Gazablaak holds many unfamiliar sights and sensations for anyone accustomed to the luxury of city walls: the constant, sulphurous scent from the swamp; the unending night under the impenetrable marsh canopy; the illumination of firefly-lanterns; the houses and stores of ramshackle planks; and, of course, the exotic residents. Gazablaak is home to lizardfolk, goblins, orcs, gnolls, ogres and other beings that would be a curiosity to see anywhere else. But, here, they exist in a warm community in which most everyone knows everyone else - another thing that would be strange to a city-dweller.

Winter is not an easy time for the people of Gazablaak, but this does not mean that they're averse to celebration. They, too, practice Winter's Crown; albeit by another, less poetic name. Around a great bonfire that billows smoke into the branches above, many gathered in celebration, compiling their efforts in creating a massive (and somewhat bizarre) stew. Others are more passive, having taken seats on scattered crates and barrels (chairs are something of a luxury). Doing exactly this, sat next to the half-rotten wall of a derelict shack, is a being who's rather too significant for the barrel he's seated on: an ogre.

"Alright, let me get this straight. *You* want *me* to pay *you* for a permit so that *you* can build a shop, here."

This voice - quick, charismatic and slightly baffled - does not come from the ogre. It comes from the rather small goblin that is sat on the ogre's hands, which are raised and flat as if to hold a platter. It's an odd duo, but one that's quite well-known to anyone that lives here: The Big Leader themselves, the mayor(s) of Gazablaak.

Leader (the goblin) is staring, positively puzzled, across the large crate-table as the barrel whines under the weight of Big (the ogre). At the other side of the table-crate, seated without a scrap of that confusion, is a person that seems rather exactly to type that would find Gazablaak so strange. She's dressed in tidy, green clothes that evoke a professionalism that's extremely unbefitting of the rest of her appearance; she is utterly tiny, even smaller than Leader, but deigns to her uncomfortable seating without any assistance. Her face is like the face of a cherub, but with none of the warmth; her tied hair is as gold as the wheat-fields of King's Valley; and her eyes are as cold and blue as the frozen lakes of the north. She, too, is not an unknown face, though her name is known only in very different circles: Veliky, mysterious founder of the infamous organization called Blixt™ Co. Still, it would be highly unusual for such a person to engage in celebration at all, let alone in Gazablaak; and, indeed, her demeanour says it all: she's here on business and nothing more.

"That's correct." Yet again, the little paradox contradicts herself, but now with her voice - mature, logical and utterly uncompromising.

Leader can't help but scratch his cadmium-green forehead in confusion. Veliky's clarification did not do much to clarify.

"...I just- I just don't really see how that benefits us." Perhaps he'd more stern if it weren't for the frigid aura of the woman across from him, who sighs in misty condescencion before answering.

"Look, I like this place. Gazablaak has a lot of potential; I want to see it grow and thrive."

She leans forward, her gaze growing bolder and more menacing. "If I opened a business here-" She accentuates 'here' by firmly tapping the crate-top before her. "-then money would pour in like a waterfall into a stein. But *I* would be losing money because, like or not, Gazablaak is not an economic hotspot. So, if I'm going to help at all, I'm going to need free construction permits and about 250 solars for supplies and labour."

"...I, uh..." This is normally the time where any reasonable person (including Leader) would outright refuse. The little misress' offer is simply absurd. But he can't help but be somewhat dissuaded by Veliky's... 'employees:' utterly bizarre humanoid entities that were constructed - not born - of metal. Indeed, their burning-crimson lenses that constitute as eyes, are a damper on any attempts at negotiation, not to mention the fact that most of them are armed to the teeth. So, instead, all that Leader says is "...I'll think about it. Hope you enjoy the festivities."

Big rises, Leader still in-hand, to his feet. The movements leads the barrel to scream in agony or perhaps relief from the crushing weight. As they walk out of Veliky's frozen aura and into the warmth of the festivities, both their expressions become notably lighter - happier.

Meanwhile, Veliky just sighs. She knew she was being too hopeful. Still, she wasn't actually lying; without the compensation she demanded, she would never have been willing to take the financial hit that's entailed by doing business here. She takes off her hat and runs a gloved hand through her frazzled, golden hair as she stares into the bonfire. Between the dangers of the swamp, the chill of the season, the hazards of the weather and a deal that just feel through, she's mostly certain that this trip can't get any worse.

---

Bringing Minions
Bishop-11 (Warlord)
Knight-02 (Warlord)
Rook-13 (Warlord)

Bringing Pets
Stalker-03 (Prismatic Spider)
Vampire-04 (Vampire Bat)

By Gazablaak standards, when Gerhart enters town he is the exotic one. Growing up on the outskirts of Moonglade and near the Marsh Flats he had always heard things about this place, most of them unkind, but he tried not to hold those in his heart as he headed out towards the village proper. Besides, he'd made more than his fair share of friends that others might be more wary of. It's hard to be an adventurer if you get scared or off put by these kinds of things.

