Circle of Truth 1

"Adventurer who won't take a life. But also knows which bodyparts most beings "can live without."" - Making Up Adventurers, Cohost, 2024
CWs: implied torture.

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"Within the boundaries of this circle, it is impossible to tell a lie," The paladin explained, as she finished drawing a final glyph in the thin dirt around herself and her captive with the blunt tip of her sword. The minotaur who had attacked her in the dark of the maze, now bruised and bound heavily in ropes, swore at her, began to explain in detail all the different ways he would exact revenge as soon as he was free. The holy warrior was unphased, and sat on her heels in front of him, sword resting across her knees. "You can test it if you want. Or take my word for it. But understand - every word I say to you now is true. And you cannot lie to me. The truth will come whether you will it or not."

"Fuck you!"

"Now now. The Power that I serve forbids the taking of life. But at the same time, I know that if I simply release you, you're either going to attack me again immediately, or shortly thereafter. And if I leave you bound, it is only a matter of time till you break loose. So. I need you to promise me you'll never harm another person again. And it has to be the truth."

The minotaur laughed derisively, and resumed detailing his plans on how he would enjoy her death.

"I see. I thought you might say something like that." She opened her pack, revealing tools which would have been suitable for a butcher or a barber-surgeon, and after some consideration withdrew a scalpel. "I will ask you for your solemn oath that you will never harm another again. And if you refuse, or attempt to lie to me, I will begin removing pieces of your body. This will continue until you give me your word, and truly mean it, or until I have left you unable to harm another." She explained it calmly, bored-ly even, as though she had done this all many times before. "You won't die, of course. I will heal your wounds, stop the bleeding. But how you'll survive with what I leave of you will be in the hands of the gods."

The bull's threats had died off as the paladin went on, and he was beginning to sweat. "W-wait. You can't do that. That's not mercy!"

The knight smiled, a ghoulish imitation of good cheer. "I don't serve Mercy, I serve the Redeemer. I am simply forbidden to kill, even a miserable beast like you. Now, let's begin! Do I have your oath?"

"I promise I'll kill you! I'll hang you with your own guts! I'll-" the bull stopped short, horrified as the words he had MEANT to say were replaced with the truth of his intentions. "I swear I won't- I swear that the second you untie me, I'll tear your throat out with my teeth???"

"How terribly disappointing," she murmured. "Let's begin with the left index finger."

Circle of Truth 2

"Paladin who isn't breaking their oaths, they're absolutely destroying them." - Making Up Adventurers, Cohost, 2023 CWs: vivisection.

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"Within the boundaries of this circle, it is impossible to tell a lie."

The paladin drug the blunt tip of her sword through the dirt as she spoke, drawing glyphs and markings with a practiced hand. "I invite you to test it. Additionally, for the duration of the spell, no one outside of the circle will be able to do you any harm. You may have noticed my colleagues." The colleagues in question, a number of other bloodied, sweat soaked adventurers, were busily screaming epithets at the paladin who had trapped them outside. Leaving herself alone with the dark lord, who knelt before her, bound and defeated, but still proud.

"The sky is- blue. Blue? It is... Blue. Fascinating. Very well, fool. Proceed with wasting your time." The villain who had plagued the realm for hundreds of years, constantly tearing away at the remaining pockets of light and safety, looked for all the world like a human being. His voice still reverberated with the fading vestiges of power, though, and it had taken the lives of nearly half the party as well as dozens of allies to finally bring him to his knees, here at the very edge of his victory.

"The core of my faith is that anyone can be redeemed, if they are willing to make an honest attempt. Brought back into the light. However, we aren't foolish enough to simply extend the benefit of the doubt to every liar who crosses our path. It must be genuine." The paladin explained, patiently, laying her sword on the ground and unrolling a pack containing what appeared to be steel surgical tools as she took a seat on the ground before him.

"Thus the circle." the dark lord replied, understanding dawning, and beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he took in the tools.

"Precisely. However, the second highest tenet of my faith is that we do not kill - no one, even in defense of our lives. We pledge to never take a life for any reason. I have sworn a vow that no matter what, I will not take your life. I will grant you as many opportunities as possible to come to the light... Or, though it may grieve me, leave you unable to harm another again." She gestured towards her toolkit. "I can offer you several hundred opportunities to change your ways."

*I... Understand. May I take a moment to consider?"

"Take as long as you should need."

