| “ | I wish there was a better way. I wish everyone could see the sun, have a full belly, and know nature as a friend. There is a balance yet to be found.
— Halsin
|
” |
The Master druid of the Emerald Grove in the Western Heartlands of Faerûn, Halsin started life as a more free-spirited wanderer. His attachment to nature began as a child when he dreamt of a companion, Thaniel, a child-like nature spirit who was Halsin's best friend. After being held captive as a sex slave in the Underdark for three years, Halsin eventually assumed leadership at the grove. In the year 1373 DR, as the general Ketheric Thorm raised an armies of Dark Justiciars to conquer the region, Halsin joined with the Harpers to stop Ketheric. Though the paladin of Shar was defeated, Ketheric unleashed a horrible curse on the lands in his domain, corrupting Thaniel into the Shadowfell. Haunted by this tragedy and his inability to escape it, Halsin spent the next century researching ways to defeat the curse.
During the Absolute crisis, Halsin began researching the rise in mind flayer infected that were appearing in the Heartlands. A party of mercenaries led by the human Aradin arrived in the area, searching for a treasure known as the Nightsong. Halsin, having learned that the Nightsong served some purpose in ending the Shadow-Curse, eagerly joined Aradin on his quest, though he was quickly captured by a band of cultist goblins at the abandoned Selunite temple they were encamped in. Halsin eventually encounters another band of tadpole-infected adventurers, after his apprentice Nettie tells them about Halsin's capture and potential ability to aid them with their infection. He then offers to aid the adventurers in seeking the cure to their infection in exchange for letting him accompany them to the Shadow-Cursed Lands, where he believes the source is located.
Dragalia Lost Royale (by Leolab)[]
Ch. 1[]
Van Arkride ducks around a ruined building, turning a shining stone in his left hand while his right holds the grip of his Stun Caliber, the blunt rod resting on his shoulder. He could almost feel the curse on him eating away at his body, and the soothing light of the Sunlight Ore kept that at bay. He slips it into his pouch, crouching under a window. A hunch told him there were a few very accurate projectile weapons among his opponents, and he wanted to stay away from clear line of sights.
His eyes narrow as he hears footsteps around the next corner. They stop, seemingly having heard him, too. He readies his weapon, dashing wide around the corner and stops, locking eyes with a young girl holding a spear at the ready. The two glare at each other, sizing the other up and waiting for the other to make the first move. After a few tense seconds, Van relaxes his guard slightly.
“Well, I’m pretty tall, so I guess I may not see a shorty every once in a while,” he says, scratching his chin sheepishly.
Sonoko relaxes her guard slightly, giving a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Welllll, I’m a bit of an airhead, so I might not notice a big oaf crashing about every once in a while,” she says.
The two nod, letting their weapons hang by their side as they walk down the alleyway towards each other. Van notices the girl’s grip on her spear tightening, and his own hand holds his Stun Caliber a little more firmly. They pass each other, Van concentrating on his hearing as he moves to focus on the other fighter’s footsteps. As he nears a corner, he breaks out into a sprint to round it. He spins as he does, hearing the girl’s footsteps speed up as well, and brings his weapon up to deflect a spear thrust.
He stands there for a couple seconds, no one in sight. The moment of paranoia passes, and he finally realizes that she had started running in the opposite direction, likely thinking the same thing he was. The Spriggan pokes his head out from behind the corner, seeing Sonoko do the same. He gives her a friendly smile and wave, which she returns before they part ways once again, looking for other fights.
Irvine balances himself on a tall boulder on the eastern island, his blank eyes scanning the rest of the rocky formations. He leaps to one side, kicking off a pillar to flip upwards and land on a taller chunk of rock. He looks around, spotting no other intermediary pillars between him and the sheer face of the tallest pillar on the island, which should give him good enough vantage points to see the rest of the field.
Seeing no other option, he grabs an arrow from his quiver and nocks it, aiming carefully before loosing it. He leaps, landing on the arrow’s shaft as it flexes into the stone and propels him upward. He flips in the air, landing on the formation in a crouch. He surveys the full field, spotting bits and pieces of clothing through gaps in the rubble of the central island and the trees and swampland in the one directly across from him. The southern island to his right would require far more effort to view into, though he could at least see the sole entry and exit.
He sees a lone person wandering in the northern island, and aims his bow at them. The Apostle pauses for a second before loosing the arrow, frowning in thought. He wasn’t acting as part of the Band of the Falcon. Not as a mere sniper in battle, but as a hunter. His lips lift slightly, not quite a smile as the eye in the center of his blow glitters with malice. A stronger foe would be more satisfying. Like the blonde he sees on the forested area.
He lines up a shot and fires, more of a challenge than an actual strike. He stares at his target in anticipation, wondering how she would respond.
