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Feeling a little uncertain as to what you might find, you nervously walk to the rear of the cockpit, and press the door release button. The rear door slides open and...
The central passageway that runs from the cockpit, through the ship, to the cargo bay at the rear, looks exactly as it always does. Lights in the ceiling illuminate the steel passage. Metal grating panels on the floor allow access to various wires and cables that run through the ship, beneath your feet. Door hatches are set into the passage walls at different points along its length, leading to various rooms aboard the ship. Far at the other end, you see a large hatch, that opens into the cargo bay at the other end of the starship.
Everything looks completely - suddenly there is a shearing of light and form, as a section of wall about half way down the passage blurs outwards into the passage, in an array of colourful streaking lines - then suddenly flattens out again to look like a normal section of wall once more. Perhaps things aren't as completely normal as they seem...
You say a short prayer that the motion blurring phenomena won't happen anywhere near you.
> You remain in the Cockpit for a while, just to be safe - that is, if anywhere on this ship is safe...
After seeing what the strange warping phenomena did to Karl, and seeing the wall bulge in a similar way further down the passage, you are not too sure it would be safe to walk through the starship.
However, as you stand in the Cockpit, wondering what to do, you realise a few things. Firstly, if you stay here, there's no guarantee that the air around you won't warp, and you won't be killed. Secondly, if you are stuck half-way between a Light Space Jump, then the only way out that you can think of, would be to reactivate the Jump Drive, and hope that it finishes the jump, and returns you to normal space.
However, the Jump Drive Chamber is at the rear of the ship, to one side of the Cargo Bay. That means, if it is possible to reactivate the drive, you will have to travel through the ship to get to it... The fact that the rest of the ship doesn't even show on the ship's computer is in no way reassuring to you.
| 4 |
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Out of nowhere, a humanoid with flashy armor leaps at you. Fearful, you quickly send out a powerful jab, lamely clunking on his armor as he topples on top of you. You expect him to attack, or continue the assault, but he appears to be as dazed you are. Although the metal armor is heavy, you're able to throw him off of yourself, hearing a splintering in the wooden floor as he lands.
"I'm here."
It's Kelso. His striking features resemble an older gentleman. Whitish blonde hair and a gruff voice, though perhaps with a slight German accent-- almost grandfather-like. "Master, where were you? What... is this man doing here?"
"C.E. Agent, member of the Church and Special-Forces Unit for taking care of our kind. You need to kill this filth."
You raise an eyebrow, "What? I dunno... Ugh. No, Kelso. He's just, like, doing his job. I think? No, it doesn't matter! What's going on?"
"His job is to murder Creations, government is after us and the rest of the-- the Professor's creations. We're not safe. Which, is why you need to kill this officer. You need to get used to this before it becomes more common to handle."
The soldier slowly looks up at you, scrambling to get up. "You two... speak? Lord in heaven, the damned speak!"
You can imagine his eyes would be widening right about now, but his entire body is covered in the metal suit, flashing with electric blue lining, his helmet with a black visor. The figure, now up, begins to scramble for a rifle-like object, but Kelso gives a heavy slap to the back of his head, sending the man flying forward, his helmet flying off in a different direction.
"Kelso, Creations? What the hell is going on? Tell me!"
"First, kill him."
"I'm really not sure about this..."
"Kid, I know you're hungry." It's true. "This is the only thing you can feast on."
You just stare in disbelief, shaking your head. Kelso stares at you for a moment before turning around and kicking the operative in the side. You hear a dent and a crack, likely his ribs were smashed along with his armor.
"Let's get your questions over with. Now. You need to decide what you'll do with him."
You take a deep breath, just shocked at everything that's transpiring. After mumbling and scratching your head, you think you know what to ask.
> You say "Who am-- was I?"
Kelso stares at you, obviously contemplating how to answer.
"Don't know, don't care. Your new life begins now."
Damn. Well, okay, doesn't seem like he's going to reveal anything...
| 3 |
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His story is... Interesting, to say the least. So Simon Kurschner is the Professor's actual name.
"So what do you want from me?" You ask, uncertain of yourself. Who is my main enemy? The Professor or the Church? Both? Is the Professor even still alive?
The Father nods, "We need you to lead us to the other Creations, so we can finish them once and for all. You are the last of the Vampires, and you can most likely help our charge on the Wolves. As I said, the Creations are very powerful. Having one on our side could be a huge help."
You smirk back at him, "Why though? It's not like you've given me any sort of ambition to help you wackos."
"Well, I thought life was good objective." He shrugs, bringing his hand close to the opening of his robes.
"You think I'd sell out my fellow Creations just for myself?"
"I'd be surprised if you cared for them-- you don't even remember them! You have no connection to this world anymore." He grimaces, taking a knobby finger and waving it at your chest. "The only thing that may be left is your heart, and even that is subject to debate. Will you side with us, the humans, or die here. The choice is yours. Light and Darkness, that is your only option here!"
Light and Darkness, but is it really that simple?
> You say "I won't be your bitch, Tomas."
The wrinkled old man frowns, "So, you're throwing your one chance for redemption?"
"I don't need redemption from the likes of you." You seethe back, channeling your undead cajones. "You want me to fight for you, but you're too worried about the decision that you wouldn't let any of the other Zealots.
"I won't tell you your wrong, but I will tell you that you're a fool to choose a unredeemed death over a redeemed life. But I cannot pretend to comprehend the demons."
You tilt your head, "You don't really believe I'm a demon, do you?" He continues to frown. "This... You wouldn't give me any sort of chance if you actually backed your beliefs. By now you must be just fear-mongering. But why?"
"Humanity needs a common-enemy, something to band us together to fight and destroy. That, and only that, will keep us alive."
The priest turns his back to you, and begins to slowly creep away. You struggle, and you yell out to try and kill him, to get out of this room. Yet, the UV-lights seem to hold you down, and when you realize what is happening. Flames emit from the bottom of your chair and begin to lick at your skin...
You have been killed by the hands of the Church.
| 2 |
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You raise your rifle, shouldering it as you quickly take the target in your sights. You aim at the lead werewolf, targeting the creature's head. It takes a moment for you to aim, unused to Wyatt's hunting rifle and preferring the pure blast power of your shotgun, but you quickly adjust. You've used pretty much every weapon under the sun over the years, and a simple hunting rifle is in every Hunter's arsenal. You see the bright of the wolf's eyes glinting in the moonlight, and pull the trigger.
You pull the trigger, the werewolf's skull exploding as a silver bullet bursts through its brains. The other two werewolves burst off into the trees, trying to take cover. You scan the underbrush, looking for the signature fur of the creatures, but they race through the leaves, in opposite directions.
Shit. Hitting both seems unlikely, and they're faster than you on foot. Perhaps retreating up a tree and climbing to the top to take shelter would be your best bet. Or perhaps that'll leave you as the perfect prey.
> You open fire on the creatures
You need to kill them while you're down here. Retreating to the trees will just leave you open and get you slaughtered like a lamb. You begin backpedaling slowly, taking a better shooting stance as you rapidly switch your sights from either of your flanks.
Suddenly, a howl from your left distracts you, as you turn. You swing your rifle around, finding the werewolf charging towards you, it's jaws open. You aim your weapon down its maw, finger pressing on the trigger as you snarl.
Suddenly, a force like a truck smashes into you from behind, knocking the gun from your hands and sending you crumpling to the ground. You scream as you find yourself crippled between a pair of werewolves, as one bites down on your neck and the other tears out your stomach. You try to scream, but find yourself gurgling on blood as you're torn apart.
| 4 |
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It's time to do what needs to be done. You can't let the deaths of tonight be for nothing.
A chill runs through you, as you realize you need new clothes, and there's only one place you can get them. You lean down, unbutton Wyatt's jacket as you try not to look at the body. Slowly,
The underwear are soiled and the inside two layers of Wyatt's clothes are soaked with blood, but you manage to scavenge the boots, socks, pants and jacket, pulling them on. Once you've bundled yourself up in clothes, you raise your rifle to your shoulder and begin walking, leaving the corpse behind you. You don't have the time to bury it, and being around the corpse is only sending pangs of hunger through your body. You try not to shed a tear, heading off into the woods.
Your senses quickly detect the faint smell of smoke and coal, and you begin heading towards it. The beast within you is quiet for now from the stabbing, but thankfully the beast seems to almost be absorbing the pain, and it's little more than a dull ache to you now.
You walk in silence, and for a moment, it seems almost unnatural. Everything about you seems wrong now. You can tell you're walking loudly, almost falling and stumbling about. Your movements are as stealthy as ever thanks to your abilities as a hunter, but compared to your lupine form, it's clumsy. Your senses are dulled without the powers of the beast, your entire body weakening from exhaustion and blood loss.
Your eyes are still bright, and you find yourself staring through the darkness at a trio of werewolves prowling through the undergrowth. The creatures are streaked with gray and black fur, growling as they slowly move forward, muscles moving under furry hides, their teeth glowing in the moonlight.
They must be following your scent, and if they are, they have it now. The beast within you is quiet now, but the rage in your heart is burning. Time to do your duty as a Hunter.
> You climb a tree and snipe the werewolves
Your eyes scan the trees around you, as you pick one tall enough to escape up into and with thick enough branches that you can climb in. You jump into the air, your hands wrapping around a branch as you pull your body up on it. Your boots find another branch, as you quickly begin to scale the tree as quickly as you can. It's not long before you find a thick, stable branch high enough to take a shooting position in, protected by the cover of the leaves but with a clear sight on the werewolves.
You raise your rifle, shouldering it as you quickly take the target in your sights. You aim at the lead werewolf, targeting the creature's head. It takes a moment for you to aim, unused to Wyatt's hunting rifle and preferring the pure blast power of your shotgun, but you quickly adjust. You've used pretty much every weapon under the sun over the years, and a simple hunting rifle is in every Hunter's arsenal. You see the bright of the wolf's eyes glinting in the moonlight, and pull the trigger.
You find yourself staring at a second werewolf, one racing towards the tree. You aim your rifle as it leaps towards the tree, firing. The creature takes the shot to the side, crumpling to the ground, as you quickly reload and aim.
The tree shakes as a werewolf begins clambering up the branches behind you. You quickly put another round in the wounded werewolf, blowing out its heart and killing it instantly. You swivel around, before you find a werewolf clambering up the branches, its maw wide open as it snaps at your leg. You yelp, realizing the beast is upon you, mere seconds away from devouring you.
> You kick the bastard down
You lash out at the werewolf with your boot, knocking at its jaws with all your force. The creature's jaws widen, biting down on your foot as it screams, its jaws cutting into your ankle and tearing tearing it off in one bite. You scream, pain tearing through you as blood spurts out, and you find yourself losing your position on the branch.
You fall through the air, collapsing to the ground as you scream. You hit the ground with a thud, your back breaking as you scream, collapsing onto the ground. Your mind goes hazy, darkness beginning to take you as you hear the werewolf growl, leaping from branch to branch down to you.
You hope you pass out before the creature reaches the ground, and you.
| 5 |
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Your eyes scan the trees around you, as you pick one tall enough to escape up into and with thick enough branches that you can climb in. You jump into the air, your hands wrapping around a branch as you pull your body up on it. Your boots find another branch, as you quickly begin to scale the tree as quickly as you can. It's not long before you find a thick, stable branch high enough to take a shooting position in, protected by the cover of the leaves but with a clear sight on the werewolves.
You raise your rifle, shouldering it as you quickly take the target in your sights. You aim at the lead werewolf, targeting the creature's head. It takes a moment for you to aim, unused to Wyatt's hunting rifle and preferring the pure blast power of your shotgun, but you quickly adjust. You've used pretty much every weapon under the sun over the years, and a simple hunting rifle is in every Hunter's arsenal. You see the bright of the wolf's eyes glinting in the moonlight, and pull the trigger.
You find yourself staring at a second werewolf, one racing towards the tree. You aim your rifle as it leaps towards the tree, firing. The creature takes the shot to the side, crumpling to the ground, as you quickly reload and aim.
The tree shakes as a werewolf begins clambering up the branches behind you. You quickly put another round in the wounded werewolf, blowing out its heart and killing it instantly. You swivel around, before you find a werewolf clambering up the branches, its maw wide open as it snaps at your leg. You yelp, realizing the beast is upon you, mere seconds away from devouring you.
> You leap to another tree
Bursting up, you push your boots against the branch as you stand for a second, before kicking off from the branches, leaping through the air towards the nearest tree. You fly through the air, hands reaching out for the next branch as you yell, only to find you're too far away and won't reach it.
You fall through the air, collapsing to the ground as you scream. You hit the ground with a thud, your back breaking as you scream, collapsing onto the ground. Your mind goes hazy, darkness beginning to take you as you hear the werewolf growl, leaping from branch to branch down to you.
You hope you pass out before the creature reaches the ground, and you.
| 3 |
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You double down, catching in the Albino in a deadly embrace, forcing it back. Your reflexes, your speed and your abilities are far outpaced by the creature, who has had far more time to get used to its body. However, strength might be something you have. You're a tough, hardy man and far stronger than the average man, so perhaps in your lupine form you'll the stronger of this pair.
You dig your hind legs in, ramming forward as you force the beast back. The Albino yelps, attempting to shove you aside, but you've caught it now, and you're able to twist it around as you launch it against the wall. The Albino smacks up against the wall, sliding down it as its covered in a thick layer of dirt, before you burst forward, raking your claws across the Albino's chest. You slash your claws forward, tearing out the creature's stomach as you hack into its ribs. The creature howls out in pain, weakly jabbing its claws at you as you step back in one quick dodge.
You growl, watching the dying creature in front of you. Your stomach begs you to give up any semblance of weakness, to tear into this meal and feast, but some small, weak little voice reminds you that you have a mission to do. You could leave the beast here to bleed to death, with no hope of it surviving the lethal wounds you've caused, or you could crush its skull and end its life now.
> You finish off the dying cur
With a low, rumbling snarl, you slowly approach the dying creature with almost disinterest in the creature. You raise your claw, striking with all your force as you smash the creature's skull against the wall, crushing its head against the stone wall and killing it instantly.
You stare at the creature's limp, dead corpse, ignoring the dying creature. You move away from the creature, heading deep into the darkness once more.
You spend several minutes walking through the darkness, before you find yourself prowling through a new plethora of senses. You find yourself in a large, cavernous room, glowing with golden light. A bonfire sits in the center of the cavern, warming your tired bones. Three corpses of cooked meat hang from the ceiling, blood dripping down in an appetizing fashion. You stare at them, licking your lips for a moment, before changing focus. There's a row of strange, bright glowing lights to the side, showing bizarre tiny forests in the distance. A metal table sits to the side, covered with strange objects, alongside a wall where many more things hang.
Light. Heat. Warm. Fire! Bright! EAT! Meat! Flesh! Kill! FEED! NOISES! HUMANS! KILL! SLAUGHTER!
You shake your head, your mind awash with new sensations, trying to let your instincts take over. You calm yourself, and your eyes flicker open as you examine the room. You find yourself smelling what looks to be dried blood, encrusted on one of the bizarre objects. You dip your snout forward, examining it cautiously. It seems to be covered in burning metal and cold metal, a bizarre combination of the two strange materials.
You pause, hearing the sound of distant howling down the tunnels. It doesn't seem to be drawing closer, instead drawing fainter and fainter as the pack of werewolves screaming goes further and further a way. You feel drawn to it, curious as to what it could be, but a small mind deep in your head seems to recognize the object with a strange familiarity.
> You follow the howls
Your ears flicker as you hear the sound of barking and howling deep in the mineshaft, as you answer with a cautious bark. Another howl answers back, and instinct overwhelms the quiet voice in your head, and you find yourself running into the darkness, desperate to your brothers.
Your mind races, all pain ignored, all quiet voices in the back of your mind ignored, all remaining traces of your humanity ignored. Your family, your true family of blood and instinct, are calling. The beast within you gives you no choice but to answer, and answer you will.
| 4 |
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You sigh, pressing the number. It rings for a few second, a bright, electronic noise, before it stops.
"Hello," a deep voice answers.
"I'm looking for Mr Gaange. I need that favor."
A light chuckle comes through the phone.
"Already? My, my, someone's been having fun. What do you need?"
"I'm here in the mineshaft just North of that fucking country house your lieutenant was holed up in. There's a werewolf pack based here, with servants helping them and large numbers. I need them wiped out."
"Yes, that does seem like an issue. Well, it's a serious favor, but it is in my interest to deal with these whelps and mongrels either way, they'll be a threat. You do know this means you agree to serve me, don't you?"
You pause for a moment, the room silent.
"I do."
"Good. Then let's get down to it."
You tell Mr Gaange everything you know about the pack and your location, before he stops you.
"That's enough. I have all I need. You're lucky, I have a team nearby covering what happened with my lieutenant. See if you can last another fifteen minutes, and I'll do the rest."
"OK," you answer heavily. "OK."
"Good. Best of luck, Mr Matasan."
The phone line goes dead, as you slowly move to the table ahead of you, picking up your shotgun, loading it carefully. You grab Father Féval's silver crucifix, leaning against the wall and sliding down it into a sitting position. You prop the shotgun up in your hands, aiming it at the tunnel ahead of you, and wait.
The waiting is long and hard. Blood loss and exhaustion is an issue, and you focus to stay alert now that the night's adrenaline has calmed. In addition to that, the beast within is howling and roaring, and at several points you have to harshly dig your silver crucifix into your bullet wound, the roar of burning pain and the cross' silver driving the wolf back for a while.
Suddenly, you see a figure entering the room, clad all in black. The figure wears black combat armor with a black gas mask, an assault rifle in his hands. The figure immediately swivels his gun to aim at you, dropping to a knee.
"Drop your weapons!" he yells, his voice muffled by his gas mask.
> You embrace the beast within
You dig your nails into your skin, roaring as you burst forward. The soldier swings his gun around, dropping to his need with incredible speed and pulling the trigger, a blast of silver bullets spraying out and hitting you square in the chest. You collapse to the ground mid transformation, the silver in your chest stopping your heart and transformation instantly. You hit the ground with a thud, gasping for bloody breath, before going still.
"Enemy combatant down, move in!" he says in a deep voice, motioning to the rest of his squad.
You watch as a squad of the soldiers enter the room, clad in black and wielding the same guns. Feeling the silver bullets burn in your chest as he fades black, you feel a glimmer of hope. You're dying tonight, but so are the werewolves. Tonignt, Fenrir's put down.
Minutes later, when Mr Gaange's men move your body from the mineshaft, they wonder why you're smiling.
| 5 |
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You find yourself howling, your body transforming in a mere moment, incapable of holding off the change for any longer. The fur bursts from your skin as it toughens and tears, your body stretching in an instant. Your teeth, a mouthful of ivory blades, are revealed as you open your jaw. You smash into the Albino, tearing it through the air and smashing it off the tunnel wall. The creature bounces off the wall, before rolling to its feet and leaping forward with one pounce, lunging for you. You snarl, batting it aside with a pair of claws, slashing as its face at the creature pins you to the ground.
The other beast is strong, fast and deadly, the creature being far more used to its bestial body than you are. The creature wields its fangs like daggers, its claws like swords, its weight a crushing wrecking ball, every feature of it turned into a weapon of death and slaughter. However, it's no doubt transformed from poorer stock than you, once having been a normal human rather than a Hunter like yourself, who dedicated their life to the craft of hunting. By how you reckon, the Albino has the advantage, but you won't be going down without a fight.
You struggle against his grip, pinned against the stone, struggling to get out from it's weight, as its gnashing teeth comes towards your throat, its mouth caught in a fearsome howl.
> You swing the creature to the side and roll on top of it to take the advantage
You begin rocking side to side, moving back and forth with several quick motions attempting to rock the creature's body with what little strength you have, before rolling to the side. You twist your body around, attempting to knock the creature off you, only to find the werewolf's weight and strength far outnumbers you ability to kick the creature off. You find your body twisted, your legs off to the side as you're left stuck under the Albino.
With your body trapped and incapable of moving, the Albino lets out a low, rumbling noise with satisfaction, knowing its kill is assured. The creature raises a clawed hand, slowly slicing it across your snout and leaving deep gouges across your face as you howl out in pain. You attempt to burst free, but the creature places a heavy paw on your head, before sending it forward with crushing speed and snapping your neck in an instant.
| 3 |
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You stare down the cavernous maw that sticks out of the earth. The darkness almost solidifies around you, attempting to consume your sanity. You focus your senses, as when the suffocating darkness steals your sight, your smell and hearing amplify. You can hear the near silent wind blow through the tunnel, nostrils flaring as you take as you smell the scent of coal dust and dirt. The scents begin to shift, as you detect a new smell. Fresh blood and the smell of a wild beast traveling through the tunnel. The sound of paws creeping along iron mine tracks and soft dirt begins just detectable.
Your eyes narrow, as down the tunnel, a form cuts through the darkness. The creature's thin body is covered with a thick layer of white fur, a pair of red, blood-filled eyes becoming clear, shining in the dark. A maw of sharpened daggers becomes clear, as the Albino arrives.
You recognize the creature from earlier. The one who bit you. The one who cursed you like this. You snarl, your gun tightening in your hands. The Albino's eyes flicker and you wonder if it recognizes you. There's an intellect there beyond what you've seen, in animals, or even in other werewolves. The creature growls, and you know it recognizes you.
Your body shakes, the Albino's growl sending the beast into overdrive. Your hairy arms tense as your muscles bulge, your tongue flickering along your sharpened teeth. You let out a growl, eyes narrowing as you ready yourself to kill. You let out a loud roar which echoes down the tunnel, your fingernails toughening and sharpening to pre-transformation claws that dig into the wood of your rifle.
> You open fire!
You raise your rifle, shouldering it in one quick motion as you aim as the approaching werewolf, targeting it directly in your sights, but the creature's too fast. It bounces off the wall, sprinting along the ground as it leaps from wall to wall, digging its claws into the wall as it clambers about the tunnel. You swing your rifle from side to side, trying to get sights on it, but the creature's faster, roaring down the tunnel. You begin to backpedal, but you're not even close to the speed of the wolf, and it quickly catches up.
The werewolf leaps down from the wall, swiping a claw at you. The claw catches your arm, slicing through your flesh as you scream and sending your gun flying from your arm and bouncing against the wall. You scream, toppling over, as the werewolf lands its clawed foot on your head, crushing it instantly.
| 4 |
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| 10 | false |
It's time to do what needs to be done. You can't let the deaths of tonight be for nothing.
A chill runs through you, as you realize you need new clothes, and there's only one place you can get them. You lean down, unbutton Wyatt's jacket as you try not to look at the body. Slowly,
The underwear are soiled and the inside two layers of Wyatt's clothes are soaked with blood, but you manage to scavenge the boots, socks, pants and jacket, pulling them on. Once you've bundled yourself up in clothes, you raise your rifle to your shoulder and begin walking, leaving the corpse behind you. You don't have the time to bury it, and being around the corpse is only sending pangs of hunger through your body. You try not to shed a tear, heading off into the woods.
Your senses quickly detect the faint smell of smoke and coal, and you begin heading towards it. The beast within you is quiet for now from the stabbing, but thankfully the beast seems to almost be absorbing the pain, and it's little more than a dull ache to you now.
You walk in silence, and for a moment, it seems almost unnatural. Everything about you seems wrong now. You can tell you're walking loudly, almost falling and stumbling about. Your movements are as stealthy as ever thanks to your abilities as a hunter, but compared to your lupine form, it's clumsy. Your senses are dulled without the powers of the beast, your entire body weakening from exhaustion and blood loss.
Your eyes are still bright, and you find yourself staring through the darkness at a trio of werewolves prowling through the undergrowth. The creatures are streaked with gray and black fur, growling as they slowly move forward, muscles moving under furry hides, their teeth glowing in the moonlight.
They must be following your scent, and if they are, they have it now. The beast within you is quiet now, but the rage in your heart is burning. Time to do your duty as a Hunter.
> You release the wolf within and tear them apart!
You growl, snarling as you draw on the beast deep inside you as you draw your fingernails against your wrists, causing blood to run down your arms in a thin trickle as you howl, staring up towards the moon as its glow shines upon your skin.
However, the silver wound still burns your flesh, and the wolf within is far from your abilities. It's quiet now, sleeping and recovering from the wound, and you're left just shouting to the skies as the beast draws near.
"Fuck... now it's silent. Now, the transformation that's plagued me all night is beyond me," you swear.
It's a somber thought, but as the werewolves near you, now too close for you to be able to gun them down or run, you're grateful that you can die a man. You put up your chin, taking a deep breath, and face death with a grimace.
| 3 |
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You slowly begin walking in the direction of the smoke, keeping your mind on the burning pain in your chest. Your bullet holes and bite mark have already scabbed and scarred over, no doubt from the healing abilities the beast within has granted you. Still, the silver burns just as harshly, like flames trapped in your chest. It's a struggle trying to focus on the pain, to let it consume you and drive you into a violent psychosis, but you have no alternative. Whenever you try to ignore the pain, you can feel the monstrous urges return. The unending hunger, the desire to break free, the need to howl up at the sky, the lust for the power of the wild... you keep focused, and the burning pain continues.
As you walk, you notice just how tight your clothes feel on you. No, not tight. Surprisingly, they seem to fit you perfectly, by whatever abilities of the Patchwork Man. They're not tight. They're constrictive. You want to tear them off, to feel the wind on your fur and to tear off into the night. You want to taste flesh and blood, to feel the dirt shift under your paws. You want to answer the call of the moon.
You shake your head roughly, growling as you tighten your grip on the shotgun. The cool metal reminds you of who you are. A Hunter.
It's a long distance of angered, confused walking, but you soon see lights emerge from the darkness. Not the passionate burning of flames, but the synthetic light of bulbs. You take up a crouching position, slowly sneaking up to where the trees give way to a clearing.
A large wooden cabin sits in the center of the clearing, surrounded by bright lights that give light to the cabin. Standing at the edge of the lights, holding a semi-automatic rifle, is a human. The man has a thick beard reaching his chest and long, tangled hair. His arms are covered with tattoos, depicting old Nordic runes and wolf symbols. Interesting. He must be the werewolf-equivalent of a Thrall. You've never heard of such a thing, seeing as werewolves are usually too stupid and bestial to have human servants, but the werewolves you've seen tonight are definitely smart enough to have them.
The Wolf Servant seems to be guarding the cabin, which has light plumes of smoke drifting up from its chimney. He hasn't noticed you, and seems to the only guard in sight. You need to take him out to get inside.