The villain knelt in silence, flexing the broken remnants of his power, reaching out to his lieutenants and servants, to the spirits that granted him strength, to his dark gods. All were gone, annihilated or banished beyond his reach. He was truly alone. Every bargain he had struck for immortality had been undone. The choice would either be to die, proud, or humble himself and continue to live. More life had always been his prize... The way forward was clear. And every vow had a hole in it, somewhere. Someday, he could find a way to return to power. And if not, well, perhaps - perhaps simply living might be enough. He drew the Paladin's attention with a cough.

"I. I vow..." His voice was tentative, the limitations the magic placed on him forbidding any play of words he might have been tempted into. He seemed to be feeling his way through the oath as he spoke the words. "I vow I shall do no harm to another, n...nor cause anyone to be harmed on my behalf. Ever again, as long as I shall live. You have my solemn vow, here in this holy circle." As the words came out of him, glittering lights began to drift through the circle, pleasing gentle yellows and greens, signs that the Paladin's deity was listening, and adding their sacred weight to the vow, binding it magically to the dread lord - now former dread lord. The paladin's companions, watching furiously outside, battered uselessly on the boundaries of the circle.

The paladin smiled, her eyes wide with pleased surprise. "Your reputation for wisdom as well as power is well deserved, dark lord! I never imagined I would get a truthful oath so swiftly." She deftly took a scalpel from her pack roll, and cut the ropes binding the once-villain, helping him to his feet. "How do you intend to live?"

The lord stumbled as he rose, shaky and pained from his recent wounds, healed though they may have been, his hands and feet asleep from the binding. "I ..I was a man of a faith myself, once. Maybe I could take it up again, if any god would have me. Find a small parish, far far away..." he has a tone of curiosity at the words tumbling out of him, as if these were long forgotten wishes newly coming to the surface. The lights swirled brighter still, the deity's pleasure evident, the voices of sweet, invisible singers drifting around the circle.

"I imagine you would be quite a prize to my god. The Redeemer has a special place in their heart for the ones with a hard road ahead. Speaking of my god, though - you yourself helped me to my faith, you know." As she spoke, she rested a friendly hand on his shoulder, drawing near.

The man blinked, confused, uncomfortable with this sudden nearness but unsure. "How do you mean...?"

"I used to live in a small village in the east reach. Don't worry about the name, you won't remember it. The beasts you called to your banners rolled over it like an ocean wave... I was the only one who survived, buried in mud under the bodies. Everyone I knew and loved, gone. I found the strength to continue by pledging to the Redeemer. And they set me on my path, the one that led me so many years later, to you. To you, at long last."

"I am... I can't begin to, I-"

The paladin cut him off, her smile fading into a look of fervent intensity, eyes locked with his. "I vowed to never take the life of another, not even in defense of my own, to never seek revenge, to never turn away from one who seeks to change their ways. This I swore, and I've kept those oaths for decades." And then with a swift and determined motion, she plunged the scalpel she still clutched in her hand into the dark lords stomach and dragged it roughly upwards. The glowing lights stilled and dimmed, the otherworldly voices quieting into confusion, and then a shriek of betrayed dismay. Her oath breaking severed the sacred connection to the Redeemer with a sound like a gigantic bell cracking, deafeningly loud. "I lied."

The lights vanished in an instant, but the flickering magic of the circle lasted a few minutes more. The screams lasted much longer.

Meghana and the Glassplains Hellkite

"A mage who meant to sign up for the course on worm studies, not the course on wyrm studies!" - Making Up Adventurers, Cohost, 2023

The first prompt I made, and the first story I wrote!

---

"I'm not-" wheeze "even supposed-" gasp "to be here!" Came the huffed protests of the little mage trailing at the back of the group.

Meghanna The Magnificent (or 'Meg the Mole' as other apprentices referred to her behind her back and also to her face) was not dressed for an excursion onto the Glassplains - she was more prepared for an afternoon working in the Academy's botanical sanctuary. Robes reinforced for kneeling and working in the soil, an apron with sample cups and empty jars, a pack full of tools and the various accoutrements of a mage in the studies of earth and growing were in stark contrast to the tough leathers and spell-woven shields of her classmates. She took care to avoid following the footsteps of the others, whose hard boots broke the thin crust of glass that covered much of the soil here, leaving splinters that could shred her thin shoes to ribbons.

Magister Porphyry, the wizard leading the group, signalled a pause and folded his arms impatiently as he waited for Meg to catch up. "Magus Meglana- "

"Meghanna." Several mages snickered quietly.

"Magus Meghada, that is enough!" He managed to snap and whisper at the same time. "Mixups regarding course assignments are not my problem, they are yours. What IS my problem is that you are slowing us down, making an appalling amount of noise, and generally being a real DRAG during what is supposed to be one of the highlights of this course - the field observations of the Glassplains Hellkite." The irate wizard's volume began to climb, and Meghanna cringed into her robes. "I am solving MY problem right now. If you insist you do not belong here, you may wait right here in this spot. Silently! When we have completed our observations, we will return this way and you may accompany us back to the designated Longjump portal site. Otherwise, come along, and attend. You may learn something of use to you in your, your... worm... studies. I will hear nothing further from you!"

