---

For some weeks, they moved about the great cliff and did not camp in any one place for more than a few nights. There was no wind to speak of here, and so whatever cold beset them at night was chased away by a carefully constructed fire. They stuck to crevices and other such nooks and crannies so that the light would not attract unwanted attention during the hours of darkness, and when they tucked in for the night they snuffed it out. They rotated the watch between all six of them over the course of each night, and by the first squeak of dawn they were up and moving.
Longsight had quickly learned that those were not birds chorusing by the light of the sun rising from the great blood sea. His quick eyes had spotted just one such creature as he stood one morning on a rocking overhanging the vast ocean, gazing forlornly as he was wont to do and waiting on the others to join him for the day’s march.

As he gazed, he noticed unexpected movement at the edge of the rock before him and was swift to bring his war hammer up. He had named it Bonebreaker and pitied whatever poor critter was soon to taste it. As it were, the being that sprung suddenly from beyond the rock ledge was not quite the monstrosity he expected. It seemed an odd sort of bat, only more colourful and with great feathery wings. Surveying the strange creature for a few moments, Longsight at last relaxed when he heard it warbling in an imitation of birdsong and even managed a slight smile. It remained there, observing him with its beady eyes until Badboy and the goblins arrived. “We are prepared for the day’s journey, Timesworn.” Songster, who had been known as Fee, said. Longsight glanced at the four goblins – gobtrotters, they had called them in Renev. From their first speech to him they had referred to him only as Timesworn, and to Badboy as Barbtongue. They spoke with a heavy accent that betrayed the heaviness of the language upon them. It was not their native tongue, that was certain.

Casting one last glance at the strange bat-creature, Longsight gestured to the others and they began their trek. They were still in search of a good location to establish themselves more permanently, having so far only found crevices and fissures largely unsuitable as long-term dwellings. It was doubtless that, on a cliff this large, they would eventually find a suitable enough cave. They had not gone more than ten steps when a shrill shriek sounded behind them. Longsight and the others turned swiftly, the two greatgoblins reaching for their weapons and the boys doing the same. The bat-thing had taken flight and was flapping its wings as it approached. Flying right over them, it let out another shriek – this time a succession of sounds that Longsight did not doubt were words. Only, he did not understand them. Saboteur, who had been known as Fo but was dubbed Saboteur by Badboy following his sabotage of their food stocks, leapt forth and swiftly drew and fired his bow.


The arrow flew like a shooting star. Yet the screeching bat-creature was nimble and, at the last second, dived so that the arrow whisked past it. Saboteur lowered his bow, eyes narrowed. Tentongues, who had been called Fi, gazed after the creature and eventually spat audibly. “Spy bird. It said we trespass on the land of its master, ‘Hylsek Adech’ – and that this master thirsts for mortal flesh.” Longsight scratched his jaw, his brow set in a deep frown. Finally shrugging his shoulders – for there was very little that could be done about that now – he set off again and the others fell silently in quick lockstep.

By midmorning, they had made considerable progress and no spybirds had been spotted trailing them or on their path. Longsight and the gobtrotters rested a little while Badboy, ever energetic, scouted ahead to see if there were any likely positions where a cave could be found. He returned some quarter of an hour later, breathing heavily and gesticulating frantically while making several grimacing, snarling faces. “Outer beasts?” Horntusk, who was once Fum, asked. Badboy nodded, a grin growing on his face as he gripped Headsplitter. They had not had any encounters since Galaxor had departed, and Badboy had been getting visibly restless. He had taken to bothering and provoking Saboteur. Longsight knew he had not forgiven the greatgoblin for destroying much of the food and ralk tirelessly looted from Galaxor’s enchanted table, and so the greatgoblin became the unfortunate recipient of Badboy’s harassment and pranks. Whenever Longsight thought his fellow Renevit was going too far, he called him out on it with angry snaps of the finger, which afforded Saboteur some reprieve for at least a while. Patient though he was, there was no hiding the greatgoblin’s distinct dislike for ‘Barbtongue’.

“If the outer beasts are in the direction Barbtongue came,” Tentongues spoke up, “then we should try to put as much distance as we can between them and us.” Hearing these words, Badboy’s face darkened and he shook his head. Turning to Longsight, he raised his hand with fingers outstretched - five of them – and hefted Headplitter confidently – we can take them. Tentongues looked at Longsight with pursed lips, though Songster was less successful at hiding the fear in his eyes. While the two greatgoblins were confident fighters, the little gobtrotters had made abundantly clear over the previous days that they preferred to keep away from all that. Looking at Badboy, Longsight shook his head in the negative. Badboy visibly deflated, face drooping in disappointment, and the gobtrotters all turned and began gathering their things. Longsight patted Badboy’s shoulder with a reassuring smile, and the other boy sighed, shrugged with a forced smile, and nodded in understanding.

Ascending the cliff away from the monsters meant they had to negotiate unintuitive paths that saw them eventually venture into a rocky outcropping. The large boulders offered some cover and, though they moved between crags and jutting rock formations with difficulty, they were safe in the knowledge that they were free of being seen. At the very least that was the case for anyone spying for them from below. The screech that ripped through the air, however, was undoubtedly from above. A glance into the sky confirmed that two spybirds were circling above them. Swiftly, Saboteur and Horntusk drew their pre-nocked arrows and fired one after the other. The spybirds squawked but were both ultimately too near to avoid the fast-coming darts, and they fell silently from the heavens. The sounds of roars and growls far below them confirmed, however, that the spybirds had done their part. The party set off once more with renewed urgency.

Badboy kept glancing furtively behind them and between boulders, Headsplitter ever-ready in both hands. Longsight too tightened his grip on Bonebreaker. As they continued their quick ascent through the treacherous terrain, Longsight noted that Songster and Tentongues were struggling. They were small of build even compared to Badboy and him, and the two gobtrotters often had to climb or jump over rocks that the others could simply step across. It therefore came as no surprise to Longsight when one of them – Songster – eventually slipped while climbing and appeared to twist his foot rather badly. Longsight heard no snap, so doubted it was broken. Still, he was unable to walk, let alone attempt to continue manoeuvring the rocks like that. Saboteur glanced to Longsight, and with a nod from the lad he moved across to Songster and picked him up. The little gobtrotter placed his arms about the greatgoblin’s neck, and the party continued.

The growling – as well as shouting in that same foreign tongue, Longsight now realised – was getting ever closer. It was not long before they sighted the first of their pursuers. It was a birdlike humanoid, with the head of a freak raven and wings for arms. Feathers of black and deepest blue covered it from its head until they gave way to tufts as they reached its taloned legs. Seeing them, it croaked and spread its great black wings, leaping easily from rock to rock in its pursuit. Behind it, the other pursuers began to appear in quick succession. Cursing inwardly, Longsight leapt as fast as he safely could over and between the small jutting rocks and followed the others. Horntusk, the biggest of them all and unencumbered, had naturally taken the lead. Arriving by an especially tall stone spire, Longsight quickly clambered atop it – nearly slipping, he managed to hook Bonebreaker’s pick into the stone and pull himself up.

Launching his gaze across the distances, he saw that from where they were was a descent and- his eyes widened and a small smile hovered on his lips. There was no doubt in his mind that those rocks piled one above the other part of the way down hid a by no means small opening. He knew there was no rational reason to think it was anything more than a hovel, barely fit for one person, and yet laying his sight on it filled him with a certain elation and unreasonable hope. No, it was not hope but certainty. Leaping down from the spire, he jumped swiftly – madly! – from rock to rock and took the lead once more, gesturing for everyone to follow and pointing towards their goal.

Their descent was fast and wild, throwing caution to the wind as the monsters slowly but surely gained on them. Before long they could almost feel them snapping at their heels. The cave opening reared open, closer and closer, but Longsight knew they would not make it there before the beasts had caught them. And even if they did, reaching the cave would not rid them of the need to fight. Realising this, he slowed suddenly and turned about. The others made to do the same, but he signalled for Saboteur to keep going and for Tentongues to follow. Pointing to Badboy and Horntusk, he hefted his war hammer and tapped the ground beneath him. Here we stand. Though breathing hard, the two nodded. Badboy even managed a grin.

The croak of the ravenbeast sounded from a near rock, appearing to speak, and the other beasts emerged all about it. “It’s saying that Hylsek Adech orders our surrender,” Horntusk spoke gruffly. “Says that before long he will have arrived.” Even as he translated, Horntusk began to draw a nocked arrow. Setting his jaw, Longsight stood his ground and hefted Bonebreaker now this way and now that. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Badboy taking a forward position. He did not need to see his friend’s face to know he was grinning like an absolute maniac. Seeing them take a stand, the ravenbeast guffawed and screamed some words. Immediately the other four beasts sprung forward. They were large, terrible things, not very far in appearance from some of the beings that had ravaged Renev. Two of them were quadrupeds, one like a great black daemonic cat and the other a thing of hair and teeth and horns that had little relation to any animal Longsight had ever known. The other two were two bipedal monstrosities, like giant freak monkeys. They may well have been twins, only that one was smaller and the other larger – the largest of the four in fact.

Without hesitation, Badboy raised Headsplitter, gesticulated at the biggest of the monstrosities, and dashed forth. The monster scoffed, growling something under its breath, and seemed to accept his challenge. “I’ll take its brother,” Horntusk said, firing off an arrow at the small biped, which caught it in the torso but hardly seemed to faze it. Without pause, the greatgoblin fired more in quick succession. Though he had a blade at his side, Horntusk kept his distance as his opponent charged, continuing to pepper it with arrows from afar for as long as possible. That left the quadrupeds, which appeared in all ways more bestial. They prowled towards Longsight together, circling around him even as he backed away to prevent them from completely encircling him. Before they could take the offensive, Longsight chose to surge towards the terrible black cat. He swung his pick with savage force and fury, hoping to cleave right through its head and be done with it. The beast was fast, however, and managed to rear up just in time and swat at him with its massive claws. Just about managing to change his mad sweep into an upward swing, he met its paw with Bonebreaker’s vicious pick. Bile-like blood exploded in every which way, and the beast roared its pain and rage into the heavens and turned swiftly in partial flight.

Not bothering to chase the wounded creature, he turned to the second beast and found it fast approaching. Falling to one knee, he steadied Bonebreaker, cocked his arm, and locked his gaze on its wide-open maw and the uncountable razor teeth bearing down on him. His intention had been to swing with all his might at the last second, but as it descended upon him he knew that would be tantamount to suicide. Turning his body ever so slightly, he threw himself into the side-roll of his life. The beast passed him, and his pick flailed for it – but he had rolled too hard and too far. As the thing turned back towards him, he heard a growl at his back that caused the hairs at the nape of his neck to rapidly straighten. He lurched forward with all he had in strength just as the ground he had been on was sundered by the descending claws of the catbeast. Gathering himself up at speed, Longsight turned – heaving Bonebreaker – and flung it with all he had of power so that it spun like an impossible wheel towards the cat. Too fast and far from anything it had likely expected in its bestial mind, the hammer caught it right in the face, leaving it unrecognisable. It remained standing, as though not realising it was dead, for a while before at last crumpling forward and stilling.

Not waiting, Longsight threw himself forward to retrieve his weapon. He had not taken four steps when the other was upon him, its branch-like horns catching him by the torso, knocking the breath out of him, and flinging him high into the air. He landed in a heap, and with no more air to be knocked out of him felt blood spittle and leak from his mouth and nose. The world swirled about him. There was no air and he could not even groan at the pain that wracked his lungs and limbs. The beast sauntered up to him, knowing its victory and, as more cruel-natured predators were wont to do, wished to toy with him a little before it finished the job. Longsight forced his body to move against the pain and turned onto his back. The beast’s tail thwacked him and sent him reeling onto his side. Dizziness overcame him and he struggled to rise once again, but a blow from the beast’s paw sent him rolling once more.

As the beast approached again, he gurgled and his hands spasmed as he attempted against his body's protestations to move, but there was nothing. As it brought its head near, he heard shouts across the foggy distance of his mind. An arrow then appeared with sudden speed in the beast’s eye. It leapt back and shrieked in pain, but before it could lash out another arrow caught it in the shoulder and then Badboy’s form was over Longsight. His brown eyes glinted in the sunlight, bileblood coated him from head to toe, and the grin plastered on his face spoke of battle-dementedness. Without any concern for himself, he rushed forth towards the flailing monstrosity, swinging Headsplitter as though it were some sling above him. The beast surged towards its new challenger, but the impossible blade had already descended like thunder. The form of the beast parted before Badboy. Head, spine, torso; they fell this way and that before him as though little more than pulp. Above them, the ravenbeast circled, croaking and raging as arrows missed it, and soon it had turned about and was flying away from the field of battle.

Badboy turned back and ambled towards Longsight, then crouched by him and idly poked his cheek. The crumpled lad managed a slight nod and smile to assure his friend that he was fine. Even as he did so, big steady arms were scooping him up and the last he remembered before he surrendered to darkness was the jaw of Saboteur against the pale blue sky.

Heroes. Villains. People that walk the line. Innocents. They all have a story to tell. A story of how they ended up where they were. This is the story of Veneficus Malum. One of the greatest wizards on Galbar.

His story starts in a peaceful village nestled within Arbor's vast range, a young boy named Veneficus Malus endured the harsh reality of being the only goblin in the village. The air was filled with the sweet scent of fruits from the orchard, and Veneficus, a 16-year-old goblin with fiery red hair, a slight build and bright red skin was being beaten up by some human children almost every other day.

One fateful day, the cruelty of his peers escalated. They cornered him, taunting and jeering until Veneficus found himself thrown into an old basement, the creaky door closing above him and the echoes of laughter faded as he lay there, surrounded by shadows. In the dimness, Veneficus fell into an uneasy slumber.

When he awoke, a strong smoke invaded his senses, and he noticed red liquid dripping from above the wooden door. The distant screams of terror outside reached his ears. Panic set in, and Veneficus struggled to open the door, but it was locked from the outside.
Suddenly, an elf crashed through the weakened door, granting Veneficus freedom. Shattered wood surrounded him as he clambered out into the chaos. The village was under attack by the Outer Beasts of Egrioth. The air filled with the acrid scent of smoke and the sight of fiery destruction.

As Veneficus stumbled through the chaos, an Outer Beast, resembling a manticore but larger and more menacing, confronted him. Fear gripped his heart, but just as the creature lunged, Veneficus noticed two gods soaring above the village. This distracted the Outer Beast momentarily, allowing Veneficus to evade with only a few wounds.

Through the chaos of battle, Veneficus Malus sprinted between burning buildings, his every breath laced with the acrid scent of smoke. The village was now a battleground of flames and destruction. The glow of the Outer Beasts' eyes flickered in the inferno, and their guttural roars resonated through the air.

With every step, Veneficus felt the heat of the flames. His survival depended on timing and agility. Small Outer Beasts, agile and relentless, pounced from the charred remnants of buildings but Veneficus evaded their reach with calculated leaps and rolls. Even as the screams of other villages could be heard, cut short as they were.

As Veneficus navigated the remnants of his village, his eyes saw something that momentarily took his breath. Amidst the charred ruins, a lone druid stood, their robes woven from vibrant green plants that seemed to pulse with life. The druid was surrounded by smaller Outer Beasts which stood still, circling him, as if afraid of him. Eventually, the druid had enough. Vines erupted from the ground, ensnaring the Outer Beasts in a green embrace. The creatures roared in defiance as the vines constricted around the, attempting to resist the forces of nature.

Veneficus marvelled at this display of magic. He heard of it before but he never saw it in practice. Each spell the druid cast was a testament to their connection to Allianthe. The air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers and the pulse of magic.
However, the sheer number of Outer Beasts soon proved too much. The larger creatures, undeterred by the magical onslaught, pressed on.

The smaller Outer Beasts, though momentarily restrained, began to break free from the enchanted vines. The druid, determined to protect the village, summoned more magic, but the strain on their powers became evident. The green barriers weakened, and the relentless advance of the Outer Beasts continued and soon the once-vibrant green robes were torn apart as the Outer Beasts tore through the druid.

In the wake of the fallen druid, Veneficus knew that survival demanded immediate action and Veneficus, fueled by the memory of the fallen druid, evaded their gaze as best as he could. The air was thick with tension as he darted between the remaining buildings, each step bringing him closer to his future.

Suddenly, from the shadows, another Outer Beast came into view, its massive form towering over Veneficus. The creature's eyes glowed as it locked onto the young goblin. In a moment of panic, Veneficus tried to change directions, but the speed of the creature caught him off guard.

The tail of the Outer Beast came upon him with massive force, striking Veneficus and sending him hurtling through the air. His body collided with a crumbling building and out of its window and into the river. Right before falling unconscious, Veneficus saw a massive creature advancing, bigger than any Outer Beast. Egrioth itself and he knew that Arbor was doomed.

Sylia looked over the plate of Egrioth that Galaxor had owed her, the debt now settled. Her mind was abuzz with potential within her chamber of the Atelier. The matrix of the plate was unlike any she had seen before. Dense, durable and otherworldly. The interweaving plates were made up of layer upon layer of intricate scales, almost akin to a reptile’s but not. The difference was there was no reptile that walked upon the earth that had such unmoving skin. If this was the actual skin of the monster. A part of her almost wished she had asked for more samples but alas. What she really wanted to know was what had prompted the creature to produce such thick armor, wherever it had come from. What existed beyond the stars that it would need protection from?

Some answers she would never receive but at least she now had a material she could use to craft her own protection.



Busy roads. Buildings made of the purest marble, the brightest granite, or the smoothest sandstone, all reaching for the skies.

Minutes passed. Whispers everywhere. Strangely, given how busy it was, she had no trouble shuffling through the main roads.

Oh, she thought as she stumbled on a slightly raised stone brick, it must be because of her. She smiled. It was a shaky smile, and it quickly turned upside down. She bit her lip and hugged the package she was carrying as tight as she could against her body. It was killing her, but it was either her or-

Warmth. Not just from the sun, but of something crumbly and delicious. A pressure on her cheek. She couldn’t see well, but after a turn of her head and a flick of her disheveled hair, she saw a chubby man next to her, offering her a loaf of bread. Freshly baked… It smelled so divine that for a second, she nearly let go of the package. Instead, she steeled herself.

She could only afford a miniscule nod before carrying on.



Step after step. Her whole body shook with each one. Her legs were like jelly, her lungs burned, her stomach had long since stopped rumbling, and her clothes were soiled beyond recognition. The staircase at the entrance to the Atelier was, at that moment and to that person, a harder climb than Mount Nari.

It came out of nowhere as she reached for the last step. A flash. A warm grin on a small face, missing a tooth. She smiled back, and as she started to laugh, her footing slipped and her heart dropped.

Next thing she knew, she was on the floor, right at the entrance of the Atelier, and a couple feet in front of her was the package she’d been carrying. Almost as long as she was tall, she noticed, and covered in a dozen layers of cloth and leather. It took her a couple seconds to realize that it was there, and not in her hands.

It didn’t take longer than that for her every nerve to light up. It was a jolt, a pulse, but it was enough for every muscle in her body to tense up as hard as they could. Several bones cracked. She screamed, and lost consciousness.

Next thing she knew, she was waking up with both hands on the package. She must’ve dragged herself to safety, she thought. She failed to register the crowd around her, pointing and whispering at her prone, wheezing, broken form. She barely registered the imposing metal figure that approached.

“Stay back.” A cold but lovely voice spoke, before coming to a stop in front of her. The figure crouched and placed a hand underneath her chin, lifting with practiced care. The cold touch brought lucidity and she found herself staring into molten eyes bright as silver. “What is it you carry that keeps your heart beating, girl?” The metallic woman asked.

She basked in the feeling, the support, but only for a second. “It is… cursed… it makes you walk… if you take your hands off it, it kills… and if you touch it, you're next… ” The girl explained, the exertion was almost too much for her. “It took everyone… everyone. Maha’s mate… Maha’s friends… M-Maha is so…” she sniffled.

“Maha has to give it to you… it tells Maha… but, if Maha does, Maha will die… Maha doesn't want to die!” she exclaimed, expending whatever energy she didn't have to grasp the package tighter, trying her best despite her screeching bones and muscles to drag it closer.

The woman’s impassive eyes seemed to bore into her soul. “Who or what gave you it to carry, Maha?”

Her strength gave out, and she let her hands rest on top of the package. “Maha’s mate’s retainer… retainer said a Shade gave it to retainer… told retainer it was the Sleeping Presence… Maha thinks. Far west, in the sacred lands…”

“Metal-kin is not like Maha’s… Maha thinks. Maha… must give…” she whimpered, once more instinctively grasping onto the cloth covering the package. “Maha will fade… will die… no future, no past. All gone. Scared. Don't want that… but if Maha doesn't give the metal-kin the package, Shade will make Shah give it.”

She let go and in that moment, with the Metal-kin still touching her, Maha felt something bend and then shatter completely inside of her. She was aware of nothing and everything, all at once. She was old and young. Infinite and finite. An ocean and a rock. Breath and void. Then she was back and it was as if her body threatened to collapse into dust. She felt like a dried and crumbling animal hide, held together by the faintest thread. One strong breeze and Maha would be no more. Then something hot and tinged with metal flooded her mouth, running down her throat and binding herself back together like thick glue. It was too much and blackness swarmed at the edge of her vision. The last thing she saw were those molten silver eyes watching her. A voice flooded her mind whilst it slipped into unconsciousness, and it was the Metal-kin’s, “You will not die this day, Maha. I’ve use for you yet.”

---

Sylia placed the once dying beastfolk girl’s head on the floor. She was stable, the curse on her soul was faint, just potent enough to cause death but easier to break. She then looked at the package before reaching out to pluck it up with ginger hands. The weight of the thing became apparent as she stood and she was more than impressed that Maha, in her state and size, had been able to carry it. Ever so carefully, she began to remove the leather and cloth that bound it.

She had not been expecting it. Hadn’t wanted to believe the moment she saw the pale metal. The rest of the leather and cloth disintegrated in a thought and Sylia with her crowd of craftsmen gathered, fell into shocked silence. The warm metal hummed softly, as if it was glad to be seen by the world at last. A rod of pure Divinium, truly forged Divinium. How it had ended up in the hands of mortals, who had given it to them and for what purpose, the Metal-kin did not know. It left far more questions than answers.

The warmth of the thing seemed to sear itself into her skin, for with a subtle expression, Sylia flexed her fingers and faced the clear skies of Sylann.

“Heal, wash and clothe her while she sleeps. Take her to my chambers and keep a watch until I return.” Was Sylia’s only farewell as she took off.

Maha’s words had intrigued the Goddess. The Far West. Sacred lands. What could be so sacred there? It turned out, after a search that took her far from Sylann, that the Divinium Rod's energies were laced through piles of scattered dust. Some lay intact, others were scattered by the wind and rains, reclaimed by the earth. It would have been the same fate Maha endured. Each of the trace amounts led Sylia back to a worn down and battered wagon, half decayed, with wheels crumbling.

She settled down next to it and approached. Immediately she became aware of the energy lacing the air, originating from a large trunk in the back. It was a stark contrast from the rest of the wagon, for it sat pristine and seemingly untouched by the elements. With a touch, the wagon turned to ash and a loud thud followed, as the chest fell to the floor.

With a flick of her wrist, the chest opened and Sylia was met with a stench of death, intertwined with two distinct energies, though she could only place one- Lareus. She cringed at the thought of that creature wishing for it to meet its master. Sylia peered down into the chest and saw two black bags. She plucked the one she was sure was Lareus, or whatever was left of him, and opened it slightly. She was met with a vision, like a million eyes watching the death of the world. A sharp pain before a friend. She closed the bag and looked at the other. The implications of the two bags weighed heavy on her mind. They had died.

Sylia picked up the other bag and peered inside. There came no vision this time, just a sad blackness. The emptiness of a once proud soul. She knew not the name of the deity but grasped the domain it had once lorded over. That of the soul. She closed the bag and looked back inside the chest. Beneath a few scattered flies, there lay something bound in cloth. She conjured a belt around her waist and tied the bags there, then grabbed the thing and lifted. The leather fell away to reveal a dark metal shield, of average size. It twinkled softly, almost as if it needed the night to show its depths. It was made of… The thought popped into her head- Ir-Vaerilite. And Sylia knew who it belonged to.

One final check of the chest revealed nothing more of note. So Sylia took her prizes and returned to the Atelier. A smile crested her lips, for there was a great deal of crafting to do.

By the Cat, why did it always have to be him that got the absolute worst jobs? It was bad enough that his mate turned out to be a witch, but for her familiar to be one of the Shades? Ridiculous.

He sighed. Step after step. That was all that mattered now. All that had mattered for the past billion days, according to his inner clock. “Rah is stupid isn’t he?”

Rah nodded in response to his own comment, adjusted his backpack’s straps so that it would stop bouncing with each step down, and simply carried on.



Rah licked a deep scratch along his left forearm, grimacing a bit at the taste but powering through. It was moments like those that made him glad his mate was a Witch, for it was only her that knew how to make saliva-disinfectionator potions.

As soon as he finished slathering his wound in saliva, it glowed a deep purple and sewed itself back together in front of his eyes, leaving behind a subtle scar.

“Stupid bug thought it could eat Rah.” Rah scoffed, looked to his right at the dead ant beetle and broke off one of its thick legs. He slurped up the slimy flesh on the inside. It tasted like vomit.



Rah panted. He dragged his feet. He brought his waterskin to his mouth and tipped it fully, and groaned when not even a single drop of water came out.

Yeah, it was the right idea, not bringing anyone else on the way down. Having more people with him would result in the two of them going through supplies faster, and would increase the chance of them catching the attention of bugs and worms and bats and demons and whatever else was in these godforsaken caves. And the last thing that Rah wanted was to see one of his family members dead.

So yeah, coming down here alone was the right idea. Even if it would be the end of him.

No water, no food for the last 2 days, a broken knife and a missing claw. Yeah, things didn’t look good.



It was very hot. Nearly as hot as his mate’s brewing room. He couldn’t believe it, but he actually missed her. Her annoyingly smug face, her soft and slow way of speaking, her thick white hair. Rah flicked his ears in thought.

Suddenly, in the distance, a grand pair of doors appeared. He froze in place for a moment. Sparks flew in his brains. “Those are the doors.” Rah said, squinting, before chuckling, then laughing. After a few seconds, he was laughing so hard that he nearly slipped down the carved staircase, but he caught himself on a loose stone in the cave wall and took a deep breath. Then he roared. “RRAAAAAHHHH!”

Dust and pebbles fell from the ceiling. The walls vibrated with the strength of the echo. He broke out into a full on sprint, and crashed through the large ornate gates, passing by the queues of novices who screamed at him as he ran.

He came to a stop at a staircase just past the entrance. It was hundreds of metres tall. Shelves, filled with many shiny rocks and not-so-shiny rock squares and other things, were everywhere. Rah didn’t care in the slightest. In fact, he grabbed the nearest thing, a big book, and threw it at the outraged crowd of nerdy goblins just outside past the open gate.

“Rah hates all of you! Freaks, why make it so hard to come down here?! Rah will never deliver for Goblins again!” Rah roared. The short novices just cooed and fought amongst themselves to grab the book he’d thrown.

It was then, before he had a chance to gag at the novices, that a group of larger goblins ran up the stairs towards him. Each of the guards wore a mix of leather and diamond-encrusted iron pieces accented with splashes of purple, the colours of the Library.

“Halt in the name of Galaxor! ” they shouted almost in unison.

“Slaves! Tell Galactor that Galactor has horrible tast-” Rah froze, the hamsters in his head turning. After a second, he sighed and relaxed as much as he could. Which meant he was still snarling with bared claws.

Goblins, humans, beastkin and some elves, all dressed in loose clothes with purple accents looked at him with furrowed brows and scrunched up noses.

Soon, a goblin from outside followed Rah. He wore long purple robes and his face was covered by a hood. The goblin was short with yellow skin and as he approached Rah, he put a hand up towards the guards.