The oldest-looking participant in this match strolls through the hills of the northern island, coming up to its edge and looking out at the central and southern islands. She looks about, trying to see if she can spot any of the other contestants, and jumps in surprise as she hears the loud clang of something hitting a piece of steel with immense force. Her foot rolls on a loose stone as she lands, tripping her and sending her falling into the miasma below.
Jack Krauser creeps between the trees of the western island, careful not to expose himself too much. He had seen the bowman fire accurately and powerfully, and could do very well with being off his radar. He saw the large, muscular man with a staff prior, though the long-eared man had almost noticed his presence.
The cultist continues to move, noting possible choke points or areas he could use to ambush people. He hears ragged breathing from behind a tree, on the other side of the swamp. He folds his red beret and puts it inside one of the pouches on his vest and slinks down into the shallows, careful to keep his nose above water.
He slowly makes his way over, spotting a frazzled woman with blonde hair and a massive axe hiding behind a tree.
Ch. 2[]
Marla rolls out from the shade of a tree, swinging her axe to deflect the arrow she knew would come for her throat. She spins with the swing, rotating and slamming her back against the tree in confusion. She peeks out, seeing that another tree farther out had shielded her from her assailant’s sight. She sighs in relief, partially real and partially for the benefit of the two other sets of eyes she felt watching her.
One of those pairs melts out from the forest, a burly elf with a frosted staff leaning on his shoulder. He claps, giving an impressed smile before bowing.
“That was inspiring,” the elf says, rising as his smile turns slightly flirtatious, “I am Halsin. May I have the pleasure of your company, Miss…?”
“Marla,” the noblewoman replies, blushing, “Marla Baldini.” She sicks out her hand for a shake, only for Halsin to grasp it and lift it to his lips.
“Enchanted, Ms. Baldini. It is nice to meet someone who doesn’t immediately try to kill you,” Halsin says. This reduces the already flustered mess of a half-dragon into partially coherent babbling her face somehow turning even more red at the remarkably forward advances.
“I… I… um… I’m afraid I’m quite past my prime, but if you’re okay with me…” she stammers. Her mind thrown into disarray, almost as much as when Alistar had launched his own pursuit, Marla doesn’t quite notice the guarded look in Halsin’s eyes as she lets the flattery get to her.
“Past your prime? What nonsense,” Halsin says, laying it on a little thicker, “All I see before me is a beautiful woman.”
“I’m a noble, at 27 I’m far too old for a serious relationship…”
“Why, what fortune! I’m nearly a thousand, and far too young for a serious relationship! What say we just enjoy each others’ company for a while?”
“I… I… uhm…” Marla says, one again reduced to a stammering mess just before a steel knife rips through her throat from behind. The last things she sees is Halsin’s shocked face, and the last thing she feels is a muscled arm ripping her ore pouch off her belt.
Jack Krauser gives the burly elf a challenging glare as he pulls out the stone from within the dead woman’s bag, stuffing it in his own. The two men continue locking gazes as he takes his beret out of its pouch, putting it on his head as he flicks the blood off his knife. His arms hang by his side, seemingly relaxed yet still clearly ready to spring into action if necessary.
“My, seems you prefer to be the penetrating partner,” Haslin says with a suggestive eyebrow waggle at odds with his cold stare, “I can work with that.”
“Fuck you, knife-ear,” Krauser snarls, brandishing his own knife, “I’m no fucking f—”
On the central island, Van Arkride wanders through the ruined buildings marking the northern quadrant of what appears to be an abandoned settlement around a temple. The archer was clearly occupied with something happening on the western island, which allows him to move a little more openly than he had at first. He reaches the edge, and spots something shining in the grass slightly outside the town.
He gets close to the edge of cover and activates his Xipha, deploying Shards before sighing and deactivating them. He activates it again, nodding to himself as he feels an additional bit of magic washing over him, increasing both his defensiveness and his ability to react to incoming attacks. He sprints out, taking no chances as he scoops up a piece of Sunlight Ore and dashing back to cover.
Krauser tilts his knife, the steel knocking a blade of ice away from his face. It explodes, showering the area in ice. The soldier dodges most of the impact, but slips on the patch of ice. He rolls forwards, getting out of the way of a conjured wall of fire and rising into a crouch. He lunges in, taking a few test swipes at the elf. Halsin twirls his quarterstaff, knocking the blows to the side.
The Druid jumps back, grinning as he transforms into a Cave Bear. The beast takes a swipe at Krauser, who snarls victoriously and swipes at the oncoming paw with a knife. A bear he knew how to fight; far simpler than some crazy fuck shooting weird shit from his hands. He grimaces in annoyance as the blade stops on a magical barrier.