> You open fire from afar
You aim your shotgun carefully, staring down the iron sights at the man. You still your breath, pulling the trigger as the gun bucks
The scattering pellets smash into the guard and knock him from his feet. The man smacks into the ground with a burst of blood, as you rush towards the cabin. The smell of fresh blood drives you forward with a newfound, bestial energy. Your eyes spot a shift in the darkness, as you make out another guard on the opposite side of the cabin to you, a weapon in his hands.
The guard raises his rifle, opening fire at you, as you dive to the ground. You roll behind the cabin, putting the wooden building between you and the guard. You slide up against the corner of the cabin, keeping in tight as the bullets fly past you from the other guard. You try to focus on the burning pain in your chest, so you stay calm and collected rather than letting your bestial rage consume you.
> You charge the second guard quickly
You ready your shotgun, before turning the corner and sprinting forward, your gun leveled. The guard aims his rifle, but you simply fire your shotgun, firing a spray of silver. You knock the man off his feet as he collapses to the ground with a scream.
You fire again, hitting the man in the side and killing him. You turn to the cabin, pumping your shotgun. Now it's time to move inside and secure the cabin.
| 4 |
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You aim your shotgun carefully, staring down the iron sights at the man. You still your breath, pulling the trigger as the gun bucks
The scattering pellets smash into the guard and knock him from his feet. The man smacks into the ground with a burst of blood, as you rush towards the cabin. The smell of fresh blood drives you forward with a newfound, bestial energy. Your eyes spot a shift in the darkness, as you make out another guard on the opposite side of the cabin to you, a weapon in his hands.
The guard raises his rifle, opening fire at you, as you dive to the ground. You roll behind the cabin, putting the wooden building between you and the guard. You slide up against the corner of the cabin, keeping in tight as the bullets fly past you from the other guard. You try to focus on the burning pain in your chest, so you stay calm and collected rather than letting your bestial rage consume you.
> You circle the cabin and hit him from the side
Running your tongue along your sharpening teeth, you move swiftly, your nostrils filling with the scent of the man's sweat, blood and stink. Your feet move swiftly from instinct, knowing exactly where to step as you swing around the cabin, spotting the man's flank.
Kill! Kill! KILL!
The voices in your head, get stronger, as you find your grip on your weapon tightening. You raise your shotgun, firing as the blast almost takes off the man's head, sending blood spraying onto the ground as you laugh.
You head turns as you let out a low, rumbling growl, staring at the cabin. Time to break inside and kill!
| 5 |
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| 5 | false |
"You're... you're a Hunter, right? You must be."
"Unfortunately, no. You're out alone in these woods tonight. Well, I best be off. Good luck dealing with my boy tonight, Willy. Best of luck."
"Wait!" you growl, aiming your shotgun at him. "You move and I blow your brains out!"
The Fool sighs, shaking his head.
"I don't think you really know how this game works, do you?" the Fool says.
The Fool leans forward, placing his thumb against the shotgun barrel. He scratches at his puffy, burned eyes, sighing.
"You're not going to shoot that gun," he says simply.
With that, the Fool turns, strolling off into the woods. You try to aim your shotgun, but find your arms are incapable of moving, the numb, cold muscles refusing to work. All you can do is watch as the Fool disappears into the darkness.
When he's out of view, you snarl. You sniff the air, smelling the scent of prey, and... you try to focus on the pain for a moment, ignoring your bestial senses, before you smell something else. The smell of smoke, in the distance.
You pause, raising an eye. Smoke means fire. Fire means activity. There needs to be something in that direction.
> You go examine the coin
You walk over to where the Fool dropped the golden coin, finding it lying, shining in the dirt. You drop to your knees, picking it up and examining it.
The coin depicts an old image of two snakes, circling one another to form an 'S' shape. The snakes are biting each other's tails in a bizarre version of an ouroboros. You flip the coin over, finding yourself staring at the same image.
Huh. You suppose in a strange way, each face of the coin depicts the both "Heads" and "Tails". It seems the strange, patchwork man was fucking with you.
For a moment, you raise an eyebrow, wondering if "A coin" was the answer to that riddle. Either way, too late to ask. You pocket the coin, before standing and staring off towards where the smell of smoke came from.
| 4 |
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| 7 | false |
"Heads!"
The coin flips through the air ahead of you, as you step back, looking at the coin with interest. He steps back, leveling your own shotgun at you as he the coin lands in the dirt. The Fool peers down at it, tilting his head, before flipping the shotgun in his hands, grabbing the barrel and offering the stock to you.
"It's your lucky day, Hunter. Good luck to you."
You grab the shotgun, holding it in your hands and aiming it at the suspicious, patch coat man.
"Who the fuck are you?"
"An interesting question! Do you like riddles?"
"No."
The Fool frowns.
"So dull. You're a dull old fellow, aren't you? Perhaps I should be helping the wolves."
"Just tell me who you are, dammit! I'm a dying man, I don't have time for this."
The Fool opens his mouth to complain, before pausing, then shrugging.
"A slave I have been and shall remain
To a golden mistress I'm tied with invisible chains
Yet always I put on the same brave face
She keeps me her prisoner, but leaves me some space."
The Fool smiles at you for a moment, before raising an eyebrow.
"So... who am I?"
> A Werewolf
"You're a werewolf, aren't you? You're one of those fucked up beasts."
"No, I'm far older than even werewolves, I'm afraid. Well, I best be off. Good luck dealing with my boy tonight, Willy."
"Wait!" you growl, aiming your shotgun at him. "You move and I blow your brains out!"
The Fool sighs, shaking his head.
"I don't think you really know how this game works, do you?" the Fool says.
The Fool leans forward, placing his thumb against the shotgun barrel. He scratches at his puffy, burned eyes, sighing.
"You're not going to shoot that gun," he says simply.
With that, the Fool turns, strolling off into the woods. You try to aim your shotgun, but find your arms are incapable of moving, the numb, cold muscles refusing to work. All you can do is watch as the Fool disappears into the darkness.
When he's out of view, you snarl. You sniff the air, smelling the scent of prey, and... you try to focus on the pain for a moment, ignoring your bestial senses, before you smell something else. The smell of smoke, in the distance.
You pause, raising an eye. Smoke means fire. Fire means activity. There needs to be something in that direction.
| 4 |
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| 6 | false |
You slow your breathing, focusing on the pain in your chest. You raise your head, wiping the puke and blood from your face as you try to ignore the hunger in your belly. You wince, trying to ignore the desires of the beast within, telling you to run, to hunt, to feed, to howl. You shake your head violently, trying to focus, as you take up a kneeling position. The cold wind chills your bones and gives you goosebumps, and
"You look to be in a bad state, friend," a voice says.
You look up, finding yourself staring up at a a young, grinning man with curly black hair and a thick beard. His eyes are red and puffing, and seem to be somewhat burned. His jacket is patch-work, made of many stitched up patches of various colors, with the rest of his outfit being suitably gauche in its coloring to accentuate the man's weird look. He looks down at you, smiling.
"You're either very hungover, or old Fenrir got his claws into you."
"Who are you?" you ask weakly. "I'm getting really shit sick of having people walk up to me."
"Oh, a fool, little else," the man smiles. "You look cold. I have a spare set of clothes, if you want."
Cautious, you nod slowly, as the man pulls of his backpack, opening it. You pause, noticing the stock of your shotgun sticking out of the bag. The Fool tosses you a set of boots, underwear, an undershirt, socks, pants, t-shirt and a coat. Staring at him, you hurry to get dressed, as the Fool hums a song to himself. When you're finished, you look to the bag. The Fool notices what you're looking at, smiling.
"That's my weapon."
"Finders keepers, losers weepers, old Willy, old boy," the man shrugs.
You pause, trying to calculate the chances of you grabbing your weapon before he can.
"I didn't tell you my name," you say softly.
"You didn't tell me my name either, but I know that," the Fool shrugs.
The Fool grabs the shotgun, pulling it out and holding it in his hands, running his hands along the barrel. He pauses, digging through his pockets for a moment, before pulling out a golden coin.
"Tell you what. I'll flip you for it. You call it, you get your gun back. You don't, I'll put you out of your misery and stop you from completely turning. Agreed?"
You consider lunging at the man, but he lowers the barrel of the shotgun, anticipating your move. His grin widens, revealing more and more shiny teeth.
"Agreed", you say.
"Perfect!" the Fool grins. "Call it in the air, Willy."
The man flips the coin, watching it spin in the air.
> You tails
"Tails!"
The coin flips through the air ahead of you, as you step back, looking at the coin with interest. He steps back, leveling your own shotgun at you as he the coin lands in the dirt. The Fool peers down at it, tilting his head, before flipping the shotgun in his hands, grabbing the barrel and offering the stock to you.
"It's your lucky day, Hunter. Good luck to you."
You grab the shotgun, holding it in your hands and aiming it at the suspicious, patch coat man.
"Who the fuck are you?"
"An interesting question! Do you like riddles?"
"No."
The Fool frowns.
"So dull. You're a dull old fellow, aren't you? Perhaps I should be helping the wolves."
"Just tell me who you are, dammit! I'm a dying man, I don't have time for this."
The Fool opens his mouth to complain, before pausing, then shrugging.
"A slave I have been and shall remain
To a golden mistress I'm tied with invisible chains
Yet always I put on the same brave face
She keeps me her prisoner, but leaves me some space."
The Fool smiles at you for a moment, before raising an eyebrow.
"So... who am I?"
| 3 |
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| 7 | false |
You find yourself crawling desperately towards the smashed up car wreck, reaching forward and dragging yourself along the ground. You manage to pull yourself to a kneeling position, before standing cautiously. You take a step forward, trying not to focus on the brutal pain in your shoulder. You slowly move towards the truck before stumbling, leaning against it as you groan in pain. Resting on the cold metal bonnet, you gasp for breath.
"William. You made it," a voice groans from the wreckage.
You pause, grabbing your shotgun, before finding yourself staring at Father Féval's broken but still living body. The man is still buckled into the car wreckage, his face bloody from a cut on his forehead, his side looking like it's been completely chewed up by the werewolves. His expression is as emotionless as always, but there's a trace of weariness in his eyes.
"Father Féval!" you say, exuberant to know you're not alone in these dark woods.
"They ate you up pretty well, William" Father Féval says, his accent thickening as his eyes grow weary. "We've both been bit, it seems. If we survive much longer, we're going to become just like them. The beast is within us, and it will take over soon. We should embrace the end and go into it peacefully."
"No! We need to radio the lodge!"
Father Féval nods down to where the radio sat, and you see it's been smashed up. The radio's been torn out, its plastic case shattered and its internal wiring shredded. Clearly, the werewolves knew what they were looking for, and targeted this specifically.
"I'm sorry, William. That's not really an option anymore. It's time to face our end."
"We can't let them get away with this! This werewolf pack isn't a group of psychopathic killers, they're worse. They're a planning, thinking, growing group. We can't just give up and off ourselves!"
"William, your adrenaline's pumping and your mind is desperate, but we're not escaping here. Either we die here, or the beast within takes over!"
"Fuck that! We have to do something! We have time before we turn! We can get help, contact the others and tell them what happened, and then we can off ourselves! But we can't do it yet!"
Father Féval raises his pistols, pointing them at you.
"We live by a code, William. If you're not going to go peacefully into the night, I am going to take you into it," the Catholic Priest says coldly.
> You let Father Féval kill you
Putting down a Wolf
You raise your hands slowly, nodding.
"I understand. We can't give these fuckers reinforcements. We need to end this quickly. Go ahead and kill me, then. I'm ready."
Father Féval raises his pistols, aiming them at your chest. You smile at him weakly, before nodding.
"Do it."
"You know," Father Féval suggests. "These is a chance for you to confess your sins before you die, and to accept Jesus Christ as your lord and saviour."
"With all due respect, I'm in no mood for your preaching. Let me die in peace."
"So be it. May God have mercy on your soul, William."
"Bleed quickly and die quicker, my friend."
The guns fire, and the silver bullets tear through your chest, and you collapse backwards, blood bursting onto the ground. Darkness shrouds over you, and you can feel the desperate, clawing, howling beast within you get pulled down into the depths of darkness with you.
Now, the eternal rest is all that's left for you.
| 3 |
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| 8 | false |
You place your weapons on a table and stare at yet another wall. Again, there's a wide selection but you're getting better at scanning them. The shorter weapons are packed in much tighter in than the others, nearly making you dizzy. You feel a few; the short weapons are light and nimble with sharp edges and points. Though there are many different kinds and variations between all those you decide to narrow it down to just a few of different kinds.
You look along the choices and pick out three again; a cinquedea about a foot long, with a very wide blade that is decorative and an even longer cross guard with a short handle and pommel; a stiletto at the opposite end of the spectrum, with a very thin blade and handle that can easily pierce or find a way through armour; and a baselard, with a thicker blade, thin handle, and no cross guard or pommel to speak of.
> The stiletto
You pick up the blade by its handle and feel the guard over to the tip, where the sharp edge bites into your finger and draws a small drop of blood. You wipe the blood off your hand and hold the knife in the light to look over it. Light as any knife or dagger is, it glides though the air easy, almost requiring no effort. You sweep at and the air, listening to it cry out in that distinctive whistle.
The Blacksmith looks over you and the blade before speaking "You choose that one? Good. Well I suppose that's everything. You'll need armour as well, but you'll need to be measured before and then it'll take a while for me to make all of it. But regardless, we're done here for now. Good to see you Ophelia. Wealth and health to you both.
| 4 |
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| 3 | false |
"You can use the grindstone and I'll give you some whetstones and polishing cloth. Still, you will need a dagger and a polearm of some kind. You look like you would fancy a heavier weapon. Take a look at the wall. I've got a poleaxe that I've recently finished; it's the perfect length for you. Let me get it."
You stare at the walls again, this time at one filled with pole weapons, some leaning against the wall, some packed on shelves, some in actual weapon holders. There are the long pikes that take down calvary lined on shelves at the top. Other weapons have spikes, tongs, flat ends for hammering, large and small points, curved blades, and any combination thereof. The choice between weapon types is dizzying, and even among the individual types there are more variables; weight, length, thickness, curve, even the way the shaft and tip are joined.
You carefully pick up a weapon or two and try them out, a swing, a thrust, a step and a turn. They are unsurprisingly heavy, much heavier than your smaller sword. You place them back, making sure they are not going to fall and cause an avalanche of weapons. You look around a bit. You manage to pick out a few weapons that look good.
The Blacksmith walks back in carrying one of the heavy weapons in one hand like it's nothing and places it on a weapon rack.
Including the weapon the Blacksmith just brought in you've narrowed it down to three: a halberd about your height, with an end that has a long spike at the tip, a small axe on one side and a hook on the opposite, all mounted on a thick and sturdy wood pole; a slightly smaller warhammer with small but brutal looking spike on one side and the flat end for crushing, all on a mix of metal of wood; and the Blacksmith's weapon, a longer glaive, with a long curved blade on the tip and a small hook, on heavy dark wood.
> You warhammer
You hold the war hammer in your holds and turn it over. Heavy, but that's the point. The hammer itself is completely flat and even, smaller than you'd imagine, but that only concentrates the damage you'd guess. There's a metal grip on it, with a pattern to make it easier to hold.
"Ah, the hammer. Brutal thing, that is. Just around the right size for you though." After placing the glaive he brought in on a rack the Blacksmith points to the hammer. "It doesn't matter if someone's wearing armour. With this, a single whack and it'll smash through a helmet, and even if it doesn't, it can still break bones, cause concussions, and at the very least give a very nasty bruise. The hook can rip through armour too, though usually a good set of platemail can block it. It's good for taking down calvary. The hook can tear at the legs of a horse, get the man off his mount, and the hammer can crush the horse's legs."
| 5 |
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| 4 | false |
"You can use the grindstone and I'll give you some whetstones and polishing cloth. Still, you will need a dagger and a polearm of some kind. You look like you would fancy a heavier weapon. Take a look at the wall. I've got a poleaxe that I've recently finished; it's the perfect length for you. Let me get it."
You stare at the walls again, this time at one filled with pole weapons, some leaning against the wall, some packed on shelves, some in actual weapon holders. There are the long pikes that take down calvary lined on shelves at the top. Other weapons have spikes, tongs, flat ends for hammering, large and small points, curved blades, and any combination thereof. The choice between weapon types is dizzying, and even among the individual types there are more variables; weight, length, thickness, curve, even the way the shaft and tip are joined.
You carefully pick up a weapon or two and try them out, a swing, a thrust, a step and a turn. They are unsurprisingly heavy, much heavier than your smaller sword. You place them back, making sure they are not going to fall and cause an avalanche of weapons. You look around a bit. You manage to pick out a few weapons that look good.
The Blacksmith walks back in carrying one of the heavy weapons in one hand like it's nothing and places it on a weapon rack.
Including the weapon the Blacksmith just brought in you've narrowed it down to three: a halberd about your height, with an end that has a long spike at the tip, a small axe on one side and a hook on the opposite, all mounted on a thick and sturdy wood pole; a slightly smaller warhammer with small but brutal looking spike on one side and the flat end for crushing, all on a mix of metal of wood; and the Blacksmith's weapon, a longer glaive, with a long curved blade on the tip and a small hook, on heavy dark wood.
> You glaive
You look at the glaive that the Blacksmith brought in. The wood is smooth, balanced and strong, and the blade looks like it craves blood. You pick it up and its just as heavy as you expected. It's simple compared to the other weapons; no intricate patterns or designs, but it's lovely nonetheless.
"The glaive? Ah, a good choice. I knew it'd be the weapon for you, just the right size." The Blacksmith stands beside you. "It may seem simple, but I made it with the care all my weapons deserve. Of course, the wood work isn't mine, but all metal has been forged by my hands."
| 5 |
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"Follow me." Ophelia walks past the guards and weaves through the throng of people with grace. You follow carefully, not wanting the heavy armoured feet of the guard to crush yours. She leads you up a spiraling staircase to a small platform reaching over the center. As soon as you step on it floats upwards. Ophelia grabs your arm to keep you from falling or freaking out.
"Be calm. If you stand still it is surprisingly safe. The Tailor's rooms are on the third floor, so it was unnecessary to take the lift. The others reside near the top though, so unless you would like to go up all those stairs we're taking the lift." Ophelia holds your arm tightly.
You force yourself to take a breath and try not to look down. Ophelia senses this is not the time to talk and so you just stand there, jaw clenched. Finally Ophelia takes a breath and talks.
"Who shall we visit first? As a new member of our lovely "family" you have priority, so don't fret about lines or some such nonsense. After we visit them all we should go back to the Tailor and pick up the beginning of what will, trust me, become a very large wardrobe ."
> The Tanner
"I see. Get the worst out of the way first? I must say, the stench is worst I've ever smelled. He's not a... Nice man. Not mean, but wild. Feral, even. I've heard talk that he was born here, but he's one of the oldest I know of, so again, another thing we never may know. As you know, Zaren plays around with... the world. So don't let his appearence frighten you. If anything is terrifying, it's the stink. He's harmless really."
You slow your upward motion and the lift reachs another floor, where it attaches to a opening. Ophelia walks off. "Don't let the height scare you. It's quite safe as long as you don't linger."
One foot off and it feels stable enough. But as soon as your other leg leaves the platfrom descends. You go falling forward as your body compensates for the motion. Ophelia catches you and steadies you. "Let's go. The walk is long, to keep the smell from the lift."
Ophelia leads you through a maze of halls and small rooms, as the smell gradually builds up and pains throb in your head. Just as you're about to pass out she pulls you into the tannery. There's a look of digust on her face. "Let us meet the Tanner."
> You meeting the Tanner
The smell hits your face; fresh rather than the stagnant air outside, but just as bad. Your eyes water and you blink again and again just to see. You nose and mouth curls up in disgust. There are furs everywhere, not just pelts but entire animals. "He prefers to skin them himself." Ophelia simply says. Tools for skinning and shaping litter the ground and little buckets of what you hope is water but is more foul smelling are sprinkled about the room. Larger vats are filled with the same foul odorous liquid, some of them colourless, but more black, brown, gray, or other dull colours. There are piles of furs, rags, and leather everywhere, some drying, being shaped, or otherwise in progress to becoming whatever they will be.
A particularly large and dirty pile moves and -- oh dear, that's not a pile. It's a wereanimal, foul and feral, loudly poking around in dog corpse, picking out internal organs and placing them aside, sorting them. He pulls out bones and bits, and is covered in blood. Every so often he licks clawed hands with a slurping sound. He starts to peel off the skin with tools and surprising care when he lifts his head up and sniffs at the head. Turning around, he spots you and his mouth turns into a disgusting smile. "Ophelia? Why hellos! Goodness, goodness, I ams filthy." Emphasizing and adding an S to some words he speaks to you. He grabs a rag and attempts to clean his hands, then wipes drool and blood from his face with them. He's covered in spotted, dirty, clumped fur, especially along his legs and shoulders, with a longer patch on top of his leading down his back on his spine. The hair is shorter on his face and snout, except for a few long whiskers that poke out of his lips and along his chin. The shaggy fur recedes along his hands, leaving nearly thin fingers for precision in his trade. He wears only a pair of shorts and bones on a string on his thick and long neck. His ears are pierced, the left is tattered and they flap about independent of his head. His eyes are large and green and watch Ophelia with a sense of sincerity. He seems more like a dog than anything else.
Then, as if suddenly seeing you, "I knows you! The Tailors said you were coming. Yesh, yesh. I have here somewhere... I cuts and cures it long time ago, ready for yous. Just waits, waits." He walks around in circles on his large paws and sniffs at the air. "Yesh, yesh, I see its!" He stretches up and pulls something off a shelf. "They gives me nice shiny buckles for belts. I use the yellow ones this time. People like the yellow ones." He sounds like a child, a filthy terrifying child. "You reminds me. You reminds me of hims. You gots the smell. He goods man, you know. Others they think he crazy, but he nice, he nice to mes. Used to be hads to thinks. All the times. Hard. Now I just do these things and I gets all I wants. He nice man. Waits, first I gots to cleans." He dips the belt in some sort of oily liquid and then hands it to you. "He says to use the oils because somes don't like the smell. But yous get used to it. I thinks it smells good now. Also these. The Tailors said yous might like." He hands you a pair of leather arm bands.
> Back to the lift
You take the black belt and bands out of his hands and try to hold as little of them as possible, with a forced smile. The Tanner smiles back at you, oblivious of your disgust.
Ophelia takes your arm. "We have to go now."
The Tanner smiles at you. "Come backs to visit. And if yous wants armours, I cans make it. But laters." His tail wags and he waves at Ophelia.
Ophelia pulls you out of the room and walks off quickly, then runs after reaching the corner.
"I'm sorry. I just can't stand it. He's just so pitiful. I want to hate him, I really do, but I also feel an overwhelming sense of sorrow for him." Her face is white and her hold is gripping your arm so hard it hurts. Her face says not to talk about it anymore, but you have a feeling there's something that she's not telling you.
The smell diminishes as you get farther from the tannery. Once you reach the lift again you put on the belt and bracers, if just to buy some time before you have to step back on it. To your surprise the solution that the Tanner used actually seems to have worked. In fact, they have a slight leather smell, but otherwise are devoid of any discernible smell.
You're about to step back on the lift. If you want to ask Ophelia about the Tanner, now is the time.
> You ask Ophelia about the Tanner
For a second, you're not sure she heard your question. She just holds your arm and pulls you onto the lift. Just when you're about to ask again she answers in a quiet voice, holding her necklace in a tight fist.
"The Tanner is an animal. A nice, good-natured, even gentle thing, despite his appearance and the whispers of some, but an animal nonetheless. He isn't a man -- or maybe isn't one anymore. He can't make the decision to lie or even mislead. If you ask him a question he will answer to the best of his ability. He said you were like Zaren." She trails off.
You want to know why this scares her so much. Maybe you smell like Zaren or something. Ophelia seems to be afraid of him, but why would this bother her so much? You're about to ask when her nails dig into your arm deep enough to cause marks, but not blood.
"I don't want to talk about it. At least not now. Please." And that's all she'll say for now. A forced smile covers her anxious face. "Where to now?" She says, deftly changing the topic. "We've still got things to do yet." She lets go of your arm and lightly touches the mark. "I... Sorry."
The discussion seems to be over. You doubt she'll even respond if you ask again, so you respect the silence, though you are still confused.
The lift starts to move. "So, what's our next destination?"
| 3 |
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You take the black belt and bands out of his hands and try to hold as little of them as possible, with a forced smile. The Tanner smiles back at you, oblivious of your disgust.
Ophelia takes your arm. "We have to go now."
The Tanner smiles at you. "Come backs to visit. And if yous wants armours, I cans make it. But laters." His tail wags and he waves at Ophelia.
Ophelia pulls you out of the room and walks off quickly, then runs after reaching the corner.
"I'm sorry. I just can't stand it. He's just so pitiful. I want to hate him, I really do, but I also feel an overwhelming sense of sorrow for him." Her face is white and her hold is gripping your arm so hard it hurts. Her face says not to talk about it anymore, but you have a feeling there's something that she's not telling you.
The smell diminishes as you get farther from the tannery. Once you reach the lift again you put on the belt and bracers, if just to buy some time before you have to step back on it. To your surprise the solution that the Tanner used actually seems to have worked. In fact, they have a slight leather smell, but otherwise are devoid of any discernible smell.
You're about to step back on the lift. If you want to ask Ophelia about the Tanner, now is the time.
> You keep quiet
You close your mouth. She obviously doesn't want to talk about it and you still have things to do before Zaren... Does whatever Zaren does.
You play with the folds of your belt and you and Ophelia stand in silence for a moment.
"Thank you... I just... I'll explain it later. We've things to do now. I understand that things must be confusing for you -- it was for me, and even I had some experience with The Court before I joined it. It just... I've never done this before." Ophelia is quiet with this last sentence. "Zaren has people for this. I don't understand why he told me to help you. Then again, I don't understand why he does anything he does."
The lift starts to move again.
"Where to next?"
| 3 |
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"Oh yes. I told you about the "fight" Zaren had. He got rid of all the doors in The Court, except for the large front doors to the palace. Apparently they "took his side". Without doors we lacked privacy, but Zaren didn't care. Probably didn't eve occur to him. But after a few years he had his brilliant idea; fake walls. No one had any idea he could do something like that, but I don't think it surprised anyone. That's why we check the walls. He can build them anywhere he wants, so we must be vigilant, vigilant always. It's tiring at first but you build up a habit eventually."
"Doesn't it... Freak you out?"
"At first it was a little strange, but after a year or two you don't even think about it anymore. You start to forget what doors look like."
