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You breathe out heavily. Your arms feel like they have hellfire coursing through the veins. Your fists are numb. Sweat pours down your face.

Gabby is bent over, hands on her knees, trying to recover. At some point during the fight she decided to take off her robe, you don't remember when.

The ground is littered with ripped up spell scrolls and wands reduced to useless sticks. Quissonce shakes out one last one, giving it to Ed to break in half and toss once she is unable to milk one last spell out of it.

“Hey Gabby,” you turn your head to her from where you're leaning against the broken battlements of the city.

“Yeah . . .” she takes a few more breaths, looking up at you. “ . . . Al?”

You laugh a bit to yourself. “I lost count.” Rowe comes up and takes the last of your arrows from your quiver.

Gabby chuckles through her body's attempt to force her into passing out. “Eh, me too. I probably won though, so lucky you.”

“I think we killed them all,” Gale remarks. You've certainly killed hundreds. This one choke point is filled completely with the redead, providing anywhere from a two-foot to five-foot walking path of bones and putrid flesh. There's going to be a lot of clean-up required in the coming days.

“Alright, the hobgoblins are pushing forward now. I believe it's time we make our exit,” Quissonce comments, pointing towards the amassed forces that have decided to sit patiently outside your walls while their nightmarish pets sought to weaken you. They do seem to be shifting their formation. But that doesn't seem to be an offensive pattern.

(Who is that?) you hear. You look over to Rowe and see her squinting off in the distance. You follow her vision to the area she's examining and make out the ripple in the formation of soldiers as they get out of the way of what looks to be a group of particularly large and burly skeletons. Like they come from much larger sapients.

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Wait. You look down at the dead zombies and skeletons you've dispatched. They look like human corpses. Yet none of the species you've met on this Island have heard of humans. That does not add up. How old are these undead?

“UGH!” Eve's outburst breaks you out of your thoughts. “I thought we'd be done. Who the fuck is that fruitcake?”

You look up. Striding out of the hobgoblins' vanguard is a man wearing very gaudy, black armor with a skull on its front. A horned helmet masks his face and he carries a large sword. He stands at the center of the formation of burly skeletons. He seems to gaze at your group, still as a statue for a long moment.

Then, almost mechanically, he begins to stride towards you, his cadre of skeletons accompanying him. You're pretty sure Ed whimpers.

Gabby stands tall and readies herself. “Alright boys and girls. Looks like it's time to fuck up The Master.”

Quissonce looks at Gabby, puzzled. “Are you sure that's him?”

“Look at how that faggot is dressed. Of course it's him.”

Quissonce shrugs. “Well Eve and I are out of everything.”

“Pull back,” Kyra speaks. “Backup incoming.”

As if on cue Dolah practically rushes into you. She takes a quick scan of you all before talking. “I apologize for being late. There was a very powerful devil in the sewers.” Funny, Dolah doesn't smell like she just came from a sewer. She points at the armored man striding towards you still. “That person is very evil.”

“Thanks pal,” Gabby replies sarcastically. “Really wasn't sure about that one. I was having a moral quandary about the whole situation.”

“Stop bantering.” Rowe states. “Start fighting.” She looses three arrows at The Master, but one of the big skeletons gets in the way and takes the onslaught of her attack, crumpling into a pile of bones. The Master simply walks through his deceased minion, crushing the skull under his booted heel.

You channel your last burst, leaving you bone dry of divine favor.

You eke out enough magical scraps from your blood to strengthen your muscles, leaving you bone dry of spells.

So unless you want to try giving this guy the touch and hoping he learns the importance of friendship or a better aesthetic, you're going to have to fight him the old-fashioned way.

>Draw your saber for this, full SCHWING
>Stick with your fists

AND

>Fight him head on
>Let Dolah do that, sneak attack
>Wrestle him to the floor with Gabby's aid then coup de grace
>Something else? (write-in)

And roll me 2d100, best of 3.

Rolled 42, 54 = 96 (2d100)

>>46119139
>>Stick with your fists
>Wrestle him to the floor with Gabby's aid then coup de grace

Rolled 50, 28 = 78 (2d100)

>>46119139
>Draw your saber for this, full SCHWING
>Let Dolah do that, sneak attack

Rolled 10, 94 = 104 (2d100)

>>46119139
>Draw your saber for this, full SCHWING
>Let Dolah do that, sneak attack

Writing!

