NSTRUCT5.*”
Ludwig couldn't make out what the machine said, even as the two circled one another in the arena, the massive wheel spinning on Talos’s armor while the spider mech kept its single optic focused on him, its remaining weapons aimed at the other machine, but not firing.
Misha hissed angrily as a purple haze suddenly hit the massive spider machine, making it screech and chitter as the miasma tried to push into the holes in the armor from its fight with Talos, the crimson light from its glass eye flickering from red to purple.
“3RR0R-3RR0R! H05T1L3 PR0GR4M SP3LL D3T3CT3D! S34RCH1NG……T4RG3T L0C4T3D.”
The machine blasted out, still unintelligible to Ludwig, but even he could see the optic snap to look up, locking onto a small purple spot in the air, as it charged forward.
The weapons on its back ignited, hissing as spellfire erupted from the remaining functional weapons systems, unleashing blast after blast and causing the purple pin prick to begin teleporting around to avoid the spellfire. The Automail armor caught the spider as it charged, the bucket wheel spinning to pin a leg between it and the arm to hold it in place, trying to lift the arachnid up by its front legs before delivering a brutal spartan kick to its underside, directly hitting a hatch trying to open up and crushing whatever was popping out.
The spider screeched as it slammed onto its back from the kick, its legs spinning around to lift it up off the ground, MORE weapons popping out from its underside-turned back, though they were noticeably smaller, likely meant for infantry.
The weapons took aim at both of its opponents, unleashing blast after blast into the air, missing the smaller, faster target. The larger one, built using the cast offs of its own design phases, simply shrugged off the attacks, choosing to rush forward itself, leaving gouges in the floor as it charged, one shoulder down in a tackle position.
The spider hissed and lept to the side, chattering in what almost appeared as mockery….
Right as the spinning bucket wheel struck another one of its leg’s knees, shattering the glowing column in it and letting loose another vicious blast of mana….
But this time, instead of an explosion, it was all pulled into the massive Automail armor's own crystals, which had, for but a moment, popped out of its spine, drawing all the mana into itself and converting it into a deep, golden color.
Just as they retracted into the armor once more, a purple miasma began covering both combatants, cruel laughter ringing out over the arena….. only to be cut off as a massive blast erupted out from the Automail armor, punching a hole in the ceiling where the purple pin prick had been and causing part of the cave to collapse down, catching the purple blight and pulverizing it against the floor.
/zzzzzzzzzz/
Talos panted heavily on his command throne, cables running under his cloak and connecting to his Phylactery, allowing fine motor control over the towering mechanism as if it were his own body, but he had a time limit, mentally and mana wise. The strain of minutely controlling every sub system was hard on a human mind, and he was running low on mana, even drawing from the mechs own reserves.
The top up from the Purge machines Mana Accumulator had helped stave off power loss, but the consecutive blasts from the main cannon, purification spells to keep the miasma out, and minute shield spells across the armor was running him ragged, especially with his own Accumulators shrouded to protect them. He had already burned off the initial charge he had gotten at point blank range when he built the armor, and he had to take out the Purge Machine before it set off its core…..
“...that's it!” He mumbled to himself, sending out an overcharged mana pulse, much to the spider mech’s confusion, easily overpowering its remaining mana Accumulator’s defenses, and got another in depth scan.
“Now, where….There!” The smaller Lich smirked before charging forward, pumping a little extra mana into the pistons to help launch him forward, cannon arm's claws extended as he rammed it through the hole he had made earlier on the arachnids back, now underside, and dug them into the core, wrapping the claws around it.
The massive spider mech screeched again, binary alarms blasting out as he yanked, bucket wheel pressed against machine’s side, helping brace him against it….
And with one final tug, just as the Spider mech brought its leg down and broke the bucket wheel, he tore the core out, the sudden loss of opposing power allowing him to shove the other mech away…. even as he felt his own mech loose power, both from lack of mana, and his Phylactery forcing him to sleep, mind tired from working every system under heavy duress…..
/zzzzzzzzzz/
Tiamat watched, unseen, no longer inhabiting the simulacrum which had been ground to dust under the rubble, as the mecha before her lost power, the stub of its arm resting against the ground, while the other hand clutched the remains of a NIM core tightly, carefully, as if to protect it.
She slowly smirked to herself, an idea beginning to form in her mind as she stared up at the machine. True, she failed in her objective…. but she had also found something so, so much better.
“I'll see you soon…. my little Automancer~” She purred as she faded away to one of her other, spare bodies, pulling it from its casket with a smirk on her boney muzzle.

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The Striking Serpent

Nefarian Serpine stood at the door of his home, his hand on the knob, as he calmly quelled the violent urge to murder the man that had been set on his tail since he’d landed in this damned dimension. Traveling his home Dimension torn apart by endless war and death with the dopplegangers of old foes under the threat of death or worse, he had always known that they had been tasked with ending his life if he stepped over the line. But returning to this new Dimension had also confirmed the suspicions he had privately held since the journey: he was supposed to have joined those rotting corpses back home. While the others had been rewarded with favour and praise, he’d been cast to the shadows, a hidden shame. Despite helping destroy the portals that his old master, his old friend, had built in order to survive so that this world would be free of the Draugr scourge, he had been gifted with constant surveillance.
Mevolent.
The memory of the Elemental caused a ripple of something foreign go through Nefarian’s body. Something that made his skin go cold and his chest constrict slightly. Sighing deeply, he shook the feeling away and walked out into the bright day, immediately sensing his hidden shadow moving in synchronicity with him. His lip slightly curled in disgust, he made his way to the Roarhaven markets. His shadow had become sloppy recently, his presence having become far more discernible, almost to a point where Nefarian was beginning to wonder if it was even the same shadow.
As he walked in the clothes he’d purchased for himself, for the clothes delegated to him by the High Sanctuary were of poor design and poorer dimensions, and he felt far more comfortable in rich leather and soft silk, his pocket jingled softly with the monthly allowance given to him by the Sanctuary. Just another way to manipulate and control him. The jingle within his pockets provided a song that lured in more shadows, but these ones he didn’t care about, for the neglected children of the dead did not threaten him.
As he walked, he milled over his situation. Though Sorrows was no longer Supreme Mage, Creed left a broken man in hiding and Bespoke dealing with militant sorcerers, Serpine knew he was a target. Already the victim of a dozen attacks, ranging from physical assault, attempted murder and flying bullets, Serpine had grown more and more frustrated. The City Guard weren’t willing to help him, Pleasant and Cain laughed at him, and all of those who had attacked him had fled before he could deliver some painful retribution.
‘Not that it was so easy, anymore.’ Serpine thought mournfully. Despite the new hand Cain had granted him, he still experienced the phantom memory of the hand he’d once had. That beautiful red that glistened and shone alongside his magic, which vibrated with the screams of its victims. When the skeleton had cut it off, he’d felt a fragment of his Soul break away from him, and it had left a hole in him ever since. A hole he’d patched with a cold hatred and determination that carried him forth. But he’d heard tales of the version of him that was from this world. Another Serpine who wielded multiple forms of magic with cruelty and mastery. A version of him who had been free to experiment and revel in magic. Another thing the rebels had taken from him.
As such, he’d long since decided that living a static, immobile life in a city of sorcerers who hated him was not something he approved of. Nefarian Serpine was a proactive creature, always on the move and on the hunt. He was looking for a way to escape this city and make his way back to the place he’d always called home: His castle.
Walking down the street, he didn’t bother to react to the townsfolk as they recoiled from him, or as they made faces or performed threatening gestures. None of them mattered, and none of them posed a threat. He did keep his eye on the scattered members of the City Guard though, most of whom glared at him with unflinching hatred. He allowed his eyes to pass over them, mentally noting them but not sparking their hostility by directly challenging their stare. Today was not a day to tempt their wrath, for today, Nefarian was prepared to reclaim his freedom once more. After months of planning, he was finally ready. Ignoring them, he walked over to a vendor, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw a City Guard approaching. This had happened too many times for his liking, but they’d been smart enough to always do it in public, refusing him the dignity of retaliation. But this one was different from the others. His boots weren’t laced up the way others were, and he wasn’t wearing the City Guard stripes properly, overlapping when they should’ve rested side-by-side. And even from a distance, from his peripherals, Nefarian saw the Guard’s eyes darting from left to right, never truly focussing on him. Whoever this man was, he wasn’t part of the City Guard.
Remaining calm, having already prepared for such an occasion, he pinched a few of the coins out of his pocket and placed some of them onto the vendor’s table, selecting a red apple from the assorted food items and turning on his heel, winking at the small children milling nearby. Sensing opportunity, they followed and he let them, and he made his way over to meet his hunter halfway.
“Stop, civilian!” The imposter ordered, his hand straying towards the baton strapped to his waist. As he did so, his coat moved, and the cold steel of a dagger winked at him as it caught the morning sun.
Nefarian raised an eyebrow and took a bite out of his apple, raising his right hand to wiggle his fingers at the imposter. As he’d expected - and hoped - the man flinched at the sight of the gloved right hand, and Nefarian opened up his left hand, allowing the coins within to spill onto the ground between them. The effect was instant, as the children on the street scrambled to procure their share of the riches, and there was a swarm of bodies that separated Nefarian from the man. Giving his stalker a sweeping bow, Nefarian turned and began walking in the opposite direction, beelining for an alleyway he’d taken note of days prior. As he neared the alleyway, the fingers on his left hand twitched, and he felt the icy cold tendrils of his magic curl around his arm, and he sent the purple vapour snaking on the cobbled ground towards the barrels stacked against the brick wall. He continued walking, his eyes on the small mirror he’d attached to the wall the day before, and he saw another figure further up ahead. His eyes flickered to the grate on the street a few steps away from him, even as he heard his city guard imposter behind him turning the corner. He looked at the mirror, seeing the man walk past the barrels, and he yanked his hand across his body and the barrels fell and scattered. The figure up ahead started running forward as Nefarian heard the man behind him trip over the tumbling barrels. Undeterred, he carried onward, taking another bite of his apple before pegging it at his new adversary. The man howled but continued forward, and Nefarian stepped into the arc of a punch, seeing the discipline and power behind it, and used it to his advantage. Shifting his feet, he swung the man sideways, knowing he would reach out to the wall with his remaining arm and miss the grate at his feet. Nefarian guided him all the way, ensuring that his foot wedged itself in between the bars.
The man grunted in pain, and they looked at each other. “Need a hand going down?”
Nefarian lashed out a kick into the man’s ankle, snapping it and letting the man fall further into the grate, his entire leg now broken with a compound fracture and stuck within the iron bars. Nefarian loomed over the screaming man, quelling the quick surge of excitement that rose within him. Business first.
“Who sent you?” He demanded. He winced, taking a step back and running a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. That was a bit sudden. It’s been a while since I’ve been in this position, and I’m a little rusty. Usually there’s more exposition, talking, getting to know each other.”
“Please… please just… just let me go.” The shock of the injury had erased the pain and left him shaking.
Nefarian held up his hands in mock indignation. “Hey, I’m not the one keeping you here. Blame the grate that you carelessly stepped in.”
“You shoved me into it!”
“Actually, I tried shoving you into the wall. You stepping into the grate was just what I wanted to happen. Now,” Nefarian kneeled down beside him, “I don’t have my right hand anymore. Not the one that can torture someone without all the messy business. Which means we’re going to have to improvise.”
Nefarian reached out, grabbing hold of the exposed bone bleeding through the skin, and tugged. The man opened his mouth to scream, and Nefarian shoved a bundle of rags into his mouth, silencing him. He waited calmly for the man to stop thrashing, watching the blood trickle over his pale knuckles, the vividness of the colour mesmerising him for a moment. Once the man had calmed himself, he removed the makeshift gag.
The man spluttered, and Nef smiled at him. “See what I mean about getting to know each other? Just from that little tug, I discovered your pain tolerance, the warmth of your blood, the pitch of your screams. That’s the beauty of torture and pain - you get to know someone in a way no one else can.”
“You’re sick,” his would-be killer spat. “You’re a twisted, demented monster.”
“Who’s in control of your nervous system,” Nefarian replied. “Now, I’ll ask you the question again. Who sent you?”
“I don’t know! I swear I don’t know. But he sent a dozen or so of us, all hired muscle, telling us to stop you. He’s some bastard in the underground tunnels marketplace. Old. Looks like someone tried to melt his face.”
“An ugly one then?” Nefarian murmured. “And a dozen of you?”
“Roughly.”
Nefarian rose to his feet. “Well, thank you for -”
He heard a scraping sound from above, and the quick breath of someone preparing themselves. He twisted around, his purple vapour already coiling up to intercept the leaping figure from above. The new assailant found himself tethered by the vapour, and Nefarian watched as his trajectory was abruptly cut-off, introducing his new opponent to the ground with a satisfying crunch. In his peripherals, he saw his friend in the grate watch the entire spectacle with a surprised look on his face.
‘Great,’ he thought. ‘A party crasher.’
Keeping the man ensnared with his vapour, the purple coils sending chills up his arm and down his spine, he approached with cautious curiosity. “So. My shadow finally decides to step out into the light, and discovers that it burns. And who, may I ask, are you? Because I’ve been making all sorts of friends today, and I’m beginning to fill up my quota.”
The man managed to raise his head, and glared at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Ahh,” Nefarian nodded to himself. “You’re one of the slow ones. What I mean is, I’m thinking I’ll kill you, because my tolerance has reached its end with the lot of you trying to end my life. And at least this guy,” he pointed behind him, “didn’t stalk me for days on end. For some, that’s romantic. Others, it’s creepy. I found it creepy.”
“I… I think you should kill him and let me live.” Said grate man weakly.
Nefarian turned to him. “You stepped into a grate and broke your leg. You don’t get a say in this.” He turned back to his shadow.
The man in question, whom Nefarian noticed was wearing a ridiculous outfit designed to hide his features and physique, struggled for a moment. “Let me out of this Serpine,” he growled, “or the Sanctuary will throw you in a cell to rot.”
Nefarian knelt down, so his face was aligned with his shadow’s. “I’ve been doing this a long time. Interrogations. Experiments. For fun. But the consistent thing about it, regardless of the reason, were the stages of emotions that people went through. Of course there was first defiant anger, a certain belief in their durability. Now, for a Sanctuary agent, you haven’t done the greatest job of tailing me, have you? I’ve gone missing a few times. Given you the slip. Left you dangling. It must be embarrassing for you, having to come up with random crap to cover for it.”
“And at first it amused me. The whole cat and mouse game. I did it quite a lot, back in the day. It’s… fun, being the mouse for a change. But then I started getting attacked, and the game very quickly lost its appeal.” He leaned in, his right hand flexing.
The man’s eyes flickered down to his hand, and there was a flicker of fear that was replaced by gloating. “Don’t you bluff me, I know you lost your hand in the other Dim-”
His gloating ended in a choke as Nefarian lashed out, clamping his hand around the man’s neck, rage coursing through him. “That skeleton had no right for what he did. Dragging me back into that wasteland with that device attached to me. Cutting my hand off. And then he comes back and is celebrated. For what? He didn't succeed in killing Mevolent. He lost one of his own and he tortured and mutilated me. You know who blew up those godforsaken portals? I did. You know who retrieved the Sceptre of the Ancients? Me! Can you guess who helped them get into Mevolent’s palace in the first place!! It was me!” He took a moment, and, noticing the man turning blue, let go of his neck and closed his eyes, quenching his anger. It wouldn’t do for the occupants of the bar beside them to get curious about the loud noises around the back.
Nefarian sighed, and he glanced back at the man in the grate and realised he’d fainted from the pain. Walking over, he frisked him, finding the prize he was searching for. Shifting his body so his shadow couldn’t see what he was doing, he slipped the object into his jacket.
“Well, you have my undivided attention at least,” he turned slowly. A predator’s grace. “We’ve even passed the next stage! Denial, which is a crucial development here. Because soon, once the blustering and the bluffing and the false bravado has passed, there isn’t much left but fear. But before you become a blubbering mess, I have a question for you.”
The robed man said nothing, just staring warily, his face slowly receiving colour after going pale during his outburst.
“I brought us here for a reason . I was hoping it would stimulate your memory, since we both have a history with this alleyway. I was attacked, last week, by someone here. We struggled for a little bit, not because I was struggling against my assailant, but because I was curious,” Nefarian dipped his head lower, his eyes fixed upon the robed man’s. “I was curious as to what you would do, my shadow. If you’d react.”
The man swallowed, his eyes darting sideways looking for help. None came, and his eyes went back to Nefarian’s emerald green. “It’s…. It’s not my job to help you out of every struggle you find yourself in, Serpine. The Sanctuary instructed me to follow you, make sure you weren’t doing anything illegal, and that was it. If you’re looking for a nicer answer as to why I didn’t help you last week, go find it somewhere else.”
A tilt of the head. A narrowing of the eyes. Triumph coursed through the snake as he caught the mouse in the trap.
“Now, that’s interesting,” Nefarian said softly, revelling in the other man’s fear, “because there was no fight last week. And I’ve never come down this alleyway.”
“Then it must of been another alley-”
“No, it wasn’t,” Nefarian hardened his voice. “Whoever you are, you aren’t the same shadow I had a few weeks ago. That shadow was competent, quiet, gave me a challenge whenever I managed to evade them. They kept up. But then things changed. The shadow became slower. More predictable. Noticeable. You.
The robed man started to tremble. “Please. Please, just… I had to. He made me do it!”
“He, who?”
“The old man from the underground hall!”
Nefarian nodded to himself and got up, looming over the man. “Ahh, now this part is particularly delicious. Where not one but two stages of the procedure present themselves. Grief and pleading. Where you have lost all hope and have developed the ridiculous notion of reaching my empathy. My kindness. As if I hadn’t been causing pain for hours by that point. You’ve grown hopeful, deliriously so, hoping that I will stop.”
“And this is usually the part where the mind games begin. I let them have that hope. Pretend like I’ll let them go. Give them a second chance. Tell them I won’t kill their wife and child right in front of them. And as soon as I see that glimmer, I tear them down,” Nefarian tilted his head. “What’s the saying? It’s the tallest trees that fall the hardest.” He brought out the prize he’d acquired from the man in the grate, and the dagger’s sharp edge shone.
A single tear slid down the man’s cheek. “No…”
Nefarian nodded. “The last stage was acceptance. Not many reach that far, so don’t feel too bad.” He stepped forward, and with a practiced flick of his hand, slashed the dagger across the man’s throat. Despite the speed of which the cut occurred, his mind caught onto all the tugs and tears as the dagger caught on hardened flesh and tore through the tracheal wall. He watched the blood seep out like a fountain, and he felt that delicious warmth spread from his spine to the rest of his body.
Kneeling, he left the knife near the grate man’s hand and reached over to his exposed bone, wrenching it further. After a moment, he nodded. He was experienced enough to know when a pool of blood was one that none came back from.
‘An old man. A horribly burnt face.’
A face swam into his vision. It was a familiar one.
Kneeling down, making sure his knee didn’t scrape the ground - he didn’t enjoy the idea of getting his attire dirty - Nefarian scooped up his apple and held it before him. For a moment, he examined it, seeing the dirt and dust covering it. Then his sight shifted, and he quietly examined how the vivid red blood on his hand mixed and disappeared into the fruits red colouration. He felt his stomach growl softly, and with a noise of contempt, he tossed the apple into a nearby bin as he began walking. Leaving the two corpses where they laid, he wrung his hands, watching the warm crimson lifeforce of the pair flying away. He was unduly worried, for the bar beside the alleyway was well known for its violent, drunken brawls, and Nefarian was confident that the scene would be viewed as yet another drunken mishap gone terribly wrong. The blood stains that had inevitably appeared on his gloves and cuffs of his sleeves on the other hand…
As he passed one of the windows of the bar’s kitchen, he snatched at the kitchen towel that rested there. Passing it over his face and scrubbing at his glove and his cuffs until they were reasonably clean, he tossed it into a nearby drainage pipe and, after briefly checking his shoulder, moved into another alleyway. He walked down the dark alleyway, its once red brickwork covered in dark grime, moss and dirt, with flecks of what seemed to be old blood almost giving the brickwork back its red colouration. Empty bottles of drink littered the ground, some broken, some whole, sitting alongside random pieces of litter. Of course, sigils had been carved at the entrance of the alleyway, which, for any passerby, made the alleyway appear to be simply another alleyway - pristine, with some mess to avoid suspicion.
Approaching the iron door at the very end, he knocked once. After a moment, a voice emanated from within. “Who did that?”
“I, the One Who Knocked.” Nefarian said clearly. He mentally rolled his eyes at the passcode and took a step back. After a moment, he heard bolts being thrown open and locks turning, and the door opened before him.
Entering, he was immediately hit with the smell of magic. It was intoxicating, the smell of raw magical power and dangerous chemicals that bubbled and boiled in various corners of the grand space. Dimly lit, with clouds of scent covering the ceiling, he walked through the large hall, navigating past various merchants and makeshift market stalls and stores. There weren’t many down here brave enough to attempt jostling or haggling him, and many found their eyes darting down towards his gloved right hand. Fewer, but still some, in the crowd couldn't help but admire his features. Handsome, with a regal aura emanating from behind eyes that burned with passion and danger. Down here, danger was attractive. And threatening. It invited challenge.
But none came and he walked freely. In the Underground, magic was explored like nowhere else in the world. Inhibitions were loose, morals were staggeringly low and magic was seen being used at every corner. Nefarian could only assume that the musicians and radios stationed at certain places were playing music, for they were being vastly drowned out by the store owners and shop keepers that yelled and called out for the crowd’s attention, waving bottles of potions, fistfuls of magic and food items that looked like it would give you ulcers. There were promises of enhancing one’s magic through ‘Splash,’ a drug that Nefarian had discovered and had temporarily enjoyed, before realising the nasty side effects of fluctuating magic levels. Signum Linguists walked around acting like beacons, promising the utmost quality tattoos and sigil inscriptions for relatively low prices.
Further down, Nefarian skirted around the fighting pit, where Enhancers fought for the favour of the crowd and large sums of money. A sensitive had set up a small stall offering to glean into the future and a necromancer was offering his services as a hitman. There were bars filled with people of all disciplines and ages, laughing and cheering and occasionally fighting. Dancers spun around and swayed their hips, sparkling skin and bright flashes of colour from sigils on their hips winking out from the dim-lighting of the bars. Down here, anything went and the law held no jurisdiction.
But there was a type of enforcement that held the people in check. Men and women dressed in rough attire, not mingling, not conversing. They in equal parts stood out like they didn’t belong, and yet acted and moved like this was a natural place for them. Over the past few months, Nefarian had witnessed them dragging struggling and screaming people away, destroying shop stalls and taking whatever they wanted without paying. They were the enforcers and the bullies, and their master didn’t care how they acted as long as they kept the Underground in check. Nefarian had tried looking into them, but the urchins and beggars he’d bribed and connected himself with had turned up nothing but a black hole. However, he’d managed to evade them so far, and so they weren’t his primary concern.
Sticking to the middle of the crowd to avoid being accosted, as well as keeping a hand near his purse to deter pickpockets, he had reached halfway across the hall before he saw his intended target. A small, old man with peeling skin and mottled arms that gave him the appearance of a horrifically burned individual who’d never truly recovered. Nefarian watched him as he approached, seeing him carefully and methodically move his wares around his table. Acting as Nefarian had always known him; a man of cleanliness and pickiness, which is why he’d selected him for the job he’d had in mind. But reaching closer, he began to notice other signs. A slight shake in his hands. A slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. Despite appearing to be heavily focused on the contents on his table, his eyes darted all over the place, concentrating on faces as people walked past. The calm demeanor that had always exhuded from the man was utterly absent, replaced by an air of trepidation, caution and fear.
Inwardly, Nefarian sighed. Though he’d always been a solitary creature at heart, it had been nice speaking to someone who hadn’t tried killing him immediately. But he’d always suspected he’d be let down eventually - the vendor was selling to the black market, afterall. Flicking his wrist to slide his sleeve up, he tapped his wrist as if he were checking his watch, and a sigil lit up briefly on his skin. Looking at the vendor, he saw the man jerk up, and he stooped briefly to check something underneath the table. Nefarian imagined he was using the cameras under his stall, augmented by magic and connected to his house, to check the alert they were most certainly emitting. Nefarian imagined, with a small smile on his face, that the vendor was currently seeing his house burning, courtesy of a few sigils carved in strategic areas.
“Please, sorry, I have to-” The vendor struggled his way through the crowd, desperately making his way towards one of the exits. After a moment, Nefarian followed, and as he met the jostling crowd, he raised his gloved hand slightly, reaching over and tapping a sigil on his forearm, and there was a muted flash. When the transformation was complete, leaving his hand prickling, his eyes flickered back up, a smile with teeth creeping onto his face.
The chase. It had been so long since he’s experienced the adrenaline rush of hunting. Not that it was really a chase in the traditional sense. Whereas the vendor struggled through the teaming crowd examining wares at various stalls and leisurely walking through the hall, Nefarian cut through like a shark's fin through the surface of the ocean, the crowd backing away and spreading apart as they recognised him. Emerging out from the underground lair from one of the many exit’s, Nefarian took a moment to breathe in deep. The magic in the Underground was intoxicating, too an addicting point. It would be far too easy to disappear down there forever.
Rolling his shoulders, Nefarian began following the scrambling vendor, keeping his distance and looking around as if simply on a walk. Though the house was far, the smoke trailing up into the sky acted like a beacon. Slowly moving away from the main thoroughfare of the main streets and going deeper into the isolated houses of the wealthy, isolated by lengthy driveways and lush vegetation, Nefarian followed the vendor straight to his house. With elementals living in a city of magic, one didn’t need to wait for the firetruck or the experts to arrive, but they weren’t able to prevent the house from becoming a crumbling skeleton of what it once was.
He watched the vendor stumble into the remnants of his home, frantically scrounging for anything that may have survived the inferno. Nefarian watched him for a moment, keeping an ear out for any potential witnesses. Though a part of him wanted to hang back and admire his handiwork, he knew to make this quick, before the City Guard came investigating. Making his way forward, he placed his left hand on what remained of the doorway, feeling the warmth scalding his flesh slightly. After a moment, he stepped one foot into the house, and the sense of deja vu hit him from centuries ago.
“Hello Vector.”
The vendor seemed to freeze, his hands twitching slightly over a ruined picture frame lying on the ground. Turning slowly, Vector spotted Nefarian standing before him and his knees gave out. “Mr… Mr Serpine. What… what are you…?”
“Doing here? Well,” Nefarian gestured around him, “a house burning to the ground caught my attention. I must say, I was a bit surprised to find out that it was your house.”
Vector looked up at him silently, then, stiffening his lip, he picked himself back up. “And I suppose our meeting here was a coincidence?”
Nefarian saw the false bravado on the other man’s face and laughed. “Ok fine, I’ll drop the pretense. I knew this was your house because I followed you here. Because I looked at all of your treasured family photos while I carved sigils into the walls of your home. This,” he spread his arms out, gesturing to the house, “was entirely planned. But its execution was entirely up to you, my friend.”
“You set my house on fire!”
Nefarian shook his head and held up a finger. “Vector, you had a very simple task laid out ahead of you. Getting me out of this goddamned city. But my money wasn’t enough for you was it? Someone else paid more.”
“I have expenses, Serpine, and you’re not as scary as you’d like to believe yourself to be,” Vector said, his balled fists slowly glowing yellow. “Go die in a hole somewhere.”
“Oh, don’t worry about expenses, I’m pretty sure the fire took care of those. As for being scary…” he started walking forwards, raising his right hand.
Vector made a noise of disdain, but his feet carried him away from Nefarian until his back was against his fireplace. “I thought you’d dropped the act, Serpine. We all know what happened to-” His voice cut off as Nefarian pulled the glove off of his hand, revealing a glistening, red skinless hand. Nefarian reached out, clamping his right hand around Vector’s throat, and held him there.
“You have a job that I paid you to do,” he whispered, “and you’re going to do it, or you’ll go out the way you came into the world. Screaming.”
Vector managed a nod, gurgling some kind of affirmation. As he nodded, Nefarian attached something to the man’s arm, letting his sleeve slide back down. He backed away and let Vector drop, coughing and spluttering.
“Come now, we have to leave.”
Vector shook his head, remaining on the ground. “You’ll just kill me, and if you don’t, the people who want you gone will.”
“And leave a body to be traced back to me? I don’t think so. You do this for me, we walk in different directions and never have to deal with each other again. And you’re a resourceful man, I’m certain you’ll be able to keep yourself alive.”
“You burned my house to the ground and threatened me with death. I have nowhere safe to go now. Why should I do anything for you?”
Nefarian smiled, kneeling down to look Vector in the eyes. “Because all of this could have been avoided if you’d simply done as I asked. Because right now I’m here and they’re not. Because the pain disk on your arm will leave you screaming for hours, unable to be taken off unless I deactivate it or,” Nefarian tilted his head, “you cut your arm off. It’s up to you.”
Vector seemed to deflate before him, and he sighed. “Ok. Ok. I’ll take you to the castle. Get into my car.”
“My castle.” Nefarian corrected. “And your car, that’s this mobile object, correct?” He asked as he reached the silver automobile.
“Yes, get in.”
They began driving, and as they reached the gate, Nefarian asked the burning question that hadn’t been answered. “Who paid you?”
Vector’s knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. “You have to unders-”
“I don’t want to hear the apologies and promises. They’ll mean nothing to either of us. Just spit the name out,” he held up the pain device’s controller, and the vendor grimaced.
“Christopher Reign is the man who had me paid.”
As they reached Shudder’s Gate, Nefarian’s mind raced. He knew of this man, but had never personally met him. ‘That’ll have to change,’ he thought to himself.
The vendor bribed the man at the gate and they continued forward, and as they drove on, Roarhaven fast becoming a solitary dot in the distance, Nefarian finally felt the vestiges of something he hadn’t felt in centuries. Freedom.