All of that said, the smell is somewhat of a difficult adjustment for his nose. All the time he spent honing his senses while hunting was backfiring just the tiniest of bits. He chokes back the first gurgle in his throat, slowly exhales, and resettles himself. Once past that first sensation, the place is actually quite nice and he's led astray by the smell of the fire.

Before he can quite make it over to the festivities he notices Veliky and her entourage. Now that was really something you don't see every day. Gerhart was just proud he finally got his bear traps cleaned and oiled enough they didn't snap shut on his wrists when trying to set them. Sure, the young adventurer was easily impressed but come one, these bots were cool.

He starts to cross the mud towards Veliky to grab her attention, but something else takes his attention and mostly everyone elses.

The noise, warmth, and smell of food seems to have invited party crashers. Barreling towards the food, crushing barrels and knocking several smaller people aside are a handful of owlbears.

Quietly Gerhart sighs, "Not again."

Sudden screaming, running and bestial screeching. Should've guessed.

Veliky just lets out a long sigh, legs still crossed like some hedonistic lady. As a general rule, she isn't a festive person - in fact, she despises holidays; but even she'd prefer a bit of torpid merriment to *this*. While her bots are raising their weapons and shields, she just produces a little bottle of Blixt™ and takes a disillusioned swig.

The bot^[1] to her left - wielding a crackling whip and guarding with a raised shield - buzzes in some programmed attempt to stir more urgency in its apathetic mistress. "Mistress Veliky, report: four owlbears are attacking the plaza."

"Yes, Knight. I'm aware." She doesn't even open her eyes to acknowledge it; they remain closed as she leans and relaxes as if trying to calm a migraine (which she probably is).

With a pronounced series of clicks, the other bot^[2] - carrying a heavy and dangerous-looking crossbow - pivots its neck to stare down at her with crimson eyes.

"Mistress Veliky, query: should we assist the locals in their defense?"

At least this draws her gaze, albeit a bemused and somewhat condescending one.

"Why are you not already?"

Her jeer is command enough; each with a chirp of acknowledgement, the two bots spring into action. Their joints hiss and their footfalls clank on the frosted mud! Electricity courses through their weapons^[3] as they avail the fight.

With a single swipe of a heavy paw, an owlbear smacks the massive pot of stew aside, spilling its stomach-churning contests across the fertile ground. The lizardman that'd been beside it stumbles back; he only narrowly avoids a snap of the monster's sharp beak. For a brief moment, he almost seems inclined to fight back. But he's sent fleeing for his life, by a screeching roar - a bastardization of the avian and the ursine.

Its silhouette against the bonfire, the owlbear is a galumphing nightmare. Rising onto its hinds and letting out another piercing cry, it rivals even the most towering of grizzlies. It defines 'monster;' but the true terror does not come until it slams its paws back down and its saucer-like eyes fall upon Gerhart. It's unavoidable, now.

But, then, a stranger and more chaotic noise is heard as those two automatons rush to Gerhart's side! They are a strange, unnerving sight to behold, but their stances (and weapons) are pointed at the owlbear. It would seem, for the moment, that they are allies.

"Human warrior, request:" one of them speaks in a monotonous, droning voice. "the people of Gazablaak must be protected. Your assistance could be valuable."

---

1. Knight-02
2. Bishop-11
3. Sigil's Blessing [Lightning Rune]

"Way ahead of you two." He grins at the automatons, his swords already drawn. One blade seems to whirr with energy, the gentle flapping of his cuff signals to the wind element that starts to surround the edge. The other sword seems almost hard to place, even when it is held still its position is blurred and hard to read.



From this distance he slashes out with his first sword, a meaningless swing it seems for a moment before the beast roars out with dozens of cuts hitting its broadside as the wind kicks up.^[1] "Stick to its sides, I'll handle the front of it."



The owlbear, now enraged, begins barreling towards the adventurer. Gerhart comes up to meet it, slashing out at the owlbear's chest to force it to defend itself and not rear back and slam him. A large paw the size of Gerhart's chest does come up to swipe at him, but he braces his stance and blocks the paw with his sword. For the moment, he and the bear are locked in a battle of will and strength.



"You're barely half the size of the last owlbear I fought, you must be the runt." He grinned through strained teeth as he challenged the owlbear.^[2]

---

<sup>1. Wind Cutter
2. Challenging Mark</sup>

As Gerhart's blade locks with the owlbear's claws, the bot wielding whip & shield marches forward - a precise, mathematical movement. It unfurls and discoils its whip, which suddenly begins to crackle with lightning^[1]! With the wave of an arm, it flows through the air like a dancer's ribbon to suddenly CRACK and strike the beast in its side! It leaves a long, festering divide in the owlbear's feathers.

