Let's Sperg Let’s Sperg! Stolen Realm - Dungeons and Dickpunching – Kiwi Adventure Edition

[Mooger Meng]

23 – They Wake


Now that the party has hit level 30, the upgrade vendor in Wyrmrest can be a lot more useful. Some of this gear has been sitting in the inventory for a long time, and upgrading anything is a significant expense, but there’s not a whole lot else to spend the money on.

Normal Battle (Bitterblack Isle) – Tadayoshi Makino – Dragon’s Dogma: Dark Arisen​

Jon leads you through the swamp at a breakneck pace, weaving through its rotting boughs with a speed born of fear. As you hurtle towards the edge of Freewind, more feral screams rip through the air, issuing from beasts great and small.
Many of them seem to converge in Talestone’s direction. You do not waste the time to ask the others if they hear it as well, and hope against hope that you are instead mistaken.



As you crash through the outer bounds of the forest, a pack of terrified wolves finds itself tangled in your furious advance. There is a quick and vicious scramble between you and they, a running skirmish that ends once the animals are convinced that you are charging toward the thing that they are fleeing.



Once again, the earth rumbles. As fields race past, plumes of soil rise with a violent crash, spewing dirt and stone into the air on currents of raw mana.
Schisse!
What the fu-
Go! Keep your footing and go!
Even the earth bleeds…


From somewhere on high, there is a sudden jolt, a crackle of wild lightning that grows ever more loud. You look up and shout in alarm, grabbing the collar of Jon’s jacket before he rushes towards the spike of metal and bone hurtling earthward like a javelin.
Back! Backbackback!


The contraption lands with a thundering crash that knocks all of you to the ground. You tumble, seeing a few of the others land more gracefully as the world spins, then feel your hair stand on end as a charge builds in the air.
Cyka blyat!
Joseph’s outburst is all you hear before a blinding flash and deafening retort hurls you even further across the turf, the world swimming dangerously.


You feel several more shudders through the ground as you assuage your budding concussion, only for several shards of warped, melting metal to shear the air beside your head. Blinking away your shock and confusion, you see Chardler grimacing as smoke billows from his hands and chest while Ofone steadies your shaking feet.
Wha-
Dealt with it. Not important. You good?
You shake your head, pouring more of Altima’s light through your form, then steel yourself.
… Will be.
Good. C’mon.


… It hurts…
A faint voice cuts through the distant screams before you resume your mad dash. Somehow, it causes Chardler to turn even more pale, his head snapping toward the clearing where you hear it drifting from.
… Please…


Don’t leave me…


… Charlotte. I’m here.
… Chardler? It’s… it’s really you, isn’t it?
It is. I… I’m sorry. I should have protected you.
We would have both died.
Such thin bindings… She won’t last long.
They’re here, Chardler. They wake. Stop them.


I will.
Please…
I promise.
… Cold…


The pyromancer calls a cloud of embers into his hands and reaches for the spirit, mimicking a gentle embrace. The orange motes of light pass through her form, binding to what little remains for scant seconds before winking out of existence. When they dissipate, they take the spirit with them.
The mask of aloof courtesy you have grown so accustomed to seeing on Chardler’s face all but shatters. He twists his head aside, pursing his lips and squeezing his eyes shut as the drake pups croon and press their heads against his neck. After a moment, he tamps his staff on the ground with both hands, wringing it in a desperate bid to keep his composure.
Without a word, Ofone steps forward and rests a hand on the mage’s shoulder, giving a staunch shake. You hear Chardler draw a wavering breath through his nose that he exhales just as haltingly.
… She’s gone, Chardler.
I know.
You’re not.
… I know.


As the others grow restless, the pyromancer straightens back up. It takes him a moment to blink his eyes clear and steady his breathing, but it is enough to regain his wits.
Before he can speak, the drakelings fly into a panic once more. As they screech and flap and spit flames, a shadow passes over the clearing that casts a stiff downdraft at your group. The pups whip and tumble in midair, their fear palpable, as the creature’s form lands with a solid thud just beyond the trees.


Then, it lumbers forward with a menacing, sibilant growl.
… Oh, shit.
After your party’s average level hits a certain threshold I’m not 100% sure of, dragons finally start showing up as potential enemies.


Ice trickles down your spine. The dragon must be the size of a good working horse, perhaps larger, with leathery wings longer than you are tall. A sinuous distillation of havoc and ruin that crackles with lightning and barely-contained energy, glowering at you all like the predator it is.
Perhaps I owe you a gesture of gratitude.


Were it not for your meddling, I would have needed to wait so many of your lifetimes to see destruction incarnate as flesh.
I could have, if the need struck. But it would have been so dreadfully boring.
A shame this creature is not mine to direct. But now that you have loosed them into the world once more, it is only a matter of time.
A swift death is perhaps more than you deserve for all the woe you have caused. But I am a merciful God.
That ring could be nice… but not nice enough to deal with all the extra bullshit right now.


As the fae retreats with a peal of laughter, you hear even more sets of leathery wings approach. The remainder of the clutch, drawn to their elder in the hopes of a meal.
For a moment, all is still and tense as you and your companions match threatening stares with the pack of ravenous drakes.
At long last, we’ve finally hit Peak Fantasy Bullshit. The natural endpoint of 90% of generic fantasy settings.
Time to beat the shit out of a bunch of dragons.

Tense Battle (Bitterblack Isle) – Tadayoshi Makino – Dragon’s Dogma: Dark Arisen​

Then, the world explodes into motion.


With a firm kick, Ofone sends a barrel of emberleaf rolling towards the drake with a dangerous sizzle. A lattice of ice and thorns spring up in its wake, herding the impending blast away from the corner of the grove where you have found yourselves.


NOW!
With a word, flames coalesce into a humanoid figure near the dragon. You turn before the explosion blinds you, but still you feel the sting of debris that slips past the crude barricade.
The crimson drakelings give diminutive roars in tandem and veer into the second inferno, feeding on the arcane flames before loosing them at the encroaching foe.


You feel the air shift, a pressure pulling it away from you in a frenzy. With a glance, you see the larger drake give a tremendous sweep of its wings that sends the wind into a spiral, launching stones and shattered wood across the field at random.
Nearby, Joseph lets out a frustrated grunt and gestures toward the beast. A sudden clap of lightning strikes it in the head, sending it reeling for a moment.
All dragons use some kind of elemental damage or otherwise themed attacks. Greens, as you can see here, use Lightning magic.
This one isn’t a boss, however, so it’s still eminently vulnerable to crowd control skills.


You turn your attention, calling on Altima to empower Ofone before he sprints off into the crowd of shrieking whelps that hover at the far edge of the clearing. With a roar, he leaps at them mid-stride, landing in the middle of the pack and slamming his weapon against the ground. The sheer fury of it must set off some small quake, which Adolf is swift to capitalize on by plunging the temperature low enough that it shocks the dragonlings to the ground in a sluggish heap.


Another blast of lightning in their midst seems to put paid to the lesser beasts, while Adolf turns the full weight of his craft against the larger beast. You see an ethereal scythe rise above its neck, but the strike is hidden behind an outcrop of rock that juts up in the middle of the clearing. Still, it cannot quiet the beast’s pained scream, nor hide the prodigious spray of crimson that follows.


… Did… d-did we get ‘em?


No sooner than Jon speaks, the sky above darkens with an ominous rumble. Unbidden, clouds roll in overhead, and a great shadow rips from their heart, careening towards your group.
You wince and duck low on instinct, feeling the rush of giant wings as the creature banks moments before it would slam into the dirt. It turns with alarming grace, hovering over the ruins as it regards you all with a cold, calculating stare.


Even as it lingers, it dwarfs any other creature you have seen in your time. Its low growl evokes the same feeling of panic a deer must feel on hearing a gun cock in the nearby brush; your limbs threaten to lock in place as fear grips you by the throat. In the corner of your vision, you see that Jon is little better, his eyes wider than you have seen them before.
The dragon does not know who you are. But it knows quite well what you are, and there is no doubt in your mind that it hates you for the high crime of your existence.


Then Ofone shoulders past both of you, mustering just enough force to jolt your seizing bodies into motion.
I didn’t bring a bunch of tyros to war. Keep your nerve. You’re better than this.
The dragon gives a rattling hiss, but his gruff encouragement breaks whatever spell it held over you. Jon nods and darts to one side, and you hear boots moving through the grass as the others fan out. Ofone strides through a ruined archway, rolling his shoulders… after a moment of hesitation so quick, you believe he is just finding his footing among the turf.
Well… shit.
Come on then, fucker!
For the most part, boss dragons are gigantic buckets of HP. The green still has Armored and Regeneration baked in, but no other surprises. Control Resistance is just normal boss stuff.

Hopeless Battle (Bitterblack Isle) – Tadayoshi Makino – Dragon’s Dogma: Dark Arisen​

The beast roars a challenge, darting forward as Ofone draws his shield close. There is a horrid shriek when its claws rake against the metal, but you ignore it. You must ignore it, lest fear lock you in place once again.
You feel something brush your leg, and stoop to grasp the volatile keg in a shaking hand. When you release it, it rolls past the warrior as he wards off the dragon’s assault, his own boots shoving it further behind the beast.
As with any lone target, the first round is our best chance to set up for a proper dickpunch. We’ve got a frost and thunder barrel near at hand to start with, and Ofone backs up a space to be clear of the blast once it happens.



Adolf mutters long-forgotten curses, and Chardler snarls as his inner fire threatens to set the ground beneath him alight. A sudden lasso of thorns snares its hindleg, but the dragon rips it from the dirt like a cheap thread. Still, it is enough to give Ofone a short chance to lash out at the beast.



While you pool holy light into your hands, Joseph’s pistols bark in a hurried cadence, each shot crackling with lightning as the barrels kick wildly.
DOWN, NOW!
You see Ofone’s head whip to the side when Joseph roars, and in that instant his eyes shoot wide. The blond man hurls himself away from the dragon as you hear an ominous hum build to a crescendo.
Huh, I must have forgotten about this when I reset Joseph’s skills before. Tracker’s Mark is a T1 Ranger spell that serves as a nice force multiplier, and pairs well with his own crit-hunting aside from the damage boost for everyone else.

There is a single click, and one of the guns vaporizes as the collected energy all but overcomes Joseph’s control. For a moment, you see a beam of pure lightning emerge from the end of the disintegrating weapon and the dragon’s own look of alarm.
Then, all the world turns white and silent, save for a high whine.



You feel Ofone’s blood boil as he lashes out at the dragon. Shadows fill the silent void that you see plain and clear: crimson outlines of your companions and the dragon, the blurry masses of black where necromantic power animates the dead, streaks of orange-white as Chardler directs the red pups to strike alongside him.
You spare no time to mend your senses. Altima’s blessing is enough to carry out your duty.



The beast falters. Something strains its beating wings, forcing it to the ground where Ofone has more than ample room to lay into its thick hide with wrath and fury.
… Oh, that’s amazing. A Freeze managed to get past its CC resistance!


With a furious roar you feel ripple through the air, the dragon takes flight once again. You do not hear it speak, but you understand the rage and hatred behind its utterance more clearly than any words could describe.
Its first breakpoint is to summon a pair of lesser Green Drakes, like what we dealt with earlier. The second is to prime a bunch of lightning AoEs for the next turn.


The beast attempts to swipe at Ofone, who catches the blow on his shield and retaliates with a wild swing of his own. Perhaps it struck something vital – the dragon comes crashing to the earth in the next instant, reeling and unsteady on its feet when it rises.
lol Ofone managed a dodge counter on this thing’s one melee attack


As your vision begins to return, you wrap the warrior in holy might. He hefts his mace with both hands, and you see bright rivulets of blood stream down the beast’s face as the blow strikes true.
Beside you, Chardler shouts... something. You cannot hear the words, but the anger behind them is palpable.

Then a line of white-hot flame cleaves the air, striking the dragon in the face. It recoils and rears up on its hindlegs, thrashing in pain as a fountain of crimson paints the trees.
Then it collapses to the ground, graceless and limp. Its lesser kin screech and take wing, ignoring you all in their haste to flee.


The great beast’s claws continue to twitch and shudder long after its breathing comes to a halt. As you lean on your staff and repair your damaged senses, you cannot shake the feeling that its remaining eye still tracks your movement.
… Holy shit.
Good kill, pyromancer.
…
Minerva?
… We… We need to get back. Gods onl... only know what else is here.
No sooner do you say as much, the sounds of battle drift into the clearing. All heads turn at the clash of steel and the clamor of voices raised in anger.
But something in the din causes your heart to race. A voice, a bellow of tempered rage. Once thought locked away for a lifetime, now unleashed like a rabid animal in the throes of crisis.
Oh, for the love of-
He does not need to finish speaking. All of you take off once again, hurtling towards Talestone’s gates.

 

[Mooger Meng]

Intermission

Now that the party has hit max level and their builds have more or less finalized, it seems like a good enough time as any for a breakdown of what each of our raging retards is capable of. I’ll also be showing their gear and stats, but won’t go into much detail on what each and every bit does unless it has some kind of significance.


We’ll start with Minerva, of course. Her gear isn’t too interesting, all told – her staff gives a percentile bonus to her holy power (+40% when raised to a level 30 item), her ring provides a trickle of healing per turn (Living Band) and its modifier (Distancing) gives her spells an extra hex of range, and she’s still running a Blessed Locket over anything better since that’s a skill point she doesn’t have to spend on Bless directly. Am I overvaluing the skill? Probably, but on the standard difficulty you can get away with sub-optimal play, as this run has been proving.


Minerva’s skills are “easy” to summarize with her single-minded focus. By and large she’s here to keep the team going, but through her skills she’s able to squeeze in some extra damage while doing so. Still, killing things isn’t her job.

1 – Cure. Heals a moderate amount of HP. Her bread-and-butter skill. Thanks to later skills, she can cast this every turn.
2 – Empowered Light 1. Increases holy power by 10% A modest increase to Healing and all Holy effects.
3 – Blinding Light. Deals minor holy damage and Blinds the target. This isn’t terribly useful with the other lockdown options the team has, but with no AP cost it’s free damage she can toss out.
4 – Shield of Light. Blocks a set amount of damage to the target until depleted or the effect ends. A defensive skill with no AP cost, which lasts for 3 turns or until it blocks a generous amount of damage. However, it doesn’t prevent status effects.
5 – Empowered Light 2. Increase Empowered Light's bonuses by 15% to 25% total. A real no-brainer for Minerva's monofocus.
6 – Glory. Once per battle when this character would be slain, they are prevented from falling below 1 HP until the next turn. A great panic button for anyone who invests in the Light tree, really.
7 – Purify. Removes all debuffs from the target. Carries no AP cost, and can be used while the caster is Disabled. Great when something goes wrong and you need a panic heal or one last push to finish the battle.
8 – Mass Cure. Heals a moderate amount of HP in a small area. Heals more than Cure, affects tiles 2 away from the center, but has an extra turn of cooldown.
9 – Light’s Endurance. Increases Vitality by 20% of its total. This (and all other passives that increase stats) is calculated after all equipment bonuses are added. Since Minerva casts from her HP, Vitality is even more important than usual; if it runs low enough, she won’t be able to heal until something gets her back over the threshold.
10 – Light’s Strength. Increases Might by 20%. Remember, Might affects spell damage as well as melee damage.
11 – Shield of Retribution. Grants an ally a stronger shield than Shield of Light, which explodes with fire damage if it’s depleted before it runs its course. Still useful in panic moments or situations when it looks like one of the softer party members is about to take a beating.
12 – Holy Ground. Generates an AoE for 3 turns that heals allies for a small amount when they first enter or begin their turn inside. Has no AP cost, which is handy for extended healing between shots of Mass Cure.
13 – Divine Intervention. Heals the target to full HP. The premier panic heal, best used for emergencies or to fuel our Viking Death Engine.
14 – Lingering Light. Adds a small regeneration effect to all direct healing skills (so, it doesn’t work with Holy Ground). The effect is even less than Regenerate’s, but is nice to keep your units topped off between turns.
15 – The Good Doctor. Reduces the cooldown of all Light skills by 1 turn. This is a big grab that allows Minerva to keep healing as much as possible; Cure and Purify can be used every turn, and many of her other skills can be tossed around with near abandon.
16 – Seal of Salvation. While active, heals all allies nearby for a modest amount per turn. It’s slightly weaker than Cure, but is free with Edwin’s.
17 – Ascendancy – Increases the target’s core stats (Might, Dexterity, Vitality, Intelligence, Reflex) by 40% for 2 turns. With a long cooldown, this can’t be cast quite as often as you might like, but suddenly spiking your damage dealer’s stats into low orbit is often worth it.
18 – Redemption. Once per battle when any non-summon party member would be slain, they are restored to full HP and mana. A worthy safety net, and seeing one of your dudes explode into a golden pillar of light is a sign that you might want to stop fucking around.
19 – Wrath of the Righteous. All skills that heal can now deal damage to hostile targets. This includes stuff like Holy Ground, Seal of Salvation, and Lingering Light, meaning your healer can get some licks in while not compromising their primary duty or branching out into a different tree.

The true crux of the Suicide Healer build is some method of casting from their HP, which means either the Edwin’s Enchantment Fortune or the Fever skill from Fire. I prefer Edwin’s, since that means you don’t have to split 8 skill points off into Fire, but there are passives along the way that could make your healer do more damage/healing if you take that route instead.
This isn’t the first run I’ve used the Suicide Healer build, either. Granted, that character was built more like a tank until she got high enough for Wrath of the Righteous to come online, then got a ridiculous greatsword that gives something like +60% holy power and some other survival Fortunes along the way; she is/was imminently capable of soloing maps by just grinding enemies down with Seal of Salvation, Holy Ground, and judicious use of Mass Cure while flatly refusing to die. Minerva has it a little easier, with the rest of the party around to explode most enemies instead; for the most part, any damage she deals is a happy benefit of keeping the party alive.


Jon’s gear is mostly grab-bag stuff that’s been sitting around in the inventory. The Mortician suffix on his gun increases summon health by 4%, but since he barely has any points spared for Intelligence that’s not a great base to start with. Since his summons are doing most of the lifting, the key here is getting his Dexterity and Reflex up as high as reasonable, which I feel has gone off without much of a hitch.



Jon’s build is also mostly self-contained, as his dips into other trees are for various T1 and T2 skills to help shore up gaps in his resources. While I’ve made summoners who double-dip between Nature and Shadow for as many minions as possible, there aren’t quite enough skill points to get absolutely everything if you decide to pursue that option. So, Jon has a more direct secondary support role with healing and mana restoration, damage increases, and a little bit of crowd control for good measure.