Elijah was hunched over, resting his head on his arms as he watched a veritable horde of villagers help the refugees through the gate. Men and women, young and old, rallied together in a wholesome display of solidarity and compassion.
At least it should have been.
Sure, the people of this were extending their hands in hospitality, pulling together resources to support these refugees, but Elijah couldn't help but feel a twinge of skepticism. His mind flashed back to his experience during Hurricane Katrina, where the outpouring of aid and support often came with strings attached. For every warm bowl of soup provided, there seemed to be an expectation, a debt incurred, never official or even verbally spoken, but still palpably present. It was a harsh reminder that in the world he came from, assistance rarely came without conditions.
In the wake of the disaster, communities often rallied together, but the initial surge of goodwill could sometimes morph into resentment or expectation of repayment once the immediate crisis faded. Elijah wondered if this village would also eventually come to view these refugees not just as victims in need but as debts to be repaid or even new assets to exploit. After all, resources were finite, and adding new mouths to feed, especially in this quasi-medieval setting where scarcity was a constant threat, could strain even the most generous community's goodwill.
Moreover, Elijah was uncertain about this world's stance on the vulnerable, particularly women and children. From what he’d seen so far, the impression he got wasn’t exactly what one would call positive. If one went by Earth’s historical context, he could assume their futures were pretty bleak, regardless of what Coleman and the rest of the team wanted to do. Women and children often bore the brunt of societal upheavals and were usually forced by coercion or debt into more… intimate professions.
Elijah would like to detach himself from the situation, dust off his hands, and say this just wasn't their problem. However, a nagging sense in the back of his mind told him Coleman wouldn't stand for such a ‘Machiavellian’ approach or whatever buzzword he’d think up at the time. However, Elijah liked to think of himself as a Pragmatist or a Realist. Each decision had pros and cons, benefits, and demerits that could have very lethal consequences.
The question then became: What were they going to do with these refugees? Where would they go now? Where would they sleep? How would they eat? How would all of this be financed? And, most important of all, how could they manage to do all of this while still being able to operate and continue their primary objective?
Everyone loved getting caught up in the ideals and morality; they never stopped to ask if there was a place and time for any of that. It’s one thing to be presented with a problem like having a group of vulnerable people with the means and ends to do something about it, but they had neither. The ODA was far behind enemy lines, using minimal resources and very minimal personnel with little to no hopes of escape should they be compromised.
A groan of frustration left Eljah’s mouth as he dug deeper and deeper, using every ounce of his mind to find a way to come out on top. He needed to come up with some kind of win, or else they were unimaginably fucked. The immediate logistical challenges of shelter, food, and not getting their throats slit at night were enough of an issue. But when it came to the longer-term questions of operational security, sustainability, and execution of their mission were even more complex.
“Bro, what the hell…” Elijah whined as he lethargically rubbed his eyes.
Turning his eyes to his team, Elijah watched as Lister and Bennett were off poking at the Wyvern's corpse, pretending to pull security, while Kwon and Schwarz pushed a poorly maintained cart. The entire ODA, save for him and a few others, were off mingling with the locals or keeping themselves busy in some fashion. Even his team leader, Coleman, was off speaking with the village head and his son, acting as a diplomatic representative.
A sudden yank of his hair finally brought Elijah out of his brooding and caused him to rear up to his full height in the turret finally. “What is upsetting my human!?” She barked cheekily. “Human, inform your master why you are upset, and I shall fix it!”
“Fuckin’...!” Elijah winced as he glared up at the fairy who had both feet planted on his forehead, holding onto two fists full of hair to keep her anchored as she leaned forward. “Can you maybe NOT do that?” He sneered.
Unphased by Elijah’s discomfort, Yana simply fluttered her wings in what could only be described as a fairy's equivalent of a shrug. "But I must know," she insisted, her voice a mix of genuine concern and mischievous curiosity. "How else can I assist my human if he does not share his troubles?"
“Is it the stupid Elf? Is it your incessant need to constantly move around? Is it the stupid dirty mortals and their stupid dirty huts?” Yana started to shotgun off potential reasons while swinging side to side, still pulling at his hair. “Should I zap ‘em?”
Already sick of her shit, Elijah shot his hand to snatch the little menace off his head, but he found that Yana was infinitely faster. The fairy zipped up into the sky with a triumphant laugh. Glaring up at her, Elijah barked, "Yana, you can't just zap dudes all willy-nilly! We're trying to keep a low profile here and not create problems unnecessarily!” He narrowed his eyes and glared at his patron. “We need to find the right people to zap, and the right people to turn to our side."
Yana stuck her tongue out at her human before snapping her head to the side in a harrumph, clearly not taking any of his shenanigans. Meanwhile, Elijah grumbled to himself before leaning against the back of the turret and heaving a kind of deep and heavy sight that only the kind people who were at the end of their ropes made.
As the last group of refugees finally made their way inside, Elijah wondered what in hell he was going to do with this mess. Completely stumped, he decided to take a shot and ask his cosmic hitchhiker for any ounce of wisdom. Looking up, Elijah watched as Yana continued to hover above him with an impish grin.
"You had worshipers or some shit,” Elijah randomly blurted out, giving her an exhausted look. “What do you think we should do with this shit show? What do you think I should do with these people to make it easier to move around without babysitting them?"
“First of all, RUDE!” Yana shot back with her hands on her hips as she twirled around. “I HAVE worshipers! Not had!” She corrected but paused for a moment as she actually considered the question. "Well… Mortal problems require mortal solutions," the goddess finally said, landing on the edge of the mounted heavy machine gun’s barrel, swinging her feet in a carefree manner. "But, if you ask this great one, then this great one’s suggestion is just to take over the village."
Elijah's initial reaction was an instinctive scoff as he threw up his hands. "Yeah, no. That's not an option. I can't just take over some bumfuck village and—" He began to dismiss the fairy's outlandish suggestion, already regretting he had even bothered to ask this psychopath’s opinion. However, mid-retort, Elijah froze. His mind raced a mile a minute, and his brows furrowed as the dots started to connect.
This wasn't a bad idea... There were some major flaws and pitfalls he’d had to work out like that act there was some obvious contention the village head had for the ODA team and the refugees, but that could be worked out. The majority of the villagers were vastly more accommodating and accepting than their leader, especially after Elijah and the team returned the girl.
He could leverage that goodwill…
Turning the idea over in his mind, Elijah recognized the opportunity lying beneath the surface of Yana's seemingly absurd suggestion. If they could position themselves as protectors or if need be, take over the leadership position entirely. This would not only secure the innumerable special operations teams a base of operations but also provide some kind of support for the local population since they were still relatively close to the rift. This could facilitate their primary mission, provide a measure of safety, and give them a pool of local resources to draw upon.
A twinkle shone in Elijah’s eye as his thoughts went back to that blacksmith’s daughter. The genuine gratitude and goodwill they had earned for returning her could be the perfect foundation to build on. They just had to do something about this grabby, middle-aged man who seemed to stare at them suspiciously… Elijah’s gaze then drifted over to Coleman and the village head having a back-and-forth.
“Hey, Azeline,” Elijah called out, hoping for some insight from a local or at least to bounce some ideas off of her. However, there was no response. He tried again, a bit louder this time, "Azeline?" Still, nothing. Confused, Elijah looked down to find Azeline with her head lolling to the side, her mouth agape, and a large flow of drool flowing down her face as she found the deep embrace of sleep.
Irritated and somewhat amused at the sight, Elijah gave her shoulder a rough kick. "Hey, Aze! Wake up, goddamnit!" he barked.
Azeline's reaction was immediate. She flailed around violently, nearly tumbling out of the vehicle before she caught herself. She whipped her head towards Elijah and shot him a look that could curdle milk. "WHAT!?" she snarled, clearly not appreciative of being roused in such a manner. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT, YOU GODS DAMNED ASSHOLE!?”
An amused and mischievous look spread across Elijah’s face as he huffed continuously in amusement. “Heheheh, well… I got some questions I need to ask you.”
A bitter look formed on Azeline’s face as she swatted away Elijah's boot in outrage. "Why the hell would I answer anything you ask after that!?" she barked, balling her hand into a fist.
Elijah, unfazed and perhaps a bit emboldened by her reaction, looked up at Yana with exaggerated, mock innocence and said in a childish voice as if he were tattling on Azeline, "Yanaaa, she's not helping me."
Yana's tiny head suddenly popped into the turret, looking down at Azeline with an annoyed and incredulous expression. "Hah!?" she exclaimed, clearly taken aback by the scene unfolding below her.
“Guh…” Azeline flinched as her jaw tightened and her fierce looked waivered. For a moment she had completely forgotten about the existence of this damned Fae and was subsequetnly caught off guard. But just as Yana was about to let loose a few choice words of her own, Azeline shouted out first with a voice laced with exasperation, "Fine, fine, fine! What in the hells are your questions!?"
A mischievous and pompous grin was spread across Elijah’s face when he clapped his hands together. “Wonderful!” He shouted in glee before clearing his throat. "Alright, now that I've got your attention... I've been thinking…” His finger danced together as his expression turn contemplative. “So We've got these refugees and this village, right? And soooo… I may have found an opportunity here, but it's delicate.”
Azeline placed a hand to head and started rubbing it to assuage the headache away that was forming. She was close to just turning around and chucking the nearest object at the man, but the omnipresent glare of his patron prevented her from taking any action.
“As our local expert, what is your take on how to… let’s say…” Elijah paused for a moment, trying to figure out the right word in this strange language to express what he was trying to achieve. “Take over this village in a less-than-hostile way.”
Staring at the man as if he was stupid, Azeline remained quiet for a few long moments before responding with a mixture of disbelief and sarcasm, "Just say you're taking over...?" She narrowed her eyes and lightly shook her head as if to say that this was the most obvious solution. Continuing with a tone of incredulity, she added, "And if they resist, you kill the village head and anyone else who says otherwise. What kind of stupid question is that?"
“No, no, no. Just, no.” Elijah pressed both hands to the bridge of his nose before throwing his head back slightly. “I’m not trying to kill them or force them. I’m trying to umm….” His hands started rolling as he tried to think of the words. “Coerce? No. Pressure? No. Manipulate?” He then snapped his fingers and pointed at Azeline before continuing, “Manipulate! I’m trying to manipulate them into listening to us instead of their leader!”
The annoyed look on Azeline’s face softened a bit as she crossed her arms and tapped her finger on her bicep. “Hmmmm… I think I know what you’re trying to get at, but…” She hummed in interest as she began to collect her thoughts before speaking. "I haven't been a serf or a peasant since I was a child, so I'm not overly familiar with their current wants and needs," she confessed. "However, I have experience with taking over villages abandoned by their lords when I was a shield maiden. As far as I know, you've already done quite a bit by saving and returning one of their own. But, these refugees are going to quickly weigh on them and become a burden if left as is."
Elijah started to stroke his beard thoughtfully as he listened. The issue of the refugees was indeed pressing, and their presence could potentially strain their relationship with the villagers if not handled correctly. The main issues were going to be food and shelter, and seeing that the majority of the survivors were women and children, they couldn’t exactly be put to manual labor like military-aged men.
"They’ll eventually have to be relocated," Azeline concluded with a sigh, but her eyes sharpened as she looked over to the eastern horizon. "However… There’s quite a sizable town not too far away from here. Maybe you could get a trade caravan going under your protection. This village is out in the middle of nowhere, so any chance they could get an armed escort, they’ll jump at it.”
That bit of information seemed to light up Elijah’s face. "Okay, okay!” He nearly shouted as he looked over at Coleman, who was finally making his way over. “We could do a few favors, help around with the villagers, and ingratiate ourselves to them. If the village chief or whatever doesn’t like us, he’ll still be undermined by our favorable outlook, and then we could work on turning them against him," Elijah mused, his mind racing with possibilities.
“And if all else fails, you could…” Azeline smiled evilly and slid her hand across her throat. “Do some leadership changes behind the scenes during the Caravan escort.”
Just as Elijah and Azeline were getting into the meat of their nefarious plotting, Coleman arrived, catching the tail end of their cackling madness. The look on his face was one of disgust as he surveyed the scene before him. Elijah, still brimming with the glee of their scheming, barely noticed Coleman's approach until it was too late.
"Great... now there's two of them," Coleman muttered under his breath, his gaze shifting between Elijah and Azeline. The disdain was palpable in his voice as he spoke up, "Do I even want to know?"
“Probably not.” The two troublemakers said at the same time.