Without waiting for a reply, the Magister turned on his heel with the crunch of splintering glass and stomped away, the other apprentices in the group smirking as they followed along, till Meg was left alone for a moment before shamefacedly trailing after the rear of the group.

Meg found herself unable to really hear Porphyry's whispered descriptions of the Glassyard Heckflier or whatever it was called, however, and instead found her gaze fixed on the ground. The glass was broken here and there by short, small leaves shrubs that pushed their way up through the crust, with thin bark that showed signs of surviving many, many fires. Small sticks and twigs lay in the ground below, long burned, studded with seedpods that had burst open in the heat. "Fire ecology," she mumbled to herself.

She knelt down, doubly grateful for the kneel padding on the front of her robe on the dangerous surface, and poked with growing curiosity at the exposed soil with the tip of the trowel she had brought, turning some over. A surprising amount of creatures began to squirm back under cover - beetles, ants, an earthworm of surprising charcoal black shade. She gently plucked it out, letting it wriggle in her palm. The soft body went from glossy black to ashen grey as she held it, and began to glow just beneath the surface, looking for all the world like a twig of ember in her palm. "Lumbricus... lumbricus ignis. Bonfire worm. Beautiful..." Something about it's presence unsettled her, though. She gently dropped it into a specimen jar with some soil and pocketed it. Bonfire worms. What was it about them?

She dusted herself off as she rose back to her feet, turning back the way the group had come, and froze. The footsteps left by the group positively WRITHED with the black worms, wiggling up from below and spilling onto the surface. Meg took a step back in alarm, sparking a grouchy protest from the apprentice she bumped into. The earth under the nearby bushes was also beginning to shift and churn as bonfire worms erupted to the surface. She suddenly recalled the other name associated with Lumbricus ignis. Wildfire worms. They had a mild mystical property of emerging in the moments before a fire broke out. In some lands they were used as a last moment warning system of sorts to prepare for a burn.

The gathered wizards startled as Meg's voice - usually described as "squeaky" or "mumbly" blasted loudly through bespelled hands. "EVERYONE TAKE COVER RIGHT NOW!" As they turned, they saw her summoning ghostly mole-like claws to the end of her hands and burrowing rapidly into the soil, ignoring the glass cutting her fingers. Then the wise among the group immediately ducked behind their shields, spells flaring up with protection against fire.

Porphyry, angry at this new interruption, began to shout a rebuke, and failed to notice the truly splendid example of the Glassplains Hellkite, crimson and scarlet, sweeping towards the group. Flying barely ten feet above the surface, it began to spew a wall of flame that swept over the group before it, roasting the flatfooted Magister in a single (mercifully short) moment. The surviving magi saw the beast snatch him up with it's claws in a motion described as "elegant" and "graceful" by many of them.

After a few minutes, the limited amount of fuel on the ground burnt away, and other than the smoke, soot and a brittle, thin coat of fresh glass in the sand, most of the evidence of the fire was gone. The worms retreated to the soil, and Meg the Mole poked her head back up from the ground, blinking in the bright light and hot air. "...if anyone is looking for something to fill the gap in their schedule now, I think there's still seats available in Mystic Vermiculture."

Meghana Gets Banned from the Tavern

"Wizard who is NOT a sorcerer OR a warlock and furthermore how dare you" - Making Up Adventurers, Cohost, 2023

---

"Can you walk me through it one more time?"

Meghanna the Magnificent held her head in her hands and groaned in frustration as the musclebound swordswinger seated opposite her stared blankly. "Okay. Okay!!" She slapped her palms on the tabletop, making the various dishes rattle, drawing attention from other diners. She had had 'a few' drinks, and was perhaps a little tipsy. Just a little. "It goes like this."

"Magic is woven into every fiber of the world. Everyone has a little in them - even someone like you! It's in everything, and around everything, but most people can't see it or do much with it normally. Some species CAN, though, and when one group has power the others don't, you know how that usually goes, right? Of course you do. And people looked for protection, and they prayed, and finally something answered, and empowered their believers. Clerics. They are GIVEN magical power from beyond. Still with me?"

The fighting man nodded, looking as though he was trying to find an excuse to leave and failing. "R-right..."