He slides around it, slashing again. His knife flashes, fluidly swapping between one swipe to the next as the bear tries, unsuccessfully, to get away. Until, finally, his steel bites into flesh. The bear roars and turns towards him, fangs bared. A slice to the snout breaks the attack off, and another strike slices through a paw. The bear roars in pain once again, and a final stab with the knife goes through its head, killing it.
The bear transforms back into the elf, breathing heavily in front of a smirking Krauser. The light from the fire fades, letting natural sunlight in as the fighting pair realizes what this means. They leap backwards, glaring at each other as arrows fly between them. Irvine looses more shafts, driving the pair deeper into the woods and away from each other.
Van crouches inside a ruined structure, finding a small burlap sack that rattles metallically as he pokes it with his Stun Caliber. He activates the blade, slicing through the rope holding it shut. Several cans spill out, each of them with brightly colored labels. Most of them seem to be ordinary food, though there was one labeled surströmming that bulges suspiciously.
He bats that one aside, gathering the rest. Beans, potatoes, other vegetables, soups… enough to make a meal. Pushing aside the occasional worry of where exactly this food comes from, he sets about building a fire, having also scavenged some cooking utensils. Having to avoid attention from others would be something of a drag, but waiting out the sniper would require making at least some food.
Ch. 3[]
Dickson walks though the forested western island, moving around the trees and taking care not to get caught in the shallow, but still sticky, bog. He makes his way towards the sounds of fighting he had heard earlier, calm but cautious. Fighting a weakened enemy was still a fight, and one with a higher chance of victory.
He turns as he hears a quiet rustling of footsteps, clearly trying to be stealthy but too injured or excited to completely disguise their passage. He rests his Sabre on his shoulder as Jack Krauser melts out of the trees, still covered in swamp slime.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Dickson says.
“Dickson,” Krauser says, sighing, “Look, soon as I saw you I knew we thought similarly. Think we can hold off until I kill that big elf?”
“If we’re really kindred spirits, well, you should know my answer to that.”
“Worth a shot anyway,” Krauser grumbles, holding his knife out in front of him in his combat stance. Dickson points his Sabre at his foe, seemingly in a combat salute before pulling the trigger on the handle. Krauser drops as he spots the movement, running forward and under the bullet his foe fired. He rises as he reaches the homs, aiming his knife at the other man’s jaw.
Dickson simply parries, the pair holding a blade lock until he kicks upwards, slamming his foot into Krauser’s face. The ex-soldier stumbles back, recovering just in time to parry a slash from the ex-giant. He lashes out with a kick, but is rewarded by a deep cut to his leg as Dickson flicks his wrist, sending his sword back to defend.
Krauser leaps back, landing steadily as he feels the Plaga within him stitch his flesh back together, its tendrils sliding under his skin. The two glare at each other, before Dickson breaks into a relaxed grin and points his Sabre at his foe. The cultist ducks as the disciple’s finger twitches, only for the homs to grin as he quickly lowers the barrel, firing his actual shot. Krauser brings his knife up out of reflex, hoping to deflect the bullet, but the large-caliber shot shatters the steel and embeds fragments into his shoulder.
He sends a mental signal to his Plaga, feeling his arms mutate as his foe charges. He brings his left arm up, the flesh and muscle peeling back as his bones knit together into a massive blade, erupting forwards and knocking the Sabre away. His right arm shoots forwards as the other man reels, flesh bulging as his hand elongates and fuses, more bones bursting through his skin as it erupts in a mass of fleshy tendrils, knitting the extra mass together into a claw that grabs his foe by the head.
The cultist smiles, savoring his victory as he draws his arm back for the kill. A gunshot rings out and he buckles, releasing Dickson as the homs man laps back, brandishing the smoking Sabre. His foe rises again, the tendrils knitting together a shattered kneecap. His feral grin turns into a frown as his foe leaps into the air, kicking off of a tree while bringing his arm forward in a stab.
Dickson levels and fires his Sabre once again, the bullet piercing through Krauser’s skull and shattering his spine. A quick sidestep moves him out of the way of the dying man as the body crashes to the ground. He then cuts the man’s bag open, retrieving the two ores and leaving the corpse behind.
Krauser’s back splits open, a fleshy scorpion-like creature emerging, its tendrils flailing as the Plaga escapes its host. It skitters off, needing to find a new host.
Jill Warrick ducks behind a stone wall in the southern reaches of the central island, an arrow flying over it and quivering in the wood of a bridge across from her, leading to the western island. A commotion on the other side draws her attention, as a wolf breaks out of the brush and races across the bridge. A fresh barrage of arrows pierces through it, killing it instantly as it shifts back into the form of a large burly elf who slides the rest of the way, taking an arrow to the shoulder as he turns and slams his back next to the startled Jill.