The beast recoils, monstrous but not immune to pain, as the lightning has its muscles spasming violently! It turns, only for a second CRACK to create a second mark - this time, between its saucer-like eyes: a vile wound.

At this moment, at this level of pain, any other beast would be deterred and retreat. But this creature's fury is a thing to behold; yet seething, it takes another heavy step forward. But then...

SMACK! The telltale sound of a crossbow precede its telltale pierce, directly behind the owlbear's shoulder and into its heart. Its death is mercifully instantaneous, and its fall is near-seismic.

A grind can be heard as the killer-construct pulls another bolt into its flight groove. Somewhat threateningly, it stares at Gerhart as it does so.

"Human warrior, alert: the target has been eliminated. Recommendation: we must continue the defense."

Meanwhile, from some forty feet away, Veliky observes boredly. She hasn't moved from that barrel; in fact, she's barely moved at all but to rest her chin on her hand. But, as she watches the owlbear collapse, she lets out the sigh of a work-weary mother.

"Guess I should do something, too..."

Befitting her disenthusiasm, several empty seconds hang between this statement and any other action on her part. Finally, she hops, and plants her boots into the slippery mud, raises her arms in a tired stretch, and grabs something that was leaning on the barrel. It's a strange little thing, constructed of metal and walnut, and extending about as long as a wizard's staff (granted that that wizard is a halfling). Holding it laterally, she flips open a little, metal latch on the side to reveal a metal tray. Then, eyes still focused on the strange device, she begins to walk forward with mud squishing underfoot.

Standing in the bonfire's flickering penumbra, a second owlbear gorges itself on a huge tray of dried insects (a holiday treat in Gazablaak). Crunching of chitin, squelching of bug-guts, groans of gluttonous contentment... it's a revolting slurry of sounds.

Veliky approaches without a shred of fear. And, as she does, she pulls a tiny container of paper from her pocket, tears it open with her teeth, and pours some of its contents - a dark, sinister powder - into the metal tray before closing the latch again.

The owlbear raises its head. Dozens of insect cadavers have matted into the feathers on its face, which becomes clear as it turns to face the calmly mincing halfling.

Veliky turns the device vertically and pours the rest of the bag's contents into a hole at its top.

The beast screeches monstrously, territorially, unwilling to tolerate any intruders upon its meal (however meagre).

She slides a long, metal stick out of from from a set of bands on the device's side, then drives the rod into that same hole at the device's top several times. After she's finished - whatever she may've been doing - she slides the rod back between the metal bands.

The beast's patience has worn too thin. The halfling is only a short charge away. It no longer screeches, as its intention has darkened from intimidation to something far more lethal, and it steps forward.

Veliky pulls a lever near the rear of the device, and points the opening at an upward angle, one eye closed. Ones of her hands holds the device's underside whilst the other lightly grips a strange, thin mechanism near its back. She's barely a meter from it, now.

The beast rises onto its hinds, claw raised to cleave the halfling into six.

With two fingers, she squeezes the mechanism.

BANG^[2]! From the opening in the device erupts an explosion of smoke and fire, so swiftly that it could be lost in the blink of an eye! A hole, half the size of a fist, manifests in the owlbear's chest. The sound of both the explosion and the creature's pained wails fills the air. Its death is not so instantaneous, but just as decisive.

Oddly, it's only in the creature's death that Veliky shows any sign of discomfort. Of course, it isn't in shame or guilt; she presses a hand to her temple, as the near-deafening noise does very little to ease the ache in her skull.

"Ow... kien... Ko man enda man naas alr dal...?" she groans through gritted teeth. And then, somewhat more rushed and somewhat more angrily, she begins to repeat the loading process.

---

1. Sigil's Blessing [Lightning Rune]
2. Musket [2 shots remaining]

Gerhart would have to thank Shaa for all the strength training he had been through in recent weeks or this owlbear would've folded him. He gritted his teeth and groaned as he pushed it back off of him just before it is hit with a bold of lightning. Thank Ginma for that because with the amount of armor he wore that could've been bad.



"The bots Astrid had seemed a lot friendlier than you." Gerhart grimaces as he rolls a shoulder, a little sore from holding of the owlbear.



"PLEASE PLEASE HELP I DON'T WANNA BE DINNER." A goblin cries out as it dangles from a tree branch, precariously hanging down as an owlbear attempts to jump up to bite him and make a goblin sized snack.



Gerhart sprints across the way, parkouring over a few tossed over tables and trying to keep his footing amidst the spilled food and wine. He rushes in^[1] and takes a long horizontal swipe at the owl bear, the wind energy around his swords creating a deeper laceration than any normal sword.