“Welcome seeker. ” he said in a monotone voice, as if he said the same words hundreds of times already.



Rah was pushed hard. He pretty much flew and landed on his side a few meters into the largest study he’d ever seen. Compared to Kah’s, this study must have been at least a hundred times the size and a thousand times more unnecessary.

The panther-kin coughed up a few droplets of blood and dragged himself to his knees, then to his feet. It wasn’t very fast, but it could have been a lot slower considering his shackled wrists.

After a moment, one of the guards that had pushed him threw his backpack into the room as well, before shutting the door.

He was left waiting in that study for a long time… So long, in fact, that at one point he had even tried to figure out what the books in the shelves were about, which was impossible due to the language. And also the fact that he couldn’t read at all.

“Books full of scribbles… Goblins are so weird. Pictures are better.” He said to himself.

Attracted by the noises made by the guards and the Great Sage asking him for advice on what to do with the first person to ever try to break into the Library in such a bold manner, Galaxor teleported into the room with a flash of golden light. Wearing his usual attire but with a book in his hand, he looked at Rah and nodded at him before returning to his book.

“Panther-kin. I’m Galaxor, the god of this place. Any reason why I shouldn’t teleport you back on the surface for breaking in? ” Galaxor said, his tone sounding bored, as if he didn’t want to be there at all.

Rah sucked in a breath and squinted at the God, “I am Rah of the Plainstalkers.” After another second, he continued. “I have a delivery for Galaxor. Sent by Wakeful Presence, the Shade. It is in my pack, and I cannot open it with my hands shackled.”

At the mention of the Wakeful Presence, the book Galaxor was reading disappeared and the shackles that held Rah too. Locking Rah in his chrono-eye. Rah had no doubt the deity was doing something unsavoury.

“Very well, mortal. Show me what you have. ” said Galaxor before a powerful glowing hammer flew into his hand, growing in size until it became almost as big as his arm.

Rah said nothing, he merely walked up to his pack, opened it and pulled out the package. It was small and was wrapped in several layers of cloth and leather. Not even Rah knew what it was, and he wasn’t supposed to either. So he just offered the bundle to Galaxor. Every member of his family knew how dangerous deities could be, so not saying anything was perhaps the wisest choice for someone like him. He hadn’t survived for close to three decades by just being strong. Sometimes, a little bit of tact was needed when facing something that strength could not beat.

Galaxor approached the package very carefully and started unwrapping the cloth and leather. Before he could remove the last layer, he looked up at Rah. “If this was all you had to do, I’ll teleport you out, Rah. Unless you want to learn more from the Library. ” said Galaxor, as suddenly a few large diamonds and two bottles of RALK appeared inside Rah’s backpack. Payment for a job done.



Rah was gone. Silence coated every part of the study, and after a moment’s contemplation, Galaxor removed the last layer of cloth covering his delivery and beheld the precious item beneath.

A collar. Thick, heavy, and most importantly, made of the metal of the gods. Pure Divinium. It was made up of two halves, connected by a hinge to one side and a clasp on the other, with miniscule writing carved on the rim in an out-of-this-world script, proclaiming the wearer as ‘Guardian, Maintainer and Slave of All That Lies Below’.

Inspecting the collar from all sides, Galaxor frowned at the miniscule writing. Determining it doesn’t represent any immediate danger, he touched the collar and heard a voice.

“Hey, hey!” A rogue thought flashed into his mind, followed by an undesired grin and a fist pump, as if the voice was using his body to express itself. “You took care – of that cute old Egrioth, didn’t cha – We found it oh so entertaining!-- we thought we’d give you a little something to congratulate – And what better reward than – huh? Wear the collar – allow our stay in this cramped, musty head of yours – and you can enjoy having control – all that lies below.” And just like that, the voices disappeared.

Puzzled, Galaxor took his hand away from the collar. Putting it back, nothing happened. The voices were gone but it didn’t take much to figure out what they were. Outer Gods and they were impressed by his valour in battle.

Days passed by as Galaxor thought out the offer. It wasn’t as if they could do anything to him. Sure, they could spy upon Galbar but that was only if he wore the collar. After a few more days of thinking and considering all the possibilities, Galaxor took a deep breath and put the collar on him.

Almost immediately power surged within him and it felt like the whole underground world of Galbar responded to his command. Better than before, he could sense every living being, every rock, diamond and gemstone. Everything.

Suddenly, besides the color, an earthly aura appeared around him, melding with the golden-blue-purple-ish colours from before. Taking the collar off, the aura and the sense of the underground disappeared.

There Goes The Neighborhood(s)

Near silently, Su'ulek gave birth to the armies and creches of the first Slith. The Slith would be naturally long lived, of varying sizes, though all had the bodies of a serpent. Slith were naturally gifted mages, had scales and leather skin that acted as protection against predators and weapons, although they were somewhat slow moving.

These Slith, the serpentmen, should they wish to be virtuous and good, would be struggling against their own inherent avarice, Slith could, with effort, be virtuous creatures. The Slith gave birth, and their children would be raised communally. The Slith would come in various societies, eventually.

These societies were the Prides, Cabals, Tribes/Clans (Almost interchangeable), later, the City States and finally, in the far future, nation states. Cabals are societies where the Slith would infiltrate other species such as a Human town, village or other community and rule it in secret. The Slith were naturally manipulative, and overly cerebral, not considering the welfare of others outside The Slith society. As a result, some Slith would prey on the smaller communities of other races, perhaps manipulating these smaller societies in their schemes for greater prestige among the Slith.

Slith would come to value the subterranean underworld just as much, if not more than above ground, eventually, however. In one large system of caverns connecting the world above ground with the Underworld, in the center, there is the Holyground of Su'ulek, who is said to have breathed her wisdom into the stone and watery springs.

---

Though Allianthé had told her that terrible beasts stalked the southern ranges of Galbar, Roisin Magnolia was to become quite acquainted with those things of terror and fury far sooner than she ever expected – and not at all in the Galbarian south. She entered upon the Veil where, before her coming, all was a mere fog and mist. It was both unmade and unshaped, unknown to the eyes of men or gods. There, in that smoke of first creation, the Little god of the Little Things beheld as her kingdom came into being. Aye, her mere gaze was creation.

Trees irrupted as far as the eye could see – apple trees and pear and all manner of fruiting trees, hazelnuts, great oaks, noble pines, silvered birches, beeches, rowans, hollies, bashful chestnuts, royal sycamores, weeping willows, and much else. Ivies tendrilled up tree trunks and grapes and lianas and other vines yet. And where there was dew, it was of sweetest honey, richest milk, never-intoxicating mead and wine, and ever-pure and cooled water. Plains of colourful flowers sprung where there were no trees. There were rose bushes and rose trees, lilies, daffodils, daisies, buttercups, orchids, and anemones; even in the endless wildwoods the trees shuffled over to make space for beflowered glades and groves. There the trees and flowers greeted one another and danced in the breeze. The wind here was sweet on the nose, refreshing in a manner that no earthly wind could ever be. A single breath would bring health, youth, and longevity even to the most ailing and ancient of mortal husks. Rivers burst forth and lakes, mountains arose and rolling hills. With the rise of such hills and mounts, verdant canyons and valleys shaped themselves into the landscape and many rivers were made to flow through them and mighty waterfalls to thunder. They thundered, those waterfalls, even from the skies, where great green islands decorated the heavens.

Where the Veil met the physical world in the far east, an ocean flooded the earth and waterfalled into the mists of the material realm. In the farthest west, where the Veil met the Astral plane, the Afterworld, and the many realms of the immaterial, another ocean flooded the land and waterfalled into the mists of those immaterial planes. In that sea were islands of magick and marvels, and the coasts were made into mountainous bays and sandy beaches and cliffs and mangrove marshes also. Grottos opened their maws onto the waters and out of them subterranean rivers flowed. Gazing carefully at the mists where the impossible waterfalls of that eastern ocean, marking the final boundary between the material world and the Veil, descended at last, one might have spied birds flying, men fighting, cities bustling, tigers prowling. Strange were the occurrences where worlds meshed and melded. Who could truly tell where one ended and the other began?

Like the Little goddess of the Little Things, the Veil was in all ways a thing of breath-taking beauty. “But surely it shan’t just be called the Veil,” Roisin Magnolia mused to herself as she drifted on the winds and was the singular star of the Veil’s skies, “surely it shall be called many other, more wonderful, things! Surely it shall be called the Land of Youth and the Land of the Young- why, the Land of the Ever-Young! The Land of the Truly Living! And yes, it may be called the Otherland or even the Otherworld. Perhaps those who think it below the waters will name it the Land Beneath the Wave – and why, that is not untrue, for is it not? And those who see it to fade before their eyes will call it simply the Fade- and that too is not untrue, for does it just not fade from the gaze of mortals near enough as soon as they think they spy it? And surely, they will know it also as the Plain of Delight, the Plain of Joy, the Plain of Happiness- aye, the very Plain of Bliss! The Isle of Fruits they’ll call it, the Many-Coloured Place! Oh, what a handsome place it is!- the Fair Land.” She was made breathless by her passionate eruption, which had burst forth from here in a fit of chromatic dust. That dust drifted away into birds of glamorous colours, butterflies and other vibrant insects, vivid fishes, frogs, salamanders, toads, and innumerable small mammals. All were in their way familiar, and yet they were things of glamour and magick unlike anything known to Galbar.

She settled herself atop a great redwood cypress that overshadowed all trees about it, to further take in the majesty of this her kingdom in the immaterial. She did so exactly as she had admired her Throne of Stone, which enthroned her upon her kingdom in the material world. But she had no sooner set to doing this when most unpleasant sounds cracked and wracked the air all around and the ground down below and the seas and lakes and rivers too. Strange growls, roars, hisses, shouts, barks- sounds most frightful indeed! They foretold little but anger and hostility, spoke of endless hunger and endless thirsting – all of which was foreign (nay, impossible!) in this land of wondrousness, bliss, and eternal satiation. The first wave of the creatures rose about her, spitting their venoms and declaring their furies and killing intent with notes most hideous and unmelodious, removed from all harmony. Tails swiped at her and claws, but the goddess flowed from their enmity in a fluorescence of magic, to emerge above the creatures. Yet still they came for her, spiralling from the forests, dashing across the heavens, leaping across the mountains. From every crevice and canyon, from every deep-sea hole, from beneath the earth she had shaped they dug, from the skies they descended. The Veil entire was darkened by the coming of those terrible things. They knew aught of song, only the cacophony of war cries, the whooping of battle delirium, the cackle of cruelty. Interspersed amongst it were words spat in sprays of spittle – words of death, of harvesting, of consumption, of killing; words of hatred and greed and lust- oh horrid words, words of frightfulness and darkness all! Not a song among them, not a fair utterance! And the world darkened against Roisin Magnolia as the beasts of the outer rims of existence coalesced against her.

But if with darkness they came to snuff her out, little did they realise – or perhaps in their greed and haste had forgotten – that she was the self-radiance of herself, the lodestar of all. In that most tenebrous darkness gathered about her, she was a universal flame.


The Wand of Making and Unmaking leapt upon her fingers and her fingers danced upon her hand. “Songless I’m not- song from me’s begot! Tunes here won’t fall, sing did I when small. Trees with me sing; I heave war and swing!” Her magicks were as thunder, lightning was her art. Words of power she crafted that struck swift as a dart- beasts from her were blasted, their pith split apart! The fell stallions of the monsters baying her name were sundered before her- though most fleet of foot they were, not near as fleet as Roisin Magnolia’s deathcraft. Strange armadas that hewed the very air, most unnatural ships each made of ten thousand agonised screams, were shattered with a sweep of the Godwand.

Most dark were the eyes of the Little god of the Little Things on that aerial battlefield, most blackened her face, most tearful was she. Her tears watered the earth below and, for her weeping, all trees and all flowers and all hills and mountains and canyons and rivers wept! Oh it was a day of great shedding of tears! But for all her grief still she went forth, with regretful thoughts of life-loving Allianthé she advanced, her wand unstayed and her stout heart unstilled. She met an immense scaled beast whose heads were not less than one hundred in number. She pierced it with dark arts and it went up in smoke and screams- she slew it with a word of flaying, slaying, decaying. There rose immediately a fierce host of beasts, a battalion the hundred-heads had commanded with its hundred tongues. With them came a flying salamander with a black forked tongue and a hundred claws. From below emerged a speckled serpent whose head was crested; its form all ridged. In the folds of its flesh and ripples of its skin a hundred souls screeched in torture. Against all of them at once did Roisin Magnolia turn, and she fashioned for them a most harrowing of hexes and most dire of draughts. No sooner had its emerald dusts and grey spray greeted them before they all rose up like so many vapours and were as mists on a fresh morning breeze. She took them with a dread draught of unflying, deep sighing, quick-dying.

And still the monstrosities rushed forth en masse without a care or a worry at those she had felled before. They rushed to claim the Khodexborndotter and her Khodexborn wand. Roisin Magnolia heard their squeals, heard their hungering for the Khodex in her. Not without bravery, she could not deny, they charged forth. No poets were they nor dancers nor singers, but perhaps there was something of the warrior to them- though no honour or nobility that she could tell. They slashed at her, they clawed, great jaws and great teeth reached for her hair, her feet, tore at what they could of her arms. Viciously she swept her wand, now a word of evisceration and now decimation, now one of fading and now of obliteration. And as she did, she reclaimed what of her they had stolen so that her arms were healed, feet mended, and whatever hairs had been torn from her were restored. In waves they fought her and in waves she repulsed them; their darkness struck her from all sides and every direction, and she remained the singular orb of morning, the undying star at the darkest hour of night.

But for all that, a certain energy moved now within the beast host, a certain electric verve. Aye, a gleam shone in their eyes, a glint shone on their grinning teeth. “Your hours are numbered, thing of the worldtome, victory hails us- she bears witness to our triumph!” A lord spoke out from amongst that fell horde, and his words held in them what all that dread host knew in their minds and could in their hearts boast. Roisin Magnolia surveyed them with undaunted eyes but a face most grim; aye hope was here faltering though her eyes did not dim. She raised her wand. The beasts scoffed. “You can have at us as you will, spawn of the all-book, but no measure of ghoulish crafts and eerie arts will avail you. We are the gushing waves of the eternal sea: you are but a lonely and uprooted tree.” It appeared that even such beasts could muster something akin to a war-poet. The goddess raised her wand, and it flashed fury. “I have raised this my wand, this my battle staff- ‘tis raised e’en as you mock on this battle plain and laugh. You say deliverance is taken from me, friendless and alone against an endless enemy. Hear this most triumphant god’s laughing decree; yon green sea of barken hosts rise up and war for me!” And so, she swept her Gramarye-font, her eyes shimmering with glamorous might and something of divine command that brought the wildwoods to rustle in the wind and roots to murmur in the land. The beast horde gave pause and let their gazes wander to the earth. There the trees rustled as though buffeted by great winds and storms, creaked as though tossed by tempests, groaned as though flayed by the elements.

Shattering the sacred pause, beasts threw themselves at the hated Khodexborndottr, hurled themselves that the war may still at last and they may have their prize. But the glamorous arts and magical crafts of the Little god of the Little Things waxed mighty and terrible still; far was the death knell they sought and trumpet call of their greatest victory. With glyphs of grim gore and curses of contemptuous culling she drew whatever life they knew and cast it like rain from their unbreathing forms. She weaved words of draining, waning, raining. Much hope did the beasts place in that desperate assault, with great zest and vigorous earnest they charged- but all was for naught; they could not succeed. Their dark faith came up against the shadowless truth of Roisin Magnolia’s dire visage of deathly beauty and was found deeply wanting. In the wildwoods below matters of weird and eerie glamours were taking hold ever the more strongly, matters that caused bark to ripple to life, trunks to stir, branches to swing and flare.


Of the trees that awoke for that most wretched bloodletting on the sacrosanct earth of the Fair Land, the Alder was the first to rise, most eager to march into the fray, foremost of all the trees to strike. By strength and determination did it hold the fore, and beneath its protective magicks were the still-waking trees hidden from the eyes of their foes. Oh, fleet Alder! - battle-witch of the trees! Advancing spear and foremost shield of the tree-kerns! How your battalions harvest the enemy! How your white wood turns to crimson beneath enemy blows!

Slow was Rowan when it awoke, slow too Willow, they dithered delighting in the sight of one another and their hosts were all left behind by those who woke after them. Shame and infamy on tardy Willow and Rowan in the hour they were called!

Blackthorn, having readied its thorns and sharpened its spikes, leapt with much eagerness and zest, like so many packs of wolves, into the chaos. It proved itself the wildwood's great dark crone of war and wounds, and wherever it leapt into the fray shambling dark shadows of most unholy magick were quick to follow. A strong battle-chieftain and death-bringer was Blackthorn and was to all foes a most bitter fruit.

The Thorny Plum was no less willing, for its fury carried it to such battle-madness that it hungered for bloodshed and was soon amassed in unyielding ranks at the fore of the battle with the Alders. On that battle line its cry was that of hope and perseverance in the face of adversity, its song the promise of spring, its fighting a fighting most strong against the encroachment of darkness unto the Plain of Bliss!

There they were joined also by the swift-marching companies of Blackberry brambles and their Medlar comrades; wherever Blackberry struck, its foes were blinded and where Medlar breathed, rot took hold of its victims. They twisted their forms at the fore and went about dispensing much strife on that beast horde that had thought itself unequalled on the Veil’s bloodletting fields.

Oh then, and only then, did the dithering Willows and Rowans stride forth. Though their tardiness was an eternal blot, did they yet make a good account for themselves on the plain of that great bloodletting. The Willows took positions on the hills and, swaying eerily on the breeze, cast forth mighty dreams and illusions that wracked the enemy hordes till they wept bileblood tears; Rowan meanwhile stood guard and manifested glamorous protections and shields about the dreamweaving illusionist of the tree-kerns.

Dogwood awoke with gusto, summoned its warriors and lacerated the beasts. Most noble of that battle’s princes, gallant Dogwood! - gladly and with fervour did it contest the field. There on those killing plains it was the veritable ox of war, bull of battle, lord of the fray! Forever had it been and forevermore would Dogwood remain a proud chief amongst the tribe of the trees.

Then the thorny Rose bush assembled and advanced on that most wrathful of foes, and it carried against the venom of the enemy a blood-drawing venom all its own. It was with battle-eagerness and blood that the Rose bud brightened into such crimsons.

Not to be outdone, the Raspberry determined to take strong action too- no defensive enclosures or palisades did it seek! No care did it have for its own life! It placed its flesh on the quick-shifting battle lines!

Then came the marching bands of Privet and Honeysuckle, the Wild Rose and weaving Woodbine, striding Bramble, and the beauteous Ivy- king of all creepers at the full majesty of its prime! And for all its tenderness did it fiercely go into the fray, oh most majestic Ivy! Aye, as one great host the Privets and the Wild Roses and the Woodbines, and the Brambles, and the Ivies formed a shield most impenetrable and in their very flesh, in their fair buds and eager vines, recorded the great tapestry of that raging war, recorded every sacrifice and noble deed. With them was the sea of terror and surge of fury that is Gorse; aye record it well, for among them was the terror of the slaying fields, giant Gorse.

Cherry came forth in great noise and commotion, its fruiting and unfruiting hosts with it, blaring the trumpet of alarm, directing the trees in the fray, and calling on the slumbering to waken. It mocked and disparaged the enemy with such barbed darts of poesy laced in poisonous magicks. Its abuses were as stones hurled from great pillars, and before the great host of the chanting Cherries foes were brought to shame, to ignominy, and at last too to death.

Poplar, in the very midst of that heavy fighting, warded off the death-strikes of the enemy and endured many a blow. Can they be counted, those Poplar branches felled on that fell day? Can the long-enduring forms be counted that were given over in most noble sacrifice and battle-glory?

And though Birch has a most noble pedigree amongst the trees, ever high-minded and great-intentioned, was it slow to answer the battle call. With great pomp and deliberation did it ready for battle and don its armour- but let it not be thought that it was cowardice or any spinelessness that moved it to such! – nay, it was out of greatness that the Birch battalions lingered, bedecking themselves for that day of days! They wrought madness on the bloodletting fields thereafter, their silvered hands leaving birchen crowns on the heads of all who fell before them.

Most resolute and unswerving were Goldenrod and Almond! They held their lines and did not falter or take so much as one retreating step. Goldenrod, that quick gasher, was the very wound weed of the war in the Veil- and Almond, though foreign to the shores where the battle took it, did not waver for fighting by foreign waves on foreign land.

Then the Fir and Spruce battalions rushed into the struggle, firm of strike most stern on the enemy, unstinting in their charge- they were at the forefront of that day of gore and were the very striding lords of war.

And even in the eyes of the lords of the monstrous horde was Ash esteemed most highly. Alongside the courtly, royal Pine, who had taken its rightful place at the centre of the field and was branch-wrought death on its foes, it directed the roads and routes, ushered the tree-kerns now forth into the fray and now back to rest and recuperate. They covered such retreats with defiance and valour, no being with wings or claws passed them on that day. Long would the lords and kings of outer beasts remember Ash, the lieutenant of the Pines, and its exalted deeds on the bloodletting fields. Aye, they turned aside not a foot or a breadth, but in the heart of the whirling battle-storm stood they.

Yew, who even in wakefulness saw the far-off dreams and visions of great triumph, saw in the shattered foes it swept aside the nascent becoming of those dreams. Most bravely did the far-seer of the trees fight for that vision, most bravely urge its brethren on towards victory.

Hearing it, the Buckthorn – bane of terrible magicks, protector of the weak – came forth with its hosts and cast a spell of harmony about the far-seeing Yew and marched with it even into the deathly heart of the flailing maelstrom.

The venerable Oak was the champion and lord of honour, wisdom, might. It lumbered into the bloodletting and was spattered with much bloodbile; its thick bark was unscathed as it shambled and dashed back and forth along the line of battle, unafraid before the gaze of enemy champions and kings.

As in their wealth and splendour Linden and Aspen were ever out-competing one another, so too on the bloodletting fields did they set out to outshine the other. Aspen veered not a foot, and Linden too did not at all flinch in the toss and heave of the fighting. They slashed the enemy centre, harried the wings, encircled the rear; wherever they met the fury of the enemy-beasts they cut them down. In their fevered rivalry and ambition, they were to be mother and father to many a star-eyed hero.

And Hazel, whose hosts had been dashing in pursuit of a worthy weapon, cried out for Roisin Magnolia to bless them that they may honour her in the fray. Though dark was the face of Roisin Magnolia on that most dreadful day, did she yet spare the Hazels' heartfelt crisis a smile and a flick of her wand. Aye, Hazel was on that day deemed worthy - most worthy! - of bearing the arms of the sovereign on the Throne of Stone. Then it dashed with its battle-bands into the tumult. Nine times did the Hazel battle-bands strike, and they marked wherever they trod as a place of untiring war.

By sea and on every estuary, Beech waxed frightful mighty and excelled in every fighting craft. Resisting the blows of its foes, it dashed deftly into the very heart of the fray and there stood beside Alder and was draped in glory. Thus did Beech flourish on the fighting fields.

Meanwhile Holly, which had on awakening seemed draped in illness and cast over by death, sprouted leaves anew and became verdant and green as it revelled in the knell of battle-cries. In that mad tumult was it most courageous, it put forth spiked wintry leaves that, like spears, drew bileblood from every monstrous maw and claw; it manifested terror and dealt it from its hand.

Hawthorn, already famous amongst its tree-kin, did not laze in the comforts of reputation. Most fiercely it delivered pain and festering wounds, most terribly was it the frightful hag of the plain. In its branches a hundred crows cawed at once, chiding and deriding the beasts Hawthorn struck low even as their caws put the fear of coming death into their souls.


Most skilfully dispensing pestilence from its branches, Whitethorn pressed on even as about it the Vines of battle continued their most bold and unyielding assault. They wove about the foe, did the Vines, and whatever advance the enemy might have thought to make was hampered and brought to failure and destruction by the tendrilous bindings of those Ivies and Lianas and Woodbines. And yet, for all their steadfastness, in that moment Bryony let out a shriek of despair and broke ranks with the other vines. Its hosts burst in broken flurries; many were charred unrecognisably while others made their ailing escape. In their wake Fern too broke and went weeping and flayed from the field! But Bracken, witnessing that shameful display, swelled with fury and went raiding and hounding the enemy where they thought to break through the battle lines. Broom joined it at that most desperate vanguard and was there ploughed into the very earth, trampled into the mud, battered into the rising soil that the enemy may not pass. The churned-up ground, where they wallowed in their wounds, bore eternal witness to that death-battalion’s final stand. Gorse, most luckless Gorse, dashed forth in their support and leapt wildly into that death-affray! There they were gathered, all of them beside one another, and fought on though there seemed but little hope! And though hopeless the stand, Elder stood with them and suffered great sweeping cuts and, at the last, stood burning slowly in all-consuming flames that singed any who came near.

While they laboured there in that place of death-awaiting, Heather the well-famed victor was brought by enchantments and great magicks into the fore. Deft and ever-triumphant Heather, of its host such heathers as the Azaleas and the Rosetrees, was made a mighty standard-bearer at that breach in the battle line. The Gorse witnessed its coming and the Bracken too, and even the churned-up Broom, and all of them knew that the Luck-Bringer had descended among them so that the battle may be turned. Bewitching their foes with shattering glamours, the Heathers called on the line to rally and brooked no cries of pain or any who would dally. And so, the breach was transformed from an ailing attempt at warding off the enemy assault into a full-fledged and full-throated charge and pursuit. Such was the might and fortune-turning of the beauteous Heather and its host.

That was the great turning of the battle entire, for then the mighty Oak – voice like thunder, swift of shout – was among them also. The heavens trembled before it and the earth even as it rushed forth into the fore and led a blazing vanguard. What walls and what battle ranks thought to withstand the host of the Oaks? All worlds trembled at their approach and the very hearts of their foes; thus was Oak, Champion of the Trees, Enemy of the Beasts of the Outer Rim, Striking-Branch of Roisin Magnolia, Great Chief of the Wildwoods, Stout Gatekeeper Against the Foe- many are its titles and names! By its names know it!

In the wake of the Oak hosts came Woad and Borage, brave and inveterate fighters all, and they pushed forth and urged all to strike with them. Fierce were they in the fray, hot on the heels of the Oaken vanguard. Their name was eternalised in the record of that day. With them came the Mistletoe-headed Elm, and the convocation of its hosts cast terror and sickness wherever it strode so that foes fell about them or elsewise fled. And though there was yet courage and heart in their foes, those dread Elms rebuffed all onslaughts – Mistletoe magicks ever-safeguarding their heads – and repulsed with savage stabbings and stern strikes any who thought to breach once more the hole that was now fortified.

In hot pursuit of the enemy, Black Cherry sprung across the field with Pear in lockstep. They wreaked havoc and worked all manner of oppression on the retreating foe. And even as they swiftly advanced, they paused and – to the fright of their still-fleeing enemies – called forth more of their kin for the final push, for the great retreat of the outer beasts from the bliss-kingdom of Roisin Magnolia. Let none say that at force Pear could never excel!

The most blessed Thorn Apple, with all its Apple kind, heeded the call and made an awe-striking advance, made more remarkable by its constancy and unruffled great laugh. With it, in terrifying array indeed, came the surging, sweet-scented Clover crying havoc and much terrible magicks. Though bashful and full of shame, so too was the Chestnut on that day counted among the ranks of the strong fighting trees. And let no mention of that great battle fail to mention the lumbering Sycamore, the venerable Cedar, the colossal Cypress (of whose formidable host were the champions of the tree-kerns; mighty were the Giant Redwood and the Great Sequoia of the Cedar war party). The hardy Camphor immortalised its name in the combat while the Hornbeam hurled horror and discord on its foes. The Nettle Honeyberry twisted terribly on the field – in a manner trees had never been known to twist! – and summoned swift pain on those who withstood it! The holy Woodenbegar cast seeds of fury as it strode into the fighting mass, while the Maidenhair commanded utter calm and sallied forth with those trees and shrubs that had broken earlier in the fray, promising them redemption and renewed fame.

