Pressing his hand against the Mirror of Eons, Azarus chose the thickest line woven into Moka’s halo. It was knotted and grotesque, a thing of twisted vines and shadows, bound by blood. He followed it to where it entered the two-headed creature Danara had become. The ettin’s arm flickered, seeming to teleport through a shadow to appear in front of Azarus’s champion. The god plucked the ettin’s line, sending a single emerald spark racing down its knotted length. In an instant, it reached the ettin’s chest.
On the creature’s shoulders, placidly sitting next to Danara’s cackling head, the head with a face like a scarred rubber mask glanced up, a modicum of life returning to his eyes. A spark of emerald passed through his yellow irises. Its pupils turned to follow, landing on the grenade, arcing toward it. With a silent roar, the head flexed the ettin’s back, sending a flurry of daggers lancing toward the grenade with surprising accuracy. The sudden shift in activity caused the ettin to lurch, buying Moka enough time to dodge the initial strike.
Azarus noted fine hairs wrapped around the hilts of the scarred hob’s former collection of mismatched daggers. They led to dark holes in the ettin’s back; the hair spooling out as the daggers lanced toward the oncoming projectile, a fraction too late to make a difference. The grenade exploded in mid-air, untouched. Carwen waited too long to throw it.
The daggers passed through the fiery explosion, reversing direction as the hairs pulled taut, reeling them back into the ettin’s back. Like sheets of drifting flame, the explosion hung in the air, descending in a blanket of fire over Moka. Carwen sprinted like a madwoman, racing to join Moka in her fate. Wherever the daggers passed, [Faefire] sparks stuck to them like glue, purple drops of fire beading their length.
Azarus’s eyes sparkled. He plucked the line again, sending a radiant spark of golden flame racing toward the [Shadowforged Ettin’s] chest. Danara screamed as the returning daggers delivered the [Faefire] to her. The hob’s scarred face groaned, his expression unchanging.
The [Faefire] was quick to leak into the ettin’s knotted line, purple sparks merrily feasting on whatever they could find. Azarus focused on the [Faefire’s] battle against Danara’s shadows, squinting to see it more clearly. His finger hovered over the battlefield, the thread they sought to dominate. The bloodied, yellow vines, the scarred hob’s influence, were passive observers in the fight, taking damage but never interfering.
The god saw the [Grafted Hobgoblin’s] cruel apathy, too broken to care about himself or others. The hob’s Traits told a story, akin to how [Scrappy] described Moka. Tri-color flames spread behind Azarus, splitting into great wings. His domain thrummed in his chest, power spreading from him in waves.
[Born to Suffer]: An unnatural lifeform. You only find joy in inflicting death until it finally releases you to a dreamless rest. Grants Skills: [Lodestone of Pain], [Monstrous Might]
[Two in One]: Bound by dark chains made manifest, two souls share a single vessel of power. The soul [Danara] holds dominance. Grants Skills: [Once and Forever], [Power Share: Soul Well]
Fueled by Azarus’s intent, a gold spark traveled along the ettin’s corrupted line. It left pieces of itself behind as it passed, bolstering the strength of the vines and granting them a golden sheen. The spark reached the ettin’s chest, diminished, flaring like a dying ember as it vanishing into the monstrosity’s ribcage. A moment later, the hob’s listless moaning stopped. His jaw hardened into a line. While Danara battled the [Faefire] rampaging inside the ettin’s body, her face twisted in fury, the hob blinked as if seeing the world anew.
Azarus bundled together a drop of his domain, manifesting it on his forefinger. He flexed his will, keeping his three flames distinct from each other. They burned on the tip of his finger, separate pieces of the same whole. The fledgling god focused, burning through his excess power to change his domain’s form. Since he did not like the picture he saw, he would paint a new one. The tri-color flame imploded, pooling into paint. Azarus pressed the three drops into the ettin’s line, each carrying a piece of the reality he would see imposed on the world.
Through the Traits, Azarus saw the shape of the hob’s relationship with Danara. The scars on his face, the subservience, the anger. It was not right. To him, the hob felt like a stilted person, undeserving of Azarus learning his name. Even the dryad fused to his flesh, granting him power, ate away at who he was as a person, leaving a tasteless shell. Azarus would change that.
The god plucked the knotted rope-like line, staining its surface with a single drop of paint. The paint crept through it like dye staining water, sinking into the tangled vines, making up a third of the line. Where it passed, the vines gained new life, going from a sickly yellow to an almost crystalline, vibrant green. They had a gold tint, radiating a heroic air. A shade of gray accented the vine, the color easily mistaken for a shadow. Azarus could feel the gray shifting perspective, painting the transformed vines as the strongest contender for dominance.