With a roar of pain, it turns and takes a wild and feral strike. The paws are easily parried to the side and the owlbear is kept off balance. Seeing it start to slip Gerhart aims low and swing at the paw holding up its weight, slicing into it and sending the bear onto its back.^[2]



Massive paws now struggle to get the writhing mass of fur and feather back upright again, but Gerhart isn't about to let that happen. He brings his sword down on its heart, pumping just a bit more wind energy into the sword to make sure it cuts where it needs to.



"This one is taken care of, there should only be one left!"

---

<sup>1.Rushing Charge
2. Grounding Strike</sup>

Muskets: probably one of the most powerful handheld weapons in the world, and possibly *the* most tedious and cumbersome. A trained and talented soldier could have one loaded in as little as fifteen seconds. But Veliky? It's been nearly thirty and she's only now pouring the last grains of black powder into the barrel. Perhaps it's her frustration that's hindering her. Regardless, the confidence and brutality with which she dispatched the last owlbear seems rather diminished.

"Alet nef...!" she grouches as she tugs on the ramrod, which has inexplicably become stuck between the barrel bands. She does, after a frustrating struggle, manage to pull it free; the sound that should be a gentle, metallic slide instead is a vexing grind. "There we- Gah, kien!"

She drops the rod into the sludge with a disheartening 'shlp.' It's the sort of sound that makes a person want to just call it a day; and, indeed, it does give her an exasperated pause. But there would be two major problems with leaving the ramrod: first, the musket is completely useless without it is vital to the loading process; second, the plaza is still under attack from vicious owlbears.

And so she deigns to kneel down and peel the rod from the sticky sludge, opting to do it quickly as if the act is somehow scandalous. Perhaps it's good that she did; if she hadn't, she might not've risen quickly enough to see the bloodstained face of the owlbear charging toward her.

Veliky's yanked out of the monster's path, just as a massive paw slams into the mud where she'd stood. She rolls along, but held aloft by some unseen force; it's a dizzying sight, even for her. The discombobulated halfling is deposited safely, albeit stumbling, on the ground. The ramrod - along with the musket - is long gone.

The owlbear turns to face her. But only now does her saviour reveal itself, as another Blixtbot™^[1] manifests^[2] from thin air - head first - crouching with a raised and pointed longsword of impassionate steel. Its stance, its empty eye and even the quiet clicking of its joints speak to its dutiful readiness.

Between a merciless beast and an unfeeling machine, no words are shared. Fury carries the owlbear forward, raising its vicious claws! The construct can't hope to deflect any attack from such an awesomely powerful^[3] beast; instead, with a grace^[4] that far surpasses that of its clunky kin, it evades back from every slash and rake! It backsteps a swipe, rolls aside from a heavy slam and even manages a free slash at the beast's round face. Only, it recoils back before the steel can meet its flesh - surprising agility for such a massive creature.

The construct's retreat leads it to the corpse of the previous owlbear (the poor log with the hole in its chest). With the monster barely a second behind, it vaults over the huge corpse and lies behind it, out of the beast's sight. Of course, it isn't long before the monster leans atop the corpse and peers over to see... nothing! The bot has disappeared^[2].

A screech of avian fury rises into the sky like the bonfire's flame, and the creature digs its claws into its own kith's cadaver.

By now, Veliky's world has stopped spinning - at least, it's slowed enough that she can see that her bodyguard has vanished. This would be greatly disturbing to anyone else, or if it were any other bodyguard, but Veliky just looks on in approval. She's already wiping mud off her sleeves; she knows this is over.

But she's mistaken! Seemingly unprovoked, the owlbear makes a wild swipe, striking the invisible construct that had crept beside it^[5]! It's a brutal and irreversible wound; had it been even slightly more accurate, the bot would've been obliterated. It stumbles back; hull raked with wide gouges that ooze unnatural, grey fluid; but it's as alive as a soulless machine can be.

Of course, owlbears aren't known for mercy. There's barely a second to breathe before it's charging again, and far less before it's upon the bot which raises its sword in desperate defense! It works, if only for a moment; with the sword its jaws, the owlbear pushes the bot along the ground, toward the bonfire, until flames lick the construct's back.

What follows is a truly desperate struggle. The construct's joints creak and pop as it wrestles with the massive beast! And its feet struggle to maintain purchase in the fertile mud; it slips ever closer to the fire. It's a hopeless struggle - utterly hopeless.

But then, SMACK! A bolt flies from the sidelines and into the owlbear's flank! It's far, far from lethal, but it provides a clockwork heartbeat of respite for the sword-bot.

Only, it's somewhat strange that the beast expressed no pain.