> You tailor
"The Tailor? He's been here a very long time, longer than me, longer than most.... He used to be like us. I just barely remember it. He had another name too, but it's so far off I don't have an inkling what it could have been. Anyway he always had a talent for clothing, but he's had a lot of time to perfect his craft as well. Zaren decided he wanted to change The Court to something more like what you see now. He made the Tailor into what he is now so that he could... Well, so that he could be the Tailor. Zaren rubs off on people. He places the seeds of madness in our minds. The Tailor's soul was more fertile than most, but he still retained the appearance of reason. So he gladly accepted his changes and new role. He's happy with it, I think. One of few, but he has a long history here, and a possibly longer future."
"What... Is he?"
"Oh... That's your question. He's a silk worm. Part silk worm at least. At least he used to be a silk worm. I guess he's a moth now."
You don't really want to think about him anymore.
| 4 |
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| 1 | false |
"Now that's a good question. The short answer is: I don't know. Nobody does as far as I know. Except, perhaps, for Zaren, but I don't think he's likely to share that information, do you? You really never went through the slums?" Ophelia narrows her eyes suspiciously.
"I don't know what you mean." You answer truthfully.
"The slums are what they are. A broken down place infested with poverty and suffering. Everyone, nobility and peasants alike, appears in the slums. People don't really have children here. Pregnancy is extremely rare among the population, even over large periods of time. Most women will go their whole life without a child. Most pregnancies will end in miscarriages. Almost all of those carried to term will be stillborn. Of the handful of people over our whole history to be born here... I've never met one. I've heard that they turn out strangely, even compared to the average citizen. Nothing specific, just strange. There are rumours that Zaren is one, but I doubt a thing like him was even born, even in another place. To my knowledge there is no one older than Zaren alive today so I guess we'll never know. Anyway, people will simply "arrive" here instead. From somewhere else. Always... Well, you're the exception, but always in the slums. They're not a pleasant place. The slums are filled with screams and the raving of the mad. The "upper ranks" to which you now belong are comprised of the completely sane, or at least the sanest. Zaren... I don't think he's insane. I've known him too long. No, I think he just likes to watch us suffer in our own filth."
"So you can't tell me anything about where I am."
"No, I can tell you much about where we are. I just don't know where where we are is. I can't tell you anything about where any of us came from. Most people don't remember anything and even if they do it's after a long time of searching. But it just tears them apart. It's best to forget if you start remembering."
"But I... I remember.... Something." You're not sure. It's that faint form of memory, but vivid in strange places. More like a story that you've visualized.
"Forget it. Or if you can't forget it, ignore it. At the very least leave it alone. Do not go any further into that abyss."
But this memory is to real to forget. Ophelia looks at you, rolls her eyes, and sighs. "Okay. Tell me about it, but then that's it. Don't ever think you can make it farther into your own mind. It won't end well."
"I remember. I remember... " Words roll of your tongue as you look through the past towards the only memory you can find.
> You gray
It's soft. It's got pieces branching off of it. It's small and blandly coloured. The colours continue along tiny pieces, like somebody just cut some of it out. This one is small, but you know there are bigger ones.
It's a feather.
You hold it close and peer at it. It looked solid at first, but now you see the little bits of fluff.
The sky is blue and clear and you can see all the birds flying through the skies. Ravens flap in the wind and caw far off. Little songbirds sit on tree branches and tweet songs. Rabbit bolt through every so often.
It's an orchestra of the wild.
There's a slight breeze and the smell of trees. Green is everywhere. Long pieces of grass feel soft under your feet. Leaves and flower buds cover trees. This is it. This is life.
Then it's gone. You have it here in your head now, fixed and alive, something you'll remember. There's more...
But that's gone, at least for now.
| 3 |
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| 4 | false |
The heavy blade is laying on the ground.
Your heart beats.
You survey the fight.
It's a giant mass of men screaming in a variety of different emotions. Joy here, fear there. You can see spectres spectating, watchers watching, and shadows spectating as well, because what else would they do? Be serious.
With all the chaos, if you crouched you could conceivably have more cover. A lower center of gravity would also be a benefit. A quick roll would provide more cover and speed, but lack the same control. The ground, while littered with weapons and bodies, has a clear path to your weapon. You could try to crawl there. This would provide the most cover, but you risk being stepped on, and what you gain in cover you give up in speed.
Beat.
Move now, or risk danger for another look around.
> You crawl
The muscles holding you up loosen and you fall down.
Beat.
Your knees hit the sand and throw up little flecks. You hear a whistling sound.
Beat.
The rest of you falls forward, hands moving in position to cushion your fall.
Beat.
An arrow, bright and deadly, glides over you.
Beat.
You catch the ground and embrace it, pushing forward with your legs.
Beat. Beat.
The battle rages. Hand and elbow crawl forward as you make your way slowly to your weapon. Someone steps backwards into your path. You punch their leg and they fall out of the way. There is no mercy in this moment. Someone else tries to step backwards, but trips over you and falls. Almost there. Your hand is on your weapon now.
Beat. Beat. Beat.
You jump up and swing the blade around. You catch someone just barely on the back of their arm; you run them through and cleanly pull out the blade. In this small space no one can respect the length of the sword, so you kick a few people to clear a space. Something catches you in the side of your head and you fall down and... is that.... bloood.....
| 4 |
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| 1 | false |
The heavy blade is laying on the ground.
Your heart beats.
You survey the fight.
It's a giant mass of men screaming in a variety of different emotions. Joy here, fear there. You can see spectres spectating, watchers watching, and shadows spectating as well, because what else would they do? Be serious.
With all the chaos, if you crouched you could conceivably have more cover. A lower center of gravity would also be a benefit. A quick roll would provide more cover and speed, but lack the same control. The ground, while littered with weapons and bodies, has a clear path to your weapon. You could try to crawl there. This would provide the most cover, but you risk being stepped on, and what you gain in cover you give up in speed.
Beat.
Move now, or risk danger for another look around.
> You roll
Your arms start the long journey up. Your head lowers to meet them.
Beat.
An arrow shines between the blood and the laughter, then disappears.
One leg contracts to bring your body in and the other pushes to give you your momentum. Your heel leaves the sand, then just your toes make contact with the ground, then you're in the air..
Beat.
Your arms cover your head and you bring up one leg. The other pushes as you lean forward and bring your body low and ready for contact with the ground.
Beat.
Something rips through the skin in your left arm, leaving a relatively shallow wound.
Beat.
Beat. Beat.
Your body falls and hits the ground, and with a little effort, the roll is completed.
Beat. Beat. Beat.
You reach the sword and grab it as your legs push you up. You bring the sword up and around to stand between you and the man in front of you.
Another man with a smaller blade tries to stab your side. Your larger blade leaves little time to parry it and even less to regain balance, so you side step instead and let your movement swing the heavy sword around in his direction. He jumps back and knocks your blade just enough to leave him unscathed. Now that you're out of his range, you thrust foward and neatly catch his arm as he tries to avoid the attack. You push foward further and to the right, catching his torso. As you pull back the blade, he collaspes, eyes shut in pain at first, then open as he roars in laughter.
All around you people are dying. Bodies litter the ground and few are left. Such a waste of life. The violent ones are dead, leaving the survivors to look across at each other in both suspicision and dread.
Silence comes across the arena.
The shades gather at the edges and stare at you. One sits alone, on a throne of burning night. It opens its mouth....
"NO! NO! NO NO NO NO! Please, stop! I beg of you!" You plead and cover your ears, but that doesn't alleviate the shattering misery the shade spouts.
You writhe, you writhe, on the ground, tears streaming and blood leaking from your nose and the shades scream and scream and it hurts your heart so close to bursting you thrash and cry and pray but the anthem continues as others join in and they file into the sands as you see through blurry bloody eyes and surround you and rip you apart rip you apart rip you apart fingers and limbs and organs and blood so much blood and the shadows the shadows they scream and scream and scream and...
| 3 |
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| 8 | false |
The heavy blade is laying on the ground.
Your heart beats.
You survey the fight.
It's a giant mass of men screaming in a variety of different emotions. Joy here, fear there. You can see spectres spectating, watchers watching, and shadows spectating as well, because what else would they do? Be serious.
With all the chaos, if you crouched you could conceivably have more cover. A lower center of gravity would also be a benefit. A quick roll would provide more cover and speed, but lack the same control. The ground, while littered with weapons and bodies, has a clear path to your weapon. You could try to crawl there. This would provide the most cover, but you risk being stepped on, and what you gain in cover you give up in speed.
Beat.
Move now, or risk danger for another look around.
> You look
Your eyes flicker and see everything on the battlefield.
Beat. Beat.
Recognition flashes for but a brief moment, as you see the sun shining on the arrow that procedes to catch your throat and rip through flesh to find sweet death. Blood spurts out and you drift into blackness. It feels like an eternity but some part of you knows it's only a beat or two before you die.
Beat. Beat.
Now death is all that is left in your eyes as all traces of you meld into the sands and you are swept away from existence.
| 4 |
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| 4 | false |
You skate up the stairs taking three at a time and find a door at the top of the stairs. You pull out your lockpicks and begin to jimmy the door. Within seconds you hear the lock 'click' and you slide inside closing the door behind you. You hear a creak and some sniffling sounds somewhere in the room. It's very dark, all of the windows are shuttered, and you negotiate the room by sound and touch rather than lighting a lamp and giving yourself away.
Following behind your sword, you investigate the dark room and try to track the noise before someone or something gets the drop on you. When the sound is made again, you rush to the wall ripping off a tapestry and see a that it hides a small doorway. You open it in a flash, sword back to provide a fatal stab. To your surprise a young girl, perhaps sixteen years in age is in hiding.
You look at her frightened face, streaked with tears and the knowledge that none of her family made it through whatever happened downstairs. She screams at the sudden discovery and scrambles as far back in the hidden compartment as she can go. You curse your luck and say, "Be quiet girl! I'm not here to hurt you! Pray you haven't woken the neighborhood!"
You quickly move away from the whimpering girl and check the windows. Sure enough two Turric Swordsmen and a Wardog are on the prowl. The dog starts to bark and drag the two soldiers towards the house.
"Shit!" You hiss and move back to the secret compartment. Pulling up the tapestry you tell the girl, "No matter what you do, no matter what you hear, do not leave this compartment for the next few hours unless you hear me say 'Defender'." You slide a dagger her way and say, "And no matter what, don't let them take you alive, if this place is discovered, if this flap is opened and they try to take you, slice your throat, plunge this into your chest but don't let them take you out of here. No matter what!"
You close the hidden door, drop the tapestry, close and lock the door to the first floor, and hide behind a desk. When those bastards come through they're going to pay dearly.
The sound of heavy boots tromping up the stairs follow a barking dog. They try the lock, try it again, and then start trying to bash the door in. The door survives four solid charges before the door rips off of the hinges and the men and beast rush in swords drawn.
> You kill the men, then the dog.
You decide that men with swords beat out a hound so you ready your ambush by hiding behind a desk and wait for them to rush in. They do as you predict and you pop up from behind the desk and toss three throwing knives, two at the leader, one at the man following him. The first bounces off the lead man's armor. The second catches him in the neck and he goes down grasping at his throat. The third narrowly misses the following soldier by inches.
You draw your short swords which are a good matchup against the wide swinging barbed scimitars the Turric use, at least in confined spaces. Then you leap over the desk ready to take the second soldier out.
He charges as you rush to meet him. His swing is wild and you parry it ducking into a tumble and swing low cutting his foot off at the ankle. As you roll into a crouch you are hit from the side by the wardog which barrels into you knocking you off balance. It bites for your throat but you sacrifice your arm instead losing your left hand sword in the process. The short sword rings off of the wooden floor and skitters several feet away as you use your other sword to stab the dog in the ribs.
Even as you stab the dog and it yelps, the other soldier levels a boot at your head and kicks you so hard you see sparkles and blackness for a second. The dog rends a massive rip in your bracer and blood spurts from the open wound into it's mouth. You stab it again and it collapses.
The second warrior raises his Barbed Scimitar as you struggle to get the dog's dead weight off of your own body. You scream as the blade comes down cutting deep into your skull. Death is instantaneous.
YOU HAVE FAILED!!!
| 3 |
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| 12 | false |
You conserve your energy and block his blows. Knowing the wild style of the Turric swordsman, you easily parry several wild blows. As he failed to strike he becomes more and more frustrated and you lure him into a wide swing and while he is pulling back, you step in his reach and break his nose with the handle of your sword. The stunning blow makes him stumble backwards and you press the advantage kicking him backwards and then turning your sword and driving it through his stomach!
He squirms like a worm for several long seconds before you twist your blade and finish the job. Though you conserved your energy by blocking, you attracted the attention of a few more warriors. They come streaming out of a building to your right and you count at least five men, two with crossbows aimed in your direction.
Do you: Run away or turn to face the group and take them head on using throwing knives to whittle them down before resorting to your sword?
> You kill Em All!
You whirl quickly around pulling three throwing knives and letting them free at the charging warriors. Two of the three blades 'thunk!' into the Turric Swordsmen. One plunks deep in a man's chest and he staggers sideways before falling. The other knife slams into a warrior's arm causing him to howl in pain.
With four of the men left from the initial assault, you realize you are in a bind. You level your sword at the two melee warriors and try to stay out of the sight of the two crossbowmen.
A bolt 'thrums' by your ear. Another 'thuds' into a pillar to your left. You circle for position as one warrior heads towards your left side and the injured warrior with a knife sticking out of his arm circles to your right. The crossbowmen are reloading and another attack is imminent.
What do you do?
> You feint Right and Attack the Warrior to the left.
Quickly, you move right and fake the warrior to your weak side, then cross the blade over and thrust it deep into the warrior on your left. The sword punctures the armor of the warrior and slides thickly into his belly where you feel the steel edge nestle in his spinal column and break through his back. The man instantly collapses like a stack of bricks taking your sword with it.
Rolling with the momentum, you duck under the whistling blade of the other warrior and tumble through bolts fired by the crossbowmen several meters distant. Before you even roll fully out of your crouch you pull two daggers and let them fly into the swordsman giving chase. One bashes into his face piercing his skull and the other strikes his leg. He falls lifeless like a bull shot in mid charge.
The crossbowmen, once trying to pick shots are now hurriedly trying to reload. you turn to them and pull short swords and charge them. They fumble their crossbows as you near them. Two vicious strikes later and you stand triumphant over five Turric corpses.
Catching your breath, you grab your weapons and check the bodies for loot. Seeing that your masters aren't probably going to be keeping you on the payroll, you may as well scrounge a little coin to prevent this from being a total loss. Three bags full of silver coins jingle in your hand and you put them in your pockets and turn to go.
You can either try to keep moving by skipping from building to building or you can choose to head into the dark alleyways across the street that heads to the ghettoes of Essitrea.
| 4 |
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| 7 | false |
You whirl quickly around pulling three throwing knives and letting them free at the charging warriors. Two of the three blades 'thunk!' into the Turric Swordsmen. One plunks deep in a man's chest and he staggers sideways before falling. The other knife slams into a warrior's arm causing him to howl in pain.
With four of the men left from the initial assault, you realize you are in a bind. You level your sword at the two melee warriors and try to stay out of the sight of the two crossbowmen.
A bolt 'thrums' by your ear. Another 'thuds' into a pillar to your left. You circle for position as one warrior heads towards your left side and the injured warrior with a knife sticking out of his arm circles to your right. The crossbowmen are reloading and another attack is imminent.
What do you do?
> You throw more daggers at the crossbowmen.
You are surrounded both by swordsmen and crossbowmen. Sensing that you might be plucked off from range you duck under the slash of the warrior to your left and pull your throwing blades. Two blades fly free and both strike the crossbowmen, the man on the left is hit in the chest and the one on the right feels a blade hit his shoulder.
Even as they fall, you bring your broadblade up to parry the attacks from the man on the right. The barbed scimitar collides with the flat of your blade and sparks glide from the conflicting metals. Then you feel a sharp pain from behind as you see the point of a scimitar pierce through your chest. You feel as if your whole body is being electrocuted and you watch with hazing vision as your sword falls limply from your grasp.
The blade twists inside you and your knees give out and you fall to your knees. The left side swordsman measures you up and swings his blade. The sensation of your head rolling on the ground is eerie as you watch your body fall. Then, slowly, the world turns black.
YOU HAVE FAILED!!!
| 5 |
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| 1 | false |
You whirl quickly around pulling three throwing knives and letting them free at the charging warriors. Two of the three blades 'thunk!' into the Turric Swordsmen. One plunks deep in a man's chest and he staggers sideways before falling. The other knife slams into a warrior's arm causing him to howl in pain.
With four of the men left from the initial assault, you realize you are in a bind. You level your sword at the two melee warriors and try to stay out of the sight of the two crossbowmen.
A bolt 'thrums' by your ear. Another 'thuds' into a pillar to your left. You circle for position as one warrior heads towards your left side and the injured warrior with a knife sticking out of his arm circles to your right. The crossbowmen are reloading and another attack is imminent.
What do you do?
> You feint Left and Attack the Warrior to your right.
You quickly feint left and then pull your heavy blade to the right with a vicious backhand arc that decapitates your opponent. The right-side swordsman's body twists in a ghoulish pirouette before stepping once to the left and falling. His head lies some ten feet into the distance.
You have however left your side exposed and you feel the results of a brutish slice into your side. You scream in agony and frustration before reversing your sword and thrusting it backwards. This catches the left-side swordsman directly in his stomach and you thrust it through his body before giving the blade a nasty twist.
You feel the warrior slide off of the steel and grunt in satisfaction. However, this is cut short by a bolt which smashes into your shoulder. You scream and reflexively draw a dagger which you hurtle across the field into the throat of the crossbowman who just shot you. However, his ally has been taking careful aim and looses another bolt which slams into your stomach.
Blood courses down your armor as you collapse to the ground, your feet no longer able to carry you. You grip your sword and try to rise as the men reload speaking their guttural language. They walk cautiously up to you as you grip a dagger secretly and act just a little bit more wounded than you are.
The first man approaches and pulls a knife, "You've got pretty skin bitch," he growls and grabs your face, pulling your chin up to his. "Too bad I've gotta cut you up, you might have been a good ride."
Growling, you plunge your dagger into his crotch and twist. He screams, gripping his groin and falls to the side rolling in pain. The other crossbowman steps back in suprise then his look hardens, "You've got teeth, Siak was always a fool. I'm not."
Raising his crossbow he levels it at your head and pulls the trigger.
The bolt jolts your head back as you fall lifeless into the street surrounded by a pile of corpses.
YOU HAVE FAILED!!!
| 4 |
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| 2 | false |
You whirl quickly around pulling three throwing knives and letting them free at the charging warriors. Two of the three blades 'thunk!' into the Turric Swordsmen. One plunks deep in a man's chest and he staggers sideways before falling. The other knife slams into a warrior's arm causing him to howl in pain.
With four of the men left from the initial assault, you realize you are in a bind. You level your sword at the two melee warriors and try to stay out of the sight of the two crossbowmen.
A bolt 'thrums' by your ear. Another 'thuds' into a pillar to your left. You circle for position as one warrior heads towards your left side and the injured warrior with a knife sticking out of his arm circles to your right. The crossbowmen are reloading and another attack is imminent.
What do you do?
> You surrender.
Surrounded by the warriors and realizing that you will probably not survive this fight, you drop your sword and raise your hands. The warriors grin and, under the careful watch of the crossbowmen, the swordsmen circle, one to the front and one behind. Suddenly, your hair is gripped and you are pulled to your knees.
A knife is applied to your neck and the men begin to grin. "Take her weapons Siak, the kitten still has claws."
You feel your body being searched, the knives being stripped and tossed, your belts being removed, and then the men fall on you. You scream and try to fight them but there are just too many of them. You finally burst into tears as you realize your impending fate. Two hold you arms as the others pry your legs open and the others pull off your pants. You scream for help knowing none will be coming.
Before they kill you, you hear Siak say, "I wish all our girls were this easy..."
YOU HAVE FAILED!!!
| 2 |
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| 4 | false |
You attack the warriors with the advantage of surprise. Crawling low, you creep until you are at the edge of the wall you were hiding behind then you suddenly sprint with your broadsword lifted in both hands. As you descend upon the Turric Warriors, you swing the sword in an arc that splits the first Turric Swordsman's left arm from his body. You spin and use the heavy blade's momentum to make a second cut from the shoulder blade up through the man's neck decapitating him instantly.
As the first warrior falls, blood arcing into the sky, the two others reel in shock. You take advantage of this momentary lapse of reason and bring a low slice towards the second man's knee. The blade connects and the limb is taken clean off. Following the blade's momentum, you raise it up and steer it into the man's chest.
The third warrior has now gathered his wits and attacks viciously trying to slice you with his barbed scimitar. You back away from the first strike, block the second, and duck the third. His blows are coming faster than the broad-blade can react. Do you: Parry and look for an opening with the butt of your sword to stun the enemy or block with the sword and pull a dagger with your other hand and plunge it into his neck?
> You pull the Dagger and go for the Kill!
Parrying his first attack, you slip a dagger from your belt and plunge it deep into his neck. The man stops and falls backwards, his body shivering and eyes glazing as he tries to pull the treacherous weapon free. His struggles soon cease and he lies in a glistening pool of his own blood.
Do you:
> You scram before anyone else sees you?
Deciding that it is smarter to pick your battles rather than have them pick you, you decide to leave the corpse alone and head for the nearest cover. Sure enough several men, three swordsmen and two crossbowmen curiously round a corner of a destroyed building and begin to investigate the area.
You are skilled but you'd rather not risk being put to the test against such ruthless men. You shiver when you consider what they do to women they take captive. Crouching, you duck out of sight and move quietly out of their range. A few tense moments later you are in a less damaged part of the city. You look around and you see two likely routes of escape, the sewers and the twisting alleyways that run through the slums.
Going through the main thoroughfares would be suicide so you decide to risk them. Normally both the alleys and the sewers are dangerous because of brigands, disease, and wild animals but for now, they might make for safe havens in the otherwise fallen city.
Which do you choose?
| 5 |
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| 10 | false |
Parrying his first attack, you slip a dagger from your belt and plunge it deep into his neck. The man stops and falls backwards, his body shivering and eyes glazing as he tries to pull the treacherous weapon free. His struggles soon cease and he lies in a glistening pool of his own blood.
Do you:
> You search the Body.
You check the body of the fallen soldier and find a map. The map shows the city as it once was before the attack. You look around and try to get your bearings and spy a tower that is currently in flames. Orienting yourself, you see that the enemy has well marked battle plans and you can see troop movements marked in red as well as defending troop locations marked in blue. Perhaps you can make it to a defensive point where other troops might be, or you might just want to try to use back alleys to avoid all troops altogether. You could also ignore the map and head for the sewers.
MAP: Essitrea Battle Plans
> You head for a Defensive Point
You move quickly and silently through the alleys, side streets, and main streets of the falling city. Several times you have to draw swords and fight enemy troops, run away from other Turric groups, or even loose undead creatures wandering the city, however, you find a place to hole up before you make the final push towards safety. You decide to wait until nightfall before moving onwards.
| 3 |
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| 5 | false |
The goblins flee before you, and after ten minutes in pursuit - your lungs are about to give away - you arrive at a spooky scenery: Apparently the goblins' camp is under attack by wolves!
Their howl fills the night and make it seem even more dark. The goblins, under attack from all sides, fight with uncommon valor, but even the surprise reinforcements that fled before you are cut down by the powerful jaws of the wolves within seconds.
A black, wolfformed shape is within their midst, and the goblins fight back in terror, but hopelessly, against its devastating power.
The camp is situated near a steep hill, and has a caveentrance. And out of that, a creature of your nightmares comes... it is the ugliest, and hugest goblin you have ever seen, with sharp claws like that of a troll. And beside it, stands Farhan Brownhand, the man you came to search for, wielding his dark blade.
Farhan moves like a dancer between the goblins and the wolves, and whenever he swings his blades, a wolf falls down motionless. The big creature swings its long arms, regardless of hitting friend or foe, and whenever it hits, the victim is flung into the air.
Farhan alone would suffice to turn the tide of battle in favour for the goblins, and with the strange creature against them, the wolves do not stand a chance.
Even though you know the next spell might cost you your conciousness, you have to act fast.
> You will cast a minor shield on yourself and join the fray with your short sword.
Not daring to cast more than a minor charm in your current mental state, you weave a protective shield designed to turn the knives and spears of your enemies away without so much as penetrating your skin.
Then, you grab your sword, and jump into the battle. A couple of wolves are startled by your appearance, and one snaps at you, but his teeth are deflected by your protection.
You ignore the startled wolf, and throw yourself on the next goblin, which is as startled. Piercing him with your blade, you move on to the next target, when Farhan notices you.
A pile of dead wolves surround him, and he laughs a madman's laugh in that pleasant voice of his. Then, he utters a command to the giant goblinoid creature, and it ignores the wolves hanging from him and charges you.
You dodge its first blow, as it sweeps aside goblins and wolves to reach you, and make a bold stab against its chest. But its arms are somewhat longer than your blade, and like a hammer, his backhand swing hits you on the head. You feel lifted up and hurtled through the air, and as ground closes in again, you hear the sickening crunch of your right leg before you pass out into a darkness you will never again wake from...
| 3 |
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| 5 | false |
The goblins flee before you, and after ten minutes in pursuit - your lungs are about to give away - you arrive at a spooky scenery: Apparently the goblins' camp is under attack by wolves!
Their howl fills the night and make it seem even more dark. The goblins, under attack from all sides, fight with uncommon valor, but even the surprise reinforcements that fled before you are cut down by the powerful jaws of the wolves within seconds.
A black, wolfformed shape is within their midst, and the goblins fight back in terror, but hopelessly, against its devastating power.
The camp is situated near a steep hill, and has a caveentrance. And out of that, a creature of your nightmares comes... it is the ugliest, and hugest goblin you have ever seen, with sharp claws like that of a troll. And beside it, stands Farhan Brownhand, the man you came to search for, wielding his dark blade.
Farhan moves like a dancer between the goblins and the wolves, and whenever he swings his blades, a wolf falls down motionless. The big creature swings its long arms, regardless of hitting friend or foe, and whenever it hits, the victim is flung into the air.
Farhan alone would suffice to turn the tide of battle in favour for the goblins, and with the strange creature against them, the wolves do not stand a chance.
Even though you know the next spell might cost you your conciousness, you have to act fast.
> You will concentrate your magical assault on the ugly creature.
Somehow you feel more threatened by the presence of the twisted being than of Farhan Brownhand himself, though both leave tremendous damage among the remaining wolves.
