| [Vidi] |
| Human, Male, (Lancer + Priest Advanced Class) - Dragonslayer |
| Location: The Scorched Wastes |
There isn’t any time to rest.
The ashen soil of the wastes from here atop the mound that they’re standing on, stretching all the way to the distant horizon, flows and sinks in down to fill the gaps left beneath the loose sand, as thousands of bony hands reach up through the surface from below, creating self-filling cavities, as they pull themselves out. The graves of ten-thousand and then some people, who had once lived here, in this place, doomed to be a cursed, dead land, are refilled with ash and sand as their inhabitants return to the surface once again.
They’ve come here to put the dead to peace, as is their sacred task, given to them by the high-priest himself.
— Vidi kicks a skeleton back, swinging his lance out to the side in an arc, breaking off the heads of several, crumbling skeletons. He’s still good on health-points, but his soul-points are almost empty. He can last for a while without his abilities, but the others of his group will have more trouble.
But they had made a mistake coming here. They pushed in too deeply into the area, expecting the zone of danger to lie further into the wastes, marked by some significant site. Instead, however, they walked right into the middle of the grave, angering the spirits of the restless dead that now surround them on all sides in harrowing numbers.
He presses forward, arcing his ornately engraved lance back, a prismatic, kind light engulfing its nicked blade of silver, contrasting the darkness around them with a radiance akin to moonglow.
| (Vidi) used: {Holy}[Howling Strike] |
The lance flies forward, striking through the brittle chest of a skeleton, fracturing it into dozens of broken fragments immediately. The roaring light cascades down the wastelands, tearing through dozens, hundreds, of the undead as it takes the shape of a howling, fang-lined maw of a dragon.
— And then the light just dissipates as the spell runs out of power, half way through the swarm.
The hopeful gap that he had created in the horde is filled immediately, as new hands rise out from the glassed-sands there, sprouting like freshly growing weeds in a newly tended garden as they break through the layer of melted sand like worms rising from frozen soil in winter.
The hollow sockets stare their way, shambling towards them, reaching.
Vidi looks back over his shoulder. The others are getting overrun too.
Something grabs him from the front and he turns around just in time to see the bony face with an open mouth, sand pouring out of its crevices, pressing in just in front of his face as he’s pulled into the mass of bones.
The man kicks back off of the soil, trying to use one of his lancer class abilities to escape.
| (Vidi) has used: [Leap] |
However, instead of jumping away, as planned, his boot sinks down into the soft soil, pressing into one of the hollow, disturbed cavities.
— The ash, the sand, the strands of disturbed hair, everything changes in that instant. The powders, leaking from the mouths of the dead as would water from a freshly drowned person, stop falling. Instead, they rise, lifting up towards the sky.
The bones rattle, the skeletons shiver and spasm as a deep, rumbling vibration moves through the wastelands.
Vidi looks up, past the laughing, shaking skulls leaning down towards him, silhouetting the sky like figures on a blue canvas as everything falls back down, all at once.
The sand, the ash, the bones, himself.
It all becomes flat.
| [Gottlieb] |
Gottlieb whistles, watching the massive cloud of debris appear on the monitor as the low-impact strike reaches the desert and likely tons of fine, silky, desert sands are cast up far into the sky and atmosphere.
He looks over to the side as his experience window appears.
That’s… a lot of skeletons.