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“This man is my opposite,” Dolah tells you as her eyes flit across the form of the black-clad warrior approaching you. His large sword lights up with a sickly-green aura. Dolah gestures with her own hammer, showing you its light blue aura.

The large skeletons begin to rush your group with a flick of The Master's gauntlet. Gale and Gabby rush to intercept them, followed reluctantly by Ed. The Master strides casually through the chaotic melee, his undivided focus granted solely to Dolah.

Gabby seeks to take advantage of this by lashing out with a fist at the man, while still going toe-to-toe with two of the bigger undead. He jerks his head back to avoid the attack and follows-up with a backhand across her face, the pointy bits of his gauntlet raking her skin and drawing blood.

He moves on, seemingly annoyed but still determined to settle some sort of grudge with Dolah.

Dolah tightens her grip on her lucerne hammer. “If this man is empowered in a manner similar to myself,” she begins to speak to you, “he may very well have the power to –”

The Master raises his sword and the sickly green aura grows even brighter, almost blinding you initially. Dolah flinches. It's a slight flinch, but it's a flinch. You're pretty sure Dolah hasn't flinched since you first met her. This is going to be bad.

“Don't let that thing touch you, Alan,” she advises and then rushes towards him, the blue aura of her hammer intensifying as well. They clash. She blocks the brunt of his first, powerful swing with that Lion's Head emblazoned shield of hers. To your astonishment the head of the lion bites down on his sword, holding onto it and preventing The Master from pulling back long enough for Dolah to attempt a counterattack without risk of being parried. Unfortunately he reaches out with his left hand and grabs the haft of her hammer, stopping the blow from crushing his head.

They're deadlocked for the moment. Which is perfect for you.

“SCHWING!” you shout as you draw your saber, the more mundane magical light of a simple enchantment paling in comparison to the flair of the other two combatants. You dash up and take advantage of The Master's inability to defend himself with either of his hands.

You stab your sword up in between the plates protecting his armpit, feeling your saber pierce the hardened shell he has wrapped himself in and bite into his flesh. He grunts in pain, as blood seeps from his armor and drenches your sword.

Then he laughs, rumbling and deep. It unsettles you as it vibrates somewhere in the core of your torso.

You feel the negative energy seek to sap strength from your bones, as you had many times when under The Sculptor's training. But just as your life force is about to leave your body, you feel a thrum emanate from your mythral shirt. It seems to push life back into your form, resisting The Master's attack.

Dolah is not so lucky. She wavers as the wash of death energies overwhelm her. The Master lets go of her hammer, rips his sword from her shield and kicks her away, ripping himself off of your saber.

You go for a follow up attack to end the fight, but the master swats away your blow with his much large weapon, which he now holds with one hand. The other arm lays limply at his side, out of action for the rest of this combat.

Dolah is reeling and the rest of your allies seem to be winning their fight. So it's only a matter of seconds before odds tip in your favor and you can overwhelm this guy.

You just have to survive that long.

>What do you do? (write-in)

Roll me 2d100, best of 3

Rolled 42, 91 = 133 (2d100)

>>46120204
make a feint. look like you're going after his other arm. actually try to kick his legs in or trip him up.

Rolled 51, 93 = 144 (2d100)

>>46120204
Yell at Eve for a holy shower for everyone!
Getting drenched in holy water should slow down the undead and the Master, while helping Dolah.

Rolled 73, 52 = 125 (2d100)

>>46120204
In addition to the other two's plans, try minimize contact with this dude as much as possible.

Writing!

The Master focuses his attention on you. Another crackling burst of green light travels up and down his sword. Oh God, he's smiting you, isn't he?

At least that's a confirmation that you're inherently a good person, right? Silver linings and all that.

He swings at you, much less controlled with only one arm to guide the heft of that thing.

You jump back to gain some distance and then re-position yourself to feint a strike at the limp arm that is his obvious weak spot. Classic maneuver that anyone trained well in swordsmanship would attempt which ironically makes it too predictable. The Master sees it coming from a mile away and lashes out to stop you.

Which is exactly what you wanted. You stop short and take advantage of his strike to knock the tip of his greatsword away from you with your buckler. You follow up by planting your boot into his back leg, the muscles of your legs similarly enhanced like the muscles in your arms. He staggers backwards, but attempts to discourage your follow up with another burst of negative energy.

It works unfortunately. Not in that it actually hurt you, but the initial sensation did cause you to hesitate long enough for him to ready himself once more, ruining your opportunity. That won't work any more though, so he's used up that trick.