You form a powerful weave to destroy the creature, and, still unseen by Farhan or the goblins below, you launch it at the giant goblinoid, going for speed rather than for finesse.
The mental strain hits you like a hammer, and you sway, but it is worth it as you see the big ugly thing implode with a deafening scream. The goblins, already panicking, are going frenzy and stab themselves as much as the wolves, and Farhan screams in rage at the death of the creature.
| 3 |
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| 4 | false |
The goblins flee before you, and after ten minutes in pursuit - your lungs are about to give away - you arrive at a spooky scenery: Apparently the goblins' camp is under attack by wolves!
Their howl fills the night and make it seem even more dark. The goblins, under attack from all sides, fight with uncommon valor, but even the surprise reinforcements that fled before you are cut down by the powerful jaws of the wolves within seconds.
A black, wolfformed shape is within their midst, and the goblins fight back in terror, but hopelessly, against its devastating power.
The camp is situated near a steep hill, and has a caveentrance. And out of that, a creature of your nightmares comes... it is the ugliest, and hugest goblin you have ever seen, with sharp claws like that of a troll. And beside it, stands Farhan Brownhand, the man you came to search for, wielding his dark blade.
Farhan moves like a dancer between the goblins and the wolves, and whenever he swings his blades, a wolf falls down motionless. The big creature swings its long arms, regardless of hitting friend or foe, and whenever it hits, the victim is flung into the air.
Farhan alone would suffice to turn the tide of battle in favour for the goblins, and with the strange creature against them, the wolves do not stand a chance.
Even though you know the next spell might cost you your conciousness, you have to act fast.
> You will focus your magical attack on Farhan.
You summon your mental forces and prepare to unleash a weave of raw magica against Farhan. He apparently has not noticed you yet.
Knowing you have to go for speed rather than for finesse, you just hope that your mental strength suffices for you not to black out. Then, you banish those distracting thoughts from your mind and concentrate at the work on hand.
Within seconds, the weave is completed, and you hurl it with a single word of power against the emissary who dances among the wolves, cutting them down.
Your magical force hits him straight into the chest.
> You are a Magus of Fire.
To your brief surprise, Farhan merely shrugs off the mental assault, and turns into your direction with a wicked grin, brandishing that evil looking blade of his.
You notice out of the corner of your eyes that the ugly creature cringed in pain when your spell hit Master Brownhand, and without thinking, you unleash the powers of Fire within you at the creature.
As it turns to ashes within a split second, much faster than you would have anticipated, Farhan screams in rage.
| 2 |
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| 6 | false |
You summon your mental forces and prepare to unleash a weave of raw magica against Farhan. He apparently has not noticed you yet.
Knowing you have to go for speed rather than for finesse, you just hope that your mental strength suffices for you not to black out. Then, you banish those distracting thoughts from your mind and concentrate at the work on hand.
Within seconds, the weave is completed, and you hurl it with a single word of power against the emissary who dances among the wolves, cutting them down.
Your magical force hits him straight into the chest.
> You this is not the case.
But Farhan simply shrugs off your mental assault.
You are shocked by this, and he turns towards you with an evil grin on his face, and cuts his way through the wolves towards you.
Horrified, and knowing your mental reserves are depleted entirely, you brandish your own sword, slowly giving way to Farhan. Unrelentlessly, he comes towards you.
You turn to flee, knowing you cannot face him in hand to hand combat, and make a run for it, but he is faster.
You utter an inhuman scream as the wicked blade he wields bites into your flesh, and you feel your very soul being drawn into the very weapon, feeding both its wielder and its own hunger...
| 4 |
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| 7 | false |
Gathering your last mental resources, you conjure the image of a powerful warrior.
Once finished, it looks indeed a bit like Kor, the scarred leader of the guards, and you wonder if you have overdone it a bit when it charges the goblins with deadly silence.
The goblins however break at the sight of the charging giant of a man, and dropping their assorted weaponry, they cry something in their own gutural language and flee.
> You happy to have survived the encounter without much effort, you will rest to gain strength before continuing... Before something worse than the goblins appears out of the darkness.
You decide that rest is what you need right now, for you cannot go on, your mental resources completely depleted and your physical condition is not much better.
Telling yourself an hour rest will suffice, you feel weariness like you never knew before creeping up to you.
The cool air and the ground, not quite chilling yet no longer containing the sun's warmth ever help to keep you awake, yet you feel your eyes closing themselves involuntarily.
> You are a Magus specialized in Water.
You feel sleep threatening to overtake you, but you embrace the feeling and turn it into restful energy, knowing that falling asleep right now would probably be the last thing you would ever do.
Instead, you use a ritual like that of meditation, only the other way around, and you draw the tiredness out of your body and into the surrounding Pattern of the magic weaves.
You close your eyes and reach a state like slumber, only at full awareness, while thinking through the situation so far.
Suddenly you sense movement nearby. With a quickness that would surprise anyone taking your for someone asleep you jump up, your short sword in your hand.
Sneaking up to you were three goblins, each armed with barbed spears, and they are more surprised than you at seeing them. With a quick thrust, you end the first goblin's life, and the others, expecting a defenseless human instead of one awake and capable of killing them, turn to flee.
> You need to regain more strength before you face more enemies.
You feel like drowning in your weariness. The day has been more than taxing so far. Casting spells never felt so tiring, but then again, the conditions under which you wove your spells so far never had been so demanding.
Once you yearned for adventure, but right now, you yearn for a soft bed like you had when studying in the Academy.
The thought of a bed is a dangerous one, and you cannot hold sleep off any longer. With a sigh, you close your eyes and give in to the drowning darkness.
Your dreams are vivid and colorful. You dream of the Patterns of the world, and how a different Pattern feeds into it. You sense a dark presence swirling the weaves, twisting them with fingers unseen. You somehow feel threatened by the presence, and will yourself to wake up - yet to no avail.
Another dark presence approaches the first... it is less human, more like an animal, but as dark and... you cannot put a finger to it... somehow out of place.
You feel the presences clash together, in your mind, and all the colors turn to black and white, and then vice versa.
With an incredibly intense, stabbing pain you awake, briefly, and, pierced through your chest is the barbed spear of a grinning goblin.
| 4 |
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| 8 | false |
You decide that rest is what you need right now, for you cannot go on, your mental resources completely depleted and your physical condition is not much better.
Telling yourself an hour rest will suffice, you feel weariness like you never knew before creeping up to you.
The cool air and the ground, not quite chilling yet no longer containing the sun's warmth ever help to keep you awake, yet you feel your eyes closing themselves involuntarily.
> You are an Adept of Ice.
Your drowsiness threatens to take over, but it would be most unlogical to give in to the desire to sleep, for it would be much likely to be the last thing you would ever do.
Instead, you use the cool air and the cold ground to refresh your body and your mind. This is your type of energy, after all.
Suddenly, you notice movement at the corner of your vision, and immediatley, your senses clear and you are full awake. Remaining still as to pretend being still asleep, you notice that three goblins are sneaking up to you.
Without further hesitation, you lash out your right hand into the direction of one, and with a simple yet effective weave freeze his heart. The goblins' companions gasp in surprise as their comrade simply falls over without another sound at your gesture, and they turn to flee immediatley.
Not pausing, you stand up and run after them in pursuit, before they fetch more companions.
| 4 |
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| 8 | false |
As you tap into your mental forces to prepare a weave to defend yourself against the goblins, you notice that your mental exhaustion is quite advanced... casting a spell to slay the four goblins will tax you dangerously.
> You will take out as many goblins as it feels safe to do, then face the rest with your sword.
As one of the archers comes in range and launches an arrow at you, you pick it up with a thin strand of air and redirect it to hit the other archer in the throat, which dies gurgling in a foul language you do not understand.
Thrusting your left hand forward and uttering a single syllable of power, you focus what power remains for you to safely use, and thrust it into a powerful weave that rips one of the remaining goblins apart from the inside.
Shocked by the display of power, the goblins are close to breaking point. You draw your short blade and charge them, and the darkness and their fear hides your exhaustion well from them.
Before you reach them, your blade glimmering in the starlight like the sword of an avenging angel - at least in the goblins' eyes -, they drop their weapons and flee.
Too exhausted to pursue them, you slump down on the ground and decide to rest for a while.
| 4 |
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As you tap into your mental forces to prepare a weave to defend yourself against the goblins, you notice that your mental exhaustion is quite advanced... casting a spell to slay the four goblins will tax you dangerously.
> You will use your mental reserves instead to camouflage yourself, so that the goblin patrol will not find you.
You throw yourself flat on the ground the moment the goblins begin moving into your direction. There, concentrating, you weave a small charm that blends your Pattern into that of the surrounding, effectively becoming invisible to the casual eye.
You have a good view of the goblin patrol, and as they approach, you use what little power remains within you to handle safely to mask your breathing and movements.
The goblins still approach, to the point where you can smell their sickening stench and hear their gutural language, which you do not understand. But obviously they are searching for someone, or something, and are not too happy about it.
You cannot stop yourself to breathe a sigh of relief as they pass you, unseeing, and vanish into the darkness of the hills below.
You wait for another quarter of an hour, and then you release your magic, slumping on the ground, mentally completely exhausted.
| 4 |
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| 7 | false |
As you tap into your mental forces to prepare a weave to defend yourself against the goblins, you notice that your mental exhaustion is quite advanced... casting a spell to slay the four goblins will tax you dangerously.
> You using magic would be too taxing - it is of no help if you fall unconcious because of weaving a spell - so you trust on your swordblade on this encounter instead.
Brandishing your short sword, you bellow a battlecry and charge the goblins, hoping that this will break their morale.
The two archers loose their arrows at you, but you do not even have to dodge them... goblins are not known for their aim, and indeed, their arrows go stray.
One of them manages to fire another arrow at you before you reach them, but that one misses you also.
Your first blow, unexperienced as you are, is deflected by the goblin's shield. Using your weight and the force of the blow, your followup stab pierces his stomach.
With a cry of pain in a foul language you do not understand, the goblin falls to the ground.
However, as you are about to free your blade from the goblin's body, one of the archers shoots an arrow at point blank at you, and as you cry out from pain as the wooden shaft bores into your flesh, the other goblin with the morning star smashes it into your skull, and after a brief pain, there is only darkness.
| 4 |
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| 8 | false |
The flame of the Spark is strong within you today, and your fingers itch with the desire to channel your magic.
This is it... this is how it feels to have an adventure! If not for the seriousness of the situation, you would laugh with delight.
> You will single out the most powerful looking enemies and turn them into cinder.
You quickly climb upon the coach, to get a better view of the battle.
Decisively, you summon the powers of Fire to channel thin strands of elemental flame into the bodies of the three goblin shamans, which turn immediatley into cinder.
One goblin has not dropped his bow, and fires an arrow at you, but another thin strand of fire takes care of both the arrow and the archer.
Another goblin is about to plunge his wicked looking knife into the neck of a soldier, but yelps in pain and drops it as its hilt suddenly glows bright red, which gives the soldier time to dispatch the goblin with a backhand stroke.
With their shamans dead, the goblins offer little resistance, and their morale is close to breaking point when you notice that Farhan Brownhand, the emissary of Alzur, is sneaking up behind Lucius, making strange gestures as if invoking a spell.
You do not know exactly what to think of this, but then again, you are not a pesky Ice adept who needs to think through everything before reaching a decision.
Invoking the Fire again, you settle for a warning shot, and the earth in front of Master Brownhand explodes into flame.
Lucius turns around in surprise, but before you can react, Farhan has a slender, evil looking sword out and runs it through the Air adept, who's look turns from surprise to pain.
Farhan lets go off his sword and turns towards you.
| 5 |
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| 7 | false |
The flame of the Spark is strong within you today, and your fingers itch with the desire to channel your magic.
This is it... this is how it feels to have an adventure! If not for the seriousness of the situation, you would laugh with delight.
> You will weave minor protective charms to support the guards.
Earth is not your strongest element, but nevertheless you know of charms that prevent blows and knives to find their target.
You climb up on the coach you rode in to get a better overview, and concentrate on channelling the energies out of the ground, and into the armor and bodies of the soldiers.
A few twicht uncomfortably as you know they must feel a tingling sensation, but those you enchant this way react surprised when the wicked knives of the goblins glance of their armor and skin without leaving a scratch.
The weaving of so many minor enchantments costs you a lot of concentration, and after a minute of holding the spell up, you are about to collapse.
The soldiers, however, have made the best of uses of your spells, and only a few of the goblins are left alive.
Suddenly, Lucius, who has been preventing accidental arrows to break your concentration, screams in pain, breaking your concentration.
Before the whiplash of the dozens of suddenly broken spells wipe out your mind and cause you to fall into a deep blackness, you see Fahan Brownhand, the emissary of Alzur, standing behind Lucius, spitting him with an evil looking sword...
| 3 |
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The flame of the Spark is strong within you today, and your fingers itch with the desire to channel your magic.
This is it... this is how it feels to have an adventure! If not for the seriousness of the situation, you would laugh with delight.
> You will weave a minor charm to slow down the goblins.
Water is not your most powerful element, but nevertheless you know enough about how to manipulate the fluids in a being to slow it down, hoping that this will give the guards enough advantage to slay the wicked creatures.
You close your eyes, concentrating, and hoping that Lucius can keep any stray arrows away from you, and channel the unaccustomed energies of Water through your body.
Gently but unstoppable, like the tide, the powers flow into the bodies of your enemies, burdening them, slowing them, and one by one you feel, through your bondage with Water, how the life form of one after the other is destroyed by the soldiers, who use the turn of events.
So absorbed are you in the unfamiliar enchantment, however, that you do not even hear the warning that Lucius screams to you, and the last memory of living that your soul carries to the netherworld is that of a blinding light and a searing pain, melting your skin and flesh and bones...
| 5 |
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| 7 | false |
The flame of the Spark is strong within you today, and your fingers itch with the desire to channel your magic.
This is it... this is how it feels to have an adventure! If not for the seriousness of the situation, you would laugh with delight.
> You will grab a sword from a fallen soldier and join them into the fray.
Some strange fever grips you, and you grab a heavy looking sword from one of the fallen.
Brandishing it in both hands, you roar out a challenge that comes from the heart, and charge the goblins. Suprised by your fierceness, the goblins shrink back from you, and you cut down two of them before they realize it.
However, your clothings offer little protection against the barbed knives, and you are soon swarmed by the evil beings. One goblin cuts your sinews from behind, bringing you down to the ground with a scream of rage, and it is only a matter of time before one of the wicked, barbed knives finds the way to your throat and to your heart.
| 3 |
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| 1 | false |
Desperately, you attempt to get your bearing.
From the twoscore warriors that accompanied the emissary's treck, only one dozen survived the initial deadly volley of black arrows.
However, the guards are rallied and charge the enemy, apparently a group of about half a hundredship ragged looking beings you immediatley recognize as large goblins, led by a couple of their shamans. While a single goblin is no match for a human warrior, the shamans double the goblins' threat, and they make up in numbers what they lack in size.
Lucius is using his powers over the wind to make arrows useless, and most goblins have thrown their bows away and now wield evil looking barbed knives.
One guard, trying to charge through the goblins to strike down a shaman, is dragged from his horse, and both the guard and the poor beast soon disappear und the goblin's small twisted bodies.
> You are a magus of Air.
The torrents of Air flow freely through your spirit, and you are determined to use them.
Strangely, you are rather excited than frightened by the prospect of fighting your very first battle. So this is what adventure feels like!
> You will combine your powers with Lucius, creating gusts of wind to knock down the goblins.
You step beside Lucius, and begin to channel the energies of Air through your body.
Lucius looks at you, and you nod when he takes control of the flows of magic through your body, adding them to his own.
With no more archers shooting, Lucius forms a giant fist of air from the winds, and pummeling the group of goblins mercilessly.
Where the two of you strike with your combined magic, the goblins do not stand up again.
A shaman attempts to cast a counterspell, wrenching the control of the Air around you from Lucius, but he is swatted like a fly, for combined, your magic is too strong to be redirected that easily.
Lucius is drawing more and more power through you, and you feel the strain of it.
Suddenly, the bond snaps, and you stare in horror at Lucius' chest, from where an evil looking slender sword is protruding.
Then, something hits your head, and, added by the strain of working powerful magic, you slip into a thoughtless darkness...
| 3 |
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| 4 | false |
The torrents of Air flow freely through your spirit, and you are determined to use them.
Strangely, you are rather excited than frightened by the prospect of fighting your very first battle. So this is what adventure feels like!
> You will attempt to use your knowledge of illusion to confuse the goblins, so that they turn upon each other.
Swiftly you climb up the coach, to get a better view of the battle.
Trusting your fellow Air magus Lucius to protect you from the archers, you begin to delve into the minds of the goblins, twisting the images they see until they appear to each other as their enemies.
Great is the sudden confusion as the goblins, suddenly panicked by the turning of their former companions into more soldiers, begin to hack and claw at each other.
One shaman, trying to counter your illusions' effects, is stabbed just in time by a panicking goblin.
The strain to maintain so many, albeit small, illusions is great for you, and after a minute of the frenzied fighting, you sink to your knees, sweatsoaked.
Suddenly, your concentration is broken by a scream next to you.
With horror, you see that Lucius has been spitted on an evil looking sword wielded by Farhan Brownhand, the emissary of Alzur.
He lets go of the sword, and turns to you, grinning wickedly.
| 3 |
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| 5 | false |
Desperately, you attempt to get your bearing.
From the twoscore warriors that accompanied the emissary's treck, only one dozen survived the initial deadly volley of black arrows.
However, the guards are rallied and charge the enemy, apparently a group of about half a hundredship ragged looking beings you immediatley recognize as large goblins, led by a couple of their shamans. While a single goblin is no match for a human warrior, the shamans double the goblins' threat, and they make up in numbers what they lack in size.
Lucius is using his powers over the wind to make arrows useless, and most goblins have thrown their bows away and now wield evil looking barbed knives.
One guard, trying to charge through the goblins to strike down a shaman, is dragged from his horse, and both the guard and the poor beast soon disappear und the goblin's small twisted bodies.
> You wield the powers of Water.
Water, filling you with peace even in the middle of a bloody battle and allowing you to calmly assess the situation, flows strongly in you.
Life will be and has been shed, but this is nothing that you can prevent anylonger. You can only hope that it will not be your life, or that of your allies, though that hope already has been betrayed.
You briefly wonder about J'Arel's death. The goblin shamans cannot be possibly capable of wielding such magic. But the thought quickly eludes you, for you know you have to act fast and decisively if this battle is to be won.
> You will use your healing powers to revive the wounded soldiers.
You scramble up on the coach, to get a better view of the battle.
To your left, on the ground, is Lucius, protecting you from stray arrows with his power over the winds.
Closing your eyes, you search for the hidden power in yourself, and, finding it, channel it gently out of your body.
Touching the soldiers with the invisible strands of magic you invoke, you revive them and draw their pains away. A few of the wounded ones gasp in surprise, as their wounds close themselves, then they notice you, give you a curt nod of thanks, and launch themselves into the fray.
Whenever the goblins cut down one of the guards, you channel the pure life back into the body of the wounded one. Slowly, the goblins notice that they cannot harm the men, and start to panic.
However, the strain of keeping the spells flowing through you is tiring, and so you do not manage to keep your concentration when suddenly, Lucius screams in pain.
Horrified, you see that behind him, Farhan Brownhand, the emissary of Alzur, has stabbed Lucius in the back with an evil looking sword.
You reach for the strands of Water again to channel life back into the Air adepts' body, but it is already devoid of life... you shiver at the implication of that, for the sword must hold terrible and dark powers to vanquish a life with only a casual thrust.
Grinning, Farhan lets go of the sword, and turns towards you.
| 3 |
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| 5 | false |
Water, filling you with peace even in the middle of a bloody battle and allowing you to calmly assess the situation, flows strongly in you.
Life will be and has been shed, but this is nothing that you can prevent anylonger. You can only hope that it will not be your life, or that of your allies, though that hope already has been betrayed.
You briefly wonder about J'Arel's death. The goblin shamans cannot be possibly capable of wielding such magic. But the thought quickly eludes you, for you know you have to act fast and decisively if this battle is to be won.
> You will attempt to strike the enemies with a barrage of magical missiles.
You quickly climb up the coach to get a better view of the battle.
There, you concentrate briefly and hurl tiny bolts of pure magicka with deadly precision into the horde of goblins. When struck, the goblins fall down never to get up again.
As the channeling of combat magic is not exactly your specialization, the feat proves to be very taxing.
However, dozens of goblins fall to your small but deadly precise hail.
The goblins are close to breaking and turn to flee, when suddenly you are distracted by a scream. Lucius, having prevented that you become the target of those goblin archers that have not yet dropped their bow, is spitted on an evil looking sword.
You give a start when you realize that it is Farhan Brownhand, the emissary of Alzur, that wields the blade that has stabbed Lucius into the back.
Grimly, you prepare to channel another two bolts of pure magicka into Farhan's direction, as you remember too late that his bodyguard is always close to him.
A blow on your head drives thoughts of magic away for quite some time, and darkness engulfs you.
| 3 |
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| 6 | false |
Desperately, you attempt to get your bearing.
From the twoscore warriors that accompanied the emissary's treck, only one dozen survived the initial deadly volley of black arrows.
However, the guards are rallied and charge the enemy, apparently a group of about half a hundredship ragged looking beings you immediatley recognize as large goblins, led by a couple of their shamans. While a single goblin is no match for a human warrior, the shamans double the goblins' threat, and they make up in numbers what they lack in size.
Lucius is using his powers over the wind to make arrows useless, and most goblins have thrown their bows away and now wield evil looking barbed knives.
One guard, trying to charge through the goblins to strike down a shaman, is dragged from his horse, and both the guard and the poor beast soon disappear und the goblin's small twisted bodies.
> You are specialized in Ice.
The Spark, for you a crystallized snowflake, burns brightly with cool reassurance deep within you.
Quickly you assess the situation.
The goblins outnumber the surviving soldiers four to one, and even without the goblin's magical assistance in form of the their shamans, your guards will not stand a chance.
The shamans. Hmm. You would be surprised if one of them was capable of casting such a bolt of lightning as struck down J'Arel, and you are rarely surprised by facts.
So, there must be another magician close by, and someone quite powerful.
> You will attempt to divine the source of the lightning bolt that struck down J'Arel.
Closing your eyes, and trusting that Lucius' winds will shield you from stray arrows, you invoke the ancient runes of Divination, trying to make the magic tell you where the strands of woven magicka, of which the lightning bolt that charred the Fire magus undoubtedly consist, lead to.
This is a task that requires great concentration for several seconds, but your rigid training helps to fade out the screams of the wounded and dying and the clash of weapons.
In what is a split second but which feels like an hour to you, your mind picks up the magical weaves of the spell that had been cast, and unravels them.
You admire the precision and the masterwork, a great lot of energy must have been used up to strike such a powerful bolt of lightning at such precision.
Your mental fingers follow the invisible strands of magic, and you are suprised to find that the origin of the lightning bolt seems to come from the emissary's coach.
You open your eyes again and break your spell, unsure as how to deal with this piece of information. Looking towards the battle, you see that the guards are in serious trouble dealing with the goblins.
You have to act quick.
> You ignore the information, and hurl shards of ice towards the goblins.
With cold fury upon witnessing the slaughter of the guards, you cast out your arms and hands, and hurl shards of ice into the goblin horde, where they explode into tiny slivers that burn with unnatural cold.
Those goblins that are hit by the large shards themselves fall down never to get up again. Those burned by the cold splinters scream in pain and are swiftly dispatched by the soldiers which have been looking for just an opportunity.
Two more shards of ice strike down the shamans busily trying to heal their goblin fighters.
They goblins are close to routing, as suddenly, you sense someone behind you. You turn, and the last thing you hear before your vision fades to black is Lucius' inhuman scream on the other side of the coach...
| 5 |
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| 11 | false |
Year 378 of the Second Era
You're no griffin knight. You can't contend with wyverns on an equal level, and firing a few arrows won't make any difference in the fight on the ground. No, if you're going to win this fight, then you need to go right into the thick of it. If you can manage to help division stay alive for even five minutes longer, then the chances of the griffin knights helping out are significantly higher.
You still have your sword strapped to your waist, and you don't usually carry a shield on you for guard duty, so you pick one up from the dead and strap it to your back. Following this you jog to the closest tower and go down the stairwell. Inside the tower it is eerily quiet compared to the roars and clangs of battle outside, and the sound of your steel boots hitting the stone stairs reverberates throughout. Moments later, you come to the bottom of the stairs. A large iron gate-like door greets you. It is quite the durable piece, and nothing less than a battering ram would be able to break through it. Or perhaps a wyvern flying at breakneck speed... You push that foreboding thought from your head and walk through the iron doors.
What greets you outside is a scene of bloodshed and death. Division one has been pushed back nearly all the way to the walls, but their line still holds. Currently the division is organized in a semi-circle formation with the flat of the circle pressed against the wall. Everywhere else is a place for fighting, and nearly every soldier fights for their lives. There is one soldier, however, that does not fight, You see him sitting against the wall with the shaft of a crude arrow of kobold make protruding from his stomach. It's Byron, and it looks like he's lost a lot of blood.
Almost instinctively, you approach him. As you near, a spurt of blood comes out of his mouth and splatter against your chest-piece. "Lieutenant Byron?" You ask this fairly loudly, but he doesn't respond, so you repeat it. "Lieutenant Byron?"
This time he turns his pain and regret filled eyes toward you. He focuses on you and reaches his arm up and grips your forearm in his. A sign of comradery and trust. "I know not who you are, nor from where you came, but I need you now soldier. We are losing. My men die at every turn, and the kobold do not let up. Even still, there is hope. If we can keep the line, then they," he looks up to the sky, "will save us."
He coughs up some more blood, but his grip on your arm stays strong. "Your name escapes me soldier, and I feel bad for laying this burden upon you, but someone must keep these soldier together. Will you do this for me brother? See to it that some of these men survive this battle."
With this last request his grip loosens and falls limp at his side. His breaths cease, and you're left in the presence of a dead man. Numbly, you stand back up and gaze at the fight. You knew you needed to help in this battle in the first place, but speaking with Byron has strengthened your resolve. The only thing left to decide is where you will help.
> You help the right flank
Year 378 of the Second Era
You aren't Byron. You won't be able to lead these men better than him, or lead them at all. You're just another soldier, but you do think it matters where you go. You happen to be right handed, so you'll likely fight better in the right flank. With this hope in mind, you go over to your destination.