“Well, that didn’t go as well as I’d hoped,” the man says in a cordial tone, pulling out the arrow as his hand glows with a healing light.
“Clearly,” Jill says, watching curiously as his flesh stretches across the wound and binds itself back together.
“Thought I could get across here while the damned archer focused elsewhere and then take him by surprise,” he continues, “But hey, at least I found a new comrade. Name’s Halsin, by the way,” he says, extending his hand for a shake.
“Jill,” she says in a frosty tone.
“Come now, enough with the cold shoulder. How’s about we get to know each other a bit better, and then hunt the hunter?”
Halsin shivers slightly, indeed feeling his shoulder growing colder. He gives it a worried glance, suspecting poison on the arrow, but instead sees a spreading mass of ice freezing him to the wall as Jill gives him her frostiest stare yet. As the ice spreads across his muscled chest and nears his stomach, she reaches across and unties the bag holding his sunlight ore, wrinkling her nose as she does so.
“Not interested,” she says, creating a wall of ice to shield her dash across the stone bridge to the south, taking shelter in the volcano. As the ice crumbles and shatters under the barrage of arrows chasing her, Halsin sighs and tries to break the ice by flexing his muscles, though to no avail.
Ch. 4[]
Irvine sits on top of a boulder in the eastern island, looking over the rest of the field. The vantage point wasn’t quite high enough to see over the broken walls and shells of buildings on the central island, but the occasional shock of blonde or black hair allows him to know about where the rest are. He draws and fires into the trees of the western island, spotting what appeared to be a flash of steel. A clang tells him his aim was true, and that he’d have to put more power into his bow when if he wants to hunt that one in earnest.
With one of his initial marks down, the second vanished, and the third seemingly frozen behind cover, Irvine sits back, thinking. The other fighters were quite cautious, almost never leaving cover unless they had to. Which was likely partially his fault, due to how often he’d test them. He sighs and sits back; part of enjoying the hunt also means letting your prey roam around, giving it the hope you’re not watching before snatching that away.
His eyes narrow for a second, his gut instinct telling him that something’s lacking with this approach. He continues thinking on it as he looks over the field, arrows resting beside him until a target too juicy to ignore appears. This approach has served him well before; something must be slipping his mind if his instincts are telling him not to use it.
Halsin sighs as the ice around him thaws slowly. He could wildshape into a cat to get out, but that would be his last until he could claim at least two more of those glowing stones. He strains his ears slightly, hearing footsteps approaching. A young girl with a spear turns, eyes narrowing as she spots the trapped druid.
He sighs inwardly; someone that young would be hard to charm with his seductive abilities, meaning that he’d have to actually fight in order to get her stone. And himself free. The elf wonders for a second whether he could potentially convince her through simple, though less fun, dialogue, but that notion is dashed as Sonoko levels her spear, frown on her face. Halsin wiggles his arm, pointing a finger as she charges in.
Bolts of eldritch energy lash out from his hand, a trick taught to him by Wyll. Two of them fly harmlessly to the side, while the third is blocked by the sudden appearance of a crow in front of the child. Halsin grimaces, channeling power to crate a burning orb in front of his foe. Sonoko, undaunted by the heat, simply leaps over it, the crow appearing again to shield her from its flames. She lands lightly on the other side, ducking under another trio of Eldritch Blasts.
The blade of her spear separates into seven parts as she leans further into a crouch, each shooting forwards and slamming into the sheet of ice pinning him down. She kicks off the ground as they return, the spearhead rebuilding itself as she flies towards her foe. Her hit lands true, the spear shattering the ice and piercing Halsin’s heart. A slash upwards as she dislodges finishes the job, and the searches the corpse for a bag containing a piece of Sunlight Ore.
Sonoko sighs in frustration as she doesn’t find it, pulling out her phone and quickly undoing her Hero form. She presses the button again, re-arming and re-transforming. She has a feeling she’ll need the extra two uses of the defensive barrier for her next fight.
Van Arkride crouches near the sole intact building visible on any island, a temple-like area. Since he had been doing such a good job of avoiding notice so far, he might as well search for the central ore shard. There was an unusual note of amusement in the voice that told them how to remove the curse; if his instincts were worth the sugar he keeps feeding them, there was a twist in where the last ore was hidden.
“So if I were the kind of sadistic bastard who set this up, where would I hide it?” he mutters, speaking his deductions aloud. A bad habit his blood part-timers had gotten him into, but one that was proving hard to break. “They clearly know something about how people think. Most humans, when told ‘you need to bring ten of these to an altar’ would focus on getting them first and then heading to the altar to combine them. But he sounded amused when telling us this, so it’s likely the last place anyone would think to look,” he continues, rounding the corner and heading through the archway.