"Now, not everyone is lucky enough to be loved by gods. Some people have to PAY for magic. With their soul, with service, with sacrifice - whatever. The point is, it comes with a cost, and at the pleasure of their patron. They buy their power. That's your warlocks, your witches, anyone who talks about 'pacts' - pactbearers. They're given a tome, or a weapon, or-"

"A tome! Like a grimoire!"

"NOT a grimoire! That's diff'rent! Don't interrupt!" Meghanna took a long drag from her wineglass, and filled it, and took another, letting the bottle roll away on the table. When did that go empty? "It's different. Anyway. So next there's your... Your bards, their songs tap into... Some sort of, the.. song sung during creation. I'm not exactly clear on that one. They can access magic through music. Neat. Everyone loves a song. Anyway." Another drink. The small wizard was a little red in the face.

"Here's where you ticked me off, pal. 'GoOd eVenINg SorCeReR' my ass. Sorcerers. Sorcerers won the lottery. They see the magic around us, and they swim in it like fish. It comes as easily as breathing, doing magic. And they look at all the rest of us and smirk and ask why we have to do it this way, with our notes, with our flutes, with our BOOKS, why, why don't we just DO it like they do? WELL MY GREAT GRANDPA DIDNT SHTUP A DRAGON OR A FAE QUEEN OR WHATEVER, NOT ALL OF US ARE SO LUCKY, PALLL!" She reached across the table and took someone else's wine, slamming it down. The entire common room was watching her, now.

"NOW, wizards. Magisters. Magi. Magusesssess. No one does our magic for us. We have to study. We figured it out for ourselves!! Learn to stare at the cube till you see the hypercube, turn your mind inside out and rotate it in four dimensions and SEE. Learned that if you stand facing precisely 32.75 degrees southwest and say," she climbed up onto the bench as she spoke but her next words were a discordant jumble of consonants, painful to hear let alone write down. "Then you hold your hand just so, and then you -" she seemed to draw something in the air, and somewhere behind the dumbstruck fighter the wall to the street outside simply ceased to be, leaving the other patrons shouting. "Then you can do THAT!"

"Please settle down, miss, I didn't mean any offense!"

"I'm not offended!! Not mad!! Lemme show you how not mad I am!!! Getta loada THIS!" She whipped a piece of chalk from her pocket, and with the chalk in her left hand and the bottle in her right began to draw a circle on the rough wood of the table.

Outside a few puzzled onlookers had gathered to stare at the inn's vanished wall, only to be pushed aside by dozens of fleeing patrons as the common room emptied, except for the wildly laughing little wizard standing over her magic circle. Light blazed, and a massive blast of pink smoke flooded out into the street and surrounding neighborhoods, sparkling with glitter, fireworks exploding in the air above.

"WIZARDS RULE, FUCKERS!"

Meghana and the Gelatinous Cube

"Adventurer who has gone overboard in their academic research on slimes, oozes, puddings, jellies and other related dungeon-blobs." - Making Up Adventurers, Cohost, 2024

---

The faint sound of a bell ringing brought Olivine slowly out of a hard-earned slumber, a drool-damp scrap of parchment sticking to his face as he roused and sat up at his writing desk. The thrilling life of the academic.

It wasn’t the ensorcelled bells the Magisterium used to announce a convening, or the sharp clang of a wooden spoon on a pot that heralded mealtimes for the apprentices and magii. More like a cowbell, maybe. He rose from his creaking stool with a groan, and poked his head out into the empty hallway. Yes, there it was, even clearer than before. Someone was definitely ringing a bell in the condemned east wing of the former Imperial Magisterium building, or what was left of it.

“You can’t be serious. It’s two in the morning!” He stuffed his feet into his slippers and went stomping down the halls, passing the snoring guard seated at the door with a snort. It was a clear night, and otherwise fairly quiet. He might not even have heard the bell if not for that. He ducked under the stanchions blocking the doors, and peered into a building he hadn’t entered since that incident with the mage-hand fellow knocking down half of the city years ago. He drew a deep breath and called out into the dark hallway, “Whatever fools are messing about, that’s enough! Get out of here before I bring the guardsmen!” The bell didn’t cease, or even falter. The mage scowled and stepped over some rubble, venturing inside.

The halls which had once bustled with wizards, apprentices, researchers and alchemists now seemed so desolate, a thick layer of dust coating almost everywhere he looked. It was, he had to admit, a little eerie here – a place that had once been full of life, now as silent as a tomb. A tomb with an idiot cowherd jangling a bell. Where was that damned ringing even COMING from? He called forth a small ball of reddish-yellow witchfire and set it floating just above him, banishing the shadows, and followed the sound, deep into the dark, down spiraling stairs into the below ground levels. He hadn’t liked this area even when the building was inhabited, and now in this abandoned state it was uncomfortable. Was it always so dank? The hall had a musty scent, and the air was thick and wet. Ah, there! There it was – one of the doors had a bell hanging outside of it! A thin chain through the wall was yanking on it, and it jangled persistently.