The vines transformed like fresh growth, reaching toward the ettin’s chest with vibrant enthusiasm. Azarus focused his intent into the line, channeling it through the passage his domain had created. He wanted to alter the Traits, flipping them on their head to turn the tides. His first instinct was clever wordplay, somehow twisting the names of the Traits to his ends. He dismissed the idea as a skin deep solution, focusing on the intent behind the Traits.
[Born to Suffer] was the first, and perhaps easiest. The purpose of the Trait was clear, to empower a miserable life. The screens had decided that the [Shadowforged Monstrous Ettin] deserved to suffer, and meant to make it a reality. His limited access to his domain meant he could not reverse the Trait, but he could twist it. If the hob’s fate was to live a miserable life, Azarus would make it so he could see it through with his head held high.
Gold cracks formed on the ettin’s shadow-stained skin. Danara’s head screamed, pain and outrage indistinguishable in her voice. Azarus pressed his will through the line, the screams falling on deaf ears. He watched as the screen created by [Divine Insight] morphed, reflecting his desires.
[Born to Endure]: Pain and suffering is your lot, death your constant companion. You will be refined until you break; the impurities forged from you by the hammer-blows of life. Grants Skills: [Perfection Through Pain], [Monstrous Resilience]
The god was not done. He pressed his will further, shaping the other Trait. [Two in One] was a trickier concept. Through the goblin shade’s sacrifice, Danara had bound herself to the [Grafted Hobgoblin]. Their twisted relationship reached far beyond this moment, deep into their past. Azarus could see the hob had once been a handsome member of his species, his skin supple and smooth to complement his powerful jaw and high cheekbones.
Azarus needed a bond of equal depth, or intensity. He scratched his chin, feeling the stubble on his fingertips. Moka and Carwen were out of the question. Their bond to the hob was far too shallow, and their importance to Azarus was too great. Binding the hob to the [Faefire] was an option, but one he was hesitant to pursue. The results were too unpredictable, and not a plague he wished to unleash on the [Vinewood Guardian Spirit]. Unfortunately, the goblin shade was not an option, their essence consumed by the transformation.
Azarus studied the line, searching for inspiration. He traced crystalline vines with a soft gold light latticed through crushing knots of shadowy hairs. His attention paused on the knots, oozing blood. Dark purple flames danced along the hairs, consuming them incrementally. The bulk of the hairs struggled to fight back, dousing the flames in shadows. With the gray flame’s convincing, the vines gained ground against the other two, expanding its influence as they ate at each other.
Azarus’s mind flicked to the origin of the vines, his face splitting into a serene smile. He pushed his will through his emerald-flame sheathed hand, manifesting his desires with the might of his domain. Ethereal gray flames erupted along the vines, causing a chain reaction all the way to the ettin’s chest. Azarus shaped the Trait, envisioning what he wanted it to be. His wings beat a slow rhythm, effortlessly holding him aloft.
The gray flames spread across the ettin’s skin, devouring the shadows and leaving a dried husk. Danara screamed, fighting against the hob for control of the legs. She tried to direct their body into the shadows, only to be rejected when the purple flames on the creature’s back flared, illuminating the darkness. Gnashing her teeth, she tried to take a bite out of the head next to her. She spat and snarled curses when the hob’s scarred face was out of reach.
“You can’t! I am no sacrifice. You fool, without me, you’re nothing. Filth. I should have-”
Azarus pulsed his will, sinking it into the gray paint. The dried skin on the ettin’s body continued to flake and peel, turning from ink black to a yellow-white. Azarus focused on it, willing the gray to split, painting the ettin’s skin pure white, speckled with black. Like an egg.
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The god wiped his brow, feeling fatigued. His domain felt stretched. He knew his power would recover in time, but right now, he was close to his limit. Closing his eyes, he funneled every spark of his power he could spare to the rope-like thread. He could sense it growing slack as the ettin turned from his champion to flee. Without hesitation, Azarus rang himself dry, keeping a firm picture of his desires in his mind as he burned his domain to fuel his will. He dropped to the ground, landing in a whisper. His insistent demand, the shape he thought reality should take, transferred through the line as he plucked it again.
Like a strobe, the ettin’s skin flashed white and black. The small speckles of black actively absorbed the blinding white flashes of light in a rapid, accelerating cycle. The ettin’s skin hardened, taking on a tri-color sheen. Danara screamed, shouting protests, threats, and promises. She remained untouched from the neck up, her long, blood red hair whipping as she struggled to move the ettin’s body. The scarred hob was silent, grimly facing his fate with golden eyes. The vines embedded in the ettin’s skin stopped thrashing.