“Ryffka.” A voice called out in the periphery of Ryffka’s consciousness.
But the words quickly disappeared as quickly as they came, as deafening and horrifying snaps and hisses of projectiles resounded all around him. Ryffka found himself running through what seemed like an endless field of Kapen Grass as he ran for his life.
Ryffka's heart pounded in his chest wildly as terror gripped his mind. He cursed himself repeatedly, regretting trying to play it smart and join the Auxiliaries for some "valuable" experience before venturing into the independent and treacherous world of being a Freelancer. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," he screamed between labored breaths, the reality of his situation crashing down on him with every step he took through the dense grass that seemed to grip around his legs as if trying to slow him down.
The sounds of the strange and terrifying weapons pursued him relentlessly. Each snap and hiss was a promise of death if he dared to slow his pace. The projectiles struck the ground closer and closer, throwing up clumps of earth and snapping thick blades of grass with each impact. The idea that just moments ago, he had been considering this stint with the Auxiliaries as a mere stepping stone in his career seemed laughably naive now.
“Ryffka, wake up.” The voice called again, more urgently this time. It was a familiar voice, one that he recognized even in his panicked state. But the grip of fear was strong, and he struggled to break free from the terror’s unyielding hold.
With burning lungs, Ryffka pushed his legs to the limit as he made his flight. Ryffka's mind raced, searching desperately for a plan, any plan, to escape this nightmare. He had always prided himself on his ability to think on his feet, but he found himself in a seemingly impossible position.
Desperation started to set in as Ryffka realized just how hopeless his situation was. He was no proper mage with formal training, adorned with an arsenal of powerful spells at his disposal. No, he was merely some random lucky idiot who had learned to read at an early age and had been even luckier to get his hands on a beginner's spellbook. That modest achievement, which had once filled him with pride, now seemed insignificant in the face of the overwhelming force pursuing him.
He knew for a fact that he was outclassed in every conceivable way by these unknown beings, and his end seemed that it wasn’t just a possibility but an inevitability. The advanced magic or — whatever it was that his pursuers wielded — was like nothing he had ever encountered or read about. Each burst of cacophonous barking from their strange weapons was a stark reminder of his impending doom.
And just as this grim acceptance settled over him, a misstep sealed his fate. The thick tendrils of the Kapen Grass finally ensnared him. With a sudden jerk, his legs were yanked back by the usually inert crop, sending him face-first into the unforgiving earth below. An involuntary "oof" escaped his lips as he made contact, the ground knocking the breath from his lungs.
Dazed and confused as to why inanimate grass would usually trap him, Ryffka's eyes went wide with fear as the sound of two heavy thunks resounded just behind him. Turning around, he found two fist-sized orbs slowly rolling his way. A sense of dread and horror filled him as Ryffka opened his mouth to scream, but before a sound could come out, a thundering smack and searing hot pain coursed through his face.
“Wake up; you damned feathered idiot!” Talarion sneered as Ryffka shot up, holding his face with panicked eyes.
Ryffka's face spun around wildly, trying to make sense of his surroundings as his mind reeled from the sudden shift in reality. The last thing he remembered was the terrifying pursuit through the grass, but now he found himself bouncing rhythmically in the back of a carriage. The jostling was disorienting, and for a moment, he could not reconcile how he'd gone from a flight for his life to this.
Talarion's glare was sharp as he let out an exasperated sigh. "We're here," Talarion said, nonchalantly gesturing ahead.
Following the direction of Talarion's hand, Ryffka gazed out of the carriage to see a town built on top of a hill unfolding before them. It was almost impossibly picturesque, with quaint stone houses adorned with creeping vines and blooming flowers. The rooftops were a blend of earthy tones, and the streets were filled with the hustle and bustle of daily life, yet a tranquil harmony seemed to permeate the air.
For a moment, Ryffka simply sat there, taking it all in before a deep and heavy sigh left his mouth. They finally arrived at the town of Glennsworth, and hopefully, the events leading up to this point would turn into a distant nightmare. However, Ryffka knew trying to forget the horrors of how the otherworlders waged war would be impossible, but the town's allure did a lot to soothe his frayed nerves.
“Thank the gods…” Ryffka finally muttered out after flopping back down into the bed of the carriage.
As the lines of stress dissipated on Ryffka’s delicate features, Talarion couldn’t help but roll his eyes. "Yes, thank the gods,” Talarion shouted, gesturing grandly to the sky as they rumbled through the gates of Glennsworth. “Because it was the gods that dragged your sorry dehydrated ass across endless fields of garbage!” Talarion retorted sarcastically with a dry chuckle.
Ryffka looked up at him with an impish smile creeping onto his lips. "I suppose. I owe you a word of thanks." He shot back as his arms went behind his head and his eyes closed. “I would also suppose we could consider ourselves even since I dragged you out of that nightmare in the fort.”
Talarion huffed in feigned annoyance as he leaned against the wall and waved off Ryffka's remark with a wave of his hand. "Ya, whatever. I’m just glad we’re away from those damned demons.” He continued with audible relief in his voice. “It almost felt like we were being chased.”
“Right? It was as if those otherworldly hellspawns were unsatisfied with the fact they hadn’t struck down every soul in that damnable place and dedicated themselves to finishing the job...” Ryffka said in disgust as he let out an exhausted sigh.
Flipping his eyes over his shoulder and looking at the hilltop covered in buildings, Ryffka seemed to murmur to himself rather than to Talarion. "But what's next?"
"We find a way to make ourselves some money here and start gathering supplies," Talarion replied, leaning forward, his voice low and conspiratorial. "We have skills, and this town could use someone of our... talents. We horde as much crap as we can and then high tail it to Aldenshore."
Bringing his hand to his smooth chin, Ryffka considered Talarion's words with a smirk. "Hmmmmmm…" he hummed in interest as he thought this could be another opportunity to gain some experience as a newly budding Freelancer. "I like the sound of that. Plus, we should have some time to relax and spread our wings out before those… things… show up again.”
"Yeah, we'll lay low, gather what we can, and prepare for the road ahead," Talarion agreed, his eyes scanning the marketplace's vibrant stalls and chattering townsfolk. "I doubt they’ll attack somewhere so populated."
Ryffka chuckled lightly and sat up once more, allowing the tension to finally seep out of his shoulders as he watched a group of children chasing each other around a fountain.

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To Mr CREED of Penance,
You failed to defame FANTASY MAN this morning on an singular error he made on a trash item. The thing about Elitist malignant narcissist's is they're liked for their skill but hated for being the worst kind of jerk. You can't take FANTASY MAN down because your opinion of him is imagination and not self existent. I told you you were being a "silly billy" but you went ahead with useless slander against a dude chilling out on an old favorite video game.
Kind Regards,
FANTASY MAN

The Lands of Temrielle have been ravaged by years of war, resulting in an uneven stalemate between the realms powers. Each constantly seeking new means of power to get an advantage over the others.

Tyal a small artic city has found a way to save its people by mysteriously closing off the mountain pass, filling it with a strange fog. With this recent development, Tyal has been secluded and unreachable by land, leaving the only avenue of approach, is the freezing and treacherous iceberg filled waters.

Queen Sophia Berkley battle weary and grief stricken with the loss of her husband and son in the battle with the Sanguine Empire. She is the sole leader attempting to bring peace back to the lands and end the senseless violence.

True to their nature Bane, Bhall and myrkul have thrived in recent years. Capitalizing on the death, chaos and greed that extended war brings. With this expansion cultists have grown in scale and number to compete with the major centers of worship ,stretching further the already occupied paladin orders to their limit and striking fear into the hearts of the common people.

DND 5e, Homebrewed world, Voiced on Discord and played on Roll20 for battles, character sheets, and rolls. Age: 25+, Fun, and respectful to everyone at the table. RP Heavy and focused, Takes Notes and want to be with the party.
Setting: Dark and gritty content. R rated. Any sexy times are "Faded to black."
Game time: Wednesday or Thursdays 6:30 pm (Saskatchewan time zone) typically play 4.5 hours. Aim for weekly games ( I know life happens)
Seeking: Fun and respectful Role players who actively engage with NPC's, want to be with the party. Wants to participate in a collaborative story with others. Combat is fun and will be an integral part of my campaign, however murder hobo's, edge lords, and hack and slashers need not apply. I really want to form a group that is heavy roleplaying, engaged on discord and engages in social scenes.

Looking for 5 player please only apply if your actually free Wednesday or Thursday evenings. Looks to see which day works for folks.


Character creation will be done roll20 on session 0 in which you can roll for stats or take the basic array. Single Class characters only for this campaign. No Monks, or artificers, Elequence bards.

• Looking for players that make rich and rounded characters that aren't power gaming or creating "problematic characters"
• Lets make fun and balanced characters.

Races
-Players handbook + Goliaths & Genasi


Little info to help me choose adventurers! If you're interested in the campaign DM me and please add a bit of info about yourself and gaming style, see below:
1. Name

1. A little about you, do you have any experience?
2. What character would you like to play?
3. Thoughts on roleplaying, interacting with NPC's and collaborative story telling? Do you do a voice for your character?
4. How often can you make the sessions?
5. What are you hoping this campaign will have?
6. What are you hoping for in your fellow dnd party?
7. What do you bring to the group?
8. Do you make characters that want to adventure and be in a party?
9. Are you active on discord outside of sessions (such as character chat)
10. Do you take notes and engage in the campaign?
11. Pls send this in a DM

MAGICAL ITEMS
Casters are plenty, however magical items in the campaign are rare. I am incorporating master craft weapons/armor to push the importance of NPC craftsmen and make uncovering rare magic a bit more meaningful.

Banned spells
-Silvery barbs
-Tiny Hut
-Teleportation circle
-Magnificent mansion
-force cage
(spells that neutralize adventure or combat and makes the game less fun)

Books used in campaign and subclasses available using:
Players handbook
Sword coast adventures guide
Tashas cauldron
Xanathars guide to everything

Leveling up
I use the milestone method and then players will need to seek out trainers to expand their skills and powers to add a roleplaying element.
I'm hoping to be running this campaign with your party for a couple years, with this in mind, I don't speed run XP to players to level them up fast. I find that it ends the campaign quicker. I use a story driven approach and key points in the campaign.

Campaign Setting

• R rated campaign. The campaign is a war torn setting. While we will enjoy light and comedic sessions. There will be r rated and dark aspects of the campaign with evil nations, cultists and monsters pursuing vile and evil goals. Not PG13.

House rules
Rules

1

Game is meant to be a fun ROLEPLAYING vs roll playing game, in a good aligned campaign, please be respectful to other players and the group. No need for power gaming, purposely derailing or sowing conflict and chaos on the group to cause drama and mess with everyone's fun. Eg. stealing from other players, killing other PC's NPCs for no reason than to be cruel, interrupting a PC's spot light time, and avoid meta gaming!

2

No arguing with the GM. I will hear you out, you may make a case for xx. when I make a ruling lets move on. I am human and may make mistakes and we can respectfully talk about the event post game. Let's not Hold up the table and disrupting the flow of the game to argue xx.

4

Don't power game. This is meant to be a fun roleplaying game. You don't need to WIN D&D by trying to use broken spells, skills, feats etc.... No peasant rail guns etc... to try to break the game... Its not fun and messes with everyone's enjoyment. Your Characters will be powerful, have strengths and weaknesses etc...which add to the enjoyment. you don't need to make a 1 man army.

5

Try to stay in character for as much as possible. It creates a better gaming atmosphere and encourages roleplaying. this is a collaborative story, its more fun for everyone if you engage and roleplay with the NPC's and fellow players to create more interesting social encounters and the world in which you (the players) call home.

6

Ties in with Meta gaming. If you make a skill check and fail, such as detect traps and roll horribly. You as a player know this not your character. To your character it looks clear. unless there is a reason for a second check I may not allow a second roll. trying to move a boulder and failing, 2nd, 3rd, 4th etc... attempts are not an issue as its clear you didn't succeed.

7

Taking 20..... does not exist. Players can't just take time and get a nat 20 on a check.

8

Passive perception will be rolled by the GM and not a constant #. EG d20+wis mod vs constant 15.

9

No Monks or Artificers - gm total bias, I just hate the class's for my sanity pls don't make.
No Elequence bards (the +10 is completely debalancing)

10

Character creation Race selection:

• players handbook

- Goliath

• Genansi All

11

Character's Creation will be at session 0 on roll20.
We'll roll stats live with everyone. Or you may take the standard array
Character class No multiclassing please pick a class you will be happy to run for the length of the campaign. No Monks or Artificers or elequence bards.

12

Healing potions. Taking an action to drink a healing potion results in max healing vs using a bonus action in which basic roll rules apply. This does not apply to pouring a potion down an unconscious persons throat.
PC-PC interaction
Pc's can Nope attacks from other PC's. Eg. player 1 decided to punch player 2.... player 2 can Nope and the attack fails.(GM may allow attacks PC-PC if warranted eg. Player 1 insults player 2s momma LOL and the response is relative to the cause of conflict) dont fire ball and kill a PC for a momma joke, however a single black eye may suffice) however if in combat the mage casts fireball at enemies and other Pc's are in the way dmg applies normally. Essentially allows PCs to stop Jerk behavior effecting their PC. Same applies for Stealing from other players. Remember, good campaign, group cohesion, pls don't be an ass.
Players trying to convince/deceive other PC's using skills can roll and verbally make their case to other Pc's to see how effective they are, allowing for PC to PC roleplaying. However if the player really doesn't want to, they can NOPE. ( this is solely intended for rare use as the hole point is more about fun and roleplaying. allowing your character to be manipulated/tricked etc.. can at times be fun and create interesting sessions. However, sometimes characters may have issues do to a back story, moral oath etc... that may conflict with the desired effect. essentially again... remember its a good campaign, group cohesion, don't be an ass.