“Eve, drench him!” you shout. Eve turns from where she was hosing down one of the skeletons Ed was fighting to shoot The Master in the back with a torrent of holy water. He grunts in anger more than pain and turns towards your gnomish ally to throw his sword at her.

You're astonished at the maneuver, but it does smack her in the face hard enough to knock her out, causing the decanter to hit the ground and roll away.

Still, it was idiotic since he's unarmed now. You rush him with your saber, now lacking in any magical enchantments. The Master draws a dagger. Not going to help much, unfortunately.

WAIT! Shit. You stop, backing up from him before you commit to an attack. The dagger glows with the same sickly green light as the greatsword. If he knows how to use that and it still packs all the unholy energies like that greatsword, that thing may kill you just as much as the monster of a weapon he just tossed away.

>Go for it, end him
>Wait for Dolah to gather her bearings

Roll 2d100, best of 3

Rolled 8, 28 = 36 (2d100)

>>46121038
>>Go for it, end him

Rolled 75, 68 = 143 (2d100)

>>46121038
>Wait for Dolah to gather her bearings

Rolled 45, 93 = 138 (2d100)

>>46121038
>Wait for Dolah to gather her bearings

Writing!

No, time's on your side here. No need to do anything but play defensive against this man. You hold position, while Dolah finally gets her feet under her and taps herself a bit to fight off the death gnawing at her soul.

She readies herself and stands beside you, breathing hard, but ready to go another round with The Master. Two-on-one and all he's got is a dagger. Plus, your friends are almost done wrecking his skeletons. So if he wants to wait. You can wait all day. This standoff just goes farther in your favor the longer it lasts.

He laughs again. Great, what's his –

He disappears. Goes invisible. Pulls a you right before your eyes.

That is far from okay. Rowe notices from where she was stationed and fires three more arrows right where he was standing before his disappearing act. They soar through empty air and find no targets. Crap.

“He may be retreating,” Dolah comments, peering around, gripping her weapons tight.

You doubt that.

>Any plans? (write-in)

>>46121603
Pick up the decanter and spray. See where the water hits.

>>46121603
close your eyes, try and concentrate on your hearing footsteps or something.

>>46121603
>>46121635
If the decanter is very near (a few steps) then use it.
If it is farer away then try to sense him. I hope he won't shank us

Writing!

>>46121866
Also look for footprints!

You take a moment to see if you can listen in on –

“FUCK YOU BITCH!” Gabby shouts as she bashes in a skull. Your eyes shoot open as you realize that plan won't work.

You rush for where the decanter has fallen. You pick it up off the ground and whirl in a circle, saying the command phrase to spray holy water in any direction you can, looking for a sign of water not touching the ground.

As you do so, suddenly The Master reappears right next to you, dagger poised ready to strike. You feel the urge to turn and attack, but quickly realize that he's not wet, his other arm isn't a bloody mess and there's no reason to drop the invisibility spell until after you attack. That's an illusion.

If that's coming from your right, then the real one is probably –

You turn to your left and blast the decanter in a wide arc. You hear the grunt and watch one swath of water disappear as it hits his invisible form. There's your target.

You rush forward and aim for where you think his center of mass must be. Your saber is knocked to the side as he becomes visible once more.

You pivot with his dagger's parry to smack him over the helmet with the decanter you hold in your off-hand, knocking his helmet sideways and askew. He stumbles from the blow.

>Kill him
>Take him alive

>>46122512
>>Take him alive

>>46122512
>Kill him
Too much negative energy manipulating. You can't hold someone like that.

>>46122512
Kill him.

>>46122512
We don't have a containment facility that can hold him.

>>46122743
Whoops that was a vote to kill him.

Writing!

>>46122512
>>Kill him
Always kill magic users, psykers and undead.

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You raise your saber and stab it down into his neck. Blood begins to spill out between the armor and his helmet. You wriggle it around to cut as much of his fleshy neck as you can. He gurgles and staggers, but emits no scream. He drops his daggers and weakly scrabbles for your sword, but in a few short moments his arms drop and he slides off your sword, slumping into the blood-soaked dirt.

Eve has been revived by Dolah and the rest of the big skeletons are dead. Now you can finally pull back as the hobgoblins make their assault. You look up and watch as the lines of hobgoblins soldiers begin to stir. They change their formation. You hear yelling from their commanders.