What tree was not there on that day of heroes marking the infamous rout of the folk of the outer rims of existence! The Olive, ancient and stout, wise and as a light against the darkness, was there. It struck them on rock, on hill, on plain; it conducted the hosts of the Olive trees to unceasing war- most peaceful are the Olive trees, that is true, but greater than their peace is their unerring and unflagging justice! With them marched the holy Gourd, shade for every sea-battered castaway and healing for the battle-weary and war-broken. The graceful Date Palm, like a spear with its bedecked head in the heavens, went into the commotion of battle and did not cease from thrashing and bludgeoning the enemy line. And let the Fig not be forgotten, with its host of sacred Figs and Banyans, as well as the Sidr and the Pomegranate - all holy trees, all blessed! And yet their holiness did not stand between them and descending into the raging battle that they may be counted amongst the brave tree-kerns of that apocalyptic confrontation. Amongst those sacred trees marched the flower glades of the Lily and Laburnum in sacred chorus, the Tulsi too and the Agrimony, while on the rivers and the lakes hymned the Sacred Lotus. They chanted a magick of steadiness, readiness, headiness. The Hollyhock intonated vigorously, the Sweet Alison, the Anemone, the Hibiscus. The Tulip also and the Marigold, sister of the Daisies, who also sang their magick and cast their glamours. Aye the Buttercups sang too and the Orchids, and the Narcissus and all its Daffodil kin – though not the Daffotale, for it was not of those who answered the call. Numberless elsewise were the flowers of that great sacred march and chant!

No name was forgotten from the record of the trees that marched when Roisin Magnolia called forth the Wildwoods to arms. The hulking Maple answered and was to be found at the vanguard beside the unflagging Teak and steady Walnut, Hickory firm on their flanks as it hewed beasts asunder in the hallowed name of the Little god of the Little Things. The Acacia marched against Roisin Magnolia’s enemies too, calling forth its Blue Wattles and Thorny Acacias and Winter Thorns and that queen of all Acacias, the Gum Acacia. Not the largest of the trees were they, but most deft, their thorns sharp and their strikes sure. Cavaliers of Roisin Magnolia, they whooped and galloped across the bloodletting fields withstanding the enemy wherever he stood and sealing the breach with great shattering charges wherever a breach emerged. The Sages and the Mints and the Deadnettles all formed the great aromatic entourage of the Acacias- all those Rosemarys and Basils and Marjorams and Thymes and Lavenders and Catnips. They charged with the charging of those gallopers and cast mighty magicks and glamours of victory and heroic advances and immortalisation in the halls of the happy and great.

It was a long fight and an unceasing one too. The battle raged for thirty days, the sun of the Veil rising and setting even as the tug and tumult ground ever on. The Laurel awoke to join that fight of fights, the Saunderswood, the whipping Bamboo. The aromatic Argan and Sandalwood left off their repose and chose to be severe on the foes of Roisin Magnolia. Amongst them glided and writhed the adroit Tamarisk, and for all its age it was the very youth of the battlefield! And the many Ebonies – their visages as dark and furious as those of their goddess, though perhaps not nearly as sad – arrived to pierce the armies of darkness with equally dark darts. Beauteous Mahagony came bearing the arms of agony, and Margosa was no less adept and meticulous in doling out most bitterly torturous deaths to those unfortunate enough to fall in its grasp. What a host was the host of Roisin Magnolia before the advance of the outer beings and their outer gods! What Wenge and Juniper and Engan and Tuliptree and Satisal and Zelkova did not in that millstone of war drink heartily of the bileblood until it was satiated? What Persimmon tree-kern, what Plum and Peach and Apricot and Lychee and Black Mulberry did not add to its arts of magick and glamorous crafts dark hatreds and bitter cruelties? Had Mango known the pleasure of slaughter before? Had Coconut thought its hardness a formidable weapon in the magicks it moulded? What had that sweet Banana or that life-loving Cineraria known of the arts of hurting, despoiling, decimating? Was it in that fighting that the Bael tree’s fruit became a friend to rot and the Malacca’s forget sweetness?

Perhaps only the very queen of the trees, who was but the vicegerent of Roisin Magnolia amongst them, did not. The Magnolia tree, with its flowers of whitest purity, stood as the lodestar of good fortune in that fray, cleaving through the foe and never suffering taint or bileblood upon its sacrosanct form. Most noble was the Magnolia on the killing fields; it was a spell of healing and rest on all who cast their eyes towards it. In its every movement was a love for life, a love for its tree-kin, a nobility unequalled, a dignity in the face of the indignity of such horrid bloodletting. It was an eternal monument to perseverance against the darkness and taint that even in the midst of that terrible battle marked the Wildwoods forever. The Magnolia and its never-tainted hosts were witness to all that, and in their hearts they pledged an oath in glamour, an oath of endurance, eternal joy, good fortune, and purity. The flowers of endurance became yellow, those of joy pink, those of good fortune purple, and those of purity remained white as the snow.


When that Great Bloodletting at the Veil - that Battle of the Wildwoods, War of the Trees, Siege of the Fade, and the thousand other names it already had - grew still and the dusk of fighting was upon them, quiet descended across all the regions and ranges of the Veil. Launching her gaze across the hills where the primroses and all the flowers now rested off from their exertions, Roisin Magnolia watched and heard the wrens sing of the final flight of the enemy and their rout at the Gates of the Furthest Fade. They would come again, she knew, though perhaps nevermore in such great numbers, and nevermore would the Fade - in whose folds ten million outer gods reposed to arise once more for the final battle and the end of the world - be truly pure. But aye, until then nevermore would they grow so near to their coveted victory and the satiation of their terrible hunger.

Descending from the heavens where she had doled out dark and frightful magicks, descending low into a canyon and rising again even unto the Holt of Taramanca, the Little god of the Little Things gathered the Wildwoods to her and Glades of the Flowers. They came before her in a chorus of triumphal songs and poesy. They came to her with Glamours of the victory dance and records of their glories. Resplendent and most tearful was Roisin Magnolia on the Holt of Taramanca, and her loyal braves and kerns march on by her, saluting her even as they supped of her tears. Her tears were a flood and on the tongue sweeter than all the dews of the Veil. They flowed down the Holt of Taramanca and encircled it like a moat, and from there flowed on towards the sea. It was known ever after as the Sweet River Rois. Marching before the goddess and taking from her tears a reward for their part in the battle, the tree-kerns whispered glamours into the Holt of Tarmanca so that slowly a throne emerged for their High Queen, and about it a hall suiting her splendour, then about that a palace with four wings and even about that walls like mountains. For aeons thereafter the High Queen remained on her high throne at the Holt of Taramanca, and her name was upon those tree-kerns like a glamour of intense weeping and sadness. Aye, in that land of eternal and unceasing bliss were the tears of Roisin Magnolia such a spell of deadly heartbreak.

But even in their misery, which so gripped the trees and the flowers that they were paralysed with grief and could only wail in the wind and sigh in the sun, their supping on the tears of Roisin Magnolia meant they soon sired the Fair Folk. As shadows were the battles of the ancients to that newborn and joyous race! With light hearts did they receive the tales of that great struggle at the dawn of all things! With laughter did they consider the legends of the millions of dark souls waiting on the battle of the end of the world! They were the happiest folk in existence in the happiest place of all, and their songs of eternal ecstasy and never-ceasing dance filled the Veil. For unknown aeons the High Queen on her High Throne at the Highholt of Taramanca wept and smiled and listened.

• Summary [+]

  Roisin goes into the Veil and as she casts her gaze over that place between the dimensions it comes into existence as her heart desires. But there were outer gods and beasts here! A mighty battle commences and Roisin seems at the cusp of defeat when she casts mighty magicks that cause the very trees and flowers to rise forth and battle the endless armies of the outer beasts and their outer gods. The battle is looooong. Eventually the trees are victorious, ten million outer god/beast souls are eternally part of the Fade, and Roisin descends to a holt (i.e. a hill) called Taramanca where she weeps. The trees walk by saluting her and supping from her tears as a reward for their part in the battle. Her tears become a cool river around the hill and off to the sea. A palace is built for her on Taramanca and her sadness is so great that all the trees and flowers become paralysed with grief. Having supped on Roisin's tears, the Faeries are eventually born from them. For endless aeons Roisin sits on throne in her palace on Taramanca hill and weeps, smiles, and listens.
• Of Might & Glamour [+]

  Roisin’s opening Might: 5 Might
  
  –3 Might (enhanced to 6 Might by Glamour) to Create the Transcendental Species “the Feighd ^{(pronounced: Fade; Fay; Feed)}; the Feighdfulc; Fairies; the Little Folk; Faeries; the Wee Folk; the Fae; the Fair Folk; the Fey; the Siardha Folk; the Fade; the Fay; the Good Folk”
  

  The Feighd | The Feighdfulc [+]

  RACE NAME:
  

  the Feighd ^{(pronounced: Fade; Fay; Feed)} | the Feighdfulc | Fairies | the Little Folk | Faeries | the Wee Folk | the Fae | the Fair Folk | the Fey | the Siardha Folk | the Fade | the Fay | the Good Folk

  
  
  RACE APPEARANCE
  

  Appearance [+]

  

  
  
  RACE DESCRIPTION:
  

  Description [+]

  Feighd exhibit an astounding level of diversity. Some take on the appearance of children from any sapient race. Others appear barely distinct from monsters. Others yet take on plant- or water-like features. As a rule, they are all generally humanoid and very small in size: Lesser Feighd can be up to 3 inches tall while Greater Feighd can reach 7 inches. While faeries can shapeshift into larger forms or possess natural phenomena – such as trees and plants in the case of dryads – their true forms will always be in the aforementioned range.
  Lesser Feighd childlike in appearance while Greater Feighd appear as adults. Some may have tails, wings, or more than two arms or none (if, for instance, wings replace their arms). Whether they have wings or not, all Feighd can fly though not all may choose to do so. Though capable of synchronising their lip movements to make it appear that they are speaking from their mouths, the speech of Feighd is strange and does not emanate from their throats. Instead, it reverberates through the very ether and may be perceived mentally, audially, or both.
  
  While Feighd may appear to be either male or female, they do not reproduce or procreate physically, and so these appearances are purely aesthetic. The more powerful a Feighd is the closer to adulthood it appears and the bigger it is physically. Being creatures of pure magic, the Feighd have no fixed lifespan. So long as they have a source of magic, they are unlikely to die. They are born when a Greater Feighd of substantial power wills a Lesser Feighd into being. When a Feighd dies it simply explodes into magical dust. Feighd feed on magical energy alone, meaning that they can cannibalise one another unless socialised against it. Other things that produce magic - like a particularly pure spring or a well-cared-for forest or astralis lumen or even forces such as lightning or fire - are also a food source for them.

  
  
  RACE BEHAVIOUR:
  

  Behaviour [+]

  Feighd enjoy dancing and will do so both alone and in groups. While some Feighd are communal in nature and others solitary, they generally organise into loose or centralised clans, courts, princedoms, and kingdoms. They will usually obey the most powerful individual amongst them. The ultimate authority in the Feighd world, greater than the greatest princes or queens, is the Faerie High Queen Roisin Magnolia.
  
  While their progenitor is in all ways kind, that is not universally true of Feighd, who were irremediably marked by the bileblood that corrupted their tree ancestors during the War of the Trees. They can be broadly separated into Malign Feighd, in whom the bileblood's effects are predominant, and Benign Feighd, in whom the bileblood's effects are present but subordinate to their ultimately kinder natures.
  
  

  Malign Feighd can be quite predisposed towards mischief and mayhem, and they can exhibit extreme sadism and cruelty. Malign Feighd may nevertheless at times carry out arbitrary acts of kindness or reward those who please them – just as they may well punish those who help them. They are characterised by this sort of arbitrariness alongside ungratefulness and uncaringness. They tend towards planting forests and helping rivers and lakes to develop. They do not do this out of any kindness per se, but in the same way other races may build cities and grand structures: to live, as a mark of their civilisation, and to establish kingdoms and domains. The rivers and forests nurtured and shaped by Malign Feighd will often harbour malevolent forces – the spirits are more likely to be unfriendly, dangerous creatures are more present, so too diseases, noxious fumes, and so on. Malign Feighd often display exceptional martial prowess. They are attuned with the spirits permeating all things and are capable of harnessing Glamours that allow them to manipulate them into doing their bidding. It is often possible to guess the malevolent predisposition of a Feighd by the extent of its bestial features when in its true form.
  
  While Benign Feighd have the same capacity for cruelty as their Malign kin, Benign Feighd tend not to pursue chaos and mayhem quite as earnestly. They are more likely to repay kindness with kindness and carry out random acts of generosity for no apparent reason. Moreover, the forests and rivers and other places of nature they nurture are more likely to be in all ways more benevolent. Benign Feighd are quick to benefit those whom they see as their friends. However, they will also punish those who displease them - though perhaps in humorous ways that are not gratuitously cruel or sadistic. While Benign Feighd also have great Glamorous power over the spirits permeating all things, they are frequently not as martially capable as their Malign kin. It is often possible to guess the benign disposition of a Feighd by the extent of its adherence to the form of the sapient species it takes after - e.g. one whose true form is perfectly goblinlike, or humanlike etc. without any bestial features, is likely entirely benign.

  
  
  FEIGHD GLAMOUR
  

  Glamour [+]

  Through Glamour, Feighd can deceive the senses, create illusions, vanish, fly, shapeshift, move objects and fixtures, inflict disease, death, and curses, grant good health, healing, and other blessings, cast hexes and charms with the wave of a wand, as well as numerous other powers. Feighd have tremendous healing powers, having an intimate knowledge of herbs and being adept at using them to heal or undo the malign actions of others of their kind. They can use such magic to take away physical disability or to cripple and maim if they choose. Those who incur their ire may sometimes be lamed, paralysed, or rendered dumb. Less Benign Feighd may deploy their Glamour to make people believe that they are in grand homes or halls, that they have been offered delicate and delicious food, or that they have been given Feighd gold. What they will have really experienced is, respectively, a cave, some dung, or some dried leaves.
  
  Even as their forms are highly changeable, their magical nature means they can also be quite insubstantial. By letting themselves become almost gaseous or melding into pure spirit, Feighd can float through the air with ease. They can go beyond this entirely and by means of Glamour become nigh impossible to see. Those who are busy with much more important things are unlikely to see a Feighd in its true form, and if they do will probably just catch sight of something out of the corner of their eye before losing it again. Most animals are much more alert and perceptive than sapient mortals and so are not as easily fooled by the Feighd. Dogs, cats, and horses will often become agitated by the presence of invisible Wee Folk. While Feighd are adept shapeshifters, the eagle-eyed observer may realise their truth by subtle hints and oddities that addle the Feighd form, for their Glamour is so potent that it can hardly be prevented from randomly doing fantastical, wondrous things. Such oddities may include, for instance, a spark of intelligence in the eyes of an animal that betrays it is truly of the Feighd. Feighd masquerading as other sapients may have exaggerated features or abnormalities, such as pointy ears, a long nose, club feet, or other such things not to be found in the given race. Through the Veil, Greater Feighd can use Glamour to hear the words that people are speaking even when they are distant and so avoid deceptively or invisibly wandering in the first place. Further assisting Greater Feighd is their ability to use Glamour as a means of transport from the Veil into the material world and back – Lesser Feighd can only travel to and from the material realm via locations of great magic, such as Feighd mounds. Bold mortals are able to tag along with a Feighd travelling by repeating the same spell. They may however end up in an unusual or unexpected place. As other races can sometimes eavesdrop on Feighd spells and so use them without permission, Feighd often seek to hide their magicks from them. When Feighd use spoken spells, they will be heard to utter fantastical magical phrases, such as “Horse and hattock”, “Abracadabra”, “Hocus pocus”, “Double double, toil and trouble!”, amongst other innumerable phrases. While Lesser Feighd say their spells, very little is needed for Greater Feighd to wield their magical power. Intention alone (perhaps combined with some spell recited in the head) is sufficient to achieve their purpose. A mortal affected by unspoken such magic may not be entirely sure whether magic is being used or whether it is simply coincidence - indeed, Feighd can sometimes be quite subtle with their curses and blessings.
  
  Feighd cast magic in many ways. This includes songs, chants, spells, poetry, herbs, potions, and dances. Various items can be employed too – magical bows are frequently used to fire fae-shots that hold curses or blessings. They can also use wands and enchanted items to channel their powers. Uniquely, as they are beings of pure magic and Glamour, Feighd are in fact able to cast magick without wands and similar items that are otherwise necessary. An example of this is the Feighd ability to change things simply by blowing upon them. In some cases, the sheer presence of a faery, radiating an aura of Glamour, is enough to work magic, quite frequently subjecting those they have met or spoken with to inadvertent curses or blessings. Even though fairies are mostly deliberate when it comes to hexing and blessing, it is possible for them in this and other ways to cast magic unwittingly or unintentionally on mortals. Extremely powerful Greater Feighd may even be able to cast magicks from vast distances or even into the material realm without leaving the Veil.
  
  Feighd can be Astral beings and can, by various means, be bound as a familiar. While it is possible to learn Glamour and All-magick without a Feighd familiar, such will be extremely difficult until knowledge of All-magick has become sufficiently widespread amongst other races.
  
  Mortals can see through Feighd Glamour if they apply a special ointment to their eyes. This ointment, salve, or oil is made only by Feighd and with it mortal eyesight can penetrate Feighd Glamour and see things as they really are. It can also penetrate many spells and illusions, including those that cause invisibility. Such concoctions are necessary in cases where Feighd and mortals intermarry; the resultant hybrids are unable to naturally see Glamour and require the ointment to be applied to their eyes. The effects of the ointment can be undone by violent blinding, depriving the victim of their sight completely, or more mercifully by a Feighd breathing on the eye to return it to its original state. While they are powerful beings, a person with prudence can ward off Feighd and their trickery through various charms and wards. These have no power in and of themselves, but Feighd are obligated to respect their warding nature due to Roisin Magnolia’s decree. Minerals, plants, and animal matter that ward off Feighd include:
  

  • Iron in any shape, whether a knife, a horseshoe, a pin or needle, pairs of tongs, or the bolt of a door.
  • Amber beads sewn into a child’s clothes prevent Feighd abduction.
  • Salt drives off Feighd.
  • Adder stone, a naturally holed stone that can be worn around the neck to protect an individual can be hung to safeguard home or a stable. When not in use, the stones should be protected or may otherwise be stolen by Feighd.
  • Buildings and large public fixtures such as wells can be protected by circling them with stones painted white.
  • Sprigs of rowan repel Feighd.
  • Vervain and dill can dispel evil influences, as can milkwort and mugwort. Other handy herbs are mistletoe, nightshade, yarrow, groundsel, rue, and the sap of Ash trees. Burnt bindweed is good for protection, as are four-leaf clovers.
  • Sugar water, especially if served from a silver spoon or cup (or at least, from a receptacle containing silver) can help ensure that a mother and her newborn baby are safe from unwelcome Feighd attention.
  • Even tea can drive Feighd away.
  • An elder branch can guard against Feighd, and Elder springs can also be carried to ward them off or even strike them.
  • Drawing blood from oneself, someone else, or any animal can drive off Feighd.
  • A black cockerel is a good ward against the Feighd.
  • Red threads tied around the throat, wrist, or into one’s hair.
  • Holy items, such as artefacts created by gods, can act as a ward against Feighd.
  • Some Feighd, particularly the sort with bad intentions, are unable to cross flowing water.
  • This is not an exhaustive list, feel free to come up with your own! Ask me if unsure!

  
  Roisin’s closing Might: 2 Might

Allianthé had been pacing around the Tree of Life. She stopped at the few shrines that inhabited it as she wordlessly asked her peers for guidance. The taint of death kept creeping up. All her fingers on her right hand had turned blackened. Beyond the Tree, more people were dying, more plants where chopped and more animals were being butchered. Of course she could help some. Maybe even most, but even as a goddess she had limits. How could she reconcile the existence of death and its taint upon her with the fact that it was an abhorrent part of reality?

What would Sylla do? The craft-goddess was ever only concerned with her own things to be sure, but her gifts were beautiful. The forge, divinium, allianthium and the other manifestations would help out Galbar for the rest of its existence. She didn’t see the different, imbued parts of divinium as tainted or wrong. Should she herself be more understanding too?

On the other side was Roisin Magnolia. The little goddess, who so purely saw Allianthé. She was young but she already shone with such adoration for life, and such regret for causing death. Roisin liked it as much as Allianthé it would seem, and she was the Ever-Beauty. What did that mean for Death if the most beautiful creation in the world abhorred it?

Then there was the shrine of Galaxor. Boisterous, loud, demanding, and ever in motion. Oh how simple his existence must be. Allianthé grew jealous but reminded herself that each had a different charge. Galaxor fostered heroism, in all of its aspects. She had a more fundamental role in existence. For without life, what was there to be heroic? Or - as she realized - what would there be to slay or adore?

So many questions. Then her eyes turned towards the stoney cocoon of the Khodex. It never gave answers. Even though Allianthé had already begged and pleaded it to give her something. A sign, a mark, anything to tell her whether death should be accepted or rejected. “Just a sign.” She whispered as she took a cautious step towards the center of creation. “I cannot decide this for my own.” She pleaded as she took another step. To her surprise something happened now.

The Khodex within started to radiate its energy for the second time since it had entombed itself. Now it wasn’t already marked energy, like what was unleashed with Roisin Magnolia’s birth. This was something purer. Something more primordial. Pure potential, akin to what the Khodex offered before creation! Allianthé stepped closer as she reached out. “Yes! Please! Show me! Please let me know and understand!” She begged as happy tears started to swell in her eyes. The literal weight of the world began to lift from her shoulders. She was being unburdened as she began to siphon the pure, primordial energy from the Khodex and let it flow through her. It was forming something on her and she let it. A majestic halo flickered into existence behind her.

Then the Khodex’s cocoon cracked.

Wrathful power emanated from the Khodex as creation suddenly fought back. It rejected Allianthé in a sudden turn. For a split second Allianthé didn’t allow it. Despite the sudden turn she gripped the primordial energy she was still siphoning and pulled harder. She had earned it with her suffering! The Khodex responded more fiercly. It pulled back all the rejecting power and converged it into something else: pure creation focused against her.

Waves of life, heroism, fire, art, space, cycles, water, trickery, earth, civilization, violence and more unleashed upon her. A myriad of fundamentals and concepts assaulted her, as if the Khodex was trying to throw her away from it! She fought back, wrenched the dominion of life away from the Khodex and bend it against its assault of fundamental forces. Then the halo, that source of new understanding, came to her aid, as let her detach herself from the world and the concepts that directed its existence. She became detached from such petty ideas that would wage endless conflict with each other.

In a flash the violence that wracked the core of the Tree of Life stopped. Void-black wood grew through the floor and encased the Khodex fully, when it was finished, its bare branches bore kaleidoscopic leaves and its bark bore glimmering dots akin to stars. Allianthé looked around. The Shrines remained untouched, as if the Khodex did not wish to mar the other divine. Yet the rest of the inside of the Tree of Life was not so spared. Roaring, endless flames wretched one side, strange porcelain tiles had appeared in another. Another had turned into an unmarked, blank, canvas-like wasteland where truly there was nothing. It would require work and adaptation to make the tree, and the shrines within, accessible to mortalkind again and Allianthé would dedicate her powers to doing so. Except.. not now.

There was something else she needed to do. The halo had given her glimmers of something she could not yet understand, but it had also shown her how she could start understanding. In her hands she formed a hundred seeds, some of them were shimmering with light. Others were dull but robust looking. She formed them to fulfill what the halo needed her to make. Once down, she released the seed-structure that looked like a pinecone.

Like a falling star it flew out of the Tree of Life. It didn’t need to go far. The people of Arbor looked up as they saw the strange creation streak over them from the Tree of Life. It landed in a small forest not too far away from the Living City. In an instant, a hundred trees sprouted and grew. The core ones were slender, iridescent and grew the fastest. More like snakes these trees slithered upwards, towards the skies. As they went up they began to coil around each other. They pushed and held each other as they kept gonig upwards. Higher and higher. Soon though, the gripping laws of reality and gravity would demand them to bend and eventually break. The slithering slowed as the very forces of reality required them to stop or be sundered. Now the outer, broader-based, rougher, dark-barked trees started to grow. They twisted around the slender core and encased them in something that protected them from the demands of the world. The slender core started growing again, reaching higher and higher, until it easily towered over the tallest mountain in the world. Then it kept going, piercing and breaking the clouds. The dark, armouring trees kept on growing around it, slower but sturdier.

Eventually the slender core broke through the gaseous cover of the world but kept going further. Here no life should exist. It was inhospitable but the new trees cared little. They kept pushing, and eventually the twisted core unfurled itself.

Each tree shot away from the other and sprouted beautiful, purple leaves. The form of the canopy was unlike any other tree though. Great hollow parts, and wide branches akin to walkways formed. Great hollows in the canopies formed as well, like wombs awaiting creation to be formed within. Great halls formed from twisted boughs, ready to receive whoever would appear here. Within this grand canopy gravity held little sway anymore. Yet the very branches held a pocket of breathable air, so that life could freely exist here.

This grand tree had done what none before could: it had pierced the skies and the heavens, and it offered access to what was beyond. All those who gazed upon it knew its name: the Tree of the Firmaments.

Allianthé had watched with her divine senses and smiled. With this new Tree, she would attain the understanding she required. The people of Arbor could join her in this new understanding as well. For she knew, with certainty, that mortalkind was as necessary as divinity for this journey. She would direct them, bless them, help them. For as long as she needed to. But the halo, in that very moment, also told her of the sacrifices. The necessity of sacrifice. She spoke of that with Galaxor before but now… she truly understood why it might be necessary.

Together Lilly, Seam, and a Jaxx they’d managed to get to sit still primarily because the buggy they were all riding in was faster than walking headed south, rode through the mostly untouched northern district of Tricity, and then crossed the bridge spanning the river running through the middle of the city in-order to reach the south.

In stark contrast to the north, the south was a wreck, as even being out for as long as Jaxx had hadn’t given the people enough time to clean up the carnage caused by the outer beasts. They had, at least, dealt with the bodies, though not, in what other societies might have described as a particularly respectful way.

Several years ago, a seam of R’kava had been unearthed by one of the city’s quarries, and had halted operations there when it flooded the lower layers of the mining operation. It had then laid undisturbed until it was used as the basis for Lilly and some others with Octari past lives as a source for the experiment that had eventually resulted in the goblin’s new combat tentacles. Now pool had grown again due to the bodies of mortal, animal and outer beast alike having all been dragged through the street and ‘fed’ to the now close to overflowing lake of R’kava, off of which a great fog now constantly billowed, contained from overflowing the city by a divine ward that surly showed the three on one’s approval for the project.

The only parts not tossed in were the heads, which were being preserved primarily so that living would be able to identify who had passed on to a new life, rather than for any kind of burial rites.

The mortals of this city did not, it seemed, have that much reverence for the dead. It was not the end as far as they were concerned, merely a change that left behind an empty shell. Still, even Lilly admitted that this was even more dramatic than usual, but it was that or leave everything to rot in the street as there were just too many bodies.

“There wer a lotta people who couldny or wouldny run for da river” she explained, “most of dem sorry bastards tha never stood a chance, but a lot o the miners thought they could hide down in da dark. Beasts dug in, an tho they foguth em hard, kept em off us, they didny win. So da beasts still down there, makin nests. Canny march an army down der, so, heroes gotsta clear em out”

When Lily mentioned a quest to save innocents, Jaxx’s ears perked up and suddenly the ringing in his mind slowed down. He was on the right path then. This was the right quest that he had to take.