Dying and Medicine.
Death saving throws are made privately. This way the other players don't know the results or condition of their comrade, creating a sense of urgency.
Nat 20 on a saving throw automatically revives the player with 1 HP (character prone), a Nat 1 cause 2 death saving throw failures.
Characters with proficiency in medicine or have a healers kit, can stabilize a downed character. If a character without the medicine proficiency or kit attempting to stabilize a character and failing the DC. the result will be 2 failed death throws.
Player input
Open to other players input on other homebrew rules they think would be good or have used in the past.
Table expectations

• Be polite and respectful to your fellow adventurers and GM.
• When playing DND play. Don't play other games and be distracted.
• Let players play their characters. No micromanaging other PC's.
• Share the spotlight.
• Engage with your fellow players and want to be part of the party.
• If you can't make a session, provide as much notice as you can. Let's be respectful of each other's schedule and time.
• Aiming for a collaborative game. Engage with the story, each other and take notes.
• Joke, flirt and have fun with NPC's we're all adults but any sexy times, will be "faded to black".
• If 1 or 2 players can't make a session but the majority are free. The session will proceed. If party is in the middle of an adventure, the Missing characters will be NPC'd. If the setting permits, they will be off taking a break.
• Sessions are Wednesdays or Thursday nights @ 6:30 my time (Saskatchewan time zone) and session will run approx. 4.5 hours.
• Aiming for a good aligned adventuring group. Don't make an evil character or actively make a character to go against the group as a secret BBEG.
• Don't needlessly draw on the map or make random dice rolls as it bogs up the chat history and distracts everyone.
• No edgelords, power gamers or lonewolves. Want to be an advernturer and a party member.

Actual Death
The Fading Spirit
This resurrection rule set is designed to add an element of party roleplaying and narrative to the resurrection attempt, as well as the creeping threat of permanent death to a character. Any of the following DC modifiers are easily adjusted to fit your campaign needs. Resurrection Challenge If a character is dead, and a return from death is attempted by a spell or spell effect with longer than a one action casting time, a Resurrection Challenge is initiated. Up to 3 members of the adventuring party can offer to contribute to the ritual via skill checks. The DM asks them each to make a skill check based on their form of contribution, with the DC of the check adjusting to how helpful/impactful the DM feels the contribution would be. For example, praying to the god of the devout, fallen character may require an Intelligence (Religion) check at an easy to medium difficulty, where loudly demanding the soul of the fallen to return from the aether may require a Charisma (Intimidation) check at a very hard or nearly impossible difficulty. Advantage and disadvantage can apply here based on how perfect, or off base, the contribution offered is.

Resurrection Check
After all contributions are completed, the DM then rolls a single, final Resurrection success check with no modifier. The base DC for the final resurrection check is 10, increasing by 1 for each previous successful resurrection the character has undergone (signifying the slow erosion of the soul’s connection to this world). For each successful contribution skill check, this DC is decreased by 3, whereas each failed contribution skill check increases the DC by 1. Upon a successful resurrection check, the player’s soul (should it be willing) will be returned to the body, and the ritual succeeded. On a failed check, the soul does not return and the character is lost. Only the strongest of magical incantations can bypass this resurrection challenge, in the form of the true resurrection or wish spells. These spells can also restore a character to life who was lost due to a failed resurrection ritual, should you allow it.

Quick Resurrections
If a spell with a casting time of 1 action is used to attempt to restore life (via the Revivify spell or similar effects), no contribution skill checks are allowed. The character casting the spell makes a Rapid Resurrection check, rolling a d20 and adding their spellcasting ability modifier. The DC is 10, increasing by 1 for each previous successful resurrection the character has undergone. On a failure, the character’s soul is not lost, but the resurrection fails and increases any future Resurrection checks’ DC by 1. No further attempts can be made to restore this character to life until a resurrection spell with a casting time higher than 1 action is attempted.
Currently Group Composition:
-1 Human Paladin
Hate to say but "DM Application", looking for the right players that will mesh well, engage and RP.

Just finished killing the new boss with my usual group and I wanted to share our frustrations so other people can skip them and have a better time in the biome.

1. Don’t make a main base!! Seriously guys it’s a huge waste of time. All you will be doing is fighting and repairing every ten minutes it’s not worth your time. If you like tower defense games make on and build like 10+ ballistas and spikes around your base but again you will be managing all that and never progressing.
   I suggest you bring stonecutter, workbench, shield and new portal mats with you and build as you go.
   
2. Find putrid holes and get a minimum of 2 molten cores ASAP it builds the new portal that lets you move metals and it’s a life saver for bring materials back and forth.
   
3. Don’t waste your time and sanity on mining Flametal ore nodes in the lava. Mob density is way to high and you will be flung off the shitty little platforms the bombs give you a million times. Save your sanity and kill the dwarf outposts and take their metal. It will let you build your battering ram to get more metal from the fortresses.
   
4. When fighting the new boss he will spam the area with green flames and spikes. Do not run toward your portal set up or you will find it destroyed very quickly.
   
5. The new boss is not melee friendly. Recommend you use a mage setup with the new troll summoned staff and spam the shotgun while keeping a shield on you or your group.
   

That’s all I can think of at the moment. My overall thoughts on the biome is this is maybe the least fun biome of the game at the moment. Killing mobs over and over gets dull when all they drop you are bones. At least fulings gave you metal!!
Speaking of metal mining the metal is a joke fest and honestly I feel like the devs were being jerks with this one. Why in the hell does the bombs only give you 30 seconds and on top of that the ore sinks and your dealing with mobs WTF. IMO they need the flametal gear to give you lava resist or something otherwise everyone will just skip the nodes or find a cheese way to mine them.
In conclusion they really need to find a more interesting way for you to overcome the biome other than kill everything like a war strategy game with shitty mario platform mechanics.
Every other biome gave you a tool to take the biome with more ease. This one doesn’t and that break in the formula shows. If anything the new war weapons only give you more turret defense stuff to manage and provide little help with the overall progression.
However, the new boss is amazing and I hope they keep Fader mostly the same. The whole Starscourge Radahn opening was sick and the fight was very fun as a mage lol.
Hope this helps some people!

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Big update at the end of Part.2, make sure you check it out. It is important.
---
My initial surprise waned as a burning hatred boiled up within me. There was no hesitation in my choice. I dipped my mind into my Spatial Ring and pulled out two syringes; the thick red substance within wobbled with the movement.
I eyed my father and mother, who were faring better against their paladin. We were too close to each other to use a wide area of effect magic, and the stragglers were beginning to gather themselves as a new group of rugged-looking paladins showed up.
Their armor was different, some haphazardly maintained, dented in the shoulders and helmets. Overall, they looked like a band of brigands. The purple articles of clothing and cloaks were thrashed, but the marked-out and desecrated symbols of Amon-Ra were present. They were all members of the Chapter of Despair.
I met my father’s eyes and threw the syringe with all my might. We had talked about using the drugs if things got out of hand. A shadowy hand whipped out from my father and snatched the syringe out of the air. He quickly injected himself in the thigh, and I followed suit.
The effects were almost immediate. I felt my skin get taunt. My veins bulged and pulsed against my skin as my heart thumped in my chest. Sylas’s version of my stimulant was made with purer and higher quality ingredients, as well as being appropriately mixed, which made it all the more potent.
And with it, my emotions exploded out of me.
“Wow, what did you just stab yourself with? I don’t even want to imagine the—”
Alnwar’s words were cut short as he fell to the floor and reached for his own throat, choking on the air around him. The paladins were forced to their knees as well, and all the fighting in the pit had ceased for a moment as the full force of my bloodlust suffocated those around me.
“Alnwar Strongfold. Today is your last day on this planet.”
Power coursed through my muscles and veins as I shot forward like a cannon, aiming straight for the man’s throat. My body became wreathed in golden lightning as white flames danced along my spear’s tip. Alnwar managed to get back to his feet, but he blocked my thrust with shaky hands.
He dodged and blocked my repeated strike, the fear in his eyes and the hesitation in his movements clear. I didn’t give him a moment of respite as I pushed the assault. I swept my spear along his body for a slash and knocked his long sword up into the air.
I repositioned the tip for a thrust to the heart, but the second short sword came up to deflect it. I sent a blast of close-range white fire at him, but he dodged to the side with his tremendous speed. We locked back into a fury of blows, and I continued to push him into a corner. As the fight progressed, the fear of his features lessened as he regained control of himself.
One thing is certain. Alnwar is not a pushover, and judging by his soul, he is at the level of a War God but not nearly at the top like King Maxwell or even a Grandmaster mage like Bowen. This means the stories of him slaying an Exarch must be fabricated lies.
With my heightened senses, I heard the swing and ducked to the side, avoiding the massive war hammer that aimed to crush me into dust. The impact made a crater on the ground, and I went to thrust my sword into the paladin but was forced to react to Alnwar’s attack instead.
I used gravity to force me the opposite way and to the side. My body jerked violently as my equilibrium shattered from the change. It made me want to vomit, but with that unnatural movement, I dodged the attack entirely and went for a counter-attack on Alnwar.
Thankfully, Cerila was right behind to deal with the paladin, and for the first time, her sword came into contact with flesh. The paladin whipped around his hammer with great force that moved the air as blood splattered from a sizable gap in his back. At the time, I also caught a glimpse of my parents.
My mother had left to kill the new Chapter of Despair paladins and allow my father free reign during his battle. A storm of shadows swelled and exploded out toward the paladin, who countered with golden spells of light magic. The intensity of their battle had increased tenfold as it destroyed the land around them, and any unlucky to get caught up in it had their lives snuffed out by tendrils of shadows or bolts of light.
Regardless, my focus remained on the fight at hand as I trusted that Cerila would handle that paladin from here on out. Alnwar had mostly regained his composure and dropped into a low stance. He kept both his short and long sword pointed at me and struck out like a viper.
I had to pay close attention to his body to see which blade would come at me, but I was able to read it with my enhanced body, the increased focus from the combat drug, and years of experience. I went for a leg sweep using my spear as a staff, but Alnwar dodged back out of range.
He shot forward immediately after, and I sent him retreating with another thrust, or so I thought. Alnwar crossed his blades into an x and blocked my spear in the center. He used the momentum to get under and knock my spear up, and instead of retreating like he usually did, he pushed into me.
He shoulder-checked and staggered me, and I watched as the short sword went low and aimed directly at my side. The blade would pierce my side and right into my internal organs.
If it could, that was.
I trusted in Squeak’s and Padraic’s abilities, and instead of backing away, I brought the shaft of my spear down on his head. Alwarn’s grin was disgusting as the blade impacted me, but it was wiped away in a flash as the sound of metal on metal rang out. My spear crashed into his head, and I sent a knee into his gut, knocking him into the air slightly.
With my spear in hand and my body enhanced to its maximum, I pushed Alnwar away and sent him flying into a pile of rubble. I flipped my spear around and pointed the golden horn at Alnwar as I primed a White Fire Lance to end him. It was far easier and faster to cast than a plasma-based spell, and I had already prepared it as he was flying off.
The white fire warped the air as the intense heat boiled off my spear. But within a matter of moments, the spell launched a jagged lance of white flames at Alnwar. However, I sensed an incoming spell core and watched with surprise as a golden hammer sniped the Flame Lance out of the air. The paladin fighting Cerila had taken a brief moment to launch a spell to protect Alnwar.
Honestly, these two paladins are more of a problem than Alnwar at this point.
Cerila was struggling against her opponent. Her movements were sluggish as time went on. She hadn’t slept in a full day, and the long battle was draining her even more. She may actually collapse at any moment.
Alnwar burst out from the rubble and raced toward me, completely unharmed. It seemed even he could use light magic to heal himself. I prepared myself to meet his attack head-on when suddenly Alnwar stopped, skidding to a halt and throwing himself back.
A clump of purple rock collided with the ground making a crater and kicking up a large cloud of debris. There was a thunderous crash to the side as something else impacted the earth by Cerila and the paladin. A massive purple blur moved through the smoke with terrifying agility and speed, and I watched as the paladin swung his war hammer at it.
An armored hand covered in a thick layer of purple crystal impacted the hammer mid-swing and crushed it into dust. The paladin was blown back from the blow, and an armored figure that stood taller than even the massive paladin brought both his hands down and smashed the soldier on his shoulders, forcing him to his knees.
A gust of wind appeared as the crystal figure extended his hands out and back and, with explosive force, went to clap. The paladin’s head and helmet were crushed into a blood mist, his ears touching in the center. The crystal man dragged the body up and hoisted it into the air after.
“Have no fear, for your king has arrived! Let none survive our fury!” King Maxwell shouted into the air, accompanied by his menacing bloodlust.
On cue, there were caws from the air, followed by many blurs in the distance. Spells began raining down from the air on the white robbed assistants and paladins of the Chapter of Despair as Gryphon Riders decimated their ranks.
King Maxwell, covered in his crystal magic, rushed over to me, his face mostly obscured, but I could see the grin on his lips. “Come Kaladin! Let us finish this bastard!”
There was no hesitation as I sprinted to catch up to him. Alnwar scowled and ran full tilt into a group of his allies, but the two of us gave chase. We crashed into the lines of white robes and paladins and began slaughtering them.
With spear and magic, I killed dozens, burning their bodies to a crisp, impaling their chests, and crushing their bones with every swipe of my weapon. King Maxwell made mincemeat of anyone who dared to stand before him. Every punch claimed a life and sent a corpse lying in a sea of their own blood.
The ground was an ocean of crimson as we waded through the corpses of the fallen to Alnwar, who was being healed by a group of priests. His light magic must not have been enough to heal him completely. I sent a Fireball into the group, and Alnwar grabbed and tossed the priest into my spell. The priest exploded as he impacted my spell, his limbs flying off in random directions.
We were just about to attack Alnwar when something changed. My gut twisted into a knot as I sensed an overwhelming power from our side. There was a flash of light from a broken sewer pipe, and something shot out from it. It moved far faster than anything I had yet to see, and I couldn’t make it out at all.
The gust of wind blew past me as it moved straight toward Cerila. My heart leaped in my chest as I sent magic toward it in an attempt to halt its advance; even King Maxwell tossed a disk of purple crystal at it, but our attacks missed entirely.
Cerila was killing off a squad of paladins. Her chest was heaving up and down. Her eyes sunk into her skull, and the signs of intense fatigue all over her. She was late to react to the new attacker.
She brought Hubris up to defend herself, but in the blink of an eye, her entire arm was separated from her body. Her hand, still holding Hubris, spiraled in the air, trailing blood. Time seemed to come to a halt as I watched a knight wearing pristine silver armor jump into the air.
The man was tall but more lanky than muscular. The armor he wore was ornate and shimmered in the afternoon sun. A greenish-white sword that looked like it was made of crystal was clutched in one hand, and strapped to his other arm was an equally ornate shield. It was beautifully crafted, with the symbol of a bright golden sun at its center and white wings coming out from it. I had never seen it in person, but I instantly recognized it, and so did King Maxwell.
An Exarch. The Shield Exarch of the North.
The crystalline sword disappeared into thin air, leaving his hand free. He snatched Hubris out of the air, but the moment he gripped the sword, he was tossed into the ground as if the sword had dragged him. He impacted the ground like a meteor, as King Maxwell and I arrived on top of him.
The Exarch laid on his back, Hubris in one hand, and his shield sprawled out to the side. I thrust my spear down at the fallen man, and King Maxwell went to stomp his head.
“That was unexpected,” the Exarch grumbled in a relaxed tone.
I swore I didn’t even blink, but his shield was suddenly positioned in front of him. I hit the shield with my spear, but it bounced straight off. King Maxwell’s kick was stopped dead in its tracks. A burst of white light flashed from the sun on the shield, and I felt the intense heat and powerful mana, so I dodged back out of instinct.
The magic barely grazed my arm, but I felt my flesh burn, then nothing. I had lost a chunk of my forearm along with my jacket.
An instantly cast spell? From the shield itself?
“Kaladin, stay back. Grab Cerila and take her to Sylvia. I’ll handle this guy,” King Maxwell said in a low voice.
I rushed over to Cerila, who was gripping her missing arm, trying to staunch the bleeding. The Exarach was already back on his feet, trying to pull Hubris off the ground but to no avail. Eventually, he just shrugged and summoned his sword back from his Spatial Ring.
I picked Cerila up and rushed her over to Sylvia. Alnwar might get away, but Cerila’s life was more important. My worry for her overran my seething hatred for him.
I saw that my father had defeated the other paladin. Shadows crawled around him as his purple and black spear embedded into the head of the slumped-over paladin. In the meantime, Sylvia had encased the other three in a sphere of blood and was attacking and killing anyone who approached her.
She cut the head off a white robbed man and looked at me with worried eyes. I handed the moaning Cerila off to her and took over the defense position as spells from the Gryphon Knights rained down.
Cerila let out one final scream before she passed out as her arm began to regrow. I stepped back, let the spells of the knights finish off the last few remaining assailants in this area, and turned my attention to Sylvia.
She pulled away from Cerila’s neck with a frown. “She passed out, but she isn’t in danger anymore.”
“Good, put her in the sphere with the others for the time being,” I requested.
Sylvia nodded, and a tendril of blood snaked out from one of the nearby bodies and wrapped Cerila up, only to crawl itself into a crimson sphere. It was… unnerving a bit, but I had gotten used to it, so there was no reason to be surprised anymore.
Off in the distance, King Maxwell and the Exarch were exchanging blows. Each strike rocked the ground and sent shockwaves across the entire place. Entire sections of the crater were being torn to pieces as the two fought at inhuman speeds.
“So that’s an Exarch…” Sylvia muttered from my side.
“Yes.”
“Can the king win?” Sylvia asked, looking at me from the side.
If Grandpa’s words are to be believed…
“If we threw everything at him, maybe,” I answered.
I was beginning to see what Grandpa meant. King Maxwell, the strongest man on the continent, was not able to land even a single hit on the Exarch. His massive tower shield seemed to move immediately to block and strike, and although his sword was not a Holy Artifact, whenever he swung the blade, it would slice into the King’s crystal armor, taking a massive chunk out of it. Thankfully, it was quickly regrown, but how long could King Maxwell keep up?
My father and mother made their way over to us. The two of them were drenched head to toe in the blood of their enemies and their own as well. Without even needing to be asked, Sylvia immediately healed the two of them.
The three of us watched the two fight, and it was clear that we could not intervene recklessly. King Maxwell was giving it his all, and so was the Exarch. Any slip up would be the end for us.
Eventually, the two men broke apart from each other. Neither of them was winded or wounded. The Exarch stood tall and planted his shield into the ground with a thud.
“It’s an honor to meet the Berserker King face to face. The stories don’t do your strength justice,” the Exarch said humbly.
“Gerimia Foster, the Shield Exarch. Tell me, why have you invaded my kingdom?” King Maxwell demanded.
“All land is equally ours under our god. I have every right to be here. And besides, I think it’s rather obvious as to why I’ve come. But there seems to be an issue…so I’ll be taking my leave now,” Gerimia said.
What? He’s just going to leave?
“What?! We can’t leave now you just—”
Alnwar’s yapping was silenced with a single glance from the Exarch. “I won’t be hearing any complaints from you.”
Gerimia looked up into the sky as Gryphon Knights circled above. “Besides, we are outnumbered, and I don’t intend to wait things out only to starve to death. I’m a defensive specialist; I can’t defeat an army with this many elites alone. We are leaving.”
“As if I’d let you. This hole will be your grave,” King Maxwell snarled.
“No, it really won’t be. But if you want it to be yours, that’s fine with me, Your Majesty,” Gerimia said with a shrug.
King Maxwell shot forward, but he stopped in his tracks. We all felt it. The feeling of dread increased, and the hair on the back of my neck stood at attention. And my body screamed at me to run. It was a familiar sensation, and Sylvia was the first to shout.
“Stop him! He is starting a ritua—”
Sylvia’s warning was stopped just with the Exarch’s voice, “I do not permit you to preach to me. You shall all know silence.”
The sun on the shield lit up, and a burst of light flashed. No magic or sudden pain hit us, but there was a definite change. All the sound in the entire crater had ceased as if the world had gone deaf.
King Maxwell rushed forward, but an enormous golden barrier flashed to life. It reminded me of the barrier that Mason erected in Gilcour Thicket all those years ago, but this one was three times as big and covered their entire side in holy light.
“Here all me faithful, I hereby command you, be strong and courageous. Have no fear or dread of them, for your god is with you today.”
Once again, the Exarch’s shield flickered to life. With golden rays, the sun shined, and the wings shimmered, and rays of light streamed out from it. They arced off and danced in the air, and we all watched as they shot down and into the invaders. The white robes and paladins all glowed with a holy light as they began to stand up, examining themselves as if surprised by something.
Even the people who were at death’s door and nothing but limbless corpses began to regrow limbs and stand back up, full of vigor, as they picked up weapons. The only bright side was that the dead stayed dead and did not rise. Even so, we were once again surrounded.
The refreshed mob let out war cries as they rushed us with renewed fervor. Spells from the knights crashed into their ranks just as before, but it appeared as if they were less effective. People were losing body parts from Fire Balls or falling rocks, but they healed almost immediately and got right back up.
The first wave crashed into us, and with Sylvia’s help, the four of us began to fight back. We killed dozens more, and there was a stark difference now. Before, the white-robed people seemed nothing more than civilians, blindly rushing to their deaths. But now, even the weakest amongst them was slightly more robust, which wasn’t much, all things considered, as they still died all the same.
It was also unnerving that we were the only ones that couldn’t speak. Our swords clashing, the cutting of flesh, none of it made any noise. It was only the shouts of zealots and the low hum of a chorus of voices mumbling in sync off in the distance.
Sylvia yelled into the air, like she was breaking free of the silence, and shouted, “Hold them back! They are doing a ritual! I have to try to stop them! Throw the bodies toward me!”
Sylvia jumped back, and blood began to spiral out from the corpses and shoot out into the crowd. The blood pooled on the ground and, like a rushing river, began to flow toward us. The crimson liquid gathered above Sylvia into a massive ball as she quickly mumbled to herself with her eyes closed.
I had no idea what she was doing, but we did as she asked. I thrust my spear into the heart of a woman and tossed her body over my head and into a pile. My mother cut through the hoard with her twin lightning-clad blades as my father used his shadows to launch the bodies backward.
And their souls…they have golden chains around them now…what is happening?

