Azarus stood in the grand hall of the gods, eagerly leaning forward toward a spinning screen. A cool breeze ran through the vast space, tousling his hair. His companion sat at his side, sniffing the screen and wagging his tail. The god and the hound watched the screen spin, counting their luck. One by one, the rewards revealed themselves.
[Ironthorn Staff]: A straightened and magically treated vine of a [Bulwark Rosebush]. Crafted as a sacred weapon by an elusive group of monks.
[Triple Strike]: Amplifies a blow, causing it to strike two additional times.
[Condensate]: Use magic to turn gasses into liquids.
Azarus reached into the screen and pulled out his first prize. He was not sure Moka would appreciate the [Ironthorn Staff]. It was an ugly thing, a foot taller than her and adorned with sharp thorns. The thorns lacked arrangement; it insulted his artistic taste. He twirled it around, doing a few mock feints and jabs with the larger thorns near either end. It was not a spear, but he was sure she would make do. The smaller thorns on the haft were an annoyance, but not debilitating.
With a last flourish, Azarus stopped playing with the weapon. He shot Zag a look out of the corner of his eye, then looked down the hall, past the titanic pillars. After seeing Zag enter the painting, he had a suspicion. He hefted the [Ironthorn Staff] in his hand and prepared to test it.
“Here, Zag! Fetch.”
Zag’s attention switched from the other prizes to Azarus, just in time to see him throw the [Ironthorn Staff] overhand down the hall. It flew end over end so fast it looked like a solid disc as it rocketed down the hall. Zag shot after it, his form lengthening into a blur as he pushed to catch it before it hit the ground.
Azarus watched him go and sighed, a small smile on his face. The hound could travel places he could not. Seeing him lope down the hall confirmed it. He would need to experiment, but he had high hopes for that ability.
Zag came trotting back, a speck in the distance. Azarus wondered if the hound could scout the hall for him, or enter the mortal world. He put aside those thoughts, as the hound drew close. The [Ironthorn Staff] in Zag’s teeth could not hide his massive, dorky smile. Azarus smirked at the hound’s obvious self satisfaction. It was cute.
The god turned to other two prizes, the Skill and Spell. He was confident Moka would put them both to good use. [Triple Strike] was a convenient pairing with [Ironthorn Staff]. [Condensate] would find a wonderful home in her hands, and Azarus was eager to find out what she would do with it. There was only one thing that worried him.
Notice! [Achievement Shop] Spell and Skill purchases are only valid for a single Run. Equipment and Weapons will persist until unequipped.
After some consideration, Azarus decided it was not a big deal. He plucked the staff out of Zag’s mouth when he wasn’t paying attention and hurled it down the hall. Zag spared a split second to glare at the god. Then he was off, speeding after the glorified stick.
As far as Azarus could tell, spending Achievement Points did not come at a personal cost to him. Temporary boosts from the [Achievement Shop] were a far off concern. If anything, it was a worthwhile expense to start Moka off with a few extra tools in her pocket. Zag’s pounding paws grew louder in his ears as he examined the prizes, seeking deeper understanding.
Azarus came to a conclusion. The [Achievement Shop] did not differentiate between Archetypes. He highly doubted a [Peasant] would get [Triple Strike]. [Condensate] was arguable, but his gut feeling urged it did not suit a [Peasant].
Skills that did not suit [Peasants] on his mind, Azarus examined [Dead on My Feet] through [Divine Insight].
[Dead on My Feet]: It takes a mortal wound to stop. [Moka] will ignore pain and debilitating injuries to keep moving. Mundane means can still kill her.
Azarus nodded at the description. It was about what he expected, a general increase to Moka’s natural abilities that would be useful for runs to come.
The god dismissed the [Achievement Shop]. He would hoard his remaining points. It took a few minutes to wrestle the [Ironthorn Staff] off a playful Zag. With the slobbery weapon in hand, Azarus selected the option to equip the weapon, Skill, and Spell to his champion. Zag gave Azarus a pleading look, his puppy-dog eyes forming the barest hint of mist. Azarus ruffled his ears.