“I am not one to judge you for what you do with your dead, but it feels wrong. Either way, your miners made a grave mistake, trapping themselves but it’s alright. I’m here now. You don’t need an army, you’ve got a hero with more than enough experience and you, with your different souls or whatever you call them. It’s more than enough. ” said Jaxx as he swung his longsword in circles with his new arm absent-mindedly.

“Normally this’d be wer I’d offer to open yer eyes to past lives, but yer pretty unique for not havin any” Lilly replied, before clarifying, simply that she had the “same soul, many lives”

“I feel like I might be bringing the team down a bit here” Seam added, in the tone of someone trying and failing to make light of their own feelings

“I mean yer a fullblood, that counts for sommin, and you had the guts to go fight a beast with just a knife, tha count’s for way more” Lilly told him, as she rolled the Buggy further up the mountains, and towards what looked to be an army camp built into the ravaged remains of a mining complex “Miner’s Union HQ, or wuz left of it”

The buggy was a weird contraption that Jaxx never saw before coming to Tricity. It was like an animal but not an animal. Controlled by Lily, this contraption allowed them to travel faster than on foot which worked out well for Jaxx. As the hero sense’s ringing lessened in intensity as he went towards the direction of innocents.

“Can’t say I understand this whole past lives and souls magic. What I understand is what I see and I haven’t seen nor killed any souls yet. I wonder if my tribe’s souls are here somewhere or if I even met them. ” said Jaxx as he remembered what exactly he did to them in order to survive.

Looking at Seam, Jaxx patted him gently on the shoulder before saying, in his most friendly tone “You’re an aspirant hero, kid. Just remember what I taught you, use your strengths against the enemy. Brawn is not everything in a fight. ”

As Seam nodded in thanks for the pep talk, Lilly confirmed that “they out there somewhere, for sure. Souls, they untouchable, immortal things that forever cycle through life and death, an only thing that can stop em coming back would be if there where no new lives to live” with unwavering confidence.

She would soon be proven tragically incorrect in this assertion.

While normally there would have been a rather rigorous interview and testing process to see if they should even be allowed past the military camp and down into the mines they were guarding, Lilly’s position of influence smoothed them through all of that. Her and her vouching for Jaxx’s innocents in danger sense, as there had been occasional discoveries of survivors, and a better way to find them than random digging and praying was more than welcome.

Going through the checking, Jaxx pointed out the few people that were still trapped under the rubble that were long considered dead, the worst of the worst if any would even survive after being saved, using his hero sense to guide them to them. A fact which made his ringing go down in intensity, now only a simple sound at the back of his mind, easily ignorable.

They rapidly found all those who had been missed, and of those there were rather few. The wide variety of acute animal senses beastfolk had already tracked down all but the most buried, and time had taken a fair share of those before Jaxx had gotten to them. That left those in places that could not be sensed by mortal means, namely those on the other side of undug walls, and it was to a place like this Jaxx’s remaining ringing drew them.

In quick succession digging equipment was found and put to work in the depths, and soon enough they were walking past a driller buggy and into a cavern system it had unearthed following Jaxx’s directions. Torches flickered in the gloom, revealing several natural looking tunnels, although closer inspection revealed a few to be nothing of the sort, dug claw, tusk, and fungal root rather than anything of this world, be it force of nature or divine.

“Where to now?” Lilly asked, peering through the gloom, while Seam nervously adjusted the grip on his new pair of weapons, and a small cadre of backup heroes fanned out behind them.

Before he could answer however, there came a childish and alarmed cry of “Help! Help me!” from somewhere down one of the beast carved tunnels, one that would set off the parental instincts in anyone who had them.

One of the other heroes accompanying them, a hulking large aardvark man, certainly seemed to have them, calling out “Don’t worry we’re coming!” before he went running off down the tunnel on all fours, sending a pair of identical looking goblin women running after him. That left Lilly, Seam, a chef hat wearing snouter and beady eyed dwarfess with massive clawed hands of a mole.

The latter noted that “doesn’t smell like anything other than those monsters that way” with considerable amount of concern. Jaxx’s sense for innocent’s in danger seemed to agree, and indeed they were not at all going off in the direction the aardvark and his party members had run off too.

Before Jaxx could even say something, the others went forward to what probably will be their deaths. Alas’ they were heroes and they were more than equipped to fight off whatever came their way. Luckily, the other innocents that needed saving pushed Jaxx in a different direction than theirs for now, they didn’t need saving. Yet.

“Something is off. That cry and the fact that my hero sense doesn’t pull me there is wrong. Those three seem capable enough, hopefully, to deal with whatever is going on there. Come, follow me. The pull comes from a bit further up. ” said Jaxx with a frown before taking Heropentia out and slowly walking forward, his eyes moving in every direction, waiting for the enemy before adding, with a whisper “Eyes open. Quiet. ”

The mole-dwarf seemed a little dubious, but both Lilly and Seam nodded in agreement with the elder hero’s wisdom and set out to follow him, leaving the two other heroes and a few regular soldiers to hold the entrance to the cavern system. As they moved, the goblin let a past member of the mining union take over to guide her steps, while Seam ducked low and did his best to be quiet despite his lack of experience.

The avian-man got impressively far before he stumbled on a loose rock, sending it clacking across the floor, the sound echoing through the caverns.

Almost immediately, someone old and gruffer than the first called out “help me!” the sound echoing through the caves with no clear source. Then another voice, and another, all with various levels of terror or fear for their lives joined in the cry from elsewhere.

Jaxx followed silently as they advanced, Heropentia raised as much as he could in the tunnel but it wasn’t easy. His tall and muscular build didn’t help either but such was the way of the hero, hard. Something was strange in the place, way too quiet for innocents to even be there, yet…he was pulled into this direction.

Then, the rock clacked on the floor and the voices started asking for help.

“Come out. We’re from Tricity, ready to save you!” said Jaxx raising his voice slightly and letting it bounce through the walls of the tunnels. With a deep breath, Jaxx focused deeply on the hero sense and sure enough, there it was. A light ringing, it pushed him in a direction.

“I can feel them. Follow me, keep close as to not lose each other in the tunnels. Last thing we need is to be separated. ” quickly said Jaxx before starting to walk deeper in.

The source of the voices became clearer, going from econing alla round to drawing them forwards. As they did more joined in, calling out that they were “over here!” and begging that they “hurry!” and “save us!” as the ringer got louder and louder, yet still quieter than the one they had been falling despite how close they now where to the source

As they moved, the ground beneath their feet changed. Stone simply cut by otherworldly hands became coated in a thick, black, light devouring substance that looked somewhere between tar or burnt meat.

“I’ve heard of these. The beast’s make nests” Lilly whispered as they crept forwards, before wondering “but why are there people here, what are they doing with them?”

“There” Seam whispered, pointing forwards, and prompting Lilly to lift the touch she was holding with a tendril up to fully reveal what he had seen: three goblin faces, sticking out of the black tar very near each other, the rest of their bodies buried in the substance, stopping them from moving.

Three sets of eyes swiveled to them, three voices spoke in turn “by the gods” “please!” “don’t leave me here!” their voices strained and faltered, perhaps as a consequence of their confinement.

Shaking his head at what he saw, Jaxx took a better look and just before he took a step forward, he checked in with the hero sense and sure enough, it pulled him to the goblins. The ringing’s intensity would go up whenever he looked at them.

“Maybe they’re food for the beasts or a trap to lure saviors. Keep back, let me go forward. ” Jaxx said as he swapped Heropentia to the left hand and walked forward towards the three goblin heads. With a deep breath, he stuck his otherworldly metal arm into the black tar and aimed to grab the hand of one of the goblins.

That’s when something bit him. A dozen points snagged around the metal arm, digging into it as the three faces screamed with horror, only to look confused for a moment when biting the metal arm resulted in no gush of blood, before the entire black mass rose up, hauling Jaxx into the air with it.

Back material sloughed off, revealing a towering wretched beast with a dozen long spindly limbs attached to a pill shaped body, the front of which was split by a mouth filled with hundreds of fangs, as well as Jaxx’s arm. What’s worse was its face, which was not its own, and instead looked like the faces of thee goblins had been fused with its rounded head, all of them screaming death wails as the beast, nay the demon, tried to violently shake Jaxx apart, screams that made his head throb like the suffering of innocents.

His foresight buzzed in his mind the moment the monster grabbed, yet, a second too late. Screaming initially as he was caught unaware, Jaxx, the forever hero, quickly regained his senses. Fighting through the ringing that just made his mind shake in pain, he used his left hand where Heropentia was to stab the creature a few times.

Thrashing about, violently, with Jaxx, it eventually threw him away towards the group, hitting the ground with loud THUD.

“AAAAAGHGGGA! You shall DIE! ” screamed Jaxx as if in pain, as he charged towards the demon with Heropentia in his right arm now. With dodge, he managed to evade one of the limbs before another sprang at him from the back, only for Seam to catch it with his knife and then hacking at the offending limb with his sword as he had been trained.

The monster roared with rage at the light wound with its real mouth now, which opened wider and wider, the dancing firelight revealing rows upon rows of teeth within, before it attempted to simply swallow Seam whole in a single chomp.

It received a crossbow bolt to the esophagus for its efforts, as well as Heropentia's blade deep in its mouth as sparks flew where the metal touched the teeth and BOOM. A small explosion happened as the sparks touched the monster.

As he was thrown back, Jaxx sported a few black spots on his new arm but it was nothing to the cries of pain from the demon, which had ignited, its horrible body burning along with the air around it.

“Get down, mine gas!” Lilly shouted with inherited wisdom, throwing herself to the ground as the upper half of the cavern was ignited in a flash of flame, the other two following suit. The heat of flames baked them, but absolutely demolished the demon, its form wreathed in flame as it stumbled and then sagged, before something strange happened.

The three faces of the goblins, lost to the flames, seemed to press forwards, stretching out from the face of the demon before seeming to tear free, three ghostly forms briefly dancing in the flame before vanishing from sight and place. Despite the flames and the horrific rupture in its face caused by the escaping of something from it, the beast staggered towards them, wanting, it seemed, to take them with it.

Or to replace what it had just lost.

A second before Lily could shout, Jaxx’s foresight kicked in and he went flat to the ground. The heat was intense, scalding them all. The hero sense stopped ringing for a second before starting again, quieter than before but still loud…combined with the foresight’s buzz, Jaxx lifted his head and saw the demon approaching.

“Surround it and fill it with holes. I’ll keep it busy. ” shouted Jaxx as he charged at the creature, Heropentia moving so fast it became a blur for the untrained eye. That is when the Galaxor’s Tenant kicked in. Heroic parties.

With a surge of power, Jaxx parried every single limb thrown at him as he walked forward, pushing the demon towards Lily and Seam, hoping that they’re behind it already.

Lilly certainly was, while a rather singed and still burning on a few feather tips Seam was only about half way around due to being the only one here without supernatural information sources. That left the tiny goblin as the one in an ambush position, but ever since she had drank the R’kava she wasn’t quite as tiny as she had been before. Tendrils that had been neatly curled around her body unwounded, revealing snake fang tipped ends that lanced forwards, skewering the demon in the back even as the fires burning it burned her unnatural limbs too.

The monster screamed in pain as it was attacked from the front and the back. A primal impulse in its brain decided that if back and front are attacked, then go for the sides. Seeing Seam being alone, with a last surge of strength in its burning body, is pounced at him. Mouth open wise, read to eat him whole.

Jaxx quickly sprung to action and Heropentia started hacking into the monster’s flesh. Deeper with each strike. It slowed the monster just enough that Seam could come to his panicked senses, and ram his sword up, and his knife down, driving each blade into each of the beast’s jaws, before he strained to hold them from closing down on him with strength far beyond what his spindly body should manage.

He’d only hold out for so long however. That’s when Jaxx did what one would expect from him. Taking a few steps back from the demon, he looked at Lily and just pointed up, as he started running toward the monster.

Lily’s tendrils extended forward and right when Jaxx stepped, they formed well, a step for him. Launching him up into the air. With Heropentia in the left arm and the metal arm extended forward, it crashed through the demon right into the middle of it. Seconds went by, in which the demon just stopped, not moving or anything and then a grisly explosion of gore covered the cave and Lily and Seam, with Seam getting the brunt of it as Jaxx killed the creature.

At least it put the rest of his feathers out.

The beastman hauled what was left of the monster’s jaws off of himself and then slumped against the black goop covered cavern wall, panting hard, heart beating in his chest, shakenly asking “what. What was that?”

“No normal beast that. The faces… The… The shapes in da flames… It can’t be…” Lilly whispered as she stared at where the goblin’s visages had been before they burst from the body.

Shaking his head, Jaxx took a deep breath as the hero sense finally calmed down. Until it would start again…

“I don't understand it either. It managed to somehow confuse the hero sense. I hate it but it never led me astray. How can these things fool a divine sense? ” started Jaxx to say as he cleaned Heropentia on his pants before turning to Lily “Were those souls that we saw? Were they the ones that screamed for help?”

“I… I… ” Lilly stammered, seemingly horrified by the idea, while Seam just slumped to the floor with a defeated groan of “Mothers tits, they eat souls. Of course they eat souls”

“Nononono” Lilly muttered in a building panic, before suddenly snapping to a realization “No. No, not eat. Steal. Covet. It using the soul, not digesting. I hope. So can still save em. Free em. Kill an kill an kill til they all dead and all are free”

Standing up, Jaxx put a hand on the little goblin’s shoulder and gave her what he wished to be a kind smile, alas his scarred face made it look like a beast that was smiling at its prey.

“Calm yourself. We'll take them down. Emotions will get you killed in the long run. No–”

Suddenly the screams of the damned echoed through the caves, as if to challenge the heroes to come and try it, and reminding them that they were in enemy territory. Seam leaped to his feet, while Lilly loaded another crossbow bolt. Both looked to Jaxx for their next move.

Jaxx swung Heropentia a few times in the air before nodding at the two.

“Let's make sure those souls get their rebirth. ” he said with a grin before, for the first time in his career as a hero, followed the sounds, ignoring his hero sense completely.

---

Though Longsight was ill for some days, he did not die. Songster and Tentongues were quite proficient in the ways – or rather, theories – of medicine, and so were able to implement some of what they had understood on the boy. Despite the lack of materials, a basic cleaning out of his wounds, meat broth (there was no point wasting all of that perfectly good outer beast meat), and plenty of rest meant he was on his feet within days. It was a rather quick recovery by all means. Tentongues suspected that it had very little to do with the meat broth.

The cave they had found transpired to be quite immense. Badboy and Horntusk had set to exploring it, but it winded almost endlessly and split into multiple tunnels. Horntusk was certain that if they explored deep enough they were bound to find a cavern safer and more suitable for residence than the cave mouth. They did not think it worth searching for such a gallery while Longsight was still ill, however, and so opted to wait for his recovery and see to his command then. Badboy did not heed them much though and continued to venture off on his own into the depths. When Longsight at last awoke, Badboy had not returned for an entire day. It was certainly unusual, but Longsight – perhaps still strained by his illness – paid the matter no heed. He ventured out of the cave with Saboteur and they explored the surrounding area. The cave was nestled in a descending hillside, though not quite at the bottom of the valley. Every nearby crest permitted one a view of the sea on one horizon and the blackwall rearing up against the other. As they trekked the rocky terrain, Saboteur informed him that a few spybats had been spotted over the last few days, though no other beasts were seen. The waterskins the gobtrotters had with them were swiftly emptying and they would need to find a source of water as soon as possible. “I don’t doubt that we’ll find something deep enough in the cave, we’ve just not had a good chance to explore.” The greatgoblin noted.

They returned to the cave several hours later as dusk was setting in. Songster had started a fire and was roasting some meat while Horntusk stood watchfully at the cave entrance. He nodded to them as they passed. Longsight scanned the cave briefly and frowned to find that Badboy was still not back. He turned to Tentongues questioningly, but the gobtrotter simply shrugged. “Barbtongue has yet to return, Timesworn.” Longsight hefted his war hammer and gestured deeper into the cave, clearly desiring they go search for him. Tentongues nodded. “I expected you would wish to go and look for him. You are still weak, however, so let Saboteur go search in your stead. I think you will be better able to join the search in the morning if he is not returned by then.” Longsight considered Tentongues for a few seconds and then, ignoring his words, swept past and gestured for Horntusk to follow. The greatgoblin was swift to, grabbing a branch from the flame to light their way.

They made swift progress through the caverns. Though still ill and worn out from the day of trekking, Longsight was difficult to keep up with. It was not long before they realised that something was moving in the tunnels. Echoes could be heard. Straining their ears, the boy and the greatgoblin made quick progress. On a few occasions they paused, realised they had lost the sound, and doubled back until they found it again. Soon enough they saw a light in the distance and the sounds became louder and louder. Longsight gestured for Horntusk to snuff his torch (which was by this point so short that it was becoming quite untenable to keep alight in all cases) and they approached the light with great caution and silence. Hugging the ground, they found themselves standing where the tunnel very suddenly opened into a great chamber. In the heart of the chamber was a writhing pool of chromatic fluid, though the trickle of what was no doubt water could be heard from further off. It might have well been a subterranean river. Stalagmites rose from the ground, stalactites hung above, and on one such pillar-like edifice hung Badboy, tied by an odd rope that glistened metallically.

But it was not the pool or Badboy that caused them to stare silently into the writhing cavern. It was well-lit, strange fires floating everywhere, and beneath them was a cacophony of beasts – many monstrous, but most taking on grotesque humanoid forms. A glance upward confirmed that amongst the stalactites above hung winged beasts, part monster and part man. The greatest of them all, however, was a wyvern curled up beyond the lake. Longsight swallowed and glanced at Horntusk, who was staring grimly at the scene. There were hundreds of beasts in there, and Badboy hung right in the middle of them all. Longsight crawled away from the chamber’s entrance and, once the two of them were far enough away, they both got up and beat a hasty retreat. Once safe enough away, Longsight stopped and squatted, hand on his chin and brows knotted. Releasing a breath, he rose to his feet and paced up and down before the silent Horntusk. Abruptly, he paused before a crevice in the wall. If he squeezed himself he could just about fit in. And yet it was small and deep enough that one would not have noticed it if they were moving past quickly – as, indeed, they had been earlier.

The boy cocked his head and glanced at Horntusk, tapping the wall of the crevice. He pointed to himself, and then back to the crevice, and then gestured to Horntusk and the distant entrance of the chamber. He leapt up and down in a show of drawing attention to himself and then mimed running. Once done, he looked at Horntusk expectantly. The greatgoblin raised an eyebrow and shrugged in confusion. Longsight rolled his eyes and gestured once more at himself. “You.” Horntusk said, and Longsight nodded and then gestured to the crevice. “Uh, in there?” Longsight nodded vigorously, then pointed at Horntusk. “Me?” Longsight gestured to the light of the cavern. “Go there?” Longsight smiled in satisfaction and then, pointing once more at Horntusk, made a show of jumping up and down and gesturing to himself. “Dance? You want me to dance?” Longsight paused, pursed his lips, and then sighed and nodded. Then he pointed at the chamber. “Dance over there?” Horntusk asked in confusion. Longsight nodded, and then mimed running away once more. “And then run…” Horntusk mused. After a few seconds, realisation dawned. “Ah… you want me to draw them out. To draw attention to myself and then run away…” he paused and looked at the crevice, “and… you will hide in there…” the gears in the greatgoblin’s mind turned once more, “so they don’t see you.” Longsight smiled and nodded, and then pointed at himself and the chamber and mimed himself sneaking towards it. The greatgoblin accepted the plan with a surprising stoicism, despite his rather dangerous assignment.

Hidden away as deep in the crevice as he could put himself, with the spiked butt of his war hammer ready in case he needed to stab his way out, Longsight strained his ears and listened. Before long he heard Horntusk shouting and striking at the cavern’s rock with his blade. It was immediately as though he had poked an immense nest of hornets. The caverns exploded into a fit of noise. Longsight gulped and wondered if he had just killed the greatgoblin – and perhaps himself too. The screams of the beasts overwhelmed any sign of Horntusk, but before long Longsight was just about able to catch his shadow as he sprinted by. Not very long after, a mass of the beasts swept by – entangled in a great mass and slowing themselves down as a result – in their pursuit. He heard them shouting words in that foreign tongue of theirs, but simply kept his eyes peeled in case one inadvertently found the crevice. His hands grew very wet with sweat as the dark flood pressed by, but his heart was hammering and he did not dare change his grip for fear that Bonebreaker would slip and clatter against the rock.

It felt like hours before the last of the beasts finally swept by and there was stillness in the tunnel. He waited for ten heartbeats, frozen in place, and then lurched forward. In a great panic, hep turned and sprinted towards the light. He had no idea how many beasts remained in there and what he was about to face off against, but he did not even consider – for fear that the monsters may at any moment return – to slow down and attempt to sneak in. He flew into the chamber, leaping downwards with his hammer swinging. A shocked humanoid beast looked at him slack-jawed when he landed on firm ground, but its head quickly exploded as Longsight swung Bonebreaker with all his might. A spray of bileblood showered the air and he continued forth with eyes only for Badboy. Monsters shrieked above and shouts sounded from all over the cavern, but it was clear that the number remaining was tiny compared to what had been present before. He dodged and rolled as flying monsters swept by him, twisted from the reach of those attempting to catch him, pierced the skull of a furred snake or worm, he could not quite tell, and was soon at the stalagmite from which Badboy hung. A quick glance upwards confirmed he was awake and grinning. It was a large stalagmite, but Longsight hammered it even as he ran around it while fending off what beasts got too close. It did not take more than three strikes for the seemingly solid structure to crumble, and Badboy descended amongst its ruins. The strange metal rope loosened about him and he picked it up as a makeshift whip. The monsters seemed no longer interested in them, however, but had backed away and were looking deeper into the cavern.

Slowly, Longsight and Badboy turned to look with them. Beyond the chromatic lake, the giant wyvern had awoken. With wide eyes, Longsight nudged Badboy and gestured for him to run. Badboy grabbed his wrist and pointed towards the lake. Frowning, Longsight looked closer and, after a few moments, spotted Headsplitter lying on the ground there. Gritting his teeth, he glanced at Badboy and shook his head. There was no way they could reclaim it. Sadness swept across the other boy’s eyes for a few moments. Then he grinned, released Longsight, and with a sprinting turn flew off towards the pool and his macuahuitl. Longsight felt his heart fall into his stomach. Mouthing a frustrated groan, he leapt after the other boy even as the wyvern roared terrible words and half flew and half waded across the chromatic pool towards them. Longsight watched it approach even as his feet carried him after Badboy and fucking towards it! Even the watching beasts seemed decidedly flabbergasted by the display.

Taking Headsplitter up as the wyvern loomed above him, Badboy raised the weapon and braced himself. Rearing its head back, the monstrosity struck forth. Just before its maw was upon him, however, Longsight hammered into Badboy and both boys went flying into the chromatic pool. And all was silence. The variegated viscous fluid flowed about the two boys, and they sunk into it. Longsight immediately felt – in the very core of his being and in his one blue eye – that the fluid was as abnormal as its appearance had suggested. He could feel it flowing on his skin, over his mouth, into his nose, could feel it tracing over his eyes. It ran through his hair, through the sinews of his flesh. It burned and whispered. Visions flowed over the eye of his mind – fields, forests, blades in a sure hand, magicks harnessed, little strange folk. Grandfathers he had never known and grandchildren he could not comprehend. None of it made any sense, and the burning sensation across his body seeped into his head so that terrible fevers wracked his mind and form.

When he thought that he could no longer bear it and that his form was about to shatter, he broke through the surface and found himself ejected from the pool in a spluttering heap. Badboy was not a moment behind him. Or, at least, he had thought it was Badboy. A glance over revealed a man he had never before seen. He was a veritable wall of rippling muscles, his hair long and wild. His eyes, however, were familiar – they had an all too familiar craziness, his grin too. And, of course, he held in his hand Headsplitter.



The other boy – well, man – turned to him with equal awe. It was only then that Longsight realised that they were of equal height. A glance down at his own form revealed an equally muscled form of tremendous build. He looked up in shock. The pool – whatever it was – had changed them both!



The growled words of the wyrm drew them from the moment’s surrealness, and they both found themselves instinctively leaping away as it struck down at them once again, this time with a tail. Gripping Bonbreaker with a sure hand, Longsight struck out at the waiting tail. His muscles rippled as the hammer crushed it into the rock. Badboy had already leapt atop the thing as it started moving and, with incredible balance, sliced his way up the tendrilous extremity. The wyvern flapped its wings and screeched in pain, but Badboy was now on its back hacking and swinging. Now he struck at the base of a wing, now at the ridges of its spine, now at its neck. Even as the beast flailed and screamed, he ascended its neck with remarkable – surreal! – dexterity until he was on the monster’s skull. Grinning there, he raised Headsplitter and did what that god-made terror did best. The wyvern, with sundered head, fell to the cavern’s ground and was silent and still.

The commotion in the chamber had clearly drawn the attention of all those beasts that had left, for Longsight could feel the earth rumbling as they returned. The other monsters in the great chamber, however, either stared at them from atop stalagmites or from a distance on the ground. Whether they were beastly or humanoid Longsight could see in their eyes that they knew well to fear them. Even so, as the world rumbled and monsters began to stream from the tunnel opening from which Longsight had come, another rumbling – perhaps even greater – came from behind, where a second tunnel opening lead to wherever the trickling flow of water had been heard before. The rumbling grew to such strength that Longsight thought it may well have been an earthquake. He batted monsters aside as the chamber became increasingly crowded and began to weave and carve his way towards the entrance. He had not made much progress before a great roar ripped through the cavern and, turning, he saw a truly enormous iron-grey wyrm tear through the rock and emerge. In fact, it was not only the colour of iron, but seemed to shine as though it was made of metal. It took one look at the monsters gathered all around and began tearing into them with vigour. It was clearly not a friend of theirs.

With Badboy soon by his side, they took the raging chaos around them as an opportunity to make a mad dash for their exit – which, for whatever reason did not seem to be something the outer beasts had yet considered. Bisecting or flattening whatever beasts made the mistake of getting in their way with ease (at one point Badboy swatted one aside but found that it fell dead!) the two men had soon clambered to the tunnel and were sprinting through the darkness. Behind them, the screech of the outer beasts as they battled the great rock-busting wyrm echoed and seemed to shake the foundations of the world.

---

Winter in the Striped Lands hardly sunk to freezing temperatures. It was a land of plenty, nuzzled in the warm tear duct of the Eye of the World, where storms were scarce and earthquakes, rare. Neither volcanoes nor hurricanes were anything more than anomalies, and the blazing heat of Itzal was tough, but oddly fair. Climate-wise, the Striped Lands proved to be a haven for all mortal life that settled. Instead, the land had been cursed with a disease as stubborn as the climate itself: resources. Some of the most fertile land in the world was most of the time inaccessible because of the rampant parasitism of the locals. Whenever anyone would try to plant themselves a home, ten others would storm over to root it out of the ground. The lands were a buffer between thousands of souls, each too jealous to let others have it better off and each too greedy to abandon the fight.

Some, however, would inevitably try, but lucky were the few to escape - and for others, the promise of untold riches, bursting bellies and eternal glory called and called like echoes in the hills.

A gut-wrenching stench oozed through a hastily erected tent, trapped ever more tightly by the blazing heat from the fireplace. The winters were normally calm, yes, but as though sent by the Black Sun itself, a storm unlike any that had struck the Striped Lands before brought with it a layer of frost over the endless meadows. The small camp surrounded itself with a wall of whatever its inhabitants had brought with them: sleds, sticks, sacks and pottery. The wall would scarcely hold back a fly. Yet they could not go on. Not yet.

“Greatmother?”