And then they begin to retreat.

It's not even a tactical retreat. Their back lines are just booking it as fast as they can. You'd call it a rout if it wasn't for the fact that the front lines are keeping up just enough of a defense to ensure . . . the eight or nine of you won't harry them as they leave? If only they knew you all were running on empty at this point.

“Hey!” Gabby shouts as she notices they're running. She starts to move forward. “COME BACK HERE YOU –”

Gale wraps a hand around her mouth and pulls her back “Noooooo. We're taking the surrender.”

Gabby throws him off of her and huffs as the besiegers retreat. It could be a feint, but honestly you think they just don't think this fight is worth it. It isn't. For either side. You need to repair your walls and remove your dead from the streets and do another million odd, unsightly tasks that follow a day like this. Pursuing them is out of the question.

“Want me to follow them?” Rowe asks your assembly. Well, pursuing them with an army is out of the question. One scout wouldn't be much of an issue.

>Yeah, follow them
>Let them go

>>46123296
>>Yeah, follow them

>>46123296
>Yeah, follow them
The red rider will ride again

Writing!

“Yeah, follow them,” you tell your lover. Rowe nods her head and walks away looking for a horse.

“I'll tell the soldiers we scared them off,” Gale offers before walking away to do as such.

You're afforded a welcome breather, even if it does leave you feeling a bit confused.

You're not quite sure what to do next. You guess you should just sit here in this choke point and wait for the rest of Seaside's defenders to relieve you.

In the meantime, you

>Search The Master's corpse
>Ask Dolah about her experiences during this siege
>Just relax
>Something else? (write-in)

>>46123785
>Search The Master's corpse
>Ask Dolah about her experiences during this siege

>>46123785
>>Search The Master's corpse
>>Ask Dolah about her experiences during this siege
>>Just relax
>>Something else? (write-in)
check on quissonce. that arrow through the neck must have been kind of a shock.

Writing!

You move over to The Master's corpse and pull his helmet off his head. It take some finagling, but eventually it pops off. He's blonde haired and blue-eyed with rough stubble. He's fairly handsome. Oh yeah, he's also human. You look over to Dolah, still holding onto the helmet. You gesture to him with a concerned. Dolah nods, acknowledging your thought process. You shrug.

Either there are humans on this Island or this guy's from the Mainland. Either way, there are a lot of questions that need to be answered by someone. You drop the helmet and begin to remove his armor. It takes some time and as you go about unlatching the plate, you spare Quissonce a glance.

She's staring off into the distance, hand gently massaging her neck.

“You alright?” you ask as you go about your work.

She looks over to you and drops her hand, startled. She chuckles darkly before responding. “Yes, I'm fine.”

“Arrow through the throat must have been quite a shock,” you mention, trying to coax more out of her.

“Yes, well, it was. I've been quite certain for some time now that this island has granted me immortality. But . . .” she pauses as she think about her next words. “I almost died today. I was on its doorstep. I could live for eternity until this world turns to dust or I could be stabbed and killed in an alley tomorrow. It's quite a . . . range.” She chuckles again.

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That's . . . huh. Before you can really ponder on that Gabby comes over to help you remove The Master's armor. You place the pieces of plate mail off to the side and leave the corpse in simple, basic clothes. You check his pockets and find no gold or magic objects. The only object that draws your attention is the silver skull necklace that hangs about his neck.

“It's evil,” Dolah comments simply. “Don't –” Gabby grabs it and pulls it off his head. Dolah's voice catches in her throat. “Gabby, I just said –”

“Yeah yeah, it's fucking evil. Well so am I. So if anyone should touch it it should be me, right?”

Dolah hesitates for a moment, eyes wide with . . . fear? “That . . . isn't sound logic, Gabby. It could still be trapped or cursed or something. Just, put it down.” Gabby waves her away.

>Gabby, give it to Dolah
>Dolah, let Gabby keep it
>Let Quissonce examine it
>Something else? (write-in)

>>46124819
"Gabby, let Quissonce have a look at it before you do anything."

>>46124819
>Gabby, give it to Dolah

>>46124819
"Gabby, even if you were evil, that doesn't mean we want to risk you getting hurt."

>>46124819
>Let Quissonce examine it
Gabby you can't just put on everything you find, we're not hobos. Besides its not like you need a boost right, you can keep up with everyone else just fine can't you. (playfully tease the crap out of her, and then in a serious voice) But seriously, it possible that thing is what gave this asshole that necromancy aura, and if ancient mummy disease taught me anything you at least want to know what sort of thing your dealing with. Let Q at least look at it first. Besides if it as bad as I suspect you can still make an assload of cash selling it to be researched.

