Fantastic! Love reading this.
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R.I.P Margaret. Some great shots of evading those lethal Aether shotgun blasts. Hardcore with a classless build can be really punishing in the boss fights. One mistake or a step in the wrong direction and it is over in seconds.
Another issue is that you can also die very easy when trying to capture the opportunistic screen snapshots you are looking out for. Dunno what the answer to this is unless maybe a mod can start and stop a snapshot sequence when requested
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No answer needed. Punishment is life. I am loving it!!!
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FREDERICK LONGSHORE MOSEYS INTO BURRWITCH;
As he entered Burrwitch, he was unsurprised to find it a smoldering ruin. Malformed bodies littered the roads, their corpses recently slain… Whatever had killed these creatures must have been close-by. Longshore relied on his hunter’s senses. He could smell nothing but ash and blood. The bodies of the enemy lay burnt to cinders, shattering into flakes of soot and carried away on the breeze as he walked past. Whoever… WHATEVER did this… Longshore was relieved to have missed it. Otherwise he might be a charred corpse as well.
This close to Gloomwald, the best place to start his hunt was the Warden’s Estate, which he was unsurprised to find vacant but for the dead. He made his ways through the hallways and passages of the underground transit system, unsure why the Warden had such an elaborate facility built beneath his Estate. This uncertainty faded when Longshore entered the Hidden Laboratory, learning the true purpose of the facility- harvesting bodies of criminals and other… “Donations”… To serve as vessels for the Aetherials.
Longshore was not new to this phenomena, nor was he new to the practice. He had fought against these monsters during his time in the crucible, and Lokarr was taken to using the bodies of fallen pit-fighters in the same way the Warden apparently had been using those of convicts and low class citizens. For Lokarr, the Aetherials were a blessing, a renewable resource that would sustain itself for as long as his bloody melees provided the bodies of the dead. Somehow, in this, the Warden’s hidden laboratories were a crude, untempered, and altogether amateur enterprize compared to Lokarr’s tyrannical dictatorship in the realm. The Warden’s fancy surgical equipment and devices that crowded the place had all been dismantled- each and every one. Lokarr needed no equipment or devices to conduct his surgeries.
Longshore travelled deeper into the facility. His footsteps echoing along the dark hallways, here and there dampened by piles of burned flesh, or smashed decor. A few lone fires still burned, announcing themselves with straggling cracks and pops and casting slippery light on blood spattered walls and leveled surfaces, the accidental victims of catastrophic impacts- death blows executed too fast, or extended too far. At long last, Longshore reached the Warden’s solar. He raised the Huntsman to his chest, and crept inside to catch his first target…
…but the room was empty, save for some shattered furniture, and broken weaponry. He slung the Huntsman over his shoulder, returning it to its position. There was a human skull sitting near the fireplace in a pool of blood. His hunter’s instincts kicked in, and he crouched down next to the crimson spill, no doubt where a body had been just hours earlier- the blood was still wet. As he rose to his feet, he found the skull in his left hand- evidently he had picked it up without realizing it. Strange. Stranger still, it was warm to the touch and humming with some kind of mysterious energy… It was as if… As if it were WHISPERING to him…
Putting the whispering voices out of his mind, Frederick made the long walk south to Devil’s Crossing, urged on by a sudden, unsettling intuition, that he was meant to go south. Something was telling him his target had passed through the Crossing, and into Arkovia.
“Give him a chance” Longshore jumped, startled by the whisper. He spun around, but nothing was there… How very curious… Was Lokarr attempting to contact him somehow?
Upon entering the Crossing, the residents there were shocked by his wild appearance, and the guards mistook him for an enemy creature, firing at him before he shouted out “Im human!! I mean you no harm! Please!”, the guards slowly lowered their weapons and brought him to John Bourbon, who was relieved, if not unnerved, to hear about the disappearance of the Warden. The settlement was overcome by sadness when he explained the skull- he told them how he’d found it there, and Bourbon had him bring it to the spirit guide, who spent many hours performing rituals around the skull until she finally was able to communicate with it.
The skull was Margaret’s. Bourbon wanted to bury it and build a shrine around it, however Longshore felt that would be a waste- something urged him to oppose this. He needed to bring the skull with him, of that much he was sure, though he could not say why.