Draznokh held the old sow’s wrinkled hand in his with quivering emotion. The rasp of the old crone’s breath was the only sound in the tent, despite the presence of eight other snouters. Occasionally, the rasp received company in a quiet sob from the attendees. Otherwise, only the wind from the outside came to dance with the dying gurgle.

Cataracts clouded the crone’s small eyes as crusted lids slowly parted. They saw nothing, but the bond between family, honed for decades and then some, guided them to settle perfectly on the face of her grandson.

“Draz… nokh…” she droned, her grip tightening ever so slightly. Those present leaned in, breaths held as though a mere sigh could kill her. The grandson swallowed.

“Y-yes, Greatmother - I’m here.”

“... Draz… Oh… My little boy…” whispered the crone, the last of her moisture welling up like yellow bile in her eyes. “... Are, are we… home?”

Draznokh’s back began to buckle - the onset of grief made his shoulders too heavy to bear. A crack split his voice briefly as he replied, “Yes… Yes, we are…” Behind him, the silence, too, began to shatter as more and more snouters failed to maintain their stony faces.

The crone snickered weakly. “... Did I… Ever tell you…” There was a long pause as her lungs grasped for air. Gurgling slime suggested they were already drowned. “... Did… I ever tell you… what home is?”

The grandson’s focus was briefly reconquered out of sheer puzzlement. He tightened his grip and roped his other hand into it. “I… am not sure I follow, Greatmother.”

The old crone coughed, but managed a weak, but very evident smile. “... Home, my dear boy… is everything. For as long… as there have been snouters, we’ve… We’ve fought for our homes.” KHA-hoh-KHA-hoh… Urgh…. “... A homeless snouter… Has two choices…” With her nigh final strength, she flexed two fingers on her opposite hand. “... When home is gone… So is… The curse… The Bull’s fury dissipates… Thus, the snouter is… Free to wander in search of… A new home…”

Draznokh blinked and opened his mouth to respond, but the crone cut him off.

“... Or... One lets the fury… consume them…” The crone’s eyes grew stern and wide, anger boiling behind her pale pupils. “... One choses to slay… To kill… To undo those that took… the home away…” She sucked in a breath through her teeth. “... And upon the fields now sown with their guts; upon foundations laid with their bones, their skulls in the soil, forced to forever stare up into the sky they took from us…” KAAAAAAH-huh-hegh-egh…

“G-Greatmother, calm your–” started the grandson, but he silenced himself when the crone turned her head and stared through him, through his flesh and deep into his flaming soul: the ember of Anat’aa stirred.

“... Flee, or retake the home - cost what it may, take what it may. This land is yours, and for as long as you and your kin are alive, it shall remain yours.”

Draznokh swallowed again and watched the eyes of the old crone roll back. Adrenaline pumped through him and he leaned in. “Greatmother?! Greatmother, please!”

“... Home… Carrots in the garden… The knock… of little trotters…” The muscles in her hand softened, and a gentle sigh escaped her. The gurgling had stopped, and so the wind once again danced alone on the soundscape.

As tears and wails of grief assaulted his ears, Draznokh felt a small sensation in his hand which kept him from completely choking on his tears: a ring, bejeweled like none he had seen before.

---

Years later…



A palm soaked with sweat caught a bloodfly square in the centre, its black mush staining Draznokh’s bark-brown skin. He snarled and wiped it off on his tunic, his glare scouting the horizon. Swarms like a mahogany fog stalked the wetlands around the Lick far below, leaving behind trails of yellow soil and clean-picked corpses. Acres of soils, ploughed and overgrown, and none of it filled any mortal bellies. Draznokh would have cursed, but it was high noon and their prospects looked poor enough already. A gravely shuffle on the air revealed approaching steps and Draznokh turned to see his cousin Zlot, a wildheart many years his junior. He offered the youth a nod and clapped him on his shoulder. “Come to see the sights, have you?”

Zlot flattened himself in the grass and wormed his way to the brink of the hill, eyes glancing over into the wasteland below. He propped his head up on his crossed forearms and snorted. “So these at the Vootlands, huh?”

Draznokh nodded. “Aye… These are the Vootlands.”

Silence. The youth eventually let out a sigh. “Eeeh… Not what I’d hoped, to be honest.”

Draznokh rolled his eyes. “You’re seeing it at its worst, cousin. Think–” The hesnouter cast his arm in a wide arc. “–houses, farms, lumbermills, piers! Villages and walls, cousin! An acre for every Voot!”

Zlot snickered. “Better not say that too loudly. Krang’s gonna hear it.”

“Bah, he knows already,” Draznokh muttered and spat. The sun suddenly burned a little hotter and he breathed deeply to calm himself. He squatted down next to the prone youth. “Bet you someone like Krang’s had a hundred small clans in his tribes, each with a dream of retaking whatever corner of the world was theirs one time and declare independence.” SMACK! cracked his hand and he wiped another speck of goo on his tunic. “... There aren’t many of us left now. Noz and Yolder will be too old to haul the chieftain’s baggage soon. Once their backs give in, Krang will toss them aside like he did with Rustan and Loik.”

Zlot’s humour had soured. “That piece of–”

SMACK! went the palm again, but this time against Zlot’s head. Draznokh snorted sharply. “Not at noon, cousin.”

Zlot grit his teeth. “You– I–! UGH!” He pushed himself to his feet. “I’m going to Jura!” As he stomped off, Draznokh groaned quietly and then felt the sun’s rays worsen. He straightened his legs back to a standing position and slouched over. As he shuffled back, he reminded himself that he had forgotten in the moment that Itzal cackled at violence, too.

---

Few sowed more fear in a soul like the visage of Grand Agricultist Krang Half-Head. A terrible fight with a giant had brought him a grievous wound to the neck and skull, and both had healed at uncanny angles. His head was permanently titled to the left and one eye sat higher than the other, as though seen through a broken mirror where the lines in the shattered glass were made of scar tissue. Neither of the pupils looked straight ahead, but that only made any conversation with him that much more uncertain. A true and tested servant of the Vile Three–the Horned, the Crazed and the Killer–he had a short patience and shorter fuse. As Draznokh came back, the Black Sun’s position revealed that it was time for the afternoon sacrifice, and this time, it seemed that the Grand Agricultist had a special guest.

An old giant hill, cleared and cleansed of the mandibled menace, had been converted into a fortified cave village, tunnels dug by wolf-sized ants spewing out smoke from the many fireplaces inside. Palisades covered up many of the openings, and small, but densely grown fields surrounded the hill on almost all sides in a radius of a tenth of an acre. Fruit trees, nuts, berry bushes, legumes, winter roots, cereals–the field had variety, but not enough. He- and shesnouters were picking pests off of the plants and eating them; some had great swatters fashioned from a fan of branches and smacked aggressively at clouds of locusts that stalked the plants like a miasma. A dance of war practiced through months and years of suffering with this terrible blood swarm, wherein the farmer sought only to strike the insects and never the plant. The insects could dance too, and so the war continued.

Atop the great giant hill, an temple of stone and wood had been fashioned, a great altar to the Vile Three and the Black Sun–a testament to the depths of wicked desperation that the snouters had sunk to. A line of villagers snaked its way up the hill, traveling into tunnels and out a different opening like a worm through an apple. Villages carried baskets and pots of their most valuable possessions: bone jewelry, fresh vegetables, family heirlooms, and odd bits and pieces of metal and paper from the cities in the East. They were meagre offerings, but surely whoever was visiting would see reason given the circumstances.

Draznokh walked over to one of the shesnouters in line and asked, “Sister, who graces the Grand Agricultist with their presence?”

The snesnouter faced him and swallowed, gingerly lifting a hand to shield her face from the sun as she spoke as though it was a curse to just mention him: “It’s the Horned One.”

Draznokh pressed his eyes and lips together in frustration. There would be no reason to be had, then. It was then that his eyes blinked open again. Perhaps…

---

Atop the pyramid, the bull eyed cruelly the little snouters who skittishly presented him “gifts”, the pile before him barely reaching him to the knee. His throne of lumber creaked under his weight and he bluffed a torrent of rage, which sent the Grand Agricultust at his side into a jump.

“Evidently, the tribe of Pate is not fond of guests,” he remarked in a voice that could curdle dairy.

Krang wheezed in fear. “Now, now, magnificent overlord! Th-this is only a quarter–nay, a FIFTH of the gifts!” The bull sneered and Krang swallowed. “I-if this pile doesn’t reach up to His Hoovedness’s belly button by the end of today, why, then I’ll, I’ll…” In a panic, he grabbed one of the agricultist novices next to him and drew a bone dagger. “I’ll spill the blood of this boney twig!” The novice squealed and the train of offerings stopped briefly. Krang stabbed the dagger in the direction of the onlookers. “DON’T YOU DARE STOP! MORE! MORE SACRIFICES FOR HIS MAGNANIMOUSNESS!”

The bull rolled his eyes and planted his cheek on a propped-up fist. “Very well… Proceed with the gifts. You may ready the sacrifice right away–I think I can see the end of the line over there.”

Krang blinked and hurried over to the edge of the pyramid. “O-over where?”

The bull’s voice deepened. “... Did you just check to see if I was wrong?”

Krang spun around and prostrated himself. “No! NO! Not at all, Your Delightfulness! Oh please. Oh please, punish me if I have been naughty, oh pl–”

“Shut up.”

“Eep! Yes, alright, yes. Hey. HEY! WHAT’RE YOU LOOKING AAAAT?! KEEP THE OFFERINGS COMING, DAMN YOU! MOOOOVE!” From a belt under his bulging stomach, he rolled out a whip fashioned from scraps of goblin skin and started whipping the bypassers. The bull seemed pleased, every lash tightening the small smile on his greasy muzzle. The bypassers whimpered under the lash, but it was not an uncommon sensation under Krang. The stiff green strips lefts pocks and bruises, but even the skinniest snouters largely shrugged off the pain after the initial strike. After whipping for a good while, the Grand Agricultist hung the whip from his belt once again and shuffled back over to the bull’s side.

“S-say, Your Most Obscene Overlord?”

The bull afforded him less than acknowledgement–in the same way one might freeze for a millisecond to listen for a possible gnat in the room, he too lifted his eyes slightly and held a stiff pose for a mere blink. The agricultist seized the moment.

“S-since you have graced us with you presence… P-perhaps th-there is a reason for your visit?”

The bull maintained eye-contact with the growing pile of offerings. “And what would that be, little flea?”

“C-c-c-could it have something to do w-w-with the swarm, perhaps?”

There came no response. Krang swallowed.

“Th-th-then perhaps the wicked sh-shadow beasts?”

Still nothing.

“G-giants, then?”

The bull sighed. “Such ingratitude…” The snouters all froze. The bull pushed himself to his hooves with some effort and gestured widely. “To think–I offer you land, resources, skills to work them both. And pray tell: what do I get in return?” With a solid kick, he sprayed the pile of offerings out across the fields below. Many who were unfortunate to be caught in the blast were knocked onto their backs. “Mouldy carrots and rusty coins…”

Krang and the other agricultists huddled around him. “NO! No, no, no, there, there is so much more,” he pleaded. “You want blood, yes? How many jugs?! Sweat?! We can get you sweat! Oh, we’ll wipe every brow in the land and jar it good for you, lord, just you–”

“SILENCE!”

The snouters curled up like frightened snails. The bull reached out and Hoepebreaker manifested in his hand. As he clapped the head of the hoe into his free palm, whimpering prayers began to seep out from many of those present. The bull patrolled slowly from left to right, surveying the snouters. His nostrils flared with such rage that steam seemed to ooze out of them. “Requests upon requests upon requests… First you want me to deal with the swarm… Then the beasts… And finally, ridiculously enough, the giants.” He spat, and as the phlegm struck the ground it left a crater. Many in the crowd were crying. The bull sneered so that every tooth was visible. “Perhaps it is finally time that I return you all to the soil from whence you came…”

Just as he raised the Hoepebreaker, however, a hesnouter rose up. “STOP!”

Silence. For the blink of an eye, the world seemed to freeze, and neither the snouters nor the bull knew quite how to react. A mortal had just commanded a god. In the moment, Draznokh lifted forth a ring–the very same ring given onto him by his Greatmother on her deathbed. Everybody held their breaths. The wind, too, seemed to briefly stop. The incessant buzz of blood flies, as natural a part of the soundscape as running water and rustling leaves after all these years, seemed comfortable in comparison to the silence–too bad it was missing, too. Draznokh held his pose despite the atmosphere, but the beads of sweat on his face quickly became streams. The air seemed to boil like a geyser before eruption. Hardly more than eight seconds could have passed, but it felt like hours had passed before the bull lowered the Hoepebreaker and reached for the ring. A pair of timber-thick fingers clutched the metal with surprising care and brought up to the bull’s face. Draznokh let his arm fall and slap against his hip. Then he closed his eyes, ready for salvation or the Afterworld.

“... I accept.”

Draznokh’s eyes blinked back open. The others too dared to hope. Krang was quick to follow up: “Y-you accept what, sire?”

“The swarm. The beasts. I will get rid of them for you.”

The snouters exchanged looks. “And the gi–”

“THE GIANTS STAY!” thundered the bull and the snouters cowered again. Then he calmed and returned to a tranquil inspection of the ring. “... I made them to till the soil, after all,” he said absent-mindedly. “Scum.”

It took Draznokh a moment to understand that he had been addressed. He took a knee and lowered his head. “Yes, Great Horned One?”

“How did you happen upon this ring?” He turned it in his enormous hands for a few moments more.

“It-it was my Greatmother’s. She bequeathed it to me upon her deathbed. I-... I do not know its story from there.”

The bull turned the ring one final time in his hand and then shot Draznokh a perusing glance.

“Hmph.”

Then he pocketed the ring, picked up Hoepebreaker and thundered towards the staircase down from the temple, forcing the snouters to dive out of the way. They all stood there dumbfounded, watching the giant minotaur cross over the fields below without squashing a single plant, his direction seemingly heading for the hive of the blood swarm. As he faded out of view, their eyes turned to Draznokh, and the whole tribe broke into a massive cheer. The hesnouter was lifted up as a celebrated hero, and Draznokh could barely absorb what was happening.

“Draznokh, Draznokh, Draznokh!” they cheered. The hesnouter recollected himself and eased his tense muscles for a little bit, allowing himself some self-appreciation. Behind him, Krang and the agricultists stood slack-jawed, dumbfounded by what had just transpired. Draznokh realised the golden opportunity he had been given and shouted, “The bull has given us his blessings! Waste no time reaping his bounty!” The snouters sat him down and offered him a respectful silence snouters rarely offered anyone. Draznokh pointed out across the fields below. “His harvests is still assailed by the wicked swarms! Do we expect His Gruesomeness to hand us everything on a platter?! Go! Go out there! Reap, plow and sow–retake what the swarm has taken! Lay the fields fallow and prune every orchard! Next year, we will eat until our bellies burst!”

“YEEEEAAAAH!” The Anat’aan spark within every snouter burst to life and a fiery passion sent everyone present down the hill to till, swat and harvest.

---

The bull stuck a hand in his pocket and fished out the ring again. As his form collided with and broke down all the trees in his path, he chuckled bemusingly to himself. To think, of all the places this thing could have ended up, it had been in the hands of some old wrinkly sow. He caressed the grimy, filth-ridden beard under his chin, his dirty fingers sliding across pockmarks, no, scars–misshapen scars that seemed to dent and bend in inorganic ways. With a playful movement, he brought the ring up to his chin and slotted it partially into one of the scars. It fit like a glove. His chuckle became a mouth-wide guffaw and he stopped upon the hill that was overlooking the hives of the blood swarm below. He planted one foot in front of the other and raised the hand with the ring triumphantly towards the sky.

“GALAXOR! I HAVE A PIECE OF YOOOOUUU!” He raised both arms in a victorious cackle, cereals, corn and leafy greens sprouting from the ground with heroic speed all around his feet. The setting sun painted the horizon blood red, and the ground began to shake. Cracks in the ground spiraled out from his filthy hooves as roots and mycelium began to crawl out of the earth. The forests behind him quivered and howled; the leaves rustled with rage and bloodthirst. Out between the woods came demonic beasts of burden: huge oxen with six horns and glaring red eyes, black horses with eight legs and barbs for manes, elephants with four tusks and curving horns, muscular donkeys covered in thick veins. Giants oozed out of the forest like an oil spill; mangy, rabid dogs came sprinting and ran in circles around the bull as though they were part of the ritual. Roosters and hens nearly two metres tall and armed to the beak with thick talons and feathers hissed a furious oath of vengeance. The clouds coalesced and sunk to the ground, forming a dense fog that conjured crackles of lightning and fire. The bull lowered his hand and swiped the Hoepebreaker slowly from the left to the right. The fog snaked down to fill the valley below, and sparks of light blasted the hives of the swarm. Piles of rotting flesh, ready to be brought south for gods-knew-not-what-purposes, exploded with shock and sent an unspeakable, putrid rank oozing over the fields. The black bile and decaying tissue rained down upon the bare-picked soil, and there it decomposed in a flash and became feed for new plants, which sprouted immediately. Bulbous little roots squeezed small postules of yellowy sap out of the ground, accompanying the retching decay with a grimy musk. The bull pocketed the ring and grabbed Hoepebreaker with two hands.

“Slash…”

He swung horizontally with all his might, and starting from the right edge of the horizon, the fog was pushed ever leftwards, like a hand brushing sand off of a table. A thousand blades of wind cut across the field of fresh plants, oozing corpses and panicking blood flies, slicing every living thing into strips. Wherever the blade cut, crimson soil followed–many flies were so fat on mortal blood that they popped like giant zits. Their hives, structures of flesh and dirt hardened after years of exploitation of local life, cascaded like grass before the scythe. Larvae which had enjoyed the safety of the hive, poured out of the shattered tunnels like the insides of a crushed egg. The bull stabbed the long end of Hoepebreaker into the soil, spearing one of his soldiers with it, and clapped his hands together. The oily dirt on his palms began to smoke and smoulder, and as the squeal of the blood flies were at their loudest, he pulled his palms apart like a match over a strip.

“... and burn.”

The fog, the bulbs, the blood upon the soil–in an instant, the entire horizon blasted into a terrible inferno. The shockwave sent many of his minions soaring back into the forest, and the heat and noxious fumes made many others buckle. The wildfire rose higher than the hill they were on, and the cacophony of popping exoskeletons and sizzling flesh within was only complemented by screams of those among the piles of flesh who were still alive or were being fed as living flesh to the blood fly maggots. The bull grinned from ear to ear, the suffering entering his ears like the most wonderful symphony. The flames died down quickly–they did not need to stay around for long as no living thing could survive that heat for longer than a single breath. Before them laid a scorched hellscape, but only for a moment: Where there had for years now been a beige wasteland of locusts, flies, gnats and corpses, a veritable eden of greens, yellows, reds, blues and purples shifted into the landscape like a mirage. Only it was not a mirage, but a miracle. In the blink of an eye, the blood swarm in the Vootlands was no more, and all memory of its terrors was securely locked within the traumatic experiences of mortalkind. The bull slowly turned to his minions, all of whom had resisted their flight response out of fear that whatever the bull could do to them, was worse than what they had witnessed. The bull snorted quietly and spat on the ground.

“Go out into the wilderness. Find these shadow beasts and destroy them. Let none survive.” Whether it was out of relief that they were allowed to leave or out of genuine bloodthirst, the army of beasts and plants rampaged back into the woods and out across the Striped Lands. The bull then turned around and surveyed the land beneath. He descended from the hill and and strolled through the newly sown fields, letting his hands caress the tall reeds as he walked by. He knelt down and scooped up a handful of soil: despite outward appearances, the soil quality was poor. The swarm had done obscene damage to the life here which would take generations to recover. He thought for a bit, and then a rumble gurgled in his stomach. He winced ever so slightly, a squint betraying a sensation of pain. He positioned himself a little better, squatted down and went, “HNNG!”

The children of Egrioth who for months had ravaged the Abundant Fields, would soon find their continued killing spree to be a much harder affair. Whenever they would set foot on cultivated land, the ground would split and tendrils of roots and mycelium shot out like the tentacles of an octopus and attempt to drag the beast into the depths of the earth. Beasts of burden split into two groups: those who chose the hunt and those who chose the post. The hunters roamed the land in search of beasts, traveling in packs and hosts and grazing on the bounty of the land. Mortals previously terrorised by the shadows could always pray that in the final moments before their deaths, they would be miraculously saved by an oncoming charge of horned elephants. Those who chose the post, settled in with the mortals, forsaking the plight of foraging in favour of feeding by mortalkind. In exchange, they offered protection, carrying capacity and, for any non-snouter, help to pull the plow. In doing so, the mortals domesticated them and they domesticated the mortals, ensuring that neither could live the same life without the other ever again.

And upon the ember-cleansed fields of the Vootlands, a towering pile of manure offered copious nutrients for the surrounding soils, distributed by an army of flies, dung beetles and worms. It would remain there for ages to come, so impossibly dense and massive that farmers for miles would have compost for generations. Bits and pieces of the mound would be distributed further, seeding compost and fields with rich bacterial flora which produced quality soil of the highest fertility. It was honked and reeked to high heavens, torturing those not accustomed to it with gut-wrenching nausea, and was the first holy site of the bull: the Stain.

---

She stood before a fresh grave atop a lonely hill. Wildflowers with their rich aromas ran wild, fluttering as if gently touched, through the blowing breeze. The wind swept up, ruffling her hair and then down over the hill, off to distant fields and the far away wall. Where the breeze went next was anyone's guess, not even she knew. It was silent otherwise, on that hill in the growing twilight. The sunlight,just beginning to enter its nightly slumber. A respectful atmosphere for honored dead.

The gravestone, carved from the Atelier’s white marble, was a singular slab with a simple but elegant lily draped across the top. The craftsmen had taken every care. She could not help but know it would be a fleeting replica. In time, even with the utmost care and consideration, someone would forget one day to maintain it. That day would bring more forgotten days, until it was overgrown and at last crumbling into rubble. She clutched her fist at the certainty of it. Toil’s work forevermore marring what was created.

Below the lily and engraved into the stone with silver, the grave held an epitaph; ‘Here lies Vaesna, a savior of Sylann. Beloved, may she find peace.’

What would fade first? The words written or those of whom remembered her? Would the flowers remember, at least? She did not like the answer.

She couldn’t take her eyes off the lily. Unable to understand why it had happened. She was no stranger to death, she had slain with impunity but this… One of her own creations? Sylia could not fathom what had transpired in Vaesna’s mind to push her to drown herself. It shouldn't have happened. The Syllianth were better than the other races, for she had used her own hands to shape them. None could say so save the Formed and compared to the Syllianth, they were but tools created for war. To be used. Not the Syllianth, they were supposed to be like her, creators, crafters, protectors, innovators… Not prone to self destruction like the other races.

For that was what it boiled down to. She knew of Althea. How the girl had secluded herself from the outside world. She had shut everyone out. Had stopped working. Had left her spear at the Atelier. It seemed Vaesna handled her problems much differently and somehow not at all. Sylann knew of the tragedy, the Syllianth mourned and it made Sylia wonder if there were others who were unable to move past the battle. If they were incapable of separating their emotions from logic.

The battle occurred. People died. Mortals died everyday. There was no sense in dwelling on that fact. Was there?

She could bring Vaesna back, it was in her power to do so. She could ask her what had happened. Why she had done it? If she would do it again? But there was no point now. It was better to let the dead rest and learn from such terrible tragedy. Oh yes, she would take many lessons from this but first, she had some crafting to do.

So Sylia walked away from Vaesna’s grave, down that hill colored in flowers, past her honored dead.

---

The Divinium Rod, transformed into a blade, cut in twain the outer beast spawn. There was no sound as its body split apart, the cut too clean. More rushed her, their Warden, and she let the sword do its work. She let those lucky enough to reach her in their rage, to attack an insurmountable block. The plate of their once chieftain, now fashioned into armor. It enticed them so that they did not care who or what she was and how they would die.

The sword cleaved through three more, guts and viscera adding to the growing pile around her. Black blood ran like a river through the dark sands, yet more came and more died. The dull gray plate of Egrioth was impenetrable by mortal means, perhaps even those of the divine. In her elated state of crafting, she had spent the most time upon it. Molded like a statue of old, of metal, stone and of Egrioth. She did not make it ornate or beautiful but of pure practical design. It was armor, it would protect its wearer. There were also the other godly parts she had been gifted. Not knowing where the process would take her, Sylia had descended into true compulsion. From the gift of Lareus she fletched into being a dream. It took the shape of a great horn of ivory and bound with sleeping eyes. It now hung at her side, ready to be used.

She melted down most of the soul gift until it was a clear liquid. Next the Goddess has taken that liquid and shaped it into that of a large circle. When it cooled, she dared not look at it and changed her own shape so that she no longer had eyes. Using her other senses to act, Sylia silvered the glass and in doing so, knew with certainty she had created a mirror. For the frame she used her own divine metal, sylium and let her fingers wander as they etched and carved reliefs and images few would ever see more than once. From the last bit of the soul she was gifted, Sylia wove from its thread an ethereal cloth, large enough to cover the mirror. When that was done, she turned it over and reinforced the back with more sylium before fastening a sleek handle. When the shield was complete, Sylia changed her form so that she had eyes once more and marveled at her work.

With the cloth only obscuring the full extent of the mirror’s gaze, she could look upon it without worry. She saw her own muffled reflection blazing with light underneath the cloth. She had looked away and did not wish to see what else it would reveal.

She had the mirror now in that bloody field and revealed it to the spawns who swarmed her. Without removing the cloth, any who’s gaze pierced the mirror fell silent and still as stone. Then, their faces twisted in some unknowable horror, and the life from them was leeched as they died.

Sylia laughed, removing the cloth for the mirror’s final test. Those spawn who looked at the Mirror of Souls, lost their own and Sylia bore witness to the godbanes might, as it pulled them into it with quiet screams, leaving empty bodies behind. It seemed that the spawn did indeed have souls after all.

She no longer laughed and instead brought the horn to her lips and blew. A whimsical note exploded forth and those outer beasts in earshot all fell down. Asleep, as they would be forevermore, until they succumbed to exposure or their own nightmares. She had heard the note but sleep did not come to Sylia for she was the note giver.

The Goddess observed the field of battle and then plucked from person the real aim of this excursion. She had gone to her prison for one reason- a slaughter. But the small bit of Divinium in her hand, her last pure reserve, still glowed white. She frowned. She had failed in producing Misrite. But this did not wholly bring her dissatisfaction. Perhaps… Just perhaps there was another way to get it and she knew one way or another, her two favorite prisoners would find this place and maybe, just maybe, they would make for her what she sought.

Sylia erected a plinth of black stone and placed upon it the shard of Divinium.

She whispered upon the prison winds, “Come and find it, boys.”

Turn 6 has started, please check the MP Spreadsheet for your updated MP counts. Please let me know if any number is off and I'll fix it when I can.

---

The atmosphere among the commoners of Arbor seemed tenser than usual. Then again, between the wrath of the Egriothspawn, the unclear fate of the Queen of Life, the arrival of the Fairy Goddess, and the construction of the Tree of Firmaments, there was little space left to find calm. Conversations were shorter than usual; eyes shifted groundwards more often; unknown noises conjured skittishness even in braver individuals. The rumour mill ground and ground, whispers in alleyways became conversations in the open.

“I hear she’s actually gotten a big following recently.”

“No, she’s not dead. Get a hold of yourself.”