Writing!

“Gabby, you can't just put on everything you find.”

“I wasn't putting it on. I was taking it off,” she replies angrily, still twirling the necklace around her fingers.

“And I'm sure you're used to taking it off,” you quip playfully. She looks a tad offended, before you gesture with your eyes to her lack of a shirt. She laughs to herself before a mischievous smile spreads across her face. She leans in and begins to mock-whisper to you.

“Y'know, if you want me wearing less, I mean, Rowe's gone –”

“STOP!”/“STOP!”/“CONTINUE!” Dolah, Quissonce and Eve shout at the same time.

Dolah and Quissonce look over at Eve and stare at her angrily.

“Uhhhh, I mean stop!” Eve corrects herself.

“In all seriousness,” you continue, “Even if you were evil we don't want to risk you getting hurt. Let Quissonce look it over first.”

Gabby sighs and then tosses it to Quissonce, who thankfully fails to catch it. Whether on purpose or because she's uncoordinated you aren't sure. She grabs a stick and uses it to pick the necklace off the ground, before wandering off back into Seaside to start her examinations.

As you turn to Dolah to ask her about her experiences during the attack, Betsy and Gale come forward with hundreds of troops following some distance behind them.

Betsy makes her way to the highest point she can stand on and peers across the battlefield. When she decides its truly clear of hostiles, she talks into her communication device and then struts back to her troops.

“Fight's over. We won,” she shouts gruffly. The soldiers begin to whoop and holler so loud it startles you. She looks over to you. “We'll handle things from here. Blackburn would like to see you, when you have the time.”

>Go to Blackburn's right away
>Help clean up the aftermath
>Ask Dolah about her experiences, damnit!
>Something else? (write-in)

>>46125842
>Dolah
On the way to
>Blackburn

>>46125842
>>Help clean up the aftermath
>>Ask Dolah about her experiences, damnit!

>>46125919
Seconding this.

Writing!

You and your group make their way through the streets towards the Overseer's Complex.

Already, people are out snuffing out fires, fixing broken equipment and placing bodies in carts. A lot more than just soldiers too. You see the citizens out and about helping too, their previously boarded up houses thrown open as they do their part.

As you pass by, many people give you nods, knowing looks on their faces. Some even clap and cheer as you walk by. News spreads fast you guess.

You sidle up alongside Dolah. “So, what happened with you?” you ask. “Something about a sewer devil?”

She nods as you walk together. “Yes. After the initial scuffle that alerted me to the presence of devils inside Seaside, I gathered whatever combat-ready, able-bodied citizens I could to help scour the city of devilish influences. I ran into Ms. Helbot, who indicated that there were diabolists in the sewers summoning something. By the time my volunteers and I made it there, a large devil had been summoned and it was running amok. It was a horrifying monster and the strongest devil I've encountered, but with the aid of others we were able to fell the foul thing.”

“Huh. Did you encounter a group of barbazu, maybe five in number?” you ask curiously. You wonder if that hit squad that attacked you was taken care of.

Dolah looks at you oddly. “Yes. In fact, their ambush at Calloway's was what started my involvement in this debacle.”

“Oh. How is Calloway?” you ask. Dolah's face drops and it wasn't exactly cheery before. She contemplates something as you walk together in silence. You feel your throat dry up. “Dolah, did something happen?” you spit out.

Dolah stops walking and you stop with her. “He's gone, Alan. He . . . passed defending his parishioners. I saw it happen.”

. . .

“Huh,” you manage. You, uh, you can't . . . Calloway died. He's just . . . That's –

“I'm sorry you had to hear about it this way,” Dolah attempts to comfort you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “It was heart-wrenching . . . to see him go.”

He's really gone, isn't – to devils. Barbazus. The ones who you just let – “FUCK!” you vent. “Fuck fuck fuck FUCK!” You put your hands on your head. People in the streets glance over to you.

“I'm sorry,” Dolah tells you again. “It's my fault. I couldn't . . .” she trails off.

>Say something? (write-in)
>Walk to Blackburn's in silence

>>46127135
>>Say something? (write-in)
place a hand on her shoulder and say: "No, no it's not."

"Just... let's just get to Blackburn's."
in silence.

