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"Crowd pleasing gladiator who loves playing the heel." - Making Up Adventurers, Cohost, 2024


Ferris waited patiently in her cell, arms resting on knees tucked to her chest as she listened to the roaring crowd above calling for her blood.

She was impressed - one didn't usually think of elves as the "roar with bloodlust" type. Evidently she'd really kicked the hornet's nest when she had fought her way into the king's palace. Maybe they didn't call him "king" but "Highest Star of Heaven's Light," blah blah blah, a king is a king. And maybe her shout of "Death approaches, fools! The time has come to face your destiny and fight!" had struck them as a little bit... Assassin-y. That was reasonable. It was a reasonable misunderstanding. And throwing her into a dungeon was a reasonable reaction. She hadn't helped her case by adding, "I WILL FACE YOUR STRONGEST CHAMPION BARE HANDED AND WIN, AND WHEN I BEST THEM I WILL HAVE YOU SPEAK TO ME, COWARD! YOU WILL HEAR ME OUT OR YOUR PEOPLE WILL ALL BE SLAIN! TO THE VERY LAST!"

Yes, she had handled it poorly, all things considered. Not her finest moment as a diplomat. It had seemed appropriate at the time, though, after spending over three weeks patiently entreating the court to grant her an audience, only to be constantly turned away with that oh-so-elvish smirk of superiority. As if she weren't here on a mission to save THEIR people. As if time wasn't DESPERATELY short already. The tide of darkness which had begun to roll across the lands from the north would be here soon. The elves would die if they didn't evacuate and join with the other nations marshaling in the south.

She shivered as she wrapped the ragged cloak they had left her with a little tighter around herself. They'd torn away all of her weapons, and armor, and a lot more besides, and left her in nothing but a breastband and loincloth before clapping the irons around her neck, wrists and ankles and beating her half senseless. The chains binding her to the wall were heavy and thick - she was flattered. She'd had several days to admire them so far, and had begun to think they'd thrown her into the dungeon to simply die and be forgotten when she'd abruptly been hauled, staggering, into a different cell, dragged and pushed at spear point with a sack over her head. The sounds of the crowd had begun a short while later, and Ferris allowed herself some optimism - maybe they were going to take her up on her challenge after all. She knew kings hated to appear weak when dramatically publicly insulted.

She carefully climbed to her feat and began to warm up her stiff, bruised muscles. If she was right, it was almost time to get to work.


The crowd, which had seemed to roar from deep in the pit, was all but deafening as Ferris was led, still chained and wearing nothing but her undergarments and a rough cloak, into the sands of the arena. The arena was a surprise - the sands were clean and new, and the witchwood trees forming the massive structure were still green and new. They must have had their wildermages shaping the trees from dawn till dusk growing it, and all for her benefit. She was deeply flattered. All of this, for what was surely meant to be her dramatic execution! She had made a deep impression on these elves. What must have been an entire city's worth of people filled the stands, shouting hatred at her, some even lowering themselves to hurl stones that struck the sand alarmingly close to her feet, only for the guards surrounding her on all sides to shout them down.

'Oh, they're angry angry,' she thought, and grinned fiercely. 'Good. You should be.' And to add a little fuel to the fire, she spat, ignoring the spear butted into her ribs. The outraged boos and jeers were just what she wanted. 'Just like that. Great energy.' She was considering egging them on a little more when she noticed a commotion, realizing that things were about to get moving, and quickly.

The star- the heaven's whatever- the king was one of your classic willowy wizard types. He had put on an air of disdain when she'd smashed her way into his court, and wore it still as he climbed to a viewing platform and stepped forward to address her. His voice was sweet and melodic - what a pleasure to be sneered at by such a pretty man, haha! - and it boomed forth with magical energy, filling her arena.