The fighting over here doesn't seem nearly as intense as the fighting near the center. You pull out your sword and shield, and immediately get to work. Most of the people fighting are beginning to get tired, so the addition of a fresh, well equipped soldier vastly improves the line. So much, in fact, that it seems that the entirety of the right flank almost molds around your fighting. Which strikes you as odd specifically because of the way you're fighting. You don't rush in and throw yourself at the enemy in a fit of battlefield rage, or anything of that sort. No, you're calm in the heat of battle. You have a focused determination, and because of this you don't make any brash moves. Your goal is to stay alive while keeping everyone else alive as well. Defense is the best offense, and it happens to make the fight last a hell of a lot longer. Maybe this will buy enough time for the griffin knights to take care of the wyverns.
With this thought in mind, you fight. Not for glory, nor for yourself. You fight for Liliana, and the chance to see her alive and well again.
"Retreat!" The sound of a despairing voice breaks you out of your focus, and a kobold nearly guts you because of it, but you quickly block the flimsy attack and return it with one of your own. It dies before you, and you have a sacred moment of rest before another kobold comes to fill its spot in the line. It gives you time to think about what the guy meant by retreating. Your line was doing so well, and retreating now would be suicide. The kobold would have a field day with chasing down and killing everyone on the ground. It was a cowardly, foolish mistake.
Hopefully no one would listen to the fool's order, but, to your chagrin, they do. Soldiers from your left and right start disappearing, and, soon enough, there is no longer even the semblance of a line. You're quickly surrounded by kobold, and while you make a valiant effort to stay alive, it isn't enough.
| 3 |
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Year 378 of the Second Era
Sure you've done crazy things in the past, but this is no time to try and accomplish the utterly insane. Especially when the chances of success are so very low. Better to live and keep your chance of saving Liliana alive rather than to throw it away on the unlikely chance that you'll be able to save some random nobody.
Despite this fact, you still wince when you see the wyvern's mouth snap down on the griffins hindquarters. The scene turns into a bloody mess, and you can't help but look away as the griffin (or at least what's left of it) and its rider plummet down to the battle below.
You feel a pang of guilt, but you push it away by telling yourself you couldn't have done anything anyway. Yet, somewhere in the back of your mind, you don't believe this.
Not too long after that you are dropped off on the ramparts you were originally guarding. Much is different. Several chunks of the wall are missing, and many soldiers lie dead on the ramparts. The wall you once guarded no longer carries that symbol of boredom and ease in your mind. It is readily replaced with the memory of blood spilt, and comrades dying.
Over half of division two is either dead or incapacitated. Division on was doing better, but the griffin that was killed only moments before plummeted right into their line. That turned out to be the turning point in the kobold's favor, and now division one is slowly being pushed back against the wall. The griffins are locked in a very deadly battle with the rest of the wyverns, and don't seem at all in a position to help the human forces on the ground.
You aren't sure what you could do to help in this situation, for it looks like your defeat is inevitable. The griffins won't be able to kill the wyverns fast enough to help division one avoid getting slaughtered, which division one is mere minutes away from. This leaves you with a few honorable choices and one dishonorable choice.
> You stay here and support division one with arrows
Year 378 of the Second Era
The Griffin knights are living legends. They don't need your 'support,' and they definitely don't need you shooting stray arrows and accidentally hitting one of them. Division one, however, does need your help, but leaving the wall at this point would be foolish. You'd likely be an easy target for a kobold archer in the back. Instead you decide that your best option is to stay on the ramparts and pick your shots.
Thus, you act. You find a bow lying beside a dead body, along with a few arrows, and immediately set to work. You focus on the easy targets, the ones away from the forefront of the battle. Those, and the kobold archers. You loose arrow after arrow into the enemy force, and bring many a kobold down, but it simply isn't enough. Your contribution isn't enough to turn the tide of battle at all, but, unfortunately for you, it is enough to garner the attention of the kobold archers. You manage to keep from being hit for quite a while, but eventually a kobold gets a lucky shot and you fall dead onto the ramparts with an arrow lodged in your throat.
| 3 |
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Year 378 of the Second Era
Sure you've done crazy things in the past, but this is no time to try and accomplish the utterly insane. Especially when the chances of success are so very low. Better to live and keep your chance of saving Liliana alive rather than to throw it away on the unlikely chance that you'll be able to save some random nobody.
Despite this fact, you still wince when you see the wyvern's mouth snap down on the griffins hindquarters. The scene turns into a bloody mess, and you can't help but look away as the griffin (or at least what's left of it) and its rider plummet down to the battle below.
You feel a pang of guilt, but you push it away by telling yourself you couldn't have done anything anyway. Yet, somewhere in the back of your mind, you don't believe this.
Not too long after that you are dropped off on the ramparts you were originally guarding. Much is different. Several chunks of the wall are missing, and many soldiers lie dead on the ramparts. The wall you once guarded no longer carries that symbol of boredom and ease in your mind. It is readily replaced with the memory of blood spilt, and comrades dying.
Over half of division two is either dead or incapacitated. Division on was doing better, but the griffin that was killed only moments before plummeted right into their line. That turned out to be the turning point in the kobold's favor, and now division one is slowly being pushed back against the wall. The griffins are locked in a very deadly battle with the rest of the wyverns, and don't seem at all in a position to help the human forces on the ground.
You aren't sure what you could do to help in this situation, for it looks like your defeat is inevitable. The griffins won't be able to kill the wyverns fast enough to help division one avoid getting slaughtered, which division one is mere minutes away from. This leaves you with a few honorable choices and one dishonorable choice.
> You stay here and support the griffin knights with arrows
Year 378 of the Second Era
You aren't going to flatter yourself. You firing a few arrows into the kobold horde below won't change anything, except perhaps where you die. Fighting on the forefront of the battle won't change anything either, and will almost definitely lead to your gruesome death. No, you aren't that powerful of an individual.
There is only one thing left. If you can manage to hit even just one of your shots on one of the kobold riders, then you could very well change the course of this battle. Killing a few kobold on the ground won't make that much of a difference, but if you can manage to help take down the wyverns, then the griffin knights will be free to help division one on the ground. At this point, victory relies on those knights. You only hope that you can help expedite that process.
You find a bow lying among the dead on the ramparts, along with a few arrows. The only thing left to decide is what you will aim at.
> You aim at the kobold riders
Year 378 of the Second Era
Wyverns are beasts of terrible power, and their hides, while not as thick as dragon hide, will easily block your arrows. Better to aim at the riders, and have the wyverns panic with their riders dead. This would make the wyverns much easier to kill.
In theory.
The situation casts you into a state of wonderment. You never would have though that you'd be in a battle this large, let alone one with aerial combat, and you don't want it all to end here. You take your first arrow, notch it, and pull it back. You wouldn't get many decent shots here, and when the opportunity arises, you don't want to miss it, so you wait. The kobold riders ride low in their saddles, for some among their numbers (including the one you killed) have felt the sting of mankind's arrows. This makes finding a decent shot all the more difficult, but you're patient. After all, you only need one good shot to turn the tide in this battle.
You're left waiting for nearly a full minute before such an opportunity arises, and what the opportunity it is. One of the griffin riders, having been separated from the rest, rides past the wall only several feet away from you. A wyvern and its pair of riders give chase, and their passing by the wall gives you the perfect chance. You take aim at the kobold rider steering the beast, and release.
The Muses must have seen it fit to bless you this day, for your arrow strikes true. it hits the kobold rider and it goes flying from the saddle. You're about to leap with joy when an arrow pierces you through the chest, and you immediately fall to the ramparts wounded. It isn't a shot that kills you immediately, but blood is pouring out of your chest at an alarming rate, so you know you're about to die.
You only wish you could've seen Liliana one last time.
| 4 |
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Year 378 of the Second Era
You aren't going to flatter yourself. You firing a few arrows into the kobold horde below won't change anything, except perhaps where you die. Fighting on the forefront of the battle won't change anything either, and will almost definitely lead to your gruesome death. No, you aren't that powerful of an individual.
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You find a bow lying among the dead on the ramparts, along with a few arrows. The only thing left to decide is what you will aim at.
> You aim at the wyverns
Year 378 of the Second Era
Wyverns are beasts bred for killing and war. You don't think they'll simply abandon this instinct just because their riders die. No, if you're going to attempt to help the griffin knights, then the best way to do so is to take out a wyvern. Even if you only manage to take out one of them, it would help a significant amount.
You cast your thoughts back to your youth. Your mother would tell you stories of the beasts in the Lost Realm, and of the heroes whom bested those beasts. You're sure you remember something about a wyvern being vulnerable in its underbelly? Or maybe it was its wings? You can't remember for sure, but you don't have any other ideas.
> You aim for the stomach
Year 378 of the Second Era
Maybe you're certain that wyverns are weak in the stomach, or maybe it's just a wild guess. Whatever the reason, you decide to try hitting the wyverns' stomach.
Sweat forms on your brow as you notch an arrow and take aim. You raise your bow at the wyvern closest to you, whom is being chased by a pair of griffin knights, and loose your arrow. Your aim is true, but the arrow merely glances off the strong hide. Apparently your hunch was wrong. The stomach is not a weak point for a wyvern. This fact, however, doesn't keep you from trying.
You enter a state of pure focus. Arrow after arrow is loosed from your bow, and when you run out of arrows you search for more. You will kill one of these blasted beasts even if it takes every arrow in this realm, this wyvern will fall. Fortunately for you, you don't have to wait too long before one of your arrows finds a weak point in the wyverns scales. The wyvern roars in pain, and for a moment you think you've succeeded, but the wyvern keeps flying.
There is one thing that changes, however, and that is that the wyvern now targets you. Apparently it didn't appreciate your lucky shot. The griffin knights are not quick enough to save you this time, and you end up learning how sharp a wyvern's teeth are firsthand.
| 3 |
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| 8 | false |
Year 378 of the Second Era
Wyverns are beasts bred for killing and war. You don't think they'll simply abandon this instinct just because their riders die. No, if you're going to attempt to help the griffin knights, then the best way to do so is to take out a wyvern. Even if you only manage to take out one of them, it would help a significant amount.
You cast your thoughts back to your youth. Your mother would tell you stories of the beasts in the Lost Realm, and of the heroes whom bested those beasts. You're sure you remember something about a wyvern being vulnerable in its underbelly? Or maybe it was its wings? You can't remember for sure, but you don't have any other ideas.
> You aim for the wings
Year 378 of the Second Era
You can't remember for certain if their wings are vulnerable, but you doubt the stomach is, as you can think of no viable reason for it to be. The wings, on the other hand, if damaged enough can cause a wyvern to lose its flight abilities.
Sweat forms on your brow as you notch an arrow and take aim. You raise your bow at the wyvern closest to you, whom is being chased by a pair of griffin knights, and loose your arrow. Your aim is true, but the arrow is merely gusted away by the draft the flapping its wings create. Apparently your hunch was wrong. The wings are not a weak point for a wyvern. This fact, however, doesn't keep you from trying.
You enter a state of pure focus. Arrow after arrow is loosed from your bow, and when you run out of arrows you search for more. You will kill one of these blasted beasts even if it takes every arrow in this realm, this wyvern will fall. Fortunately for you, you don't have to wait too long before you time your arrow just right. You let your arrow go just before the wyvern flaps his wings, and it sails true piercing the softer scales of the wing. The wyvern roars in pain, and for a moment you think you've succeeded, but you only hit one arrow, and that wyvern's wings are quite large.
There is one thing that changes, however, and that is that the wyvern now targets you. Apparently it didn't appreciate your lucky shot. The griffin knights are not quick enough to save you this time, and you end up learning how sharp a wyvern's teeth are firsthand.
| 3 |
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| 9 | false |
Year 378 of the Second Era
Sure you've done crazy things in the past, but this is no time to try and accomplish the utterly insane. Especially when the chances of success are so very low. Better to live and keep your chance of saving Liliana alive rather than to throw it away on the unlikely chance that you'll be able to save some random nobody.
Despite this fact, you still wince when you see the wyvern's mouth snap down on the griffins hindquarters. The scene turns into a bloody mess, and you can't help but look away as the griffin (or at least what's left of it) and its rider plummet down to the battle below.
You feel a pang of guilt, but you push it away by telling yourself you couldn't have done anything anyway. Yet, somewhere in the back of your mind, you don't believe this.
Not too long after that you are dropped off on the ramparts you were originally guarding. Much is different. Several chunks of the wall are missing, and many soldiers lie dead on the ramparts. The wall you once guarded no longer carries that symbol of boredom and ease in your mind. It is readily replaced with the memory of blood spilt, and comrades dying.
Over half of division two is either dead or incapacitated. Division on was doing better, but the griffin that was killed only moments before plummeted right into their line. That turned out to be the turning point in the kobold's favor, and now division one is slowly being pushed back against the wall. The griffins are locked in a very deadly battle with the rest of the wyverns, and don't seem at all in a position to help the human forces on the ground.
You aren't sure what you could do to help in this situation, for it looks like your defeat is inevitable. The griffins won't be able to kill the wyverns fast enough to help division one avoid getting slaughtered, which division one is mere minutes away from. This leaves you with a few honorable choices and one dishonorable choice.
> You abandon them
Year 378 of the Second Era
There isn't anything left for you here but death. And you cannot die. Your goal is to save your beloved. Liliana. You don't have time to be caught up in border battles where death is a likely possibility. Your life is not your own anymore, for if you die, then Liliana will as well.
With most of division two destroyed and with what's left of division one, there is no one to see you leave. You jog along the ramparts, and away from the battle. You pass the signal fire you lit and head to the next watchtower over. They keep food and water storage in the towers, and if you were to have any hope of deserting and living then you would need supplies. You move quickly, and gather food, water, flint and steel, extra arrows, a shield and everything else you could possibly need. After gathering it all, you head to the very bottom of the stairwell and tower. A large iron gate-like door greets you. It is quite the durable piece, and nothing less than a battering ram would be able to break through it. Or perhaps a wyvern flying at breakneck speed... You push that foreboding thought from your head and walk through the iron doors.
A slight breeze pushes against your face. You're far enough from the battle that you can only barely hear the roar of the wyverns fighting. you take a breath and look at your next destination. The green of the forest is all that will greet your eyes for an indeterminate amount of time in the future. This is the only way to go. The penalty for desertion is death, so there is no way you are going to stay here. Your only option is to move forward in your search for Liliana.
You take a deep breath, ready yourself mentally, then enter into the Lost Realm. You don't get very far in there, however, before you run into kobold reinforcements. They number over ten, and you are no god though you do manage to take a few out before succumbing to multiple stab wounds.
| 3 |
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| 6 | false |
Year 378 of the Second Era
The memory fades away, and Byron's voice returns. "I need one person to light the signal light over by the watchtower. Everyone in division two stay here and support us with arrows. Everyone in division one follow me!"
The wyverns are still racing to the wall, and a fight seems inevitable.
Byron leads the way as he and division one head down to the ground to support the rest of the group. Everyone else stays and prepares their bows.
You were assigned to division two upon your transfer here, and so your orders are abundantly clear.
> You abandon the fight
Year 378 of the Second Era
You didn't come here for a fight. This was supposed to be the easiest place to guard in all the realm. No wyverns or kobold were supposed to come here, and certainly not in the numbers that actually threaten your wall occupation. Your goal is to save your beloved. Liliana. You don't have time to be caught up in border battles where you might die. Your life is not your own anymore, for if you die, then Liliana will as well.
You pretend to be lighting the signal fire, but when you are out of sight of the other soldiers you find one of the many towers and make your way down it. They keep food and water storage in the towers, and if you were to have any hope of deserting and living then you would need supplies. You move quickly, and gather anything that you might need: Food, water, flint and steel, extra arrows, a shield. Everything you could possibly need. After gathering it all, you head to the very bottom of the stairwell and tower. A large iron gate-like door greets you. It is quite the durable piece, and nothing less than a battering ram would be able to break through it. Or perhaps a wyvern flying at breakneck speed... You push that foreboding thought from your head and walk through the iron doors.
A slight breeze pushes against your face. You're far enough from the battle that you can only barely hear the roar of the wyverns fighting. you take a breath and look at your next destination. The green of the forest is all that will greet your eyes for an indeterminate amount of time in the future. This was the only way to go. The penalty for desertion is death, so there was no way you were going to stay there. Your only option was to move forward in your search for Liliana.
You take a deep breath, ready yourself mentally, then enter into the Lost Realm. You don't get very far in there, however, before you run into kobold reinforcements. They number over ten, and you are no god though you do manage to take a few out before succumbing to multiple stab wounds.
| 2 |
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| 1 | false |
Year 368 of the Second Era
"Are you listening bitch?"
A hand is shoved into your back and you're sent tumbling to the ground. Grass presses against your face, and you even feel some dirt in your mouth. That was fine. You didn't care very much. These guys could push you around all they wanted. They'd never be able to beat you as bad as your father did.
"Stop it, Daniel!" Liliana's voice sounds from behind you. Apparently she didn't like Daniel pushing you.
You slowly pick yourself up and off of the ground as Daniel replies. "What? You didn't like me pushing your bitch around?" That remark is followed by some laughter.
"He hasn't done anything to you." Liliana replies readily. "Leave and go hit your mom if you're looking for a bitch to hit. Don't touch him." There's a moment of silence before you hear a smack. That sound reverberates around the academy yard, and for a moment you think Liliana finally slapped the guy like she said she'd been wanting to do, but when you turn around you find it's the complete opposite. Liliana is on the grass now, clutching her face. You see tears start to come to her eyes, but she doesn't sob. Not anymore.
You've never been the most violent person. Your mother instilled that into you, so you let others push you around. You didn't give a damn either way, but when you see Liliana on the ground you don't hesitate.
You lunge forward and shove Daniel hard in the chest, and you do it hard enough to send him flying to the ground as well, but unlike you and Liliana he gets back up to his feet quickly. His reaction is also quick. He immediately rushes toward you and raises his fist back. You can tell a punch is coming.
You've grown in the past couple years, and are easily one of the tallest guys in class. Aside from Daniel, that is. You might not be taller than Daniel, but you'd bet your mother's corpse (Muse bless her soul) that you can take more hits than he can. That being said, you don't particularly fancy getting punched if you can avoid it.
> You use his strength against him
Year 368 of the Second Era
Despite what others think of him, Daniel is weak. And you're going to prove just that.
His punch comes directly at your right cheek. It has a hell of a lot of power. Certainly more than you anticipated, but you don't allow yourself to hesitate. He might be powerful, but he was predictable. You dodge his punch by stepping in towards him, and then follow up his punch with one of your own. It hits right below his sternum, and he starts to keel over. You act on instinct now. You grip the top of his head and bring your knee up into his face, and there's a distinct crunch noise. You then push him slightly away from you.
He stumbles backward, and you take a step forward and shove him to the ground once more. There's no time for him to react as you pounce on top of him and lay punch after punch into his face. His 'friends' don't rise to stop you, and the courtyard is silent save for the sound of your fist pounding his face.
After several more punches you feel a hand on your shoulder. You nearly jerk away from it, but, despite your frenzied mind, you are able to recognize that it is a distinctly feminine hand. Liliana, you think and stop punching. Daniel doesn't stop his groaning as you rise to your feet to face her.
There's less baby fat on her face now than when you first saw her, and is beginning to be quite the knockout. Her eyes are still slightly red and the right side of her face is still red, but she isn't crying any more.
"Enough," she whispers to you.
You only nod in response. You start to walk away from the scene when you realize that you'd gathered quite the crowd. You think about saying something, but instead you reach for Liliana's hand and glare at everyone in the crowd. Your look says it all.
You leave with Liliana in tow.
| 3 |
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| 8 | false |
Year 378 of the Second Era
You pull yourself from the memory. That was happening way too often since Liliana was captured. And she was captured. There was no doubt in your mind about that. Captured by people who obviously knew what they were doing. Otherwise they wouldn't be able to make it through the forests of the Lost Realm without being captured, killed, or raped by horny kobold. That means there's a way to make it through that forest. You just have to find it.
That was the reason you spent your time here on the wall watching, waiting, planning your route through that kobold infested place. Of course you could just leave on your own and hope for the best, but th-
Your thoughts are interrupted when the roar of some beast sounds throughout the air. You jerk your head immediately towards the sound. It came from somewhere over the tops of the trees, and still must've been miles out. Every guard on the wall peels their eyes to the forest, and it isn't long before one of your fellow guardsmen spots something.
"There! Above the forest!" The guard sounds quite panicked.
You look where he indicated and spot several grey blots in the distance. They look like birds at first, but as they get closer you can tell they're much larger and have several more rows of teeth than a bird.
"Wyverns." The guard right beside you breathes out.
You turn back to look at the beasts. They're still a few miles out, but you can hear the beat of their leathery wings drawing closer every second. The guards in your platoon stand on the wall in stunned silence. Nothing happens here, ever. Why now of all times?
Your lieutenant, an older fellow named Byron, calls everyone to order. "This is what we're here for men! This is why..."
Byron's voice fades into the depths of your mind. It is replaced by a different voice. One that's mocking, provoking. The memory of your first fight calls back to you.
> You push the memory back
Year 378 of the Second Era
This isn't the time for idle thoughts. No, you need to focus on the situation at hand.
The memory fades away, and Byron's voice returns. "This is why we guard this wall! No wyverns, kobold, or other filth will cross this wall! Gather your weap-" Byron is interrupted by another voice.
"Help! There are kobold chasing us on the ground. The rest of my party is coming with the kobold hot on their tail." The voice comes from all the way at the bottom of the wall. You can barely make out what he's saying, but someone does and repeats it to Byron, who then continues speaking.
"I need one person to light the signal light over by the watchtower. Everyone in division two stay here and support us with arrows. Everyone in division one follow me!"
Byron leads the way as he and division one head down to the ground to support the rest of the group. Everyone else stays and prepares their bows.
You were assigned to division two upon your transfer here, and so your orders are abundantly clear.
| 4 |
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| 2 | false |
Kor and the guards do not like your decision, and express clearly so, but they accept your status as the group's leader.
Quickly, you are packed with light gear, and, abandoning the coaches, you head into the hills in the approaching nightfall.
The moon is young, and the ground is not easy to see, yet you march through the hills slightly away from the road, as not to be so easy a target.
An hour passes, and nightfall becomes a beautiful starspangled sky, were you in a mood to appreciate this.
Suddenly, Kor stops and points towards an approaching goblin patrol. They have spotted you too, and seeing that you equal their size, decide to make a run for it after the disaster of the ambush earlier.
"Get 'em 'fore they gets to their fellows!", Kor bellows, and, axe drawn, charges them.
> You this is a fighter's job, not yours... You are too exhausted, and the goblins should be no match for the guards.
While Kor and his men charge the goblins, and gaining, you slowly walk after them.
You are weary to the bones, and your mental resources are nearly depleted due to the exhaustion earlier. It would be of no use to anyone if you fell unconcious by trying to slay a few goblins.
A couple of minutes later, and the guards are engaged with the goblins. Indeed, the goblins do not stand a chance against the trained fighters, but one of them manages to escape.
> You are a Magus of Fire.
Your instincts take over.
With a pleased grin, like that of a cat on a chase, you deftly weave a small knot of fire and hurl it after the goblin.
It hits him in the back, and within split seconds, only ashes remain of the creature, but even that tiny spell was too much for you, and you gently fall over.
| 2 |
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| 1 | false |
While Kor and his men charge the goblins, and gaining, you slowly walk after them.
You are weary to the bones, and your mental resources are nearly depleted due to the exhaustion earlier. It would be of no use to anyone if you fell unconcious by trying to slay a few goblins.
A couple of minutes later, and the guards are engaged with the goblins. Indeed, the goblins do not stand a chance against the trained fighters, but one of them manages to escape.
> You launch a magical attack against him.
You focus what remains of your mental resources into a ball of pure energy and cast it after the fleeing goblin, striking him from behind.
The magical energy discharges into the goblin's body, and he falls down lifeless.
You, however, having reached your limits, fall down into a deep, dreamless sleep...
| 3 |
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| 1 | false |
While Kor and his men charge the goblins, and gaining, you slowly walk after them.
You are weary to the bones, and your mental resources are nearly depleted due to the exhaustion earlier. It would be of no use to anyone if you fell unconcious by trying to slay a few goblins.
A couple of minutes later, and the guards are engaged with the goblins. Indeed, the goblins do not stand a chance against the trained fighters, but one of them manages to escape.
> You do nothing. What harm can one single goblin do?
You judge your mental resources too low to be able to weave a spell that would do more than tickle the goblin, and thus you let him escape.
The guards have finished dealing with the other three, but the fleeing goblin is too far away.
Kor curses, when he notices that one got away, but everyone agrees that he's too far away.
"The bugger's probably goin' ta get his friends on our heels within the hour", he mutters. "Let's get away from here."
You agree on this, and you head away from the road, to make camp somewhere safe.
You are in no shape for guard duty, and so the three men share it among themselves. Food is scarce, but sleep is all you need. Before you hit your blanket, you are already fast asleep.
A battlecry wakes you in the middle of the night. Bleary-eyed you need a few seconds to get your bearing, and that is all the goblin standing behind you needs to ram a barbed spear through your body.
A pain you never knew before fills you, and you faint the moment you see the spearhead protruding from your chest, falling into a darkness from where there is no awakening...
| 2 |
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| 8 | false |
You concentrate, and your mental eyes follow the Farhan's weaving. He uses Fire, and mixes Earth in it, but when he leashes it out, you already took hold of one of the strands of magic with your mental touch, and the spell already unravels itself as it is cast.
When it reaches you, it is nothing more than a gust of warm wind that ruffles your hair.
Infuriated, sensing what you have done, Farhan pulls the black blade out of Lucius' body, and, brandishing it, charges you.
Out of the corners of your eyes you see that the guards are approaching the obviously crazed emissary.
> You launch a quick spell against him, intend on stoping him long enough for the guards to reach him.
You raise your arms, quickly contemplating the type of weave to throw against Master Brownhand, but decide for simplicity.
A few minor strands of Air flow from your mind and wrap themselves around the emissary's arms, and, tightening, you attempt to hold him.
His eyes widen in fury as he realizes what you are about to do, and he attempts to sever the weaves that surround his arms with his own magic.
Surprised at the deftness and skill of his magical counterattack against your spell, you cannot do anything but admire the man's finesse as he unravels your spell with his mind.
Within a split second, your spell falls to pieces beyond repair, and Farhan, unhindered again, charges the coach you are standing upon.
> You will jump down the coach and grab the sword of a fallen soldier to face Farhan in close combat.
Infuriated by the sight of your fallen friend, and by the treachery that you have witnessed, you jump down from the coach and grab the heavy, unfamiliar blade of a goblinslain soldier.