1 – Brambles. Create 4 obstacles that last for 4 turns or until destroyed, that deal physical damage to any unit that attacks them. Nice for fucking with enemy pathing and otherwise preventing melee enemies from charging past the front line.
2 – Entangle. Immobilizes the target, applies 2 stacks of Poison, and deals minor physical damage. This has no AP cost, making it useful as a last-ditch option to keep a unit without Control Resistance in place if things go wrong. Even then, the Poison also makes it handy for extra damage.
3 – Nature Summoning 1. Summons a crow, coyote, or raccoon at random. All of these critters are relatively fragile and don’t hit very hard, but have an additional effect when they are on the field: crows self-cast Evasion to dodge 1 attack, coyotes Cripple targets to reduce move range, and raccoons Exhaust a target to reduce their AP. Of the three, I find raccoons are the most broadly useful.
4 – Beast Master 1. Summons receive a 10% increase in damage and health. Simple and effective, even if Jon’s build relies more on Reflex and Dexterity than Might and Intelligence to boost his minions.
5 – Venomous Skin. Causes a target to apply 3 stacks of Poison to any unit that attacks it for a few turns. I had initially grabbed this to toss on Ofone or the summons, but I don’t end up using it often. Or ever, really. I could have put this somewhere more useful, but oh well.
6 – Bad Bloom. Creates a small, long-duration AoE that applies 2 stacks of Poison to hostile units each turn. This sees more use than the previous skill, for sure, but it’s not something I use all the time. Mostly in boss fights; in most other situations, it procs enough for free from another skill in the tree that I don’t worry about it.
7 – Beast Master 2. 15% added to the Beast Master bonuses for 25% total. Great for summon builds, useless otherwise.
8 – Good Bloom. Creates a small, long-duration AoE that restores HP and mana to friendly units. I use this a lot, as it’s one of the few non-potion methods the team has to restore mana. This skill also stacks, though by itself that’s hard to take advantage of for more than a turn.
9 – Stun Spores. Stuns enemies in a small blast radius. A great lockdown spell with no AP cost, though a 4-turn cooldown prevents you from going crazy with it.
10 – Nature Summoning 2. Summons a wolf, stag, or boar at random. Wolves can Howl to reduce enemy damage, stags can knock back a single target, and boars get a damage buff when they drop below a certain amount of HP. All of them are decently strong melee units that can hold the line for a turn or two if they aren’t getting hammered by multiple enemies.
11 – Mass Entangle. Causes minor physical damage to all enemies, and applies Immobilize and 3 stacks of Poison. Costs AP, but deals more damage and an extra Poison stack over Entangle and hits the whole map.
12 – Rainstorm. Creates an AoE that increases the effects of mana-based skills by 50%. Another one I keep forgetting to use, but I really should for the extra oomph it provides. I also don’t quite know if it stops working when the target is casting from their HP, like Minerva is.
13 – Circle of Life. When an enemy dies, there is a 50% chance to spawn either a Good Bloom or Bad Bloom on its hex. This is best at keeping the wave of summons the party uses in the fight longer, as well as helping Joseph and Ofone a little between turns. It’s also why I don’t cast Bad Bloom all that much, since corpse flowers just kind of spring up all over the place.
14 – Natural Selection. Recover 5% of max HP and mana when any unit dies. I intended this to help Jon by refunding mana from all the summons getting whacked, but they’re not getting killed at a rate to make it work like I thought it would. Not that I’m complaining!
15 – Titan Bloom. Creates a small, long-duration AoE that increases max HP and damage of friendly units by 15%. Stacks like Good Bloom, but there’s no other way to spawn them unless you have multiple party members with the skill. Still, 15% isn’t bad.
16 – Nature Summoning 3. Summons a bear, moose, or panther. The biggest, most foul-tempered wildlife you can get under normal circumstances, capable of hitting hard and (mostly) taking a beating without issue. Panthers use Stealth and short-range teleports to strike with high spike damage but aren’t very sturdy, bears apply Bleed through a cleave effect, and moose can Stun everything around them. Panthers are probably the least useful, since they will immediately hit Stealth and try to pick off weaker targets where bears and moose will park in front of the nearest foe like an angry doorstop.
17 – Ecosystem. Every active summon increases your own summons’ max HP, Damage and Healing by 5%. I don’t know if this counts all summons in play or only those that this character has created, but that’s still a good boost as fights drag on.
18 – Contemplation 1. Increases max mana by 10%.
19 – Endurance 1. Increases max HP by 10%.
20 – Contemplation 2. 15% added to Contemplation's bonus for 25% total. All three of these skills are cheap picks to help Jon’s survivability and give him plenty of mana to work with.
21 – Necromancer 1. Summons receive a 10% increase in damage and health. As I’m certain that bonuses stack additively, this brings Jon’s summon bonus up to 35%.
22 – Blessed by Light 1. Reduces all mana costs by 10%.

All told, Jon’s a rather orthodox Summoner archetype. Not a whole lot of flashy stuff from him directly, but a good supporting unit for the rest of the team. A crazier player might think to go full Nature, grabbing the shapeshift skills as well to run out with the rest of the summons and break face, but that would also benefit from a larger focus in Might and Vitality to keep it from falling apart too quickly.


Now Adolf, on the other hand, has a few choice pieces of gear to mention. Namely, the wand and shield he is using both raise his summon limit by 1, giving him 6 total active at any given time. And since he has a LOT of summons, that can fill up fast! Otherwise, just about all of his gear gives either a damage or HP bonus to his summons, as well as a bonus to his Might or Intelligence. Like Jon, his stats are mostly there to support his minions, but he has a few more options available.



Also like Jon, Adolf has a support summoner build. But with Shadow being split between summons and damage skills, I had the leeway to branch him out deeper into other trees. With Jon shouldering the other half of the summon skills, Adolf can play around with a novel build I hadn’t tried before this run.

1 – Raise Skeletal Archer. Necromancers start with ranged minions instead of Nature’s melee critters, and as such they’re more interested in damage than staying power. Archers aren’t much, but early on it’s nice to have an extra source of ranged damage.
2 – Necromancer 1. Same as Jon, and just as useful.
3 – Curse. Reduces a target’s received healing by 50% and all of its resistances by 20%. The healing reduction rarely comes into play, but as I found out with the Sultan, when it does it can be significant. The general use of Curse is against bosses and other hard targets for the resistance reductions, and is frequently one of the party’s first actions in those cases.
4 – Spectral Chains. Deals minor shadow damage and Immobilizes a target. Like Entangle, this was more useful in the early game before we had access to a lot of lockdowns and decoys. Also like Entangle, it has no AP cost and is a bit of chip damage we can pile on with.
5 – Poison Cloud. Applies 4 stacks of Poison in an area. This party doesn’t utilize Poison very much since we don’t have a Rogue, but again, this is an AP-free action that gives us some DoT between turns.
6 – Necromancer 2. 15% added to the Necromancer bonuses for 25% total. Yes, it’s a carbon copy of Beast Master, and a dedicated summoner will aim to have rank 2 of both skills if possible.
7 – Raise Skeleton Warrior. Skele knights are the one melee unit in this summon set, and are decently resilient for their purpose. They can throw out Cleave every few turns, allowing them to damage crowds that inevitably gather around.
8 – Mana Drain. Lowers a target’s mana by 20% of its maximum, then restores the caster’s mana by 20% of their maximum. Anything described as a Drain effect works off of the source’s max values, not the target’s. This means that Mana Drain will always burn 20% of the target’s max and restore 20% of the caster’s, no matter the numbers or even if the target has any mana to burn!
9 – Exorcism. Deals modest Shadow damage and removes all buffs from a target, dealing a second hit if any buffs are dispelled. The dispel effect is the main draw since Adolf isn’t built for raw damage, and I will never stop being annoyed that this is the only ranged dispel the party has access to.
10 – Raise Skeleton Mage. Mages cast Ghost Armor on themselves when summoned, then attack with Frost Nova and Tornado while on the board. Since they don’t deal physical damage, they stand out in comparison to other skill-granted summons.
11 – Reaper’s Scythe. Deals increasing amounts of shadow damage for every 10% of the target’s missing HP. One of Adolf’s best damage spells, for what it’s worth, even though direct damage isn’t his main purpose. Still, it’s a “kill boss harder” button, and Mana Drain can help offset the cost.
12 – Lich Lord. Summons no longer require AP to cast. This is The Big One, allowing Adolf to run down his entire list of summons in the opening moves of a fight. With Fortune-granted summons, we can almost double the effective size of the party as soon as a fight starts!
13 – Freeze Earth. Creates an AoE that applies 1 stack of Chill to hostile targets each turn. 1 stack isn’t much by itself, but it’s a start and can add up when enemies get tied up in our mass of summons and viking rage.
14 – Frostbite 1. Chill applied by this character also reduces damage by 2% per stack. This makes the previous skill more useful, stretching the front line’s HP and forcing targets to stay in danger zones longer.
15 – Deep Freeze. Apply Frozen to a single target. Technically it drops 5 stacks of Chill, but the result is the same hassle-free lockdown that has a few hard counters when Chill Immune foes crop up.
16 – Frostbite 2. 3% added to Frostbite’s penalty, for 5% total. That’s 20% reduced damage just before a target freezes over.
17 – Ice Wall. Create 4 obstacles that last for 4 turns or until destroyed, that deal cold damage to any unit that attacks them. It’s Brambles, but ice cream flavored and deeper in its respective tree! We can lock down a large swath of routes to the party between the two, so it’s more useful than it might seem.
18 – Frozen Spikes. Fire 5 individually-targeted projectiles that deal minor cold damage. This can be used to instantly cause Frozen on a target, or spread Chill among several to trigger Frostbite or even Freeze if they are near the threshold. The damage is piddly, but who cares?
19 – Brain Freeze. For 3 turns, the marked unit takes moderate cold damage when it takes a non-move action. I don’t use this as much as I probably ought to, since most bosses have Control Resistance and I’d like to trip Frozen during the enemy turn. Still, it’s damage that stacks up when the enemy does anything, and is useful against things prone to multiattack freakouts.
20 – Ice Storm. Create a large AoE for 2 turns that deals moderate cold damage. With a 5 tile range, this skill hits one of the largest areas in the game. It has an equally-massive 5 turn cooldown, meaning it will only get used once per battle in most cases.
21 – Frozen Core. Chill effects applied by the caster also reduce the target’s max HP by 5% per stack. This isn’t as useful as you’d think, since Chill clears on the 5th stack regardless if the target can be Frozen or not. Still, it’s a percentile HP shave, and those are never completely useless.
23 – Beast Master 1. Oh hey, Adolf had a spare skill point after all that. Wherever could I put it to be useful…?

In contrast to Jon, Adolf has more skills to directly mess with the enemy rather than support the party. It works out quite well between the two of them, all told: Adolf does a little set up before unleashing the proverbial hounds, then sits back and lets them do most of the heavy lifting while he tosses cold damage around to lock down certain targets before they cause too much trouble. Splitting summon duties between the pair means he has the skill points to spare for it, and keeps him useful after the first turn with something other than piddly wand shots until his minions croak.


Now, Joseph is a bit silly. Thanks to a little grinding I did before the next part, I managed to score him a pair of melee weapons that innately deal lightning damage. Then all the rest of his gear, except for his ring, gives a bonus to his lightning damage – something to the tune of 143%, if my math is right.
Oh, and he also has a base critical chance of 82%, with a damage modifier of 313%.
And that’s just his gear.


Joseph’s skills don’t jump around too much – there are a lot he would like to have, and only so many points to buy them with. Still, there’s enough to grab the important stuff when and where it counts.

1 – Dazzling Darts. Fires 3 individually-targeted projectiles that deal minor lightning damage. This was a nice option early on, but mostly goes unused now. Still, I had to have something to get the next tier of skills unlocked.
2 – Stormbringer 1. Increases critical chance by 5%.
3 – Enchant Lightning. Enchant an ally’s attacks to deal extra lightning damage. Joseph used this on himself to stack Shock; now, it’s all but useless as he does that with his shiny new hammers.
4 – Tempest. Deals moderate lightning damage in a short line from the caster and Cripples affected targets for 2 turns. Cripple reduces movement, which is nice against shit like the Dwarven Warmachi- oh wait, anything with enough move to cross the map has Control Resistance anyway.
5 – Stormbringer 2. Increases Stormbringer’s bonus by 8% to 13% total. More crits, more better.
6 – Gathering Storm. Increases max mana by 20%. When he’s not using Edwin’s, Joseph is constantly having mana issues, and this helps a little.
7 – Aura of Lightning. While active, deals light lightning damage to any enemies within a short range every turn. With Joseph running around as much as he does, he can paint a lot of things with a few ticks of Shock with little issue. This can also explode barrels, so a little discretion is necessary at times.
8 – Teleport Other. Select a single target, ally or enemy, and teleport them to a location within line of sight of the caster. This is probably one of the best utility skills in the game, hands down. Nothing resists Teleport Other, regardless of how much Control Resistance it might have. Sure, it can be used on your own units in an emergency, but its first and best use is as a “Fuck Directly Off” button.
9 – Lightning Bolt. Deals moderate lightning damage in a moderate AoE. Very basic, very useful.
10 – Chain Lightning. Fires a bolt of lightning at a target for moderate damage. This bolt can bounce to another target within a short distance, up to 5 times. This spell can ping-pong between two targets until it burns out, or jump around a large crowd at something close to random. Position of the enemy is a big thing to consider for most, if not all Lightning magic.
11 – Storm Brewing. This character’s Shock effects also increase Critical Hit Chance against the affected unit by 1% per stack. Oh, did I say Joseph’s crit chance was 83%? Yeah, it’s actually 93% against anything that doesn’t die instantly.
12 – Shocking Shackles. Deals heavy lighting damage and Stuns a target. More lockdown skills are never bad to have, and it has a very generous range.
13 – Energy Cannon. Deals 10 hits of moderate lightning damage to all targets within a column. The base damage of this skill isn’t good, but with 10 hits it’s amazing to fish for critical hits. And when the caster has a fucking 93% crit rate? Hoooooo boy.
14 – Conduit. Grants this character +1 AP. I can’t stress how fucking huge this skill is. Action economy is king in this game, with AP-free actions being few and far between and often less impactful than others. This gives Joseph phenomenal utility, and in general gives him the chance to cause absolute havoc from the start of a fight; often, I’ll save that spare AP in boss fights until after everyone else has acted just to teleport the fucker away before it can do anything.
15 – Thunder Struck. Any lighting damage this character causes has a 10% chance to cast Thunder Bolt on a random enemy unit. Yes, any instance of lightning damage. It will frequently trigger at least once per Energy Cannon, if not more, and with his hammers it can also fire off on his basic melee attacks.
16 – Tracker’s Mark. Gain 15% Damage and 8% Critical Chance against a single target; killing the affected target while active resets the skill’s cooldown. I keep forgetting to use this outside of boss fights, but it’s a nice damage multiplier. I’m also not sure if Crit Chance has an upper limit, because otherwise this can potentially push Joseph over 100% in the right circumstances.
17 – Rally. Grants caster and all nearby allies 3 extra Move until the end of the turn. Great for getting everyone in place or out of the way of big attacks, and affects a large area. Always nice to have.
18 – Survivalist 1. Increase Dodge and all resistances by 3%. A small boost to Joseph’s otherwise lacking survivability.
19 – Precision 1. Increases Critical Chance by 4% and Critical Damage by 16%.
20 – Survivalist 2. Increase Survivalist bonuses by 5% to 8% total.
21 – Disengage. Increase Move by 1, and this unit no longer provokes Attacks of Opportunity. Incredibly useful for a hit-and-run build to prevent them from being shredded while they work.
22 – Precision 2. Increases Precision’s bonuses by 6% and 24%, to totals of 10% and 40% respectively. With crits like these, the Electro-Soviet Revolution will not be civilized.
23 – Quick Hands. Every basic attack has a 50% chance to trigger an additional attack; can only trigger once per turn. By itself, an interesting bonus but nothing spectacular.
24 – Quick Draw. This unit’s next 3 basic attacks have no AP cost; Exhausts the user. Buuuuut, when combined with this skill here, you have 3 chances for Quick Hands to activate.

The fun part about this build is that all of Joseph’s basic attacks hit twice, causing lightning damage and stacking Shock.
Oh, and every stack of Shock increases crit chance and damage.
Oh, and every instance of lightning damage (which is all of his damage) can cause a Lightning Bolt to hit some poor fucker on the map.
Oh, and he still has another action after that.
What I’m getting at is that Joseph is a war crime looking for someone to happen to, and we wouldn’t have it any other way.
All jokes aside, this build takes a while to get rolling due to needing to split as hard as it does, but is pretty goofy once it comes together. It’s incredibly fragile and relies on being too far away to get hit, and as such AoE attacks can fuck it up in a hurry. But when used with a little clever application, things tend to die too quick for that to be an issue.


Ofone is still the toughest thing in our party. Early on, this was necessary since we only had two or three summons to help him tank. Now that toughness is as much of a weapon as it is a shield; his shield grants at least 15% resistance to physical and the three core elements, his helm gives him a flat 10% damage reduction, his armor gives him piles of Armor and Magic Armor from his Might, and his ring gives him physical retaliation damage based on his Armor ratings. It’s all a self-reinforcing loop of Break Yourselves Upon Me, and in the vanishingly rare instance he takes a bunch of damage, we’ve got plenty of ways to restore his HP to keep the circus rolling.


And once more, Ofone’s build is something new for me. I’ve done a Warrior/Shadow tank who relies on piles of Life Steal to keep on his feet, but this turned into something hilarious by the time all is said and done.

1 – Fracture. Deals minor weapon damage and lowers the target’s Resistances by 20%. Many Warrior skills need a melee weapon, and those that do will deal whatever damage type that weapon has. Fracture is a nice skill to use early in boss fights for extra damage, with a split upgrade for utility later.
2 – Rage. Increases Max HP, Damage, and Damage Taken by 15%. Typical berserker stuff.
3 – Warmonger 1. Increases Damage and Healing by 8%. That’s outgoing healing, not healing done to the unit by others. That could synergize in a Light/Warrior Paladin-type build if you wanted to lean hard into stuff like Seal of Salvation, Holy Ground, and Mass Cure.
4 – Charge. Teleport to a nearby hex, damaging all enemies in the path from the starting point. More useful for repositioning than for damage, especially since it uses AP.
5 – Dispelling Fracture. Fracture now removes 1 random buff from its target. The other option, Mortal Fracture, reduces received healing by 50% like Curse does. Dispel effects are few and far between, and more generally useful than the edge case benefits of reduced healing.
6 – Tempered Rage. Rage now also increases Magic Armor by 15%, and no longer increases Damage Taken. The other choice, Berserker’s Rage, just increases outgoing damage even more instead. Ofone is here to tank, so I’ll take less overall damage to make him a better beef wall.
7 – Warmonger 2. Increases Warmonger’s bonuses by 12% to 20% total. Boring and practical.
8 – Warrior’s Boon. Heals 25% of the unit’s Max HP and removes all debuffs; can be used while Disabled. A nice panic button when things are going wrong, but with a lengthy 4 turn cooldown. Very nice to have.
9 – Howl. Deals minor physical damage to all nearby enemies and reduces their damage by 20%. Can explode barrels, though that means the user will be caught in the blast. Otherwise, it makes your tank take less damage, and thus tank better.
10 – Furious George. 1% of this character’s Armor is added to their weapon damage. Oh, what’s that? Ofone hits harder as he stacks more Armor? Yes, please. Feed the beast!
11 – Shield Mastery. Increase all stats on shields by 50%. The increased stats don’t show in the hover-over stat previews, so you might not think a new piece of gear is better than the one you’ve got if you don’t swap them around and actively compare the two. This makes Ofone’s shield, which is already good, something great. Oh, and more Armor, which means moar damage!
12 – Vitality Break. Sacrifice 50% of the character’s current HP to deal damage based on the amount of HP spent. This skill hits so much harder than I thought it would. I’ve used it on the aforementioned Life Steal Tank on the assumption that he’d be able to recoup the costs, but the numbers that guy put out can’t hold a candle to the crazy shit Ofone has done; he’s cracking 10K+ damage regularly with it! Oh, and since it doesn’t have a cooldown, it’s possible to chain multiple uses in the same turn if you have the means to provide the user enough AP and HP to keep the train rolling. It’s retarded and I love it.
13 – Bone Collector. When an enemy dies, this unit gains 6% Max HP and Damage for the duration of the fight, to a maximum of 5 stacks (+30%). Busting the scrubs that bosses love to summon just makes Ofone even tougher, which in turn makes him hit even harder. Truly, this viking man in the angriest jannie.
14 – Chi Strike. Deals minor weapon damage and lowers the target’s Damage by 20%. Yes, it’s almost exactly like Fracture, but defensive.
15 – Front Kick. Deals minor damage and knocks the target back 3 hexes. Kicking enemies into other enemies or barrels causes an extra hit, giving this skill a little extra utility besides the usual nicety of shunting foes around without provoking Attacks of Opportunity.
16 – Paralyzing Strike. Instead of reducing Damage, Chi Strike now Stuns its target. The other option, Focused Strike, just turns it into Fracture. I’ll take the lockdown ability, thank you.
17 – Force Kick. Front Kick deals more damage and pushes its target 5 hexes. For those days when you just want to go bowling, Front Kick has you covered.
18 – Sweeping Kick. Deals moderate physical damage and Cripple to all adjacent targets, and knocks them back 3 hexes. If your tank is surrounded and you need some space, this skill is great.
19 – Willpower. For every 10% of HP currently lost, the unit gains 4% damage reduction. While you don’t want your tank to be that close to dying, getting 20%+ flat damage reduction might be the difference between being able to save them or not.
20 – Weapon of Choice. 3% of the character’s total stat values are added as weapon damage. Another skill that really shines when you grab something later in its tree, which I waited to do.
21 – Cyclone Kick. Deals moderate physical damage and Cripple to all targets within 3 hexes, and pulls them toward the caster. This is one of the few, if not the only, pull skills in the game. It can be great for yanking enemies away from your casters or piling them all up in a central area for convenient bombing.
22 – Strength. Increases Might and Vitality by 15%. Like the similar skills in Light, these are applied after all gear bonuses, and as far as I am aware will stack with those skills if you grab them both on the same character. And of course, these are the two key stats for Ofone, so why pass them up? MOAR ARMOR, MOAR DAMAGE!
23 – Quaking Fist. Deals heavy physical damage to all enemies within 3 hexes. Not quite as powerful in Ofone’s hands as it has been from other Monk-heavy characters I’ve made, but it gives him a precious AoE option that can hurt like hell.
24 – Perfected Soul. Increase all stats by this character’s level; 10% of their highest stat is then added to all other stats. Like I said when Ofone picked it up, this is actually a bit insane. At max level, you get 150 free stat points total, then the best stat of your hilariously min-maxed character is used to shore up the other stats they’ve been ignoring.