“In time… All in good time…” Was all he heard in the back of his mind…
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LONGSHORE HUNTS HIS MARKS;
Urged onward, Frederick Longshore follows a weaving course through Arkovian lands, intermingling with beasts and bandits alike, periodically overtaken by fits of deja-vu, visions of having crossed these lands before, though he never had…
He encountered sparse resistance- Most of the bandits were already dead, slain by a previous traveler. What remained were loosely organized bands of cowardly fighters who harried him but would disappear, fleeing into the hills whenever confronted head-on. One such group had taken refuge in a nearby crumbling structure. Frederick pursued them into the structure, setting it ablaze and purging it of all signs of life. When he climbed out, he was on the other side, free to roam the Arkovian plains.
The plains were filled with the dead, but these were not Aetherials risen again to fight him- These were the undead. The long dead citizens of Arkovia, ascending through stone and sand and breaking free from the earth in an outrage at this intruder. Their numbers were so great, Frederick feared he would soon be at the end of his trapping days. He wondered what horrors would befall him if he should fail Lokarr without having delivered a single worthy specimen.
“Focus!!!” A strong womanly voice commanded from within the skull. And so he did, his sights set on the enemies before him. Rifts opened up beside him intermittenly, spitting out Lokarr’s faithful Rifthounds, who tore into the enemy without remorse. They fought alongside Frederick seamlessly, as though they’d known him all his life, and defended him with their own;
Free to focus on one enemy at a time, Longshore made swift, clean, and efficient death-work with his bearded axe, light catching on its razor sharp edge through clouds of gore, glinting off it with omens of bloody murder. He fought on, through to the Bandit’s hideout, the hounds possessed by the bloodlust of Lokarr himself.
A long bandit attempts to stop Frederick Longshore, but he is easily outmatched by the veteran hunter, whose bearded axe slices a chunk out of the bandit’s chest and left arm, sending blood spouting out of the wound. Stunned by the sudden deathblow, the bandit staggers leaking blood for several seconds before keeling over in a cloud of festering doom
When Frederick reached the end of the old bandit’s hideout, he found it deserted. Someone had already avenged the innocents here…
…But Margaret’s skull pulsed in his hand, the closer he got to the wall, a beacon to a shimmering green light- Aether-light- through some broken wood planks set recklessly in the wall. Frederick hacked them away effortlessly using his axe, and stepped into the hidden room…
Bathed in the emerald shine, a gentle glowing wind encircled him, emanating from the skull. He watched it swirl around him, the forms of a man and woman in somber embrace.
“Frederick… You must take of the crystal. You must feed us. It is your destiny, and without it, all three of us will be gone forever. When the time comes, you will thank me for this…” The man and woman confessed, speaking in unison. Frederick used his axe to shatter the crystal, taking a couple of chunks of it for himself, and placing them inside the skull.
Where before the skull had been only a distant entity on his awareness, once implanted with the aether clusters, it became fully alive- Moving and talking of its own accord! Fiery green light spilled out from its eye sockets, illuminating a trail of footprints made of illusionary Aetherfire. He rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times to make sure he wasnt imagining it before tracking the set of footprints to a hole in a broken mineshaft.
“Go on” the skull said, and Frederick Longshore did.
The land beyond had been savagely vandalized, a bridge utterly destroyed, forcing him to fight through swathes of the undead and brave the depths of the Arkovian Undercity and the abominations in the Broken Hills, and Smuggler’s Pass before getting back on track. Lokarr’s hounds fought like demons beside him, working in threes to dispatch great monsters and horrors.
With each enemy laid low, the skull grew ever hotter in Frederick’s hand. He could hear a sickening suckling sound radiating from the flickering bone. When he looked down, to his amazement, he saw the skull itself was SUCKING THE SOULS out from the slain enemies. Spectral wisps circulated through the air, drawn into the mouth of the skull.
“We are so hungry…” He could hear the voices say. He would give them a banquet.
A quick stop for some long forgotten treasure would go a long way in improving his status with Lokarr on his next delivery…
Who was this “Ulgrim”? And how in the world did he know that Frederick Longshore had been taken by Lokarr?! NO ONE knew about Lokarr… How could they?