You see, from the corners of your eyes, that the guards are approach Farhan Brownhand with drawn weapons, but you ignore them.
The emissary grins a wicked grin and makes a fast and elegant move, that closes the distance to you and your blade much faster than you could have anticipated.
By sheer luck, you manage to parry the first of Farhan's blows, but he anticipated the move and brings his blade back in a small circle, cutting deep into your unprotected side.
As the black, evil-looking blade enters your body, you feel a pain you have never felt before. It is as if your soul itself is torn and shredded by the cold metal, and you utter an inhuman scream.
Feebly, knowing that you are doomed, you wave your own blade towards Farhan, but he nimbly evades the clumsy blow and twists the sword in your side one more.
Unable to bear the pain, you scream once again, and then, feeling your soul drawn out of your body through the wound, everything first fades from red to black to a chilling emptiness...
| 3 |
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| 9 | false |
You stare disbelieving at Master Brownhand, and before you can launch a spell at him, he uses your hesitation to weave a quick strand of fire at you.
You barely dodge the small bolt of fire that jumps from his fingers and flies past you.
Seeing he missed you, he curses and prepares another spell. You have to act quick.
> You quickly launch a spell at him to disrupt his casting.
Quickly, you close your eyes and stretch your fingers towards Farhan, hurling a small amount of raw magic against him. This is without finesse, and rather taxing, but effective enough.
Master Brownhand gasps as the pure energy you launched at him hits him, and snarls a curse at you. Obviously, you successfully broke his concentration.
Then, he grabs the dark blade still sticking in Lucius' body, hefts it in his right hand, weaves a protective gesture with his left and advances to the coach you stand upon.
Out of the corner of your eyes, you see the surviving guards, with drawn swords, approach the emissary.
| 3 |
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| 1 | false |
You have to protect your companions, and get them out of there. You can't leave them behind. You hold your shotgun tightly in your hands, before moving forward and darting down the decline. You slide down on your boots, hurrying down as fast as you can. You almost fall into a tumble, but manage to steady yourself, finding yourself on the ground near the wreckage.
You look to the truck, and you can see a mutilated corpse strapped into the driver's seat, and realize Russel didn't even get out of the car. The screams off deeper into the woods don't give you hope for the fate of the others.
"Stay back! Stay back!" a young, terrified voice screams from behind the wreckage.
Swearing, you burst forward, your gun held tightly in your hands. Rushing around the roasting bonfire, you find Wyatt, collapsed on his back, desperately trying to shuffle backwards.
Standing in front of him is a bestial creature you've faced many times before. A werewolf. The creature stands with black and gray fur matted with the gore of a previous kill. The creature growls, revealing a row of vicious teeth that could easily tear through a man.
Your instincts kick in, and you drop to your knee, raising your gun and opening fire. The gun bucks, silver bursting forward and tearing through the werewolf's flesh. The creature howls, as you fire another shot, blowing the creature's head off as its body crumples. You watch as the lupine body begins to morph, shedding air and twisting as it turns into a naked, bloody human corpse, its head completely missing.
"Oh Jesus, oh Jesus! William, they got my dad. They tore him up, and they took Hans off into the woods! Shit, we have to go help him! We have to go save them!"
You hear a loud howl, looking over to see a trio of werewolves appearing out of the woods. At the front, a large creature with frost white hair and pink eyes. The creature begins prowling towards you, its jaws open as it licks its lips. The creature lets out a growl, as the other two werewolves pause, holding back as the creature approaches you. Clearly this one's a leader of some sort, and it wants to take you down by itself as some fucked up pursuit of honor or to show its pack mates its prowess.
You don't have time to think. It's time to act.
> You break off into the woods with Wyatt
"Run! Run now, Wyatt!" you scream,
You sprint, running as fast as you can, your lungs burning, but it's not enough. Seconds later, a force like a truck smashes into your back, sending you crumpling to the floor with your legs shattering from the impact. You scream as the Albino lands atop your legs, sending pain racing through your body as you spasm. The creature looks down at you, growling.
"Fuck you," you spit, hoping some part of the Albino understands you.
The Albino's head snaps down, tearing out your throat, before binding off after Wyatt. You lie there on the ground, drowning in your own blood, as death slowly takes you.
| 4 |
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| 11 | false |
You turn, rushing off the road as you leap off the tarmac onto the dirt of the forest floor. You keep your run fast and steady, boots crushing leaves and twigs underfoot as you maneuver through the trees, trying to keep at least somewhat parallel to the road so you don't end up lost in here. You push your way through the thin branches as quickly as you can, as they gently slap and snag at your clothes. You ignore the pain, barreling forward.
However, it's not long before the other creatures are left on your tail, having caught the scent of your blood and the sound of you trampling over branches and leaves. It's not long before the howls are almost behind you again, and you need to act.
> You hide and wait for them to pass
You quickly scamper into the thickest underbrush, staying low and disappearing into the bushes. You know how to hide well, so you quickly begin covering yourself with dirt and immersing yourself in the leaves, keeping low and quiet. You still your tired breathing, and wait.
You wait for several minutes, as the howls become louder, and louder, before going quiet. You wait carefully, your breath caught in your lungs, as you wait for several minutes.
Suddenly, a lupine maw emerges from the bush in front of you, followed by a pair of blood-red eyes. The werewolf stares at you, growling in a low voice, as you realize the creatures have followed your scent, and surrounding you. The albino wolf that's come across you looks at you with almost sadistic glee, licking its lips.
Almost an hour later, the screams filling the moonlit night finally end, the last few sounds little more than a dying, gargling whimper from a creature so broken and exhausted that they're incapable of even moving, the voice so red raw from screaming that it can barely make a noise. The torn apart, bloody body that is left there is never found, with what remains being food for the worms.
| 3 |
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| 11 | false |
Year 366 of the Second Era
At the age of ten, you were average. Your height, weight, disposition, and, well, pretty much everything about you was average. Never the last one chosen for capture the emblem, but never the first one either. Your life then was a monotonous slog: Go to your rundown academy, try to do well in your academic work, fail, and return home only to have your drunkard of a father beat you. You didn't realize how miserable your life was until the fateful day when Liliana joined your class at school.
Like the rest of the girls in the class, she wore a dress. Unlike the rest of the girls in the class, her dress was obviously of fine make. The embroidery on her dress had no faults. No drops of blood from clumsy mothers who pricked themselves on their needle. No lazy patches sewn in to cover up holes. No, her dress was flawless. Her hair was onyx black, and fell down in waves around her face. Her glittering blue eyes were filled with anticipation, and maybe a little fear. She clearly wasn't used to being in these kinds of situations, and she kept glancing around as if someone else was going to introduce her to the other classmates.
Your teacher, a hag of a woman, prompted her to introduce herself. "Go ahead and introduce yourself to the class, dear."
She widened her eyes in surprise, but followed the teacher's command. "My name is Liliana, I'm ten years of age, and..," she looked to the teacher for instruction. She had an accent, and one that you'd never heard before at that. Not northern, or even like those from the eastern realm. No, this was decidedly different from any other accent you'd heard before.
"Go on," the teacher prompted again.
"I don't know what else to say," Liliana responded.
The teacher frowned disappointedly. "Surely you have more things to tell us about yourself than your name?" When Liliana didn't respond, the teacher spoke again. "Where are you from? Or, what do you like to do in your spare time? Tell us things like that."
Liliana hesitated once more.
"Come now. We don't judge people here," the hag patted her comfortingly on the shoulder, but failed to notice the snickering in the back.
Liliana, it seemed, found her words comforting, and finally started to open up. "I was born in Arboribus. My father is the king there, and it's an amazing place. There are trees larger than castles there! Oh, and I like to go stag riding with my father if he has the ti-"
The teacher interrupted. "Excuse me. Where?" The teacher sounded somewhat confused, but definitely disappointed. The snickering in the back increased, but Liliana still hadn't noticed.
"Arboribus," she said this clearly, and with an expression of incredulity fixed upon her face. The teacher simply stared at her blankly, until Liliana continued. "You know, in The Lost Realm..."
The boys in the back, try as they might, couldn't contain themselves any longer. They busted out into raucous laughter that spread to the rest of the students that were typically thought of as nice. Everyone gave into the laughter, and even the teacher hag was chuckling.
You were on the edge of laughter as well, but something kept you there. Stories of The Lost Realm, and rumors of a ancient city of humans therein. Your mother, before she died of disease, would tell you fairy tales of the ancient land, and how it used to be as prosperous as the Realm of Men is now. You'd always harbored the secret thought, hope, that the stories were true, and here was a person who claimed to hail from that very place. This, and the expression on Liliana's face, caused you to hesitate. Her expression was that of someone hurt , and a genuine expression at that.
You held the laughter off, and waited for everyone else to do the same. They eventually quieted down, but only after tears started streaming down Liliana's face. Silence took the place of laughter, and all joy was replaced with the sad sound of sobbing.
The old hag had the decency to attempt to comfort her by giving her a hug, but Liliana jerked away. Apparently she didn't like the idea of hugging the old hag. Especially since she'd promised no ridicule would come, but then turned around and gloried in it herself.
"It's true!" Liliana yelled after she managed to control her sobbing. "I'm not a liar! And, and ,and..." She starts crying again, but instead of staying in the classroom for everyone to see, she ran through the door and out of the classroom.
The silence continued for a moment longer, before you made your first life changing decision. You got up from your designated chair and followed after Liliana.
You were no expert at dealing with girls. Let alone crying ones, and you weren't the most...
> You ...intelligent...
Year 366 of the Second Era
...intelligent of people, but you were outgoing enough to provide a suitable person for her to talk to.
You follow the sound of sobbing through the worn wooden hallways of the school, and outside, until you find the source of the crying. Liliana sits on the steps to the main door of the school. Her well crafted dress is ruffled in places and her body constantly shifts under the pressure of her tears. Her hair comes down in waves around her head, effectively cutting off any view of her face.
She doesn't notice you there at first, but when the main door closes behind you she jumps and turns towards you. Tears and snot cover her face with her eyes both sad and angry at the same time, and for a moment you find yourself regretting coming here. That moment passes, and the impulse you followed earlier propels you toward her.
"Are you going to laugh at me again?"
Her voice reflects what she is feeling. Sadness, despair, anger, and, you think, a bit of hope color her voice. You decide to concentrate on her hopefulness.
"I didn't laugh."
"Everyone laughed. I saw."
Clearly she hadn't been paying attention to you when in the classroom. "Not me."
You sit down on the same step as her, and she glares at you. Silence ensues, and you turn away and gaze out in front of you. You want to ask her about the Realm of the Lost, but the question dies in your throat. Wouldn't it be at least a little insensitive to ask her prying questions now?
Your question is answered when you hear her start to sob again. This time it's less intense, but it's still crying all the same. Maybe it's the memory of her excited face when she was in front of the classroom, or maybe you just didn't like the sound of crying. Whatever the reason, you decide to wrap your arm around her shoulders in a half hug. Liliana turns to stone beneath your touch, and you think she'll pull away, but she doesn't. She stays still, but continues her crying. You feel absurdly awkward in this position, but she doesn't seem to mind. She even leans into your hug after a while.
In between holding her and listening to her crying, you find yourself staring at her wondering how in all the realms this girl was from the Lost Realm. You might be tainted by the knowledge of fairytales, but you were still aware that the Lost Realm was crawling with kobold and others of that ilk,. It was a very dangerous place. At the end of the first era was when the Lost Realm was supposedly at the height of its power, but that ended when a dragon led a massive host of kobold and wyverns and sacked the entirety of the realm. Well, that's how the stories went. So how then, could a delicate being such as this come from such a dangerous place?
Then a brilliant idea came over you. There was a story your mother once told you. One about the faerie, a race of beings native to the Lost Realm. When they were in the Lost Realm they were humanoid creatures of a similar height humans, but with pointed ears and a slender build. In the story, a faerie wandered over the border of the Realm of Men and the Realm of the Lost, (Before the border walls were constructed) but the faerie were tied to their own realm. Whenever they left, they became as humans. This particular faerie panicked when they realized they left their home for another realm, and immediately tried to go back, but every time he tried to re-enter his homeland, he would get lost, turned around. He could never find his way back. Once the faerie willingly left the Realm of the Lost, they weren't allowed back. He was left in the Realm of Men to fend for himself, but he desired that no their faerie would feel like he did. Alone, confused and afraid. So the faerie came up with a code. If he thought there was another faerie, he would ask them a simple question.
You ask that question now. "Are you lost?"
Liliana immediately pulls from you and stares at you in disbelief. She suddenly wipes all of the tears from her face with her sleeve before asking you a question. "Will you help me fit in here?"
Kinda shocked that your plan worked you only nod in response.
A hint of a smile breaches her face. "What's your name?"
You briefly wonder what you've gotten yourself into, but you answer regardless. "My name is..."
| 4 |
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| 12 | false |
You decide to refuse the offer and exit the barricade choosing to make it on your own.
> You move on
You decide to pass them by, there has to be another way through the city without the aid of the Essitreans and the inevitable conflict they will attract. You head down a corridor and see flames rising ahead, to the left you see a massive army of Turric soldiers fighting with another smaller group of Essitreans. The carnage is horrid and you opt not to go that way. To your right you see an old stable. Perhaps within you can find a horse.
> You head towards the Fire
The flames ahead of you fly many feet into the air and you try to find a way past the street but there are no obvious exits. Disheartened you retreat back to the previous intersection.
| 4 |
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| 3 | false |
You decide to pass them by, there has to be another way through the city without the aid of the Essitreans and the inevitable conflict they will attract. You head down a corridor and see flames rising ahead, to the left you see a massive army of Turric soldiers fighting with another smaller group of Essitreans. The carnage is horrid and you opt not to go that way. To your right you see an old stable. Perhaps within you can find a horse.
> You check out the Stable
You opt to check out the stable but there are no horses inside. As you are searching, you see the fighting from the left street starting to pour into yours. The mass combat is punctuated by explosions, the sound of steel on steel or flesh, and the screams of the injured or dying. You quickly decide to abandon the search and head back to the intersection before you are overwhelmed.
| 3 |
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| 4 | false |
You decide to pass them by, there has to be another way through the city without the aid of the Essitreans and the inevitable conflict they will attract. You head down a corridor and see flames rising ahead, to the left you see a massive army of Turric soldiers fighting with another smaller group of Essitreans. The carnage is horrid and you opt not to go that way. To your right you see an old stable. Perhaps within you can find a horse.
> You go Backwards
You arrive at the massive barricade. The barricade is manned by a holdout group of Essitrean soldiers each holding crossbows. There have to be dozens of them all on watch. The bodies of hundreds of Turric soldiers lie scattered in the streets around the barricade though it's obvious the Essitreans are wounded and exhausted.
| 3 |
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| 3 | false |
You're tired, you've had a long afternoon and you have found somewhere to crash. You hope that this place is safe enough but in a city under siege, no where is truly safe. You find a little corner amongst the clutter and nestle in as best as you can.
You place your broadsword to your side within easy reach and thank the gods you have your modified light chainmail. It's very comfortable to sleep in, especially compared to most armors. Covering yourself with a blanket you slip easily into the demesne of sleep.
TEST YOUR LUCK: Pick a number between 1 and 3.
> You 2
You fall into a deep and dreamless sleep. As luck would have it, you are not bothered by anything or anyone during your stay and you feel quite at peace with yourself. Your mother always said you were a strong one before she died. She never knew how many times you would have to test that theory. You wake up refreshed and ready to go.
It is now NIGHT.
| 4 |
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| 1 | false |
You're tired, you've had a long afternoon and you have found somewhere to crash. You hope that this place is safe enough but in a city under siege, no where is truly safe. You find a little corner amongst the clutter and nestle in as best as you can.
You place your broadsword to your side within easy reach and thank the gods you have your modified light chainmail. It's very comfortable to sleep in, especially compared to most armors. Covering yourself with a blanket you slip easily into the demesne of sleep.
TEST YOUR LUCK: Pick a number between 1 and 3.
> You 3
Your sleep is suddenly interrupted by the sound of the door being kicked in by heavy booted feet. In the entrance are five undead warriors, two heavily armored Turric Vanguards and a Turric Deathmagus, a necromancer by any other name. You rise to your feet pulling your broadsword and charging. Deathmagus takes no prisoners. This is going to be a fight to the death.
You swing a heavy blow and decapitate the lead zombie as the others charge forward. You've fought the occasional zombie in the past and you know from experience that you have to decapitate them to bring them down. As the first zombie falls, you face a thicket of swinging blades, what zombies lack in speed and accuracy, they make up in fearlessness and tenacity.
You need to fight without getting cornered or overwhelmed. You duck to the left and then run to the right, making the zombies slowly try to follow you. You pick a zombie at the edge and cut at his knees while parrying two blades aimed at your midsection. The zombies legs are undercut and you duck and blade and stab upwards into a zombie's gut. They keep onrushing but you roll to the side of a blow and parry a second before leaping on a table.
A downward chop takes another zombie downward and you backflip off the table landing on your feet. Taking a mirror, you toss it into the face of a nearing zombie and slip to the left before arcing right and using your sword to decapitate the next.
Several seconds later, you pant as the last zombie falls.
The Deathmagus claps his bony pale hands slowly, "Very good little Silver one, you are most impressive. I've decided to give you one last challenge, if you can over come it I'll let you live." He turns to one of the fully armored vanguards and points at you. The Vanguard silently obeys stepping forward with his barbed Falchion at the ready.
The other Vanguard stands by his master and together they watch the duel. You know from experience that Vanguards are heavily armored juggernauts with undead endurance and massive two handed falchions with rasping barbs attached.
Do you:
> You use your Broadsword and Short Swords to inflict heavy damage?
The Vanguard was a heavy warrior with a massive slow sword so you decide to try your luck with your heavy sword relying on your natural quickness to keep one step ahead of him. As he nears you you double-hand the broadsword and smash it as hard as you can against his side. The blade bangs loudly against him and you see a dent appear in the armor but he moves as if it were a feather duster. He swipes at your head but you duck and spin away.
You finish the spin with a heavy blow to his knee and you see with some satisfaction as the armor dents in and his knee buckles. The Vanguard barely even registers the blow and chops at you with an overhand blow that meets the stone floor and shatters it. You roll backwards and throw two blades that ricochet off the armor and stick in the ceiling.
He keeps moving forward unperturbed by the blades and you charge towards him willing him to commit for a swing. When he does, you leap to the side and again bash his knee. The metal dents a little more and his knee visibly weakens. You roll away and place your broadsword between yourself and his blade.
His hand glows black and he begins to drag you towards him with some form of dark magic. You put your sword in front of you and duck another slash as you use his magic to impale himself with your sword. He staggers backwards and you block a sideways slash meant for your wait with your broadsword. The power knocks it flying across the room lodging into the wall.
You kick off of the Vanguard and run backwards as the knight continually steps forward thinking to yourself, "That was cheating..."
Pulling your twin short swords, you leap and twist so your blades smack deep into his shoulders. The Vanguard staggers and steps back and you tumble off of his body and duck to the left. You hear his stomps as you run for your broadblade. You reach it and pull it out of the wall just as the Vanguard reaches you. You have to release the sword in order to keep your arm.
After his miss, you again grab the blade and rush around him to his backside raining your broadblade high into the air and stabbing it downward into his wounded knee. Your blade bites deep into the knee and sinks into the stone floor pinning him. Pulling your swords from his shoulders, you jump into his back making him fall forward and then roll over him pulling your twin blades with you. You then watch as he starts to pull himself up. This is when you strike with both blades at his neck repeatedly, the sparks of your work lighting up the room as your steel pounds against the Ulum metal of the Turric Mages. Finally, the metal gives way and you plant both swords into his neck and pull outward.
The metal shell and flesh peels outwards and you take your dagger and plant it deep into his spine wrenching it back and forth until the warrior drops coldly into the dust.
Backing away you watch as his body, armor, flesh, and weapon melt and turn to dust.
Breathing heavily, you turn towards the door where the Deathmagus nods his approval and turns to the exit. A second later, the place is quiet and empty. Despite yourself you fall into a deep, deep sleep...
| 4 |
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Your sleep is suddenly interrupted by the sound of the door being kicked in by heavy booted feet. In the entrance are five undead warriors, two heavily armored Turric Vanguards and a Turric Deathmagus, a necromancer by any other name. You rise to your feet pulling your broadsword and charging. Deathmagus takes no prisoners. This is going to be a fight to the death.
You swing a heavy blow and decapitate the lead zombie as the others charge forward. You've fought the occasional zombie in the past and you know from experience that you have to decapitate them to bring them down. As the first zombie falls, you face a thicket of swinging blades, what zombies lack in speed and accuracy, they make up in fearlessness and tenacity.
You need to fight without getting cornered or overwhelmed. You duck to the left and then run to the right, making the zombies slowly try to follow you. You pick a zombie at the edge and cut at his knees while parrying two blades aimed at your midsection. The zombies legs are undercut and you duck and blade and stab upwards into a zombie's gut. They keep onrushing but you roll to the side of a blow and parry a second before leaping on a table.
A downward chop takes another zombie downward and you backflip off the table landing on your feet. Taking a mirror, you toss it into the face of a nearing zombie and slip to the left before arcing right and using your sword to decapitate the next.
Several seconds later, you pant as the last zombie falls.
The Deathmagus claps his bony pale hands slowly, "Very good little Silver one, you are most impressive. I've decided to give you one last challenge, if you can over come it I'll let you live." He turns to one of the fully armored vanguards and points at you. The Vanguard silently obeys stepping forward with his barbed Falchion at the ready.
The other Vanguard stands by his master and together they watch the duel. You know from experience that Vanguards are heavily armored juggernauts with undead endurance and massive two handed falchions with rasping barbs attached.
Do you:
> You stay at range and use throwing blades and daggers.
You begin the duel with two throwing knives as you try to stay at range. The blades hit square but ricochet off the heavy armor. You growl as you duck under his heavy blade and cartwheel out of his range. Having more space, you throw two more knives, one bounces off and sticks in the ceiling and the other lodges under his armor. The Vanguard pulls the blade out and throws it to the ground and you pull a dagger with two more knives.
Since the Vanguard seems to be taking his time, steadily moving forward, you carefully aim the next two throws. The first slides into an eyehole of the armor and for the first time you get his attention. The blade spews brackish blood that leaks from under his helm and dribbles down his chin. He pulls the blade from his eye and grasps the Falchion with both hands, the old leather crackles under his grip.
"Great..." you think as you dodge a powerful but slow swipe that smashes the cabinet you ducked behind. You pull back and throw the second blade trying to lodge it through his plates under his arm. It connects with the armor and bangs off into the floor.
Pulling your daggers you duck under a sweeping cross-swipe and punch the dagger into his breastplate. The dagger rings in your hand without doing any apparent damage. He kicks but misses as you flit to the side and stab him in the neck. The blade slides into his neck but it doesn't slow him even a bit.
He backhands you and you barely escape a full on hit but feel your jaw instantly bruise and you see stars as you fall backwards into the debris around you. He is upon you instantly but you dodge his reversed blade and watch the heavy blade pierce the stone itself. You roll to your feet and try to kick out his feet but your leg meets with an unmovable object and you back away limping.
He closes in on you as you switch to your throwing knives which clink off his armor. You can't believe it when he raises his hand and you feel dark energy course through you.
"That wasn't fair..." is the last thought you think as he plants his falchion deep into your stomach and rips downward splitting your body from stomach to crotch. The last thing you see is his dead eye peering at you as you bleed out.
YOU HAVE FAILED.
| 4 |
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You realize that the hound is going to be a noisy, dangerous problem and so you resolve to end that issue first. As soon as the trio of enemies rush into the room you pop up from behind the desk and throw three throwing knives at the beast. The first knife goes wide and lands knee level in the wooden wall, but the second catches in the jaw bursting it's teeth and jutting through it's muzzle, and the third smashes in the flanks sticking through it's hind quarter. The beast yelps pitiably and staggers backwards incapacitated.
The beast howls and you leap over the table drawing both of your short blades. In close quarter fighting, your short swords and stabbing style will be a good match against the barbed scimitars the Turrics favor which require wide fast swings.
The first Turric swings high and you duck and deflect the first blade while reversing your spin and cutting the soldier's leg off at the knee. The second swings towards your midriff but you tumble and his swing lodges in his already injured partner's ribs.
You crouch and then spring low stabbing the second soldier's foot and slicing his sword arm off at the wrist. The second soldier screams and tries to stagger backwards but his foot is pinned to the floor. Rising you pull the blade free and jut the short blade up into his stomach pushing under his ribs until the blade pierces his heart and blood runs down his armor like a burst dike.
As he falls back, you turn to the hound. You hate to kill such a noble beast but it was now time to end it's pain. A quick reversal of your swords sets up a downward thrust that pierces it's brain and severs it's spine. The hound collapses with a quiver.
You wipe your swords on a soldier's sleeve and place them again on your back. You then collect your throwing knives and search the soldiers for anything they carry you can use. You ignore their damaged armor, barbed scimitars, and top-heavy daggers and instead collect their coin pouches. Thirty Silvers later, you check the windows. You are relived to see that there is no further action in the streets.
Do you:
> You help the girl out of the hiding place?
You dislike the thought of dragging around a non-combatant but you could at least take care of her until she can be handed off to someone else. By herself she'd either starve to death or get caught and become a victim to the Turrics. With you she had a slim chance to live, it wasn't much but it was something.
You dislike the thought of dragging around a non-combatant but you could at least take care of her until she can be handed off to someone else. By herself she'd either starve to death or get caught and become a victim to the Turrics. With you she had a slim chance to live, it wasn't much but it was something.
Going downstairs, you say 'Defender' as you pull back the tapestry but there is no answer. You say 'Defender' again but there is still no response. Dreading what you'll find, you open the little door to find the girl, her body lifeless with your dagger stuck in her chest. You curse her weakness even as the pragmatic side of you tells you your own survival rate just increased.
At least she'll be with her family you suppose. With a heavy heart you retrieve your knife and close the trapdoor.
| 4 |
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| 8 | false |
Your heart beats.
You stand in an great amphitheatre, on shifting sands. It's quiet for but a moment, and then the clashes of weapons rings out in great echoes, with cheery yells of murder providing a bass quality. Smiles flash all around as people hack or are hacked about and nothing but snorts of laughter without the barest hint of pain accompany the carnage.
Sprays of blood float on the air. Spilled guts and limbs sink deep into the sands. Heads laughing are choking on sand and sweet blood spills out of their lifeless bodies.