Ofone started as a none-too-humble tank for our Right Wing Death Squad, but has somehow mutated into a consistent and terrifying source of single-target melee spike damage while also being fully capable of tanking in the process. Everything he has is a feedback loop of armor into damage into more armor, like some kind of retarded Aryan Hulk who just gets angrier and angrier until he destroys a continent. It’s fucking amazing, and not at all what I expected him to turn out like when this started.


The problem with a pure Fire build is that there are a lot of tough enemies that are resistant to fire damage and immune to Heat. This means that, sadly, Chardler’s raw damage output against them is much reduced. For anything else, though, he’s still a force to be reckoned with, and even flame-retardant foes still take some damage when he opens up with both blazing barrels at them.
Most of Chardler’s gear gives him percentile increases to fire damage, or as much Might and Intelligence as he can scrape together. When that’s not possible, he gets a few range increases to keep him out of the danger zone as best as possible.



Chardler goes back to a simple, proven build that spends almost all of its points in a single tree for maximum damage output. There is very little defensive stuff in Fire to start with, and our burny boy is ignoring all of it like a plague. Not to mention, with some of the Fortunes we’ve picked up, he’s able to contribute some DoT along with making Joseph’s life a little easier.

1 – Immolate. Deals minor fire damage to a target for several turns. Even when no longer useful for its raw damage, Immolate still applies Heat stacks.
2 – Fire Bolt. Deals moderate fire damage to a target. By default, Fire Bolt has a very low 2-turn cooldown, making it a good option to weave in when your pyromancer is waiting for their other skills to come back online. Not only that, but in terms of raw damage calculations this is the 3rd strongest spell in the tree against single targets.
3 – Burning Reach. Increase the range of all non-melee skills by 1. When its description says “non-melee”, I have to wonder if it means “ranged” or “anything that doesn’t require a melee weapon/deals elemental damage”. The game is very inconsistent with its wording.
4 – Hot Head 1. Increases Damage and Healing by 8%. Warmonger, but for wizards.
5 – Fireball. Deals moderate fire damage in an area. It’s fire, it explodes, it’s classic. What else are you expecting?
6 – Fire Starter. Applies 4 stacks of Heat to all enemies at the start of a battle. 20% less elemental resistance from the word “go” is nice, even without any passives to make Heat do other stuff.
7 – Hot Head 2. Increases Hot Head’s bonuses by 12% to 20% total. Still boring, still practical.
9 – Haste. Grants an ally an additional AP and applies Exhaustion. The spell itself has no AP cost, which is great.
10 – Kindling. When a battle starts, this unit applies Haste to itself. So, +1 AP and Exhaustion, preventing them from getting more AP. This probably isn’t super useful with Chardler’s build, but it’s nice in 95% of the fights we get in to.
11 – Lasting Flame. Heat applied by this unit lasts an additional 2 turns. Heat lasts for 3 turns by default, and again, with how much smoke and flame Chardler is hurling around it might not be the best investment now. But when there are just a few too many fools, it’s nice to keep the burn ward busy.
12 – Fissure. Deals significant fire damage in a line from the caster. The strongest single hit in the Fire tree, and does for an area to boot.
13 – Overwhelming Power. Double the base damage of an ally’s next attack action. Its description says “damaging action”, but I haven’t bothered to test if this also applies to healing, especially with Wrath of the Righteous active.
14 – Meteor. Deal moderate fire damage in an area that creates a fire DoT effect on the target hexes. You drop a fire barrel on the enemy that doesn’t hurt your dudes.
15 – Flash Fire. Reduces all Fire skill cooldowns by 1. Like The Good Doctor in Light, this allows Chardler to throw around his spells with near-impunity. In particular, this lets him use Fire Bolt every turn, mana permitting.
16 – Fire Storm. Launches 3 individually-targeted Fireballs. These deal roughly the same damage as Fireball, but you get multiple in a single action.
17 – Mass Haste. Applies Haste to all allied units. For those moments when we need something dead now.
18 – Meteor Shower. Deal 3 instances of moderate fire damage to all enemies in a large AoE. The damage on a single hit from this spell is about half that of Fire Bolt, so you’re sort of casting it twice against everything in a 4-hex area.
19 – Avatar of Flame. Heat caused by this unit deals fire damage over time. The damage is fairly low compared to the caster’s spell power, but it deals that damage per stack. When it’s fully loaded, that’s about a Fissure’s worth of damage every turn.
20 – Eagle Eye. Increase the range of all ranged skills by 1. This probably does the same thing as Burning Reach, but specifically calls ranged skills rather than non-melee skills. The devs really should have gone back and checked the syntax their AI vomited out in these descriptions.
21 – Call of the Grave. Deal more damage against enemies below 50% HP. A classic “cull the weak” skill.

Chardler started as our main ranged damage dealer, but as the game has gone on he’s shifted into some mutant support/grinder role. Lacking the crazy raw output of Ofone bleeding himself half to death or Joseph’s nigh-constant critical hits, Chardler tosses out some consistently modest damage while stacking up DoTs and making things more vulnerable to Joseph’s death lasers. He does have a little utility thanks to Haste and Mass Haste, which have come in handy enough that I can justify keeping them. And his attacks are flashy enough for me to use as screenshot bait, so it’s not all bad.

I’ve got the rest of the story beats recorded at this point, so everything from here on out is preordained ready to go once I get around to the writing. I did some grinding here and there, but the story is coming to a head and by now I picked up most of the little things I was hoping to show off or otherwise grab in my mad dash for the finish line. There should be… 6 or 7 more updates, not counting the “story” epilogue and my personal parting thoughts.

 

[Mooger Meng]

24 – No Rest for the Weary


Talestone’s walls peek over the trees, drawing ever closer. The dead and dying scattered along the path bear few wounds that you can see, but you spare no attention to them. A furious voice cuts through the screams and gunfire-
It’s just one woman! Get in there and kill her!


You clear the trees, then stagger to a halt at the sight in front of you.
Bring as many as you wish. It will not save you.
Mother?!


There must be two dozen bodies in the clearing that you can see before Mother moves to dispatch the few who remain. She makes an arcane gesture and stabs her blade into the earth, calling forth a nimbus of bright crimson to engulf the remaining bandits. They shriek and scream as their blood revolts at Mother’s command, sweating from their skin as their blades and bullets reflect off of her armor in their final, desperate assault.


The wounds on her face – scores of blade gashes and at least one half-healed bullet hole through the cheek – still look raw and tender, but refuse to bleed as they knit slowly shut. Her armor is spattered with blood you can barely see, blending seamlessly the with crimson metal, but what truly draws your attention is the chain holding the scabbard of her blade firmly in place.
After a moment, you notice it has no lock. She must have had the links welded without one, but why?
The commotion of your band catching up to you draws Mother’s attention, and for a moment she levels her weapon in your direction with a red-eyed glare. Then her vision clears and recognition dawns, the rage draining from her face to leave quiet alarm.
… Minerva?
Mother, wh… what happened? How long have they been assaulting the town?
She blinks rapidly for a moment, perhaps expecting some rebuke from you. Then her mind catches up to her heart, and her features settle into a matron’s anger.
… Since dawn, I would wager. Relentless bastards.
Hmm. They might well be desperate with all the madness breaking out.
Perhaps. There is an Inquest at the northern gate, bolstering the guard.
And they know you’re here?
Yes. I was… requested to aid them. Too many foes, and too few blades to hold them at bay.
Speaking of desperate…
Indeed.
How many wounded?
Enough that the Menders could use your skill.
Wait, why not both of you? No disrespect, madam, but we know you’re capable of just as much as Minerva is, whether anyone in town wants to admit it or not.
Kind of you to say, Jon, but I would be better seen attending to the defenses. That I should be called to don my armor again is a fell enough omen… Best I try not to reopen old wounds as well.
Mother-
We’ll stay. Keep her from doing anything stupid.
… Very well. I’ll hold you to it, Ofone.

You hurry into the gates, set on an unerring path to the Menders’ hospital. They greet you with open wariness, but are far too inundated with unfortunates to deny your offer of aid, and a junior of the order leads you to a ward where the most dire of their patients rest.
Altima’s light dances between your fingers and across your skin as you flit from wound to wound, sustaining fragile lives for moments long enough to hurry to the next while orderlies race into and out from the room with their tools. It is tiring, trying work that you would rather perform with delicate care, but time is of the essence.
Time that rushes past in a blur of crimson and pained groans, punctuated by the odd remark from a Mender that pierces into your walking trance. You do not ignore them consciously, but you are aware that your answers are terse, taken without much offense as the blunt orders they are.
By the time night has fallen, you struggle out of the single point of focus your world collapsed into and see a veritable gaggle of Menders stabilizing the wounded. You mill around the edges of the ward, lost of a moment as you regain your bearings, and are given the most gruff words of thanks the senior Mender in the room is able to muster. Strained, for certain, but true enough to your ears.

As you stagger from the building, a glowing crow caws in your direction and takes wing, leading you back to the square. Around the bubbling fountain stand your companions, as well as Mother in her crimson plate and the Blind Guardian’s holy warrior whom you encountered near Frostwrought. Jon waves a hand in greeting, never once turning his head from Adolf as their conversation draws to a halt.
Good to have you back. Feeling okay?
Worn out, to be certain, but for a worthy cause.
Yeah. You sound like it.
Are they…?
Yes, Mother. All is well.
Thank Altima.
Perhaps. We meet again, red priestess.
Yes, and I am glad it is not at swordpoint.
And I, as well. My sisters may be loathe to place any trust in Altima’s faithful, but much of the grim work your peers once performed was quite before my time. Such fortune affords the chance at a brighter perspective, I think.
Hmm. My companions and I met with the remains of one such belligerent, I believe. Crucified and burnt in the swamps. And if what assailed us was even a fraction of what preceded me… I cannot wholly fault such suspicion.


Then let us leave such grudges in the past for tonight. Your band has spoken of the ruined castle beyond the mountain.
Castle Gloom. No idea who decided on that silly name.
I read ahead on your father’s notes, Minerva. I hope you’ve no offense.
Hardly. I was indisposed.
What do you hope to find in its halls?
A solution, I pray. You must have seen one of them in the skies by now.
The dragons?
Yes. My father scoured the lands for some hope of slaying them for good and all, fearing that they were making ready to break free of whatever bound them beneath the earth.
I… I heard of the old dragonslayers when I was still but a child. I thought they would have put paid to the creatures’ reign.
Sadly, this does not appear true. There seems to be an unusual pall wrapped around the beasts, an ancient form of necromancy I cannot begin to unravel. It put them close to death, certainly, but cannot be their doom alone.
So it falls upon us to kill them now?
That appears to be the case.
My flock may have found a path in the upper reaches of the mountains that leads to the castle’s grounds.
I heard ‘may’, but I guess none of you had the spare time to make sure with the state you were in.
Indeed. I can describe it as well as I can, but sadly I am no cartographer.
Hmm. You make any doodles while we were up there, wizard?
A few. Most of my attention was elsewhere.
It’ll have to do. I can fill in the gaps while we’re on the path.
You may go on if you’d like, Minerva. We can handle a map, and I’m sure you could do with a fair measure of rest.
That would be the wise decision… but if I were wise, I doubt I’d have gotten us into our predicament.
We will need to move quickly. It is better to be ready now than dying on your feet tomorrow.
… Very well, if the lot of you must insist. Though I should think it prudent you all do the same before long.
No liquor, got it. Meet at the gatehouse at dawn?
A sound plan.

You expect to spend the remainder of the night in a fitful state of near-sleep, as the prospect of finding Father’s trail looms in your mind. But the day’s frenetic pace has taken a greater toll on you than you suspected; after a short time staring at the ceiling, your eyes flutter shut as a dreamless dark overtakes you.
Still, the morning arrives all too soon. You hurry to gather your equipment and march toward the northern gate, where Jon and Chardler already wait. Ofone mills nearby, speaking with the paladin and Mother on occasion while other Peregrinite warriors bicker among themselves and the town guards.
Always the early riser, Minerva.
Well, you and Father were ever so insistent. And you, lady crusader, are staying to aid the town’s defenses?
Indeed. While I have no proof, I fear Talestone will bear the brunt of what wrath your interventions provoke.
And I am sure your presence is welcome.
Others are getting more supplies. Ready when they get back.
Very well. If you’ll excuse us.
Be safe, my child.
Light and glory.
Fight hard, die well if you gotta.


While the Blind Guardian’s zealots keep the town’s walls safe, small pockets of bandits and dragon-eyed cultists attempt to waylay you along the road as it leads you from the forest.
The path you carve up the side of Frostwrought Mountain is fraught with danger as well. The emaciated natives hound your steps from flurries and drifts, pulsing with the strange mana that fills the air as you climb.


Screams and ringing steel can be heard, near and far, almost drowning out the hungry howls of a crowd of wolves drawn to the newly-minted battleground. Some foreign warriors still commit themselves to battle here, shot through with the power of their callous would-be god.
The voices fade into the distance, but the bestial growls draw ever closer. The winds whip into a furor, tossing loose snow into plumes that obscure loping shadows you can just barely see.


… We’re being hunted.
That is no surprise. There is much carrion about.
Not like-
Growling’s stopped.
Ah, hell. Get ready. I can’t see anything, but…


A sound cuts through the wind: a half growl, half chuckle that sets your nerves on edge. You dig your feet into the snow, boots bracing against frozen earth as a humanoid shape lopes out from the trees, radiating menace.


Little lost lambs… So tender… So soft…
Try us, mutt.
We’ve got better quarry than you and your pack. Don’t make us reconsider that, yeah?
Ah, yes. This event will be worth the trouble, beyond shooting a furry in the face.


The lycanthrope lunges, ignoring whatever dubious wisdom your companions attempt to impart. Joseph slips forward, a charge gathering around his form, and banishes the creature to the far side of the clearing behind you with a crack of thunder and light.
Its momentum sends it tumbling into the snow with a yelp and a frustrated growl. When it leaps back to its feet, a howl rips from its throat that is echoed by its lesser kin as they close in on your band.
Alright, then. Don’t say we didn’t warn you.
Sure, you can not take this fight, but you get a debuff for the rest of the dungeon. Fenrir is a melee beatstick that spawns with a bunch of wolves, and summons more at both of its breakpoints.


Adolf utters some forgotten chant that makes your ears ache, calling upon the dead and the frost itself to hold the creature at bay while the others turn their focus on the baying wolves that attempt to surround you.


The hounds fall swiftly, but their master flies into a ravenous fury, raking and gnashing at the dead with single-minded rage. Its howls pierce the air, drawing another group of nearby wolves to its side.



They vent their rage on Adolf’s servants, tearing apart the arcane bindings that hold the frozen bones together with some effort. Ofone and Joseph are quick to capitalize on the opening their inattentiveness creates.
Then the air vibrates with a primal roar so powerful that the battle stumbles to a halt. A massive shape, half-obscured by the clouds and snowfall, cuts the air somewhere above you and drags plumes of snow back toward the way you came. A heavy thud signals the creature’s landing in the near distance.
After a moment of uncertainty, the lycanthrope hurls itself at your companions once again, its frenzy redoubled nearly into panic.


Claws and fangs rake at Ofone’s shield, the beast and its kin growing desperate. Then a bullet rips through the creature’s skull, compounding on the cavalcade of wounds it suffered already, and it falls to the frozen turf with a gurgle.


The remainder of the pack backs away, wary of your group and ready to flee at a moment’s notice, but not yet broken. Jon walks toward the fallen lycanthrope and kneels beside it, placing a firm hand on its shoulder. Only then do you notice the creature is still breathing.
Return to Sunnis’ bosom. To your home and kin, to the ancient hunting grounds. To your people.
The lycanthrope raises a shaking hand and grips Jon’s arm with its remaining strength. You feel blood leak from his skin as its claws pierce the leather of his coat, but he does not flinch or falter until the beast rattles its last breath and the arm falls limp onto its chest.
When Jon stands, you see the pack’s many eyes follow him. He stares back in turn, then looks over his shoulder at the rest of you and angles his head toward the new creature that arrived in the commotion.
The Fortune this fight earns you is tailor-made for Nature summoners, but any build that leans on minions will enjoy the damage and HP increase. For Jon, it’s amazing.


Equipping it turns all ranks of Nature Summoning into Pack Summoning, which calls up wolves. Aside from removing the random nature of the summon pool, they all have the Pack Hunting passive that increases their damage when allies are adjacent. Additionally, Timber Wolves can Cripple, Tundra Wolves cast Howl, and Dire Wolves use a version of Howl that makes allies restore HP when they attack the target. To top it off, all 3 are tougher units than what they replace.
I really wish I’d gotten this earlier, but better late than never.


C’mon. No time for cowardice.
Dragon?
Dragon. I can smell it.
How- Nevermind. Not important.
Why does it feel…?


Jon bolts off, the wolves following at the edges of your path as the trees rush past. It does not take long to reach the unsubtle wyrm, huddled in the frost-bleached remains of another great beast while it slakes its hunger on a pile of corpses left by the constant battles on the mountainside.
The beast’s head whips around at your arrival, its bloodstained jaws giving a snarl as it takes faltering wing. Other, older streaks of crimson stain its azure scales, blood oozing from the countless wounds it has sustained over the course of the day.
It must have brought the whole mountain on itself.
Hell of a trophy for whoever gets the kill.



You steel yourself for battle, but the drake is already weak from exhaustion. There is a flurry of flame and lightning punctuated by a handful of mighty blood-hardened blows, and the dying dragon falls with little fanfare.
Oh yeah, and we can one-round this dragon. Blue deals cold damage and may potentially drop gear that increases the same; accessories dropped from dragons are usually quite good, if somewhat generalized outside of their elemental bonuses.

… I do not understand.
What’s to get? It’s dead.
That is precisely the problem. The other was sheathed in some kind of… grave ritual, something dark and deathly.
And this one wasn’t. Did it exhaust itself in the fighting?
I cannot say. That may be possible, but… but how, then, were they such a scourge if steel alone could fell them?
We’ll have to worry about that later. That path to the castle must be nearby.