Longshore put his questions away, and went back to the bloodshed in search of his Marks. The time was drawing near when he would need to make his first delivery…
The closer he got to Homestead, he could sense his Marks.
“To me, hounds!” He cried out, calling the Rifthounds to his side, and running with his pack, the spirit of the Rifthound flowing strongly through him!
Together they met the tide of Aetherials on the frontline with a crash, engaging in a brutal struggle for dominance on the field of battle
“THERE!” Margaret’s skull violently cried. “The first mark!”
Longshore reached over his shoulder and unslung the Huntsman, drawing down on the mighty Aetherial hero- A fine specimen indeed! Lokarr would be pleased.
“Thats one down” Frederick said to himself in satisfacton.
“Dont get cocky- There are more here, and they are close… I’m sensing theyre at the gates of Homestead…” The skull replied.
“Ohhhh, what a beautiful creature…” The skull exclaimed, clearly enamoured with the specimen before them.
“Yessss… But another rises!!! WATCH OUT!”
The net barely fit over Harrath, the hulking war-beast straining to break free, twine and strands of rope began to thread and come undone with each turn of its weight and movement in its limbs. Letting out a shout of pure rage, it threw its arms up, tearing the net to shreds, and charging at Frederick with reckless abandon. Longshore shifted his weight to his hind leg, preparing to dodge and stike out with a rapid counter attack, he lowered his center of gravity and focused his breathing, eyes locked on harrath and unaffected by the sounds and smells of the surrounding battle- Just like being back in one of Lokarr’s melees. Nothing to it! He was comfortable in this environment. He tightened his grip on his axe, eagerly anticipating the moment he would strike the killing blow to Harrath’s soon-to-be vulnerable neckspace…
Suddenly one of Lokarr’s hounds burst out from a rift and struck a mortal blow to Harrath behind his shield arm on his unguarded quarter, laying him low.
“Damn you. I had him… Greedy little hounds…” Longshore cursed, frustrated at the stolen glory.
With his marks delivered, Longshore thought back to the Wendigo… He’d grown accustomed to battling in Cairn once again, and felt it was time he return to seek out the mysterious Wendigo… Just to collect information. He was not ready to hunt it yet. Returning the way he came, Frederick Longshore trudged across to Gloomwald once again…
Might as well collect some specimens while hes in the area… This plant life was unreal…
Taking a moment, Frederick cut several pieces off of one of the slain plants, which rapidly began to decompose before his eyes.
“Stunning…” He relented.
He’d been so engrossed in his investigations that he failed to notice his movements had attracted the attention of the blood cults and deranged locals…
“The cluster… Take of it. Swallow it. NOW.” The skull demanded. Longshore did as he was bid, breaking off a shard from the Aether cluster in the mouth of the skull and swallowing it. It burned his throat and he swore he could feel it tearing him open from the inside. It was a horrible pain, but he had no time to consider that- Enemies were closing in, and they wanted nothing more than to make a sacrifice out of his body…
Without warning, stakes rose up out of the ground, and barbed wire constricted around him- Frederick Longshore, the trapper, had been trapped! The wire cut into him, spilling his blood and sending crazed incantations to the skies from the cultish revelers pouring out from the nearby broken down structure. Frederick could feel his strength fading. He struggled to break free, worsening the cuts and deepening his wounds. His blood now flowing openly over his armor, Lokarr’s hounds powerless to reverse the effect, he bucked and kicked down the trappings, clumsily throwing the wire off of himself just before a round fired from one of the cultist’s guns bored straight through his chest. The pain was incredible, but Frederick endured it… He just had to, get close enough… And then… He could…
As his vision darkened, the last thing Frederick Longshore saw was the boots of his enemy, still at least 2 feet away.
The skull moaned, and wisps rose from Frederick’s lifeless corpse, sucked into the mouth, into the Aether crystal that remained, and the skull shattered into a bright blue orb of light, floating away, off the ground, up into the trees.
Frederick was floating. Looking down he could see the cultists making off with his corpse, stringing it up into some kind of diabolical ritualistic pose before disembowling it. He watched it in serenity, wholly unaffected by what he was seeing. And he was not alone. Two others joined him at his sides… A man and a woman… Somehow, he knew their names were Margaret and Francis.