“Come on, none of that.”
Zagrus whined but followed at Azarus’s heel as he approached the painting. Zag ran up to the living artifact, standing up on his hind legs and pointing with his paw. Azarus looked to find a stony bluff, rising above the forest. He did not remember painting it. Regardless, it was there, hidden in the valley off the beaten path. To either side of the valley, the mountain range rose like sleeping titans, framing the stars. It gave the bluff a sense of smallness and wonder, like a frog in a well staring up at a larger universe.
Azarus dug into his satchel, grabbing a piece of jerky. When he had changed his appearance, he had also freshened up the contents of his bag. Moka’s recent adventures had been enlightening. He tossed the jerky to Zag, who made a show of not moving until the last second, then snatching it out of the air. Picking out a piece of dried mango for himself, Azarus popped it into his mouth and reached for his paints.
Chewing on the fruit, he considered how he wanted to remember Granon. He painted a few strokes, making the outline of a reclining giantkin, gazing at the stars. Fearless beneath the open sky. That’s how he wanted to remember the timid village boy. He took a fine brush to his features, painting Granon older and wiser. Life lessons, as clear to see as scars, weathered him. His gold skin had faded to a tan, with unusually dark hands from the elbow down. He wore his gray hair up in a warrior’s bun, and his beard trimmed short.
Taking a step back, Azarus examined Granon’s attire. Travel and adventure stained his clothes. He wore the skins of monsters worked into leather over thick hemp. Azarus frowned at the leather jacket. Taking a dry brush, he ran it up Granon’s sleeves, picking up the paint and erasing the tight leather as if it never existed. Dipping his brush in fresh paint, Azarus added ragged scars to the giantkin’s arms. Then, a few patches of dented, human-sized armor sewn onto the leather, acting as assorted metal plates.
The older Granon lounged beneath the night sky, his bare arms rippling with hardened muscle. He looked every inch the warrior. Azarus saw him as the resting Knight Commander of his wandering Order. Whose holy quest had hardened and experienced him.
Taking one last look at Granon’s scene, Azarus found something missing. Granon was unarmed. The god painted him a hammer so large it seemed like a pole stuck into a metal slab. The same hammer that had been Kuscal’s altar. A hero carried it before. It was only right the hammer adventured once again.
Zag whined, nudging Azarus for attention. The god paused his inspection, turning to his companion. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of a movement. He caught sight of Zag’s tail, the tip covered in paint, moving faster and with more precision than any mortal animal’s should. His tail blurred over the image of Granon, then retreated into place as if it never happened. Azarus almost missed it.
Suppressing a sigh, Azarus ruffled Zag’s ears and checked the damage. He had wanted more entertainment, so he could only blame himself for creating a companion that provided it. As of yet, he was uncertain how he felt about Zag choosing not to speak. It fit Azarus’s image of a hound companion, but it was also a choice Zag was making. Choices were actions that spoke of character.
Scanning Granon’s scene, it took Azarus longer than he would care to admit finding what Zag had done. A tattoo adorned Granon’s inner forearm, half hidden by the angle. The tattoo displayed a pinup of a cute goblin girl wielding a wicked-looking chisel and a miniature version of Granon’s hammer. In her hands, it looked more like a building tool.
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The ink looked worn and inconsistent. Some parts looked fresher than others. Her face was especially clear, showing a snarling and disdainful Moka in all her glory. In contrast, her faded tweed suit was reminiscent of strange, patterned skin.
Azarus chuckled when he saw it, reaching down to scratch Zag behind the ears. The hound accepted the pets with his eyes curled into self-satisfied crescents, his lips a smug grin. Azarus rolled his eyes, but let Zag have his moment. The tattoo was a bit out of place. However, it was something Granon might do, the big sweetheart. Azarus left it. He liked the flare.
Moving on, Azarus considered Tevzaga. He did not feel as close to her as he felt to Granon. His part of her journey had ended too soon. Still, he would like something to remember her by.