But this matters little to the bot, which immediately strikes its pommel into the side of the owlbear's jaw! There's an ugly crack, but, still, no other sound. Regardless, there's a window of opportunity! The bot ducks under a swipe and slides under the monster's bulk, slicing into its belly as it does! Now positioned in its blindspot, it finally goes for the killing strike. It leaps into the air, above the creature, and plunges the blade the blade into the monster's back!

...

No blood sprays. No flesh is pierced. No feathers are even plucked. Because, as the sword is thrust downward, it meets... a shell, like that of a tortoise, on the owlbear's back. It was most certainly not there before.

Veliky's eyes widen at the sight, as most persons' would. Only, it's less in shock and more in 'Are you kidding me?' She doesn't have a clue what just happened, but one thing is clear: things are not as they seem.

The owlbear rises onto its hinds in a single, powerful movement that flings the bot off its back. And on its hinds it remains, looming like a rampart-tower. It's difficult to make out as little more than a silhouette against the fire. But even that silhouette displays something quite unnatural, as it begins to shrink in size. It becomes slimmer, the shell and beak disappear; the feathers fade into nothing, and what now stands before the flame is the still-menacing form of a well-muscled, orcish woman^[6]. The slash that was left by bot lingers on her stomach. The fury in her eyes burns brighter than the bonfire as she grabs her own jaw and - CRACK - snaps it back into place.

It's difficult to tell what she's looking at, at first. But, whatever it was, Veliky walks into her view. She looks less furious, but no more pleased.

"And you are?"

---

1. Rook-13
2. Invisibility (Rook-13)
3. Massive Strength (Owlbear)
4. Cat's Grace (Rook-13)
5. Keen Senses (Owlbear)
6. Shape Change (Archdruid Gadajok)

Gerhart wrenches his blade free from the owlbear he had killed. After helping the goblin down from the tree, he sets them down with a smile and a sigh. "Go on, back to your family if you can find them."



There is a slight nervous apprehension from them to leave and potentially subject themselves to being chased, but Gerhart gives them a reassuring smile. He glances back over his shoulder to see how the other person and their autobotmachinecontraptions, Gerhart is not sure of the right word, are doing.



The way it moves and takes hits is strangely capitvating. It could easily seem to hold its own against the owl bear, even one of that size. He shakes his head to regain focus, that fight seemed to be handled for now.



Gerhart turned his focus to rescuing who he could with the final owlbear seemingly meeting its match. He jogged over to the feasting area where it seemed the chaos had begun, starting to lift tables and help free the others. Gerhart helped pull one orc from the underneath the cauldron that had spilled on it.



"Coooome on, there we go, phew." A tired smile crosses his face as he pats them on the shoulder before helping them to their feet. Not much he could do about the burns, but he could walk that was the good nes.



He turns back to the fight having done what he can here, catching what he thought would be the decisive blow when the creature seems to shapeshift. Gerhart takes a step forward to charge and redraw his swords when he hears Veliky talk, pausing his steps for the moment. That was a good question, maybe they could find a solution to something they didn't even realize was an issue.

As Veliky stands with crossed arms, Gerhart steps forward and the two remaining constructs rush to the little woman's side, the orc just cricks her neck. Saturated in every movement, every glance is the unclouded fury known only by beasts, mixed with the vengeance of a widower. Reverberating from deep in her chest is a long breath, carrying the guttural rumble that is so intrinsic of orc-kin. Splotches of blood - whose, it's difficult to tell - shine on her tusks. She walks to the side with the aura of an apex predator, knowing danger but not fearing it.

Near her sits a crate, atop which stands a forsaken bottle of swamp grog, an alcohol so potent that some use it as a poison. She grabs the bottle, snaps it at the neck with a flick of her thumb, and pours its entire contents down her throat. In her hands, the bottle looks like an infant's, and she nary seems to feel the substance that would have another wrenching and puking in seconds. When the last drop falls into her gullet, she tosses the bottle into the fire and growls.

"Only good thing you dogs ever did." Her bass grumble is an odd mix of accents: Orcish grunge with the melody of Frost Gale; but with something implaceable, primal.

Veliky is bemused. It shows on her face and tone, alike. "Excuse me?"

The massive figure breathes - heavy, burning and sickly-sweet breaths as it lumbers to face the party with contempt.

"Godojok. Archdruid."

In one movement, unnervingly swift for her size, Godojok flings the crate^[1] directly toward Veliky! She's only saved by the whip-golem intercepting it, allowing the crate to shatter and splinter against its shield^[2]. If the halfling businesswoman flinches, it's too faint to perceive.

"...Right." Calmly, unimpressed.

She steps out from the construct's protection and back into the firelight. The orc is still standing and glaring, apparently satisfied with her introduction.