The room was a simple, domed circle. Grass and ivy had long overgrown whatever the original floor was, even creeping up the walls in a few places. The vines slightly obscure the frescoes on the walls, featuring a blonde youth and several dozen followers. Opened stone claws in sets of two surround a rusted sword in the center, clearly patterned after the limbs of five different dragons.
As Van expects, clutched in one of them is the remaining piece of Sunlight Ore.
The detective strolls over, plucking it out and placing it in his bag. With three stones fairly early on, he now had the one thing he needed most: time.
Ch. 5[]
Van Arkride walks through the ruined pieces of the city, seeking ambush spots. The general din of battle has quieted, so he hears the soft tap of shoes hitting stone. Above him. He turns, swinging his Stun Caliber to a defensive stance as he sees the blonde girl from earlier launching herself towards him, spear-first.
Realizing she’s lost the element of surprise, Sonoko extends the handle of her spear. Van parries it to the side, and she retracts it as it hits the ground, stopping her momentum. Van flourishes his Xipha for a second, pressing a button to deploy Shards before sliding it behind his back as it begins to glow.
“Guess I can’t overlook you now, eh?” he says.
“Sorry, but time constraints have sharpened my focus,” she replies.
“Shame,” Van says, flashing his Xipha once again, whose green glow dissipates as three spheres of lightning circle around his foe. Sonoko glances at them warily as they speed up, rising in to the air. She kneels as they combine, turning her spear into an umbrella and planting it into the ground as they combine into one. It drops, the cracking electricity dissipating on the shield.
She turns her attention back to her foe, realizing he’s no longer in front of her. Her ears hear a faint, mechanical, slightly impish voice to her side, and she instinctively shifts, interposing the umbrella between her and a swipe from her foe’s oddly blunt weapon. She rides the momentum backwards, collapsing the umbrella back into a spear and rapidly extending and retracting it as she lands on another wall, using the force of the thrusts to hold her steady.
A flurry of footwork allows Van to escape any major damage, running forwards and aiming a swipe from his Stun Caliber at his opponent’s face. She shifts her spear to umbrella form again, snapping it open as the attack doesn’t actually land. Van sips underneath, launching a fist upwards and catching her in the stomach. The middle-schooler flies upwards, protected by her Faerie but still feeling the momentum of the twenty-four-year-old professional fixer’s attacks.
Noting the odd resistance, the Spriggan plants his weapon into the ground as the Hero spins at the apex of her rise. He strikes a martial arts pose as she falls, still disoriented, and unleashes a palm strike followed by a punch and a snap kick, sending her flying towards a jagged piece of wall. The crow interposes himself between the fatal outcropping, vanishing after stopping her momentum. She grunts in pain, falling to the ground as her Hero outfit fades to her school uniform. Her hand rests atop her phone’s screen, body going limp.
Van grimaces as he sees the unconscious child, who looks to be no older than his youngest part-timer. Knowing full well that sentimentality might end up backfiring, his eyes search out the small pouch holding the piece of ore, which appears to be tied to her waist. He walks up to her, taking deliberate steps so as not to be caught unawares by anyone who had overhead their clash. He looks down at her as he nears.
Her eyes meet his.
Gritting her teeth at another ambush foiled, Sonoko taps her phone, re-engaging the Hero System. As her clothes shift and change, she uses one arm to launch herself upwards, aiming a swipe at Van’s throat which he avoids by tilting his head back. He takes a step in that same direction, looking at the sliver of steel left behind to impale him should he have tried simply looking forwards again. He leaps over a slice at his shins, a downwards slash blocked by the umbrella shield as he lands. She leaps back, making far greater distance than he could hope to cover with a similar charge. Light gathers behind the Hero as she points her spear at her foe once again.
Van, sensing an impending attack, takes a defensive stance as the light coalesces, turning purplish blue. It blooms into the shape of a star lotus, silhouetting her as she floats into the air. A massive boat forms under her, six enormous blades instead of oars. The girl stands on the bow in front of concentric gold rings, now wearing a pale lilac shrine maiden dress as she looks down on her foe. She lifts her arm imperiously, commanding the massive vehicle to attack. The blades snap towards him, as he feels sudden, sure danger. As he reaches out his consciousness, ready to call upon the strength of the Grendel, all motion stops.
He and his opponent look in surprise at the arrow sprouting from her chest, blood staining her clothes. The massive boat shatters into light, rising into the air as petals as the girl they supported falls, phone tumbling out of her hand. Van runs forward, wincing as her body bounces off the ground before falling limp. The Spriggan cradles her, and seeing that the light has already left her eyes lays her down gently and slides her eyelids down.