“You know, there are people you could ask about that…”

“Well, I heard that…”

“... Actually, what Jason told me was…”

“... No password, no entry…”

The quern of conspiracy milled diligently, and one who had recently dabbled in the flour of fear was the young elf Roja. She had served as a scout in a militia band known as the Auburn Dusk, a group of locals who gathered to break the sanctity of killing to rid the island of the Egriothspawn. Their leader and her dear friend, Laethan the Sharp, had gathered them under a secret oath: "We kill the threats to the Tree of Life in the Lifemother's name, so that life may persist". Membership was highly exclusive, but in hindsight it was clear that Laethan had just picked the first ten people she could name and gone ahead with that. Roja had always been a good archer and a better spotter–even at such a young age, she had caught the attention of many for her precision and truesight. She had gotten used to praise and had taken it with condescending courtesy. During the assault of the Egriothspawn, however, she had suffered irreparable damage to her bow arm. Worse yet, her party had been attacked because she had failed in her duty: in the moment when it mattered, she had grown lax and lazy, believing that no wild beast could ever escape her sight. Yet the shadow beasts had been clever, and the whole party had stumbled into an ambush. It had been a massacre, and only Roja had escaped. Tragedies compounded further as she came home: There, constables of the Deathguard waited for her and took her in. Of course the secrets of an amateur ragtag band of commonfolk would leak. Someone had probably shouted their "secret" oath at the top of their lungs in a stupor. Memories of her comrades, some of whom she had grown to love quite dearly, flashed across her mind night and day–sometimes of the nights of drinking and collegial debauchery, other times of the cadavers the beasts had left behind. Now, whenever she could make it outside, she spent the days taking on odd jobs to earn a living–anything to just make time go by. The money left over after covering food and rent went into a small clay jar, and at the end of the month, she would head down to the tavern to spend it on a night of debauchery to drown her anxieties. Nobody knew her name, but everybody knew what she was: a killer. Rumours were quick to rope strangers into others' lives, so people stayed away. Thus, when Roja drank, she was drinking alone.

She had downed a beer in solitude by the time she came to her table. It was a goblin three-quarters her size, with hair like springs of copper and a smile of white chalk. She broke Roja out of her depressive stupor and said, “Hey, are you alright?”

Roja looked up out of politeness, but hesitated to respond. The goblin grinned. “It’s unhealthy to drink alone, you know.” She slammed her own cup down on the tabletop and took a seat. “What’s your name?”

The elf blinked away, not daring to make eye contact. “R-Roja…”

“Roja? That’s a beautiful name. I’m Jezzy. Y’know, I saw you last month and you moped in just the same way as you do now. Is everything alright?”

Roja swallowed and looked into her lap. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for checking in.” When she noticed that the goblin didn’t budge, she at last looked her in the eyes. They were a dark chestnut, filled to the brim with the sort of light that caused hope in some and cancer in others. “If, if you’ve got friends waiting for ya–...”

“No, no, no one’s waiting for me, Roja.” The goblin shrugged. “In truth, I, uh… I came to see if you were here today.”

Roja balked ever so slightly. “O-okay?”

Jezzy nodded. “Yeah, I’m here for you.”

Roja cast small glances left and right. She swallowed and looked back at the goblin. “A-are you with the Guard? Am, am I in trouble? Please, I've told you everyth--”

Jezzy lifted both hands. “Oh no! No, no, no! It’s nothing like that. Gods, I’m so sorry–that did not sound like that in my head.” She clapped her hands together softly and held them under her nose. “I’m sorry, let me start over. My name is Jezzy. I’ve come to you tonight because I saw you last month–well, actually I’ve seen you lots of times–”

“H-have you been spying on me?” Roja said in a cracking voice, confusion overcoming her. Jezzy tried to rein her back in.

“No, no! It’s just–... Oh Gods, I’m making a mess. Okay, see, I work with people who have it really hard, alright? You caught my eye, so I decided to check up on you. Phew, I’m sorry, I did not make a good impression there, forgive me.”

Roja lowered her guard sheepishly. “... I… Caught your eye?”

Jezzy nodded. “Yes. These past few months since the attacks, with the Goddess missing and… It affects people. People begin to ask the hard questions: Is Arbor still safe? What can I do about these feelings? Who do I go to? Who can I talk to about this?” She opened her palms towards Roja. “Do these questions feel familiar?”

Roja’s eyes crept back down into her lap. “... Yes…”

Jezzy nodded again. “I completely understand. Well, I have a proposition.” While she stuck a hand into the breast of her robe, Roja took a slow sip of her beverage. The goblin then placed a small wooden coin on the table and gently pushed it over to the other side. Roja picked it up and examined it curiously.

“What is this?”

“This,” Jezzy began, “is a coupon. I run a house of healing down not too far away from here. I specialise in people whose wounds are not of the body, but of the soul. If you ever feel like you need someone to listen, or if you need to listen to your own heart, don’t be afraid to come by.” She pointed at the coin. “That will get you one free treatment.”

Roja’s eyes shifted from the coin to Jezzy and back. A flash cast her out of the moment and into a dark tunnel–a canal underground. A sharp pain shot up her phantom arm and she heard the trickle of blood, of drool, and then a growl.

“-ja…? Roja?”

Roja snapped back to reality. Jezzy offered her a worried frown and reached out to pat her hand. Roja nodded, feeling a sudden cold sweat on her brow. “I’ll, I’ll think about it.”

Jezzy offered her a sad smile. “Alright. Think about it.” Then she stood up. “The backside of the coin has a map. It’s by the clothier’s workshop. The sigil on the door is the same as on the coin.” Roja flipped the coin again–what looked to be an oddly shaped cup adorned its face. Jezzy walked around the side of the table and once again took her hand. “Be well. Until we meet again, alright?”

Roja nodded slowly. “Y-yeah. Until then.” She watched as the goblin exited the tavern, and then began to realise that she hadn’t felt this lonely since before the incident. The creeping sensation filled her like a plague. The joy of being seen, being spoken to, to speak to another person–not just for a job or something, but… Someone who cared. She felt thawed, nimble, like grass at the onset of spring. Yet the emotion was fleeting, like a snowstorm in April. She could not bear this existence for much longer. She needed to improve, to talk to someone, to… To be whole again. In a swift swig she emptied her cup, paid her tab and left. The next day, she would visit the goblin.

---

Could this be it? Roja stood outside a small stump, flanked on both sides by somewhat shabby-looking home-trees, with the clothier’s workshop behind her. She took a moment to look around. The map seemed to indicate that it would be here, but… Where was the symbol?

Then it caught her eye. The odd cup was engraved into the bottom right corner of the stump, but it seemed… Hidden, somehow. Why wouldn’t it have been carved any bigger, or carved it somewhere else? A skepticism overtook her and she began to feel her feet turn. Why did she trust this goblin, whom she had known for less than fifteen minutes? What, what had made her come here in the first place? More and more instincts began to vote in favour of flight, but the heart stood steadfast. She had seen her when no one else had. That was reason enough to go inside. She was already at rock bottom, after all; how much worse could it get? She squeezed into the alley between the trees and eventually found an opening in the back of the stump, covered over by a curtain of threaded beads and stones. As it rustled, it heralded her entrance, and a familiar voice rang out from the room next door.

“Just a moment!”

Roja took the time to take in the sights. Weak lights powered by rune magic dotted the walls. Small chairs fashioned from wood stumps sat neatly around a table, and shelves of fur and wood behind a counter were filled to the brim with all sorts of reagents. Ashen remains of magical circles, slates of wood carved with runes and colourful stones littered the counter and made the whole room look lived in. The air caressed gently at the nose with scents of ointment and incense. A minute later, Jezzy came out, pushing aside the bead curtain of the second doorway. “Welcome to Jezzy’s house of healing! What can I–oh! Oh, Roja, you came!”

Roja felt herself bubble with joy. “Y-you remember me?”

Jezzy offered a dumbfounded grin. “W-well, yes! We just met yesterday, did we not?”

The elf felt herself rush with blushing heat. “Y-yeah, of course! Sorry, it’s just…” Emotion filled her chest. “It’s, it’s been a while since anybody talked to me.” Small tears filled her ducts and trailed down her cheeks. Jezzy pouted and came jogging over, taking her hand in her own.

“Oh, dearest Roja, don’t cry. You’re safe now. You’re in a safe space. Come, comecomecome. Let’s get you something warm to drink.” The goblin guided her into the next door room, which was smaller than the shop, but much cozier. As she brushed aside the curtain, Roja was greeted by warm, dim lanterns. A small fountain inscribed with runes of perpetual motion enchanted the room with the gentle whistle of a stream. The scent of incense was stronger here, but never nauseating; it struck a perfect balance of smells, lifting every breath into a state of calm. The goblin sat her down on a comfortable pillow next to a low table and shuffled over to a small shelf. She picked up a pot of bronze and filled it with water from a small basin, and with a pat of the rune on the side of the pot, the contents began to slowly heat up. While she dabbled with cups and tea leaves, Roja leaned back on the pillow.

“So… You’re a… rune scribe?”

“Only a novice,” Jezzy chuckled. “I quit my classes early to settle down with the man of my life.” She poured the now-hot water of the leaves in each cup and set them on a small tray. “Or, well, so I thought he was. It was a short affair between the two of us. I was a ‘settle down and start a family’ type, and he was more of a ‘move to the Tricity and fight for the legendary Jaxx’ sort of type.” She snickered and set the tray down on the table. “It all seems so much easier when you’re young.” She placed a cup in front of Roja and she took it in her one hand. It smelled of mint and flowers. As she brought her lips to the rim, her mouth was filled with a scorching heat that immediately made her pull the cup away. Jezzy reached out a hand instinctively, but slowly retracted it with a warm smile. “Careful, it’s still quite hot.” Roja nodded and wiped a small spill that had landed on her shirt. As the two drained their cups sip by sip, Jezzy probed Roja about her story and her memories. As time went on, Roja felt the words form more easily and before her cup was half-empty, she was already on the brink of tears, her mouth running non-stop about her hubris, her mistake and all the nights of lying awake in horror, tortured at the whim of the what-ifs. Jezzy listened with patience taking in her words with calm wisdom, probing the points where she seemed to hold back and respecting her borders when Roja felt uncomfortable. When both had had their fill of tea, Jezzy brought her palms together. “So… Here we are.”

Roja wiped away a tear and offered a small smile. “Yeah… Here we are.”

Jezzy smiled back and leaned forward. “So what do you intend to do about your situation?”

Roja breathed in slowly and looked out the bead curtain. “I’ll be honest, Jezzy–before yesterday, I didn’t care much for whether I lived or died. If I had fallen out of a hole in Arbor and crashed into the ground below, I probably would have fallen in silence. But after meeting you… I don’t know–I feel this fire in me that I haven’t felt for months. I, I think I want to go on, but I don’t know how…” She paused and Jezzy nodded for her to continue at her own pace. “I… I keep asking myself: Am I worthy? What right do I have to live when I took that right away from all of my friends, my siblings-in-arms? How, how canI face them in the Afterworld if I just keep on living as though nothing happened?”

Jezzy nodded slowly. “It’s always easy to let the mind sink to those kinds of thoughts, y’know: Am I worthy… I think it’s also important to think about why we ask ourselves those kinds of questions. Like, why do we put ourselves through that, do you feel me?” Roja nodded. “There really is no easy answer to that question, but I think it’s very important to remember that your life is yours to live. If you spend your time thinking about what others would think, you won’t leave any space left for what you yourself think. There are many others and only one of you.” She chuckled softly, but Roja seemed reluctant to join in. Jezzy’s laughter quieted and then she sighed. “Well… I do have a little something we can try to see if you feel any better.” She stood up from her pillow and went to the back of the room, where she lifted a small thatch lid and climbed down into the floor. Roja blinked, but waited patiently for her return, the only sound accompanying her being the running fountain. There was a slight knock from below, or perhaps a chop, and then nothing. A minute later, Jezzy ascended with a small clay bowl, stained along its walls by soot and oil. In the centre laid a small heap of spongey mushroom bits, some of stem and some of cap. She took a pestle from the shelf where she had brewed tea and ground up the mushroom coarsely. She then added some bits of scented wood to the bowl and patted the rune on the side. As she brought the bowl over to the table, its contents began to smoke. “Lean over,” she said softly. Roja was reluctant at first, but eventually slowly leaned forward. Jezzy nodded smilingly and whispered, “Breathe…”

Roja took a series of deep breaths, the smoke filling her throat and lungs. Yet she felt neither pain nor the need to cough; the smoke descended into her chest like a lukewarm oil, settling gently around her heart. Then, slowly, she felt her heartbeat slowing and growing louder. All other noise drowned in a sea of cotton, and the only sound was the gentle pumping in her chest.

Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum…

Her vision blurred, the dim light brightening and splitting into a multitude of colours, some of which she had never even seen before. Her nose smelled a million scents, traveling all throughout her lifetime from the scent of blood at her birth to when she first set foot in the house of healing. Before long, the light gave way to darkness, but not in a frightening sense–this was a darkness which shrouded her in warm blankets and sprinkled the sky with a whole beach of stars. She saw animals dancing in the stars–no, they were the stars! Great cats, magnificent birds, a regal stag–the sky filled with life and possibilities. Then, for a brief moment, she saw the faces of her friends. They were there, as clear as Jezzy had been mere moments ago. She reached out, and they reached out to take her hand. They touched, and she felt it. She felt it! They were really there, right in front of her. Roja wanted to scream. She wanted to squeal. She was already crying. Then her closest friend Laethan opened her mouth and whispered, “We forgive you.” Roja’s eyes flowed over. She collapsed to her knees and whispered back: “I’m sorry.”

“We forgive you…”

“I’m sorry…”

_{”We forgive you…”}

“I’m so sorry…”

The whisper faded out of earshot and the vision of the night sky dissipated. Slowly, but surely, Roja realised that she was back in the house of healing, her eyes bloodshot and her cheeks sticky from dried tears. In the other corner of the room, Jezzy was humming to herself while she cleaned out the bowl with a stiff brush. “They forgive me,” she said with a slack jaw.

“Of course they did,” chuckled Jezzy. “They know you’re not to blame.”

Roja leaned forward onto her knees and wiped her face. Jezzy came over with a cup of something herbal smelling. “Here,” she said, “this’ll ease the nausea.”

“Nausea?”

“Yup. The first time is tough on everybody. You may feel fine for a bit, but come dinnertime, you’ll be spitting out your lunch before you can even begin to think of carrots.”

Roja blinked. “I-I didn’t eat lunch.”

“Oh. Well, better drink it to be safe anyway.”

Roja forced it down as told–it was like taking a swig of a spice rack. If the smoke wouldn’t make her vomit, this certainly would. She pushed herself to a wobbly pair of feet and followed Jezzy out into the shop. She took her spot behind the counter and Roja in front of it. Jezzy grinned and held out her hand. Roja looked into it. “The coupon, please,” smiled the goblin. Roja was dumbstruck for a blink, then immediately fished out the little wooden doubloon and placed it in the goblin’s palm. She nodded her thanks and placed it in a small jar. A wooden clacker suggested there were many more inside. Roja suddenly felt a pang of anxiety.

“I-I can come back here, right?”

“Oh, of course you can, dearest!” said the goblin. “Come back at any time! I’m usually always here.”

Roja nodded erratically. “So, to-today was free, right?”

“Today was free,” confirmed the goblin.

The anxiety gnawed at her still. “But, but next time won’t be, r-right?”

Jezzy offered her a soft smile. “Why don’t we save that talk for next time then, hmm?”

Roja froze briefly, then nodded. She then turned around and headed for the curtain. Just as she was about to exit, she heard, “Oh, and Roja!” She spun around and saw Jezzy’s chalk-white smile. “Remember: It’s your life.”

Roja nodded slowly, then smiled back and left.

---

... Ba-dump… Ba-dump… Ba-dump…

Underneath the thatch lid in the back of the house of healing, there was a gentle pulse.

... Ba-dump… Ba-dump… Ba-dump…

Not gentle in the sense that it was calm, but rather that it was weak.

... Ba-dump… Ba-dump… Ba-dump…

The cellar was dark–not pitch black–but dark. The only lights were a few rune lanterns and what seemed to be a little piece of a starry sky, though torn and ripped like a mistreated painting.

... Ba-dump… Ba-dump… Ba-dump…

The beads of the doorway upstairs rustled to a gentle halt, and the starry sky quivered with fickle light. A brief anomaly of magic brought on by the scent of smoking mushroom converted the thumping into a miniscule strip of decipherable information, audible to no one but gods and exceptional individuals:

... Heeelp… ussss…

Upon literally reflecting in some small, inky black pool in the forest Amelia had to admit that a lot had happened around her. Not to her, but around her. Her parents were gone. That alone was a hard change to get used to. At night she still jolted awake because everything was just… too quiet. Too empty. Then she could cast magic… sort of. Arcana had not been what she had hoped it to be. Worse, Irrithae had explained the trappings to her, which meant that she couldn’t directly tap Arcana unless it was well thought out and worth the cost of her life. Finally, she had lost Irrithae herself. Her adoptive… something. Her goodbye hit the elven girl pretty hard. Now she was alone.

So she did what she felt she had to do: gather food. With a basket on her arm, she had been going through the woods around Arbor every day now, gathering the fruit that the goddess gave them so those who couldn’t gather wouldn’t starve. It was vital work, work that was praised by many. A necessity for Arbor. But by the goddess after three weeks of it now Amelia wanted nothing more than to kick the basket away. It was so boring! Every day the same routine, every day the same old small smiles of thanks.

Amelia kept walking through the forest, trying to bury her frustration and her aching heart. Irrithae would know what to do. Irrithae would’ve told her to go sit somewhere or think about something. She passed a familiar stump. Then she realized, like a stone hit her hard, what she wanted to do: travel. Leave Arbor. There was nothing for her there anymore. She passed a rock. Her family hadn’t shown up, not after three weeks. Had they left? Were they dead as well? Arbor had gotten too big already to ask everyone. And at this point, Amelia could barely remember her aunts. She was a child when she left after all. She passed a pool.

Maybe she could ask Aenos if she ever met him again. Though the lord of the deathguard was an elusive one at best. He rarely ventured into Arbor and when he did, it was always for Irrithae. Since she left, Aenos was only seen beyond the city, slaying monsters. She passed a stump. Could she maybe become a deathguard? No. No Aenos was right that night. She was touched by death. Amelia gently rubbed her healed shoulder as she thought about that. Still, she wasn’t inclined to start killing. That she didn’t have in her. She passed a rock. There had to be something else in life right? Something more exciting than gathering fruit but less self-destructive than killing? Maybe she could become some sort of inventor! The thought filled her with excitement, which quickly deflated again when she realized that she had no idea what she could even invent. Or how! She passed a pool.

Amelia stopped and looked at the pool. It looked familiar. It was small and inky black. As she saw her reflection she recognized it. She had stopped at this pool before! But how? She had been walking forward the whole time? How could she be at this pool again? She looked around to see if someone was maybe - somehow - playing a prank on her but there was no one in the woods. Just her. Unsure, she kept walking forward. Her mind sharpened as if there was some sort of threat. Then she passed a familiar stump. She passed this stump before! How could she pass it again? She started running forward, making sure that she kept going in a straight line. She ran and… she saw a rock. She stopped again.

It was the same rock. Her dad had told her about this. When in unfamiliar places like the woods, we can sometimes start walking in circles. There was a trick to avoid it: pass the trees along the same side every time. Amelia - winded - started walking again. She passed the first tree to its left. Then the next tree to the left again. And again to the left. Until she reached the familiar pool. “How!?” She screamed out.

Frustrated she kept going. To the left, to the left, to the left, and then a stump. Amelia screamed out. “What in Allianthé’s name is going on!” She screamed out. Nothing answered. Something, someone was playing a game with her. Well, she wasn’t going to let them win. She started running again, making sure to pass the trees on the left every time. Again and again and again and again! When she stopped for a rest, there was the stump! And at the next breather she took there was the pool! She kept running. She ran herself ragged.

Somewhere during the running she had tossed the basket but she was passing that one too now. It was insane! How could she get out of this? She just had to keep running. At some point this whole joke would spin away, right?

It didn’t, and Amelia dropped down next to the stone in the mud. She was exhausted. The running hadn’t worked and the elven girl was all out of ideas now. The sun was already setting. She let out a sigh and curled up. The nights were still a little warm. Tomorrow was another day, her mom always said.

She was rudely awoken by something that felt like a twig being batted on her head. It didn’t hurt, not really, but it was annoying. Slowly Amelia opened her eyes to see a tiny, female, flying humanoid, dressed in autumnal red, hitting her with what looked like an ornate twig. Yep, she was definitely still dreaming. “W-Wha..” she let out.

“Oh, you’re finally awake.” The little humanoid said before she gave Amelia one last final wack. “Foolish girl! What were you thinking!? Running? Running!? What, you thought I wouldn’t have secured my glamour against something as stupid as running!?” The little thing sounded upset and insulted.

“W-What… who are…” Amelia managed to get out as she opened her eyes. “I’m sorry… what is going on?” She stammered out. It was a chilly night.

“Oh and then you lay down in the mud at night? Who raised you!?” The little humanoid exclaimed. “Were you born in some cave or something? Didn’t your mom teach you something like intuition? You knew that going forward wasn’t working then why did you keep doing it?”

“You’re the one who was pranking me?” Amelia asked as she scraped some mud off her cheek.

“It was a test, stupid girl. When forward doesn’t work, why didn’t you go backward? Doesn’t your mother tell you to not keep making mistakes?” With a flourish of her twig the little humanoid conjured away the remaining dirt from Amelia. “And doesn’t your father tell you, you shouldn’t just go to sleep in the middle of some mudpool? Find some shelter!”

At the mention of her mother and father tears welled up in Amelia’s eyes. “My dad’s dead!” She blurted out, a part of her hated how vulnerable she had become. She couldn’t stop it though. “And my mom too. I got no one to tell me things!” She exclaimed. Right then her heart decided that this would be a wrenching moment where she would cry and Amelia had no say over it.

The crying took the little humanoid by surprise though. “Oh well… easy now. That’s… you don’t have to cry. You just had to run backward.” She tried to say.

“And I hate it here! It’s so boring but that’s so fucked up!” Amelia yelled out in between sobs. She put her face in her hands as her emotions got too much for a moment. “I just wanna be away from here. I wanna see the world and go places where I’m not just some orphaned girl!”

“Hey now girlie.” The little humanoid said. “Surely you got someone-”

“They all left!” Amelia cried out. “Irrithae, my family, my parents. They all left.”

For a second the little humanoid was a little unsure of what to do when suddenly a twinkle appeared in her eyes. “I know what you can do, you can travel with me!” She exclaimed.

Amelia, half-cried out, slowly looked up. “What?”

“You can travel with me!” The little humanoid said again. “I am… On second thought, how about you call me… godmother! Your fairy godmother! Now, dry those eyes.” The godmother said and with another flourish of her wand she erased any trace of the tears on Amelia’s cheeks. “And tell me what you think. If you join me, I can promise you it won’t be dull. In fact, it will be incredibly danger-”

“I want to come with you.” Amelia said immediately.

“You don’t want to hear what we’re going to-”

“No.” Amelia interrupted the godmother. “No I just want.. More than this. Away from this!” Her parents were travelers. She had traveled her entire conscious life. Things at Arbor were so stale and so boring. Irrithae had told her that sometimes the things we want come knocking at our door. When it happens though, we can freeze up, be overwhelmed, be fearful even. And then we say yes.

“Well… if you insist. But before we go on our long journey far and wide you need a tool.” the godmother said, as she started looking around for material.

“Tool? I got tools.” Amelia said. “I got some shears and a hammer and even a spade back- oww!”

“Not that kind of a tool, my foolish little bulb!” The godmother exclaimed as she batted her stick at Amelia again. “This sort of tool!” She followed up, waving the twig above her. Except it wasn’t just a twig. It looked ornate, with vines threading along its length and with a deliberate, pointed end. “This is a wand. You need one as well. But you need the right wood. Stay here.” The godmother said, and she flew away into the shrubs.

Amelia didn’t do as told. She got up and started following her new acquaintance into the brush. Except the flying fairy was way out of sight. “Godmother?” Amelia yelled out. “Where are you?” The elven girl went through the forest again, searching for the fairy. Until finally she bumped into her carrying her arms full of sticks.

“What? Didn’t I tell you to stay where you were?” She said, surprised to find Amelia there. “No matter. Here.” She dropped the branches down on the ground. “Grab one you like. One that… calls for you.” The godmother said.

Of course, Amelia was unsure at first, but slowly she started reaching for one while still looking at the Godmother. Who just held her chin and nodded at every branch she touched. Amelia didn’t particularly hear a calling, but when she grabbed a branch with spine-like leaves it just felt right in her hand. The godmother raised an eyebrow. “That’s an interesting one.” She said slowly. “Anyway, now we have to make it a wand. A simple one will do for now. Take out your knife, clean it up, and then start sharpening it. Make it into a form you like. That’s very important. Has to be a shape you like.”

Amelia did as told and sat down and started sharpening the stick. At first she sharpened it like she would any other stick but the godmother didn’t like that. She was told to give it a flair, so she did. Instead of straight cuts she twisted the wood a bit, here and there. At the end of it all though, she was left with a fairly unremarkable, pointed piece of wood.

The godmother inspected it closely. “It will do as a tool for glamour, though it’s a bit uninspired. Gosh you elves. I pity my kin already.” She said. “Now, you got your key. Let’s go!”

“Go where?” Amelia asked.

“Well… away from here! Not to worry, not to worry. You can always come back. But c’mon. I know you’re eager. You have to forge the metal when it's hot.”

Clearly the godmother had been to the Forge already, Amelia thought. She followed the fairy blindly, much like she had followed her parents blindly. Until she saw the beam of right through the canopy. They were heading for Arbor again.

As they walked, Amelia was pondering on the stick - no the wand as the fairy godmother called it. It was a tool, right? “Can you give me a minute?” She asked. “It will be quick.” The godmother rolled her eyes but with a defeated flourish of her own wand she allowed it. Amelia began to concentrate on her Arcana connection as she held the wand. It strengthened all the tools she made. Arcane enchanted blades were favored by the Deathguard, maybe it would work on this too. She focused that consuming power into the wood, and like an ember it began to carve itself into the wood. Except unlike ember, it left traces of faint, multicolored veins throughout the wood. However the second she stopped focusing on it, the veins’ color died.

The fairy godmother looked on with surprise all over her face. “Well well… Maybe you’re not completely hopeless, my little bulb.” She said. Both of them continued on. Back at the home-tree where Amelia was staying she quickly filled a bag with some random stuff that could be useful for a trip. Despite the Godmother’s insistence that it was all useless garbage she’d have to lug around.

Eventually, they made their way to the Tree of Life, or more specifically up the hill upon which the Tree now rested. Around rocks and smaller trees they moved to a place seemingly only the Godmother knew. Amelia lost track of her flying guide on more than one occasion. They both reached a strange crag in the side. “Squeeze through here, c’mon my little bulb. Your adventure is about to start!”

Amelia never questioned the direction. On her knees she crawled through the crag into what looked like an oversized badger’s burrow. It was still very small though. Amelia had to crawl with just her forearms. The tunnel widened a bit but she couldn’t see where she was going at all. “C’mon, c’mon. Put your back into it. You don’t want to stay in this part too long. Weird things happen here.” The Godmother said as she suddenly came from around a bend from in front of Amelia.

The elven girl nodded as she managed to get up on her knees. “A moment. I need to see where I’m going.”

“You will not-” The Godmother was about to protest, but quickly fell silent as Amelia made a flourish that was the reverse of the one the Godmother often made. From the tip of her wand light appeared. Except the Godmother realized it wasn’t light. It was glamour. “What did you just do?” The fairy asked.

“I wanted the magic to lie away the dark.” Amelia answered simply as she continued crawling on her knees and hands passed her godmother.

They reached the end of the burrow. It was a relatively short trip Amelia realized but what she encountered made no sense. “How is..” She looked back at the burrow she just popped out of. There was a Tree of Life but not. It looked smaller but glowed with green veins. Then there was the Tree of the Firmaments. Except it was even more slender, like a thin strand reaching for the skies.