Olivine banged on the door with an angry fist. “That’s enough!! Some of us are engaged in important research! What the devil do you think you’re up to?” The tugging didn’t even slow, and he hesitated. Was this some sort leftover automated mechanism someone had forgotten after the building was emptied? Or maybe… a test subject left behind, emerged from some slumber? Perhaps he should get the guard after all. But then again, it might be something interesting… He made up his mind.

The door swung open with a creak, revealing what looked like a research lab similar to his own, brightly lit with candles, with tables and shelves arrayed with jarred research samples of some sort of liquid. He entered hesitantly, squinting against the light.

“Hello?”

The little chain led back, back, to a chamber with glass walls, which seemed to contain – “Good lord!”

Inside the chamber was a gelatinous cube, the sort of monstrous ooze that the city used to keep the sewers free of refuse, vermin, and people. And floating within the cube holding the end of the bell’s chain was a nude woman, wearing heavy goggles over her eyes and a swim cap, a glass rod held in her lips extending all the way outside of the cube. As he got closer, she seemed to notice him, and through the blurry, wobbly creature, he saw her pointing to a rope lying on the floor, the end of which had dissolved into uselessness.

“Don’t worry! I’ll – I’ll get you free! Just wait!” He cleared his throat, and stepped back, taking the stance to cast Ullmer’s Lesser Obliteration, but stopped when he saw the woman inside shaking her head vigorously and crossing her arms.

“No? No?? But you’ll – What are you pointing at?“ He looked around the room again, and in the corner found a pile of tools and implements, leaning haphazardly against the wall. One of them, a dull metal hook on a long iron pole, just might do the trick. He’d have to get pretty close to that thing, however. He grabbed it with both hands, and returned to door, seeing the figure within nodding, giving him a thumbs-up through the goo. He cautiously opened the glass door and stepped into the chamber, coughing at the vinegar scented humidity of the air within.

The cube didn’t turn, or move, but he still felt that it was somehow aware of him – it’s wiggles and jiggles seeming to increase as he inched nearer. But that may have been the woman’s own attempts to swim closer stirring it’s various… ichors around, within. Steeling himself but prepared to leap back if the thing lunged, he gingery pressed the iron hook against it’s trembling side, shuddering in disgust as the membrane first resisted, and then abruptly yielded, allowing him to slide the tool in easily. The woman inside grabbed hold with both hands, and he throw his weight back, hauling her towards the creature’s exterior with all his strength, feet slipping at the last moment on the slick tiled floor and depositing him flat on his back. It was enough momentum that she finally pulled free with what could only be called a slurp, and fell coughing and gasping for breath on top of him, slick with cool goo that he could feel soaking into his robes already.

“Thank-“ She broke into a second cough, and spat unceremoniously to the side, as she sat up, straddling him. Olivine tried very hard not to think about it, or stare. “Thank you! I was beginning to think no one would come, and that would have been unfortunate! All of my research would have been pointless!”

“R-Research! You would have been dead!”

“That’s the thrilling life of an academic! Risking it all, for knowledge!”

“Don’t be absurd. Also, um, you’re – let’s move to the other room, away from that thing.”

“Oh, of course, of course.”

As she climbed off of him, he realized that he recognized the chubby little woman, though he wasn’t quite sure how yet. She walked around the monster, bare feet slapping on the wet tile, and cheerfully followed him out once she had retrieved a pair of incredibly thick spectacles from a table.

“I’m glad I didn’t take these inside. The gelatin won’t damage glass, but the wood of my frames would be ruined.” As she put them on and grinned cheerfully at him, it finally came home.

“Meghanna! You’re Meghanna, I know you! You were the one with that thing with the dragon!” He was agog – he hadn’t seen her in so long, he was sure she had departed the academy afterwards.

“Oh, that was years ago. The worms I found on that trip were very interesting – one of these days I’ve got to publish the research I performed with them. Right now I’m onto something else, though. Really great stuff.”

“What stuff? And do you want a… towel, or something…?” Olivine coughed politely into his hand, but Meg shook her head, seemingly totally unperturbed by standing around in her skin in front of a total stranger.