Lokarr’s melees did not satisfy him that day. He could feel that something was amiss… What had happened in Cairn?
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ENTER DEVON THORMANE, Master armorer, and apprentice blacksmith of the Crucible realm
BASED ON NPC; Lokarr, master of the Crucible
GRIMDAWN LORE;
Devon Thormane hadn’t set foot in Cairn for what felt like a century. This was, of course, impossible to determine from where he stood in the grand scheme of things. As with all souls that found themselves imprisoned within the Crucible realm, Thormane lived in a timelessness that stretched on and on with torturous excess. One did not age in the realm, and there was no night or day, only constant unending waves of war-games, for Lokarr’s amusement.
If you happened to be a “participant” in one such war-game, it was very likely that you would die, and for most that was both a dream, and a reality. Many of the pit-fighters wished for death in the melees, fighting suicidally and hoping for a glorious end to their torment. Thormane had witnessed several come and go in this manner, but had never joined in their pursuit of eternal silence for one reason- There was another way. Rather than carelessly throw his life away, he had always fought with control and tenacity
As a pit-fighter participating in the war-games, Thormane had excelled, gaining enough experience to learn that slaying your enemies might bring some peace of mind, the feeling that the next melee would surely exhaust Lokarr’s collection of specimens. After all, exactly how many monsters could Lokarr possess in his reserves? A commonly debated mystery amongst those pit-fighters capable enough to survive the initiation melees was that there must be an end to the inexorable tide of minions Lokarr used in these melees. Thormane always sat quietly on the sidelines while other fighters shouted out guesses and hedged their bets, wagering that this next wave must surely bring about an end to the Crucible’s sadistic games. It never did. Eventually, Thormane learned why.
Time and again, Lokarr would choose amongst the most capable pit-fighters in the Crucible, and elevate them to a higher status. This higher status would grant them duties and responsibilities performing various administrative tasks in the realm, awarding them certain “freedoms”. These freedoms often ranged from upholding specific functions in the Crucible, and at times even involved in the authority to leave the realm for purposes unknown to any save Lokarr and his retinue- the Immortals.
The Immortals were powerful beings, each of them serving a different purpose in upholding specific functions to keep the melees operational. These were functions beyond the capabilities of any of the mortal pit-fighters, who were routinely assigned more menial tasks such as cleaning up the battlefields after a melee, setting up and tearing down totems, and other miscellaneous chores. Thormane had been appointed as a journeryman apprentice to Lokarr’s Immortal Blacksmith, for instance. The souls of these Immortals were bound to the Crucible realm, and to Lokarr himself. They could not ever set foot outside the Crucible realm, duty-bound for all time. As such, Lokarr took to enlisting his favored mortal pit-fighters for far-reaching operations that required his extended influence beyond the Boundaries of the Crucible from time to time.
One such pit-fighter was a man named Frederick Longshore. Longshore had arrived many (estimated) decades after Thormane had already been favored by Lokarr and chosen as his keeper of the Armory. Later, when Thormane was elevated to his apprenticeship, he watched Longshore rise and flourish in the realm, winning many melees. Longshore’s skill was impressive enough to win Lokarr’s attention, and he was eventually elevated and chosen as a transient for operations in support of the realm in Cairn. Thormane, chief armorer of the realm, had been the one to present Longshore with his prized helm, armor, and bearded axe before Lokarr hosted the great feast and sent him packing.
That had been many and more years ago, Thormane mused, the memories returning to him as he stared out over the valleys below… He wondered where Longshore was right now. What was he doing out there, what was it like to be back in Cairn?
“Thormane! To me, you dog! Ive need of your services” Lokarr shouted from behind him, and he slowly turned around to face him.
“My lord, I’ve already hammered out the day’s quota for the Smithy. In addition, I’ve sharpened and polished all of the armor and weaponry. They have been placed in the treasure chests, and await the victor of the next me-”
“Silence! What I require of you has nothing to do with that. I have something SPECIAL in mind for you”. Lokarr mocked, a wry smile creeping across his lips.