“Welcome to the Veil, my little bulb!” The Godmother said. “Now, we must make haste. Your kind shouldn’t meander here for too long.” Amelia did as her Godmother bid. They both started moving through the forest with a myriad of trees, more than Amelia had ever seen together in a place. It was as if the trees often just stood up and mingled with each other. They kept going, but then Amelia saw lights and laughter coming through the shrubbery.

“What’s that?” She asked.

“Oh, you shouldn’t go there. Never go there. Not now for sure.” The Godmother cautioned.

“Why? It sounds so fun. Listen, they’re laughing!”

“Aye, they are.” The Godmother said. “And if you go there you’ll laugh as well. And you’ll dance and you’ll sing and you’ll be merry and you might never, ever leave.”

That was more than enough warning for Amelia. They both kept going. Until they reached another burrow near a big, monstrous blob with only a massive mouth. “Oh don’t worry about that here.” The Godmother said offhandedly as she ushered Amelia into the burrow. Again the girl went on her hands and knees through the dark-that-she-glamoured-away. She recognized the end getting broader again.

The Godmother stopped her. “A word of caution, my little bulb. In a few steps you’ll not be in Arbor anymore.”

Deep, deep underground at the Library, Galaxor marvelled at the collar. He studied it again and again, trying to discern how it worked yet that knowledge seemed impossible even for him to understand. There was nothing that could be determined as a source of power, no divine energy radiating out of it.

Eventually, after many weeks spent in almost isolation, Galaxor finally came out of his sanctuary with the collar put around the Cosmic Destroyer. Always good to have it on hand and it wasn't as if anyone could take it without also taking the CD.

Teleporting over to the GU, Galaxor immediately noticed a massive issue or better said, a size issue. There were goblins…everywhere. The whole city was packed tight with travellers, merchants and residents.

After a few words with Maxima, Galaxor's thoughts were proved correct. The Goblin Underground was officially overcrowded. Even the Orb of Air that Galaxor first created seemed to struggle with the amount of breathable air that was needed to support the population. A few days later, Maxima begged Galaxor to help. This was too much. People were blocked on the streets, miners delayed and worst of all, the Cornucopia’s delivery route was destroyed in a cave in.

‘Thus came the first time Galaxor used the Collar of the Underground. Teleporting somewhere far enough from the Goblin Underground, the divine being put the collar on and the familiar feeling of knowing everything under Galbar came once more. Every living being, every rock, mineral and precious stone. All was under his command.

With a great explosion of power, millions of blocks of rocks, different minerals, gemstones and what not, started to vibrate and expunge a dark brown light for a few seconds. Shortly after everything touched by the dark brown light started to melt and mould into buildings, walls, towers and everything else the Goblin Underground might need. The new city sprawled over 6 different levels of the underground with great stairwells linking each level but also side tunnels which allowed travel for carts, merchants etc.

As the cave’s roof started to crack, it soon found itself supported by massive pillars, the underground rivers were diverted into one single stream to form an enclosed sea, albeit a small one. The city's architecture reflected the diversity of the materials moulded by Galaxor – blocks of rocks, various minerals, gemstones, and more, all transformed into functional structures. Towering buildings, walls, and towers emerged, forming a complex network of interconnected spaces. On the roof of the caves, crystals shone with light cascading the whole of the Obsidian Reach in a blue-ish light.

The tunnels connecting different levels and districts were lined with bioluminescent plants that emitted a soft, calming glow. The tunnels not only provided efficient transit but also served as enchanting pathways, creating an underground network that embraced both functionality and aesthetics.

The great migration began afterwards and the new city of the Goblin Underground was created.

Goblin artisans adorned the walls with intricate murals that depicted the history, myths, and achievements of the Goblin Underground. These murals served as both decorative elements and educational tools, celebrating the life of The Dominion and their great leader, Maxima.

With the excess power, walls were built around the Pool of Knowledge and groups of goblins stayed behind to forever guard it. The earthquakes soon followed. With a city that size and a display of power that big, it was impossible for them not to. While the new city was protected, mostly, by Galaxor’s power, the whole of Galbar would soon feel them. Cracks in the ground appeared in many places and new tunnels towards the surface appeared.

This new city would later be called Obsidian Reach due to the dark black rocks that were everywhere. But that wasn’t the only change that would come with the new city. Galaxor long has pondered and thought of a new name for Goblin Underground but nothing seemed to stick. No matter what he’d choose, he would the next day find reasons as to why they shouldn’t be called like that.

One name eventually stuck. The Dominion.

Yet, there was one more problem. Time. The city was too big to be contained in one timeline which could cause an interesting problem. Deciding against simply pinning the whole city in time, Galaxor blessed the greatest craftspeople of the Dominion with the knowledge that would allow them to create devices that would anchor them into one timeline.

---

“Dear reader,

Before you continue, I gotta warn ya: I am not a nice lady. This will not be a story of a pretty little princess who grew up in her little room up in the Paint Caves, who had the mommy and the daddy and the fat-ass inheritance. Ain’t gonna be any magic school, no little ponies in the meadows, no handsome prince, none of that! Nah, this here’s a story from the real Tricity, the real oh-gee snoutahumpin’ Southbank, baby, my humble lil’ alma mater. A brief introduction, of course: I–yours truly–am the Mama Zazah Chipotle (that’s ribbit for “bad ass”). Between myself and my fellow greens, ain’t nobody had this much moolah this side of the Belt. See, I am what’s known on the streets as an “ahntreyprehnuhr”. I run a business, a little something-something I call the Guild of Green. Whenever there’s trouble in the Bank, people come to me. Why? ‘Cuz I get problems solved, dearie.

Now, you might be asking: What problems you got, luv? To which I answer, which don’t I? The Southbank is a jungle, a beast-eat-beast world. It is just across the river from the bloody paintos, yet the difference here is night and day. The Council? They don’t care about us.

And we, hehe, don’t care about them.

So, you’ve probably already got me figured out: Mama Zazah, rich goblin bitch and one of the top bugs of the Bank. Think again: I might be rich, dearie, but I ain’t alone. Like I said, this is a battlefield. Whot’s a little lady to do against big’uns like the Tuskless Cartel, the Nighthowlers or the Rolly Boys?

Whatever I can do to get rid of ‘em, that’s whot.

So, where does that leave us? I suppose I oughta tell you how I got here. Well, it’s kind of a long story, but–”

---

Zazah woke up with a start. Her face and torso were ice cold and soaked. She gasped for breath, snorted and coughed. Her vision was blurry, but she could tell the room was dimly lit. It reeked of fish, which indicated that they were somewhere on the World Belt River, but she had no idea where. Only thing she knew was that she was bound to a chair and could hardly move. Before her stood three shadows, the girth of which determined that they could only be snouters, large goblins or some kind of bearlike beastfolk.

“She’s awake, boss.”

A furry hand clasped around her cheeks, squeezing her lips into a funnel. Zazah squealed and focused her eyes into the clearing face of a tiger. Fuck, she thought, it’s Pozan. Ten-Stripes Pozan, a bulky beastman with orange fur, round eyes and, contrary to his name, a lot of black stripes, leaned in close until they were less than an inch apart. His breath rank of smoked fish.

“The rat awakens… Finally…” He released his grip with a twist that nearly snapped a neck tendon and started pacing in front of her. Zazah coughed some more and struggled to remain stone-faced.

“... Look, Pozan…” The tiger growled in response. “I did not squeal.”

“Ho-ho-ho, much too late for that now, little Zazah. The time for excuses is over!” he crescendoed. He reached out a hand and one of his lackeys gave him a sharpening stone. The tiger flexed the claws on his left hand and began to sharpen them slowly and menacingly. “Only way you’re getting out of this now is to squeal more.” He squatted down in front of her. “Names.”

“Look, Pozan, I–AH!”

A hot sear pumped out of her right cheek, where three fresh, bloody stripes now wept forth tears of blood. The act had been almost too fast for eyes to see, but Pozan’s eyes were bloodshot and unblinking. He looked like he could see through her very soul.

“Names.”

A few seconds passed and then Zazah nodded slowly. “... Ch-Chinny.”

“Good, good,” said the tiger softly while one of his lackeys noted it down. “Keep going.”

“... L-Lem.”

“A lot of Lems here, Zazah.”

“Wetfoot! Wetfoot.”

“Wetfoot, too, huh…” The sharpening stone switched hands and the tiger took a moment to study the claws on his right hand. “A shame. I liked him. Give him a swift death, make a note of that.” The lackey complied and the tiger’s eyes settled on Zazah once more. “Did I say to stop?”

Zazah shook her head and pressed her lips together. Her eyes dared look around for an exit–any exit, but the tiger stopped her in her tracks. “Eyes here, little rat, or you’ll get a matching scar on the other side.”

“Okay, okay… Hmph…”

The tiger pouted. “Oh, come now, you still have so much more to give! I know there are two more at least and, hey, if you can surprise me, I might just cut your jugular vein before I start spreading your rib cage open just like the lids of that pretty little box your friends stole from me.” He tickled the underside of her chin with his claws, drawing blood. “Come on, comeoncomeoncomeon, come out and play, little secrets!”

“D-D-Descindi!”

The tickling immediately stopped. The tiger’s maniacal smile immediately turned to a stone-cold frown. His lackeys quickly exchanged nervous looks. The tiger leaned in close again and whispered, “That’s a lie.”

“It isn’t.”

“That’s a filthy FUCKING LIE!” He picked up a nearby chair and smashed it against the wall. “DON’T you slander my blood-brother’s name like that.”

“IT’S TRUE!”

“I WILL CARVE A FUCKING REGENERATION RUNE INTO YOUR HEART SO THAT IT KEEPS BUMPING WHILE I FLAY YOU IF YOU DON’T FUCKING TAKE THAT BACK!” He grabbed her by the throat and squeezed so hard that Zazah was certain this was the end. However, little by little, the grip loosened. This was it–he knew. He already knew.

Zazah swallowed through the pressure and managed to squeeze out, “Ask him where he was during the attacks.” With that, the tiger let her go completely and stepped back. He paced in frustration, fingers alternating between massaging his chin and running over his scalp. He eventually turned to two of his lackeys.

“Find him. Find him right now and do not fucking rest until you find him.” As the other two sprinted out of the hut, he turned to the last one. “You. Kill her.” The lackey unsheathed a dagger.

“H-HEY! I helped you, gods damn it!”

“And now you’re useless to me. Make it quick and then come look for him.” With that, the tiger sprinted out too. The remaining lackey, a fat shesnouter with no tusks shifted her glance over to the goblin and approached with a quick pace. She shifted the grip on the hilt before settling on an upwards stabbing motion.

Then he went around her back and cut the robes holding her. Zazah immediately pulled them off her and patted her cheek. “Fuck, that was close.”

“That’s an understatement,” mumbled the shesnouter and sheathed the dagger again. “I haven’t seen him that angry in, well, at least a month.”

Zazah patted some dust off of her tunic and hurried over to a nearby table where most of her stuff still remained. “How far do you reckon they’ve gotten?”

The shesnouter stealthily peered out the doorway. “I’d say to the market, just about.”

“Perfect. Stuff me in that sack.” The shesnouter did as told, but not before they had thoroughly smeared the bottom with as much fish guts from a nearby corner as they could. They added some of the guts to the sack, giving it a mouldy-looking colour. The shesnouter sighed at the shabby presentation, but shook her head.

“Fuck it, that’ll do. They’ll come looking for me soon.” Zazah held her breath and crawled into the sack and the shesnouter swung her over her back.

“UGH! Disgusting!”

“Sssh! Pretend you’re a corpse,” the shesnouter said before she exited the hut, which proved to be part of a warehouse. They were on the Breaker’s Pier, a small village built on poles in the river between the Southbank and the Northbank of Tricity. Despite copious access to fish, rice and floatatoes, this part of the city just didn't seem to want to grow wealthy. Something would always hold it back, and that something was crime. They passed bugkeepers attending to the many boatbugs along the pier, shoveling wet kelp into waterborne troughs from which the huge insects ate greedily. Fishermen and pondkeepers eyed the shesnouter with shaded glances, mumbling amongst themselves and occasionally spitting. Merchants lined the pier selling the fruits of the river, engaging in a shouting competition with the river birds. She would occasionally pass small bands, typically two-four youngsters, dressed in rags with one or two extremely out-of-place high-value trinkets: a gold ring, a silver earpiece, ruby-covered brass knuckles. These sorts were the source of all the woes of the Southbank. And it wasn't that Zazah necessarily thought herself better than them.

She just wanted to be in charge.

The shesnouter didn't stop until they were way across the river, deep into the rice fields on the Southbank. Here, snouters sat chewing straws in the shade and croakers squatted by the paddies to study the growth rate of the fishes living in them. Goblin merchants stood and haggled with some of the farmers, but other than that, this place was tranquil, almost safe.

The shesnouter entered a small shack by a poorly maintained floatato pond. Once inside, she finally opened the sack and let Zazah out on the floor. The goblin rolled out on the wood and had to keep herself from vomiting. “Blergh… Fucking disgusting.”

“You're welcome,” replied the shesnouter dryly.

“Yeah, right… Thanks.” The goblin stumbled over to a basin of cloudy water and doused her face and body. She unlidded a jar next to the basin and stuck her hand in; when it came out, it was covered in white ash, which she rubbed into her hands and washed off quickly. “I was so close…”

“It was a gamble to begin with.”

“Soooo daaaaamn close!” snarled the goblin and stomped over to a small table and sat down on the floor. The shesnouter was making a small fire in a cracked, bulbous hearth. While she inspected a small clay pot for damages, the goblin continued to fume: “The promotion was mine. Pozan knew I was loyal.”

A chuckle. “You were never fucking loyal, little rat…”

“Well, I kept up appearances, didn’t I?!” She slouched over and crashed her face into the table top. “Where did I go wrong, Hysha?”

The shesnouter Hysha spat into the clay pot and rubbed its insides with a tar-black rag. “Who’s to say? In this business, just knowing too much might be enough. Considering you knew about Descindi’s betrayal, well…” She turned to face her, a knowing look on her face. “You knew too much.”

“He’ll probably be coming for me now, too. Fuck…”

The concave clay pot amplified the noise of Hysha adding a bunch of peas to it then filling it with water from a small vase. “Nah, he’ll have his hands full with Pozan. You, on the other hand, gotta lay low and find some way to start over. I doubt anyone in the Pikes will want to have anything to do with you now. But hey, look on the bright side! Between Pozan and Descindi, one’s bound to kill the other, so when that’s done, you’ll only have to deal with one of them!” She paused. “You’re certain he did it, right?”

Zazah sighed and rubbed her eyes with a groan. “Yeah, pretty sure. Pozan had entrusted the location of the artifact to me, but I figured sharing it with Des was no problem. I didn’t actually expect him to steal it.”

Hysha cut a smirk. “... But you wanted him to, didn’t you?”

Zazah snickered back. “Pffft. And start a gang-wide war between the two highest ranking members?” She winked.

“Maybe.”

The Mother Of Sorcery
Mother Su'ule, as the Slith call her, chanted her spell. Her spell would suffuse Galbar with the power of Sorcery, which is an art of magic that changes the world around the Sorcerer. Her whispers would be heard in the dreams of Slith and other mortal races all around Galbar, or heard within their waking visions.

The Sorcerer casts a spell, learning this spell through achieving a specific mental state that can be taught through writing or oral communication. Sorcery is similar to All-Magick/Glamour, however, sorcery does not require a focus, although sorcery can CREATE a focus for specific purposes. The primary means of sorcery is the casting of spells through incantations and/or hand gestures while in a specific mental state, but there are side effects for the sorcerer, for repetitive use of this magic. There are differing levels of strength for sorcerers, depending on either their strength of will or their, for lack of better word, their ability to "let go". Sorcery is split into two forms of magic, White Magic, which is the art of effecting change through spiritual/emotional/psychological surrender to the laws of the universe and life, and Black Magic, which is the ability for the sorcerer to effect change through their spells. Sorcerer's side effect of constant sorcery slowly changes them into someone or something that resembles their personality and power. For example, an enormously powerful Human sorcerer can permanently change into a great dragon, if they are very greedy and powerful. Hence why all the princess kidnapping and treasure hording. Why has Su'ulek done this? Because, she knows that through this form of magic, many sorcerers would transform into monsters. Hopefully this could earn her worshipers as well.

Su'ulek wished to commemorate her creation of Sorcery through Galbar, among her chosen people, The Slith. As the Great Caverns were where her Holy Site was located, there were still large areas of that place that were empty and barren. Su'ulek basically created a neighboring Holy Site in the Great Caverns between the Overworld and the Underworld. Across the world, the Slith and other races are waking up after strange dreams, or experiencing visions and epiphanies that allow them to practice the powerful art of Sorcery.

---

After visiting the house of healing for the first time, Roja went back again and again. She had stopped drinking at the tavern and felt herself grow braver, stronger. She took initiative during her odd jobs and got more opportunities as time went on. The money she made, she saved to make more trips over to Jezzy, where they would sit down for tea and chats. She would share stories from before her time in the militia, of the people who had been around her growing up, of boyfriends and girlfriends, lovers gained and lost. The two of them shared in laughs and tears, and eventually, the shop became Roja’s second home. She would watch the store while Jezzy was out on errands and whenever she had to wait in line with other customers, she would chat them up and learn about their lives. People of all species came in with heavy hearts and left elated, their clothes always carrying that familiar scent of earthy smoke. They were never many, but so the shop was mostly empty, but the odd person would stroll in every now and then–often they were regulars–and ask for Jezzy. After a time, there came an evening just before Jezzy was about to close that Roja had finally worked up the courage to ask something that had been weighing her heart ever since she had come here for the first time.

“Jezzy?” she asked.

“What is it, Roja?” replied that familiar flannel voice as she took stock of the shelves.

“Could, could I please start working for you?”

Jezzy balked slightly and turned around. “Come again?”

Roja swallowed. “I… I want to work here. For you.”

Jezzy stood dumbfounded for a blink. “R-Roja, I’m very happy you feel that way and that you’ve come so far, but… I could never pay you. I don’t make enough money to pay myself, almost. Y-you have been one of my best customers, I couldn’t possibly–”

“I’ll work for free!” Roja insisted. Jezzy sighed.

“Then how will you eat, dearie? No, it just wouldn’t work.”

“Please! Please, I beg you. You are the most important person in my life and, and I want to make it up to you for saving me. Please.”

There was a pause, within which Roja dared step a little closer. Jezzy took a deep, contemplative breath. “Alright.” Before Roja could skip into the air with joy, she added, “But you eat what I give you, got it? See if you can fit under the counter. If you can, you’ll sleep there.”

Roja was beside herself. “Oh, thank you, Jezzy! Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” She rushed over to the goblin and hugged her tightly. Jezzy chuckled and hugged her back. They stayed like that for a minute before Jezzy pulled away and flicked a small tear out of her eye.

“Oh my, ‘scuse me,” she said with a sniff. “Sorry, it just… It really makes me happy knowing my treatment actually helps people.” She beamed with pride at the elf, who blushed with a small smile. Jezzy clapped her hands and rubbed them together. “Well, newbie! Guess I ought to show you around.” She paused. “Well, you already know most of the shop, but a little repetition won’t hurt.” Jezzy thus showed her in detail all the items on the shelves, from floral oils to foot ointments. She pointed out each item’s specifications, its producers if it wasn’t herself, and ideal price range.

“If the customers start haggling, play along. As long as this goes for over five, you’ve made a profit.”

She then took her into the neighbouring room where they would drink tea. She showed her the cupboard with the different kinds of incense and explained in detail which she liked to burn at what times of day. The energising, citrusy incense sticks would be burned early in the day, then in the afternoon she would switch to deeper herbal notes, sometimes in combination with different spices. She showed her how to brew tea and how many leaves she would need per cup. She taught her how to make ointments at her workbench, how to grind with the pestle, when to make a poultice and when to make a salve. Finally, they arrived at the hatch in the back of the room.

“And for the grand finale, let me show you the most important room in this building.” She lifted the hatch and descended a small ladder. Roja followed right after and immediately smelled the musty odour of a dank basement. It was a pocket in the world tree, no larger than the room upstairs. The walls looked pocked as though worms had eaten into the wood, only that it had been no worm. The immediate sight that greeted her upon descending, was a miraculous marvel of red and cyan light. Mushrooms as tall as bar stools and as wide as shields filled the room with a dim, but radiating light. The cave had a draft, but it blew away from the hatch above–it was as though there was an unnatural wind in the room. The iridescent glow brushed over the both of them, and her nose filled with an almost oily air that immediately ticked off a reaction in her head. Memories, emotions and dreams all began to circle in her mind, a weaker but still potent version of the vision she had had the first time she had come here. Jezzy noticed her dazzled expression and chuckled. “You feel it too, huh? Yeah, these are the mushrooms that gave you your visions.”

Roja stepped over to one and brushed her hand over it. The mushroom expelled a gentle rhythm, almost like a heartbeat. The surface was slick and moist, and when she pulled her hand away and looked at it, a dim glow remained in the mucus in her palm. “They’re beautiful,” she whispered as she wiped the mucus off on the pant leg. Jezzy nodded proudly.

“Yup! They’re my most important asset. Just a pinch of this in a bowl and some heat, and the customer can meet their dead friends and family, see themselves as gods, experience what it is like to be someone.” She gave Roja a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Then they can put their efforts into making that dream a reality.” Roja nodded and grinned from ear to ear. Jezzy, meanwhile, went over to a small table and took a large knife. She picked up a sharpening stone and gave the knife a few good rubs before she walked over to one of the mushrooms which seemed to have been cut a little before. It glowed a little weaker than the rest. “So,” Jezzy said, placing the knife just over the edge of the cap, “should I ever need to send you down here to prepare a poultice, you will take this knife, make sure it is nice and sharp, and cut a piece no bigger than your thumb–like so.” With expert movement, she cut a finger’s worth of mushroom and caught it in her hand. “Make sure to always cut from the top, as that way, you smear the cap mucus on the inside of the piece. It has a floral smell and intensifies the visions.” Roja paid the utmost attention, taking mental notes with gusto. “After that, you take a pestle,” she made a twisting motion with her hand, “grindgrindgrind and then you tap the side of the bowl, and it’ll begin to conjure heat. It really is that simple.”

After that, Roja took to her tasks quickly. She cleaned and stocked the shelves, took care of the customers while Jezzy tended to her patients. At night, she slept under the counter and for her meals, she drank and ate what Jezzy served her, which was, perhaps not unsurprisingly, much better food than she had been eating up to that point. Vegetable broths, porridges, pottages and stews–Jezzy was a magnanimous host to her, and Roja kept taking mental notes of all the kindnesses she could never repay.

One day, many weeks after she had started, Roja was manning the shop alone. Jezzy was out on an errand, but at this point, this was quite routine. She expected that maybe one or two customers would come by to check in, see if Jezzy was in, but she would just tell them to come back later unless she could offer them any assistance herself. Jezzy had began to teach her simple runes, so to pass the time, Roja would read the modest selection of scrolls on the matter that Jezzy kept in her shelves, practicing how to draw runes with charcoal on the floor. Sometime around noon while she sat behind the counter drawing, she heard the familiar patter of footsteps in the alley outside–a little heavy, perhaps, but it was likely just the shesnouter who was coming back for a second vision. Her first one had encouraged her to leave her current husband for her lover, and Roja couldn’t help but snicker to herself thinking about what it could be this time.

“Welcome to Jezzy’s house of healing,” she presented in a sing-songy voice as she arose from her squat. “How can I assis–”

Her eyes fixed on the shadow opposite of the bead curtain. Against the outside light, it looked like nothing she had ever seen. A pair of round, radiating eyes glowed through the curtain, and the creature entered. It looked like an enormous cylinder, wearing as it did from head to toe a drape. Its eyes were in the middle, so it looked like a walking tent. In all her years, it resembled nothing she had ever encountered, but the eyes awakened within her an uncanny and gradually more panicking vision of the last time she looked into a pair of viciously glowing eyes.

“C-c-can I help you?”

The creature said nothing. It simply walked up to the counter and stared at her. Roja felt herself shrink. The eyes drilled through her skin and into her soul–it felt literal. It was as though her mind was laid out on the table and the creature flipped through it like a book. She grabbed at her head, her hands pressing against her skull to level out the pressure of an oncoming migraine. It was as if her heart was in her ears, a thundering drum thumping through her mind and rummaging around in search of something. Then the sensation lessened considerably. The creature turned away, the drape now concealing its eyes. It stormed for the tea room next door. Roja was still recovering, but managed to shout, “H-hey, you can’t go in there! Hey!” The creature ignored her completely and stormed through with such vigour that it tore the bead curtain separating the rooms and knocked over a shelf. Vials and jars of oils and ointments shattered against the floor and panic set in for Roja. This creature–she had to subdue it somehow. In the neighbouring room, the creature seemed to squat down to the floor and look around frantically. It had come to steal the mushrooms!

Instinct overtook her. Roja grabbed a large jar of dry beans and sprinted into the neighbouring room. The creature hardly had time to notice her coming before she hurled the jar at its eyes. The jar pulled the drape off and shattered against the place where the eyes had been. The creature stumbled back in a daze, tried to recover its balance and then tripped. It fell onto the hatch which, being built out of thatch and twigs, snapped under its weight. It tumbled down the ladder and Roja heard a dunk at the bottom. She ran over to look, but stopped halfway as she noticed something familiar among the jar shards and the dry beans on the floor. Were those… Mushroom fibres? She continued over to the hatch and looked down. She could barely keep herself from gagging. There, at the bottom of the ladder, laid some sort of amalgam between a mushroom and a humanoid. It was glowing, just like the mushrooms in the cave, and its glowing eyes had been shut close. Roja descended quickly and inspected the body. The creature had no mouth, but it did have a round spot on its stem on which its eyes sat, giving it an almost face-like feature. Its body plan seemed lithe between the joints, then thick towards the end of the limbs, like it was wearing cones for gloves and shoes. Then there was the cap, which grew out of its head for an additional meter almost, and nearly twice as wide as the body. No wonder it had looked like a barrel under the tarp.

Roja felt her breathing accelerate. She had just killed someone again. Or something. Either way, the Deathguard would come for her soon. For ten minutes straight, she laid curled up on the ground, trying to control her breathing just like Jezzy had taught her to. After that, she paced around, using every fraction of her mind to think of a plan. She eventually got some linen sheets and tied up the creature just in case it would spring back to life. After a while longer, she pushed and pulled it into a corner of the cave. Then she sat down opposite of it, armed with a sharp shard of crushed pottery.

After what felt like half a day, she heard frantic footsteps upstairs. “Roja?! ROJA?! Roja, are you downstairs?!”

“YES!” she shouted, “AND THERE’S A MONSTER!”

Jezzy came down swiftly and said, “A monster?! What do you–WOAH!” The sight of the mushroom person made her nearly jump her own height into the air. As she moved over to inspect it, Roja began to cry.

“I, I didn’t know what to do, and, and, and it just came in and it was covered and, and then it just stared and me and then it, it just ran into the tearoom and I didn’t–” He broke down when Jezzy came over to console her.

“Oh, Roja, it’s okay. It’s okay.” She pulled her into a tight hug. “Thank the Gods you are alright. When I saw the shop, I worried something awful had happened, and…” She cast a glance over at the creature. “... It seems that it did. I am so sorry, Roja.”

Roja shook her head. “No… No, it’s my fault, I–”

“No. No, this isn’t your fault. This… This is mine.”

Roja blinked and wiped her swollen eyes. “Huh?”

Jezzy let her go and walked over to the creature. She scraped a palmful of dim mucus off a nearby mushroom and drew a set of runes in a crescent around the unconscious creature. “... I have encountered this creature before.” When done, she twisted her hand and bars of light shot up from the runes. “There… That should keep it from escaping.”

Roja furrowed her brow and frowned at her. “Wait, so you’re telling me you know this thing?”

“No, not… Exactly. I don’t know what it is, but… I know what it came here for.” She gestured around to the mushrooms in the room. “This is its home.”