He grabs the piece of stone from her pouch, looking around for her phone. He finds it, placing it on top of her body before closing his own eyes to show respect. He turns, leaving the body where it lies as his Xipha glows, sending a wave of healing over him as he walks off in search of a new foe.
Ch. 6[]
Dickson crouches on the southern reaches of the western island, peering through the ash at the gap between it and the central island’s southern area. He readies his Sabre to deflect any arrows and leaps, breaking through the greyish cloud and hurtling through the air over the pit of miasma. He rolls as he lands inside a ruined stone warehouse, the roof torn in half by something. He feels eyes on him, but curious instead of dangerous.
He steps out, turning and locking eyes with a young woman cautiously making her way across the bridge leading into the volcano. Her rapier is drawn and ready to deflect an arrow, much like his own blade was mere moments ago. The two stare at each other for a second, until Dickson breaks the silence.
“I think he’s not taking as many potshots. Not unless we do something big and stupid like that boat,” he says. Jill tilts her head slightly, her expression shifting subtly to the point where Dickson could easily make out what she was trying to communicate.
No shit, Sherlock, or something along those lines.
“Bastard’s been the hunter for a while now. How about you and I team up, make him the hunted?”
“No,” Jill says, pointing her blade at Dickson as she takes a combat stance, a white shawl appearing from thin air and settling on her shoulders, “I know that look in your eyes. Were I to trust you with my back, your blade would split it open.”
“Only after the arsehole’s dead,” he says, brandishing his sword as she gives him a look of sardonic disbelief.
Jill holds her blade at eye-level, advancing slowly as Dickson glares at it, the gleaming and slightly wavering steel drawing his attention despite his attempts to refocus on his foe. He levels his Sabre and pulls is trigger as Jill launches a spike of ice from the tip of the blade as she freezes the ground beneath her feet, sliding and speeding up as she closes the distance. The bullet ricochets off the top of the projectile, sending it careening into the ground as Jill leaps, pushing off it with her rapier extended. Dickson feels a chill around him, leaping back as a pillar of ice wraps around where he was just standing, Jill’s rapier threading a small hole where his heart would have been.
The block shatters as she careens through, freezing more ground in her path and picking up speed as she slides. Dickson sidesteps out of the way of another stab, swiping at her back. The blade is knocked aside by an icicle as the woman turns, far faster than she should, and slashes at the man’s neck. He steps back, the steel drawing only a thin line of blood instead of an arterial spray as he parries a flurry of icicles dropping from above, firing the gun of his Sabre as he does.
Jill creates several shields of ice, stopping the bullets but also her relentless charge. Dickson runs a finger over the cut, Sabre leveled and ready to fire at a moment’s notice. His foe gives a cold glare as he grins fiercely, scarcely able to contain his excitement.
“Looks like I’ll have to bring out the big guns,” he says, light engulfing himself in light as his body wavers and grows, increasing in size until he towers over his foe, a massive blade with a twisted, jagged spine larger then her in his hand. A swipe bats aside an arrow flying towards his head as the Dominant of Shive wraps herself in a massive block of ice, the cold radiating off of it stopping another arrow in its tracks. She rises into the air, the ice shattering as she floats in the air, transformed into an equally large woman, enormous spears of ice hovering around her.
A gesture sends these flying, only to be smashed aside as Dickson’s sword transforms into a hammer as he sweeps in front of him. He charges in as a rain of frozen pillars chases him, Shiva sliding around a swipe from his sword and sending a point-blank shot of ice his way. He ducks under the projectile, swiping up as she floats backwards, firing off more magic. Dickson grins, his weapon shifting into a cannon and firing a barrage of his own magic bolts.
Her transformation had given her greater mastery of ice, which was certainly dangerous. But she’d also lost her sword, which limited her ability to pressure up close. He rushes back in as the arcane energies burst around them, shifting his cannon back to a hammer as he takes another swing, his foe simply floating out of the way. Shiva points her palm in the air, creating an enormous diamond of ice above the giant. Dickson’s weapon turns back into a cannon, pointing up and firing a purple beam. The ice strains against it for a second, before shattering harmlessly.
The giant swings downwards, the cannon turning back into a sword and slipping through his foe’s defense, slicing her in half. The bisected Eikon fades, turning back into Jill as the two halves fall to the ground. Dickson kneels, using his massive hands to rip off the defeated woman’s ore pouch and shove the stones into his own. He rises, looking towards a set of footsteps that emerges from the now-frozen ruins. A young man in a blue jacket comes out, spotting Dickson and taking a fighting stance.
“Ah, shit,” Van says, grimacing at his luck.