You smell gore in the air and it clouds your thoughts. Little droplets rain down in your vision. You count each as they pass. Some spray in the corner of your eye hits your cheek and you can taste the liquid life.
Liquid life.
Life.
You're alive.
Where is your weapon?
> You an axe in the hands of the man to your left
The man next to you screams and whacks a corpse on the ground with your simple battle axe. He smiles and pulls himself up to grip the weapon with two hands and bring it down over the head of another distracted man.
Your heart beats.
You spare a quick glance over the rest of the battlefield.
Men fight all around you, clanging metal and shrieking warriors ringing in your ears. There's laughter, joy, fear, and hatred in those screams. Shadows stand all around the raised edge of the arena, perfectly still.
You need a weapon in your hands, something to defend yourself against this writhing mass of life and death. You need your axe; it's yours. It fits perfectly in your hand and bites at the flesh of your enemies like a loyal dog. There is no question: you must get it back.
Beat.
The man is chopping here and there and everywhere. He's not even holding your axe right.
Beat.
Attack him now and rely on your skills, or sneak up behind him?
> You attack now!
You rush, hoping to catch him unaware. He swings the axe around to his right and slashes another man.
Beat.
Your feet both push you forward and you put your hands into the perfect position to attack himand grab the handle of the axe. Both feet leave the ground and propel you into the man.
Beat.
Your right hand curls to give him a brutal punch with all your weight in his throat. Your left hand opens to grab the axe before he can swing it around to you.
Beat.
Beat. Beat.
Beat. Beat. Beat.
Your fist makes contact with him and he falls back a bit, his face twisting in pain. You grab the handle of the axe and wrench it from his grasp as he's weak. Your fist only glances his neck and he recovers quickly to tug back at the axe and kick your shins. You quickly push him off and bring the axe down while he's still weak, but he blocks his face with one arm. There's a sickening thud as you bury it into his shoulder. He tries to pull it out and push you away as adrenaline covers his pain, but you elbow him in the face and kick him to the ground as you pull out the axe.
Laughter takes him and he thrashes about on the ground. You sink the axe into his back and he stops moving, but that laughter continues. You're just about to end his pathetic life when an arrow catches your leg and tears open a huge gash. You collapse onto one knee and drop the axe as someone stabs you with a sword. The end sticks out of your left side and blood flows as the sword is pulled back. You lie on the ground and something bubbles inside of you.
Well now, isn't that funny. You didn't get it before , but now...
It's too much and you giggle until you can't breathe, but even when you try to stop and take a breath all you can feel is that hole in your torso. The other man grabs your hand and lets out a shriek, squeezes, and then his smile is stuck on his dead face. You can't help it. You smile too. And laugh. And laugh and laugh until a sword somehow finds its way into your eye. Woopsy daisy. How'd that get in there?
| 3 |
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The man next to you screams and whacks a corpse on the ground with your simple battle axe. He smiles and pulls himself up to grip the weapon with two hands and bring it down over the head of another distracted man.
Your heart beats.
You spare a quick glance over the rest of the battlefield.
Men fight all around you, clanging metal and shrieking warriors ringing in your ears. There's laughter, joy, fear, and hatred in those screams. Shadows stand all around the raised edge of the arena, perfectly still.
You need a weapon in your hands, something to defend yourself against this writhing mass of life and death. You need your axe; it's yours. It fits perfectly in your hand and bites at the flesh of your enemies like a loyal dog. There is no question: you must get it back.
Beat.
The man is chopping here and there and everywhere. He's not even holding your axe right.
Beat.
Attack him now and rely on your skills, or sneak up behind him?
> You sneak up on him
You quickly move around a few fights and dodge a few weak attacks, making your way to the man.
Beat.
He's still whacking into a corpse, though a different one now. His back is to you... It's the perfect time to strike.
Beat.
You lift your hands and go flying into his body, slamming him forward.
Beat. Beat. Beat.
Before he can respond your arms are wrapped around his neck from behind. The fool drops your axe on his foot so he can claw at your arms. Chokes and screams are stuck in his throat and there's a wheezing sound; the only air he can get out, and none of it goes back in. You give another squeeze. He beats against your body with one hand, but lacks to strength to do any damage, already fading.
Suddenly, something hits you in the leg. You collaspe onto the man and look to it. An arrow is sprouting from your leg like a plant in the dirt. At the sudden shock of it you let go of the man and he tries to turn around. Before either of you realize what's happening your hand is on the axe and the axe flying to towards his head... And then his head is flying off by itself. The warm blood hits you like a geyser. You roll around and sit up.
Another arrow grows in your shoulder. You aren't sure when that happened. You can barely feel it now, barely feel anything. A gurgle and a giggle are swallowed by blood in your mouth, when you realize there's another arrow there. You fall back, trying to laugh and just barely managed to make a sound. You're drowning now... Drowning in your own blood... And losing to much of it... And...
It's... Funny. Funny. Haha funny. And then it's nothing, nothing but black.
| 3 |
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Colourful fine carpets cover all the walls, some more rugs hanging over them in turn.
The carpets are like a dark, dull rainbow. The carpet itself is black, with colours seeming floating over it like a reflection in water. The colours swirl and mix and seperate so slowly you have to careful look before you see the emerging patterns of dancing colours.. You watch a batch of a grey blue twirl around with concentrated yellow and green drops, absorbing them.
The rugs draped over them like curtains over imaginary windows are stationary pictures of outfits, each in a different pose. They continue from down the walls onto the floor and a few hang from the ceiling. You recognize a few outfits, but what really catches your eye is the one hidden on the far left, the one that looks just like Zaren's black finery. It's the only one with a person in the clothes.
Zaren's in it, posed elegantly in his black and gold coat. His arms are raised as if to greet you, but his face perfectly shows his comtempt at your very existance. All but his eyes, which are laughing. You do not know if the contempt is the joke.
There is a man behind that insanity, you are sure of it. Whether the insanity is a cover or not, you do not know.
You look back at the swirling patterns. They are starting to resemble pictures now, just barely, but the proper shades are coming in...
> A library
Hundreds of volumes of large tomes cover shelves that reach up to the very high ceiling. You are in narrow crack between two long shelves. You walk through the space between the shelves, trailing your hands on the book. The shelves are so close you can't help but bump into a book here and there. The shelves are so large and heavy they don't make even the slighest movement when you fall against one accidently.
You've tripped over a ladder. It's laid along the ground, edges from shelf to shelf, the same kind as there is in every other row. They were used to reach the books once, but no one reads these records anymore. Now they just keep the space between the shelves uniform. Those maps hate being in the same place as the other non fiction and always try to push the shelves apart.
The books are all a dull green, faded from dust and time. They are larger than usual. Each one is about as wide as your palm and the same length as your arms. They are stuffed in very tightly, leaving not one inch of space. You wouldn't want to have the job of putting them into the shelves.
You reach one end of the row. There's next to no room between the wall and the shelf, but you manage to squeeze through. The rows of shelves seem to go on forever in this direction. You use the next row to turn around and face the other way. The shelves end a few rows up, so you head that direction. You come out into a small space between a shelf and the grey stone wall.
There's a door here you could try it but it's locked. Oh. There's also another small shelf here at the end of the row. You look at the small selection it has. Most are records of the books in this library. They include just a topic and a number. There are too many books to even list the names in this tiny shelf.
Three books that are not records draw your attention.
> You pick up the small brown book
You pick up the small brown book. Its wretched condition is something compared to even the oldest and worst kept tomes you've seen.You take out a sheet of paper to record its name.
The ratty cover nearly comes off when you lift it to turn to the first page. There's no title or author listed, just a strange star design in the center of the page. You copy onto another piece of paper with your fountain pen the design as best you can and place it beside you so you can request another copy of whatever this book is.
You turn the page as carefully as you can. The thin paper seems almost as if to look at it would shred it.
It's another design. With your vast experience what? in many different languages and the writing of many different authors, in the books prior to the invention of the printing press of course, you can easily see that the symbols were of the same hand. You turn the pages, seeing nothing but strange symbols belonging to no language you can recognize. Even then, it should have repeated characters, but each design is different, leading you to believe it is no language, simply meaningless symbols.
The next page is torn in the center where the symbol would be. Through the hole you can the next page is blank.
You check the torn page; it's a violent rip but does not look in danger of growing and the rest of the page is blank anyway.
But there's something about that blank page...
You look at it carefully. There! A shape! A rip! A tear! That wasn't you, you're careful. You haven't ripped a page in... Well, it's been so long you've forgotten.
That's not a rip though... It's growing, like a burn. You set the book down away from the others to keep the fire from spreading but... It's not hot. It's not smoking. Still, the pages burn through.
Fiery shapes grow... Why, it's almost moving... It's beautiful. You can't.... You can't look away.
The ash blows up through the windless air and the sparks bloom into flowers of fire. It's an inferno bubble around you. Your skin burns and blackens and crackles. You can see through the fire now.... In the fire now... It's...
| 5 |
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Hundreds of volumes of large tomes cover shelves that reach up to the very high ceiling. You are in narrow crack between two long shelves. You walk through the space between the shelves, trailing your hands on the book. The shelves are so close you can't help but bump into a book here and there. The shelves are so large and heavy they don't make even the slighest movement when you fall against one accidently.
You've tripped over a ladder. It's laid along the ground, edges from shelf to shelf, the same kind as there is in every other row. They were used to reach the books once, but no one reads these records anymore. Now they just keep the space between the shelves uniform. Those maps hate being in the same place as the other non fiction and always try to push the shelves apart.
The books are all a dull green, faded from dust and time. They are larger than usual. Each one is about as wide as your palm and the same length as your arms. They are stuffed in very tightly, leaving not one inch of space. You wouldn't want to have the job of putting them into the shelves.
You reach one end of the row. There's next to no room between the wall and the shelf, but you manage to squeeze through. The rows of shelves seem to go on forever in this direction. You use the next row to turn around and face the other way. The shelves end a few rows up, so you head that direction. You come out into a small space between a shelf and the grey stone wall.
There's a door here you could try it but it's locked. Oh. There's also another small shelf here at the end of the row. You look at the small selection it has. Most are records of the books in this library. They include just a topic and a number. There are too many books to even list the names in this tiny shelf.
Three books that are not records draw your attention.
> You pick up the grey book
You pick up the grey book. With just that slight movement a huge cloud appears. As you discover through the huge dust cloud and your tears, it's actually a very old blue book, not grey.
You walk through the cloud, past the door, and sit down where the air is clearer. You open up the blue book to the first page. In large flowery letters the title is written, "The Journals of Pip: Volume 8". Below that, "His Search For the History of the Colour Blue".
You turn the page to read tiny block letters.
"In his first year of journal writing, three years before his first published novel, "Theories on the Disappearance of Gravity During the Great Regression" (since which it has been discovered that spontaneously reverting the universe to a previous state may cause gravity to turn into small quantities of gravy, one of the outlined theories connecting the disappearance with the large increase in gravy mining during the years affected), Pip completed a few journals. One of these was a detailed plan and record of his three month long search for the nature and history of the colour blue. In the following pages you will see his journey as he discovers blue."
"I have tracked it to a cave near the Grinning Stones. At first their wide mouths and the little giggles unnerved me, but I have grown used to their strange habits now. It has been nearly a week since I have seen it enter the cave, but I know it is in there. I hear the little snores before I sleep, "blu-o-o-o-o-o-o-o.... blu-o-o-o-o-o-o-o..." it calls. At dawn it will wake me up with a "Cocklebluedoblue!"
You close the book. You just can't read through this radical nonsense. You've read through Pip's research; it's very good. But the man obviously has some trouble telling reality from fiction in his everyday life. You've been to the Grinning Stones; there are no caves anywhere near that region. It's too bad, he was a smart man. A little jerky and obsessive, but smart nonetheless.
But you have to admit, those stones are creepy, especially at night.
You pick it up and start on the... long, long journey, to row J786.
| 4 |
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Hundreds of volumes of large tomes cover shelves that reach up to the very high ceiling. You are in narrow crack between two long shelves. You walk through the space between the shelves, trailing your hands on the book. The shelves are so close you can't help but bump into a book here and there. The shelves are so large and heavy they don't make even the slighest movement when you fall against one accidently.
You've tripped over a ladder. It's laid along the ground, edges from shelf to shelf, the same kind as there is in every other row. They were used to reach the books once, but no one reads these records anymore. Now they just keep the space between the shelves uniform. Those maps hate being in the same place as the other non fiction and always try to push the shelves apart.
The books are all a dull green, faded from dust and time. They are larger than usual. Each one is about as wide as your palm and the same length as your arms. They are stuffed in very tightly, leaving not one inch of space. You wouldn't want to have the job of putting them into the shelves.
You reach one end of the row. There's next to no room between the wall and the shelf, but you manage to squeeze through. The rows of shelves seem to go on forever in this direction. You use the next row to turn around and face the other way. The shelves end a few rows up, so you head that direction. You come out into a small space between a shelf and the grey stone wall.
There's a door here you could try it but it's locked. Oh. There's also another small shelf here at the end of the row. You look at the small selection it has. Most are records of the books in this library. They include just a topic and a number. There are too many books to even list the names in this tiny shelf.
Three books that are not records draw your attention.
> You pick up the gigantic green and gold book
You place your hands over the gigantic book. It has a smooth and soft cover. Hands on the sides of it you strain to lift the thing, but settle for sliding it out instead. You sit down by the door so you can place the thing on your lap
You turn it around and lift the cover. Inside is written I can't understand this language "Sinful Lake" in large, golden letters on a black page. It's written in the formal language of birds that are red. You'd think that birds, even just red birds, would only need a single language to communicate, but you must admit, you like the formal language over the everyday filth they will typically squak in. It's a good thing both languages are part of their education system.
You turn the page. There is a diagram of a regular looking oak tree in white and more golden writing.
"Quercus miaxia, also known as the Sinful Oak, is a species of oak tree that exists solely in the region of Sinful Lake. It is the only thing that will grow anywhere within a mile of the stagnant, murky waters. They often grow much denser and taller than other oak trees, but besides that, their diet, and their peculiar taste in soil, they are nearly indistinguishable from Quercus prinus. The Sinful Line is the tree line beyond which they cannot survive. It creates a very noticable change between thick forestation and bare plains.
Boring
You flip ahead a few pages.
However, there has been some controversy over their diet. They have been known to trap smaller prey with the use of a sap that first traps them and with an oxydizing process begins to digest in a very slow manner. The tree will then grow around the trapped prey, which is often still alive through most of the process. After the prey is absorbed the tree will shrink down around the space the prey has left, with only the bones of the prey remaining. Certain logs found with the bones of what is agreed to be a extinct canine species with a bone structure remarkably similar to humans in the center is the cause of some very unfortunate rumours for us who study these awe inspiring trees.
These rumours that they can trap and eat humans are completely unfounded. The numerous expeditions that into the Sinful Lake region that have disappeared are agreed to have traveled through the Lake into a little known bed and breakfast that exists on the other side. Numerous letters and records are listed in volume 2 and 3 of this series to prove this.
You flip back to the beginning. "Sinful Lake". Under that in very tiny letters it reads "A study by Quercus miaxia Bob".
You pick up the book with some effort and make your way to row A139 to replace it.
| 4 |
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"Oh my. Now that is a very good question. But here comes the Tailor." She turns around and curtsies towards the door.
"What -" You stand there speechless.
A man walks into the room and bows, a spotless fine black coat shimmering around his white furry torso, four furry little limbs poking out of the coat. They are end in three long, delicate fingers with little hairs at the base and bare human-like tips. His hairy legs have the same pattern, with his feet looking almost normal. Large wings are folded at his back, trailing on the floor.
His large black eyes poke out from his white fur and his human jaw opens to speak in a slightly buzzing voice.
"Hello, good lord. I am the tailor. I must say, your eyes are a wonderful colour. Such a light but intense brown. They will be a challenge to match correctly, but I will enjoy creating your outfits for you."
"What..." You take a step back, bumping into a mannequin and accidently knocking it over.
"You will have to work on your coordination if you plan to be part of The Court. Dancing is quite popular here. But even if you fall or some such thing, you will look wonderful. Still, that is not my job. Now come over here, I must measure you. Take a look around at the outfits. You may find one you like."
Ophelia stares at you and gestures. You timidly take a few steps forward.
The tailor places his finger tips on your arms, mummering to himself. "Don't you need measuring tape for this?" You ask.
"Measuring tape? Bah, I am better then the tailors you have known. A true master can look at a man for a second and make him a god within minutes."
"I've never known any tailors."
"Well then trust me, I am the best. Now lift your arms please?" As he slides his hands around your arms and chest you look away, uncomfortable.
> You look at Ophelia
She's watching the Tailor as he measures your body. You look at her stunning eyes, bright but deep, as they follow the Tailor's hands. They are framed by thin eyebrows, bunched forward as if in intense thought. Her light cheekbones are high in her face and her cheeks thin. Her strong chin leads into weak jaw lines, disappearing in the thick black hair that caves over her thin shoulders and covers the neck of her grey dress.
Her dress is long, covering everything from her wrists to her ankles, but tight around her torso, while loose at her legs. It's not meant to be a showy thing, but the way it fits against her skin reveals her beauty better than the poofy gold decorations that she carries under her right arm now.
The Tailor starts feeling the width of your legs from the calves down and you resist the urge to squirm in... it's?... grasp.
Ophelia looks back at you.
> You smile
You smile at her, not a large, joyful smile, but a small smile of thanks. You would have never thought you'd enjoy having a woman stare at your naked body in such a circumstance, but without her here you would probably freak out at the furry hands that are measuring your thighs and climbing higher. You take a deep breath. Just calm down....
The tailor reachs up to your hips and you let out a low squeak against your will.
Ophelia laughs so quietly you almost doubt she did. But her smirk confirms your hearing.
> You all Finished
You relax as the Tailor stops his rubbing and moves back. "You are quite a splendid fit for many of my discarded outfits! Now wait here. I will bring some of them out for you to try on, and we'll see what you like and what looks best on you."
You feel a little cold with your skin bare against the frigid air, and definitely a little awkward about standing naked in some castle's hallway.
Ophelia asks you something, but you're deep in thought.
"What?"
"Before you ask me anything you should know that most of the inhabitants will tell the king if you insult him or his system in anyway. I can answer some of your questions later, once I show you to your quarters, but if you need to know anything right now, ask before the Tailor returns. I've never known him to be a 'loyal' subject, but considering self preservation... He enjoys his life here, unlike much of the other nobility. So do you have any questions about this place?"
> The Tailor
Before you have time to ask any questions the Tailor waddles back in, carrying all kinds of clothing of many materials and colours.
"These are what you can wear for now, while I create your outfit. Please, sir, while I sort these take a look around. Find something you like. Samples are on the mannequins and the carpets. Changes can be made easily if you wish. Pick one thing please. After it is completed you will likely need to see the others, so a proper wardobe can wait until you return to pick up your clothing."
You look around the room, noticing the colourful tapestries hanging from the walls and the ceiling. They are pictures of different outfits of many different styles. You recognize a few outfits from your brief dance, but the one you really see is hidden on the far left. It looks just like Zaren's black clothing. It's the only one with a person in the clothes.
He's in it, posed elegantly in his black and gold coat. His arms are raised as if to hug you and his eyes smile and laugh as if at a joke, but the rest of his face shows nothing but disdain.
| 4 |
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She's watching the Tailor as he measures your body. You look at her stunning eyes, bright but deep, as they follow the Tailor's hands. They are framed by thin eyebrows, bunched forward as if in intense thought. Her light cheekbones are high in her face and her cheeks thin. Her strong chin leads into weak jaw lines, disappearing in the thick black hair that caves over her thin shoulders and covers the neck of her grey dress.
Her dress is long, covering everything from her wrists to her ankles, but tight around her torso, while loose at her legs. It's not meant to be a showy thing, but the way it fits against her skin reveals her beauty better than the poofy gold decorations that she carries under her right arm now.
The Tailor starts feeling the width of your legs from the calves down and you resist the urge to squirm in... it's?... grasp.
Ophelia looks back at you.
> You turn away
You turn away. You're not exactly at your most confident while you're naked and some... moth thing is poking you all over. You can't build up the nerve to look at the Tailor either, so you just stare into space while he plies his trade.
A slight buzzing comes from the Tailor's... lips? He turns his head and looks at you from different angles.
"Hold your arm up. Yes. Please. Okay. Good... I think I have an idea now. Hmm. Something red would look wonderful on you... What do you think? What is your favourite colour? Style? We're in a lull in proper style currently." He speaks fast and leaves no space to answer his questions. "Good for creative expressions, it looks rather silly I think, but Zaren..." The Tailor's face falls. "Nevermind."
| 3 |
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| 3 | false |
Year 378 of the Second Era
The signal fire will get lit by someone else, so you don't need to worry about that. After that your decision becomes even easier. You aren't a fool. Leaving the safety of the wall when it's under attack, and of your own volition at that, would be utter foolishness. You stay right where you are and string your bow with the rest of division two.
The distinctive sounds of the wyverns approaching doesn't change, but as you wait for them to draw near, you hear another set of noises. Several sets of hooves pound against the ground just beyond the edge of the forest, and before too long you see the culprits of the noise bursting through the edge of the wood. Five horses, mounted by at least one person apiece, ride from out of the forest. They ride at a very fast speed, and the horses themselves seem to be running more from fear rather than their rider's instructions. A few moments after they come out of the woods almost twenty giant lizards come out of the forest. The beasts are generally green, but many, if not, all, have blue or purple scales scattered across their hide. Three kobold ride atop each of the lizards.
If your division wasn't silent before, then they certainly are now. The math is easy. There are around sixty kobold, and that is discounting the wyverns and their riders still on their way. You briefly wonder what in the four realms this group of less than ten individuals did to anger this many kobold, but the thought is dashed from your mind as the kobold come into range.
You aren't the best shot out there, but you are far from the worst, and today is a good day for you. Nearly every one of your arrows finds its mark, and many an enemy dies at your hand. You continue this up until the very moment division one clashes with the kobold host. After that you slow down, and pick your shots. You don't want to accidentally hit a fellow guard after all.
You're so focused on the battle below you that you nearly miss it when the wyverns make their first approach. The beasts, although much larger than the giant lizards, only carry two kobold apiece. The wyverns themselves are a leathery grey color with razor sharp teeth, and hind legs that could tear guards apart. there are only five, but you have trouble thinking about how you and division two are supposed to bring down one of these monstrosities. Let alone five.
The fear in division two is palpable as you and your fellow guardsmen switch your attention from the kobold below to the wyverns above. Almost as if they could sense the fear in your comrades, three of the wyverns barrel past the battle below and head straight towards the portion of the wall your division is centered on.
Specifically, and unluckily so, one of the wyverns seem to be coming straight toward you. You find yourself in the midst of a decision that could cost you your life, and you only have a second to act.
> You duck behind the ramparts
Year 378 of the Second Era
You know you won't have enough time to get entirely out of the range of the wyvern's claws. It's better to duck and hope for the best than to definitely die.
You follow this thought and duck behind the ramparts. The wyvern makes its pass, and perhaps from sheer luck, you pass between its hind legs. Stones from the ramparts on either side of you crumble and fall away, but you remain fairly unscathed.
You thought you were going to die for sure, and, after finding out you managed to scrape by, you stand up in a fit of pure relief. You celebrate too early, however, for a kobold archer from the battle below takes the opportunity and releases an arrow at you. The arrow pierces through your jugular, and you bleed out in mere moments.
| 3 |
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You make your way outside of the building shaken but undeterred. The streets are empty, but you know that there are more humans in the houses, hiding. While the fighting itself may be dying down, you feel the need to go out and meet your courageous brethren, rather than have them come for you. You run down the steps and onto the concrete street, continuing back from where you came from, meanwhile trying to shove away distracting thoughts of your deceased friend. When this is done, we will honor you properly...
Eventually, you begin to notice armored corpses strewn about in awkward positions. Alternatively, you find a brown Wolf, whom you recognize as the Middle-eastern man, white-eyed and bloody by a curb. How many of us were lost this day?
You continue on in solemn silence when you reach the fence, and from beyond it you can see several more Wolven corpses. Frantically, you search for Cecilia-- Phew, none of them are blonde like she was. But still... This leaves perhaps eight of us left... Most likely the last of our kind.
"Vamp!" Comes a cry behind you. You turn around quickly to be hugged by an especially warm Cecilia, with Ragnor smiling with glee. You return the embrace, happiness overcoming the previous thoughts of dread.
"I'm glad to see your alright, man. We had a tough fight, but we fended the hordes of Zealots off. How did your fights go?"
You nod, "We... We killed Tomas and- and a man named Karat, called himself 'Chief'. Either way, the place was deserted from Zealots by the time I came looking for you."
"Zealots? What about civilians?"
Cecilia joins the interrogation with the question you least wish to answer at this moment, "And where's David?"
"The Father killed him." You answer succinctly, still trying to get your mind off of it-- you don't want anymore nightmares. "I'm going to deal with the civilians soon, Ragnor. I have a plan for them."
Ragnor nods in turn, "Unfortunate, though he died a warrior's death. What shall you do with the civilians?"
"Ghoul them, use them to help rebuild this city. Once this works, we can make an entire civilization of Zealots, and then... Find the Professor and kill the bastard."
"Solid thinking. But what precisely is the next move?"
"Well, where are the surviving Creations?"
"Rampaging. Cecilia here was the only one of the virgins to be able to control their forms."
"Rampaging?"
"Err, yeah." Ragnor replies, confused, "What's the problem?"
"For the plan to work we need as many live humans as possible to rebuild. Ghouls, remember?" Without wasting anymore time, you begin to move back in search of the Wolves when you feel a heavy hand on your shoulder, holding you back.
"Woah there, Vamp. Are you sure you want to stop them? This is the first time they're in actual control of their lives. Plus, they're probably too tired to do any real damage. Just let 'em have their fun, alright?"
> You shrug Ragnor off and run to make sure the chaos is controlled.
With a heavy sigh, you continue on back to the streets of Church-City, Ragnor's hand not strong enough to keep you back. He and Cecilia follow you nonetheless, though in silence. The way back is uneventful, and the howls of the remaining Wolves are distinct enough to follow. Moving as quickly as possible, you follow your ears to and alley-way, where seven Wolves lay, peacefully licking the blood off their coats. You let out a loud sigh of relief after this, thankful that they didn't cause too much havoc after the fight was won and that they're all in one place. Several of them snarl at you but remain reserved enough so Ragnor can give them a fatherly rub on the head, making them relax. And, as they collectively relax, they slowly morph out of their animal-forms and back to their naked, wonderful selves.