 

[Mooger Meng]

25 – Castle Crashers


The parapets of Castle Gloom puncture the skyline as your group draws ever closer to its gates, indistinct spears towering in the unnatural darkness that blankets the surroundings.
Its gates open with a deathlike groan, inviting another group of hapless adventurers to their demise.
…
Do not tell us you are now having doubts, Minerva.
You do not feel it, herr Steel? The menace in the air?
No.
… We didn’t come this far to stop now.

La Danse Macabre – Jake Kaufman – Shovel Knight​

Adolf’s concerns, and your own, are proven true in swift order. Moldering bones bearing rusted steel rattle from hidden alcoves in the foyers and halls, seeking to add your corpses to their number.


Hmm. These are the work of a skilled necromancer.
More than you?
Undoubtedly.
I’m surprised you- gwah!- would admit it.


No shame in knowing you’re outmatched, sometimes.
Quite. And yet, I canno-
Waitwaitfuckingstopwalking!


Schisse!
And behind!
Ranger?
Just gimme a second…


… Aha! Clever little assholes.
Dare I ask why you thought to look there for the switch?
Soot patterns on the walls. Had to be some way to turn them off without destroying the skeletons.


… Does anyone else feel-
Yeah.


No sooner does Ofone speak, the vaulted roof of the hallway begins to crumble. There is a moment of confusion as you all hurry to the far end, hurling yourselves into the connecting chamber.
You hear shouts of pain as a plume of dust fills your vision, and the ring of bricks crashing against steel.


When you stagger back to your feet and approach the rubble, Ofone is already shoving shattered stone to the side. Jon and Chardler are quick to join you both, dragging Adolf and Joseph from the rubble that you might tend their wounds.
Him getting caught, I get. But you?
Quiet, you.
Really, now, you’ve got better reflexes. Did you trip over your bootstraps or something?
Gnmph. Enough.
Nothing’s broken, at least, but… why isn’t it mending?
This place is accursed, valkyrie. Sssss. I fear you may find your craft hindered.
Clearly.


We tarry too long. Come.
…?
Fuck’s sake, at least stay behind me.
I am not some mewling child.
… Don’t move.
I tire of your-


Jon darts forward, shouldering Joseph aside the moment before a half-rusted pike rockets from the wall. Dozens more stab into the room, random but for the whims of some mechanism buried in the masonry. Razor-tipped steel pushes you all into an ever-shrinking island of safety, six pairs of eyes darting around the room for a hint of salvation.


There!
Jon’s arm springs up, pointing to a darkened nook in the far wall. Then a bolt of crackling flames cuts the air, lighting the hole for scant seconds before boring inside with a plume of embers and melting metal.
The spears shudder to a halt, leaving a narrow path into an equally narrow hall that, you hope, leads to less treacherous ground.
… Well. I’ve heard of a poor host, but this, ah, seems… a little beyond the pale, I think.
Jon lets out a shuddering breath, his expression at odds with the casual mirth his words carry. You advance with a cautious pace, far more wary of the castle’s treacherous environs and the dangers lurking in its depths.


Shadows gather at the edges of your vision, pooling into shapes that move with unnatural speed and grace.
Give back my glory!


GIVE BACK MY RAGE!
No. You disturb the master. You are not welcome here.
There is an explosion of motion and noise. The fae’s sudden arrival is just as swiftly stripped away, while the figures solidify into rabid, emaciated beasts that charge your formation. Overgrown bats, hungering for living flesh to slake their appetites.


Relief washes over you in the moment before the battle commences. Open violence is a welcome reprieve from veiled threats and portents of doom.


You press on into a once-stately gallery, failing to ignore the ancient presence that chokes the stale air.
At the far end of the hall, a gaunt figure comes into view. The dark arcana that engulfs it is strong enough for you to perceive clearly, so much that Adolf takes a step back with a grimace.


The master’s work must not be interrupted. The accord demands it.
What master? What accord?


That is not for mortals to know. Begone.
that’s it you stubborn fucking retard I swear to Sunnis I am sick of this shit
So, the Herald of the Abyss has a rather large HP pool and heals himself for a significant percentile of that amount every time he hits something. What’s the solution, then?



Blow him up in a single turn, of course!

… The hell was he going on about?
Honestly, I don’t even fucking care. C’mon.
Wait. Where-
Anywhere. Come on.


… Wait, we have been here before.
You’re certain?
Yes. I recognize this architecture.
Great. This way, then.
Damnit, herr Crow, will you stop and focus for a moment?


Didn’t we already go through that hall?
No.
Might’ve. I think we made those bloodstains.
Fucking make up your minds!
We could do without your temper.


Don’t you lecture me abou-
Corpses!



… No one injured?
No.
I think not.
…
Do you not feel it?


Wrath. Rage. Regret. It soaks the air, into the stone, the flesh. The soul.


The older man’s form is not quite solid; a beam of moonlight that pierces the roof passes through him, illuminating his shape from within and scattering a soft glow across the desolate chamber.
Some thought to silence it. Others, to use it to their own ends. All met the same fate.
… And what was that fate?
To serve as bindings for an ancient prison. Chains of faith and fury, holding legends long forgotten at bay. Creatures of destruction, avatars of death and sorrow… and more. Pain and suffering, but also hope and perseverance. Both an edge of the same blade.
… Oh, hello. I know this Event.


While they slumber, there is safety, yes. But stagnation. The world locks into place, ossified, immobile. A lumbering, brittle thing that appears strong and stoic, but shatters all too easily.
But… when they wake?
Madness. Mayhem. Chaos… and opportunity. Hope. Ancient edifices crumble, revealing bare points of light. No king reigns forever. No realm is eternal.
…
One such creature, one such fetter, lurks here, guarding an icon of change. A light that might burn away or soothe, if it can be controlled.
Where?
It will find you.
This Event is called Wrath of the Righteous, and it used to give the same-named Fortune that is now baked in to the Light skill tree. So, if its old reward is now just a skill to earn by leveling, what does it give out now?
Oh, we’ll see soon.


As the light fades behind a passing cloud, taking the holy warrior with it, a menacing whisper drifts in on a tainted draft.
Now do you understand, darling? My power is unquestionable.


My command, irresistible.


My victory, inevitable.


… No. You are afraid.
Am I?


In ways we mortals cannot fathom. Afraid of something like you, more wicked than you, arriving like a thief in the night and stealing away what you thought was your own.
We covet our belongings, our relations. Hold them close to us. What else matters to you but the keys to divinity? That some other godling might snatch them from your hands, like a noble plucking some peasant girl into his bedchamber.
… And if you believe it so? What then, my love?


Will you stay with me, and defend my maidenhood? Will you protect me from all the horrors the world might conjure, and smother me in your embrace? Can you cast away your womanly instincts, and become the shining knight your love demands and deserves?
…
Perhaps. But if I can, it shall not be for you.


… Huh.
…
… Did… Minerva, did you shut her up with nothing but words?
I think I have.
So it can be done.


… Companions, I do not think it needs to be said, but say it I shall.


Chest’s haunted?
Much worse than haunted.
Yeah, looks like it. We got a brick?
Ought to be one somewhere… Ah. Catch.
… Guh! The hell’s this thing made of?
We can worry about that later.
Right, right. Stand back. I just gotta-


Fuck, nevermind! Kill it!


This Mimic is a bit of a tough customer, especially with the modifiers it rolled with.



But the party hits an order of magnitude harder than it did in the early game. So, hey, free stuff!


… So, Jon. Are these creatures auriphagic or arcanipahgic?
Uh… wh- why is… why is this a Jon question?
Ranger. You know critters, right?
Not these critters. I deal with free-range abominations, not whatever crap gets cooked up in some arcane laboratory by… I dunno, lonely wizards with too much free time and no convenient brothel nearby.
Meyir’s teeth.
What? It’s got to have a big mouth for a reason.



Huh, these are some interesting Fortunes.
Emblem of the Iron Fortress should be great for Ofone. Frozen Lich Heart would be more useful for Adolf if he had more direct damage, but the Freeze Immunity could be nice for the rest of the party. Ball Lightning will give Joseph some extra damage in between hammer slaps.
At least you get to pick the reward for each character.


… The fuck is that?


It looks like a jack-in-the-box.
Biggest one I’ve seen.
…
Minerva, please. We have no time for children’s games.


That thing is enchanted.
Of course it is.
You have a firm grasp of your craft, Joseph, and still you manage to overlook fundamentals. It’s baffling at times.
We have more important things to attend. All else is distraction.
This is the related Event from the encounter earlier.


You reach forward with a tense hand to turn the mechanism with a steady pace, and recall the tune that plinks out of the box from your youth and travels with Father. But the notes are all sour and out of pitch, as if the metal contraption inside has long since warped to near-uselessness.
Something wrong with that mulberry bush…
Drunk monkey.
Or very hung over.
That, too.


You give the mechanism another turn, shuddering at the tortured music that echoes from the inner cavity. Yet the box remains still and silent but for the grind of its gears.
… Maybe it’s nothing after all.
You step away from the toy, unable to shake the sense of foreboding, and begin to turn toward your companions.
Once you turn the crank, it will keep looping this choice until you stop.


A yelp escapes your throat as the lid bursts open, the motley puppet within bounding on a hidden spring with a warped chortle. Jon scowls at the toy and snaps his rifle to the ready, its retort thundering in the still hallway.


The puppet whips backward from the impact, toppling the box as it rolls and gains alarming mass. Then the empty box flies into the air, the puppet rapidly distending as it grows to a full-sized man in the same garish rags, the massive hammer slung across his shoulders only rivaled by the menacing rictus on his features.
Mirror, mirror, ‘pon the wall, who shall be the next to fall?


The jester moves with alarming grace, one motion flowing into the next as he dances past every strike and shot your companions launch.
What ho, striplings! Why such dour gravity? Too staunch for mirth, be you? More’s the pity, then, for all the world is but a mummer’s paradise!
Sonofa- Hold him still or blow him up already!


Mirth and murder in equal measure, all for gold, or love, or treasure. More, we do take! Blood, for blood’s sake! Let it roil and rise, it wrath, in spate, in fate it delivers all who doubt the turning of the page, the dying of an age, our final fading rays of rage-
Now!


A single blow is all Ofone needs to cleave the jester’s guts open. The babbling halts in a spray of crimson gore and a pained shriek, and he drops to the stones with far more heavy a thud than his lithe frame should produce.


Rays of light gather behind the fallen jester, who still manages to produce a wet, rattling laugh. The form of the old warrior coalesces behind him, trailing a cloud of red from his stomach, and raises his sword. When he thrusts its down onto the jester’s prone form, a bloom of crimson alights on his phantom chest.
If this fool has so offended, think of this, and all is mended: not all futures are carved from graven stone. Even the iron decree of the heavens may bend… or break. Where there is light, there is yet hope. And this, young one, is a light pure and true, if you hold the will to tame it.


The old phantom holds out his hand to you, bearing a strange scale of pure white. A nameless fear grips your heart as you observe it, the light dancing off its surface in a sheen of pearlescent beauty. It looks carved from ivory, or marble, or some unblemished substance you cannot hope to identify.
You reach out to take it, your perception narrowing to a single point as the power it radiates blots out all else.
… the hell? A scale?
What?! Wait! Minerva, don’t-
With Jon going full summoner, I never got around to using shapeshift abilities. I never have much in general, to be honest. But now we have a Fortune that can give anyone the ability to jump into a form that shits holy damage all over the place.


Voices fade into morning mist, and vanish in the dawn that wraps around you. Hands paw at you, seeking to hold your flesh in place, but they are nothing in the light. A shadow crosses the threshold, drawing your attention with the inexcusable stain of its presence among the holy realm you inhabit.


The gathering light responds, its demands unable to be ignored by a creature as simple as yourself. It is Light, unfiltered and unfettered, and it shall burn away the impure and the unworthy.


And if that includes your flesh? Then such is the price of purity. Of perfection.
You should not feel the pain. You should not know how your flesh burns from within, boiling your blood into a red steam that obscures a warping, crackling form as it is molded anew.
But some part of you does. And it screams, in agony and terror, until a raw throat forges the racket into a roar.

The Apparation – Jake Kaufman – Shovel Knight​

What the fu-
Back! Get back from her!
But-
Get over here, now!
Gaahh!
So, shapeshifts. These skills replace the user’s entire hotbar with a few skills related to the form in question. While all previous skills are inaccessible for the duration, any prior effects will continue for as long as their durations and/or resources (HP or mana) hold out. Additionally, most shapeshifts increase Armor and grant some amount of Damage Reduction.


For the White Dragonkin shift, these are what the user gets to play with. Holy Slash is the basic attack, which hits a standard Cleave pattern (so, a center hex and its two neighbors). Breath of Life is a short-ranged line attack, 3 hexes wide and 4 long. Celestial Light is a fuckoff explosion centered on the caster.
The big things to note with this shift? First, all of this damage is discriminatory; it will heal allies and harm enemies, no matter if the caster has Wrath of the Righteous. Second, Celestial Light is the only one with an appreciable cooldown; without any modifiers to extend shapeshift duration or reduce cooldown, you only get one use before the shift reverts on its own. Third, Holy Slash is the only thing that has an AP cost; it’s the basic attack replacement, so Haste effects will let the caster toss it around more often.


Minerva! Minerva, stop!
Just get some damned distance, Crow!
Shit! Joseph, down!

Ghsssss-
Motherfucker, that burns!
What do we-
Stay well back and see if she can come around.
And what if she doesn’t?
Then we have to stop her!


Fraulein valkyrie, you are not some mindless beast! You must control yourself!
This boss, the Baron, is mostly just a beef wall. Lots of melee attacks, Attacks of Opportunity, as well as Armored and Damage Reflection to top things off. Given enough time, he can be problematic.

Rhnrn!
Guys?!
Still alive. She’s still healing us… somewhat.
Hurts like hell!


Gahh! Fucking watch the claws, woman!
Ofone, how can you-
Still her in there, wizard! Shut up and burn this whorehopper!
But the most notable thing about the Baron is that he survives a full turn with everyone pounding on him.



Fucking die fucking die FUCKING DIE


Finally! Thank you, wizard!


P… pa…
Hold still, damnit! Hngrf-
PA… PAAAAAA… H U R T S…
Ghhh!
Hol- nrrrgh! Hold her!
I’m- ffrrrgh- trying!
H E L P… M E…!
D’OOF!
Shiiiiiiiit!
Gods’ blood!
Minerva!
Don’t-
I am not gonna just stand here, asshole! Minerva! Goddamnit, wait! MINERVA!
Hurgh… C’mon. After her!

 

[NerdShamer]

But the most notable thing about the Baron is that he survives a full turn with everyone pounding on him.

Ofone wasn't drunk enough, that's why.

 

[Mooger Meng]

26 – ‘Till Death and Beyond


Darkened shapes pass in a blur. Doors, columns, sconces, buttresses. Hallways ringing with the faint echo of voices your fragmented mind cannot place, stale air rushing past appendages so foreign that you refuse understand their function. You know the word-
W i n g s?
-but the chaos of your mind rejects it. It cannot be true.
Nothing is true.


When you at last return to your senses in a moonlit hall, your body screams in protest and pain. Every muscle burns, every bone aches.
Your ringing ears catch hints of… something. Voices, or song, or… you don’t quite know what any longer. The sounds blend into a muted jumble that rattles in your mind, indistinct and anarchic. Save for one.
they wake


Sore legs respond to your panic, protesting at every motion. But fear now grips you by the throat, dragging you toward a pale light that shines in the nearby chamber. Deep in the recesses of your mind, that whisper should mean safety, comfort, and the warm presence of a dear mentor.
But it, like yourself and all else, is so dreadfully amiss.


What remains of your rational mind knows you have overextended. That you have outpaced your companions and exposed yourself to grave danger. That you should hold your ground and wait for them to find you.

What Once Was Lost – Martin O’Donnel & Michael Salvatori – Halo: Combat Evolved​

Then your eyes land on Father’s glowing figure, and your world crumbles.


… No. No, no, nonononono, please no…
Who… Who goes there? Lights. Bring lights, damn you!
Fath-… No, no, Father, please…
… Father? I… That… No. Never was. Never one. Always wished, but… but never did. A coward’s regret. Could slit a thousand throats, but never open a heart. They wake.
Father, please, I-I’m… here, I can’t- I don’t- I- I- i need you
A need, a seed, a gnawing greed. Should’ve been braver. Could’ve saved her. Too cold. Too old. Tried to be a hero, for once. Should’ve known better.
father please
What souls we keep, put souls to sleep. They. For ever and ever, but now nevermore. Fraying thread, groaning dead, what once did slumber rises instead. Wake.
i can’t do this alone
Forever alone. Failed them. They wake. Failed her. My… light in the darkness. My… You…?
papa i need you
… You… bring the light. Hold it tall. Hold it bright. Fight, damn you! Screaming child, can’t be put back in the crib. They wake! Groggy, still, but rousing now. Hungry. Angry. Weak. Have to stop them. Have to try. Go. Now! No matter who, no matter how! They wake!
please
THEY WAKE!


As his form fades, your mind accepts the truth. No matter how swiftly you had run, or how soon you could have arrived, it would not have been fast enough. Your crusade was doomed before you had ever left home that fateful day.
Ice floods your veins, a black pall draping over your perception. You did not merely fail; you could have never possibly triumphed. The thought alone, that all your victories were hollow, grinds every joyful memory beneath a bleak, crushing reality.
You cannot summon the will to continue on, to finish whatever mad gambit he had attempted.


Your aching limbs move, dragging you deeper into the cursed castle. Into danger, and perhaps the release of death. The mind may be shattered, but the body remembers.
You were so sure of that when Father escaped the Menders’ care, stumbling out into that cold night as his mind crumbled.
… Weren’t you?


The thought sounds familiar, as if it has crossed your mind before, but that cannot be. Not from a fool raised by a fool, dancing at the far ends of a hundred strings. He died alone, and it is your fault.
You could have stayed with him. You could have been there to stop him from leaving. You should have been beside him when he fell, a dutiful child unflinching at her station.
Now, like him, you are going to die alone and unmourned. Lost in some forgotten ruin, among the rubble and refuse where you always belonged.


Voices threaten the sanctity of your melancholy, but you ignore them. Something tries to hold you in place, but you shake it away.
Then, a blade pierces your flesh.


Your body collapses into a nimbus of pain, twisting and tearing itself asunder in a storm of red and white. Bones splinter, flesh reshapes, blood weeps from your eyes and a litany of sudden wounds. A weary, desolate mind resigns itself to oblivion.
But the body remembers. It fights on, with or without your direction.


A searing light blots out the world. As the noise of it all fades, a vision comes into shape, a memory imposed upon eyes that could never have seen its story.
A young man is cast from Talestone’s walls. His face swollen from a dozen fists, his misdeeds at last so onerous that they outweigh his worth to those within. Why he was spared a swift death on the gallows in favor of a wasting one in the boughs of Freewind, you cannot tell.
A future cut short. A home lost.


He wanders for days, growing more desperate and despondent with each. By crude means, he ekes out sustenance during the days and huddles frightened in the trees at night. By the next fortnight, he finds himself sitting on a smoothed stump with a loaf of rough bread. He tears off a mouthful and glowers up the barrel of the pistol that hovers inches from his face, daring its wielder to fire without a word as more red-masked brigands return to their crude camp.
Later, he fights beside his new peers, cutting down the guards of a caravan of fools. The cities have become desperate for trade, but these wayward men are even more desperate for even a scrap of food. The other bandits give his ruinous swings a wide berth, each stroke shattering mail and bone of those who stand against him. A life of frustration and fury, given convenient targets upon which to vent.


Snow begins to cover the bodies of his once-companions as he passes through the ruined camp. He gathers what meager supplies he can and stalks away, discarding the red cloth that proved his allegiance to the Blood Masks as easily as he donned it years ago.
A home lost. A path to tread.