| [Battle complete] |
| (Gottlieb) has killed: (Gottlieb) has killed (Skeleton {LVL 10})(Skeleton {LVL 17})(Skeleton {LVL 12})(Skeleton {LVL 11})(Skeleton {LVL 10})(Skeleton {LVL 10})(Skeleton {LVL 13})(Skeleton {LVL 08})(Skeleton {LVL 08})(Skeleton {LVL 08})(Skeleton {LVL 10})(Skeleton {LVL 11}) … (+1427) |
| You got [4750/4750] EXP ! You got [6500/6500] EXP ! You got [8250/8250] EXP ! You got [9950/9950] EXP ! You got [12500/12500] EXP ! |
| *+~- [LEVEL UP!] -~+* |
| You are now level 20! |
| You got [12882/16500] EXP ! |
| [You have {06} attribute points to apply] |
| [You have {03} ability points to apply] |
| GOTTLIEB | |
| Level: 20 | Experience: 12882/16500 |
| Class: Orbital Gunner | Sub-class: None |
| Race: Human | Home: The orbital-weapons platform [Currently moving to continent {01}] |
| STRENGTH: 20 [+] | DEXTERITY: (7) [+] |
| INTELLIGENCE: 8 [+] | WISDOM: (7) [+] |
| LOVE: (7) [+] | LUCK: 9 [+] |
| [Raised STRENGTH + 06](To 26) |
| {0 Attribute Points remaining} |
| New Ability - [Strongman {03}] MAX STRENGTH is your primary stat. All other stats will rise to always meet at least 50% of your current STRENGTH. |
| GOTTLIEB | |
| Level: 20 | Experience: 12882/16500 |
| Class: Orbital Gunner | Sub-class: None |
| Race: Human | Home: The orbital-weapons platform [Currently moving to continent {01}] |
| STRENGTH: 26 | DEXTERITY: 13 (+06) |
| INTELLIGENCE: 13 (+05) | WISDOM: 13 (+06) |
| LOVE: 13 (+06) | LUCK: 13 (+04) |
| [You have {02} ability points to apply] |
There is a loud plinking sound, as the upper button on Gottlieb’s shirt pops, striking the monitor. The fabric of the uniform shirt’s sleeves ripping as the seams break from his growing muscles.
His head feels oddly light and stings with a deep panging. Gottlieb rises to his feet, holding his face as he tries to rebalance himself, feeling somewhat nauseous.
“Kai. I don’t… ugh…” He shakes his head, blinking. The world spins. “I don’t feel so good.”
He rubs his forehead, which feels like something is pulling itself around together inside of it, as if someone were taking a string and tying severed pieces of his mind back together.
| [The Goblin-King] |
I am the goblin-king.
But I kneel, lowering myself down before the only creature that I hold in most high reverence — The wood-mother.
We sit inside of a room, made out of woven roots and living leaves. A dozen strong goblins stand beneath it, carrying the entire construction and us along with it on our march.
She is the one who had ordered me to challenge the old goblin-king, back during a time that feels like it is many weeks old, despite only being days.
“I am honored,” I say to her. “To meet you again, Wood-mother.” I lift my eyes, looking at the creature, sitting across from me. She has two strong, hooved, long legs like a deer. But an upper body that is shaped like those of our people, yet longer and the color of a moonfilled river. She is taller, larger than any goblin, human or elf. I find her beautiful, but it is not something that I can ever admit to her or to my people. It would be unnatural. It would be against the ways of the forest.
I dig into my pocket and pull out a walnut that I had gathered from the forest floor, placing it between us, as is tradition.
A fine gift. It is a fine walnut. It has a strong, oily shell and a color of heartwood brown.
“You have done well,” she replies, looking my way and taking the walnut, accepting my gift. “The sky-light is pleased. I am pleased.” She nods. “Your people are pleased.”
A warmth fills me.
“The forest is yours to regrow, Wood-mother,” I say. I lower my head. “I and my people ask for your continued grace, to allow us to thrive in your shadow.”
The floor beneath us wobbles as the goblins below, carrying the small room, step over a hindrance on the grounds below.
A hand places itself on top of my head. Fingers run down the side of my cheek. I gulp.
“— Were it up to me,” says the Wood-mother. “This would be so. But the choice is sky-light’s to make.” A finger places itself below my chin, lifting my head up so that I may look at her again. “To know, we must wait for a sign,” she says. “For a gesture from the heavens if your tribe is to continue to remain with me longer still in the shadows of the wood, or if it is time for you to find a new wood-mother in a brighter place.”