“Of course, my lord. How might I serve?” Thormane had not survived this long by being clumsy with his weapons, or his words. He was a loyal servant, and a disciplined warrior. He would not have endured otherwise.
“You will be going to Cairn”. Lokarr replied.
“To Cairn? For what?” Thormane asked.
“Oh- oh my… Dont you WANT to go? Perhaps I should choose one of my other pawns for this task…”. Lokarr teased, quizzically squinting his eyes, feigning interest in some other far-off location.
Thormane straightened his back, bringing himself up to his full height, standing proud before his master- a prime specimen for selection. “Forgive me, my lord. I meant no offense. This mortal mind failed me for a moment, thats all. Ill gladly go, as you command it” He exclaimed, almost stumbling over his words.
“Good. You shall leave immediately”. The two of them walked over to the steppes where Lokarr’s rifts were opened and sealed. “It would seem as though I have lost a contact in Cairn. Frederick Longshore, my logistical prospector in service to the Menagerie, has gone missing. To make matters worse, I am running short on… Participants… Surely you understand the implications of this. The games must go on! I had seen this shortage coming on the horizon, hence Longshore’s elevation and subsequent transient tasking. I had sent him out to bring me more specimens for the melees, but the fool only made a couple of deliveries before I lost contact with him. It shall be your charge to locate him, and return him to me to face his judgement.”
“Very well then. I shall head out at once” Thormane said, gruffly, hefting his giant hammer from over his shoulder to rest it on the ground beside him while he took a seat and tightened his smithing armor.
“Do be careful… Longshore was a capable fighter. Whatever happened… it could very well be a powerful foe at the heart of this”. Lokarr considered aloud in a rare moment of compassion. Though Lokarr willing sent hundreds of thousands to their deaths for a living, he did grow fond of his favorites. After all, the realm was a very lonely place with average participant life expectancy less than a day, and only his Immortals to keep him company besides.
“How do we know he didnt tuck tail and run once you set him loose in Cairn? Can we be certain he didnt go into hiding?” Thormane proposed, lacing up his boots.
“Impossible. He delivered powerful specimens to me, I received them through my rifts. I cant imagine he would have chosen to hide AFTER capturing them… Hiding is a coward’s game, and a coward would have hidden rather than confronted the beasts Longshore delivered to me. Besides, my hounds were with him. They would have seen… They should have…” Lokarr trailed off, muttering to himself under his breath. “Leave me, at once!”
“As you say, my Lord.” Thormane consented, and rose to his feet. With his dread hammer gripped tight in both hands, Devon Thormane walked into the rift, into a Cairn he’d not seen in…
NEXT TIME; DEVON THORMANE RETURNS TO CAIRN!
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Quick question: What exactly did you use to get the three hounds?
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Marrow Band, Karvor’s Conjuring Bone, and the Bysmiel’s Command devotion ability from Bysmiel’s Bonds constellation.
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Yeh, those 3 hounds of war where a great combo idea to put together. I thought that pet builds as classless were not viable as the mastery skills were the source of the pets. You have proved me wrong. I must have a look and see if there are other items or devotions that gives pets.
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blightshard amulet and hysteria/savage come to mind.
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Yeah, unfortunately Longshore didnt survive long enough to utilize them. Also, in hardcore mode the stash is seperate from the main game stash and all I have is one character at level 40 whose a non-classless build so my crafting capabilities and stash collection is very lackluster. I am forced to work with what Ive got and thats not much, so I made the most of it. I didnt intend to die when I did, but thats the great thing about HC. One mistake is the end. A lesson well learned. I’m loving it, makes the characters feel much more real.
I don’t get Margaret’s death. Mr. Warden can be pretty much no-damaged if you don’t get too greedy. And for what it’s worth there was nothing to do in gloomwald on your level. Things scale from player level 36 to 62. There was plenty to do in normal campaign, even in the forgotten gods killing that special LEB Death Beetle, before you get to gloomwald. (Beetleburst if anyone remembers him)
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User_name made a lokarr inspired character IIRC using Obsidian juggernaut.
I thought it was hilarious.