The god molded his will, working it into the correct shape. The framework was already there. Danara created it when she merged two souls at the cost of one. He meant to do the same, with a bit of flair.
Azarus felt a final pulse of emerald flame, one he hadn’t known he had. It left him, racing down the line and exploding into the ettin’s chest. Hundreds of glowing green cracks spread through its skin. Danara’s screams cut off as the [Shadowforged Monstrous Ettin] fell to pieces. The god used [Divine Insight] to check his work.
[Fortune’s Bond]: Fated to share a life, paths irreversibly connecting no matter how you stray. Bound by blood and the will of a god. Grants shared Skills: [Altered Fate: Intersecting Paths], [Bound Growth]
With a wave of emerald fire, the line between Moka and the ettin pulled tight. The descending sheet of [Faefire] drifted to the ground like a blanket of snow settling. The ettin’s skin cracked like an eggshell, the pieces peeling and falling, clumps at a time. A swarm of shapes emerged from the shell of dried skin, ripping through it like paper. They shot toward Moka and Carwen, homing in on them like hungry serpents.
Twenty flower-covered vines descended on Azarus’s champion and her follower, plucking them from beneath the [Faefire] and rescuing them from finding out how well the petal-berries would help Carwen survive the blaze. Two figures tore their way from the ettin’s skin, boasting distinct male and female silhouettes. They ran toward the exit, not looking back.
In the Hall of Gods, Zagrus barked for Azarus’s attention, running in a tight circle. Azarus suppressed a self-satisfied smirk, refraining from inspecting the figures to appease his hound. When Zag saw he was looking, he pulled his ears back, his face as offended as a dog could manage. He gave Azarus a vigorous introduction to his opinion. After a litany of rolling r’s and extended o’s, Zag paused for Azarus to respond. The god smiled, soft and understanding, as he nodded along to his hound’s complaints.
“You are correct, Zag. Defeating the ettin would have been an impressive feat, worthy of Achievements and Skills. But isn’t this better?”
Azarus used [Divine Insight] to pull up the figures’ descriptions, turning to make sure Zag saw as well.
[Vinewood Hobgoblin]: An evolved goblin who has become one with the forest, irreversibly bonded to a [Dryad]. Part flesh, part nature, [Vinewood Hobgoblins] connect with their [Spring Court] roots.
[Altered Regrowth Dryad]: An evolved dryad who has experienced death, corruption, and rebirth. Bonded to a [Vinewood Hobgoblin] instead of a tree, this dryad has an unusual path.
The god grinned, pointing to the descriptions. Zag bounced on his front paws, stamping in disagreement. The hound looked irritated. Azarus’s smile faded, his brows knitting. He took a moment to consider Zag’s complaint, parsing it into thought processes and reasonings. If he understood his non-verbal companion correctly, Zag was protesting how Azarus interfered, arguing that the screens rewarded like for like. By taking away Moka’s crisis, he had robbed her of an opportunity to grow. That growth had the potential to cascade, building on itself with each progressive Trial. That stance held truth, but not all of it.
Azarus firmed his jaw, squatting down to be eye level with Zagrus. He looked the hound in the eye, gesturing toward the transformed hob and dryad. The pair rushed through the exit, bursting into the Underforest with Moka and Carwen wrapped in their vines. They emerged from the base of the vine-bound circle of trees, stepping from shadows into the light. Purple light flickering through the exit, following them like an unpleasant smell.
The hob emerged first, Moka in his arms. Speckled light played across his face, highlighting smooth skin. He turned, the light catching the other half of his features, hidden by a wooden mask, which cleverly shifted to reflect his expression. On closer inspection, the mask fused to flesh, as much a part of the hob as his skin. Disbelieving laughter spilled from the hob’s lips as he set Moka down and took in a deep breath.
Next to him, the [Dryad], a fine-featured female hobgoblin lovingly carved from wood with precise strokes, threw Carwen to the ground with a hiss. The elf tumbled into the forest, rolling down the slope towards a line of evenly spaced trees. The dryad stuck the tip of her ring finger into her mouth, like she was nursing a burn. She shot the [Vinewood Hobgoblin] a complicated look, then looked down to examine herself.
Azarus turned back to his companion, to see if he understood. The hound knit his brows, the tip of his tongue sticking out of his mouth. He cocked his head. Seeing his confusion, Azarus explained, a soft smile returning to his lips.
“You are right, Moka represents me and we have a duty to strengthen her. To gain rewards and power. The screens dangle our freedom as a prize to win, encouraging us to play that game.” The god turned back to the mirror, where the hob and dryad were awkwardly approaching each other, unsure of their relationship. Neither was the near-mindless, broken beings they were before. “But I am not only the god of Moka, or a god of this game. I am more. And you are a part of me. Do you understand?”