I consider telling her that I would defy the sky-light to have my people and I remain with her forever.
But this would be sacrilege. It is an overstep of my bounds as king.
Goblins are nomadic creatures. Our tribes reside in a forest for generations, under the spirit of that forest, the wood-mother. There is one in every forest of note. She, being something with a life far longer than ours, cares for our tribes and our hearts, passing on the generational knowledge from one birth of pups to the next. She trims the fat of excess growth and rot, like with the old king.
And in turn, we keep the forests safe from humans and their lot.
This is the pact between the goblin-folk and the wood-mothers of all forests.
But every few generations, an ordained time of pain comes, when a tribe must leave their own wood-mother, to find a new forest and a new spiritual matriarch. This is done to prevent the stagnation of blood and the creation of damaging, long-standing traditions.
Our tribe has been with her for a long time now, for many generations. We love her.
I do not wish for it to be time to go.
Yet I do not hope so for the sake of my people, but rather for my own wants. I hope that the gods will forgive me for this selfish desire.
“I- I understand,” I reply.
“A king should never quiver.”
“I understand,” I repeat myself, straightening myself upright. She smiles, her hand running down my chest before returning to herself. “Wood-mother.” I lower my head. It is time for me to return to the hunt.
I fear that the sign the gods will deliver to us will be one of brightness, one of light. This will mean that our people will have to move on without her.
I turn around and open the curtain, staring out at the landscape, at the world that we march out into. I stare out over the horizon and watch the distant sunset.
— The goblins carrying the platform stop. I look down, getting ready to bark at them for disgracing the wood-mother with a delay, when I understand why.
My eyes return to the sunset, watching as a cloud forms on the horizon. It is red, like blood. It is black, like ash. It swirls together in the distance, rising higher and higher and higher like a serpent that reaches to consume the sun and soon — it does swallow it, blocking the sun entirely from our vision.
Loose rays of light shimmer through the gaps, casting visions of sunshine flowing through the canopy of a lush forest.
The world darkens, as if falling into shadow. A sign. This is a sign that we must stay in union. My heart strikes in my chest, painfully so. It swells with joy.
I clasp my hands and lower my head.
Thank you.
I lower myself in prayer.
Thank you.
| [Gottlieb] |
“Fucking hell,” says Gottlieb, blinking and rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room, his mind and body feeling right again. “Ugh…”
| [Remark] - Neurogenesis can be an unpleasant sensation. |
“You’re telling me,” replies Gottlieb. “I feel like someone just poured yogurt into my head.”
He looks down at his hands, flexing them. He is obviously more muscular, but he’s also feeling more… everything? It must be the results of this latest stage of the ‘strongman’ ability. It’s pumped up his other stats, apart from strength, significantly. Just like his body grew when he updated his ‘strength’ values, his brain must have rewired itself a bit by updating his ‘intelligence’ and ‘wisdom’ values.
Man, that ability tree is a really great investment.
— And Kai told him it was a mistake, because being strong in space is useless. Shows how much an advanced artificial intelligence really knows about life.
Being jacked in space is extremely useful.
Gottlieb looks over to the side, towards Grunheide. “— You didn’t actually mean the ‘impossibly large arms’ thing, did you?” he asks.
Grunheide quietly looks away.
Gottlieb sighs, getting up and looking down at himself. His shirt and his pants are… insufficient. “Kai, I’m going to go find some uniforms to steal from the lockers,” he says, getting up and walking off, his steps thundering out loudly as he walks down the station, as he has apparently put on a significant amount of mass.
He looks down at himself, seeing a visible set of abdominal muscles and large pectorals on his chest.
“Nice,” says Gottlieb, still convinced that this was the right choice, as he heads up the shaft and out of the gunner’s bay.