Part.2 https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/1cfm0im/deathworld_commando_reborn_vol7_ch206_in_ou

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There is a big update at the end of the next chapter. There are two posts today as well, so don't miss them. Thanks, and sorry for the delay.
The smell of burned flesh tickled my nose, but I ignored it as I turned around. It felt like the world was moving slowly as I watched everyone react to the sudden situation. My father was wrapping himself and Dallin in a cloak of shadows. My mother’s lightning-clad hidden blade was through the throat of what seemed to be a regular citizen with a knife.
Sylvia and I were springing forward. I could hear and sense multiple people behind me, but they were of secondary concern. My heart thumped as I watched Cerila protect Padraic from a sword with her ice. Cerila let Hubris fall to the ground and instantly embraced Mila, bringing her close. She tried to defend herself and Mila with a thick layer of ice, but she wasn’t quick enough.
An assailant with a long, thin dagger thrust forward, breaking the blue ice. Cerila twisted her body, and the dagger missed Mila and plunged straight into Cerila’s chest. It was a moment later that my Stone Bullet cracked the dagger-wielding man in the back of the head, dropping him to the ground. I turned to face two people rushing toward me.
Both of them looked like regular everyday citizens, but they had weapons out, and I quickly dispatched them with a torrent of flames. It was pandemonium, and I couldn’t immediately tell who was a regular civilian and who was part of the group of attackers.
Because it wasn’t just us being attacked.
I parried a sword thrust from behind and sent my spear through a man’s chest. I glanced around, and people were attacking others indiscriminately. A mage at a food stand obliterated a group of people with a Fireball.
Thankfully, without a word, my family and I had essentially made a circle around the three non-combatants. Sylvia was already treating Cerila’s wound while protecting us with orbs of blood, shooting out crimson spikes at incoming attackers.
I sliced the head off another attacker and immediately felt a sickening twist in my stomach. Out of instinct and on pure sense alone, I glared out into the panicking crowd and caught a glimpse of someone sprinting toward us. It was a woman, and even though she was covering herself in a cloak, I still managed to see her eyes, the bottom of them a bright red and the rest a dirty blood color. It was a pair of eyes I would never forget.
I moved to send a hellfire of Stone Bullets at her, but the ground began to shake violently. I lost my footing and crumbled down to one leg as the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I could feel the immense amount of mana now that was gathered below us into multiple spell cores. I encased myself in stone, knowing that I could trust my family to protect themselves and others. It was a good decision, as the world around us exploded.
Boom.
—
Sylvia Talgan’s POV.
I wasn’t able to feel anything before the ground grumbled with an unknown power. Even so, I saw everyone going on the defensive and instantly moved the blood under my control to protect Mila first. Whatever happened wouldn’t kill me, so her safety was paramount.
A crimson shield was wrapping around me when the explosion went off, followed by something barreling into me. The air got knocked out of my lungs, and my ribs cracked and broke in my chest. I thought a random piece of debris had crushed my chest, but I was wrong. I flipped around, my ears ringing and my body screaming at me in pain. I tumbled head over heels multiple times, impacting falling rocks and stones on my way until I crashed into the ground.
But the ground immediately gave away again, and I started to fall deeper. I was healing my body as fast as I could, fixing broken bones and giant gashes in my arms, chest, and legs. I even took a sizable rock to my head but resisted the urge to blackout and pushed through the pain with gritted teeth.
The stench of a vile sewer assaulted me as I impacted the ground, and just to piss me off, it was almost completely dark besides the light shining in through the hole I crashed in from. I felt my body break in multiple places again, but I instantly began to repair myself because, beyond the stench and the darkness, my senses were overwhelmed with the smell of blood.
It wasn’t my blood, but the blood of my loved ones at a distance, and right in front of me was the scent of someone I had been looking forward to killing for a very long time. I let burning blood course through me, and even though I wasn’t healed yet, I thrust my arm out and caught a sword with my bare hand.
It sliced into me and cut my flesh but stopped in my bone, just like I wanted. The pain was overwhelming; I wanted to cry out, but those feelings were washed away by the pure resentment and loathing I felt. A pair of crimson eyes looked down at me as a female Vampire I had never seen tried to push the sword further into me.
But it never budged. I wouldn’t let it. And even though I had never seen her, I knew exactly who she was.
She was the Vampire that crippled Kaladin and hurt Mila. And she had finally come to die.
With raw strength, I stood up and pushed back against the woman, and the sword embedded into my hand. Her eyes lit up with shock from underneath her hood as I forced her back and summoned my sword from my Spatial Ring and into my free hand.
I thrust forward, and she backed off, ripping the sword out of me with her own strength. She didn’t give me any time to gather myself and immediately launched into another straightforward attack. I knew what she was doing, and I decided to let her do it.
The sword pierced my shoulder, and she immediately opened her mouth wide to sink her fangs into me, but she abruptly stopped. The blood on the ground, by my will, had formed into a spike that impaled her through the leg.
I immediately took control of her body and backed away from her, letting my wounds heal completely. My hearing came back to me, and I could hear fierce fighting from above; spells and blades clashed over and over again, and I could smell the fresh blood being spilled.
“Wha—what did you do to me?” the Vampire said with a pained gasp.
She was trying to fight back and regain control of herself, but she was too weak and couldn’t stop me. I glared down at her, reached into her body, and controlled her. She reared up from her knees with her sword in hand, twisted it around, and sent her own blade through her stomach.
I went face to face with her as I gazed straight into her fearful eyes. “You are lucky I don’t have time to make you suffer the same way you made them. So kill yourself slowly and watch all the blood drain from your body, wench,” I spat.
“No! Wait—gah, I—!” she tried to resist, but she continued to take her sword out from herself and stab herself in the stomach again and again.
She would slowly drain herself of blood and die a pitiful and agonizing death as her body healed itself. It was the most fitting end I could give her.
I felt the muscles in my legs expand, and I kicked off the ground, jumping straight up and out of the hole I had come in from. I had a fight to join and a family to protect.
—
Kaladin Shadowheart’s POV.
I was fighting, completely deafened and battered. After the explosion, a giant sinkhole had formed, and we fell into the center of what looked to be the city’s sewer system. The people were pouring out of the tunnels and ruble like ants. The White-robed assailants were supported by groups of what looked to be Amon-Ra paladins and priests. The white-robed people weren’t an issue.
They just rushed to their deaths with a zealous fervor, and judging by their open mouths and reddened faces, they were coming at us on suicide missions. I had killed dozens at this point, probably at least fifty people with magic and my spear. The real problem was the paladins.
They were highly skilled and most, if not all of them, wielded some type of magic. All of them were also properly geared, wearing full armor and using high-quality Cobalt or Dwarven steel weapons. They came at us with calculated strikes and often in groups of two or three. So far, I had only managed to kill four of them entirely.
I forced many of them back, even impaling one through the chest with my spear, causing a grievous wound. But they would retreat to the support of a priest who healed them while a group of the white robes would swarm in to protect them, forcing me to fight them instead—the priests, when not healing, sent light magic spells at us.
I dodged or cut them down in the middle of the frenzy. My father and Cerila focused on protecting Mila, Dallin, and Padaric, while my mother and I went on the offensive. Sylvia was nowhere to be found at the moment, and I didn’t have the luxury of looking for her, lest I be overwhelmed by the tide of paladins and white-robed assailants.
Another two-man group of Paladins pushed me as I cut down a white robe with my spear. The first one swung his warhammer wide, and I dodged just out of its range. The second one, in coordination with the first, swung his great sword down at me, and I deflected it with my spear.
The bones in my arm vibrated painfully from the powerful strike, but I forced his sword up and thrust my spear into his knee so he couldn’t escape me. The first one stepped forward and blasted me with a gust of wind magic, but I countered it with a wall of earth magic.
I pushed through the earth wall, while the first one tried to drag the second one away, but we needed to start to kill the paladins if we were to have any chance of making it out of here alive. A hammer of light flew at me from across the hole, ripping the arm off of an unlucky white robe that was rushing me. I cut it at the spell core and followed through, hitting the surprised greatsword user in the chest. He let out a yelp of pain and, with a foot encased in stone, I crushed the warhammer user’s head. A Stone Bullet ended the other in a flash.
Why didn’t they just attack us in an orderly fashion? Why send randomly armed civilians at us?
I sensed someone running up behind me and was relieved to see a familiar face. Sylvia thrust her estoc into the back of a paladin which exploded into a ball of crimson. I cut down a few white robes that were between us, and without a word, she sank her fangs into my arm. I felt my broken ribs knit back together, along with all the smaller gashes and cuts on my body. My hearing returned shortly after.
I wanted to ask her what had happened and where she had been to have such a dark look in her eyes, but this wasn’t the time or place. We needed to make some headway.
“Take over defending the others so we can push the enemy back,” I requested.
Sylvia nodded, and both of us pushed back to the center where my father was. My mother, upon seeing us, decided to regroup as well, and we quickly and efficiently changed guards. I saw Mila and Dallin, both of them completely mortified, but that could be remedied later as well.
Before we launched our counter-attack, I summoned multiple orbs of white fire that sailed into the air. They broke off into thin streaks and crashed into the ground in fiery explosions. I aimed for the mages and priests in the back in hopes of knocking as many of them out as possible.
The four of us rushed into the dazed groups and began slaughtering everyone. Now that my mother and I were no longer alone and overwhelmed, we could efficiently kill even the paladins as they could no longer retreat to safety with ease. The white robbed assailants were no longer as zealous and eager to rush to their deaths. As my father, mother, and Cerila cut down people left and right with blades and magic, even the paladins began to hesitate.
As we pushed through, it seemed I had killed or displaced a large chunk of the mages and priests as the paladins, still putting up a fight, were collecting more wounds. With white fire wrapped around my spearhead, I sliced and thrusted my way forward. It felt as if we were finally making headway when a bolt of light whizzed past my head.
I used my Soulsight and saw two enormous blobs of light moving through the crowd at a rapid pace. Two large men in golden and Cobalt armor broke through the ranks, each wielding massive hammers. They were the pontifex’s personal guards.
They aren’t even pretending anymore. This is basically a declaration of war.
We launched spells at them, but they shrugged off the weaker of the spells, and my Stone Bullets had no effect on them. Cerila’s ice lance was crushed with their hammers, and despite being so big, they even dodged my follow-up Lightning Bolt.
The first of the two launched himself at Cerila, while the other came for my father. I was about to send a plasma-based spell at them, but I couldn’t risk hitting my family in the process, so instead, we split off; I went to help Cerila while my mother helped my father.
I formed a combination spell core and released it. The white flames on the tip of my spear condensed and warped into a blazing blue, only to be still like glass after a moment. I thrust at the paladin, and he deflected my strike with the shaft of his warhammer. He sent a golden spear of light magic at me, which I dodged, and Cerila followed up with a blast of ice magic directed straight at his head.
The paladin dodged her attack and swung his massive hammer at me. I decided to block it with my spear but instantly regretted it as my hands went numb momentarily from the concussive force that vibrated my bones. It felt as if I had hit a brick wall.
Cerila and I swung and thrust our weapons, each changing our tactics and trying to out-maneuver the paladin, but he was fighting against the both of us with ease. He was clearly a veteran, and his skills showed. He never let my plasma-clad spear get close to him, and he always opted to keep Cerila’s Hubris away from him with a swing.
The man was in full plate armor, but he moved with a deftness that was beyond that. He was at the level of a War God, maybe not as powerful or devastating as King Maxwell, but these two were a cut above the previous paladins. So, it was time to switch things up.
Cerila and I pushed him at the same time, and he blocked both of our strikes with his giant hammer and the gauntlet on his armor. Cerila’s sword dug into his armor, and he used the head of the hammer to knock her away. I destabilized the ground underneath him with earth magic, and Cerila tried to freeze one of his hands, but the paladin simply stomped through the ground, maintaining his posture, and broke free of the ice by crushing it.
Cerila and I both backed off and began launching spells directly at him, trying to overwhelm him with the magic. It was a howling storm of ice alongside the thunderous booms of yellow lightning. Our spells made craters in the ground and kicked up tons of debris. Stray shots that didn’t directly hit the paladin’s location flew off only to hit a random white robe or destroy the walls.
I didn’t need the dust to clear to see that the paladin was unharmed. With my Soul Sight, I could see that he had protected himself with a shield of mana, which must have been light magic, which left me with only one choice.
I wanted to hold onto this, but I can’t afford to ration my mana in this kind of situation. Even eliminating one of the pontifex’s guards would free us up.
I started forming the triple spell core with gravity, fire, and lightning for a railgun shot. I hadn’t used this spell since I killed the Chaos Dragon, as it consumed a large swath of my mana and did almost just as much damage to me. I was nearly finished when I had to abruptly stop and defend myself from a sword aimed at my chest.
I blocked the sword strike, and my eyes met the eyes of a young man I hadn’t seen in years. His brown hair fluttered, and he grinned at me as his second shortsword plunged itself into my side. But it was his first mistake, assuming I was defenseless in close range. I thrust my hip forward and yanked the arm on his first sword.
So I tossed Alnwar over my shoulder and onto the ground.
I thrust my spear down at him to end his life, but I was forced to block a hammer swing that sent me flying back. I used gravity magic to jerk myself to a halt in midair and land safely.
The paladin pushed Cerila back as Alnwar stood up and wiped the sweat from his brow. He threw his arms wide and chuckled.
“Wooow, I didn’t expect that move. Here I was, thinking I’d get a sneak attack in when you were your most vulnerable. But I suppose I shouldn’t expect anything less from my most prized possession.”