In a mineshaft strewn with dwarven corpses, he picks through the satchels of the fallen. He pockets the few coins he finds, but spends his greatest efforts on food and glass potion vials. When no more remain, he gives the bodies a more careful inspection, puzzling over the wounds that came from no mortal blade.
A grateful mining crew thanks him as the last of the spider-beasts twitches its death throes, the hale moving to tend the wounded. A flash of greed crosses his face at the carts of raw gems and ores nearby, but he shakes it from his features after a moment of effort. He leads the crew to the remains of their fellows, casting furtive glances down each darkened path, weighing the cost of betrayal against the possible rewards.


When he at last emerges from the mountain, his armor bears countless new dents and a prism of bloodstains and ichor. The haunted stare that he sweeps along the countryside speaks volumes: whatever plans he thought to enact did not proceed as he had hoped.
A roar of challenge shakes him to action, a blade cutting the air where his neck once stood. Another figure emerges from the cave, encased in crimson mail as filthy and dented as his own. At sight of the skewered-heart emblem on its breastplate, fear grips his mind. This is no bandit, but a supplicant of slaughter, hurled at the land like a barbed spear to spill blood and sow carnage wherever it pleases. It did not kill the miners, though not for a lack of effort. Now it has set its bloodshot eyes on the only unsnuffed life still in reach.
A path to tread. A failure to set right.


Years later, he matches steel with the howling warrior among the Wyrmrest sands. They have met before across the realms, so often that he has lost count. The blood-mad zealot's menacing outline now a familiar sight, a hounding presence that brings a twisted sense of comfort and normality. A red shade drifting on the winds of war, just as rootless as he, their paths crossing again and again like stitches over a wound.
Blows glance from crossguards and breastplates, casting sparks in the waning daylight that illuminates his features. A face wholly focused on the dance of battle between them, one that has almost become routine. He weaves beneath a crushing swing, catches another on his pauldron, then tears a ragged line from the ground to his assailant’s helm.


The blow launches the helmet skyward, the woman’s eyes beneath shooting wide before the pommel of his blade smashes into her cheek. She tangles her arms with his, their blades clattering against nearby stones as they grapple and strike with mailed fists. The woman grins past the blood streaming down her features, then slams her forehead against his face. With a twist of her hips she hurls him over her shoulder, watching as he tumbles down the dune.
She roars, kicking her blade up from the sand while he shakes himself and struggles to rise. Her head turns to the doglike shadows that stalk toward them both, growling out a wordless threat at the pair as chilling winds cut the dusk. She halts, scowling at the interruption, and glances to her rival. A mad grin splits her bloodied lips as she picks up the man's sword, tossing it down the dune to its owner and squaring her stance at the newly-revealed foe.
A failure to set right. A menace to halt.


On a different battlefield, she stands over his dying form while a crowd of soldiers brandish unsteady spears at the pair. Crimson light weaves into his wounds as her face softens, then forms into a protective shell as she readies her blade. Challengers rush toward her, only to die in droves from strokes of her sword or lances of blood ripped from the fallen.
When the tide of bodies breaks at last, she is quick to turn her attention to her companion. She kneels by him, lifting his upper body onto her lap, and begins to unbuckle his shattered armor. She grimaces at the wounds on his chest, far more comfortable at ending lives than ever attempting to preserve one not her own.


For a moment she stares at the blood, paralyzed with indecision. Then he opens his eyes with a weak groan, and she steels herself for this new task. The work is halting and insecure, the very concept alien to all she knows. Slowly, painfully, the wounds knit shut with a red-gold glow, her patient gritting his teeth through the untender ministrations all the while.
Later, given time and practice, she will leave no scars on the desperate she aids. But this first attempt is a patchwork of flesh, a rough and functional thing that both will look back on with a quiet laugh.
A menace to halt. A purpose to find.


On the desolate mountainside of Frostwrought, both stare at the smoldering remains of a longhouse. Inside is a portrait of charnel horror, the half-burnt furnishings and crumbling walls littered with such prodigious gore that neither wish to linger their gazes. A pitiful, shrill wail cuts through the ruin, demanding attention and aid.
They find the source of the noise: a wriggling cloth bundle near the ruined hearth and a bisected corpse, sodden with gore. The man approaches with caution, his mailed hand pushing back the fabric to reveal a blue-eyed infant. Overlooked in the massacre, awash in the blood of its kin, screaming into the freezing air in miserable desperation. He looks at the woman; she looks at him in return. Both bear the same gaze of muted shock and dismay.


Somewhere further down the mountain, the pair sit beside a campfire under a portrait of stars. The woman holds the sleeping babe in her plated arms, swaddled in a fresh blanket, while a small pail of milk sits nearby with a rag on its edge. A poor substitute for a mother’s teat, but the best a barren protector can manage for her newfound charge.
She worries over something, and he responds in kind, assuaging a gnawing doubt that has long plagued her. Over the days, her posture changes as a long-held weight sloughs from her shoulders.
A purpose to find. A life to protect.


At the gates of Talestone, the guards keep the pair at sword’s length. The recognize the man’s face; they know the fell deeds of the woman’s faith. Strange tales have made their way across the realm, and times are becoming harder. There is no room for brigands and murderers in civilized society.
The pair suspected as much. He offers a solemn oath that both shall abide the sanctity of the city’s laws, but he also promises that if they wrong the woman for the past she seeks to recant, then no force of heaven or earth will stay his wrath.
To prove her sincerity, she brings her blade to the smith and binds it with a lockless chain. She packs it away with her blood-soaked armor, tucked beneath the neglected building the man was granted.


The child grows, beloved by her guardians and ignorant of the sordid histories that both abandoned, for their own sakes as much as hers. Years pass, and though the pair live their own lives, they are ever after bound by her, and each other.
For the first time, he has a goal beyond fragmented moments of survival, a purpose to his once-aimless wanderings. Skills gained through a checkered life now put to use in service of something better, something worthwhile... and a few scattered adventures, when time permits or circumstance demands. Though many in the town yet doubt their motives, he is unconcerned. A purpose drives him forward.
A life to protect. A future to build.


Yet, three simple words went ever unspoken between the man and his once-rival. It was so obvious between them, he never thought they need be said. Even if he regretted never putting them to voice, they were no less true.
And she felt the same.


Your senses return by degrees, in halting steps. Blurry images come into focus, voices drum against your ears, your mouth fills with the sharp aftertaste of blood. Muscles protest against their movement, but you struggle to a sit with clenched teeth.
A worn statue of the Reaper dominates the chamber, lit by a bevy of candles: a stern guardian of the fallen, rather than a portent of death. Beside it, Jon notices you stir and gives a sigh.
Thank Sunnis. You scared the hell out of me, Minerva.
… Nngh… Not ‘us’?
No. Something… something happened when we found you. It was like… like the only thing you could think of was… all you’d ever done wrong. All you failures, your mistakes. All at once, smothering everything else.
… Then… Then, how did…?
Before Jon can answer, you notice the stuffed bear hanging from his belt. It glows with a soft amber light, a warmth you can feel as much as you can see.
You press your hand against your chest, feeling the same glow. A glance down reveals the robin’s feather left on the remains of King Ironheart, tied to a loop of leather that hangs from your neck. The Sultan’s amulet rests heavy on Joeseph’s chest; Chardler fiddles Blackbeard’s coin between his smoldering fingers; Ofone wears the once-frozen crown on his arm like some strange bracelet; the gorgon’s gemstone sits in a crude headband affixed to Adolf’s brow.
To be honest, I don’t really know. I panicked, but… well, I had a few old geezers yelling in my ears. Helped me keep focused. Their idea seemed to work out for us.

Before you can say anything further, the dragon hatchlings begin to bark and trill. They streak toward you, landing on the stones and nuzzling against you, clambering across your form like a pair of excited dogs. Their simple joy is a welcome comfort, and you do not stop to wonder why you understand their relief so plainly.
When they at last calm down, you draw your gaze over your companions. All of them look much more pale than they should; for a moment, you think you can trace the veins in Chardler’s face without Altima’s aid.
Ofone pushes off from a railing, the soft arch of his eyes an alien thing.
You back with us, then?
… I… I think so. I’m… I’m sorry, everyone. I shouldn’t have-
What did you see?
Pardon?
When it… overtook you. What did you see?
At first? … I don’t know. It was nothing, to me. Just… just light, pure and wrathful. It probably means something, but… I don’t know.


Chardler averts his eyes for a moment, worrying his jaw as he thinks. When he draws a breath to speak, the candles are snuffed out by a sudden, frigid wind.
You rise, gritting your teeth as the hatchlings fly into a protective rage. It is not the same panicked flailing when they sensed the presence of their kin, but a warding, stern anger at the robed figure that forms from the deepest shadows.


It approaches, unhurried and bold, and speaks with a grim whisper that echoes in the depths of your mind.
You who would end the Dragons... know you their nature?


A scourge. Some claim them the sins of the world made manifest, a divine punishment. Others, a blight of life, a disease that ravages and ruins. It matters not what they are. Only that they are destroyed.
You balk at the venom in Charder’s tone, and see Adolf cast a worried glance to the pyromancer.
Some, perhaps.
And those that are not?
Tacit observers. Bringers of cruel mercy. Criminals and their jailers. Destroyers. Protectors. Everything, and thus nothing. As all life.
Talk sense, damnit.
Your lives are history. Theirs are legend, whispered in awed tones among the countless years of Man.
Well, yeah. Every civilization has some kind of story about dragons… Usually ends with killing ‘em.
So they do. But you find no curiosity in them? Every tribe of Man, since time immemorial, speaks of Dragon. Those that fall must surely be flesh.


… Timeless.
Pardon?
The body of a dragon can… die. But the essence of it, the… the idea of ‘Dragon’, is Timeless.
So… o-okay, wait. Wait a minute. They’re gods?
No, not… not quite. They can be, but… they don’t start that way.
But they have been present in history as long as any can remember. Some would think them worth worship.
Hmm. Would that not make one a god?
Were it to become God, it would cease being Dragon. Many have tried, or were forced to take such mantles. Some are still whispered of, long after their breaking.
Okay, so what is a Dragon, then?
Purity. Of flame, or frost, or destruction, or life. Of skill at arms, or the pen, or speech, or song. Honed by years of care or granted by divine fiat, it makes little difference. Some are content with becoming Dragon, and take the flesh as provenance. Some are born as dragon, and grow into their purpose, into their title. Some see Dragon as but a step in their journey.
And once they don the mantle of Dragon… they become Timeless?
Indeed. So, I ask again, mortals. What does Dragon mean to you?
…
Fear.
…
Destruction.
Greed.
Mystery.
Challenge.
… Crisis. A singular threat. There is a Dragon, in this land, that brings fear and woe. One that has been asleep for an age.
… Yes. One among many. Your forebears challenged it. Their efforts were… incapable. No matter the worth of their mettle, it is still Dragon. Still Timeless.
Too strong to be slain.
But not too strong to sleep. It took much to weaken this Dragon, and more to keep it bound. Lives spent for lives spared, a history rendered to tallow to coat the future in its corpse wax.
A desperate gambit that couldn’t last forever.
No. And now, in the churning of the world, it struggles to wake. Still tender. Still weak. It is Dragon, but still it is flesh.
… Then we must ask you to release it.


After a moment of tense silence, the figure takes a wide stance. Spectral sickles manifest in each of its hands, and a grave pall of arcana seeps into the air all around you.
Prove your worth. Your eyes are not the only ones that gaze upon its soon-corpse. May the Dead judge the dying.
The Dead One is the main boss here in Castle Gloom.
I fucking hate it.


Sure, its stat block doesn’t look like much. Baked in Life Steal and a shedload of HP, okay, and that ‘Disable Immunity’ under its resists is concerning, to be sure.
Everything about this box is a filthy lie.


Because as soon as the fight starts, you discover that the boss is invulnerable.
Oh, but it gets better. Unlike the Witch, the Dead One is PERMANENTLY invulnerable. As in, you cannot deal damage to it. At all. Ever.
Instead, you have to last for ten rounds of combat with it summoning mobs every odd turn.


You feel the energies tear at your very life, cold and ravenous as needles strike your skin. A fog wraps around the figure while the floor beneath you shudders and cracks apart, exposing countless bones trapped under its foundations.
A light fills you, searing and unfamiliar. You snarl in pain as your flesh begins to writhe and distend, your teeth drawing blood as they sharpen into fangs. Still, you channel the alien light as you would Altima’s glory, holding the strange presence at bay for the moment.


A thick wall of ice springs up from the shattered bricks, cutting the thing off from Ofone as it stalks toward you. Adolf’s eyes have locked wide open, his sickly pallor now impossibly wan.

Hidden by Night – Jake Kaufman – Shovel Knight: Specter of Torment​

The figure speaks, its harsh rasp sending ice down your spine. Beside you, Adolf winces in pain and doubt while bullets and gouts of flame dissipate on the figure’s necrotic cloak.



With a gesture, bones begin to rise on a wave of dark magic. It is imperious and forceful, an orderly thing that demands its subjects heed this unflinching will.
The tide crashes over you, and the faltering grip of your control slips ever further. Blood leaks from your eyes and between your lips, soaking into your robes from widening rends down the length of your body.
This isn’t a boss fight; it is a survivability check. Either you can weather TEN GODDAMNED ROUNDS of the Dead One trying to carve your shit up while summoning skeletons that summon more skeletons, or you rejigger your builds so you can.
It’s about as fun as it sounds. That is to say, like slamming a door on your dick repeatedly.


In the moment before the world flashes white, you see Jon scramble back as your arms warp with shattering bones. A scream of pain again becomes a roar, and a furious Light you cannot hope to command spills out from your body.
Desperate, you struggle against the pain. A prayer to the Crimson Angel tries to form on your shredding lips, its unspoken words echoing through your mind.


Minerva, keep a fucking hold of yourself! We need you here!
NGH… N… N E E D…?
A shouted plea filters through your ears, giving you a point of focus. Whatever you have become, the power that consumes you, is indeed far beyond your ability to control. But as blood-etched silhouettes take shape in your vision, you cling tight to the hope that it might at least be directed.


Trapped upon a wagon hitched to a herd of panicking stallions, you scramble for the proverbial reins and brace yourself.
Dark shapes in your vision, absences of life and Light, waver against your rage.


A clap of thunder echoes in your skull. Some of the figures vanish in a glowing cloud of blue-white.


Bones and canine spirits rise from behind the Void-thing and its servants, all blood-tinted. Friendly, if the word could cross your furious mind.



Beside you, the deathly magician strains, sweat beading on his brow as he pours more of his focus into the wall keeping the dead ones at bay. Chunks of frost crumble to the stones from wild shots and passing fire, or are torn from the barricade by calcified hands and rusted blades.
Something word-like hisses from your maw, but its meaning – whether encouragement, threats, mere observation, or anything between – is as unknown to you as it is to him.


Long-gone hands claw up from beneath, groping and raking in a blind, boundless hunger. Grunts of pain from your…
F… F R E N S…?
… Friends…? The word still seems too strange to consider, let alone to say.
… From your companions draw an intense ire. A roar of command tears from your throat, forcing their trifling wounds shut and the dead things back.



A snap kick sends the undead tumbling. Whole skeletons crash into the thinning wall, shattering it like crystal.
Adolf hisses in pain somewhere behind you, collapsing to his knees. A pillar of crackling blue-white erupts into the breach as you force vitality into his body, clearing a path that a new barrier of tangled thorns may fill the gap. Jon plants the butt of his rifle on the floor, gripping the barrel to steady himself as he bends under the weight of ages that move through him.


Details begin to take shape around you – flesh and faces, shattered candlesticks and piles of bone shards strewn along the hall. Pain echoes down your body, scales sloughing away into a red mist to reveal the pale skin beneath as the Light fades from you.
A thick coat of blood preserves your modesty where shredded cloth no longer suffices. You shudder once in the frigid breeze, a long-forgotten memory raking at your mind of a wet red blanket and a shaking gauntlet reaching for you.


Like the stunned glance Ofone throws in your direction, you push it aside. There is still much work to be done, and this moment of clarity must not be squandered.



The dead thing’s command rings out again, drawing another cloak of shadows and despair over your mind. Horrid images of woe and slaughter, of Mother exulting over a pile of broken corpses, fill your consciousness while bones claw and slash at your band.


The Light tears free from your momentary control, a claw bursting from your chest as it rends from its prison of flesh with a ragged scream. Your disintegrating form scatters into a cascade of brilliance, a white-red prism of succor, scourge, and shredded skin to drive back the encroaching, insatiable dark.
No frost or foliage remains to keep the dead things at bay. It has all been torn asunder or burned away in fire, holy or mundane. Something must fill the gap.



That something is you, and the life and Light you bear in furious measure. Minions and allies rush to the line you draw, now a barricade of flame and steel and blinding light.




The thing is too powerful, too ancient, too primordial to be slain. It is an avatar of some olden axiom: of Death, of Finality, of End. But its lesser kin are not so fortunate.


Its words bore into your mind, threatening you with visions of the future. Of a lonely grave, crumbling and forgotten after scant generations.


Again you find yourself digging bare, bleeding feet into rubble and bone shards. Unsteady and exhausted, until a phantom hand braces you with firm compassion. The pain welling up in your body seems trivial beneath Her touch, and rather than shirk its sting, you find yourself seeking it. Attempting to draw it to the surface willingly, rather than waiting for the Light to impose upon you.
I… walk in Altima’s… light… I bear… Her glory… And w-we… sh… shall n-not… be-


D E N I E D!


The shroud of darkness peels away, spent for your refusal to yield. Skeletons clatter to the floor, inert, and the rage bleeds from your body to leave a dull pain in its wake.


Puffs and wheezes fill your ears as your companions steady themselves. Worn and exhausted from the battle and what inner demons the thing brought to bear in their minds, but whole. Warm light floods your body, helping to dry the blood-sodden mess your reforming robes have become.
So it shall be. They wake.


All lights flicker and fade, in time. It falls to its bearers, then, to ensure it passes to the next. Go now, and carry that brand.

The dead thing’s form wavers, receding into the void from which it hails. In its place, golden lights drain from the dragonslayers’ relics, their substance fading into nothingness. Their lingering energies form into a single point of growing amber light that swells with each mote it draws in.

Tranquility – Yasunori Shiono & Katsuyoshi Hayashi – Chaos Seed​

It forms into a human shape, growing familiar features: a slightly crooked nose, unruly hair, piercing blue eyes, broad shoulders. Your staff clatters to the floor as you take a halting step, raw emotions tearing at your heart as a smile plays on the figure’s lips.
… Papa?
No further words are able to pass your throat, choked as it is with sobs you can only just suppress. You step forward with blurring vision, reaching out in vain for a final embrace you expect to never receive.
Then Father's hand wraps across your shoulder to pat your hair, and the dam bursts.
You cannot begin to question why he can hold you now. You only recognize that his soft shushing of your tears, a sibilant sound full of warmth and wisdom, is all you have been desperate to hear for far, far too long.

Shhhhhh. It's alright, my girl. I'm here now, if only for a moment.
I'm s-s-so… I'msorryPapaI'msosorry Ishouldhavebeenthere I-I-Ishouldn’tveletyougo I-
Shhhhhh. Minerva, please. It's alright, I promise you. It's alright. None of this is your fault, my dear. I chose this. I may not have known what was happening, but I knew something had to be done. And here you are now, finishing what a daft old man started.
Thi… Nn… None of this s-should have happened.
No, it shouldn't have. But what can we do but try to pick up the pieces and make it right? Listen, my girl. You know better than I can say that you should go forth and live your life, not stay here and grieve 'till the sun burns out.