"Care to explain why you're attacking Gazablaak with a squad of owlbears?" Confident in her underlings' protection, she takes her eyes off the orc and looks about at the corpses of the slain beasts. One has a hole in its chest from Veliky's firearm, another's covered in slashes and punctures, and the last is with a bolt behind its shoulder. "Were those people too?"

She doesn't sound too concerned. Neither does the orc.

"Naaah. Just me." She cricks her neck again. Her bones CRACK, audible even from where Gerhart and Veliky are standing. "'Gazablaak...' Is that what this place is called?"

A tapping foot and ruffling grey fabric speak to Veliky's waning tolerance. "You should generally know a place's name before you launch an assault on it."

Godojok takes two strides forward, her expression unchanging. At each, the constructs adjust their stances, as if faltering.

"In the wilds, there are no names. Just colours, scents, sounds." She slowly sweeps her gaze across the clearing, taking in a long sniff. "I see unearned furs and sky-shields. I smell bland char and cowardice." It can be heard growing within her - ill-suppressed hatred. "I hear weakness."

---

1. Bull's Strength (Archdruid Godojok)
2. Kite Shield Strike Prevention [2 remaining] (Knight)

Taking care of hungry beasts was easy, Gerhart was always ready for that. Trying to navigate what was starting to seem like an intensely personal vendetta was a bit more complicated. Standing behind Godojok, Veliky is the only one to see that Gerhart looks visibly relieved that the owlbears were just that. Adventurer or not, it was never a thrilling feeling to have to kill anything without cause but especially a person.



"Even beasts know when they are outmatched and wounded though, pride will get you nowhere but dead if you continue on. I can promise you that if you stay here or raise either of your hands towards them again, that will be the end of this."



Gerhart calls across the field, steadying himself into a stance. His muscles tightened and readied to surge forward if this Godojok was intent on continuing forward. "Your hatred doesn't give you the excuse to hurt these people."



It's about as typical a good boy speech can be, but what he lacks in creativity and public speaking Gerhart is ready to back up with his blades. He was at least confident in those. He was set on not allowing another person to be hurt, but he hoped to Ginma the archdruid would relent and at least leave for the time being.

"Outmatched?" She looks over her shoulder, at the knight that dared to criticize her. The firelight shines on her face as a low growl reverberates from within her. She has yet to break a sweat. "Don't make me laugh."

Jolting into motion, she raises a foot high and stomps it into the ground! The tremendous force sends literal waves through the mud^[1]. Veliky raises her right hand - a clenched fist - to her mouth. "Desper-" She shouts some unfinished word, interrupted as the wave knocks her to the ground alongside her bots! 

On the orc's skin, sigils of luminescent green begin to form and run along her body, like intricate tattoos^[2] whose designs predate history itself. With a roar, she raises her foot again - even higher, now - and stomps down! On the ground below her, a sigil of that same lustre manifests and reaches out to the corpses of the three slain owlbears! They twitch, they breathe... they rise^[3]! Patterns, like those on Godojok, form over their feathers and faces, suffusing their eyes, beaks and claws^[4] as their wounds fade into nothingness and they lift their bulk aloft.

"There are no excuses! Survival of the fittest: this is the law of the wild! Your weakness is a disease that I, Godojok, will purge!"

The archdruid rears her head and releases a cry into the heavens. The owlbears join her with sky-piercing shrieks.

Staggered and a slight died, Veliky slowly stands. Damp mud has soaked into her outfit - she does not appear pleased.

"Yeah..." she groans. "I guessed as much."

But then, something shines in the little woman's eyes. Her eyes, usually of pale-blue, fill with a brasslike gleam, shining between the splotches of mud on her cheeks. A white glow can be scarcely seen from beneath the dull, grey cloth of her attire, seeping into her left arm and creeping underneath her glove. Power builds, rises, trembling within her. And with that hand, she points at the archdruid, issuing a command with authority of the very heavens!

"Destroy her! Leave not a memory!" The divine commandment bleeds holy power! It echoes within the mind, sending pulses through herself, through her mechanical underlings and even through Gerhart. It demands obeisance; it demands absolution; it demands justice^[5]!

---

1. Rumbling Tremors (Archdruid Godojok)
2. Arcane Mark (Archdruid Godojok)
3. Holy Revival (Archdruid Godojok)
4. Soul of the World {Druid IV} (Archdruid Godojok)
5. Inspiring Presence {Light Domain}

Gerhart rushes forward the second the druid doesn't seem to be backing down. Even with his burst of speed^[1] he isn't fast enough to stop her revival of her companions, but as the archdruid casts her spell Gerhart's eyes flash and another arcane mark^[2] seems to target the druid.



Nonetheless, Gerhart has quickly closed the distance, blazing past the owlbears. They could be left for either the automatons or just something to deal with later. This archdruid was going to be the main problem, especially if she could just keep bringing the beasts back over and over again.