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I love being Filipino pero every sub I see is just reek of toxicness 💀. I know ayun din sinasabi ng Philippines and this is so ironic LMAO. This sub is the exception because of its honesty and criticism sa mga bad takes about Philippines. But honestly, I don't think I would love this sub that much kasi kinukuha lang naman yung bad takes sa ibang sub. May ibang exception pa which is the pics one, I don't know much what it's like there but they have good pictures. Pero sobra talaga yung toxicity sa ibang ph subs, kahit yung studentsph. I can't stand all of them kaya I don't use reddit often, it's not my favorite.
I used to be into fandom subs but I just don't have time for the media I'm consuming. Kaya Filipino subs are my go-to. I was a very active member sa PH nung election 2022. It was all good until natalo yung candidate na we were rooting for. They went 180°, the opposite of what they were campaigning for. Ever since then, their takes are so dumb and elitist, so out of touch that they don't feel like real people. It sounds like they haven't touched grass for a while. Pag opposite yung opinion mo sa kanila, they'll call you DDS or BBM like we do not have the same dream of the country being a better place. I think they're worse than the people they hate. Yes, ignorante mga DDS/BBM but at least they have some care kahit questionable and twisted way. Pero sila aware na masama yung gusto nila pero pinupush pa rin yung idea 💀.. yung mga redditors na gusto pa maghirap yung mga mahihirap. But anyway, they're both bad.
Being a Filipino is not even that bad. The elections and our system is not completely our fault. Everything is manipulated by those with power. But I do feel disappointed that we aren't doing enough in reaching out to the government. I wish that we are more vocal about our problems but many of us are just too afraid or don't know what to do. Also, there's a possibility that the votes can be manipulated. Is it really believable na 31M ang bumoto kay Marcos Jr.? Madaling maniwala sa mga propaganda and they're doomerist. Like, we did not just experience oppression for 300 years, decades of two world wars and the years of Martial Law. Everything takes time and akala naman nila na if Leni and her team won, everything would magically be fixed. They're the type of people na vocal sa mga problems ng bansa pero ayaw naman kumilos.
I said last year na PH is a literal garbage sub kasi sa ilang posts about basura. If they're gonna complain about Filipinos littering, why don't they pick up the garbage they saw (which I'm doubting they did)? Saka yung mga negative trait naman sa mga Pinoy hindi lang dito sa Pilipinas, they're everywhere. Like the US or Japan are any better than us. Every country has its toxicity and there's no haven country in Earth. Saka sabi nila na they're not proud of being Filipino and being proud ay doon lang sa maa-achieve and being born as a Filipino is not an achievement. LMAO. So as a person kailangan may achievement para maging proud? Eh paano kung sabihin ko na kailangan nila ma-reach yung achievement na expectations ng magulang nila? But for real, do some achievements. I'm proud of being Filipino because I'm satisfied with the way I'm living. We're friendly and easy to talk with (takot lang ako sa tao hahahaha charr.. just shy). Our culture is very nice and we have tasty food. It's just sad na they're internally racist sa mga Pilipino. If they don't want to be Filipinos, eh ano sila?
I'm sick of the discourse of toxic Filipino cultures, it's been years. I heard it since like 2017. It's time to stop and actually change. You know, the PH is just full of millennials becoming the new boomers. Kaya siguro we're still experiencing toxicity, just in a different way. Also, they have colonial mentality too by literally thinking how colonizers do: looking down on Filipinos.
They can't escape being Filipino and many of the country's problems are out of the ordinary people's hands. What we're experiencing is rooted from our history and the burdens are being passed on. We just don't address them enough.

I'm not a good person, deep down I know this, although I smile and am friendly with everyone, I have a massive ego. I hate asking for help, I never show any of my weakness (I have a lot of them), I also avoid social interactions because I feel like I don't belong here and I need to be somewhere else with a bunch of elitists. I never check out girls, I feel like I'm too good for civilians. I am kinda good at my job (student), professors like me, probably because I sponsor events to get attention, students in my cohort cant stand me, they all hate me and look at me like I'm this "pick me guy" except I try to appease my profs instead of chicks. I have 4 close friends who all live elsewhere and I'm in touch with them all the time, they are rich, in some of the best schools in the world and are smart af. I didn't get that opportunity, instead here I am pretending I know more than everyone else and acting like I'm too good/cool for these guys. Sometimes it saddens me when I'm alone, when I remember how much of a POS I was to nice people, being a jerk who coldly ends interactions with people who tried to be nice to me. I dont know what to do, how to cure this, I just crave attention and the feeling of being superior, I spend money to look cool/rich so I hope people remember me or talk about me more often. There are many other things, things that I will take with me to the grave but right now all I want is a terminal illness or end up in a road kill.

Apart from the romantic lines, slice, atmosphere, and thoughts about eternity, many people forget that Frieren is an experienced battle mage with no mercy for the enemy. That's why we wrote a story on a military theme. 500 years after the events of the main story.
Link to Google Docs: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ES5yzbjlBhzmnFLBVn5M5ceV6omPuYjF/edit?usp=sharing&ouid=115806054908125738386&rtpof=true&sd=true
Links for Russian-speaking redditors: https://ficbook.net/readfic/018ea5e4-cee3-7c41-9968-d97a6e57ed2a, https://docs.google.com/document/d/10xK-mkNrTaEPOGb9r-iMb0_wCbAH5YJzD2jNYZZAB9c/ and https://vk.com/wall428149275_212.
My nickname is Automated System of Governing.
I duplicate the en text here.
***
Link: https://danbooru.donmai.us/posts/7373425

Cannon

Frieren had joined a detachment of Imperial Grenadiers. They were night-marching through pine forests toward a camp near the city of Hyacinth. Earedess lay peacefully on a cart in a convoy, looking up at the stars. The rumble of the wheels had scattered all the birds; there were few crickets, and only the wind rustled the leaves.
"Himmel..."
"Saw what?" The charioteer twitched.
"Himmel would say his war was over."
"Ah, it was about yours..." he nodded indifferently.
Himmel would have condemn her — and this time he would have been wrong. He'd always broke into a stupid smile in front of the nobility and would definitely believe in their assurances of peace, then been disappointed, called them all liars, but never understand anything.
The demons remained few, and people began to kill each other, because the tax-paying population or the labor force for manufactories and new factories — is a limited resource, and the aristocrats or nouveau riche factory owners could never divide them in a way that would please everyone. The conflict cannot be resolved. You can glorify yourself as a saint by opening and healing another ulcer, but that's nothing — except that Himmel would do it...
She had her own revenge — and she wasn't afraid to stain her cloak by taking sides in this sordid business: here she was only interested in eliminating the remnants of demons taken into service by various fools.
They hadn't gotten any smarter since the nobility of the city of Weise had decided five hundred years ago that they would bore Macht if they forbade him to be angry. But Macht was no less dumb since he thought he could experience anger by committing an atrocity, though it's clear from his facial expressions that anger in humans is not the cause of anger, but the result. The cart before the horse. (Recently, however, steam carts have appeared...) Anger, however, he knew, it's just that demons cause it for other reasons, and they feel it differently.
Someone's in the woods. Someone's mana.
The corner of her eye caught a flash — a bullet had pierced the cart side wall and lodged in the opposite one. Someone shouted:
"Ambush!"
The charioteer was killed instantly — the convoy was stopped. The combat guards scattered to the covers, but the enemy was firing from both sides, so there was no way to hide behind the carts. The platoon mage, who had missed the ambush, panicked and only began reflecting bullets and throwing grenades instead of casting spells.
Frieren burrowed deeper into the hay and counted the mana traces: one of ours and two enemy mages, two dozen ordinary infantrymans... against the thirty of Imperials. Not outnumbered, but knowledgeable. But they couldn't account for Frieren's restrained mana.
The Imperials didn't stand a chance in the firefight — the squad was melting away, ours already ten dead. But Frieren finished. She flew up with the wagon a meter and let it fall, and it shattered with a crash. A second of confusion of the attackers who hadn't had time to shoot was enough: exactly nineteen mana rays pierced each of the enemy soldiers, including the mages. Nineteen heartbreaking screams. The cacophony of gunfire died down, bodies fell to the ground — silence.
The forest is riddled with gunfire and shrapnel of chaotic explosions: tree trunks are shredded, only sticks remain of the bushes, the grass is plowed over with grenades — but two mages and seventeen soldiers on Frieren's score against only three shot by the Imperials.
Two more of our men, including the platoon leader, were about to die of fatal wounds. He was an honest man — such men are not uncommon among the dedicated punishers. But this one hasn't gotten dirty yet. And he won't be able to.
"Earedess, what the hell took you so long?"
The remaining senior clearly didn't realize who he was lashing out at and that she had done everything as fast as she could or the fight would only have dragged on.
"Damare."
The menacing look brought him back to his senses, and he shut up and went about his duties. Frieren gathered the bodies, found a deeper crater, and buried them all together, placing a stone with the date carved into it on top of the mound.
"You got the date wrong by a week."
"Uh... Forward or backward?"
The half-living detachment continued their march. Before the war, Hyacinth had been a logging and mast pine harvesting point and a shipbuilding center. The Imperial Army laid siege to it, and then a methodical assault — it's been going on for two years now.
The edge of the forest was covered with craters, the largest of which covered the road — a giant crater ten meters deep and two hundred in radius. From here, the suburbs of Hyacinth were already visible: destroyed apartment buildings and the forward positions of "ours", engaged in an urban battle deep in the built-up area. Behind the smoke from the fires and the pre-dawn fog one could not immediately see the dominant feature of the city: in its center stood a giant cannon half a kilometer long — Caesar's Gun. It is firing at a range of up to a hundred kilometers, reaching the imperial capital as well.
According to old mage beliefs, it was enough to have the courage to imagine. Frieren tried to mentally slice the Gun — it seemed to make the air in front of her eyes sparkle, but nothing happened to the weapon. Serie would just blame her for not having enough imagination.
The squad clearly had no hope of finding a way across the crater, and she had to help them. The story of deciphering Zoltraak should have taught her that there was no such thing as irrational magic, but it wasn't until after Eldorado that it finally became clear (though at first she couldn't decipher the curse that turned into gold either, she just happened to pick up the key, but then...). Demonic flight magic was no longer a mystery, and now she could lift much more than her own weight.

Dialogue

Frieren didn't like the commander's dugout — it was too spacious to be sure of the roof's strength. The sound traveled farther and faster through the rock: you could hear the shell bursts through the ground.
"So, you're the new replacement... Elf — you are now in this assault squad, your task is to walk from the front along the Avenue of the Three Musketeers, which rests at the foot of the objective."
It's already unpleasant... Where did he plan to harness her?
"There's nothing in the contract about such orders. I'm here to kill Dialogue."
"Mr. Officer, what's the number of attempts to break through this street?"
The dugout shook with a terrible rumble, the commander almost fell off his feet, and Frieren clutched her ears. When the tremors ceased, for some time there was still the sound of hanging pans, knives, bundles of tokens...
"It's the recoil of the Gun — even here it's shaking. We need to do something about it as soon as possible. And if you've got a better plan, corporal, then act," the commander besieged his subordinate. "This time we've prepared the pass behind the line directly to the rear, but we've been knocked out of the area. If they haven't found the entrance to the sewers, through it you'll come right on target. Mistress Frieren, if you support us at the assault on the Gun, Dialogue will definitely come out."
It’s a valid point...
"You've convinced me."
The Imperials had settled into their positions well: communication routes between the dugouts were closed and reinforced from above, tunnels were dug into the cellars used for storage, and a telephone was organized. Civilians had to live nearby — the military had to distribute food and soap, but nothing was enough, especially when reinforcements and supplies became more difficult to reach because of ambushes and shelling. The people, covered in dirt and soot, huddled in basements and stood in queues at the water pump — there was no river in the area, and it was wasteful to waste drinking water on hygiene.
There are no longer any civilians close to the enemy positions, and the streets are completely blocked off by barricades and barbed wire with machine gun nests and cannons.
The squad of soldiers that moved out were mostly carrying explosives. But the plan has a serious flaw — a Caesarist strongpoint right at the intersection.
"Tricky puzzle..." muttered the squad leader, looking through binoculars at the passageway bristling with machine guns on both sides of the street.
Here it is necessary to take buildings on both sides, in order to somehow advance, and the squad had no means — their "assault" group had only one submachine gun.
"A trifling defense. I'll clear the way," Frieren said and patted the commander on the head. He'd heard of this quirk of hers, but he was still embarrassed.
The elf swung over the rampart and walked down the center of the avenue. From all sides, the shelling began. The shield could hold the bullets for tens of seconds, and that would be enough. All exposed firing points were immediately hit by a dozen explosions: mangled machine guns were torn out of their hiding places, concrete turned into crumbs, the left building shook.
The elf had only suppressed the fire, and the survivors of the attack might soon start firing again. So she drew the fog, and the squad stealthily proceeded to the entrance of the underground manhole. She, on the other hand, was instructed to go straight ahead...
For the next four hundred meters there were twenty more Caesarist strongholds with machine guns, grenades, cannons in concealed positions with a through shot, barbed wire and mines right across the street, but Frieren moved as if they were not there. The facades of ten houses were completely destroyed, and the avenue began to resemble a gorge between mounds of concrete chips, boards, sawdust, and gravel. And then the Gun fired a shot: the recoil of the city's main caliber going into the ground caused the houses on the street to finally settle and crumble, precisely guaranteeing that no one was left.
A massive armored door covered the central entrance of the Gun Citadel. Frieren knocked.
Instead of answering, a hatch in the floor opened beneath the elf, a hand bomb was dropped from above and ten loopholes with machine guns opened. Frieren jerked back and soared — there was an opening above the door, the sorceress widened it with an explosion, burst into the corridor and began to destroy the lower floors. She was moving towards the center of the citadel, where the shell hoist is located.
As she knocked out the door, Earedess found herself in a giant hoist shaft that led from a large crypt with a warehouse to the breech of the cannon barrel. Cylinders of shells, each with a diameter as tall as Frieren, were pulled upward by platforms on rails driven by a chain drive. The staff opened fire with dozens of rifles and assault rifles, but the sorceress waved fire off with defense. Three mages came out, but they were quickly nailed to the walls with magical bindings. Frieren destroyed several gears and chain gears with her blasts, putting the hoist out of commission. Another shot — the cannon cushioned the recoil into the ground one last time, making a terrible grinding sound, and went silent.
***
"Something missed your intelligence," said the chief of staff.
"Must be a new weapon?"
"No, it's old. I even know the old hag's name."
Chief of staff twisted in his chair and lit a cigarette. The radio operator burst in with a report:
"The main caliber is silent!"
The intelligence chief was all nerves, turning to another face in the shadows:
"I don't know why Sogg sent you here if all you're going to do is stand there..."
"Don't push the girl," the chief of staff said slowly and put out the cigarette butt on the arm of the chair.
Dialogue smirked.
"I mean... Whenever you’re ready."
***
After the battle, only silence remained. It rang in the ears, only used to the constant rumble, not to mention the fact that the sorceress had not slept well. Her head was buzzing... And only now the sorceress noticed — there was a powerful mana nearby. It could only be Dialogue.
"Frieren, also known as "the Slayer", "the Exterminator", "the Witch", "the Old Hag", "the Grandma", "the Sleepyhead", "the Icicle", "the Retard", "the Earedess", "the Last Great Mage", as well as "No Hands " and "Genocide Services For Sale"."
This demoness was similar to Solitär, except her long hair was tucked into two ponytails, but her horns were just as small. This deceptively childlike face and pseudo-friendly smile...
"Dialogue..."
She opens her mouth, and the elf instantly attacks with a beam of mana — but Dialogue reflects it into the wall.
"Impolite — I didn’t have time to show what happened to your saboteurs, but, i guess, you probably don’t--"
"Hm."
Her shield looks more like a mirror. So someone other than Serie knows this spell. But no mirror is perfect — you need an explosion.
"I don't mean to start off by accusing you of being insensitive. It's a little tight, don't you agree?"
A moment later, the enemy was gone. Frieren strained to keep her head from buzzing and looked around frantically.
"Scared? Aren't you afraid that the fatal blow will come from where there was nothing a second ago?" Dialogue's voice echoed through the room. A magicated voice. But it revealed her mana.
Gotcha! The blast beam penetrated all the partitions up to the outer wall, but...
...missed. Fail. Now there's no way to finish quickly.
The elf flew into the air, Dialogue dangling in front of her without a scratch.
"I used to be silent like you, but it's not helpful."
"We have not met."
Do we really have not met, though?
"But one day I realized that speech is a weapon, and no one will take it away from me: though pain, though heat, though strangle, though drown, no matter what I do not care..."
You can see the reservoir from this height...
"Zoltraak!" Dialogue shouted.
Frieren twitched her ears — nothing... Dialogue was shuffling with her feet, they spun around each other, who'd faster to lose...
"Nervous, darling?"
Nerves lose faster, yes...
The elf sank her fingers into the staff and abruptly released a stream of mana: the beam passed over Dialogue's head.
"So you're sick of me."
"Yes," the sorceress nodded indifferently and rushed down, took aim, but...
"You're wasting your high ground advantage!"
...miss again.
The headache wouldn't go away. Finally, Dialogue attacks — a swarm of spines. It was easier to avoid than to repel. Frieren soared upward...
"Weren't you stronger with no hands?" Dialogue's voice was coming from all directions, but what the hell was echoing outside? Maybe reflecting off the wall directly behind her, but she wasn't talking at the wall!
"Damare!" Frieren shouted, immediately losing her composure.
She lunged forward to strike closer, but Dialogue skirted down. The enchantress somersaulted and spun to the ground, hoping to attack the enemy from above, but the somersaults didn't help with the headache. A flurry of spines, the elf put up a spherical shield, but it didn't slam down before the spine hit her knee. Frieren lost her orientation from the pain and flew by inertia into the wall, only at the last moment turning flat to avoid breaking her neck...
"The denouement is sad..."
A microsecond wasn't enough time for Dialogue to finish her off — the elf, sealed into the wall, raised a shield orb.
"You're quick. But not enough, or you can not only lose your hands — and there will be a new nickname, or maybe alias..."
Not to lose... Fall back.
Running away from your only goal, which is right in front of your eyes, but just kill you if you can't kill her. There is only one way to retreat. The elf pressed her orb into the wall and broke through it. Dust rose. Dialogue coughed and saw that a neat round hole had pierced through the building.
Frieren herself was running away from her as fast as she could!
The floors began to collapse, and one by one the floors began to crack, the Citadel cracking. The surviving load-bearing walls began to fold inward as if the building were a matchbox, swatted and crumpled by someone's hand. The upper floors shook for a few more moments, the upper half of the tower broke... The floors began to fall one on top of the other, but the central shaft was reinforced separately — it was the platform with the cannon that stood on.
The center of the city is now littered with a mountain of rubble of a cyclopean building that was only the shell of a separate, more solid structure. However, it will take a considerable amount of time to resume firing Caesar's Gun...