Razmatazz
I was overly optimistic in wanting to finish this entire story this month. But we're making progress at least. =)
| [Vidi] |
| Human, Male, (Lancer + Priest Advanced Class) - Dragonslayer |
| Location: The Scorched Wastes |
There isn’t any time to rest.
The ashen soil of the wastes from here atop the mound that they’re standing on, stretching all the way to the distant horizon, flows and sinks in down to fill the gaps left beneath the loose sand, as thousands of bony hands reach up through the surface from below, creating self-filling cavities, as they pull themselves out. The graves of ten-thousand and then some people, who had once lived here, in this place, doomed to be a cursed, dead land, are refilled with ash and sand as their inhabitants return to the surface once again.
They’ve come here to put the dead to peace, as is their sacred task, given to them by the high-priest himself.
— Vidi kicks a skeleton back, swinging his lance out to the side in an arc, breaking off the heads of several, crumbling skeletons. He’s still good on health-points, but his soul-points are almost empty. He can last for a while without his abilities, but the others of his group will have more trouble.
But they had made a mistake coming here. They pushed in too deeply into the area, expecting the zone of danger to lie further into the wastes, marked by some significant site. Instead, however, they walked right into the middle of the grave, angering the spirits of the restless dead that now surround them on all sides in harrowing numbers.
He presses forward, arcing his ornately engraved lance back, a prismatic, kind light engulfing its nicked blade of silver, contrasting the darkness around them with a radiance akin to moonglow.
| (Vidi) used: {Holy}[Howling Strike] |
The lance flies forward, striking through the brittle chest of a skeleton, fracturing it into dozens of broken fragments immediately. The roaring light cascades down the wastelands, tearing through dozens, hundreds, of the undead as it takes the shape of a howling, fang-lined maw of a dragon.
— And then the light just dissipates as the spell runs out of power, half way through the swarm.
The hopeful gap that he had created in the horde is filled immediately, as new hands rise out from the glassed-sands there, sprouting like freshly growing weeds in a newly tended garden as they break through the layer of melted sand like worms rising from frozen soil in winter.
The hollow sockets stare their way, shambling towards them, reaching.
Vidi looks back over his shoulder. The others are getting overrun too.
Something grabs him from the front and he turns around just in time to see the bony face with an open mouth, sand pouring out of its crevices, pressing in just in front of his face as he’s pulled into the mass of bones.
The man kicks back off of the soil, trying to use one of his lancer class abilities to escape.
| (Vidi) has used: [Leap] |
However, instead of jumping away, as planned, his boot sinks down into the soft soil, pressing into one of the hollow, disturbed cavities.
— The ash, the sand, the strands of disturbed hair, everything changes in that instant. The powders, leaking from the mouths of the dead as would water from a freshly drowned person, stop falling. Instead, they rise, lifting up towards the sky.
The bones rattle, the skeletons shiver and spasm as a deep, rumbling vibration moves through the wastelands.
Vidi looks up, past the laughing, shaking skulls leaning down towards him, silhouetting the sky like figures on a blue canvas as everything falls back down, all at once.
The sand, the ash, the bones, himself.
It all becomes flat.
| [Gottlieb] |
Gottlieb whistles, watching the massive cloud of debris appear on the monitor as the low-impact strike reaches the desert and likely tons of fine, silky, desert sands are cast up far into the sky and atmosphere.
He looks over to the side as his experience window appears.
That’s… a lot of skeletons.