He swings first with his Shadowed Longsword^[3] across her stomach, the Duelist's Longsword^[4] aims for her chest swinging in the opposite direction. Gerhart hopes the mix of speed and strange enchantments on the swords make them hard to block. Thanks to Veliky's prescence and being marked if either of those hit it would do massive damage to the archdruid.



"I can handle here if your friends can focus on the owlbears." Gerhart's voice is much less commanding and authoritative, not demanding Veliky follow his suggestion but an assurance he has this handled.



His gaze never shifts off from the archdruid at this point, he's ready for any counter attack the orc may bring at him.

---

<sup>1. Rushing Charge
2. Sworn Enemy
3. Blurred Enchantment
4. Double Strike Enchantment and Wind Damage</sup>

Needless to say, negotiations have concluded.

That light fades from beneath Veliky's skin, returning to wherever and whatever it came from. So too does that divine grace, as Veliky is left wide-eyed and backing away from the terrible sight of three furious owlbears. Before, they'd been able to target them one-by-one. But as an ire, the might of primordial arcana surging through their feathers? This is a very different task.

The crossbow-bot treads dutifully, beside its tiny mistress, aiming its crossbow in some vain attempt to dissuade the encroaching ire. The whip-bot holds its shield stoically as one of the owlbears takes a swim, but its claw shreds^[1] clean through the metal barrier and tearing off the construct's entire arm! The crossbow's aim shifts to aid the bleeding bot, but it's forced to hold its fire; the time to reload a crossbow of this size could be as long as seven seconds - more than enough time for the other owlbears to close the distance and rip both that bot and Veliky to shreds. Alas, they can only watch as the whip-bot is torn limb from limb. The sound of tearing tin and bending steel is as ugly as it is deafening.

They're quickly losing ground. Every step that Veliky takes backwards, a massive paw takes forwards. They're only kept at bay by the threat of the crossbow, but that won't last long. Force of arms will fail her here. She needs something more... experimental.

"...Ah, kien." she groans before producing a bottle of curious fluid from a pocket in her coat, a Blixt™ whose colours (white, yellow and orange) seem unshakeable from their organized layers^[2]. Without even a moment's hesitation, she rips out the cork and gulps down the bottle's entire contents in a single attempt! This is no easy task; the flavour is as sickly-sweet as the stench of a corpse. But adrenaline pushes her, and the danger suppresses the protests of her gut.

She drops the bottle as soon as it's empty. "Gah, that tastes like- BUUUUURP." She lets out a loud and incredibly unladylike belch that contorts nearly her entire face, which would bizarre enough on its own if the gas she breathed were not a multicoloured smoke that smelled of death. It's powerful enough that even the owlbears recoil, scratching their noses in an attempt to somehow stave off the stench. It's a bit of extra time: useful, but not the potion's true purpose. In fact, the smell just means that it's working.

She raises her right fist, again, to her mouth, and now speaks another strange phrase: "Whispering Madness!" In response, a dark-purple sigil of corrupted arcana manifests on the back of her hand, bestrewed with rectangular icons that shift and intersect nonsensically. But then, the shapes vanish to reveal a new sigil: a disturbingly realistic pictograph of a dishevelled, screaming man who's clawing at his own skull.

Then, just as the owlbears are recroaching with renewed anger, she extends that hand toward one of them! Within her palm, dark mana swirls maddeningly! Suddenly, that owlbear jerks and screeches, pawing at its head as if plagued by a grotesque itch^[3]! It sways and rocks before, without a shred of provocation, raising its claw and raking it across its companion's flank! The companion is frightened and nonplussed, but, as another swipe crosses its face, any hesitation abandons it and it pounces on its maddened kin! The two are locked in primal combat...

But there remains a third! The SMACK of her construct's crossbow returns Veliky's attention to her robotic underling, just in time to see it utterly crunched under the monster's paw. With no remaining obstacles, the beast's attention falls on her. A bolt sticks from its upper chest, but it hardly seems to notice.

Around now, as Veliky decides, is a good time to run. With the galumphing monstrosity on her heels, she flees to the door of a nearby abode, managing to scoop up her musket as she does! Her stature would be woefully insufficient to reach the door's handle; but, fortunately, handles aren't commonplace in Gazablaak, and so she's able to enter by merely pushing it open (which, given her meagre strength, is a feat of itself). There isn't even a quarter-second to spare when she manages to push the door closed.

It won't hold for long.