Ch. 7[]
“These fragile chains guide me to this realm, where I am now made manifest. I am both the nightmare, and the beast that devours it!” Van says, as a blue light explodes out from him. The force of it pushes Dickson to take a step back as black armor materializes around the Spriggan, who takes a hand-to-hand combat stance.
Despite himself, Dickson grins. While he was relatively uninjured from the previous fight, two back-to-back strong opponents was going to be a challenge. But such adversity was the spice his life had been so sorely lacking. He slices forwards, only for his foe to leap over the blade, landing on it and breaking out into a sprint. Dickson simply turns the blade over, and the armored fixer handsprings into a kick.
The giant staggers back as the hit lands on his chest, imparting far more force than it should. He grabs the smaller fighter out of the air with his free hand and flings him aside, only for the fixer to grab onto the top of a wall as he passes. He uses the leverage to flip in midair, planting his feet on the surface of the building and launching himself back into the fray, fist extended. He twists as he sees the disciple’s weapon, now a cannon, pointing at him, barely dodging the beam of energy lancing outwards.
Dickson spins, transforming his weapon into a hammer as he grips it with both hands. The head smashes into his foe, sending him flying to the ground. The giant smirks as he sees Van roll, charging back in. The fixer seemed to be the opposite of Jill; he lost the ability to pressure at range in favor of melee superiority.
He makes use of his size, swinging down his sword in another swift overhand chop. The Spriggan catches the blade with both hands, holding it off. Curious, the giant presses down. His foe sinks slightly into the ground, but with a grunt keeps the blade aloft. Dickson grabs one of the jagged spines on the back of his blade, using the extra leverage to push harder. The armored man’s knees buckle, and he punches the ground, seemingly to brace himself.
The punch, however, erupts the earth with blue light, which strikes the hand on the blade. The pressure eased, Van sprints out towards the giant. Dickson tries to respond, but some magic slows both his movements and his thoughts as a flurry of punches and kicks shatter both his knees. His foe kicks him, sending him reeling back, and then kicks the air again, causing a massive wave of azure energy to send him flying across the stone bridge leading to the volcano.
Dickson switches back to his Homs form as he rolls on the stone, hearing thundering footsteps approaching. He takes out his pouch, looking at it and the edge of the platform dropping into the miasma nearby. One last blow. One final act of spite. He winds up, only for his aim to be ruined as a black-and-blue blur, practically materializes above him, leg outstretched. The running leg drop smashes through his chest, killing him instantly.
Irvine squints on his rock in the eastern island, looking south at the ending battle. He draws his bow as the Spriggan snatches the ore pouch, taking aim just as the man vanishes into the volcano. He relaxes his aim, stowing his arrow into his quiver. His strategy of sitting back and letting things unfold had worked, narrowing down the number of opponents to just one. The remaining man had vanished into the volcano, which was fine. His opponent couldn’t stay holed up in there forever; even the ice woman needed to exit. All a consummate hunter, like himself, needed was time.
Irvine frowns, suddenly remembering why his gut was opposing his strategy. The instructions that they had ben given at the start come to mind; that they had been given a curse, and the ores slow their progression. This he had always remembered, but the last line had slipped his mind, with how much fun he’d been having during the hunt. That more ores one had, the slower the curse affected them. Time, therefore, was not on his side.
But no matter, Irvine thinks to himself as he gathers his weaponry, he had his fill of joy. That finishing the job was important hadn’t changed, only the fact that he needs to be active to do so. One thing was at least in his favor: his foe was wary of his aim. He transforms into his Apostle form for a second, drawing a string between the antlers of his front head. He nocks an arrow and fires, shifting back into a human as it flies. The arrow splits into dozens, then hundreds, then thousands as it arcs, raining down onto the bridge and the small cave that entered the volcano.
Hoping this would intimidate the man into staying put, Irvine breaks into a run. It was a race, and he had never yet failed to overtake a quarry.
Ch. 8[]
A few minutes later, Irvine weaves between the scattered shafts. Fortunately, nothing seems to indicate that his quarry had left its impromptu lair. And, indeed, the man stands within the cave mouth, Xipha in hand with a fearless grin on his face. Irvine knocks and fires a test shot, only for his foe to extend his hand, creating a forcefield that halts the arrow in its tracks. A brief strain on the man’s face tells Irvine that firing at a proper draw would be enough, but something in Van’s demeanor gives him pause.
There’s genuine resolve in his eyes, the resolve of someone with a plan to get out alive. He notices a greenish glow pulsating from the device, but to seemingly no effect. And the Spriggan, confident, decides to speak.
“One of my part-timers is a pretty smart guy,” he says, “Asked me to help him a bit with some of his homework, though I understood maybe half of it. One of the questions, though, was about inducing a volcanic eruption.”