This, your family, will be the fathers of a new nation of Creations. A new beginning for your race.
| 3 |
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The back door, you decide. You want to ensure you get the drop on the Thrall, and don't end up in a firefight with the man, or else the vampire will have time to awaken from his internal, dreamless slumber, and then you don't have a chance in hell. With that decided, you walk towards the house, shotgun gripped tightly in your hand. Surprisingly for a vampire's lair, your surveillance has said that the house is completely lacking in any serious security measures. Locked doors and windows, sure, but they're lacking the reinforced doors, security cameras. It's a young vampire, so you're not expecting legions of Thralls protecting him or runic blood magic protecting the house, but clearly the power's gone to this creature's head.
Moving slowly and softly through the garden around to the back, you still your breathing and do your best to be as soundless as the shadows. You creep through the rose bushes, whose petals look almost eerily beautiful in the moonlight. The sky's light brightens your path, but also makes it harder to sneak, and you just stay low and hope that if the Thrall happens to be looking out the window, he isn't looking too hard.
Edging around to the back, you draw close to the wooden door. You move to the door, standing ready, before striking. Taking a deep breath, you growl, ready to act. You raise your shotgun, firing through the door's lock as you boot it open, quickly stepping through the now opened doorway and into the house.
The Thrall stands in the kitchen, his back turned to you.The Thrall is a short, bearded man, growling and shaking his head repeatedly as he divides a pile of crushed and broken white crystals, no doubt a substitute between his feedings on the vampiric blood he's heavily addicted to. The man quickly turns, his crazed, blood-shot eyes bulging at you as he sees you.
His eyes dart up to you as he growls, an animalistic sound that could only come from a beast. With a roar, he charges for you.
> You smash him aside with the butt of your shotgun
You swing your shotgun as hard as you can, the stock of your shotgun flying into his face. The shotgun butt smacks into his face, shattering the bridge of his nose and sending teeth and blood flying and spewing across the floor.
The man stands there, with a broken nose and blood streaming down his face, skin torn and fleshed bruised, but still standing there. He roars, grabbing you and flinging you into the wall. You smack into the wall, sliding down it onto the ground as you groan in pain. The Thrall rushes forward, drawing a knife as he rams it into your stomach.
You gasp, as the steel pierces and cuts through flesh and guts, and the Thrall precedes to repeatedly and aggressively penetrate your stomach. Blood, stomach acid and the remains of food begin pouring out of your open wound and running down your stomach as death quickly drags you into the endless darkness.
| 4 |
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| 6 | false |
You order everyone to surround Frankie to try to keep him off guard. Frankie watches as the wolfling encircle him, but he’s still slowly moving towards you.
He charges! A couple of the wolfling dive for his legs in an effort to stop him, but he’s like a juggernaut and keeps charging. Fortunately you’re still nimble and get out of his way as he smashes through the wall. The wolflings that dived for his legs, follow up and begin attack him with tooth and claw. It’s not having that great of an effect though, he’s got metal plating on that dead flesh now. Frankie kills the pair of them by smashing their heads together until there is nothing left except mush.
“Everyone grab a weapon! Don’t fight him head on!” you bark at the survivors while attempting to find something. You find a large metal pole, though you’re reluctant to take it, with all the electricity in the damn room.
“It’s useless! You’ll never defeat my boy Frankie!” Victor says.
Frankie begins to approach you again.
> You stand firm and wait for him to charge
You hold the pole like a medieval pike waiting to skewer Frankie when he comes charging at you. It’s like throwing rocks at a tank.
The pole certainly impales Frankie, but it barely slows him down, he continues his rush even as the pole breaks off into him and he slams his heavy body into you hard. You go flying into the wall and collapse on to the floor. Frankie follows up with stomping your head into mush. Werewolves do have regenerative powers, but you won’t be regenerating this severe damage since your brains have leaked out of your head.
| 2 |
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| 4 | false |
Knowing that Vic works with electricity a lot, you figure he’s in that direction. You and the wolflings that are still with you follow, carefully avoiding traps. You travel further to higher levels of the castle where the burning smell is getting stronger. You KNOW you’re getting closer to him. You can feel it. You just hope his “experiment” is as great as he claims. It would suck if there wasn’t a real battle to fight after all this.
You burst into the room with strong burning smell and see big globes of energy, conduits, generators and a big ass corpse with cybernetic implants lying on the table. It’s Frankie with some modifications and absorbing more electricity than lightning rod.
You half expect to see Victor somewhere, but all you hear is the loudspeaker disturbing your ears again.
“You see Wolf! You see! While you’ve been wasting away in that shitty cabin, I’ve been preparing for my son’s come back! You stole his woman! You ended his career! You didn’t just damage him physically, you damaged his mind! Scarred him emotionally! It’s taken me YEARS to undo the damage!”
“Damaged his mind? He was a psychopathic serial pedophile made of corpses! What the fuck kind of damage could I have done? And Mary never liked him anyway!”
“She could’ve learned! He could’ve too! They just needed more time! But YOU! You prevented all that! You and your dog dick!”
“For fuck’s sake, I wasn’t the only one fucking her!”
“Yes, but you’re the one who did it the longest and destroyed my poor boy’s career! You’re going to pay! Ha ha ha ha! He’s up! HE’S ALIVE! HE’S ALIVE! HE’S ALIVE! Frankie look who we have here! And old friend, why don’t you go and give him a big hug?”
Victor goes into his mad scientist laugh yet again, as Frankie “2.0” gets up from the table. He opens his eyes and looks directly at you.
“FRANKIE BEAT YOUR HEAD IN NOW.” He says with a booming voice.
Still as verbal and articulate as ever.
> You fight him head on
Um…no.
Even in your prime you would’ve had problems taking on Frankie in his current updated state. At your age it’s just unthinkable.
You attempt to bite his neck in an effort to tear his head off, but he crushes his strong metallic arms around you squeezing with all his might. Your pack attempts to help, but Frankie is too focused on his revenge. Even when you tear out his eyes, he continues to squash your internal organs until he finally breaks your back and throws you blindly into one of those electric generators.
Your limp corpse fries for a little while, but unlike Frankie, it doesn’t bring you back to life.
| 3 |
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| 3 | false |
Closing your eyes, and trusting that Lucius' winds will shield you from stray arrows, you invoke the ancient runes of Divination, trying to make the magic tell you where the strands of woven magicka, of which the lightning bolt that charred the Fire magus undoubtedly consist, lead to.
This is a task that requires great concentration for several seconds, but your rigid training helps to fade out the screams of the wounded and dying and the clash of weapons.
In what is a split second but which feels like an hour to you, your mind picks up the magical weaves of the spell that had been cast, and unravels them.
You admire the precision and the masterwork, a great lot of energy must have been used up to strike such a powerful bolt of lightning at such precision.
Your mental fingers follow the invisible strands of magic, and you are suprised to find that the origin of the lightning bolt seems to come from the emissary's coach.
You open your eyes again and break your spell, unsure as how to deal with this piece of information. Looking towards the battle, you see that the guards are in serious trouble dealing with the goblins.
You have to act quick.
> You will investigate the emissary's coach.
As you approach the coach, oblivious to the screams for mercy from the battle, the coach's door is openend.
Farhan Brownhand, the emissary of Alzur, exits the coach, brandishing an evil looking, black sword. Directly behind him is his bodyguard, a nondescript man you would not give a second glance on a street, who looks startled at you.
Behind you, you hear Lucius scream, as a small group of goblins throw themselves at the magus, and as you are about to turn, Farhan's bodyguard is behind you with three quick steps, and then, with a stinging pain on your neck, your senses fade to darkness.
| 3 |
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Desperately, you attempt to get your bearing.
From the twoscore warriors that accompanied the emissary's treck, only one dozen survived the initial deadly volley of black arrows.
However, the guards are rallied and charge the enemy, apparently a group of about half a hundredship ragged looking beings you immediatley recognize as large goblins, led by a couple of their shamans. While a single goblin is no match for a human warrior, the shamans double the goblins' threat, and they make up in numbers what they lack in size.
Lucius is using his powers over the wind to make arrows useless, and most goblins have thrown their bows away and now wield evil looking barbed knives.
One guard, trying to charge through the goblins to strike down a shaman, is dragged from his horse, and both the guard and the poor beast soon disappear und the goblin's small twisted bodies.
> The powers of Earth are yours to command.
The rythm of nature, which for you manifests in the Spark, is strong in you.
The Earth will be watered with blood, and there is nothing you can do to prevent this.
However, you can still protect those of your allies that have not yet fallen, and you are determined to see that victory, even against the odds, is yours.
> You will enchant the guards with the protection of Earth.
Trusting Lucius to deflect the stray arrows directed at you with his command over Air, you scramble clumsily up the top of the coach, to get a better overview of the battlefield.
The fighting looks grim, all of the remaining handful of guards are bleeding from dozens of wounds, while the goblin shamans take care that many of those goblins cut down leap back on their feet.
Determined, you act quickly, closing your eyes and drawing the powers from the bowels of the
Earth herself, channeling it gently up the guards' bodies, turning their skin hard as iron.
The guards, at first surprised that the goblins' knives seem to be deflected by their suddenly hard skin, renew the ferocity of their attacks, and the goblin shamans cannot heal their companions quick enough.
It is rather difficult for you to command so many weaves at once, for every time one of your fellow soldiers is hit, it saps a bit of your mental powers to upkeep the enchantment, but you are determined not to let another of your companions fall to the wicked goblin blades.
The goblins, suddenly facing an enemy they cannot hope to defeat, are close to breaking point, when suddenly, your concentration is broken by a terrible scream.
You turn your attention towards Lucius, and see, to your horror, that your companion and friend is spitted on a black and evil looking sword wielded by Farhan Brownhand, the emissary of Alzur.
With the sword's tip coming through his chest, Lucius falls openmouthed and -eyed on the ground, and Master Brownhand lets go of the blade, and turns with a wicked grin towards you.
| 4 |
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Lucius is a tall, slender man. There is always the sly grin on his face, and his hair looks like he has been in a tornado.
Right now, looking at J'Arel and you, his grin nearly splits his face, causing J'Arel to scowl back.
"Well, look who's here. Not suffocated yet, I hope", Lucius grins. J'Arel only snorts with disdain, throwing you a meaningful look as if the journey would have been quite pleasant without your companionship inside the coach.
Before you can think of how to answer that challenge, Lucius continues as if not noticing the tension between the two of you: "Looks like we got ourselves some trouble coming. The captain of the scouts just raced his horse nearly to death coming here, then barely pauses to take a breath before arguing with old Farhan. Seems like they want us to make camp here, instead of driving on, but Farhan doesn't sound too happy about that."
Lucius gives the countryside an appraising glance.
"Can't say I blame them. It's a good position here, with the hills in front and the plains at the back. At least if anyone's sneaking up on us, they're doing so from only one direction."
J'Arel interrupts: "Phah, let them come, so we can finally have some use. I don't see why..."
Lucius holds up a hand to silence J'Arel, cocking his head to one side and closing his eyes, as if listening intently.
As you strain to hear anything untowards yourself, you notice it... the silence is unnatural. Where the journey was accompanied by the rustling of leaves and grass, the chirping and buzzing of insects and the caws of birds, there is now silence... even the horses of the guards seem to hold their breath.
Then suddenly the first volley of arrows hit the group. Lucius curses and hurls himself into the relative but crowded safety of the coach, but a few of the guards do not have as much luck.
The air is filled with the rearing of horses and the screams of the wounded. The captain of the scouts turns to face the enemy, but gives only a gurgle, as you can see the black arrow protruding from his neck.
Blood runs out of his mouth, and for a horrifying second, he seems to stare at you with the paincrazed eyes of the already dead, before falling from his horse only to be gored by the panicking beast.
When you catch yourself again, you see that J'Arel and Lucius are already preparing spells, even if they cannot yet see who is attacking you.
> You will leave the coach, weaving offensive magic to support the guards.
As J'Arel, suddenly engulfed in a flaming aura, leaps out of the coach, you take the exit on the other side.
Immediatley you find yourself dodging panicked horses and stray arrows. Before you get your bearing, a loud crackle is heared, and something like lightning seems to strike nearby. A piercing scream barely recognizable as human tells you that the lightning must have found a target - it came from J'Arel's side of the coach.
| 4 |
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| 10 | false |
Suddenly, the coach shudders to a halt. Voices call out, but your first reaction of worrying is soothed as you recognize them as your scouts' voices.
The captain of the scouts, a burly man in leather armor, approaches the second coach, which is occupied by Master Brownhand, the emissary of Alzura. The captain dismounts his gelding, and appears to speak agitatedly with someone inside the coach - which is all you can make out. Unfortunately, they are too far away to understand a word.
> You will cast a minor spell which allows the air to carry the sound to your ear. [You can do that even without being specialized in Air.]
You mouth the charm to cause the wind carrying the syllables of the captain to your ear.
"...tracks! But did no follow 'em. 's gettin' dark in four hours, now jez be campin now, afore we getta beatin", the captain of the scouts says.
You cannot make out the full reply, only catching a few words: "...plan... alliance with... no harm come... not bandits..."
Then you notice that J'Arel is staring at you with unhidden curiousity, and are just about to comment, when Lucius, who had been riding on the top of the coach, opens the door and breaks your concentration sufficently to drop the spell.
| 4 |
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| 9 | false |
J'Arel looks up from some thought in surprise, as you cough to catch his attention. His cruel eyes narrow themselves, and he pierces you with his look.
"What is it that you want?"
> You say "I don't think I like your attitude, J'Arel."
"I don't think I like your attidue, J'Arel", you reply.
J'Arel only snorts, and answers:
"And this would be your problem, or mine?"
You choke back the angry answer that lies on your tongue. After all, you are supposed to guard the emissary in case of an attack, and not squabble with a fellow magician.
With a dirty glance towards J'Arel, you decide to let the point rest for now.
| 3 |
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| 1 | false |
J'Arel looks up from some thought in surprise, as you cough to catch his attention. His cruel eyes narrow themselves, and he pierces you with his look.
"What is it that you want?"
> You say "Can you tell me anything about the emissary?"
"Less than you, I suppose," J'Arel answers, then sighs and shakes his head.
"I heared he's a powerful mage himself. I don't know why we're to accompany him, Master Brownhand is said to be capable of taking care of himself."
"If I were you, I would rather worry about the road that lies ahead than about or passengers. The road will be getting a lot worse the next days, and when we reach the outskirts of Thalun Forest in two days, who knows what will await us in these ancient, dark and magical woods..." His voice is getting dark and foreboding, and then he suddenly breaks into laughter.
"Peasants' superstition. Likely some bandits roam the Woods, and that's the reason why lone travellers sometimes are never seen again."
He grins, and forms a magical gesture with his left palm, upon which a blueish flame appears there, a ball of pure energy powerful enough to burn through a tree when hurled with enough force.
"However, we are no lone travellers", he adds, his malicious grin broadening. Then, he claps his hands together, and the flame vanishes.
"I doubt that some ragged band of bandits is going to choose us as our target anyway," he says, sounding disappointed. "Those soldiers look like excellent fighters, and I am certain the bandits will see this as well."
| 4 |
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| 6 | false |
It is early summer in the world of Thyr, and the smell of spring has not yet left the air.
The emmissary's trek consists of two coaches, one for the magicians, of which there are two more on board, and one for the emissary and his bodyguard himself. Furthermore, there are two dozens warriors on horse accompanying the trek, some of which are scouting ahead.
It has been two days since you left the Academy of Alzur, and by now you have left the city's military influence, as can be witnessed by the steady growing worse of the road.
You know close to nothing about Fahan Brownhand's - the emissary of Alzur - orders, or about the man himself, save that he is known to be a devious mind and a quick judge of character, abilities well received within a politician.
Also you know that your trek is carrying valuable gifts in jewels and gold for Khalar, the citystate you are destined to reach within the week.
Your two magician-companions are no strangers to you. Opposite of you is sitting J'Arel Whitefang, a young man emitting an aura of arrogance that is barely to bear in the confines of the coach. He is, as you know, a capable Fire elementalist.
Currently on top of the coach, unable to bear the presence of J'Arel any longer, is Lucius Tarchild, an Air mage of some renown. Unfortunately, Lucius is somewhat senior to you, and thus he has the right of first choice, as he explained to you with a wink.
Already weary by the long trip so far, you did not argue.
> You will use the time to study the landscape, as you have never been so far from Alzura before.
There are fewer and fewer fields with toiling peasants, this far away from Alzur's protecting arms. The road snakes through terrain that is, plain spoken, rather boring.
Your thirst for adventure is already seriously dampened - the coach, while preferable to a day on horseback, simply does not beat walking. Anyhow, through the smallish windows, you cannot see much anyway.
Sighing, you turn away from the plain fields, and wish for a book. However, the librarians of the Academy, while usually rather lenient when it came to you, were firm on the fact that no books would leave Alzur. Most likely, they were worried that in foreign lands, people would eat books.
You cannot stiffle your curiousity how the city of Khofte looks like. But that is still a good week ahead, and you suppose that you are dead by boredom until then.
| 4 |
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| 4 | false |
You run for the next building, everything looks safe. No one passes by and the streets are filled with corpses. Perhaps the vanguard has passed by. Taking a breath, you peek out and sense no one.
Slowly you rise and take some tentative steps towards the next building. Though you cross a twenty foot expanse, you safely make it to the next stop. Peeking around the corner, you see a pitiable sight, a small blonde boy is crying over the corpses of his parents in the rubble strewn debris that was once his building. The piercing scream of an incoming flaming boulder smashes into the cobblestones vaporizing everything in your vision and knocking you back.
As you rise, you hear yet another burst far to the rear.
After regaining your feet, you start after where the boy was. There is nothing left but a smoking crater surrounded by a ring of flames. Despite your normal stoic nature, tears threaten to slide down your cheek. Gripping your blade, you force yourself to trudge onwards.
Three streets upward, you notice a firefight going on. Three Essitrean troops are hunkered behind a wall. Each has a crossbow and a fourth soldier lies dead with a bolt sticking out of his neck. You run in a crouch towards their position and fall to a knee beside the sergeant, "What's the situation Sergeant?" You ask.
He turns and almost goes for his sword as he doesn't recognize you but he says, "Mercenary?"
You nod and he grunts, "Figured you all had fled by now, hell if this wasn't my home I'd have fled long ago. Suppose I'll be dying within these old walls soon enough."
A crossbow bolt smacking against the wall brings him back to the fight. "Well, we're trying to reach a defensive position North of here but the bloody Turrics got us cut off. Out of a platoon sized element, only we remain and we're cut off from Main Group. If you can fire a crossbow, your help would be welcome. Hell, even if you can't you can at least take potshots at the bastards."
You nod taking up the Arbalest, a crossbow you are very skilled with and load the bolt. "Where are they located?" You ask.
He darws a quick picture in the dirt with a bolt and says, "We're here, their behind that berm over there. I'm pretty sure there's a sniper a little to the west. Bad thing is, though we can't see him, he can sure as hell see us and he's a crack shot. Took out Ivey with one clean shot, got Spiner just over there." He points to a Essitrean corpse about fifteen feet away, a bolt planted in his back.
Those idiots behind the berm are lousy but they've got us pinned with suppressive fire, can't raise my head without fear of taking bolts, the sniper though, he's the real challenge. We take him out and we can flank. Without him dead, we're stuck in a stalemate."
Add ARBALEST (Crossbow) to your Inventory.
You think over the options:
> You say "Charge the Berm, they can't kill us all!"
You charge the berm and watch as two of your men fall from the crossbows of the opposing soldiers. You are next to fall with a sniper bolt in your neck. As you watch the rest of the men fall you curse your stupidity and choke as blood fills your windpipe and you slowly choke to death facedown in a growing pool of blood.
YOU HAVE FAILED!!!
| 4 |
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| 9 | false |
You grab your blade tightly and look around quickly before dashing over the lip of the crater and towards the blasted wall nearest your left side. Nearby an explosion spurts up chunks of earth and stone as well as the arm of a corpse, high into the air. You watch in horror as the appendage plops onto the sidewalk.
From your left, three Turric warriors rush and assault an injured merchant, stabbing him repeatedly with their wickedly barbed scimitars before looting the man's corpse.
To your right you see another building about twenty feet across some exposed ground.
Do you:
> You wait for the Men to Move On?
The merchant is already dead so why waste your life fighting for him? Also running away will probably attract their attention so you hide and wait for the men to pass. After about three minutes, you see the men move on, one brags about the men he's killed as they turn a corner. As you are just about to leave, another five Turric soldiers appear from around the corner.
You are glad you didn't charge the first three or you might have been fighting eight men by now. You've got the drop on the five men but it seems like it could be really risky. You can also try to sneak away or continue to wait. You take a small breath and exhale as you make your next decision.
You creep towards the edge of the wall ready to make your move.
| 3 |
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| 3 | false |
With the creature destroyed, Farhan's fighting prowess also seems to have suffered. You now see sweat on his face as he attempts to fight through the wolves, who now take the upper hand, to reach you.
His blade still seems to be thirsty for wolfblood, and whenever he strikes one, it remains still. You grip your blade as he appears to make his way through the now encircling wolves which attack him with all their fury, now that most of the goblins are slain, but then his way is bared by the giant black wolf.
It growls, and Farhan takes a step back, for the first time emitting fear. The wolf's growl seems to stop the others attack, and they circle Farhan, forcing him against the wall of the steep hill, next to the cave.
The wolf, apparently content to have trapped the emissary, appears to wait for something. Unsure what is expected from you, you approach Farhan.
When he sees that the wolf seems to wait for you, fear is somewhat replaced with a mixture of grudging respect and hope.
"This is a nice pet you have there", he speaks in that pleasant voice of his, straining to keep it straight. "It won't do me any harm, will it? I can explain..."
But you interrupt him. "It is not my pet, and I have no command over it."
"But... but...", he begins...
> You will question him about his plans.
"My plans? MY plans?", Farhan cackles. "They are not my plans. And if I tell you, then what? You'll call of this beast? You will?"
You try to answer, but he does not let you: "No, I can see my death in its eyes. But I tell you one thing. It wasn't my plan, I was just my masters' tool. The princess... hah... it was a good plan, though... it would have worked, if not for..." His voice trails off and his eyes suddenly have a glazed over look.
Then, he smiles a half crazed smile, and raises his blade as if to salute to you. When he turns it around as if to impale himself, the black wolf leaps.
You turn away in disgust, but the screams of the dying man and the sounds of wolfteeth tearing into living flesh will haunt your nightmares for a long time to come.
| 3 |
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| 10 | false |
With the creature destroyed, Farhan's fighting prowess also seems to have suffered. You now see sweat on his face as he attempts to fight through the wolves, who now take the upper hand, to reach you.
His blade still seems to be thirsty for wolfblood, and whenever he strikes one, it remains still. You grip your blade as he appears to make his way through the now encircling wolves which attack him with all their fury, now that most of the goblins are slain, but then his way is bared by the giant black wolf.
It growls, and Farhan takes a step back, for the first time emitting fear. The wolf's growl seems to stop the others attack, and they circle Farhan, forcing him against the wall of the steep hill, next to the cave.
The wolf, apparently content to have trapped the emissary, appears to wait for something. Unsure what is expected from you, you approach Farhan.
When he sees that the wolf seems to wait for you, fear is somewhat replaced with a mixture of grudging respect and hope.
"This is a nice pet you have there", he speaks in that pleasant voice of his, straining to keep it straight. "It won't do me any harm, will it? I can explain..."
But you interrupt him. "It is not my pet, and I have no command over it."
"But... but...", he begins...
> You want him to surrender his blade - it looks like a powerful object of magic.
"My... my blade? Yes, here, have it", he quickly burbles and throws it on the ground.
You move to pick it up, concious of the giant wolf next to you. But when you bend down to touch it, it snakes upwards as if moved by a ghostly hand.
You scream in pain as the blade bites deep into your flesh, and you feel your soul drawn from your body into its hungry metal.
Your agony is so great that you do not even hear Farhan's mad laughter as the wolves rip him to pieces.
| 4 |
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| 10 | false |
The goblins flee before you, and after ten minutes in pursuit - your lungs are about to give away - you arrive at a spooky scenery: Apparently the goblins' camp is under attack by wolves!
Their howl fills the night and make it seem even more dark. The goblins, under attack from all sides, fight with uncommon valor, but even the surprise reinforcements that fled before you are cut down by the powerful jaws of the wolves within seconds.
A black, wolfformed shape is within their midst, and the goblins fight back in terror, but hopelessly, against its devastating power.
The camp is situated near a steep hill, and has a caveentrance. And out of that, a creature of your nightmares comes... it is the ugliest, and hugest goblin you have ever seen, with sharp claws like that of a troll. And beside it, stands Farhan Brownhand, the man you came to search for, wielding his dark blade.
Farhan moves like a dancer between the goblins and the wolves, and whenever he swings his blades, a wolf falls down motionless. The big creature swings its long arms, regardless of hitting friend or foe, and whenever it hits, the victim is flung into the air.
Farhan alone would suffice to turn the tide of battle in favour for the goblins, and with the strange creature against them, the wolves do not stand a chance.
Even though you know the next spell might cost you your conciousness, you have to act fast.
> You are an Adept of Water.
When you reach out for your mental powers, you suddenly realize that the creature is a magical construct, a being created and twisted from its natural form into a mindless killing machine, and quite likely insane.
You also realize what Farhan must be... a nethermancer, a Magus trained in the arts of the Lôrn, the Dark Empire. Master Brownhand weaves not with the Patterns of the world to create his spells, but rather against them - an abominable thought to any thinking Magus. He does not work with the essence of the world, he destroys it, like a vampire living from the blood of others.
Shuddering, you prepare to unravel the magical being's antipattern, knowing that if you wish to harm Farhan, you have to destroy his creature first.
Patiently, and hoping he does not notice you yet, you mentally search the creature's being for a point of attack. It is difficult to do so without getting closer, but you do not dare to.
You are no priest, but you remember once having a spirited discussion with one, and you know that what you have in mind is not unlike the banishing of undeath the priests of Thyr are able to perform.
Patiently, you seek on, and there, you find it... a scar in the weave of the being, like a twisted, cancerous knot. You feel for it, and then, with determination to end this miserable creature's unlife, you give it a sharp mental pull.
The creature screams in rage and pain, and flails blindly with those long arms of it, felling both goblin and wolf. Then, after a brief struggle, it falls down to the ground, the twisted pulsating knot and weave that gave it its unnatural life gone.
Farhan screams in rage as he sees his creature destroyed.
| 4 |
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| 10 | false |
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