Over-the-horizon combat

Frieren's knee was fixed with steel staples — now she can't bend her leg until she recovers. But the sorceress had only been in the underground hospital for a week — today's shelling hit right on the roof, and her patience ran out:
"There's no more time to wait."
"You can't fight with a leg like that," said the regimental doctor. "Your knee doesn't respond well to the Goddess's magic. And by the way, you don't have much mana for your reputation."
But the elf ignored this insolent teasing of this little one.
Help is needed for the battle. But... Calamity is far away, and who besides him? Maybe should gather all the mages in the division? And the leg... To hell with it. I've gone a hundred years without a right arm, and that's worse.
"Where are you getting up? Lie--"
"Damare."
The sorceress' formidable gaze brought the doctor back to his senses — he shut up.
An elf in a hospital shirt and shorts flew into the commander's dugout. The staff officers were on their toes — calling positions and clarifying the situation; there was an increased guard. Everyone glanced at Frieren.
"Oh, it was you! You know what happened after your fight? The demoness you lost threw us a kilometer from the city center, we lost four months of progress!"
"She could have done it at any moment. I need all your mages to put together a long-range task force to destroy Dialogue."
"Oh, good, you've decided to get down to business. Isn't that a lot to ask, Mistress Frieren?"
"There's no time to wait."
"But you should be able to handle yourself, last great mage?"
The bursting of shells could be heard quite close. The elf looked around the dugout tiredly. Their commander is holding up well — he is ready to be stubborn even in such an environment. Well...
"I don't need to separate your head from your body, because Dialogue will do it for me."
The commander ostentatiously coughed and adjusted his collar.
"All right, you'll act on command."
Her tights were torn, so Frieren would be wearing boots over the foot wraps. But now it wouldn’t hurt to use some kind of spell to pick out the dirt from under the nails and between the fingers — so as not to scrape it off yourself...
"No blisters. Like a princess!" a soldier hands her a staff.
"It's not complicated."
Although people probably just don't have time to watch their feet.
"Both of you, get over here now!" an officer ordered.
In a second it was clear — the Caesarists were approaching the main position. Already two hundred meters away from the headquarters there was a battle going on. An enemy firing chain was firing off the Imperials fleeing from the barricade. The flamethrower mage with them burned out the soldiers and machine gun niches in the cellars. The last trench remained in their path.
"I'll try it quickly..."
The sorceress stepped forward — the enemy soldiers turned fire on her, and their battle mage saw her and didn't immediately realize who it was. Rifle fire couldn't penetrate her defense. She was nicknamed "No Hands" in mockery, but the author was not the one who actually managed to cripple her like that — that entity didn't survive.
Their battle mage rushed back in terror, but not in time. The shockwave threw him and about a platoon of enemy soldiers flying two hundred meters down the street. The gust moved even large blocks, not to mention small rocks, crumbs, debris, and heavy weapons. The troops coming after them fell to the ground, the bodies of their comrades fell on them, guns overturned, piles of debris were swept away, barricades were torn down, trenches were filled in. Dust enveloped the avenue. Allied infantry and reserves came out of hiding to take up positions farther down the avenue.
The battle is won — the Imperials have regained some of their lines and are rebuilding their defenses. From the trenches and cellars, charred military and civilian bodies are pulled out and piled in heaps; captured Caesarists who did not escape during the retreat, maimed by painful impacts to the ground and to each other — broken limbs ...
"Well done, princess..." that soldier whistled.
***
Dialogue was not part of the assault — she'll have to be found...
For the sake of the plan, the mages had to be pulled from all positions, and there were fifty of them. None of them were known to Frieren, and all of them were ranked according to some new metric that she didn't want to go into, but it was clear that none of them were even second rank, as they would have been ranked five hundred years ago.
Evening was coming and clouds were gathering, but there was no way to wait for morning. To avoid gunfire from the rooftops, the mages were built outside the city limits — they formed a saucer in the air that would focus the compressed Zoltraak from fifty beams for a long-range attack. Speed is not important here — there just needed to hit with the beam, and it should penetrate any defense because of its power.
But Fern could do it alone: long-range shots are her specialty... Calamity could probably do it too...
Frieren looked around the city's rooftops with an optical spell. It was hard to find a single intact building to shelter from the rain-all of them either destroyed by shells or burned out by fires. And many houses were just piles of rubble. A human could hide in these streets, but not a demon, because they couldn't restrain mana.
The demoness came out on her own — she took off near the Citadel and decided to play a staring contest at a distance of five kilometers.
"There she is... On cue!"
A platoon of mages synchronously charges a spell. A wave of the hand, a shot is fired.
Concentrated fifty times Zoltraak flying towards the target. A second, two... Then the elf was blinded. A flash of spotlight hit her right in the eye. She clutched it with her fist and twisted her head, hissing in pain...
"So you're playing this way!.."
The Zoltraak was deflected somewhere in the sky and scattered into the clouds, leaving a hole. The entire cloud cover was lit up by lightning discharges — the electrified clouds struck the ground as well, producing a dozen bolts of lightning. There was hardly anything left to burn in the city...
Frieren opened a blinded eye and blinked — all he saw was blackness.
"Mistress…" one of the squad's sorceresses flew up.
"New plan..."
"What's wrong with your eye?"
You can tell it by her face — she's worried. No, now's not the time.
"Your formation stands, but I'm going to Dialogue. You will aim not at the beam, but at my trail."

Overprotection

The sorceress didn't think she would ever need a "wizard eye": this demon spell could create a swarm of them, but even one such eye makes head dizzy and confuses all movements. But the spell was able to replace the eye she'd lost — a new translucent eye floating near her head.
Dialogue wouldn't have stuck her head out without confidence in victory. She's too much like Solitär, but she differs in one thing — zero posturing. She backs up her chatter with a dozen sound sources. Solitär gave a chance to escape, but Dialogue tries to finish off. In that fight with Solitär, Earedess would have killed her even without Fern, if not for that curse of Macht. But in this case — no...
Humans say, "fight fire with fire." Or in another way — "a diamond cut diamond"? It's not like she expects to be talked down to. She's not ready. Especially if strategy would thought out down to the last detail.
And Frieren grinned contentedly as she flew toward the enemy. Sunset was approaching — the sun had climbed under the clouds and lit up the city from the side, illuminating the storm clouds from below. No one was shooting from the rooftops — she was too hard to see...
"Frieren, I see you're squinting, what's the matter? Got a self-confidence in your eye?"
"Hold on, I'll shoot sparks out of this eye..."
Didn't she notice the new eye?
"Why do you need sparks out of your eye? You know how to light a fire, especially when you're pissed off."
"Whoever infuriates me, they didn't leave alive, so you can't know that, there's no one to tell, even your King didn't leave, so..."
"Didn't you give Himmel all the credit?"
The whole plan fell apart from the first sentence...
"He couldn't have done it without me, as I couldn't have done it without him, you don't misrepresent..."
"But nowadays I don't see any power in you, Frieren, and you may be a great mage, but your mana reserves are like a second-ranker's!"
"In the afterlife, ask Aura the Guillotine about my mana reserves..."
"I don't know any Guillotine, but after looking at your figure I don't think it's too high."
Ten seconds...
"Did the Demon King recognize her as one of the strongest for a reason?"
"Well, admitted and admitted, a trophy came out of her head on the wall."
"Where it came?"
What wall?
"From your Flamme lecture notes, you Earedess..."
What wall?!
"Boo! Aha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!" The demoness laughed, purposely not finishing the previous sentence.
Her oodecimal voice was deafening, breaking concentration, and the elf spun in the air. Dialogue prepares to strike... but too late — at the last moment she bouncing off a concentrated forty-ninety-fold Zoltraak. It deflected downward and hit the house — tearing through all the floors and exploded. The blast of air filling the void raised dust and debris, and the house folded inward with a rumble, raising more dust.
"You could have just run away like you did before!"
Rage... What the hell is retreating now?
"Don't say a wo-o-ord."
A stream of fire rained down on Dialogue — the elf tried to overload her shield. The response was a swarm of spines and the sounds of fake gunfire from all sides — Earedess was distracted and turned her head in search of imaginary shooters.
"Aha-ha-ha-ha!"
She doesn't give a break.
Frieren stopped the onslaught and jerked down into the streets. The Caesarists opened fire immediately — despite the fires and the rubble with casualties of the townspeople, the elf was a prime target.
But from all sides Dialogue is heard...
"Self-confidence is what's going to kill you, Frieren, shatter your illusions and your bones! You couldn't just convince yourself to win on the advice of idiots like her beloved Serie!"
"I hate her!"
Just don't hear it, just don't hear it...
"No, you're not leaving this time!"
It's not an evasion...
Frieren looked up at the more or less intact roof and stood on it. Now her invalid eye saw white instead of black.
"You give up? I'm so glad--"
The elf struck with her staff, knocking the ears off.
It felt like a shot pierced a head — sharp pain, a huge audible ringing... two streams of blood from the ears... silence. Or rather, the same ringing, but monotonous and not loud. Now there is nothing but that ringing, and it is gradually fading away. No gusts of wind, no fires, no Dialogue... But the demoness could not be found by ear anyway. But by mana...
Frieren soared and started to look around, searching for the enemy. It was as if time had frozen, but there is need to hurry. And Dialogue was quickly found. Smiling, saying something — I couldn't hear you! Now she's silent. Now she seems angry.
It became too calm in the head, but the deafness was restraining: she couldn't hear the fake targets, but she couldn't hear the real ones either. But maybe more eyes could be added, or maybe two or three...
With one of her own and four new wizard eyes flying around, the sorceress fended off all Dialogue attacks without wasting mana on pseudo-targets. With one eye she looked into the distance — on the outskirts of the city a formation of mages was obediently waiting and preparing a shot... It would be easy to last ten seconds this time, wouldn't it?
Need to hold the demoness in place. Her reflective shield will play against her, because this way the projectiles repel her more. The sorceress has Dialogue in a ring of mana ray fire, not hoping to penetrate the shield sphere — but the demoness seems to be confused.
She hurls spines, but to no avail. Frieren spun around Dialogue — a look of horror on her face, though nothing has happened yet. The main thing is not to give her any rest so she can't get away. She bounces off attacks like a ball! Four, three, two...
The last ray of the sunset, the first ray of the forty-ninety-fold Zoltraak, which illuminated the darkened city as well as the sun and hit Dialogue directly. She managed to put up a shield, but a second later the matrix shattered into shards — Frieren thought Dialogue shrieked, before instantly turning to ash...

Blue-moon-weed

​
Link: https://danbooru.donmai.us/posts/7297905
The inner ear was intact, so if you knocked the elf's head, she would hear it... It also meant that it was possible to restore her hearing. This is what the College of Priest Physicians at the Imperial Academy of Magic did, putting brought Frieren for long-term treatment after severe injuries.
The staples in her knee were removed fairly quickly, but walking without hearing the sound of footsteps... Frieren was used to wearing shoes, and her feet would not feel grass, dirt, or stone slabs, just the weight of her foot. Climbing stairs is especially difficult without hearing — you can't hear a touch, and you constantly have to look down to make sure you don't trip.
It was strange not to hear the sweeps of the limbs... Before, the elf hadn't even noticed that she actually heard that sound when she parted the air with her hand.
It was difficult to knead the bones — and after all, without exercise, even an elf could wither over the years.
The knock at the door, the clock ticking, the birds singing, the sound of the wind — without all of that, the sense of time was completely lost. The elf had always been bad at navigating human time — hours and days — and it had only gotten harder. She had to start counting to herself constantly to make things right — and when her hearing returned, the habit was still there...
The scariest thing for a human would be to lose communication with the others. But for the most part Frieren, really, doesn't really care what these short-lived races have to say to her unless these people would be important on a historical scale or were close to her. Wasting their time is impolite on the part of an eternal-living one.
Her eyes were restored, but she had to relearn normal binocular vision all over again — a mind can't determine the distance when the second eye is floating around, not fixed on a head next to the first one. But Frieren learned to use additional eyes without overloading her senses — up to two of them.
With Dialogue dead, the Imperials had no trouble in taking Hyacinth. As the city fell, the forces concentrated for the assault piled on the positions behind it along the coast and went on a firestorm through Caesar's lands — and that was the end of the war. But there was no doubt that it would not be the last.
Dialogue, on the other hand, was the last strong demon. Earedess, though she'd been tracking them for centuries and knew there were only a few left, didn't believe it and asked what the term "strong" meant. The Academy replied:
"A strong demon is a demon with mana we can track."
"Can't keep up with modern humor..."
"Mistress Frieren, why did you think this was humor?"
That meant that if anyone was left, the humans would deal with them themselves.
***
The elf had achieved her great goal, and there was nothing more for her to do among humans. Serie sat on her throne after the same and teased her students... She bragged that she could kill a Demon King, but she couldn't imagine an "era of peace". So much for the "era of peace", dearie, teacher of the Frieren's teacher's Flamme: if Flamme is imagined to be a mother, then Serie would be a kind of grandmother.
"A good soldier wants to be a general, and you still don't. You didn't pass."
So Frieren was stripped of her first-rank gratuity as a veteran of the Demon War.
***
Frieren had only been to Aureole once — it hurt too much to go back there, and it hurt even more to leave.
A thousand and fifteen years after their parting, Frieren returned to the ashes of her home village. No new settlement could appear in such a wilderness, though the peasants from the nearest villages scattered every hulk of elven houses for firewood. Few traces of human's occurrence here went underground for the amusement of future archaeologists.
All her kin and first friends were buried in this land, but there was nothing to remind her of them. But the demons had gotten what they deserved for exterminating the elves — and now there was no doubt that it couldn't happen again, to elves, humans, or anyone else.
The elf had planted a huge field of flowers in the wasteland was left of the village.
***
Frieren was so fed of walking that she decided to try out a technological innovation — a passenger train. Suddenly now gold was no longer a means of payment, and she had to... sell... money? Absurd... Nevertheless, the coveted... receipts with numbers needed to exchange for... other receipts with numbers, allowing you to get on the train.
There was a traveling companion with Frieren: a young man in a flat cap. He was taking notes. They spoke to each other rarely but aptly.
"And I'll never know what Himmel did after the journey... I was only at the funeral. It's about time I should start thinking for myself."
"Exactly, dearie, where do you put your powers? Much could be done with such power in the area of social progress. You know, the wars aren't over."
"No, I can't do that."
"Why is that?"
The train was passing along the coast. On the other side of the bay stood the city of Hyacinth.
"Well done, Princess" is that what that soldier said? Hundreds of cripples, dead... And they give medals for such "well-done" things. Wondering if he survived. And his name was... He didn't say. These order bearers are all proud — not that they protected someone, but what they captured.
"You don't talk."
"This requires re-educating the humans, but only they can do this themselves."
The interlocutor squinted at the elf.
"Still talking... You see, one is backward and one is advanced. The advanced has to pull the backward one up to make progress, right? You personally remember all those satraps, before whose stone idols some antiquity lovers bow down nowadays. At least you could dispel their misconceptions."
"Not everyone would even agree that there is an advanced and a backward one. And you can't be sure who you are."
He's got a lot of hubris. Some kind of arrogance towards the "backward ones"... Or it seemed — it's hard to understand humans.
"History has a pole road, and people who deny it are just walking around blindfolded. You can help them, too. As for me, practice will tell. Sooner or later it reveals any misconceptions."
"We'll see."
Frieren doubted that anyone would listen to her. Unless it was the man in a flat cap — and he'd tell someone else, and then someone else, and so the immortal elf's words would still reach someone? Funny reasoning. It might even be true...
***
​
Link: https://danbooru.donmai.us/posts/7421372
"Do a good and throw it into the water. It will not go to waste — it will come back to you as good."
That's what Himmel was saying.