“No need, this stuff will flake off once it dries. Besides, it disintegrates plant fibers very quickly, I’ve learned. It’s much more effective on those than animal tissues, I think.” She bent down under her desk to retrieve something, and Olivine began to sweat a little. “Here!” She set a box down, rattling the jars inside. “I’ve got samples of more than three dozen different oozes, slimes, puddings, ichors, gels, jellies, and snots, from the various cave systems and dungeons within one hundred leagues of here. And I’ve been testing their properties, seeing if they have any applications that could be useful in food processing, or industry. We already use them for keeping things clean, why not explore more applications?”

“Because they aren’t safe! That one there attacked you!”

Meg blinked and looked over at the cube, which had begun to ooze aimlessly about its chamber. “Oh, no it didn’t. I was performing a test. I noticed when I was collecting my samples in the springtime that often I’d find these things with dead animals floating in them in their winter coats. I have a feeling that most people who die from these creatures aren’t killed by the digestion, but by drowning. I was inside of that thing for twenty minutes-“

“Twenty minutes!?”

“- and the only part of myself to be eaten was my pubic hair.” He was startled to see she was right, his cheeks reddening. “People entering caves or dungeons can bring hooks along to retrieve their friends if they should happen to be swallowed. This information will save lives!”

“S-still, that was far too reckless. You mustn’t do that again without someone to act as a safeguard!”

“Oh, I was sure someone would come along. And here you are! What was your name again?”

“Olivine the Extravagant. Ollie.”

“Meghanna the Magnificent. Meg.” She clasped hands with him and smiled. “Let’s head over to my room and scrape this off, put on fresh robes, and I’ll show you my notes.”

“Oh, I couldn’t, I ought to get back to my own-“

“You’re going to make quite the sensation in the Magisterium walking around like that.”

As he looked down, Ollie gasped to see that the cotton and linen of his robes and undergarments were in tatters, the material dissolved by the goo which had soaked it. He covered his groin with both hands, embarrassed, but the fat little wizard laughed and took him by the elbow and led him away.

The thrilling life of an academic, indeed!

Fashion Meta

"This well dressed adventurer is a tailor, on their way to conquer the dungeon with style." - Making Up Adventurers, Cohost, 2024

---

from the pages of Well-Dressed Warrior Weekly

This season armor is out. But that doesn't mean you have to sacrifice safety when you're deep in the dungeon! Dungeoneer Designer Dantana has prepared a new line of enchanted embroideries that can withstand the most punishing challenges. Silks, linens, and cottons in styles to suit any savvy sorcerer or swordsman, with the spells woven into the fabric and amplified with empowering beadwork, stitchery, and applique that are proven to turn blades AND turn heads!

Dantana is the sole fashionista who is fearsome enough to put his own handiwork to the test on the front lines. He's gentled giants, swam through slimes, driven off dragons, and gone head to head with the hobgoblins, and looked like a million goldmarks the entire time. And now you can too - he's taking the show on the road and opening a touring pop-up shop in all the most stylish city states. He agreed to answer a few of our questions before the tour begins, though, so here is our exclusive interview!

WWW: We heard you just returned from an expedition! It's great to have you back safe - what was it this time?

DDD: It's great to be back! I was in the Steinwald, testing out a new pattern. (He indicates a complicated stitch decorating his collar) I'd recently designed this, to resist petrification, and the villages in that area were being harassed by basilisks and cockatrices, and it seemed like a perfect opportunity.

WWW: And it worked, I see.

DDD: Oh, definitely. It was pretty good to begin with, but I learned a lot while I worked, and now when it hits the store it's going to be even better. Nobody's going to have to cower behind their shield when they enter a gorgon's lair anymore - they can strut in with confidence.

WWW: Amazing! Do you have any other new items to show?

DDD: Well, yessss... but I want to keep a few secrets, so the customers can be surprised when we pop up. Our first stop is in the sandy city of White-Ship-On-A-Golden-Sea - why don't you catch up with me there, and see a little more of what I have to offer?

And there you have it, loyal reader - the first lucky city on the tour! Well-Dressed Warrior Weekly will be there, and if you're wise, you will be too!

Mage Hands

"Berserker who was thrown out of magic school because "Smash It With Your Fists", while effective, is not traditionally considered "magic."" - Making Up Adventurers, Cohost, 2023

---

"Maybe you should talk to someone before you go back. About your uh.. anger problem."

"I don't have an anger problem," the dwarf said, his voice tense. "I have a problem with people making me angry." He finished the sentence he was penning with a stab that crushed and ruined the tip of his quill, spattering ink all over the page, discarding it into a dented wastebin beside his writing table, filled with dozens of others, along with masses of crumpled, ruined vellum sheets.

"Most people don't get kicked out of the Magisterium for their temper, Theo!"