Taking Zag’s suggestion of a wooded hollow within sight of an emerald lantern on the path, Azarus painted a cheery campfire. Next to the fire, he painted Rascal, rolled onto his back with one paw on his belly. He looked as content as a cat with a bird.
Tevzaga lounged nearby, her back against her saddlebags. The devoured remains of a deer carcass sat between the two. Azarus did his best to paint Tevzaga’s expression as happy and content, but try as he might, there was something missing.
Azarus half-turned toward Zag, cocking an eyebrow at him.
“Thoughts?”
Zag stamped his feet, walking backward several steps. With a light bark, he spun around, his tail brushing Azarus’s palette. Azarus kept a close eye on his tail. He watched it collect a dollop of mixed paints, then dart out to brush over the image in one smooth motion. Zag’s feathered tail looked like a hairy banner and acted like several paint brushes at once. When he withdrew it, Azarus saw the vague outline of a handsome orc opposite to Tevzaga by the fire. The suggestion of a winged beast lurked near him.
Understanding dawned on Azarus. Starting up where Zag left off, he filled in Davok’s features. As he never could meet the man, he gave him a shadowed face, hiding the details. He did not allow the shadows to hide his charming, wry grin and impressive tusks. With a few strokes of his brush, Azarus packed Tevzaga’s beloved with lean muscle and clad him in plain clothes. Davok was in the motion of telling a joke, pointing with one hand and bringing the other back to toss something over the fire at Tevzaga.
After some thought, Azarus painted an open bag of whole walnuts by his feet. If anyone would appreciate food as a projectile, it was the [Mounted Gunslinger].
Moving to the winged shape next, Azarus filled it in to reveal a wyvern. Its stature made the previous three look like runts, or unevolved counterparts. He gave it pronounced draconic features, painting a spark of intelligence into its eyes. It eyed the pile of deer scraps next to Rascal. Rascal’s image shifted to show the griffin playfully reaching toward the wyvern with its paws, inviting it to come closer.
Turning back to Tevzaga, Azarus found what he was looking for. That hidden yearning in her expression had eased, blossoming into a lovely smile. He could almost hear her ridiculous laugh. She was raising her arms to fend off the incoming walnut. With a final stroke, Azarus added the scar running through her eyebrow. He saw the scene and was glad for it.
Satisfied with Tevzaga’s scene, Azarus scanned the painting until he found the minotaur. Somehow, he had gotten loose from the chains binding him to the tombstone since Azarus had last checked. They lay in a nearby pile. A single link of mangled metal was half hidden in the dirt.
Azarus looked at Zag. The mutt refused to meet his gaze. Raising his eyebrows, but not pushing the issue, Azarus examined what else had changed.
The minotaur’s wife was helping him to his feet, her flesh luminescent but solid. An emerald lantern hung from her belt. They faced forward, the tombstone behind them and the path stretched out before them, leading to the altar.
Finished, Azarus turned from the painting. To his side, Moka’s smoldering statue had grown in intensity. It was on the verge of combusting, indicating the opportunity for another run.
Azarus looked to the Mirror of Eons and examined his reflection. He was covered in paint. Not pretending to have the dignity to act surprised, Azarus closed his eyes and reopened them, clean. He took his freshly laundered coat off, pinning it in the air in front of him. Zag looked up at him, watching what he was doing with open curiosity.
Azarus examined his coat, pleased to note the metal plates sewn between layers of cloth. Tevzaga had the right idea, but hers was too overt. He shifted his perspective and looked at the coat. He saw a faded green canvas, worn to the point of brown.
Taking a mix of purple and white paint and loading it onto a thin brush, Azarus crafted a scene. On the upper left breast of his coat, next to the lapel, he recreated Kuscal in purple shadow and white light. The [God of Majestic Clouds] was an angry giant. His mouth opened through his beard like a maw appearing out of a thundercloud. Lightning raged around him. Facing the god was a tiny figure in ash gray lines, wielding a dark gray umbrella in one hand and a gold sword in the other. He wore an emerald mask that looked cut from precious stone.
Zag barked. Azarus regarded the hound for a moment as he finished a detail, then shook his head.