You pull away from his chest at last, looking up as a wry smile tugs at his face. In fits and starts, you rein in your wild emotions and try to blink the tears from your vision.
All its ups and downs, the pain and uncertainty and joy, it's a journey worth taking, and you're taking to it wonderfully. If anything, I should be the one apologizing. I'd hoped to be with you on your first proper adventure.
… You were. Had your journal.
That old thing? Hah! I suppose it finally came in handy for someone. Heavens know I never could have been a poet.
A chronicler, maybe.
And have some rat bastard noble peering over my shoulder while I work, sniffing his fat nose at every word I scribble down for a whiff of sedition? I think not, young man. No stipend is worth so much trouble.
Pfft!
Heh.
A strained sound escapes your throat. Half a chuckle, half a sob, a whole reminder of a past long since gone.
Well… I ought to get going, then. Can't stay here chatting forever. I'm so proud of you, Minerva. So proud.
Th… thank you, Papa. … I love you.
Love you, too, dear. And… and tell Aurora for me, too.
Yes sir.
Mind your Mother, and have some good tales for me when we meet again, you hear?
Y-yes sir.


You bury your head against his neck one final time, chest tight as his fading arms wrap around you. Then you hold stock still in that pose, until the light fades and the warmth on your skin is gone.
But the embers keep quietly burning in your heart, and for a blessed moment, all is right in the world.

 

[Mooger Meng]

27 – Flamewalkers


Your return from the castle, while less dangerous than the approach, is not without its own concerns. Chardler is notably curt, keeping a distance from both yourself and the others when possible. You overhear strained muttering between he and Ofone at times, the warrior admonishing him to ‘Get on with it!’ more often than not.
All the while, you feel a pressure build at the edge of your perception. Rage and fury made manifest, but distant and sluggish. Only just roused from its enforced slumber, seeing the world with groggy eyes and despising the shapes that swim into focus. Far to the south, a wordless roar of hate and challenge shakes your mind at odd times.
The dragon pups are concerned for you both. Their simple, childlike emotion speaks volumes as they flit between the pyromancer and yourself. Alternately clinging to your warmth or nipping playfully at the edges of your robes, it seems as if they wish to break the tension that they (or you) do not fully understand.
Perhaps it does some measure of good. Chardler’s temper never rises beyond surly rumination.
Beating the Dead One opens up the last “act”, which is more of a formality than anything. Still, the shops start offering the best consumables and modifiers for their respective services. I’ll go over the consumables in particular a little later; some of them are quite handy if you can get them in bulk, though perhaps more useful on higher difficulties.


The faint stench of death reaches you before the gates of Talestone come into view. Outside the walls, you can see where blood has soaked into the earth so deeply that the morning dew alone cannot wash it away.
You recognize the faces of a small number of the nobles’ youth among the detail, decked in what armor can be spared and casting uncertain glances to the Blind Guardian’s warrior that heads the defenses. She nods her avian helm at your group, a chirp escaping from the metal that relaxes a tension in your body that went hitherto unnoticed.
The would-be cadets give a sigh of relief as their taskmistress bids them stand aside. It is a small comfort knowing that they were even less eager to fight than you.
Also, some of the spoils we get now are a little silly. With these two items, Adolf can now field... what, 7 or 8 summons simultaneously? Probably overkill, but I don’t care.
You might notice the scythe, like the ring I passed up when we first started encountering dragons, is noted as a “Tier” item. Those are postgame loot with modifiers to match, that only get bigger and more ridiculous as you go. We won’t be seeing much of them in this thread; we’re almost finished with the story, anyway.


So, where next?
Well, the only place we’ve got left is-
The Emberlands. Unless we’d prefer to take another pass through the countryside to see if we missed anything.
That should not be necessary. Were there any rogue dragons in wait, I think we would have encountered them by now.
Then speed is of the essence, I think.
Yeah. Get supplies, be back in an hour?
Sounds good.
Mmm.
Right.
Not you.
I hardly-
Not. You.
…


Ofone puts his hand on Chardler’s shoulder as the rest of you fan out into the square, not bothering to mask his gruff concern. You lose track of Joseph and Adolf in seconds; Jon makes a fast march to the apothecary, digging in a satchel as he goes. Some plant or another he wishes her to examine, or a formula, or some other trifle that relates to her profession.


You drift towards where Mother has ever lingered, seeing a small number of junior Menders listen to her words with rapt attention. You wait until they are satisfied and begin to leave, spying a flash when sunlight bounces off the necklace one of them wears; a small round of burnished copper engraved with a goblet tipped to the side, a red drop hanging from its brim.
…?
The image is deeply familiar to you. It is the Cup of Life, Altima’s holy symbol… at least, as you have known it since your youth.
… Are… are they… Mother, did you…?

She catches your form in the crowd, a smile of unbridled relief breaking over her face as you approach.
Minerva! Oh, thank Altima you are safe.
Broadly, yes, but a little steel didn’t hurt to have at hand. Mother, were those who I think they were?
Menders? Yes, they were. With all that has transpired of late… the dragons, the madness, the wounded, they have been hard-pressed to keep pace by mortal means alone. Between the tacit approval of our… guests… and your work in their hospital, some of them have been willing to hear Her words.
I… I can hardly believe it.
Yes, well. I feel you are the one to thank for this opportunity, my dear. To hear my claims for years upon years is one thing, but for your actions to prove them true… Words cannot describe my gratitude, Minerva. You’ve given an old woman hope.
Did… did you find Hugh? You must have. Has he returned with you? I swear, that man gives me-
A sad smile draws across your face, and you feel Mother’s heart breaking before the words leave you.
We… I did, Mother. And I’m sorry, but…
… He’s gone, isn’t he?
… He is.
… I… I see. If… if that s-stubborn oaf would have l-listened, then… then he… w-well…
I was fortunate enough to… to speak with him. Before he… parted. Whole and lucid.
… A-and?
He loves you.
Mother’s face goes pale. Her lips draw tight, then start to shake as her breath comes in fits and starts from a clenched jaw. Her shoulders soon follow, shuddering under the emotions that shatter her like brittle iron.
… Hugh… y-you damned… bloody c-coward… sh-sh-should h-have… n-nev-never c-c-c-could… y-y-you… wh-why? WHY?!

She mutters a few syllables, sputtering them out between sobs that she tries to turn into snarls. You take her by the shoulder, leading her away from the prying eyes of the square and allowing her the liberty to vent her grief.
Through bitter tears and balled fists pounding against your chest, it leeches from her like venom. Words unspoken, dreams unfulfilled. But a promise kept, to protect those closest at any cost. The pair were warriors, once. They always knew what that price might be.
But she had long since lost the heart to see it paid.


When Mother at last recovers, she is quick to direct you to the gates. ‘There is no time to be wasted on a heartbroken old maid,’ her words claim, as she struggles to prepare her station for the wounded once more.
The work will give her a well-needed distraction. There is little else you can do for her now, save for seeing your new task through.
You good, healer?
As well as can be.
And her?
The same.
Hmm.
… What’s that look for, Jon? Something wrong?
Isn’t something always wrong? C’mere, have a gander.


You remember that tomato-looking trader fella?
Mister Bankman?
That’s the one. His caravan came in from the south recently, and they saw the old roads to the Emberlands torn to rubble.
That’s… unfortunate. We can still get down there, can’t we?
We shall need to take the secondary path around the peaks. It was never built up quite as much as the trade road, so it will be slow going at best.
And we’ll have to cut some uncharted paths through Wyrmrest to get at it. Uncharted to us, anyway.
More blood-forsaken sand.
Afraid so. At least we’ll get a chance to acclimate to the heat.
Lovely. Nothing else for it, then. Are we prepared?
Of course. Herr Steel was making ready to fetch you himself, had you taken much longer.
Always hoping to keep me on task, hmm?
Someone must.
Better you than an Inquest. Let’s not stand on ceremony, then.


The desert is fraught with enraged creatures, harrying your every step.



The sands warp beneath your feet. The air stings with a familiar malice, ever arraying itself in your path. Testing your resolve, your strength. Seeking to consume the weak like a starving beast.


But its influence is not absolute. Pockets of safety and sanity yet remain, turned aside by otherworldly forces or strength of will and arcana.
Warm greetings, travelers.
Good to see you again, elder. This… this madness seems to cause you little trouble.
I know old secrets. I do not linger, lest it learn them.
Then we shouldn’t, either. If it follows us, then it’ll be done soon enough. If not, at least we won’t be a burden.
Would that your demon allowed you to stay for a while. But such is the flow of life. Amba, travelers.
Amba, elder.


The level 30 version of this Fortune isn’t bad at all; 300 Armor is a significant amount of flat bonus. Ofone has better ones to use, but it’s still nice to see.



Not liking this.
Does she not have anything better to occupy her time?


Ah. Another of the old heroes.
The Seraph. Not an angel, really. Just a very skilled healer.


You’re in good company, then.
Perhaps. She… she had a name, but… I can’t recall it. Swear I’ve read it before, or heard it, or… What was it?
That looks like some old coin in there. I don’t recognize the engravings.
A lot of coin. We gonna take it?


Not a wise course of action. That water must be enchanted thrice over. I wouldn’t poke an oar in unless I had to.
Meh… Fair.


The Fortune isn’t really worth it, but taking that debuff isn’t either.


Oh, for fuck’s sake. Not again.
None shall pass.
I don’t care how much offal she stuffed in your plate this time. Stand aside.
Pardon?
Move me, then.
Huh. That’s a nice change.
If you cannot best Her servants, how can you hope to stand against Her foes? Move me, or succumb.
Well, if you insist…

Away with you, dog.
Sunnis’ tits, that’s a lot of gore!
All fingers and teeth again?
She seems fond of spare limbs. Or extremities. Or… or just meat. Raw, wrigging meat.
Curious. Disgusting, but curious.


The edge of the Emberlands looms close, glowing in the night like some distant star. While the others putter around camp, you head to the rise of a nearby cliff and find the pyromancer, leaning slightly on his staff as he stares daggers at the bleeding mountains.
Chardler. Do you have a moment?
… I suppose I can make one.
Then I’ll be plain. How have I wronged you?
He does not answer immediately. After a moment of hesitation, he glances over his shoulder at you with a rueful face, then turns back to the ragged peaks.
You are not the first I have seen be touched by a Dragon.
… Wait. That burn scar.
He touches the old wound seconds before the words leave your mouth. You ponder over the shining flesh for a moment, thoughts at last settling on the few times you have seen his composure break.
Who was she?
My sister. We lived here, once. Plenty of nooks where small villages or the like can cling to life, close enough to the old outpost for safety. But everything was so… bland, after a while. You can get used to the heat, the humidity, even the peril, given enough time. So, we began to travel, if only into Wyrmrest and its environs. And what wonders the realms held, even just beyond the Emberlands! Marvels of magic and mundane comforts a young mind could scarcely imagine.
But something went awry.
Hmm. One day, we met with an aging treasure hunter in dunes. He’d spent his life in search of the buried secrets of Moltendunn. Charlotte and I were just the help he needed to piece together his fragmented maps and charts into cohesion. There was no grand discovery for us. Just a long-forgotten chest with a smattering of goods from the vanished city.

Chardler pauses, shaking his head. Wings beat through the too-warm air as the dragon pups approach. One alights on the end of his staff, balancing on the headpiece like some oversized cat; the other circles you before draping across the back of your shoulders and nudging your cheek with its snout. Both of you reach at the same time, scratching where their jaws hinge on their necks and earning contented trills.
There was an old dragon’s claw in the coffer. Worn smooth, like a trophy of some sort, we all thought. … It was days until the change to took hold. Her temper began to fray at first, then a fever struck her that I could barely understand. No curative, no brew could ease the pain. Then… then her body began to turn, and she… cast herself into the lava. When what remained emerged, all fire and fury, I…
… Chardler…
I was struck by panic. By fear. I… I ran. I ran, while our home burned. The wardens at the outpost refused to believe me at first. Then, when they saw the ruins, saw… saw her, they blamed me. Cast me out, on pain of death.
He stares off into the far distance for a moment, then heaves a sigh.
I doubt they will have forgotten, or forgiven. My apologies for this complication, Minerva. I suppose I ought have spoken up sooner.
You’ve nothing to beg forgiveness for on my account. As far as I am concerned, you’ve done no wrong. And if they wish to press the matter, it will not end well for them.
That… is part of my concern. As much as I appreciate your support, I don’t despise them enough to wish them dead.
You think I’ll lose control.
Worried you may. You’ve come back from the brink, where Charlotte could not.
I… must be made of stranger stuff. Were I a fine, upstanding woman, then perhaps I would not fare as well as I have. Sadly, it seems all you have to rely upon now is a horrid, vengeful bitch far too accustomed to baptizing herself in blood with a giddy smile.
As the aroma of roasting meat wafts past where you stand, the corners of Chardler’s mouth begin to turn upward.
… Please, madam. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you grin like a maniac under such duress. There’s always far too much work to be done for you to waste energy on frivolity.
Haul it back, you two! Otherwise Ofone’s going to eat everything!
Meyir’s teeth. I’ve seen him go, and that is no idle threat.
Gimme the goddamn pork!
Schisse! Back! Back, madman!
Case in point.
Oh dear. I don’t know if I’m ready to fight him over a steak, but I’d rather not find out.
After you.

The King of England – Bladestorm: The Hundred Years’ War – Jamie Christopherson​

When day breaks, you begin the trek towards the fuming heart of the Emberlands, and the Dragon you feel waiting among its molten stone.
For a time, Ofone grumbles bitterly under his breath. After an hour’s further march, his temper boils over, though not as wildly as you have seen it do before.
Gods’ blood, pyromancer! How the hell do you manage it? Out here crawling over some mountain’s festering crotch, and you’re wearing ten pounds of robes and a leather greatcoat.
It’s the layers. Bottom ones help wick away the sweat. Everything past that is just keeping hydrated and a bit of willpower. Believe me, if I stripped down to my underclothes I’d probably smell worse than you.
Huh. Yeah, I’ll believe it.
Would you rather be back in the desert, freezing your ass off every night? Oh, or that horrid swamp that was just as cloying on top of being a festering, blighted armpit?
Fuck off, ranger.
Yeah, me either.


… Trees, out here?
One of the hardier species. And before anyone asks, yes, they are carnivorous.
This was normal for you?!
I didn’t know any better at the time.


So, let me make sure I understand the situation.
Alright.
The trees in the Emberlands are ambulatory.
Some of them, yes.
And those that are, are predatory.
Correct.
How? Not, ‘how is this even possible’, but ‘how did their environment produce such a mutation in the first place’?
That… is a fine question. I suspect there was some meddling wizard involved, and perhaps a very lonely, incredibly desperate dryad. I’m also surprised you’ve not had an outburst.
I’m so far beyond confused I can’t muster the energy to be angry about it.
Ah. Quite understandable.


… Huh. Solid.
Indeed. It’s captured Ironheart’s better days well.
No, solid. Solid gold.
Must be enchanted, then. Would have melted in the heat otherwise.


Hmm.
I know that grunt.
Think you can?
Melt it down? … Possibly, but it would take some doing.


Gods only know what sort of alarums its craftsman wove in with the bolstering spells. Having to cut down an entire clan would be more trouble than it’s worth.
For an effigy of a tyrant?
And a shitload of money.
Tell us, then. Who shall be the first to break their spine attempting to carry so much weight?
… You can fix us, right?
Oh, I can. But it wouldn’t be quick, no matter if I wanted it to be or not.
Bah. The elements will take it in time.


At this rate, it’ll be a while yet. Let’s keep on. Looks like some shell of a… a church or something nearby we can get our bearings in.


Trouble.
…
Well? No pithy barbs? No looming, vague threats? No venom for the subject of your single-minded infatuation?


I have other worries to tend. Other servants. Other children.
But perhaps I can spare a moment of spite for you and your hateful existence.
On must wonder what it feels like to become of the divine. To shackle yourself to the whims and follies of those who bend their knees in your presence. Is it everything you dreamed of? A prelude to all you hoped to achieve?
SILENCE, FLESHLING! OR I SHALL HAVE YOUR TONGUE FOR A WASHCLOTH.


A fury builds in your heart, while bloody cracks split open on your skin. But you do not lose your temper. Not yet, even as your teeth hone to points and your robes are stained from beneath with red.
Why don’t you try, then?
YOU-
Yes, me! Us! All of us are sick of your empty threats! Your cloying lies! Your delusions of power over our hearts! You wish to claim Death? Fine. Send your worshipers, then! Hurl your supplicants onto our blades, that they may meet you sooner! Lock them in your coffin, smother them with your love, and rot in silence alongside them!



You will regret such words.
I would regret more if they passed unsaid.


…
What?
Got it out of your system?
… Yes. Yes, I think I have.
Good. ‘Bout time someone told her off.
If she truly wishes to bear such responsibility, she needs to grow up.


And that’s your problem?
If she doesn’t want to leave well enough alone. Otherwise, I know few enraged harpies that would gladly put paid to her ambitions.
… Speaking of paid, look here.


Holy shit!
Oh my.
That’s the stuff! Oh man, there is no way we can carry all of this.
Everybody grab a couple, then. Already got told off twice, the hell I’m letting another go!
Only a couple? A bit miserly of you, Ofone.
Fuck off, healer! We still have shit to do!


No, she might not be mistaken. These are smaller bars. We may be able to carry them if we pack smart.
We even have time for that?
We can make a little, I think. Let’s take a moment and shift things around. Jon, any suggestions?
Uh. Got enough leather to reinforce the bags. Might need to unpack and put these at the bottom…

Curious that Herr Chardler is allowing himself to be caught up in such frivolity.
I think it’s an entertaining little puzzle to him.
Hmm.
And it placates Ofone. We have been trying to keep his desire for lucre in check, after all, and this batch probably isn’t cursed.


…?
No, no, no. Wrap the potions, just in case.
With what?
You galoot- here, gimme. Tie these straps off for us.
… Did… did you set that fire pit up while I was distracted, fraulein?
… No, I did not.


Companions, perhaps you ought hurry.
What’s wrong, Adolf?
Necromancy is afoot.


More than afoot!
Oh, that’s it! Piss off, deadmen, we’re busy!



… We good?


Looks that way.
Good. Back at it, quickly.
I suppose I can make some tea.
A sound plan, valkyrie.
Yes, this Event is just ‘get into a fight for a bonfire’. Not worth it.


All set?
I think so.
Yep. Ghmfh.
Mmm. Well, if you insist.


Ho, travelers. Spare a moment?
Perhaps.


I suspect ye’re busy, so I’ll be direct. My clan’s forgemaster has gone mad, and I cannae put an end to him myself. I’d be grateful if ye could do so in my stead.
This happened recently?
Aye, scant days past. He claimed to hear some honeyed whisperings, shortly before he turned his ire on us. Most of my kin made for the outpost, but I cannae bring myself to leave him to wreak havoc unchecked.
Jon sidles up to you, his voice barely audible over the churn of the rugged land.
You sure he’s not pulling one on us?
I don’t think so.
And he is not of the mountain clans?
Might’ve been one that left in the past. I don’t recognize the crest.
Joseph glances backward with a raised brow, stepping to the side as you come forward.
Very well. If the proud are so desperate, then it would be churlish indeed to deny aid.


The smith gives a sigh that does not ease the tension in his form.
Thank ye, humans. I have a few works close at hand; if they be any use for you, I’d be willing to part with them.
That should not be necessary, but it is generous of you.
Aww, man. If Joseph wasn’t using something to give him gobs more lightning damage, this chest armor might be a compelling pick so he could free up a few skill points.


Voices in the flames, my love. Make them stop. I don’t care about their pain, but the babbling is incessant!


Have to focus. Have to work. No time for distractions, for fools. The Work must continue!
… A bit tall for a dwarf.
Must’ve impressed them.
No pressing! No talking! No life! No hope! No flame, no steel, no purpose! Hammer flesh and bone and temper with blood! Into the flames you go!


That’s not happening. Ofone, hold him still a moment for us, would you?
Easy.



HORFL!
Not… quite what I meant, but I shan’t complain.
Well, when was the last time one of that little cunt’s minions came to their senses?
Don’t get into the habit of making sense, Ofone. You’re liable to frighten someone.
Yeah, yeah.