>>46127135
>Say something? (write-in)
"one day I will tear that hellish plane apart, with the great will as my witness I vow it"

>>46127135
>Say something? (write-in)
No it's not. It's the bastards behind this attack's fault. You saved a lot of lives today.

>>46127135
>Take a deep breath, give Dolah a hug, and tell her it wasn't her fault and nothing will change our mind about that. It rains on everyone, the righteous and unrighteous alike, life has its shitty moments, and we know Calloway is in living it up in paradise right now, unlike us footsloggers. It hurts, him being gone, but all the same we're gonna make him and the big guy proud.

Writing!

“No,” you say simply. “No it's not your fault and nothing will change my mind about that. You saved a lot of lives today, Dolah.”

It's yours!

“It's theirs.”

You could have stopped them.

“I swear, with The Great Will as my witness, I will find out how to get to the hellish plane where those bastards live and tear it apart, with my bare hands if I have to.”

“Alan, I don't think swearing righteous vengeance is the . . . best way of expressing your grief,” Dolah advises you, attempting to lend an air of religious guidance to her words.

“Ugh,” Gabby utters in exasperation. “Is now really the fucking time, Dolah? He let you off the hook for the dead fucking mentor. Let him be fucking angry.”

“Gabby!” Dolah shouts. “Heed your own advice. Be respectful, in this moment, at least.”

“You're the one telling Al how he should grieve. You think maybe that was stepping over the line?”

“I was merely attempting –”

“To stop him from wanting to kick ass. Because, what? He was good at it before? He wants to put shitheads in the dirt, then let him. Fuck devils.”

“Intent is important. Calloway wouldn't want Alan to go on like that, especially because of his own passing.”

>Gabby shut up!
>Dolah stop telling people what to do!
>Will the two of you stop fighting for once?
>Walk away
>Something else? (write-in)

AND

>Decide to make Calloway proud from here on out
>Decide to find a way to destroy Hell from here on out

>>46128029
>Will the two of you stop fighting for once?

>Decide to make Calloway proud from here on out

>>46128029
>>Will the two of you stop fighting for once?
take a step back, breathe a bit.
"... Dolah, Gabby... I'm not going to go swearing holy vengeance. But if I do come across any devil, there will be hell to pay. I'd just prefer it if I had some around right now to punch."

>>46128029
>Something else? (write-in)
Will the two of you stop fighting?!
The destruction and assimilation of Hell, the realization of the Devils' and Demons' worst nightmares as I assimilate all that exists in that plane, is my decision alone.
>Decide to find a way to destroy Hell from here on out
Their magical and supernatural distinctiveness will be assimilated and be made to service us. Resistance will be futile.

>>46128029
>Walk away
>Decide to find a way to destroy Hell from here on out

Alright! Writing!

>>46128029
>>Will the two of you stop fighting for once
>>Decide to make Calloway proud from here on out
Fighting against Hell is just stupid. Those devils are just following their instincts.

Ack, forgot to press "Post"

“Will the two of you stop fighting for once?” you ask, incredulous and seriously pissed off. “It's like cats and dogs every other day with you two. Listen, if I come across a devil, there will be Hell to pay. And that's my decision. Now I would appreciate it if we could finish walking down the street without any more stupid arguments.”

You turn on your heels and eventually Gabby and Dolah follow. Finally alone in utter silence you reflect on what you actually swore to do. It sounds crazy.

Tearing apart Hell? It's a ridiculous concept. You're sure if you asked Quissonce about it, she'd tell you the idea was stupid.

And yet.

That dream you had. In it you took over everything. Assimilated and destroyed everything in your path. Maybe it was just a dream you were having on death's door, but it felt much more real than that.

And that first Barbazu. The one you've fought on multiple occasions, whose glaive you still possess. He was scared of you. Of assimilation. If you weren't a threat to the denizens of that accursed plane at all, why fear you.

And last, but not least: that feeling in your center. The one that rises to the surface any time you assimilate a skill or a power or a language. That feeling of limitless potential. That feeling of being able to be whatever you want to do whatever you want. It does not settle or shrink back from your fantasies of destroying the shit out of that place.

No, something in your gut tells you you could reduce Hell to a barren landscape of hot ash and corpses if you put your mind to it.

So might as well put it on the to-do list.

>End of Thread
I will most likely run this next time on Monday. https://twitter.com/TrickQM

>>46128929
Thanks for running