Roja balked. “What?”

A sigh. “Years ago, I had just opened my shop here in Arbor, but back then it was a leatherworker’s shop. See, my father–Voi preserve him–had a shop in the Underground, making all sorts of tunics, vests, aprons and whatnot. He taught me the trade ever since I could hold an awl.” She glanced to the side. “But here in Arbor, well… Leather comes from animals and that means that at some point, that animal must have died. Now it’s not illegal to work or wear leather, but you know as well as me that it’s a bit… Unsavory.” Roja conceded a nod. “So that’s why I set up shop here in the alley, where only clientele who knew who I was, would ever think to look.” She then pointed to the hole over which the hatch had been laid. “Then one day, in that exact spot, I stepped on a moist part of my floor. Before I knew it, the floor gave in and I fell down into this hole. It was here that I, uh, found the colony.”

She took in a deep breath and walked over to sit down next to Roja. She patted the ground for her to join her, which she did in a sheepish manner. “I remember the exact moment I fell. I held a length of linen in my hand–part of a tunic I was reinforcing–and as I fell down, the air was just greasy with this earthy musk, the very same that you smell when making the mushroom poultice. This place must have been overflowing with spores. That’s what the grease on the air is, I think: spores.” As if to demonstrate, she shook one of the nearby mushrooms and they both watched it release a dimly glowing cloud. “Then came the visions, oh the visions. I saw my birth, then a hundred different lives, then a thousand different deaths. I was a queen, a beggar, a warrior, a leatherworker. I was a priestess of Allianthé, I fought alongside Jaxx, I rode rolly pollies in the desert. And in one of my lives, I was a mighty runescribe.” A pause. “At the time, I suppose I must’ve found the vision interesting, because I delved deeper into it and learned of all my inventions and contraptions: I made runes for heating homes, obelisks that formed shields around settlements, self-moving carts, and so much more! Then the memories stuck around and when I woke up, I suddenly knew–I knew!–rune magic!”

Roja recoiled in disbelief. “What?!”

“Yeah, it’s crazy! I woke up and all of a sudden I could make stones produce light, clay boil water–”

“No! I mean–what about the story about your apprenticeship as a novice of runescribing?! About your lover who went off to fight with Jaxx?!”

Jezzy frowned sheepishly. “Well, I had to make something up! I couldn’t just say ‘I snorted a ton of spores and suddenly knew rune magic’, now could I?”

“Y-you could have just said that you had learned it!”

Jezzy sighed. “Those kinds of stories don’t work, Roja. If you tell people you’ve learned rune magic, they start asking questions like ‘oh, from whom’ or ‘oh, what for’. No, if you don’t want people to pry, attach the lie to another tragic story, like a heartbreak.”

Roja chewed on her words and couldn’t help but agree, though her nod was reluctant at best. “Well… Then how did you meet this thing?”

Jezzy cast it a glance again. “It lived here when I came in. After I came to, I had already seen me and was approaching. When you said it had stared at you, I immediately understood what you meant, for I still remember those eyes. I remember the terrible headache they gave me. I did not feel welcome in the slightest. However…” She held up a finger. “... The creature hadn’t accounted for my newfound ability, and luckily, it seems it didn’t know what rune magic was. So I drew up a trap for it as it approached. As soon as the creature touched me, I had it transported to a far off place, never to be seen again.” She frowned at the creature behind the bars. “Or so I thought.”

Before Roja could follow up with questions, Jezzy added: “After that, I experimented some with the mushrooms and realised what we both know: that they have potent hallucinogenic potential, and that these hallucinations are not just in the head–they can manifest in reality itself. So I refurbished my shop and opened a house of healing. I wanted to share this gift with the needy, the people whose world had come crashing down, those who needed to realise that salvation was just a dream away.”

Roja furrowed her brow. “Then… Why are you taking money for it?”

“Well, I couldn’t just give it away, could I? To my knowledge there are no substances like this in the known world–this could be the only colony of these kinds of mushrooms! If I told everyone about it, it would be chopped down and snorted in an hour–not to mention how the Deathguard would react to Arbor’s populace exterminating a rare species!”

Still, Roja couldn’t wrap her hand around it. “B-but… This is wrong! This, this is this creature’s home, isn’t it?”

Jezzy nodded with a sad frown. “Yes, it is, and what I am doing is terrible to this one individual, but… Roja, think of all the people we are helping! Think of where you were before your vision! These mushrooms, they improve lives, they heal broken souls. I… understand if you think I am a monster, but please know that all I’ve ever wanted was to help people. The visions I saw, the lives I could have lived–they showed me that nothing in the world matters more than being there for someone else. Out of all my thousand deaths, the ones that haunt me in my sleep are the ones where I died alone. I would not wish a lonesome existence upon even my worst enemy.”

There was a silence. Roja’s eyes shifted between the mushroom creature and Jezzy. The silenced reigned for a while longer before Roja said, “I don’t think you are a monster.”

The next day, they opened the store as usual.

Veneficus awoke with a start, his body ached from the bruises acquired during the chaotic events in the village. Coughing up water, he found himself sprawled on the side of a makeshift raft, a section of a building that had somehow ended up floating in the river. The air carried the scent of dampness, and the gentle sway of the raft beneath him added a disorienting rhythm to his senses.
As Veneficus struggled to sit up, he looked around to figure out where he was.

The once-familiar village was now nowhere in sight, the burning remnants and chaos replaced by a different, serene river landscape and all around it, desert. He squinted his eyes, hoping to see the familiar silhouette of the Tree of Life from Arbor in the distance, but it was absent. The landscape had changed, and he couldn't even discern the direction he had come from.

The realisation dawned upon him that he was nowhere near the village. The absence of the Tree of Life and the unfamiliar surroundings left him scared. Very, scared. He sat down on his “boat” and cried. Cried for what seemed like hours. Cried for the death of the people he knew, even if he hated them. Cried for the loss of the only thing he knew and he cried upon realising that now, he was never going to be bullied anymore by those kids. It was truly a strange thing to cry, he realised. He wished those kids dead for many, many years and now that they were gone, Veneficus realised he would miss them, as they were undoubtedly dead.

Cautiously standing on his makeshift raft, Veneficus tried to get his bearings once more. The absence of the village's smoke and the changed landscape made it clear that he had drifted far from Arbor. The memory of the Outer Beasts' roars and the burning village felt like a distant nightmare in this new, unfamiliar reality as different sounds could be heard from around him. Desert monsters, more outer beasts or civilization? Veneficus didn’t know.

As Veneficus continued drifting on his makeshift raft, the tranquillity of the river was suddenly shattered by a disturbance in the water. A strange movement caught his eye, and he peered over the edge of the raft to see a school of enormous worm-fish. Each creature was about three metres long, resembling elongated white worms with distinctive flippers on their sides, resembling fish.

Curious, Veneficus observed their synchronised movements, but his attention was soon diverted as the worm-fish abruptly changed direction, their focus fixed on a larger, more menacing figure in the water. A shark-like creature with long wings glided through the river, desperately trying to evade the relentless pursuit of the worm-fish.

The worm-fish, with their streamlined bodies, swiftly closed in on the winged shark. As the winged shark tried to escape, one of the worm-fish surged forward, opening its mouth wide, revealing hundreds of small, razor-sharp teeth. Veneficus watched in awe and horror as the worm-fish clamped down on the winged shark, its green blood mixing with the river's currents.

The water soon became murky and green as the worm-fish tore into their catch. Bits of meat and greenish blood were thrown into the air, creating a bloody show. Some of the torn flesh flew through the air, and Veneficus, quick to seize the opportunity, started catching bits of meat as they flew above the water.

As he observed the feeding frenzy of the worm-fish, Veneficus understood very fast that the river is not safe and he should definitely NOT go into the water. The river, now stained with the remnants of the winged shark's demise, guided him towards a bend where the waterway took a sudden turn.

Lost in the aftermath of the feeding frenzy, Veneficus was abruptly jolted from his observations as the raft surged forward. The swift current, combined with his distraction, propelled the raft faster than he expected. Before he could react, the raft collided with the riverbank, the impact sending a shock through his body.

Veneficus, now clinging to the raft, found himself stranded at the edge of the river. The abrupt stop left him disoriented. Glancing around, he realised that he was ashore. As he prepared to continue his journey on foot, the memory of the weird underwater encounter lingered in his mind. The ferocity of the worm-fish, and the unpredictable nature of the river had become clear reminders that his quest for survival in this unfamiliar realm would be filled with challenges. With renewed resolve, Veneficus embarked on the next phase of his journey, uncertain of what lay ahead but ready to face the mysteries of the river.

The roar of battle echoed down in the dark.

Far beneath the eastern rim of the land of origins, in Tricity’s demon infested mines, Heroes fought to reclaim what had been stolen. Not just the riches of the earth, but the very souls of the miners who had once extracted that harvest.

They also fought for their lives.

Having discovered the terrible truth after being baited by false cries made by enslaved souls, Jaxx, hero of ages, and his allies Seam the duel wielding avine and Lilly the betentacled goblin, had sought to slaughter more of those terrible beasts. Yet they were in enemy territory, and though the bodies were piled high around them, yet more beasts still came.

“Running low on bolts” Lilly called out as she fumbled one of her few remaining shots into her crossbow, and then immediately spent it to take out the singular pulsating eye of some half seen horror bearing down on them. Its screeches briefly drowned out any talk till Seam gutted it with his knife, after which he added “and I’m low on everything, my limbs are burning here” through labored breaths.

One, two, three, four and with a dodge to the side, six. Jaxx's movements started out fast, dropping smaller demons one by one. No fear in his eyes, only burning determination to kill every single of them.

Yet determination meant nothing against overwhelming numbers. Numerous cuts and bruises started to appear on the hero's body and even Heropentia started to look like it'll break soon.

Jaxx's metal arm was covered in guts and what not from where he used it to deliver a blow to a demon.

Sweating heavily, he echoed the words of the others. “Keep those bolts only for kill shots! Seam, breathe, keep close to me. If they separate us, we're dead. ” he shouted, approaching Seam as much as he could.

Both offered affirmations, Seam pulling back towards him, Lilly switching to focusing on housing her tendrils to fight despite the burn injuries they had suffered. Even with that, it was clear that the two jr heroes were getting close to the ends of their ropes, unable to keep up with Jaxx’s stamina and experience.

While Jaxx was clearly better at fighting than the other two, he too started to slow down and if the assault would continue for a few more minutes, they’d certainly be overwhelmed.

“Back down. Step-by-step. We can’t take them. Better to return later with more people, we definitely didn’t expect this here. ” he said between labored breaths as he cut another demon that got too close.

With a roar, he jumped towards the demon and lifted it up with his sword before throwing it at one that was approaching Seam from the side.

“MOVE!”

The two did not need to be told twice. Seam leapt back and flapped his wings while doing so to pivot around and start moving, while Lilly switched from channeling a goblin warrior past life to that of a miner it could guide her footing. The man who had lived his whole life in this tunnel had no worry of getting lost in the winding branching network they had come through, and so sped them right towards the way they had come in, only to notice something strange.

Cracks and seams in the wall, loose rubble, the tell tale glint of dust in the air. He remembered these from a failed strike breaking attempt. He’d made those same cracks during it. For a brief moment, the goblin thought they could use this, and then as they approached, a shape in the dark moved, a quiet crack resounded through the tunnels, and another terrible truth revealed itself.

“Seam, watch out!” Lilly’s voice shouted at the speedy avian, before she lept, grabbed him, and hurled him back right as the trap the outer beats had concocted with stolen knowledge came crashing down. Right on top of her. There was a brief sight of green fresh rupturing and red blood spraying before the torch she had been carrying was crushed, along with her body, and the lights went out.

“L-lilly!” Seam cried in anguish, reaching futility towards where she had even as the tunnel continued to collapse towards him.

Or so it would’ve happened, if not for Jaxx’s new gift. Time slowed. The rocks seemed to move in slow motion, Lily’s face in pain…and then he came. In a flash, for everyone else, and in a sprint for him, Jaxx ran towards Lily and just at the last moment pulled her from under the massive rock…only for the time slow ability to end and for the group to fall downwards into the darkness.

They all reached the bottom with a loud THUD. Moments passed, with Seam waking up first. What he saw made his feathers stand up. Glittering seams of tin ore reflected the light of their torch, casting a silvery light upon the vile shapes of demons. Many demons. Luck was on the group’s side this time, as the demons didn’t expect them to survive the fall, nor that they’d reach the nests.

Our heroes were surely done for and then it happened.



As it was written in the Khodex of Creation at the end of every heroic arc, for a continuous 24-hour period, the cosmic forces align to infuse the hero or heroes participating in the arc with unparalleled abilities and insights. During this time, not only are heroes enhanced, but all challenges and adversaries they face are similarly amplified. The 24-hour window becomes a crucible of intensified heroism, where heroes must confront formidable challenges on an unprecedented scale, reinforcing the significance of heroes in the fabric of the universe.

Raw, divine power coursed through Seam, Lily and Jaxx. Their injuries healed instantaneously, fatigue gone as if it was never there, their very senses seemed to be turned up to 1000. Minuscule movements of the creatures could be seen with clarity and the darkness of the cave seemed to fade.

Confusion, either from still being alive or from the empowerment itself might have squandered the first moments they had, had their senses not picked up something very important: there were shapes other than Demons in the cave. Pinned to the ground were 3 bodies, a pair of goblins and a hulking aardvark beast blood who they had last seen running off after a phantom cry for help, all three who had been in even more dire straits then. Rejuvenated as well, they found strength to fight back with tooth and claw, but it would not be enough.

The sight of others in trouble was more than enough to prevent any thoughts of how, or why, and instead pushed the heroes towards one simple act: they rushed in.

As the power coursed through his veins, Jaxx stood up and gave a grin to Lily and Seam before slowing down time to an almost halt, such was his power under the empowerment.

In a blur, he cut through the demons who didn't have time to understand that they died. All that they saw and the others, was a flash, an after image of Jaxx cutting demons one by one.

With a few more sword swipes, the demons pinning the goblins were dead, a frozen confusion on their faces. Stopping the effect, Jaxx didn't realize how much distance he actually traveled.

“Oooh, I like this. Come on, demons of incompetence! Charge me! I wanna bathe in your blood! ” shouted Jaxx as he pointed Heropentia at the incoming demons, on his face a massive grin. It was obvious to anyone that he enjoyed this.

The first one to die after his proclamation was not by his hands, but by Seam’s, as the avian plunged down from heights his flightless wings should not have carried him, directly on top of the beast still attempting to salvage the aardvark-kin. Blades plunged into its back, weakening enough that his fellow beastman could haul it off of himself, and join his two goblin companions on their feet.

It also left Lilly on her lonesome, or at least, so it seemed. Yet as beasts tore towards her, their own flesh seemed to betray them, convulsing, rupturing. Or rather, their stolen souls fought for freedom, empowered by Lilly’s grasp on the cycle, talent and divine blood both.

Yet even as some of the souls rebelled, others were wielded, the formerly mostly animalistic beasts coordinating, those attacking pulling away from Lilly to preserve their stolen souls, while others where now wise enough to not give Jaxx what he wanted, and instead attempted to hurl rocks and stones at him. Given their size and often multiple limbs, this resulted in quite the hail that the other heroes scrambled to avoid, Seam launching himself up, while the hulking aardvark-kin put himself between the shower and his goblin companions.

With a roar at Seam in thanks, Jaxx waited for the demons to charge yet they were smarter than Jaxx gave them credit. ‘Alas, it wasn’t the first time Jaxx dealt with ranged attackers. Not quite as big as these were or vicious but enough to give him an idea.

Using his metal arm to shield a part of his body and Heropentia to block anything that came towards his head, Jaxx made himself as small of a target he could and charged the demons which started to focus on him now that he was getting closer. A few stones hit their mark, striking Jaxx in his fleshy arm and one on the stomach which already started to bruise a bit but ‘thus he reached the demons.

One tried to run but was cut down almost straight away and the others, now with an enemy in melee range and not wanting to strike their own allies, stopped their ranged assault, focusing more on defense than attacking. It didn’t stop, of course, the few on the sides that were still far enough from Jaxx to continue their stone throwing towards the group but it was way weaker than before.

It dropped off further when Seam swooped down onto another Beast, slashing with both blades before leaping off to strike at another. Others ended up on the receiving end of ranged attacks meanwhile, Lilly perfectly placing her last remaining blots into vitals of beasts, each one laced with her venom thanks to a bout of inspiration from one of her oldest lives, while the two other goblins darted out from their protector’s cover when the hail slowed to grab their own stones to toss.

The group did more than well defeating the demons and it was obvious as bodies were laid on the ground everywhere. Noticing the thinning numbers, under the rules of the empowerment, the evil side was about to get their own boost. Suddenly the demons seemed to pull away and retreat, giving the group a much needed break from the fighting.

“RUN you bastards! RUN!” shouted Jaxx as he cut another demon that lagged a bit behind.
And so the bastards ran…for a bit. Stopping at a reasonable distance from the group, the demons started circling one of them, a bigger specimen onto which they proceeded to vomit some kind of eldritch slime before they pounced upon it. Flesh started to meld together and the screams started. Ethereal screams came from every soul caught by the demons as they got absorbed into one singular being. One tightly bounded mass of souls in one massive creature.

The mass of flesh had faces all over its dark and slimy body and over 30 limbs each ending in razor sharp blades. An almost constant scream came from within it. It no longer had legs but instead it dragged itself using the long sharp limbs. Underneath it, one could clearly see faces of goblins, beastkin and everything else they’ve caught, in anguish and pain. Standing at about 10 meters tall, the demon barely had space in the cave.

With a roar that would send chills in the spines of everyone around, it started dragging slowly to the group as a few of the limbs sprang out to impale or otherwise eviscerate the group.

The weaponless rescued trio fell back from this, while Jaxx’s charged forwards into the fray. Seam leapt up onto one of the limbs attempting to impale him, talons digging into flesh as he ran up it, while Lilly ducked and weaved, and then struck out with her own barrage of limbs, venom tipped tendrils spearing into multiple enemy limbs around her.

While Lily's tendrils necrotising the demon's limbs would've elicited some sort of reply from the usual demons, this one didn't seem to care as it simply severed its own limbs to stop the spread and then grew replacements

As Seam climbed up, it seemed that the faces he'd step on tried to bite him as smaller limbs grew from the spaces in between them like spikes.

Jaxx’s charge didn't seem to do much to the demon either, as each limb would regrow or change directions mid-air whenever he'd dodge. Using his time slow, Jaxx ran around the demon and tried cutting it apart piece by piece but somehow the demon, while affected by the time slow, wasn't as slow as the others were and it still managed to protect itself even as it spilled dark liquid from its body.

Even the return of the other three heroes did little to dent it, the goblins with their war hammers and shields, and the aardvark-kin with a two handed maul fairing little better than the cutting and stabbing heroes where.

Eventually the demon roared once more and hundreds of small spikes appeared all over its body, making Jaxx retreat.

“Does anyone have a plan? This thing doesn't seem to care that we're cutting it apart. ” shouted Jaxx to the others.

“Kinda a one trick roller here!” Seam called out in reply as he landed next to them Jaxx, having backed up upon seeing the senior hero’s own retreat.

“Maybe if a get load of venom into iz body? But am out of bolts, an not fast enough to get close!” Lilly called back before she lept to the side to avoid being skewered.

“We might as well try. Put venom on Heropentia, coat it in it. I can get close enough, just keep it busy. ” said Jaxx as he dodged again and got close to Lily, who promptly dragged her tendril fangs over it, giving it a slick sheen of deadly neurotoxin.

Jaxx activated the time slow again, this time feeling less powerful than before, with the demon’s limbs still moving fast enough to cause Jaxx to dodge or cut them as he ran towards it. Circling the demon, he started slashing it and on one occasion stabbed it deep in one of the faces..and THAT pissed it off.

In comparison to the limbs, the face didn’t regenerate like. Massive spikes appeared once more as the demon roared in pain before moving its bladed limbs like a chainsaw, at a speed that seemed too fast even for the time slow.

Jumping backwards, but not before getting a fresh new cut on his chest, Jaxx pulled Lily away at the last minute before she was cut down.

The chainsaw of limbs and blades swept after them, only for the aardvark's maul to crash into it with excessive force, disrupting the unnatural formation enough that they could get away. Several limbs twisted off out of the collapsing arrangement of blades, but Seam was there in a flash, thrusting and parrying to protect the big guy from a death by a thousand cuts

“Thank ya” Lilly gasped as she steadied her feet after the time sped pull, before looking over the damage he’d done and saying “Now we just gotta do summon with dat”

The other two goblin ladies were already on it, it seemed, having together grabbed one of the demon’s severed blades and then working together in perfect harmony to hurl it like a javelin at their foe, spearing an envenomed face with the beast’s own weaponry.

The demon parried the javelin almost immediately, yet it still managed to hit one of the faces which caused it to roar in pain once more. Again, multiple limbs appeared out of it, hurling themselves towards the group…exactly the same way as the javelins were thrown, the demon was learning.

“Aaadvark, on me. Let's keep it busy! Seam, collect all the bladed limbs we cut off, cut them to size, give them to Lily. Lily, target the faces. Shoot them all!” shouted Jaxx, before running in the path of the javelins and defecting them with Heropentia, earning him yet another cut. Big a target as he was, the Aaadvark took more, yet stubbornly refused to fall as he followed the legend’s lead.

The rest had a difficult plan to put into motion while under fire, but they made it work, mostly thanks to the twins and their shields which offered just enough protection for them to whistle and envenom the improvised crossbow bolts before returning them back to sender.

It took a bit to get going, but once it did Jaxx and the aardvark had the covering fire they needed to get in close, with claws spearing into their foe, crippling arms or whole sections of its body. Yet Lilly only had so much venom, and though the amalgamated beast was crippled by the time she was spent, it still raged on.

Jaxx followed up with his own assault, cutting limbs and faces. Deflecting the now poorly coordinated limbs, Jaxx prepared himself to leap and stab the last remaining face. Yet just as he was about to leap to deliver the final blow, the ground shook. The walls shook. The ceiling shook.

Everything shook. Stones began to fall, the entrance to the cavern they were in collapsed, and then so too did the floor as a distant god casually remodeled the underground.

“What the f-”

And then the ground fell away beneath them, and down they went through the darkness. The concept of time seemed to disappear as they kept falling but that didn’t stop the demon from trying to skewer them, even blind as it was but with its strength almost all drained up, Seam, using his wings, flapped them once or twice and with a shout stabbed the demon…killing it. Once and for all. A massive scream of pain followed as the creature died and the souls, now free from their torment, illuminated the surroundings for a few moments, enough for the group to see the river below them, before disappearing.

“Everyone! Brace for impact! Hug the demon, it’ll soften the blow!” shouted Jaxx and he plunged Heropentia deep in the demon’s body, a hand extended towards Lily for her to hold on.

She reached out a hand, and then when that fell short, a tendril, and was pulled close. Behind, Seam swopped to and fro, grabbing both of the other goblins and then swooping them all to the beast, talons digging into it til they got a grip alongside the aardvark.

A few more moments passed and with a loud BOOM, the demon’s body crashed into the water, splashing gore, slime being expelled in every direction…and then our heroes fell unconscious from the shockwave.

About half an hour later, the group slowly started waking up. Standing upon the demon’s body, it was obvious they were being carried downstream, where was anyone’s guess. Yet in the distance, they could see lights. Very bright lights and a blue ceiling above, hundreds of meters above.

“Everyone alright? Alive and hopefully well? ” said Jaxx with a rough voice.

He got a groaning chorus of confirmations, at least for the alive part. The wellness was debatable, given both bruises from the fall and injuries from the battle. Lilly immediately set about helping with those, digging out a thankfully still intact container of R’kava along with the metal paint brush she’d used to attach Jaxx’s new arm, which she used to stem the worst of the bleeding they were suffering.

Seam meanwhile asked the obvious question, namely: “Where in Galbar are we?”

Looking around, Jaxx didn’t recognise anything. In fact, for once, this was a whole new experience for him. Jaxx had never been underground before. A few caves and small tunnels but never in the actual underground part of Galbar.

“I have no clue but if there’s something that I can tell you for sure, Seam…is that innocents are that way. ” he replied to Seam as he pointed in the direction they were drifting in, towards the lights and whatever else was there.

What came after was a very, very slow drift downstream. Hours, maybe even days passed as they drifted and drifted. Going off the demon proved to be a very bad idea as some very long worm-fish made themselves at home chomping bits off the demon and they didn’t seem the type to discriminate in what they call lunch.

Eventually arriving in what seemed a massive river, the group would notice the structures now that they were closer but still far in the distance. Sadly, slowly, but surely, Jaxx’s mind was shattering. The ringing, first a small afterthought became like a church bell going on and on. First it stopped Jaxx from sleeping and as it continued, it seemed that he was on edge at every moment. Everything set him off, even the smallest grumble would have him twitch and pull Heropentia out.

“WE NEED TO GET OFF THIS PLACE! ” he roared in obvious pain.

His twitchyness was causing everyone to give him a wide berth as was possible on the dwindling mass of flesh, while Lilly was privately attempting concoct some kind of sedative combining venom and R’kava as one final attempt to stave off what the Mother had told her was to be Jaxx’s fate should he be unable to answer the call for too long.

Luckily, someone heard them. Far in the distance, the group could see shapes on the water. Very fast moving shapes…and then, they all had a feeling like they were being watched. A bright yellow light soon enveloped them and the demon’s corpse and poof they were gone.

With another poof they appeared on the shore of the sea they would later find out was named the Obsidian Sea. The lights in the distance they once saw were now closer and before them a massive city stood. Voices in many languages could be heard from afar and a group of what seemed to be shining goblins was running towards them, all clad in armor with 4 gemstones engraved in them.

Behind the goblins guards, the group could clearly see many-many more goblins walking around dressed up in what seemed to be leather from different beasts or even clothes made out of diamond. Many buildings could be seen rising up into the “sky” and some even seemed to go down, clearly towards different levels of the cave.

While behind our group, large shark-like creatures with wings were gliding just above the water. On top of these creatures, a goblin stood on what seemed to be a saddle. Smaller buildings and towers could be seen surrounding the shoreline.

“Who. Where. What?” Lilly stammered, while Seam just cried out “land!” as he fell to his knees, too relieved to be on solid ground again to worry about those questions. It fell to them, the aardvark (who’s name Jaxx’s trio had learned was Desmond only after fighting a life of battle alongside him, Pim and Pam) to give a wave and a call of “Hello there!” to the approaching goblins.

All that Jaxx did was fall on his knees, Heropentia at his side for a few seconds before he started walking towards the goblins. His face blank, as if he wasn’t in control of his own body anymore. He just knew he needed to walk forward. The goblins quickly surrounded the group, pointing large pikes towards them and shouting different variations of “Stop and don’t move” in different languages.

Not that it stopped Jaxx, he kept walking and walking…until a pike poked him in the chest. Only for him to slow time down and in a blur appear behind the goblins, still walking forward…then he stopped.

In fact, all the goblins stopped. Lily, Pim and Pam. In their minds they heard a female voice, beautiful and calm telling them to “Stop. Contain the others. Come.” In a flash, Jaxx had Heropentia in his hands and pointed at Desmond’s neck, two words coming out of his mouth as if forced “Don’t. Move.”

“Wha- uh huh?” Desmond replied, incredibly confused, and even more so when his two companions flanked him from either side, hammers raised and ready to take out the towering beastman’s knees if need be “you two? What is this”

Seam for one was in no position to offer answers, as the other beast man did have the time to rise before he was ensnared by lilly’s tendrils, his own knife pressed to his throat preventing him from uttering even a word.

The voice came again, only heard by the goblins of the group “My name is Maxima. I rule here. Trespassers. Come to me by my order. Listen to my command. ” said the voice and suddenly they knew where to go.

Not that the guards were going to let them go anywhere else.