… A waste of a good craftsman. Still, nae else to be done for him.
Our sympathies, sir. Will you be alright for the time being?
Aye. What slithers through the mountain’s blood is nae to be trifled with, but we have survived many of your generations. I’ll nae slag any more of your time.
Very well. Be safe, smith.

 

[Mooger Meng]

28 – The Devils’ Due

The heat continues to build as you travel, becoming oppressive and stifling. When you next draw to a halt, Chardler casts a sour look all around the environs.
Hnn… Too much sulfur.
What?
That rotten egg smell. It’s too heavy.
That is not all.
No. My skin is crawling, too.


Jon jogs back up the path with a scowl.
Bad news. I don’t think the dwarves made it to the outpost.
Corpses?
Too small to be human, too broad to be children, too scorched to tell for sure. Something got away, but I can’t tell what kind of trail it made on all these rocks. Terrain’s a little out of my league.
We’ll have to hope one of them survived, then.
This path leads to the outpost proper, in any case. Best we go ourselves and make sure.
There is something foul in the air. A… a taint. I cannot describe it better.
… Battle?
Wha-
Jon’s head cranes to the side, and he raises a hand to quiet you. His eyes drift almost shut as he strains his ears.
I… I think I hear steel on steel. That way, but I know the mountains play hell with the acoustics.
Again toward the outpost. I’ve a bad feeling.
Then we move. Either we find foes or shelter.
Yup.

Scarlet Feast (Chase) – Satoshi Hori – Monster Hunter Rise: Sunbreak​

Jutting piles of jagged stone and rivers of molten rock pass in a blur as Jon follows a path through the Emberlands. At one junction near a ruined forge, Chardler hurtles forward to pull the ranger, and your path, to the side.


Chardler, what the hel-
Before he can answer, a spire of sharp crimson crystals shudders, revealing itself to be some manner of long-forgotten guardian construct.
That!
Its limbs rumble and grind as it turns your direction, taking a heavy step forward. It radiates a blistering heat, as if a fragment of the very concept of Fire were trapped in its core.
Volcanic Titans function like miniature versions of the Dwarven Warmachine. I don’t like them, but in the "these things are a little tricky to fight" manner rather than "these things are hot dogshit to fight". For Champion rank units, they do the job they’re supposed to well.


Joseph and Ofone charge forward, their weapons whipping through the air in a blur of motion and enchanted steel. Every hit scales away chunks of the construct’s form, the shards catching alight as they scatter to the ground.
For one, they cause all the tiles around them to catch fire every time they take any damage. Not fun for your melee units.


You fill the mens’ forms with holy light before their grunts of pain reach your ears, giving them the strength to endure while they cut the thing down to rubble. The pair are quick to scramble from the flames once the bulk of the construct shatters, slapping at the flames on their clothes while you soothe their many burns.


You stumble as Adolf shoulders past you, following the streak of flame Chardler looses at the remaining construct. He runs through the blaze, chanting in his harsh mother tongue. The words call forth the dead and coalesce a winter fury from what little moisture hangs in the air.
Adolf, what are you doing?!
Get back here, wizard!
Yeah, this was a misclick summoning one of the skeletons.

You see the thing’s fist rise, and brace yourself. A golden shell forms around the necromancer the instant before the construct strikes the ground, shattering into a pillar of light as it absorbs the heat and shards of half-melted rock that explode from below. Pain lances through you, your vision going white and red as dozens of wounds open on your body.
These things also just cast Fissure as a basic attack, just to spite you.
Also, here's Redemption in action, saving me from my own stupidity.


You feel Chardler drag you aside as the red blurs of your companions rush forward to battle. Fangs prick at your tongue and scales seek to tear our from your wounds. But you wrestle them back into your body, somehow.


The sound of ancient crystal shattering to splinters is one you feel, more than hear. From somewhere above, warm rains douse your party in gentle droplets of mana.
Are you alright, Minerva?
Chardler’s hand remains on your shoulder, steadying you as the others return. You see the worry etched on his features as he presses his hand against half-healed wounds you no longer feel. The pain and exhaustion bearing down on you come from the beast within, not such trifling injuries.
Nothing looks as it should. All the world is blurry and out of focus, awash with a growing rage that has taken seat in your bosom.
… What the hell’s with her eyes?
Oh, shit. You good, healer?
Nnngh… Will… Will be. N-need to… move.
The words rumble in your throat, trying to become a growl.
… Stay close.
Right.


Jon leads you further down the blasted road, glancing back every so often to ensure that none have fallen behind. It gives you enough time to clear your vision and master your rebelling limbs once again.
Still, passing craters cause your rage to flare. Some aspect of their creation wells up a blind fury inside you, a vile remnant of the power that scooped them from the living rock. Your shoulders strain as you tense up, fighting the urge to spread your wings and hunt the defilers.


In the near distance, a human comes into view, huddled beside the blasted remains of a caravan. Her armor is dented and scorched, marred with soot and arcane fire. She whips around at your approach, spear at the ready, then relaxes by degrees when she realizes you are human.
Then she notices who is among you, and her face contorts in rage.
You!
Yes, me. What in Meyir’s name happened here?
None of your concern, you sniveling-
I’VE NO TIME FOR YOUR PETTY GAMES! We are going to the outpost. Tell me what happened, or burn like all the other chattel that try to stop me!
Ofone gives a glance at the pyromancer, while the woman stares wide-eyed at his sudden fury.
… Some fool breached one of the old coffers.
What?!
Yeah. Demons running amok, trying to siege the gates. If you’re heading in, you’ll find them... if they don't find you first.


Chardler wastes no more time, storming forward with the rest of you in tow.
There are demon prisons here?!
Of course there are! Why do you think the Emberlands are such an intractable shithole?
It’s a fucking volcano, pyromancer.
Northman, they were awful long before I was born, and have only gotten worse since. Were it not for the Inquests, this whole expanse would be a foothold for the Hadean!
... Wait, wait. Is that why the trees-
Been like that since time immemorial, so I've been told. They only compounded the issue.


Your path winds toward a curious ruin. Among the stumps of towering pillars sits a curved stone platform, recessed slightly into the ground. Its edge glows with a litany of angry runes, suspending a mirrored pyramid of the same material with its lingering enchantment.
Rage boils in your chest at the sight. Blood seeps from between your lips as your growing fangs dig into your gums.


Chardler approaches the thing, observing the arcane sparks that jump from his fingers as he lifts a hand toward it. When he speaks, his tone is one of both reverence and frustration.
It was a solemn duty, imposed on our forebears for their crimes. To be forever trapped with the fiends they once served. Wardens and prisoners both, ever ready for battle to absolve their myriad sins.


Not everything escaped here. Some are still trapped within, struggling to join their cohort.
… What are we waiting for, then? Open it.
Excuse me?
They will be weakened, yes? Tired. Best to let them out before they have recovered, that we may kill them more easily.
Got a point. Hit 'em while they're reeling.
…


D-ngh! D… Do it.
Minerva?
I f-feel like… like my b-body is… Ghh! … t-trying to rip itself apart. If I’m going to snap, then… then, at least give me s-something to fight. Please.
… Very well. This won’t take long.
Ready when you are.
Mmm.
Strike fast. It is our best chance.


With a wave of his hands and a muttered incantation, the object splits open at the middle. A wave of foul arcana spills out and blankets the ruin, filling your ears with the rumble of stone and cruel laughter. The demons almost seem grateful that their torment has been cut short.
Now, it falls to your band to prove them wrong.


This fight has several Champion demons with multiple modifiers. All of them have the Hellfire passive, rendering them immune to Heat and Chill as well as causing their Heat effects to deal damage per turn.


They form across the breadth of the ruin, crafting hasty bodies of scorching rock and molten stone, binding them with dark magics. Several spring up in the midst of your band.



Joseph is nearly too swift to perceive. The only proof of his action is the sudden clap of thunder ringing in your ears, and the flash on the far edge of the field where the creature has tumbled across folded space.


Some manner of hound rushes you with snapping, snarling jaws of bloodstained obsidian. Ofone kicks it away as it lunges, bouncing it off of the coffer with a crash.


Adolf and Jon do what they can to funnel the demons toward Ofone, but one of them is suddenly among you with a cloud of sparks and rancorous smoke. Light seeps from your growing wounds to sanctify the air, your prayers to Altima a rumbling chant as your body can no longer hold back the change coming over it.


Your perception warps along with your bones, the demons’ taint coming into sharp focus as all else blurs. An ancient haze overtakes the nearest, while your kin respond to others with what middling fury their small frames possess, roaring challenges in the old tongue as they fly to your companions’ aid.


Flesh melts into scales, nails and teeth hone razor-sharp, your blood and breath becoming extensions of pure Light in the Crimson Angel’s service. Strength floods you, but Her love keeps you focused on your foes. On the ancient charlatans who thought to trap Her in their service like some base animal.



The earth is in upheaval. The demons twist it to spires that spear up from beneath, while Chardler draws in the magma the oozes from the rends, wresting it from their control to turn it against them. All the while, a frantic melee rages; a chaotic maelstrom of steel and claws and tainted rock.



You feel one of them clinging tightly to its half-life, but a shouted curse from Adolf severs its link to the material realm. Something dark and twisted snaps its jaws shut on the demon’s presence, howling with demented laughter at this small victory.
Let the beast have her table scraps. Should she master them, it is one less threat to face. Should they fester in her belly, then she will be punished in time.




Altima’s voice soothes your fury, flesh returning to its prior form in a wash of steaming blood. No matter how fiercely the demons rail and rage, it is not enough, not by any measure. Their stolen bodies crumble into inert, blazing stones, their fading essences consumed by a scavenger more vile than they.



Remnants of power seep from the coffer. Both the lingering wrongness of the demons trapped within, and the holy bindings that held them at bay.
The reward is one of two Fortunes that give an enchant skill you cannot gain otherwise. Light is the more broadly useful, I feel, as there are fewer enemies that resist it.
Of course, both of them would really benefit from a character with gobs of per-existing damage bonuses to that type, so I’m not going to use them. But it’s there!


… Thank you.
For?
Forcing my hand.
S’what we’re here for.
Don’t celebrate. We’re not done yet.
I’m not, but I appreciate your focus.
For once?
I wasn’t going to say it.
Thanks, Minerva.
Just doing what I can.


… Is that what they’re coming out of?
Possibly.
Wait. We’ve… we’ve seen this before. Haven’t we?
… Yeah. That demon knight.


Then he’s here?
If not yet, then soon.
Let’s get him. Got to be some kind of… commander, or general, or something. Or just a really good thug. Should put ‘em back either way.
The portal warps, its energy building as the familiar demon begins to strain against its boundaries.
This is gonna hurt.
Well, we knew that going in.
I know, but still. Looking forward to not getting set on fire, or getting most of my bones broken, or electrocuted, or whatever for a while.
Pain is a hero’s wage, sad to say.
Sunnis' tits. Since when did we count as heroes?
Fuck if I know. When we get back to Talestone, maybe… i’unno, punch some orphans?
Eh. I don’t think I’ve got the stomach for it. Unless the little shit tries to steal my whiskey.
That would be warranted.
I'll say. Good stuff, for washtub spirits. Didn't bring any, did you?
It's better I didn't. It would have all cooked off in this heat by now.
Damn.


The demon does not emerge in a comical heap as he did before. No, this time he bursts out blade-first, carving a molten line in the rock as he sweeps his sword before his path. His feet only rock by degrees as he reins his momentum in, flowing from a charging strike to a steady stance with practiced ease.
He sees you arrayed before him, his stance deflating as recognition strikes.
You again?!
We ought say the same, Lord Infernicus.
… You… recall me? … Hmm. Well, I had hoped for a proper army to test myself against, but… perhaps this shall suffice. I will not be humiliated again.
Good. You’re a demon. Fight like it!
… Gladly.



The demon knight no longer flails or falters in his strikes. He is sure in his task, comfortable in his calling. Whatever doubts he might have harbored before, his lingering inadequacies, are gone. There is only a warrior true, a thing of fire and fury.
His offensive demands the utmost concentration to counteract. It is not beyond your abilities, but it is such a challenge that, despite the danger Infernicus presents, a thrill comes over you.




The demon is powerful, but he cannot stand against your combined might. Mounting wounds lay him low, and he crumples to the rock, oozing brackish blood from the joints in his armor.
Ugh… Y-you… hehgh. W-well fought… mortals…
And you, knight.


… Was that a note of respect in your voice, Ofone?
Yeah.
Really, now.
What? First time we saw him, he was scared of his own damn shadow. Now he dies fighting. Went out like a warrior. I don’t have to like it, but I’m not going to shit on him for finding his spine.
You and your warrior’s code.
You want soft lies, go somewhere else. Not budging on this one.
I know, I know.


What is that? Some kind of barracks?
I think so. Meyir, but we’re close. I can hear the fighting.


And some left for us, it seems.



The mounting corruption in the air sets your blood to boiling once again. You grind your teeth together, tearing ragged holes in your cheeks that reform into a thin membrane between scaled flesh.
Shit! Minerva, stay with us!
Hnnrgh… Hrrrr… Draaaa…



D I E!
Damnit, woman! I told you to watch the claws!


Hahh… Ugh… S… Sorry, Ofone.
Quit tearing at us, then! At least try to keep your wits about you.
I… I am. Trying. And… and it doesn’t leave wounds.
It still fucking hurts!


You good to go?
Yes. Thank you.
Thank us by keeping your robes on next time. Seeing you slathered with your own blood like a hog in slop is far less titillating than you’d think.
That’s what you’re going to whinge about? I thought you’d enjoy a free show.
Tell you a little secret?
Alright.
It’s the hair. Wheaten locks never did it for me.
… So… if I shaved my head, then you’d leave Tyra alone?
Only if I didn’t already know you were insane. Sorry.
I’m devastated, I assure you.


Well, what is this that draws near? Observers to our hour of triumph? Come to bargain for your souls?
To put you back into the void, where you belong.
Bhah! Such mirth, you mortals bear. We are legion! We are eternal!
Oh yeah? Let’s find out.



Augh! W-wait! We can still make a deal-
Hold still, you fat faggot!


HORGBRGL!


Yeah, thought not.
The rest look like they’re breaking. Make a stop into the outpost for a moment?
If we must.
You think they’ll argue, even after this?
Of course. The guard is even more stubborn than I am.

 

[Mooger Meng]

29 – On Crimson Wings


The guards of the Emberland’s lone fortress are wary at your approach. They saw your battle against the rear of the demons’ assault, but they also do not fail to recognize Chardler.


Best mind yourselves while you are here. You tread a fine line.
Harm my companions at your own peril. We shall not linger.
You puff your chest out far for ones who hunt the damned.
We are here for a Dragon. The demons were but a happy opportunity.


You feel the guard’s bewildered stare bore into the back of your head as you move to the strange well that dominates the square.
I’ll stay here with Chardler. Get what you think we may need.
Got it.
Should not take long.

The others scatter into the outpost, making ready for your final push. The dragon pups perch on the lip of the well, satisfied with its heat but well aware of the tension in the air.
Lacking options, Chardler helps you prepare a modest meal. If your band is to die, it won’t be on empty stomachs.


Here are some of the top-end consumables. Clearing all status effects or granting extra AP is worth the bother, but you will need the materials. Either you blow a bunch of what you’ve been gathering, or spend shitloads of money to buy the stuff and then make the potions.
At least you get 5 of them per purchase.
Oh, and the extra service that the materials vendor offers in the Emberlands? Reskinning your gear. Yeah, that’s it.

Your companions return in short order. You make small talk among one another, hoping to settle your nerves before you embark. The hatchlings flit among you, laying across shoulders or nipping at ears and fingertips playfully. Chardler makes sure to spare enough food for them, as well.
Their gratitude and concern is palpable, and the trills and chirps they sound out are almost intelligible to you. Emotions, if not words, can be picked out from the noises and how their bodies move.
They understand what is to come. And they are frightened, but will follow you to the ends of the earth if they must.


Well, good news. The guards know where the dragon is.
The Grand Crater?
Yep. Fitting, isn’t it?
Hmm. I wonder…
Yes?
The Grand Crater has existed for ages. The Dragon couldn’t have made it.
Perhaps the terrain was consonant enough with its nature to hold it in slumber.
Maybe. But, it’s a trifling matter. Are we prepared?
In the distance, a low roar echoes through the peaks that shakes the ground.
… Prepared or not, it won’t stay put for long.
Then we march. Victory or death.

Scarlet Feast – Satoshi Hori – Monster Hunter Rise: Sunbreak​

The raging core of the Emberlands stretches out before you, a vast expanse of billowing flame and smoldering fury, streaked with lava and pocked with vents of scalding gas. A true trial by fire, if there ever was such a thing made manifest.


Somewhere within this blasted place waits the ancient Dragon, a beast of legendary fury and wrath. A primal force of destruction so fierce and terrible that all the world closed in on itself in panic at the mere rumor of its awakening. A terrible creature rising from an endless, dreamless slumber, craving sustenance, and treasure, and vengeance in prodigious measure.


Weak and broken souls have flocked to its presence, lost in the depths of despair. They offer all they have to its silent hate, in the hopes of grasping mere fragments of its Timeless power. All to wreak vengeance and destruction on the world in its unspoken name.



Like the beast they supplicate, they are little more than pretenders. Details of the final, climactic chapter in your life’s story that began with Father’s journal, and ends with confronting a force of nature.


Perhaps hubris fills your mind. You understand that the Dragon, and the destruction it promises, should not be dismissed so casually.


It is a struggle to keep your mounting confidence in check. The burning pain the Light causes when it bursts from you has not faded, but you have begun to numb your mind to its sting. Its wrathful form yet exists far beyond your control, but now it may at least be directed at worthy foes, rather than raging at all who dare to approach.


As the Dragon’s lesser kin rush to confront the fools that threaten their master, you feel a yearning in your soul. A desire for glory, for victory, for justice.


It manifests, shredding your human form like cheap paper in a cloud of gore. You ride the wave of agony and anticipation, steering your form towards the lesser dragon while Altima’s light pours from your hide.
You recall a sight from years past, when Jon found himself wrestling a wild hound that had slipped into the city's walls. They rolled through the slums in a ball of violence, a snarling, spitting jumble of limbs and fangs that tumbled down refuse-dotted alleys. In some dazed corner of your mind this struggle is much the same, though perhaps two pairs of wings straining the air makes it seem more like birds at war.


There is little grace in your actions. All is a snarl of claws and fangs, of white-hot flame and searing light. A desperate, flailing bid for dominance and survival.


Then the dragon falls, and you with it. Down to the rough earth, your fangs still sunk into its throat, the intoxicating taste of its blood flooding your senses. You growl and shake your prize, its flesh tearing as you thrash its still-hot body around by its neck, ignoring the pained shrieks that escape its dying form.
Claws rake at its torso, hooking cruelly under its scales to hold it in place. Your jaw clamps further down, arms and neck straining as a chunk of raw meat tears free from your prey with a wet death rattle. Instinct takes hold and you chew viciously, savoring the taste as it slides down your gullet.


Furious screams assail your ears while weak gobbets of flame rain down on your hide. The least dragons are in a panic, desperate to stop you, but the others have their threat well under control.
You are hungry, in a way you have never understood until this moment. This feast is more than sustenance; it is a manifestation of victory over the weak and unworthy.


When your fangs strike bone, you simply move to another spot of the carcass, gorging yourself on its flesh. On the power wasted on such a trifling, trivial creature.
Such is the fate of the conquered.
Its red-stained skull is a symbol of your dominion, not least over its kind and kin. Over all who would dare oppose you, even the reaching hands that hook under your powerful arms. Pleading cries reach your ears, from the wriggling things and your kin alike to control yourself. They join with the human limbs, tiny claws pricking your hide as they help the weak things drag you away-


The world snaps into focus as you land on your back, a thick layer of crimson preserving your modesty. Jon stares at you horror-struck, while Chardler kneels nearby with embers dancing across his fingers. The pups chirp and screech, landing nearby to smother you with affection and relief, heedless of the blood that coats your sore body.