| [Battle complete] |
| (Gottlieb) has killed: (Gottlieb) has killed (Skeleton {LVL 10})(Skeleton {LVL 17})(Skeleton {LVL 12})(Skeleton {LVL 11})(Skeleton {LVL 10})(Skeleton {LVL 10})(Skeleton {LVL 13})(Skeleton {LVL 08})(Skeleton {LVL 08})(Skeleton {LVL 08})(Skeleton {LVL 10})(Skeleton {LVL 11}) … (+1427) |
| You got [4750/4750] EXP ! You got [6500/6500] EXP ! You got [8250/8250] EXP ! You got [9950/9950] EXP ! You got [12500/12500] EXP ! |
| *+~- [LEVEL UP!] -~+* |
| You are now level 20! |
| You got [12882/16500] EXP ! |
| [You have {06} attribute points to apply] |
| [You have {03} ability points to apply] |
| GOTTLIEB | |
| Level: 20 | Experience: 12882/16500 |
| Class: Orbital Gunner | Sub-class: None |
| Race: Human | Home: The orbital-weapons platform [Currently moving to continent {01}] |
| STRENGTH: 20 [+] | DEXTERITY: (7) [+] |
| INTELLIGENCE: 8 [+] | WISDOM: (7) [+] |
| LOVE: (7) [+] | LUCK: 9 [+] |
| [Raised STRENGTH + 06](To 26) |
| {0 Attribute Points remaining} |
| New Ability - [Strongman {03}] MAX STRENGTH is your primary stat. All other stats will rise to always meet at least 50% of your current STRENGTH. |
| GOTTLIEB | |
| Level: 20 | Experience: 12882/16500 |
| Class: Orbital Gunner | Sub-class: None |
| Race: Human | Home: The orbital-weapons platform [Currently moving to continent {01}] |
| STRENGTH: 26 | DEXTERITY: 13 (+06) |
| INTELLIGENCE: 13 (+05) | WISDOM: 13 (+06) |
| LOVE: 13 (+06) | LUCK: 13 (+04) |
| [You have {02} ability points to apply] |
There is a loud plinking sound, as the upper button on Gottlieb’s shirt pops, striking the monitor. The fabric of the uniform shirt’s sleeves ripping as the seams break from his growing muscles.
His head feels oddly light and stings with a deep panging. Gottlieb rises to his feet, holding his face as he tries to rebalance himself, feeling somewhat nauseous.
“Kai. I don’t… ugh…” He shakes his head, blinking. The world spins. “I don’t feel so good.”
He rubs his forehead, which feels like something is pulling itself around together inside of it, as if someone were taking a string and tying severed pieces of his mind back together.
| [The Goblin-King] |
I am the goblin-king.
But I kneel, lowering myself down before the only creature that I hold in most high reverence — The wood-mother.
We sit inside of a room, made out of woven roots and living leaves. A dozen strong goblins stand beneath it, carrying the entire construction and us along with it on our march.
She is the one who had ordered me to challenge the old goblin-king, back during a time that feels like it is many weeks old, despite only being days.
“I am honored,” I say to her. “To meet you again, Wood-mother.” I lift my eyes, looking at the creature, sitting across from me. She has two strong, hooved, long legs like a deer. But an upper body that is shaped like those of our people, yet longer and the color of a moonfilled river. She is taller, larger than any goblin, human or elf. I find her beautiful, but it is not something that I can ever admit to her or to my people. It would be unnatural. It would be against the ways of the forest.
I dig into my pocket and pull out a walnut that I had gathered from the forest floor, placing it between us, as is tradition.
A fine gift. It is a fine walnut. It has a strong, oily shell and a color of heartwood brown.
“You have done well,” she replies, looking my way and taking the walnut, accepting my gift. “The sky-light is pleased. I am pleased.” She nods. “Your people are pleased.”
A warmth fills me.
“The forest is yours to regrow, Wood-mother,” I say. I lower my head. “I and my people ask for your continued grace, to allow us to thrive in your shadow.”
The floor beneath us wobbles as the goblins below, carrying the small room, step over a hindrance on the grounds below.
A hand places itself on top of my head. Fingers run down the side of my cheek. I gulp.
“— Were it up to me,” says the Wood-mother. “This would be so. But the choice is sky-light’s to make.” A finger places itself below my chin, lifting my head up so that I may look at her again. “To know, we must wait for a sign,” she says. “For a gesture from the heavens if your tribe is to continue to remain with me longer still in the shadows of the wood, or if it is time for you to find a new wood-mother in a brighter place.”