Zag’s expression drooped, his ears slouching. He let out a soft whine. Azarus chuckled, vigorously rubbing his hound’s forehead.
“Do not mistake me. I understand your perspective and see its value. This time, the hopeless wore the enemy’s face.”
Zag squinted at Azarus as the god pat his head. The hound’s face split into a droopy grin, his tail waving behind him like a banner in the wind.
In the mirror, Moka squared off against the hob and dryad, standing over Carwen’s prone body. The elf lay, groaning, on the ground. Sweat dripped down her face. Her eyes were unfocused. Azarus traced the lines leading from her chest, finding the spark of [Faefire] kindling on her neck, beneath her hair. The god tried to pluck the line between Carwen and the [Faefire], but his fingers slipped through, cementing the theory he needed the halo to interact.
A new line snaked out from the forest, revealing itself as much as appearing. It connected to Moka and pulling tight, tangling itself in the halo over her head. The thread looked like a crystalline green vine with luminescent blue flowers with oddly plump petals. A few feet from Moka’s chest, the line fractured, splitting in a fractal pattern toward the trees. Azarus squinted, following the lines to their origin. When he found it, he plucked the line without hesitation, sending his will layered with a sliver of the power he had recovered in that last few moments.
The Underforest rustled, a soft breeze seeming to appear from everywhere and nowhere at once. Trees moved, rising straight out of the ground and through the vine layer as if plucked like common weeds by an unseen hand. They came back down with hooves in the place of the roots. The [Guardian Spirit], split into seven clones, marched toward Moka from all sides, their formation tightening like a noose.
As one, the vine-elks stopped. One, slightly larger than the rest, stepped forward. It shook its antlers and stomped its hooves, bugling a clear bellow. The dryad and hob both fell to their knees at the sight. The remaining six copies of the [Guardian Spirit] followed the first’s lead, a beat behind. A wave of blue flowers spread from them. The world became monotone, a single shade of vibrant blue.
Behind Moka, in the circle of trees that hosted Danara’s former lair, a deep roar echoed, followed by the sound of clamoring. Moka positioned herself so she could eye the exit, the [Dryad], and the [Guardian Spirits] at the same time. She held herself like a naked blade; raw violence waiting for its moment. At her feet, Carwen feverishly leveraged a petal-berry to her mouth, bubbles foaming at the corner of her lips.
Everything seemed to vanish in the blue, shape and distance becoming meaningless. A raging purple figure smashed through a wall of blue, sending it flying. The gigantified hob, skin painted in tribal runes, had the patchwork naga’s chain-forged tail in one hand, wielding it like a flail as it charged toward the [Guardian Spirit]. Scores of smaller, burning shapes, followed in the hob’s shadow. Azarus noted its appearance and silently lamented the hob’s loss. In defeating the naga, he had become the [Faefire Apparition], ultimately paying for victory with its life and mind. It was a poor ending for a warrior, but suiting for a raider.
Azarus sighed. He was ready to wrap this Trial up. It was the first step in what he intended to be a long run. However, he could admit it was fitting he should clean up his own mess. Time slowed in his perception as he took quick stock of the field. Moka was standing over Carwen, facing down all comers. The terrain altering elks and the flaming figures held her attention. Carwen fumbled with her petal-berry, dropping it from her trembling hands. The dryad and hob knelt to the [Guardian Spirit], thinking it responsible for their transformation.
The [Faefire] possessed figures ran headlong toward the [Guardian Spirit]. Burning raiders, shades of their former selves, clumped around the gigantic hob’s legs, the [Faefire] using their bodies to spread itself. The forest spirit and its clones all pawed the ground, preparing to meet the charge and defeat the interlopers.
Azarus had seen enough. He gathered the cinders of his domain into his cupped hands, breathing life into them. With a hand coated in a glove of tri-flame, Azarus grabbed the halo over Moka’s head. He eschewed delicate plucking, choosing to trust his emerald aspect. With a mad cackle, he yanked the entire bundle of lines, uncaring of which were loose or taut. He vibrated his essence, speaking his intent.
“Fall into place.”
The lines running from Moka’s chest sparked, erupting into tri-color flames. Carwen coughed, the rattling in her chest drawing Moka’s attention. Zag barked up a storm and Azarus laughed, the two of them indulging in the chaos. Moka swiped the fallen petal-berry off the ground, crushing it in her palm. She unceremoniously shoved the pulped remains into the elf’s mouth, barely suffering her another glance as she kept her eyes on the unfolding battle. Then it was over.
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