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Margaret’s death is purely a case of user error. After all, I’m essentially a noob player who just enjoys the creative fun of this game which is easily satisfied even if the character dies at the Warden. She died due to my carelessness, unfortunately. Ill be honest it was a little heartbreaking for me, losing her like that. I had so much awesome stuff planned for her story, too… But if she hadnt died, the idea of a running story that I’ve started through all the characters I go classless with in HC wouldnt have happened. So there is that for a silver lining.
I’m not surprised you say that theres nothing for Longshore to do in Gloomwald at his level. After all, you have no idea what my plans for his story were either! Thinking in terms of normal game progression and the things a standard character has to do in the game based on things everyone does in the game wont apply to these builds. Their stories are unique and require certain… elements… That can’t be acquired without traveling to certain locations.
That said, Longshore’s death was, yet again, an accident and a mistake. Tragically, I was having a ton of fun with him and all those items and resources I had invested into his build are lost forever… BUT I COULDNT BE MORE SATISFIED! The pain, the agony of losing it all, the death of a character I’ve put hours into developing, screenshotting, and writing lore for… It makes it REAL! I’ll never be able to go back to SC again.
Devon Thormane shall be my retribution for the previous two losses. I have great things planned for him, and wont make the same mistakes I made with Margaret or Longshore, though without those mistakes, the story would not have the momentum that it’s been gaining.
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Technically, you could gdstash-transfer, at certain points the items from a dead char onto the current one, if it fits the story.
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Thats actually a pretty cool idea! (It definitely would fit a couple things I have in mind for the running story).
I’ve never messed around with any mods. Total noob in that regard. I wouldnt even know where to start.
THORMANE’S SEARCH FOR FREDERICK LONGSHORE CONTINUES…
…Centuries. It had been centuries since Thormane last set foot in Cairn. New civilizations had risen, fallen, and risen again since hed been away, though those that rose again did so differently… Haunted by some unseen force. The void spit Thormane out abruptly, and he fell to the ground in Arkovia with a rude awakening. It was a landscape Thormane had meant to explore as a youth, before his time in captivity. Of course back then it had been a growing empire, teeming with activity. Its ports had been rumored to never sleep, there was apparently so much trade and commerce. The Arkovia Thormane had landed in was not the prosperous Mesopotamia it had once been, but rather a desolate and unforgiving wasteland.
The hills were vast, and alive with grotesque corrupted boars that had tusks as long as Thormane’s legs. They charged at him relentlessly as he wandered through their territory, aided by swooping abominations- malformed birdlike creatures that looked to be a sickening combination of man and vulture. Thormane had faced these creatures in Lokarr’s melees, but never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that these creatures might have originated in Cairn! He had always been under the impression Lokarr had engineered these beasts himself! What manner of dark corruption could have produced such results, Thormane wondered.
No matter. His trusty two handed smithing hammer made short work of these foes. Forged by the Immortals, though humble as it appeared to be, the hammer drew upon strange reservoirs of power from the Crucible realm, making it a formidable weapon that discharged electrical blasts whenever it deflected blows. The hammer was also capable of smashing the ground so hard it could send rumbling shockwaves rolling across the earth, the writhing tremors tearing open soil and shredding stones, stunning hordes of enemies caught in its seismic tide. Tumbling broken bodies aside or pulping them altogether, Thormane laid down a path of carnage through the Broken Hills and the Troll infested Smuggler’s Path. He was on a course to Homestead. Lokarr had reported that Longshore’s final deliveries had come from that region. If there was any trace of him there, Thormane would find it.
!
Fighting his way through Dead Man’s Gulch and the Mountain Deeps, Thormane found himself resurfacing on the remnants of Prospector’s Trail, looking down upon dead farmland and abandoned harvesting equipment. The scene was quiet and eerie, and he did not linger there for long. The trail wound up and down, giving him a full view of what lay ahead- the Withering Fields laid out before Homestead like a rotting carpet, despoiled and corrupted by the joining of Aether and Beast alike.
Thormane made preparations to move on the fields, but before he could he was ambushed by hordes of large monsters that appeared to be the very landscape come alive to destroy him. These were the Briarthorn- huge bearlike beasts with bark for skin. They were the size of trees and boulders, and cried out in anguish at his presence, calling to many lesser versions of themselves- their offspring, no doubt- who came flooding in around their legs in an overwhelming onslaught. Thromane gripped his hammer tightly, and braced himself for battle.