I consider telling her that I would defy the sky-light to have my people and I remain with her forever.
But this would be sacrilege. It is an overstep of my bounds as king.
Goblins are nomadic creatures. Our tribes reside in a forest for generations, under the spirit of that forest, the wood-mother. There is one in every forest of note. She, being something with a life far longer than ours, cares for our tribes and our hearts, passing on the generational knowledge from one birth of pups to the next. She trims the fat of excess growth and rot, like with the old king.
And in turn, we keep the forests safe from humans and their lot.
This is the pact between the goblin-folk and the wood-mothers of all forests.
But every few generations, an ordained time of pain comes, when a tribe must leave their own wood-mother, to find a new forest and a new spiritual matriarch. This is done to prevent the stagnation of blood and the creation of damaging, long-standing traditions.
Our tribe has been with her for a long time now, for many generations. We love her.
I do not wish for it to be time to go.
Yet I do not hope so for the sake of my people, but rather for my own wants. I hope that the gods will forgive me for this selfish desire.
“I- I understand,” I reply.
“A king should never quiver.”
“I understand,” I repeat myself, straightening myself upright. She smiles, her hand running down my chest before returning to herself. “Wood-mother.” I lower my head. It is time for me to return to the hunt.
I fear that the sign the gods will deliver to us will be one of brightness, one of light. This will mean that our people will have to move on without her.
I turn around and open the curtain, staring out at the landscape, at the world that we march out into. I stare out over the horizon and watch the distant sunset.
— The goblins carrying the platform stop. I look down, getting ready to bark at them for disgracing the wood-mother with a delay, when I understand why.
My eyes return to the sunset, watching as a cloud forms on the horizon. It is red, like blood. It is black, like ash. It swirls together in the distance, rising higher and higher and higher like a serpent that reaches to consume the sun and soon — it does swallow it, blocking the sun entirely from our vision.
Loose rays of light shimmer through the gaps, casting visions of sunshine flowing through the canopy of a lush forest.
The world darkens, as if falling into shadow. A sign. This is a sign that we must stay in union. My heart strikes in my chest, painfully so. It swells with joy.
I clasp my hands and lower my head.
Thank you.
I lower myself in prayer.
Thank you.
| [Gottlieb] |
“Fucking hell,” says Gottlieb, blinking and rubbing his eyes. He looks around the room, his mind and body feeling right again. “Ugh…”
| [Remark] - Neurogenesis can be an unpleasant sensation. |
“You’re telling me,” replies Gottlieb. “I feel like someone just poured yogurt into my head.”
He looks down at his hands, flexing them. He is obviously more muscular, but he’s also feeling more… everything? It must be the results of this latest stage of the ‘strongman’ ability. It’s pumped up his other stats, apart from strength, significantly. Just like his body grew when he updated his ‘strength’ values, his brain must have rewired itself a bit by updating his ‘intelligence’ and ‘wisdom’ values.
Man, that ability tree is a really great investment.
— And Kai told him it was a mistake, because being strong in space is useless. Shows how much an advanced artificial intelligence really knows about life.
Being jacked in space is extremely useful.
Gottlieb looks over to the side, towards Grunheide. “— You didn’t actually mean the ‘impossibly large arms’ thing, did you?” he asks.
Grunheide quietly looks away.
Gottlieb sighs, getting up and looking down at himself. His shirt and his pants are… insufficient. “Kai, I’m going to go find some uniforms to steal from the lockers,” he says, getting up and walking off, his steps thundering out loudly as he walks down the station, as he has apparently put on a significant amount of mass.
He looks down at himself, seeing a visible set of abdominal muscles and large pectorals on his chest.
“Nice,” says Gottlieb, still convinced that this was the right choice, as he heads up the shaft and out of the gunner’s bay.
Razmatazz
I was overly optimistic in wanting to finish this entire story this month. But we're making progress at least. =)