“No, wings would be too much. A tapestry of my feats should reflect my rise in power.”
The hound whined. Azarus rolled his eyes.
“Do something impressive and I’ll put you in the next one.”
Checking his work, Azarus found it acceptable. The trickster and the storm giant. His first venture out of the Hall of Gods. Donning his painted coat, Azarus summoned the remaining notifications.
Quest: Half-Credit - Completed!
You completed a Trial’s Task without your Champion being able to continue to the next Floor.
Please enjoy half the rewards.
Reward: Divine Points
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Quest: God’s Blade - Completed!
With a single Champion, you raided an enemy encampment and executed your will.
What use is a blade that breaks with a single stab?
Reward: Divine Points, Archetype [Assassin] Unlocked for [Moka]
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Quest: Heroic Encounter - Completed!
You aided a [Hero] on their path, changing their fate.
A goblin peasant’s life exchanged for an orc hero’s. Maybe you are the [God of Good Deals].
Reward: Divine Points
More insults to endure and points to spend. The screens were honest in their devotion. The god accepted the insults with a bland face, shushing Zag when he barked. These insults would gain no purchase in his psyche. He had no respect for the screens and no care for their opinions.
Past the thinly veiled insults and urges to spend points, Azarus noted Moka had a new Archetype available. He did not think it suited her. [Soldier] or [Sapper] he could at least imagine. The story of a poor village girl pressed into service and taught the art of war. [Assassin] promised a path he did not want her traveling down.
Dismissing the screens, Azarus stretched his neck and let out a deep sigh. At his side, Zag whined, nudging Azarus with his nose in what was swiftly becoming a familiar gesture. Azarus let a hand fall to soothe his companion. Mindful that Zag was a separated piece of himself, Azarus explained his reaction. It was an opportunity to bond.
“I am thinking of which Unlocks we must buy next.” Azarus paused, making sure Zag was following. The hound was sitting at his feet, nodding along with a very human expression of understanding on his face. Azarus smothered a smile at his antics and continued. “[Bloodline] is already being encouraged. There is no reason to put it off if the screens intend to force it on us.”
Zag barked, dipping his muzzle to lay it against his chest. Azarus confirmed.
“Yes, the reward for you, [Bloodline II]. Although, I’m not sure how useful a hound’s bloodline is.”
The hound in question turned to Azarus with wide eyes, his floppy ears drooping. His jaw dropped, as if he had just heard something unbelievable.
Azarus muttered under his breath about audacious dogs, rubbing Zag’s forehead so hard his ears flopped back and forth. It was also becoming a familiar gesture, twin to Zag’s nudges. He found it odd how they were falling into a pattern.
Perhaps he should not. Kuscal had fallen into the role of an enemy as if born for it. Moka had taken to her role as champion without hesitation. And now, he and Zag took up the role of the traveler and his cheeky pet.
Azarus broke into an amiable smile.
“Come on, Mutt. Help me choose Moka’s Class.”
If Zag looked offended before, he looked outright distraught at the new nickname. He whined, but Azarus was already heading to Moka’s statue. Azarus felt light. He enjoyed having someone to talk to, even if they did not speak back. Before, it felt strange to speak aloud his thoughts to his empty prison. He had even nursed concerns about talking to himself when using [Chosen One]. Those concerns faded away.
Approaching Moka’s statue, her wooden chest plate caught Azarus’s eye. A burning emerald spark fell from the corner of his lips as they split into an outright grin. It hit the clouds, causing a small cloud of steam to form. The chest plate’s vines were twining down Moka’s arms toward the [Ironthorn Staff] in her grip, creating a wooden weave.
The god decided he would keep a closer eye on the [Achievement Shop]. The random selection suited his strengths.
Emerald flames lit off Azarus’s skin as he reached for the button above Moka’s head. The dancing flames cast shadows, making the painting on his coat move. On his chest, a lightning giant roared, hurling a pillar of lightning at a trickster who hid behind an umbrella.
Azarus pressed the button, and new opportunities reared their head.
[Begin Run]