With a wicked blow, Thormane’s hammer turned the first briarthorn inside out in a shower of blood and guts. Two more came in low and fast behind the corpse of the first, lashing out at him with vengeful attacks before its body even hit the ground. He twisted his grip on the hammer, pivoting to put himself behind it and blocking the wild blows of his enemies, each impact the hammer absorbed sent small coronas crawling along its shaft. Chunks of hard meat fell from the air, remnants of the first briarthorn hed obliterated now returned to the ground by gravity’s lure. One of the chunks pelted the hammer with a wet smack, a few zig-zagging tendrils of electricity reached out to connect with the impact and fizzled out in small clouds of smoke that hissed like angry snakes. He could feel the energy accumulating inside of the weapon, building up to what would likely be a devastating discharge of force. Thormane fought defensively to this end- the hammer’s electrical discharge would easily fry these lesser briarthorn. No sense wasting too much strength on fighting them.
Finally, one of the briarthorn young overextended its attack, its courage inflated by its numbers. It shot its pikes out to skewer Thormane, only to find the hammer there instead. The impact sent a nova of electrical fury rippling out through the air, disintegrating handfuls of the young while frying the brains of the others. All but the larger briars fell to the earth, ruined by the shocking counterattack.
The largest of the briarthorn let out foul bellows, and beat the ground with their limbs, pushing tendrils beneath the surface and sending roots running underground before breaking through in a twisting thicket of vines. Thormane recoiled in surprise at the sudden explosion of vegetation, struggling to wrench himself free. Thorns began to break out on the surfaces of the vines, tearing at his skin and clinging to his armor. The more he struggled to break free, the deeper the thorns dug in, but they shied away from his hammer- its otherworldly energies acting as a ward against the plant. Using his hammer for leverage, he hauled himself out of the entangling obstruction just in time to batter aside a second wave of briarthorn young.
In the distance it looked like an entire forest was moving- the larger briarthorn Betas now come join to join the battle, loping aside their Alpha like loyal attack dogs, shouting war cries of their own. Thormane charged directly into them while they rallied against him en masse, slaying the Betas before focusing all his might upon the Alpha- a monstrous creature with a cobalt blue hide of ice cold bark. The chill seeped off it in a thick and heavy mist, swirling around its limbs and up to Thormane’s waist.
At times when the beast struck, the entire atmosphere surrounding him would shift in temperature, dropping tens of degrees so abruptly that his joints would stiffen and ice crystals would form over across his skin and armor. He could see his breath. His hammer didnt have the effect on this Alpha that it had on the lesser briars either- its icebark hide causing his blows to slip and slide away, missing their mark time and time again, and the force within grew wild and uncontrollable after every failed attack.
Nevertheless, Thormane kept slugging away. After what felt like an eternity, he started to notice some cracks in the icebark hide. Strong though it was, the ice made it brittle, and easier to shatter. With this in mind Thromane focused his attacks, striking the same areas over and over until the cracks became fissures, segments of the icebark falling off in chunks and leaving nothing but vulnerable subdermal surface beneath. Driving the full force of his attacks directly onto the unprotected portions of the beast, he brought it to its knees, hammering away at the weakened monstrosity until there was nothing left beneath but a hollow shell leaking murky maroon paste.
Thormane let out a sigh, dropping to the ground from exertion. He wiped his weapon clean on the grass and mopped the sweat from his brow. Just when he thought hed cleared the area of this menace, he heard the familiar sounds of branches snapping and leaves rustling, and looked up, squinting into the sunlight to see a second wave of briarthorn beasts narrowing in on his position, herded into aggression by another Alpha- this one green and imposing behind its Betas, who charged Thormane, flanking him and opening into another assault.
In his exhaustion, he fought with desperation, executing wide sweeping strikes and reckless overhand attacks. He could feel the energies in the hammer swirling and crashing up and down the haft with each swing, shifting form within the weapon to mirror the motion of his attacks, giving them added momentum. At the height of the battle, his hammer came down on the ground with a resounding crash, loosing a tidal wave of pure energy that bolstered the seismic blast. The shockwave went rolling away, barreling into the enemy ranks, ripping them apart, or drowning them in a vindictive flash-flood.