Irvine’s eyes narrow. Were this so easy, any number of madmen would have done it already.
“I don’t quite remember the details, but it was something about introducing gasses to the lava and agitating it,” he says, the green glow fading again as the mountain rumbles. It starts up, this time fading as a whirling tornado of rocks and dust materializes before Irvine. The Apostle’s eyes widen as clouds of smoke billow out, but he stands his ground. His foe is far more likely to die from the eruption than he is.
A burst of blue light amidst the smoke draws his attention, and a black-and-blue streak of armor flashes past him. He feels a tug on his belt, looking down to see the ore pouch pulled free as the volcano belches a roiling cloud of searing hot gasses around him, obscuring his foe’s escape. He walks out, kneeling and drawing his bow, aiming it into the sky and concentrating on the footsteps of his prey. In order to get to the altar, there was one specific path that needed to be taken, no matter what.
His focus is slightly drawn to another source of noise, something skittering on the rocks nearby. He throws a brief glance its way, and is forced to roll backwards as the stray Plaga launches itself at him, seeking a new host. He swiftly reorients his bow, firing several arrows through the parasite.
Van dashes into the altar temple, the armor of the Grendel fading. His foe was no doubt racing to pursue, and he needs to finish assembling the stone quickly. He places one in each of the claws surrounding the altar, and in a flash of light they vanish. A pure, shining gem appears on the altar, seemingly crafted from a beam of pure sunlight as befits its name. The Spriggan grabs it, feeling its energies purging the curse from his body as he vanishes in a flash of light.
Expert’s Opinion[]
- 9th Place, Wynne, 8 points
- Much like how Veilguard is a shitty game, Wynne was a shitty fighter. She had quite a bit of defensive power with her healing and passives, but her lackluster offense failed to win the day. Combine that with her lack of tracking or survival skills, and she’s got last place.
- 8th Place, Marla Baldini, 9 points
- While her superhuman strength could potentially carry her through fights, her unwillingness to use her bigger guns and general insecurities left her easy prey for those willing to go all the way. This is especially notable with the lack of other skills necessary for this match.
- 7th Place, Jack Krauser, 17.5 points
- Jack’s definitely got the survival skills for this match, and is likely able to find out contestants and potentially assassinate those that aren’t paying attention. For the ones that did, however, he’s woefully underequipped to do anything but rush in close. His transformation being permanent and quite flashy didn’t help matters.
- 6th Place, Halsin, 24 points
- Halsin, as a D&D prepared spellcaster, has quite a few offensive and defensive tricks up his sleeve,
not quite as much as a Clericwhich greatly helps his viability in combat. Unfortunately, Druid wildshapes and spellslots are quite limited, meaning he can only get in a few scrapes before being left with cantrips and a fancy pole. - 5th Place, Sonoko Nogi, 25.5 points
- Despite being a bit spacy, Sonoko’s also a skilled, focused fighter. She even had a few “get out of jail free” cards thanks to Sebastian taking hits for her. Unfortunately, her transformation was just a little too flashy and negates her ability to absorb hits. The lack of defensives is what ultimately did her in.
- 4th Place, Jill Warrick, 35 points
- With decent survival skills, immense power, and a lot of smarts, Jill did quite well. Unfortunately, the toll her powers took on her prevented her from getting farther than fourth.
- 3rd Place, Dickson, 37.5 points
- Dickson is a noted survivalist, a highly skilled and strong combatant with millennia of experience, and has guile in spades. Much like Irvine, however, he’s not quite as versatile as Van, who has several options to deal with multiple scenarios. Unlike Irvine, he’s primarily a close and mid range fighter, without the necessary durability of an Apostle. And with as tenacious and dangerous a foe as he is, it’s likelier for his foes to kill him outright rather than simply pilfer his ores.
- 2nd Place, Irvine, 44 points
- Irvine’s got a lot of what would normally propel a combatant to a Royale victory. He’s able to engage from range, able to stay at range, can keep out of sight, and is durable enough to not just die when caught. Unfortunately, this royale also disincentivizes staying out of the fray, as others are likely to loot the bodies for the resources you need. The fact that there’s ample cover to allow a skilled fighter to force him into a confrontation means that while he’s not quite likely to die, he’s also coming in on his enemy’s terms and thereby likely to lose his ore.
- 1st Place, Van Arkride, 49.5 points
- Van, though his versatility and general skill thanks to surviving and thriving as a Spriggan, manages to take the top spot. He’s capable enough in combat to win encounters reliably, he’s got enough experience with tracking and survival to avoid fights he can’t win, and he’s got enough stealth and cunning to simply steal any ores he can’t get in a fight. Congratulations, Trails, on your second Royale victory.