Theophrastus Bombastus turned to his companion, his face and smooth shaven head taking on a mottled red tone. "The MAGISTERIUM can go to-" his words halt suddenly, and he adjusted his small eyeglasses, his thick mustache trembling as he visibly calmed himself. "The Magisterium made a mistake. And after I show them my thesis, they will see that and acknowledge it and know what fools they've been." He gathered the pages of the thesis in question, a hefty stack of manuscript written in a heavy hand. Many Hands Make Light Work - New Applications of Mage Hand and Parallel Casting, Exploring the Unrivaled Utility of An Underappreciated Spell. Stuffing it into his satchel, he rose and donned his coat, the seams stretching audibly over his broad shoulders. "This will be my day of triumph. They'll remember this day for years."

...

Outside the Imperial Magisterium's Hall of High Magi, two guard-magi with spell-wreathed halberds barred the way, crossing their weapons before the massive brass doors. A page ran swiftly down the hall, crying out for more guards and somewhere in the distance a bell began to ring. "Move aside, fools. I have business inside." The dwarf glared at them.

"You aren't welcome here, Bombastus, and you know it," said the more senior guard, in a voice that only trembled a little. "If you leave now, there doesn't need to be any trouble. Like last time."

Theophrastus narrowed his eyes.

...

The Council of High Magi had only just noticed the sounds of commotion outside when the iron doors of their chambers were ripped off of the hinges by a pair of colossal spectral hands, crumpled like tin foil and hurled aside to smash the stone walls. Through the dust and falling rubble walked the dwarf, dragging the two battered, limp guardsmen by the collars before dropping them like a child who has tired of their dolls. "I have returned to your halls, my esteemed peers, to allow you to make right your great error of judgement. Grant me my status of Magus immediately. Once you read my thesis, I'm certain you'll see-"

"Magus?!" cried out one of the council. "You're no mage, Bombastus! One spell doesn't make a wizard! You were barely an apprentice - even my weakest students can manage a dozen cantrips!"

"Bombastus the one spell wonder!"

"Did you learn a new one? Power Word: Foot?"

The dwarf's brows furrowed and his little spectacles gleamed in the dim light of the chamber. A vein visibly throbbed on his bald scalp as he growled his reply through clenched jaws. "I am certain. You will see. The value of my research." He withdrew his thesis, and ghostly hands carried the bundle of paper to the highest of the High Magi. "I am achieving levels of parallel casting that NONE have before, and-"

The High Magus's hard voice cut him off. "You are exiled from these halls. Permanently, and with no hope of forgiveness. You will leave, and if you ever claim to be a Magus again you will be thrown into a deeper pit than any dwarven mine, and sealed within." The elf took his manuscript in hand, and with a contemptuous syllable, ignited the pages with a green flame, till they crumbled into ash. "Begone." The guards summoned earlier began to rush into the chamber, leveling their weapons at Theophrastus, who trembled.

The ghostly magehands floated beside him, clenched into fists. Then they were joined by a second pair. A third, a fourth. Countless mage hands, a mandala of potential violence. Theophrastus cracked his knuckles - thousands of them - and chaos erupted.

...

It took weeks to clear the rubble away. The destruction was worse than if an alchemical bomb had been detonated - the entire chamber of the High Magi had been torn down brick by brick by a thousand hands, all the way to the foundations, every fixture smashed into splinters, every timber snapped into kindling. By some miracle, not a single person was killed, but each member of the High Magi had the appearance of being trampled by a cattle stampede or caught in an avalanche, and the entire corps of guard magi was found beaten unconscious.

In the interest of saving face, no official word was ever spoken about the events of that day, beyond a vague announcement that the Magisterium were attacked by some unknown devil, who was defeated but managed to flee. No official arrest warrant was issued for the dwarf who tore a path of destruction like a tornado all the way to the city walls and disappeared into the hills. Theophrastus Bombastus has not been seen again.

Mage hand is no longer taught, as too many of the instructors grow ill at the sight of it.

M Singh's Long-haul Space Trucking Adventures 1

"Starship pilot who HATES this part" - Make Up a Starship Pilot, Cohost, 2024

---

By law, all pilots had to have their consciousness imprinted into a digital backup. Ostensibly, this was to recover data from after an accident. But the reality of the situation was that it was necessary so they could resume piloting the ship as quickly as possible after the ship passed survivable rates of acceleration approaching light speed. All of the other unconcious crew members and passengers would simply die instantly and then slowly be rebuilt in the resurrection pods. But someone had to be conscious to make certain commands which legally couldn't be handled by the ship AI, even the advanced 'true' intelligences.

So the pilot stays awake. And dies. And reawakens about .65 seconds later. This is why pilots make the (alleged) big money vs navigators and other command staff. Not because they have unique skills, but as a minor compensation for having to endure this - sometimes several times in a trip.

