The Ark's exit yawned open like the maw of some slumbering beast, revealing a pathway drenched in golden light. Beyond it lay a world unknown, a canvas of chaos painted for the so-called chosen.
"Well," Spoon drawled, his metallic frame gleaming in the dying sunlight, "this seems ominous enough. Could’ve thrown in a few skulls for extra drama, though."
Brenner sighed, tightening his grip on his hammer. "We’re not here for theatrics, Spoon."
"Speak for yourself, Cleric," Spoon shot back. "If I’m going to die, I’d like the ambiance to match, thank you very much."
Isaria and Kael exchanged uneasy glances but followed their companions as the group emerged from the ark’s shadowy confines. The jagged walls of the mountain passage offered no comfort, only a whisper of foreboding as they ascended toward the open air.
As the champions stepped into the vast amphitheater that greeted them, the sheer scale of it was enough to silence even Spoon—momentarily, at least. Thousands of beings thronged the arena floor, their murmurs a symphony of unease.
"I’d rate this entrance a solid eight," Spoon quipped after a pause. "Minus two points for the lack of refreshments."
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They were greeted by Levon Loboda, a towering figure with moss-green hair that swayed like leaves caught in a ghostly breeze. His voice boomed with the gravity of a preacher at the edge of apocalypse. "Champions of Lady Luna, welcome to Minzuul. This is a land of trials, of monsters, and of..."
"...Really long speeches, apparently," Spoon muttered under his breath, drawing a stifled laugh from Alette, who hovered nearby, her pixie wings glinting in the sunlight.
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The sorting ceremony was a chaos of clashing egos and sharpened blades. Alette stepped forward, her tiny frame almost lost amidst the towering warriors. Maronga Kaabrek, the stout dwarf overseeing the assessment, tossed her a staff.
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With a mischievous grin, Alette unleashed a barrage of insults that somehow seemed to physically wound the dwarf. "Stick to axes, dear. This staff’s got better posture than you."
Spoon’s turn came next. The warforged hefted a quarterstaff that looked laughably small in his hands. Despite the absurdity, his movements were fluid, precise—almost graceful. Maronga grunted her approval, tossing him a red token.
"Don’t everyone cheer at once," Spoon deadpanned, pocketing the token with a metallic clang.
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Their first patrol was uneventful—until it wasn’t. The serene fields gave way to a grove of gnarled trees that twisted unnaturally in the fading light. Alette, ever the sharp-eyed scout, whispered from above, "Those trees... are moving."
Before anyone could react, the forest came alive. Branches lashed out like the limbs of a wrathful deity, catching Vasoon, their elephantine ally, in a crushing embrace.
Spoon leaped into the fray, his fists denting bark and splintering limbs. "I knew tree-huggers were trouble, but this is excessive!"
Alette’s magic crackled through the air, a flash of light disintegrating one of the creatures. Brenner’s holy power reduced another to ash. Vasoon, bruised but defiant, charged, his tusks shattering the largest tree-monster into a rain of wooden shrapnel.
"Next time," Spoon huffed, his metal form smeared with sap, "I’m bringing a flamethrower."
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Their return to the barracks brought little respite. Each champion received a token of Lady Luna’s favor: weapons etched with celestial patterns, potions that glowed faintly, and—for Spoon—a maul that seemed to hum with power.
"Moonlit Maul," Spoon read aloud, inspecting the weapon. "Sounds poetic. Let’s see how poetic it looks buried in a lich’s skull."
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Their adventures continued, each day dragging them deeper into the mysteries of Minzuul. From the cursed forests to the haunted ruins, they faced horrors that would make lesser souls tremble. Yet, amidst the chaos, Spoon’s sardonic wit never wavered.
"Another horde of undead," he remarked during one particularly grueling battle. "It’s like they don’t understand the concept of ‘staying dead.’ Very inconsiderate, if you ask me."
And when they encountered Fungius, the weeping mushroom creature, Spoon couldn’t resist. "Fungus with feelings. What’s next? A dragon with daddy issues?"
Through it all, the group endured, united by courage, sarcasm, and a grudging affection for each other. Lady Luna’s champions were flawed, battered, and occasionally absurd—but in the darkened world of Minzuul, they were exactly what was needed.
"Onward, to glory!" Spoon declared one evening, raising his Moonlit Maul as the group prepared for their next mission.
"Or death," Alette chimed in.
"Preferably not mine," Spoon added with a grin.