The Alpha still loomed before him. This one was different. Its hide was not as thick, however the damage Thormane did inflict appeared to begin healing as soon as his hammer broke contact with the beast. He would need to fight twice as hard if he wanted to break his opponent, and so he did.
As the beast crouched down and attempted to crush Thormane in a mighty embrace, a sinister grin stretched across his face and a surge of strength flowed through him, blinded by adrenaline, he shoved the beasts limbs off him and fell into a battle frenzy, beating the monster so relentlessly that even its supernaturally accelerated healing was not enough to save it. When Thormane came to, the beast lay in a lifeless heap at his feet.
By this time, Aetherial creatures from the withered fields had taken notice of his presence, drawn to the commotion from afar. Twisted half-beasts, corrupted by Aetheric influence, charged directly into his electrified, enraged attacks. He disembowled the first to reach him with a devastating horizontal strike that sent a ring of lightning crackling away from the impact zone. The rest he felled with laborious overhand bludgeonings and the catastrophic shockwaves that followed, washing his foes away in a bloody tide.
By the time it was done, the sun was sinking beneath the mountains, and Thromane was soaked in sweat and blood. His muscles cramped, he was overtired, and needed to rest. He would have given his leg for a good meal and a nice long bath. He laid out on the ground, the immediate threat posed by the horde dealt with, and closed his eyes. He slowed his breathing, calming himself and heightening his senses. There was an unusual energy in the air here, like the charged atmosphere before a sudden storm, only this energy felt akin to that of the Crucible realm. Thormane tried to focus, thinking back to his time in the melees before the memory came to him. This was the smell of Aetherial hordes. So, he was certainly close. Had Longshore been felled by these beasts? Thormane resolved to do a full sweep of the area once refreshed, a total cleansing of these dark denizens, if signs Longshore’s corpse were here, there would be no factor he would overlook in the interest of discovering them…
NEXT TIME: THORMANE REACHES HOMESTEAD!
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Jane of the Crossing finally defeats the Loghorrean nightmare
The acquisition of Kilrian’s Shattered Soul gave Jane the confidence to return to Ulgrim and attempt to finally put an end to this Loghorrean monster.
Once more into the breach with Ulgrim at my side …
Ulgrim, If only I could use my Scorpion Sting more often, maybe we could hurt it more …
Don’t worry, with my swords and your Kilrians Flame and other pyrotechnics we seem to be wearing the beast down
Whilst being distracted with dispatching some summoned minions, I suddenly realize that Ulgrim’s battle cries have gone strangely silent?
Dashing to his last location near the maw of the beast, I see no sign of him or evidence of a slain body. Oh Ulgrim, where have you gone?
NOW I am pissed off! - Time for you to die hell spawn …
Wow, such bad teeth - I am going to knock them back down to your asshole
Too late for that nasty bad breath trick! I am prepared for that now
Eat fire …
and poisoned lightning - WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH ULGRIM?
Sheltering from the aftermath of the beast’s final meltdown … It is now all over
Funny … all that POWER and MENACE, but once defeated, you look like no more than some gigantic dished up Lobster Thermidor that my father used to cook!
Creed is not happy with Ulgrim’s passing, but unlike him I don’t think he is actually dead - just GONE.
Our conversation was interrupted by a distraught survivor from some disaster at Malmouth.
As always, Creed has some ideas of what needs to be done here that always seem to involve myself - NO REST FOR THE WICKED …
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Creed’s Gift to Jane
The least Creed could do was to provide Jane with some rewards for her valour and tenacity. With the valuable materials gathered within the Necropolis, Creed tasked the Legion’s smith Hallena to utilise some of them to renovate Jane’s battle worn equipment.
Her father’s old axe was starting to lose it’s edge and the battered shield she found in Angrim’s junk yard was looking even more battered than ever.
Hallena forged, and attached a new head for her axe and completely overhauled the tired old shield.
The before and after photographs …
(Hallena actually made copies to advertise and promote her smithing business)
…BEFORE…
…AFTER…
Jane was more than happy with the results and immediately set forth to find a path to Malmouth and put them to the test with the anticipation of “Extreme Violence”…
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