---

1. Soul of the World [Owlbear] (Archdruid Godojok)
2. (Witch's Brew) Blixt™ Kandy Korn
3. Whispering Madness [Witch's Brew]

The archdruid takes the hit, stumbling back at the slashes across her stomach and chest. Blood pools on the ground as she spits on the ground, looking back up with a smirk. The gashes start to heal as she bathes in pale green light.^[1]



"All right, I'll enjoy taking you down first." Godojok cracks her neck and knuckles, rocks are pulled towards her arms sticking until her entire arms are covered in rock.^[2]



She charges and opens up her counter attack with a hard right haymaker. It clashes against the young knight's gauntlets, denting the metal thanks to her enhanced power.^[3] She is mucher faster than Gerhart had anticipated given her size, it's difficult to keep up some times.



The extra reach of the longswords was nice, but when people closed the distance it could be a bit more difficult. Thankfully for Gerhart, he had his ass kicked plenty of times by a better brawler in Zarius and a stronger partner in Shaa. Each block wears on his muscles though, the archdruid hits like a mountain at this point. As a jab comes in Gerhart lets it glance past, trapping the arm with his and pinning against his side. Godojok roars out and tries to hit him with her free hand, but he catches that as well^[4] locking them both in place. With little options, Gerhart pulled his head back and head butted the orc woman hard causing them both to stumble back as they separate.



Gerhart recollects himself, finally having the distance again. He returns the offensive with a flurry of swings, following up the Duelist with the Shadow. Swords meet fist over and over, stone catching against metal, eventually Gerhart times her rhythm and knocks her fists aside.^[5] He steps in and pierces the sword through her stomach.



"I'm sorry."



"I'm not." Godojok grinned, gripping the sword and pulling it forward and taking Gerhart with it. She swings and catches him in the jaw with a hard cross.

---

<sup>1. Massive Healing
2. Stone Hands
3. Force of Nature
4. Lock Up
5. Guard Break</sup>

Veliky isn't even a second through the door when the owlbear barrels through, shattering the measly oak and littering the room with countless splinters. It sets a heavy paw on the flimsy floorboards, scanning with saucerous eyes...

But the halfling is gone.

No matter where it looks, casting the light of its green gaze, the room is is silent and populated only by ramshackle furniture. The only sounds are those from outside (the grappling owlbears and the clash of steel against stone), and the only illumination comes from the raging bonfire. The bonfire casts the owlbear's menacing shadow against the wall. And it's within that shadow - though she can't be seen^[1] - that Veliky stands and watches.

It isn't easy to keep one's breath silent when faced with a beast nearly sixty times their weight and with vicious, luminescent claws. If Veliky were to reach up - especially with the owlbear's face so terribly close - she'd just be able to touch its beak. Were it not for being hidden, she'd surely already be dead.

But she isn't hopeless, not entirely. She holds, in her hand, the musket. If she isn't mistaken - which she rarely is - this is the exact owlbear that she killed just earlier, and so she's already demonstrated that a single shot is sufficient. But the musket isn't loaded; and loading it while she can't even see, while the owlbear is sweeping the room in search of her, will not be an easy task.

But she's as as silent as a corpse, and her face is stone-cold. She's ready. She just needs it to move and give her some space...

...

Letting out a strange, primal hoot, it turns away and takes a wide step toward the other end of the room. There stand two barrels, behind which Veliky may've hidden if she didn't prefer plain sight. It isn't much, but it's a chance.

As carefully and quietly as she can, she opens the powder tray. It's a good thing she takes care of her weaponry, or else the creak of rusted metal would be a dead giveaway and she'd be just as much.

The owlbear smashes both barrels with a single swipe. But, of course, the halfling isn't there at all.

Easy first step. Second step: she takes another powder cartridge from her pocket. The sound of tearing paper is a distinctive one, but she has decent distance. It should be fine. So she clenches the paper in her teeth and...

...

Rip

The beast immediately jerks its head to face her, letting out a terrifying SCREECH^[2]. It takes a step toward her: not good. Though it doesn't know exactly where she is, it won't be leaving this spot again, and it'll find her eventually if she just stays still. She needs to speed up.

She pours half the powder into the tray. The only sound is the near-imperceptible hisss of the particles sliding from the packet.

It provokes no reaction from the beast, but it's getting closer...

With beads of sweat running down her face, she carefully closes the tray. She doesn't close it all the way, as the clack would be sure to alert the creature, but closes it just enough that not much will spill. It's near-silent...

But the creature's so close, and it doesn't seem ready to leave. There's a bitterness - a vengeance in its eyes, as if Veliky had slaughtered its cub. Its face nearly brushes hers.

Turning the packet to the musket's barrel, she pours the rest of the contents down the hole and listens as the particles slide down the metal tube. It's loud, but is it loud enough?

It's staring right at her. Its pupils are focusing, growing and shrinking around the green luminescence in their centre. Can it see her? If so, then the time is now.

She reaches to the musket's side-

...

No ramrod.

"...Fuck."

With a hateful roar, the beast rises up, and brings its claw to crush to rip her asunder.

---

1. Invisibility
2. Keen Senses (Owlbear)