Playlist First Chapter Character sheets
The Story:
Keeping her store on Earth was supposed to keep her out of trouble, but when a human walks through her wards like they weren't there, Aloe finds herself with a mystery on her hands. Unfortunately for the human, her people love mysteries - and if she doesn't intervene, no one will. With old enemies sniffing around after her new charge, the clock is ticking to find their answers.
-----------------------
“Yes, I know, I’m glad to see you too,” Aloe said absently, refilling one of the grain tubs that sat at the corners of the menagerie. She’d long ago found that too many fights could be avoided just by keeping some snacks available for anyone who got hangry.
A pair of gistlewings flitted around her head as she did so, their hummingbird-like beaks flapping as they screeched at her. Their tiny, pearlescent scales were glowing with affront.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting there,” Aloe said, dumping a scoopful of seeds into a canister mounted against the wall. “There. Happy now?”
The two critters zoomed away toward it on wings made of light. Aloe sat back on her heels, chuckling a little at their passage. “Pain in my butt,” she muttered.
Daisy let out a whuff alongside her, and she dropped a hand to the knurl’s head, giving a good rub. “And how’s the leg?” she murmured, crouching alongside the hound to probe. She’d packed on the salve good as soon as she stumbled downstairs, her dreams rather too watery for her liking even through the healthy dose of nightsbane she’d downed. Daisy had taken to the medicine fine, at least, and her leg was now securely wrapped with a white roll of cloth.
She glanced into the knurl’s red eyes as she poked and rubbed, trying to spot any hint of discomfort before it became more than just a hint. Daisy only let out a happy gurgle, her tongue snaking out, and bestowed a sloppy kiss on Aloe’s eye.
Who promptly fell over backward with a muted cry. “D-Daisy! Don’t-”
Claws scraped against the wooden boards underfoot. Aloe looked up.
Rat crossed the shop floor in a streak of affronted white fur. Aloe didn’t even have time to straighten before he launched himself into the air, hitting her shoulder sharp bits-first.
Again, Aloe jerked away, stifling a cry. “Rat, what the hell? What’s-”
She heard the voices, then—the sound of someone calling, laughing. A few someones, and they sounded young. She masked a smile. “Your favorite, eh, Rat?” she murmured. “Kids.”
The pollam only buried its fuzzy little head in the fabric of her sweater, then tucked itself beneath her scarf.
The bells on the door rang. Aloe looked up, tearing her eyes off the furry idiot. “Morning!” she called. “Come on in!”
A head poked around the door, followed by a second. Aloe smiled faintly. Bingo. It was a little erelin boy, alongside a stout dhumir with flaky, shale-like skin. Not exactly her bread and butter clientele, but right now, they’d serve her just as well.
She crossed the shop floor, coming to rest against her counter as the two boys tiptoed into the room. “Sorry to bother you,” the dhumir mumbled, glancing up at her. His eyes were bottomless cobalt, edged with silvery blue around the iris. He elbowed his erelin friend.
To his credit, the second boy gave Aloe a nervous smile to match his friend’s, starting to mumble something of his own. Before he could say anything, Daisy raised her head, ears pricked. Aloe groaned. Rat might be a little bundle of misery around her neck—but Daisy loved kids.
The two shrank back, starting to lose their respective coloring. “A-A knurl?” the erelin boy squeaked. “Sands below, why’s there a-”
“Don’t make me tell your mother how you’ve been talking,” Aloe said, raising an eyebrow. She crouched down alongside Daisy, giving the hound a good scritch behind the ear. “Would you like to say hi?”
She watched with amusement as the two boys’ eyes grew round. “Can we?” the dhumir boy said.
At her nod, the two shared a look, then inched closer, holding out a nervous hand toward the knurl.
All the fear vanished from their faces as Daisy butt-scooted closer, tail thumping behind her, and started fervently bathing each individual finger on the boys’ hands. Their laughter filled the Dancing Dragon.
Aloe stood with a groan, bracing her hands on her hips. Every bone in her spine cracked with the motion. “I’m getting too old for this,” she mumbled.
Wood creaked from farther inside in the dragon. She looked back
Rowen stepped from the hallway, his hair a bit rumpled but eyes brighter than they’d been the night before. At the sight of the two boys playing with Daisy and eagerly eyeing the sunbirds snoozing over their heads, he froze. “U-Uh. Sorry. I’ll-”
“You’re not hurting anyone,” Aloe said. The two boys glanced up at the new voice, and they paused a little when they looked at him. Some weird-looking guy standing around couldn’t put a dent on the excitement of having a real life friendly knurl to play with, though, so they quickly returned to their efforts. Daisy was fully on her back by now, paws curled through the air and tail wagging.
“I guess,” Rowen said. “Sorry. Didn’t realize you’d opened.” He was keeping his voice low—and his demeanor had shifted upon seeing the pair. His back was a little straighter, his chin higher.
Aloe raised an eyebrow, letting it all settle in her mind. “I did,” she said at last, looking back to him. “First morning is always the most important. Everyone always comes looking when they see the place set up and good to go. Have to be ready when they do.”
“S-Should I leave?” Rowen said. “Or do you need help?”
The words Naw, I’m good were right there ready to come out of her mouth, but she hesitated. He’d have to learn sometime—and usually, these village greetings wound up turning into a bit of a mess.
“You don’t have to,” was all she said, glancing over to him. “Like I said. This isn’t your job. You might as well see the sights, go visit the town before-”
“I’m good,” Rowen said. He stepped forward. “What do you need?
She cracked a smile, then gestured toward a narrow door on the wall. “Spare apron should be in there. Maybe you can help with the register until you learn where everything is.”
Rowen nodded, looking pleased, and headed for the closet.
“Are you a merchant?” the erelin boy said, drawing her back to them. He was sitting on the ground by then, stroking his fingers through Daisy’s cream-colored belly fur. She was drooling. Copiously.
Aloe nodded. “I am.”
“Well, I’ve never seen a shop that looks like this,” he said. “You’re weird. What do you do, anyway?”
It took everything she had to keep from rolling her eyes. Elders save me from children and the things they say.
“Animals,” Aloe said, dropping one hand to Daisy’s head and giving the boy a grin. She felt Rat poke his nose out from under her scarf, giving the air a good whiff, but he pulled right back under just as quickly. She chucked. “Do your parents ever brew a fiend-sparked concoction?”
“They’re not very good at it,” the dhummir said, his voice dropping lower.
Aloe snorted before she could stop herself. “Yeah, I hear you, kid,” she murmured. She’d been made to drink more than a couple almost-inedible homebrews when her father had tried to get creative with a mixture. House Miraten had not been gifted with proper chemists.
She looked back up. “I travel the world, meeting all sorts of different animals,” she said. Well, mostly the Windscour region, I suppose. But I do take jaunts. She gestured to the eaves overhead, where critters flitted from rafters to dens faster than she could follow. “Sometimes I meet ones that don’t have a good place to live, or are sick. Sometimes they want to come with me. So they help me, by letting me take all their loose feathers and bits of skin that your father makes you drink every night.”
Her upper lip curled back at the flash of disgust that crossed the boy’s face. “It’s not skin,” he mumbled, picking at one of his ridges.
It almost certainly is. Dried skin was incredibly common as a reagent, usually from some of the deeproads’ reptilian natives, but Aloe kept the thought to herself. She was being a bit mean, she supposed, and she shouldn’t make it harder for the boy’s parents to get him to take his meds.
“I’ll sell your family something special to brew in,” she said, giving the boy a wink. “It’s good for you. Nice strong bones.”
When she broke into a snort, the two followed suit. From the corner of her sight, she could see Rowen tying on one of the worn, faded black aprons she’d retired to the closet. It didn’t fit terribly well over his comparatively-large body, but it’d do until she could find a tailor to stitch something better up.
And she heard the unmistakable clang of the bells as the door swung open. “Hello?” she heard a woman say in ereliit.
If her experience was any indication, she was about to have a lot more guests swinging through. Glancing back to the boys, she turned to the door. She’d just have to-
“Welcome!” Rowen called, offering the newcomers a wide-if-polite smile. His voice had shifted, settling into a practiced, neutral cant, and if the woman speaking a foreign language made him nervous, he was doing a surprisingly good job of hiding it. “If you’d like to take a look around, we’ll be right with you.”
“Not bad,” Aloe whispered, raising an eyebrow. So he’d worked retail before. That did help—and the look he was giving the trio of ladies shuffling through the door was more than a little calculating.
So she sat back on her heels for a second, chewing on it, then glanced down to the two kids. “Tell you what,” she said, arching an eyebrow and looking between them. “I’m sure you’ve got a healer or two in town who might be interested in the sorts of things I’ve got. If you run along and let them know a menagerie-apothecary is visiting in the merchant’s yard, I’ll let you come back and play with Daisy here again.”
As she spoke, she gave Daisy’s head a good shake, so there was no way to misunderstand. The knurl didn’t mind. She leaned into the motion, banging her tail against the floorboards.
And as the two kids grinned up at her, standing, and hurried off toward the door, Aloe smiled to herself. Well, that should get the word out just fine.
With one last look, she turned back to the newcomers, who were inspecting the shelves but also giving Rowen a hard look-over. “Good morning!”she said, striding closer.
It was time to get to work.
—------------------------
Rowen swiped a hand across his brow, eyeing the chaos that had become the Dancing Dragon. It’d all started with those two fey kids Aloe had been entertaining when he came downstairs. And then they went and got friends, and they went and got friends, and, well…needless to say, things had devolved from there.
The normally-quiet air of the Dragon was filled with the sounds of calling voices and idle laughter. The locals milled around the store in groups, poking through the wares. The shop’s critters all seemed to be chill about it, thankfully. There were still a few sunbirds preening up in the rafters, and there was movement from inside some of the barrows, but a fair few of the creatures within poking reach of their new customers had decided to bail. Aloe hadn’t been concerned at the sight of lizards and rodents evacuating through tiny doggy-doors at speed, so he had to assume this was all business as usual for the menagerie.
Closing the cash drawer with a clink, he dropped three coins into the waiting Orran’s hand. “Here you are, sir. Please come again.”
The man muttered something, the words barely audible, and hurried off toward the door.
Rowen watched him go, quivering a little with all the pent-up energy of the day. Aloe had taped a sign to the front door, at least, and hung another from the front of his register. Instructions to speak in English, she’d said, giving him a lopsided grin. And true enough, everyone who’d come into the store had eyed the sign with confusion before begrudgingly switching to the language.
There was no time to sit around and muse on it, though. Aloe was flitting back and forth across the store helping customers find whatever their little hearts desired, and he had a line almost to the door. It was enough for his brain to slot effortlessly back into “rush” mode. He’d never expected working customer service to come so in handy.
But it gave him all the training he needed to give the next man in line a blank smile and a nod. “Good morning! How can I help you?”
He hardly heard the words the man said. They were probably English, although it was hard to tell past the thick Ereliit accent the guy had. Aloe was inking each order’s cost on its paper label, thank God, which meant that he didn’t really need to understand them. He just had to handle the money.
That much he could do.
The man dropped a sack on the table. Something inside rattled as it came to rest on the surface. Rowen gave it a quick glance as he reached for the drawer again. Scales, apparently, from something called a chriki. He’d never seen the term before, so he assumed it wasn’t anything Aloe owned, at least. Something from her commissions? Or was there some sort of back-doors, behind-the-scenes exchange for animal teeth and lizard scales?
Aloe had marked it with a 10 and that big curly C that meant calistons. And…the Orran had handed over a copper-red coin edged with the same symbol, so-
Rowen plucked a pair of coins from the appropriate drawer, dropping them into the man’s hand. “Twenty calistons is your change, sir,” he said, the words coming out fully on automatic. “Thank you! Please come again.”
The doorbells clanged. Rowen looked up—as did Aloe, the poor woman twitching a bit at the sound. More? They hadn’t even got the first batch of shoppers sorted through. Sure, it’d been hard to see when they landed, but the town hadn’t looked like more than a few wooden huts surrounded by farm fields. How exactly were there this many people, and why the hell had they all decided the Dancing Dragon was the place to be?
There was another customer stepping forward, though, a dark-skinned woman with her hands full of feathers. Rowen swallowed a grin, eyeing the brilliant colors—colors that matched the sunbird sire who’d screamed at him not so long ago. The little menace is earning his keep after all, at least.
“Good morning, ma’am,” he said. “That’ll be-”
“O-Oracle?”
The skin on the back of Rowen’s neck prickled. A woman’s voice, raised enough to be faintly audible against the rest of the hubbub. Something about its tone demanded attention.
And she got it. The chaos in the Dragon stilled as half the room turned to look. Rowen did too, of course. The woman he was helping had already started craning her neck, and, well, he couldn’t force her back on task without being rude. Couldn’t do that.
The crowd parted just enough for him to catch sight of a pair of figures—Aloe, standing frozen with an empty sack in hand, showing it to a customer over by the wool drawers. And there was an ereliit woman at the other side of the clearing, just a step or two inside the door. She was gaping at Aloe.
When Aloe didn’t rush to reply, she took a step closer. “It is you, isn’t it, Oracle? You’ve come back.” The title was heavy, reverent—and as she spoke, whispers started to pick up around the edge of the room.
Aloe turned back to the drawer, grabbing a fistful of wool free to stuff into the sack. “I don’t use that title anymore. I’m just here as-”
Another ripple ran through the onlookers. Louder, this time. The woman let out a squeak, bending double at the waist as she dropped into a full bow. A few of the watchers started following suit.
Well, wasn’t this something? Rowen leaned back, eyes flicking between Aloe and the gathered crowd. These people knew her. She’d said she’d summered here a few decades before, yeah. But just because you’d spent a few months hanging around a town didn’t mean they’d treat you like this a whole lifetime later.
When the crowd pressed closer, their expressions growing more fervent, Aloe sighed. Her eyes flitted from face to face, almost…fearful. “Please,” she said. “Stand up.” The villagers exchanged looks, not abandoning their postures—but started to draw back again. Rowen watched Aloe give them all a look. “I’m honored by your memories, but really. That…isn’t why I’m here. I’m just a merchant now.” Her lips curled down ever so slightly. “There’s no need for all this.”
Rowen folded his arms, watching silently as the people filling the Dragon started murmuring with renewed vigor. Another erelin man stepped forward, eyes bright. “Are you here to Speak for us?” he said. “We’d be right glad to hear your voice again.”
The woman he was with gave him a good firm elbow in the side. “Tash!” she hissed. “You know she’s not-”
“I’m retired,” Aloe said, with the sort of blank politeness that implied they all really should’ve known that. A morose smile tugged at her lips. “I’m not here to Speak. I don’t Speak at all anymore. I just have some magical questions I was hoping Master Eswit could help me with, so…” She shrugged, turning back to grab another handful of wool. “I figured I’d make a road trip out here.”
“Oh,” the first woman said. The villagers were starting to shift from foot to foot, no longer quite so confident.
The man identified as ‘Tash’ gave a quick nod, his enthusiasm returning with speed. “He’ll help you,” he said. “He’s unmatched with that sort of thing.”
“That’s why I’m here,” Aloe said dryly. “Now, please-”
“We’ve never forgotten what you did for us,” the first woman said—and her words were echoed with nods around the room. She smiled, then bowed again. “Lanioch remembers, Oracle.”
More bows. Looked like they were all getting in on it now. Aloe’s face had gone pale, and she looked like she was caught between starting to yell, or booking it for a quick escape out the back door. Well. ‘Oracle’, they’d called her. This was about her magic, he reasoned. That whole ‘talk to the universe’ business. She’d said it’d made her family famous. Looked like she hadn’t been joking.
But now she looked like she could use a hand. Rowen took a deep breath, steeling himself. Making a spectacle was not his go-to move, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
Reaching a hand out, he knocked a stack of coins over. The metallic clang of them cascading down across the tabletop and onto the floor split the reverent quiet like bagpipes in a church service.
Everyone jumped. Heads swiveled in every direction, and more than a few eyes settled on him.
“Sorry,” Rowen said, holding his hands up with a carefully-sheepish grin. “I’m so sorry, folks. Don’t mind me.”
“Please enjoy your stay in the Dancing Dragon,” Aloe said. She could feel it too, then—the horrible crystallized mood had been shattered. The people staring at her were now milling again, returning to their conversations. “If you’re looking for something in particular, just ask my assistant or I.”
Her eyes darted over to hold Rowen’s for a fleeting moment, a thank-you in their turquoise depths.
Rowen chuckled, ruffling a hand through his hair. His cheeks were pink, he knew. Only the fact it’d been intentional kept him from hurling himself under the counter and out of sight.
For now, he reached for a stack of coins still standing, putting his customer service face back on, and gave the feather-holding woman a professional smile. “My apologies. That’ll be…”
—------------------------
The door swung closed with a clatter of bells.
Rowen sagged against the drawers behind the counter, eyes scanning the room. Surely…there had to be another customer hiding somewhere. Just out of sight behind a stack of boxes, or peering into a barrow.
None. The floor was empty. The morning had drug on for what felt like an eternity, but now, finally, they were alone again.
Raising his head, he eyed Aloe. “Are they gone?”
She was covered in sweat, her hair mussed out of its already-untidy ponytail, but the corners of her eyes crinkled as she grinned back at him. “I think so. That's the morning rush done.”
“What the hell kind of morning rush is that?” Rowen said. “I’ve worked rushes. I didn’t think we’d see one in the middle of fuckin’ Store Brand Middle Earth.”
“It did get pretty busy, didn’t it?” Aloe said, already starting to slide drawers shut and straighten the labels that’d been pulled awry in the madness.
“Just a bit,” Rowen said. “Is it always like that?”
“Sometimes,” Aloe said with a chuckle. “Usually just on the first day, though. People want to come see what all the fuss is about. It’s something new, and new is exciting, Rowen. Towns like this get pretty isolated, especially if they’re too far away from one of the heartgates.”
Rowen grimaced. That…did kind of make sense. “Like a town without a highway.”
“Exactly,” Aloe said. She slowed in her tidying, rubbing at her eyes. Damn it, she still looked tired. How much had she actually slept last night?
Questioning her about it wouldn’t change reality, though, so Rowen quashed the comments he might’ve made. There were other things he kinda needed to ask her about.
“...So,” he said.
Aloe’s hand dropped away. She gave him a look. He knew he was all but bouncing in place, but was he supposed to try and hide it? He was curious. “...Oracle?”
She groaned, wilting. “Of course you’d latch onto that,” she mumbled.
“Was I not supposed to?” Rowen said, raising an eyebrow. He stepped out from behind the counter, though, heading for a pile of palm-sized scales that’d been discarded on a crate. Customers. Didn’t matter how far from home you got, they were messy everywhere. “It was kind of a stand-out, Aloe. That was weird.”
“Oh, you don’t have to tell me that,” she said. “If they’d just stop with all that Oracle bullshit, I’d be happy as pie.”
“So?” Rowen said, glancing back to her. “What’s the story?”
“There isn’t a story,” Aloe said. “I already told you. I stayed here for a summer, that’s all. Like I said.” She waved a hand through the air. “The mages in House Dilmat wanted to study my family’s bloodline in action. They wanted to see if any parts of it could be augmented into their own casting, or if their bloodline might be compatible with ours.” Her expression softened for a second. She looked down, then shook her head. “I didn’t come to Lanioch much,” she said, her chin rising again. “I was mostly staying in the Emerald Hills shell, so I…” She grimaced. “I figured I’d be safe to come to Lanioch without it becoming a whole spectacle.”
“Oops,” Rowen said, grinning over at her. “Guess that didn’t work out.”
“No, it did not,” Aloe said. “I just didn’t figure they’d remember. It’s been fifty years, damn it.”
“Guess your family is just that famous,” Rowen said.
She snorted, but her expression only darkened. “It’s a giant pain. Because of what we can do, people always assume we’ve got some sort of direct line to the universe. It’s all Oh, Oracle, should I plant barley or rinesweed this season and Should my Yoris marry Nessin or Carrick?” Her eyes rolled. “No one wants to make a goddamn decision on their own if they’ve got the resident expert on fate in town.”
“That sounds miserable,” Rowen said.
“It’s not great,” Aloe said. She looked back to Rowen, and now he could see chagrin there. “It might make things harder from time to time like that. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not exactly your fault, though,” Rowen said. He felt like he should be annoyed, considering the multi-hour marathon session they’d just endured, all the people flitting through to stare at both of them—but he couldn’t bring himself to point a finger at her. “Did you ask them to treat you like some sort of local hero?”
“No,” Aloe said. Her lips tightened. “No, I did not.”
“Then it’s their problem, not yours,” Rowen said lightly. “Now come on. They made a mess, and I doubt we’ve got long until the next batch arrives. We’ve got to clean up and re-front everything before then.”
“Nope,” Aloe said.
He stopped, turning back. “What?”
Her eyes twinkled. “Now, I’m sure you’re just thrilled to play shop simulator here for the next four hours, but we’re here for a reason.”
Rowen blinked. “That House Dilmat guy?”
“Just so,” Aloe said. “We’ll need his help to figure you out. He’s up in the shell.”
“Emerald Hills,” Rowen said. “Right?”
“You’ve got it,” Aloe said. “Don’t worry. It’s not a long walk.” She smiled, then untied her apron, throwing it over to pool beneath its hook on the wall. “Keep an eye on the place for us, Daisy!”
The knurl was curled up tight in her bed, thoroughly exhausted from the flood of new butts to sniff, but the tip of her tail started to thump happily.
Aloe gave Rowen one last look, beckoning him to follow as she made for the door.
“Come on. Let’s go get things started.”

Stop crying that Mage is now an unplayable class with no other viable archetypes. Do you want to know how archetypes are developed? They're experimented with. Mage players cry a river when their pet deck is justifiably nuked instead of actually attempting to use the tools the class has. New archetypes pop up all the time out of nowhere as long as they are given experimentation: here are a few examples of decks that may seem far-fetched, but got top legend results.
Fel Demon Hunter: https://hearthstone-decks.net/fel-demon-hunter-286-legend-score-7-3/
Togwaggle Druid: https://hearthstone-decks.net/togwaggle-druid-36-legend-%e7%82%8e%e5%87%89/
Hooktusk Rogue: https://hearthstone-decks.net/hooktusk-rogue-324-legend-score-26-7/
Mech'athun Warrior: https://hearthstone-decks.net/mechathun-warrior-120-legend-magmaragerdecks-score-25-14/
A deck unironically running Gnomeregan Infantry: https://hearthstone-decks.net/combo-priest-470-legend-score-13-0/
A Midrange Wild deck in the year of our lord 2024: https://hearthstone-decks.net/renathal-midrange-hunter-9-legend-chen/
So stop whining and start experimenting. Try Quest Mage builds that leverage their extra turn to OTK instead of locking the opponent out of the game while you jerk off for 10 minutes. Even and Odd Mage - someone on this subreddit got legend with an Even Mage a few weeks ago. Secret Mage lost its highroll - so find ways to leverage its weaker earlygame and utilize the fact that it has undeniably the best disruption of any archetype in the format. Try Elementals. Try Mechs. Try ANYTHING except complaining on the internet. You might find success.