Some of the gore begins to solidify into threads, your robes knitting themselves back together before your body manages to do the same. But so much remains liquid, your locks and face stained a deep red.
You turn your sore, shuddering body to the fallen dragon nearby. Great chunks of flesh have been ripped from its corpse by feral, crazed jaws, and a long trail of blood traces a damning line from the remains to the makeshift campsite where you sit. You do not remember what happened, but you can guess by the horrified looks you receive and the ill-hidden worry the small dragons exude.
You swallow, tasting unfamiliar blood, and take a quivering breath.
I… I’m alright now. … I think. Don’t… don’t ask me what happened. I have no idea.
You’d better not. If you did that on purpose, I fear we may have to put you down on principle.


You stand on quailing legs, fear of the alien strength within shaking you to your core. What other horrors are you capable of committing? What wonders, what crimes, what feral acts of desire? Stripped of morals or inhibition, how much of you could possibly remain?
Where, now, does the woman end and the Dragon begin?


The rumble of falling stone shakes you from your spiral of doubt. A golem of living rock approaches the building where your party has taken shelter, flanked by armored figures that leak magma from their joints.


They cannot fail to notice you at such a distance. Their steps quicken, an angry march heading to put an end to your folly.
Shit.
Minerva?
No choice. I won’t just stand here.



Their march becomes a charge, Ofone and Joseph rush to meet them, and the battle is joined. You work your healing on them in tandem, mending flesh as they suffer the golem’s blows.
Skeletons and spirit beasts keep the soldiers at bay as well as they can, but it is not quite enough to keep your lines safe.


A lance of white-hot metal slips past the defense and into your gut. Pain explodes through your body from the flame-wreathed spear, then again as the Light claws free of your flesh in a vengeful rage.
Steel warps from your furious rebuke, rendered soft enough for your talons to peel it from its owner like a ripe fruit.


Ofone shoves past you, knocking you back while he takes the bulk of the fighting. Jon grabs your ankle and pulls further, ignoring how you kick and lash your tail at him as he digs a potion from his satchel. Without a hint of tact or ceremony, he unstoppers the vial with his teeth and flings the contents at your wound.
The burn of the liquid sealing your stomach shut is enough to drag you back to your senses. Your boots land hard on the ground, staggering for a moment as you pour Altima’s blessings into your body.


You okay?
Before you can answer, a roar shakes the very air. A stale, foul-smelling wind sweeps the clearing in a great rush, hammering down from the sky as your quarry arrives to see for itself the interlopers who dare encroach on its domain.


With a wide arc, the Dragon descends, beating its powerful wings against the volcanic updraft. Each sweep of its leathery appendages kicks a new wave of scorching air and loose stone into your faces, from a wingspan that could hold the written tale of an age. Talons on its hindlegs scrape along the ground, sharp and deadly as any blade forged in the blazing workshops of the Dwarven Halls. Sparks fly up from where they strike, powerful limbs capable of rending stone and metal alike as effortlessly as rotten kindling.


It inhales deeply, pausing for a moment before unleashing a gout of flame at some near point over your heads. Perhaps it hopes to cow you with a spectacle of errant destruction, like it would one of its peers.
Even the mere act of breathing sends wisps of flame from its jaws and embers from its nostrils, painting the air with incandescent streaks that dance around its head like a crown of living flame. Fire is not merely this creature's tool, but its very essence, an inextricable part of its being that it directs with unquestioned mastery. It glowers down upon you with self-assured superiority, finding six pairs of eyes returning a range of emotions… but not a hint of fear.
This is it, you decide. This moment is the purest expression of life, rendered down to a single instant.
Live or die, it is glorious.
And after 28 updates, here we are. It's Final Boss Time.
This… won’t be quite the spectacle some of my previous works have been. It’s silly for a different reason. For such an event, we're getting one last blow-by-blow breakdown.




There is a scramble as you scatter, tongues of raw flame spreading out from where the Dragon melts stone into thick rivulets with a single breath. You dive behind an outcrop of ancient rock, clutching a buzzing keg of fulminae dust left behind by some unfortunate patrol, that it might stay free of the embers before they cool.
Once the flames stop, you roll it out into the clearing, seeing the others do much the same. If the Dragon sees them, it does not react to their presence.
First off, we pile all the barrels on the map under the dragon. 2 lightning and 1 ice.



As the Dragon inhales once more, Chardler reaches toward it with a glow on his hands. He clenches his fist and yanks backward, gripping the fire inside the creature and pulling it out of place.
The Dragon rounds to him with a furious glare, barely giving you the time to wrap a barrier around him before the air explodes in a wash of flame. Adolf and Jon try to draw the beast’s attention to no avail.
It flinches when streaks of lightning dance across its wings. You hear the crackle of Joseph’s magic gathering over the dull murmur of the mountains, the growing light casting strange shadows on the wall of the ruin.
Ofone glances to you, his eyes beginning to widen. There is a short moment for you to cover your companions’ ears with healing light-
Set him up for maximum elemental damage…


You do not hear the blast, but you feel it. Joseph flies backward, tumbling head over heels from the commingling explosions, and the rest of you are similarly stumbled in place as the blast spreads.
Then use Energy Cannon to blow half of his HP off in one go.



Ofone is the first to recover his balance, charging the grounded Dragon with a bellow of his own. Chardler reaches out the same instant as you do, two spells of empowerment merging on his axe before it cleaves deep into the Dragon’s flesh and embeds against bone.
Next is the biggest Vitality Break Ofone can manage, thanks to Ascendancy and Overwhelming Power.



The creature roars in pain and fury, its claws passing over the warrior’s head by a hair’s breadth. You work Altima’s mercy into his form as he stumbles backward, then watch in awe as he dives toward the jutting haft, rips the axe free, and drives it into the beast once again as it rears up to strike. Strained from the overwhelming force of the prior blow, the haft of the weapon snaps into flinders as Ofone follows through, its blade lodging in the Dragon’s chest.
The second isn’t quite as impressive, but still tears a large chunk of HP off.


It reels in agony, a wild swipe catching Ofone by chance and hurling him at the nearby stones. He collides with a loud grunt, winded and wounded, but stable as far as you can perceive.
There is no time to waste. The others open up with a hail of bullets and spells, hoping to bring the beast down before it has the chance to retreat.
Then the party lays in with everything they've got left. Mass Haste makes sure there's enough actions to go around for everyone, but...


You reach out into the bleeding, ragged axe wound, toward the Dragon’s beating heart. Weakened from the assault, but still too powerful for you to command into stillness. But the wound responds, and you wind your fingers into its veins and pull with all of your might, its ancient blood fighting bitterly for every drop you set free.
Few can claim to understand the emotions of a dragon, the slight and subtle changes in its bearing that betray its innermost thoughts. Even if you were no longer so ignorant, there is no mistaking what you see.
For the first time in centuries, perhaps even in its long life, the Dragon is afraid. You can see it written on its face like parchment, in the way it struggles to gain enough elevation to escape your collective wrath.
... well, we don't end up needing all of them. Just enough to finish the job.


A final shot tears another hole in its ragged wings, compounding with the dozens upon dozens of others to render them useless. There is a brief moment of panic as the jagged earth rushes upward to catch its plummeting form, then a thundering crash that hurls all of you bodily to the ground.
The wet, meaty thud is only heard in the instant before a tormented roar rips from the creature's throat. A death shriek of such rage that you clutch your hands against your ears, feeling blood trickle down the sides of your head.
Why, yes, I did just kill the final boss before it was able to take a turn.


When the world ceases to shudder, you take to your feet with slow, cautious motions. Your companions are doing much the same, daubing rags with soothing crimson liquid to seal the most troubling of their wounds.
The Dragon lies unmoving in a fading plume of ash and smoke. Impaled at least tenfold times on a fanged maw of rock, its lifeblood flowing into the lava in sizzling runnels. It is this sight, more than the mound of glittering treasure nearby, that lays the weight of your actions upon your shoulders.


…
… Holy shit.
Yeah. I… I think I need a minute.
Take your time, friend. We’ve… earned it, I think.
You approach the fallen beast, its lifeless eyes somehow still following your every step.
You place your hand over its eyes, the scorching heat of its hide still furnace-hot, and draw them closed with a reverent motion. Sounds pour from your throat in a quiet rumble, words only to a Dragon’s ears.
… Your time has ended. Sleep now, for good and ever. Till another takes the mantle anew.
Your hand pulls away with some effort, the skin under your glove cooking against its corpse like steak in a dry skillet. The burn heals slowly as your focus drifts; from your charred flesh, to the Dragon’s pile of riches, to Talestone, to the satisfied smile you are certain Father would bear on your return.

A hand on your shoulder pulls you from your reverie. Jon turns you to face him and the others, stooping a little to make sure your gaze hasn’t glassed over.
Is everything alright, Minerva?
You ponder for a moment more, and stop fighting the smile that plays on the edges of your mouth.
… It is. Let’s go.
Not yet. Anyone got an empty sack?
As if you must ask.
So glad to see you’ve your priorities straight, Ofone.
It’s dead now! Kill first, money after!
You are not wrong…
Heh. Altima preserve me.

 

[NerdShamer]

Why, yes, I did just kill the final boss before it was able to take a turn.

Never underestimate the tard rage that fuels the Kiwi Legion, folks.

 

[Mooger Meng]

Epilogue - Toward a Brighter Dawn

Riverstone Reprieve – Andrew Aversa – Tangledeep​

When you return to the outpost, its guards observe your band with naked awe. It is not unreasonable to think that the Dragon's demise was heard all the way out to Talestone, and the remainder of the realm will surely have heard some version of the tale before long.
Plenty of time to savor your victory, you all decide, and bask in the newly-won safety that is sure to follow.


Talestone is abuzz with activity when you at last arrive days later. Wild rumors of your trials fly like raindrops from all and sundry, and setting them right is almost more tedious than your travels that provoked them.
Still, a nagging thought comes to you in the clamor of gratitude.


… 'They wake'. Not 'it wakes'.
Yeah, so?
So, you think there are more such Dragons yet to reveal themselves.
I can’t rule it out. One alone was bad enough, but more?
Hmm.
We’ll deal with ‘em if they poke their noses out. Right now, we’ve got a tavern of drinks waiting for us.
Sold!
Not sold. Delivered. There were a few kegs set aside for us.
Don’t get too excited. I’d wager it’s the cheap stuff.
Maybe, but I don’t give a fuck. It’s free!
I could test it, if you’d like.
Chardler, if you light my beer on fire, I swear to Altima I’ll stove your fucking face in.
Hey, before you two start swinging at one another, did you hear anything about food?
I believe Bankman has rounded up something to suffice.
Hmph. Now he plans on feeding the whole town?
He probably thinks it would be good for business. Clever, if a little distasteful.
Something, something, look at what I gave for the heroes of Talestone, yadda, yadda, who cares. C’mon, I’m famished and way too sober for this shit today.
It’s not even noon!
Who cares?!
… You are all utterly incorrigible.
And you’ll be right there with us.
Of course I will. Someone has to keep you from killing yourselves!


The next week passes in a comfortable haze. After a day’s revelry and recovery, you set your energies to the town’s aid once more, flitting in and out of the Mender’s hospital when your help is most needed.
It is one of these days, much like any other, that you are struck by a curious sensation. It is not nostalgia, but evokes a sense of familiarity and longing for a time that never quite occurred. Of training with Father or learning from Mother, of your long-ago preparations to follow his trail, of the troubles and triumphs along your journey. A curious amalgamation of memories, if all thoroughly out of time and place. But it fills you with a warm comfort, and a longing hunger for more.
From the fountain, you look out across the square at your companions as they go about their days.


Jon and Tyra speak openly, and she no longer scowls at his very presence. There is no tension between them as they chatter, the elf glancing down a set of loose-bound pages whose contents you cannot hope to recognize at this distance. She says something to him, and he brushes his hand across her cheek. Then he leans in, whispering something in her ear.
Her cheeks flush red, and she swats him with the papers. Her eyes have narrowed, but a smile dances across her lips as he suppresses a chuckle.


Chardler and Adolf hover near the jeweler’s stall, its portly proprietor dickering over some trinket or another with them. The older elven man strays close, looking over Adolf’s shoulder, and the necromancer turns his attention from the vendor to speak. The pair step away, soon losing themselves in some deep conversation while Chardler shakes his head. The magician and the merchant resume their animated discussion without losing a beat, hands gesturing this way and that.
The older man’s wife is at last on the mend. Still weak as she recovers from her wasting illness, but healing nonetheless. Surely the Dragon’s presence had some bearing on her blight; one among countless others across the continent. If so, that is yet another boon you are glad to have provided.


The smith is eagerly studying the craftsmanship of Joseph’s weapons, after having pored over a bevvy of lesser blades that returned from your journey through the Emberlands. The stocky adventurer gives a rare smile at some comment, pointing at the surface of the hammers and giving an explanation as small sparks dance across the metal.
Ever he sees himself as the champion of the working man. Perhaps now, after all that has transpired, there is some truth to the claim.


Mother speaks with Ofone, both of them at ease now that their matters of faith and war have been settled. It is still a strange thing to consider the warrior a fellow servant of Altima, but it is something you will come to appreciate in time, you are certain. Mother seems to have shed a great burden, now that the Crimson Angel is no longer a figure of scorn to Talestone’s people. Perhaps before long, it will help mend her broken heart.
They accept you openly now, a future you never believed would come to pass. To have saved a god from a withering death as the light of its faith guttered out is a feat enough. But to turn Her from an object of contempt to a promise of salvation and healing? That, above all else, fills you with boundless pride.


Still, the words worry at your mind.
… They wake.
If you strain you ears and blot out the incessant murmur of the world around you, it almost drifts into focus. A low drone, a distant shriek, a menacing roar that shakes the veil between the realms of the Mortal and the Timeless.
Your victory has bought the land time. How much, you cannot hope to say, but there are other threats looming on the far horizon, other Dragons yet to rouse from their slumber. All while their lesser kin soar the skies, looking to assert their dominance over the feeble creatures beneath them. It is an urge you understand more acutely now, and would perhaps even begrudge them their discontent, if they would just leave well enough alone…


The Blind Guardian’s followers have seated themselves among the guards, taking up the role of blade so that your faith might be the shield of Talestone’s people in time. There is still a tension, a suspicion from their elder sisters. But it too shall pass as you prove your sincerity. Of this, you are certain.
They do not bar you from leaving. One cocks her head at you, wondering what a young woman could possibly think to do, marching out from the safety of Talestone’s walls by herself. But this day you have nothing to prove, to her or anyone else.
Perhaps a wise woman would gather her companions and sally forth, striding into the unknown with ample support and a goal ready in mind. But a wise woman would not have started this journey at all, much less on a childish whim to find her father with scarcely a clue where to begin.

There is no need to trouble the others. You shan’t be gone long.





Hey.

Main Theme – Andrew Aversa – Tangledeep​

Aren’t you forgetting something?
… I forget a lot of things.
The hell d’you think you’re going?
Out. Out to… to… somewhere. I don’t know.
Without a word in passing to the rest of us, hmm?
That is quite rude, fraulein. And unlike you.


Well, I’m a grown woman, aren’t I? I don’t have to beg permission from the lot of you for every little thing I do.
No. But if you are looking for danger, it would speak poorly of us to let it find you unattended.
Besides, suffering alone isn’t any fun.
… Fun.
Yep.
This is your idea of fun?
Well, if this hero thing is going to be our job for a while, there’s no sense in being miserable about it.
…
Hah! … And you have the nerve to call me mad.
Hey, I never claimed I wasn’t.
I... suppose not.
Come now, valkyrie. No tears in front of the birds.
Oh, quiet, you.
Hmm. Seeing as that trifling question is settled, where might we headed?


… Like I said, I don’t quite know. But there’s bound to be something out there to put right.
Knowing our luck, sure.
Well, then.
A smile draws across your lips. Was this how Father felt in his youth, first sallying forth into the wild unknown? Even in light of his checkered past, when he and Mother girded themselves to change their fates? There must have been a hint of joy as they prepared, so sure in one another that the troubles of the world seemed trifling against their boundless confidence.
Bolstered by bravery and comrades-in-arms, and tales of long-recalled saviors. On the path of worldly enlightenment, into distant lands. Through untold tales, held strong by the spirit of…

…
I’m up for an adventure. What say the rest of you?

 

[Mooger Meng]

Parting Thoughts

So, that’s Stolen Realm. An acceptable, if not exceptional, little dungeon crawl romp of a game. I’d like to think I spared you the worst of its inherent bugs and unsupervised AI-gen mistakes, but whether or not that was worth suffering my writing is up to you, dear reader.


The only “reward” you get for completing the game is the option of making shit even harder by engaging with its Endless mode, where you can increase the level of maps far above 30 while adding randomly-chosen modifiers like “increased player cooldowns”, “2x enemy HP”, “+1 enemy AP”, or other numerical difficulty bumps. The flip is that clearing these more difficult maps means increased chances at Tiered loot dropping, giving your retards a better chance when they’re slapping things with proverbial pool noodles.

Fun Fact: the flag for unlocking Endless mode is defeating the Red Dragon in the Emberlands.
Fun Fact 2: there is nothing at all stopping you from beelining into the Emberlands straight out and fighting the Red Dragon at, like, level 6. If you beat it, congratulations! Now you can be thoroughly out of your depth. Have fun!
Like I mentioned in the opening post, the game has zero guardrails to keep you from doing shit out of order, which is both great and stupid.


Oh, yeah, there’s also a completely misnamed “Roguelike” mode to try, if you hate yourself. Want to run through a bunch of maps with characters you don’t get to customize, struggle through subpar and anemic gear drops, while having random-ass builds that are only presented one of three skill choices when you manage to gain a level (also more or less at random), only to have the entire run deleted when your collective jalopy of a team gets their asses handed back to them by the Dwarven Warmachine in two moves? Well, fuck a doodle doo, does Stolen Realm have you covered and then some!
Also, they’re currently busy making their own Dogfucker Survivors clone, because of course they are.

Overall, would I recommend this game?
Eh… Very definitely maybe. If nothing else, it’s fairly cheap at $20 in Burgerbucks and goes on sale frequently enough.

It’s not completely godawful, at least on the mechanical front. It reminds me of some good times in meatspace playing Gloomhaven, and it has the possibility for some hilariously overpowered bullshit to discover. But its presentation is weak as shit, the story is held together by a schizoid computer’s hopes and fever dreams, and they really should have gotten at least one of their internal codefuckers to sanity check the writing and narration. While we saw at least one potential showstopper data corruption early on, I didn’t bother to mention all the times the game quietly crashed on me mid-recording. Watch for the party lineup to change mid-dungeon.
I suppose it’s a testament to my ‘tism that I kept on while trying to hammer a cohesive story out of the random bits and bobs that were thrown in along the way. I do enjoy this game, but my first experience was with a buddy in co-op, and there’s a real chance I just have shit taste in general. Other players have had a much rougher time than I have, so maybe try the game out first via other means if this has piqued your interest.

Still, what’s done is done, and it’s time to put a fork in this pig and ring the dinner bell. I did enjoy making a smaller, character-focused narrative again, and the scramble of welding the disparate parts it tossed in my lap into something resembling coherence was fun in its own self-indulgent way. And, of course, I couldn’t have done it without just enough suggestions to give us a full party to begin with! Allow me to extend my gratitude to:
@ChucklesTheJester
@Toilet seats vendor
@NerdShamer
@Neo-Holstien
@Arcade Gannon
@Throng of Titans
@Another Random
… as well as those who might have quietly popped in for the ride along the way. Thank you all for your time, and if another thread happens, I’ll hope to see you there!