M Singh has been a working pilot for four years now - closer to thirty years of time back home, thanks to time debts from near light travel. And in his four years he has gone through eightyseven jumps. And he was sure, so sure at the beginning, that it would get better after a while, that he would get used to it.

He has not.

This is pilot M Singh of the vessel Long Stepper. Control, I have reached safe transition distance. Is my departure vector clear?

All clear, Long Stepper. The road is all yours. Safe journey.

As he finished the final checks, his hands began to tremble, and the monitors in his combination resurrection/piloting module began to chirp alarms as his pulse spiked and his blood pressure dropped.

Long Stepper, beginning transition. In 3. 2. 1.

He took a shuddering breath, and gave the system the command through his uplink. The massive fusion engines flared into full life and he was immediately crushed under the weight of more gravity than any human body could endure. He would have screamed if his lungs hadn't already burst. Death came less than a second later.

Half a second later he returned to consciousness in his digital locker, the Long Stepper continuing to pile on gravities as it accelerated towards near light. Through metaphorically gritted teeth he forced himself to ignore the phantom sensation of pain from nerves that wouldn't be regrown for weeks, their last message to his brain echoing in the digital environment. Checking in on the rest of the crew and the passengers, he saw all had died, and their resurrection pods were in 'maintenance' mode, keeping the tissues preserved until the time came to begin repairing and jumpstarting the bodies. From their perspective, it would be like waking from a long sleep. None of them would remember dying.

He gave the go ahead to the ships systems to continue departure as planned, and "sat down" to his main responsibility - babysitting the computer until they left the inner solar system and it could be trusted to take over from there.

I hate this fucking job.

M Singh's Long-haul Space Trucking Adventures 2

"Starship pilot who’s flying blind" - Make Up a Starship Pilot

---

The deep space vessel Long Stepper has external visual sensors, but they're all disabled by default within hours after leaving whatever berth the ship might have been at. The fact is, even when moving in system, the distances and speeds involved make looking out fairly pointless except to take in the view. If there's anything close enough to actually see nearby, the ship will either pass it or collide with it too quickly to respond. All of the ships real sensory business is done with radar, with tightly focused feeler beams, and with antennae listening in all directions for traces of other ships, of debris, of radiation. Everything is displayed neatly on screens for the crew.

Except that doesn't help anyone in the early stages of transition to high speed, since the entire crew at that point are puddles of red and yellow pastes filling their resurrection pods. And the pilot won't have functioning eyes again for months, once his body has been successfully rebuilt and his consciousness reinstalled in the wetware.

Long Stepper's pilot M Singh has tried many times to explain what the data feeds are like to others who haven't had their consciousness uploaded.

"It's like the information is related to me in the form of itches, someone drumming their fingers on my back, individual hairs being plucked. I guess? Like that. They wrote the software to hook into the simulated part of the brain that handles tactile information. So I don't use the sensors to 'look' outside the ship. Instead it's like, uh... Imagine each of your fingers was twenty thousand miles long and you were groping around a massive empty space, trying to find anything larger than a pea. And you have two thousand fingers, and they're all constantly in motion, so you can cover as much area as possible."

People just don't understand.

M Singh's visual receptors are more or less unused. He initially tried to stream entertainment programs or video games on his first trip, but stopped almost immediately - it was like having a screen the size of all creation directly in front of him, a little overwhelming. Now he prefers to spend his flights with his "eyes shut", simply turning that stream of information off.

He felt the "hairs" on the back of his "hand" rise up as the system clamored for his attention. One of the feelers had picked up on a small piece of debris that was near enough to the flight path to be a risk. After a moments consideration he initiated a series of micro burns which lasted only fractions of a second - but would result in flying forty kilometers wide of the debris in a few minutes. He could correct back to the initial path once Long Stepper was clear.

The ship AI notified him that he need not have bothered, it would have done so itself - and with considerably more efficiency.

Don't sulk, you'll have the entire rest of the trip to fly.

He placed a temporary mute on the channel before the inevitable reply that it was IMPOSSIBLE for it to sulk and that it was simply informing him blah blah blah.

He rechecked the course one more time. Two months of constant acceleration in the dark. Then once a stable speed has been reached, two weeks of regeneration for the entire crew. Then one week of all-hands activity to ensure all systems were operating perfectly, followed by three real-time years of working in month long shifts, each crew sleeping two months for each they worked. Eleven years time debt. He used the ships intercom to sigh, his digitally reproduced voice echoing through the empty passageways, and resolved to see what the job market looked like when they reached destination.