"While I knew your kind were crude, even childish, I never expected you to be so insultingly stupid as this. I don't know what you thought you would accomplish, to attempt to take my life in the seat of my very power. But it would be a waste of my time to speak reasonably with you. We will speak to you in a way your simple people can understand. With force. Come forward, Aurelio!" He made a gesture, and the crowd cheered as a gleaming figure stepped forth and into the sands. An elf like no other, truly splendid - more than six and a half feet tall, well built, beautiful, graceful. He wasn't armored, but his bearing suggested he might be one of the magical knights this kingdom trained. Perfect - they'd need him, and many more like him in the coming days. The crowd was exultant - they knew him, they loved him - she couldn't have asked for better. They'd sent her a hero!

The chains were struck, and Ferris rolled her muscular shoulders, shrugging off the cloak and inciting a gasp from the crowd. It might have been from the multitude of bruises on her pale northern skin, but she hoped it was from her scars, and her heavy, muscular build. She was a good half foot shorter than the elven champion facing her, but she was easily heavier - a gift from her dwarven mother, but with the height of her human father. She knew she was an imposing sight to see. To her opponent's credit, he made no sign of shock at either her physique or her condition, merely shedding his robes and approaching the center of the arena.

"I am Aurelio Swaying Leaf's Graceful Fall," he proclaimed in a bold voice clearly meant for the crowd, "And today I answer your challenge. Prepare yourself." In a softer voice, intended for her alone, he added, "I don't know what fool sent you to our lands, but you have been sent to your death. I hope you have no regrets." He extended his hand, courteously using the human fashion.

Ferris smiled inwardly, feeling her heart beginning to pound. Showtime. She regarded his hand coolly, and then slapped it aside, to the crowd's scandalized gasp. She gave them just long enough to really take it in, and then attacked, sending her heavy fist for his handsome jaw, which he neatly parried with a practiced hand. The expected counter came a moment later - an elegant but incredibly forceful kick to her midsection, in the beautiful style of the elven fighting arts. If she hadn't known something like that would be coming, it would have ended her battle almost as soon as it had begun.

She grunted as his shin hit her abdomen, folding and springing back just so, taking off just enough of the edge of the blow that she didn't crumple - thank goodness she hadn't eaten. Leaving her no time to think of a next move, the traditional followup came, two lighter kicks from the knee that rattled her skull. They were 'lighter' in the way that two blows from a carpenter's hammer were lighter when following a sledge, and only her long experience kept her on her feet. She staggered back a few steps as the crowd roared, and shook her head to clear it. The hero still had his foot poised, and resumed a fighting stance gracefully, his cool expression belied by his blazing eyes. She grinned, a feral baring of teeth, and rushed back to him, swinging blows that kept him moving, kept the energy high, as he deflected, struck back, danced through. Each retaliation rattled her, adding to her gallery of bruises and bloody welts.

The cheering grew louder over the passing minutes, and Ferris could feel the knight's edge dull ever so slightly as he tired from her wild attacks, at last, curse his stamina. Time to make her play. She feinted high, and Aurelio, who at this point had only been dealing with a brute, went for it. As he extended his hand to parry, she sank low with a more fluid motion than could be believed from her bulky frame, planted her feet solidly (as solid as the roots of the mountains, the dwarven battlemasters used to say, drilling it into her), and delivered a sharp, precise blow to the ribs, seeing his eyes widen in shocked pain. She pivoted at the waist and gave him a blow to the sternum with her left, and then finished with a right to the jaw, sending him sprawling in the sand, the crowd shouting in dismay.

She wiped her bloody mouth and waited patiently as he climbed back to his feet, seeing a new respect in his eyes. She nodded to him, and assumed a proper stance for the first time, ready. Now the battle began in earnest, and as he attacked Ferris made no pretense of taking the blow, blocking and striking in kind. This part of the show was the most critical. It wasn't enough to beat her opponent - the people of the land had to understand just how strong he was - how very strong they themselves were. But they also had to know that despite that strength, they weren't unbeatable.

She fought as hard as she could, and the pitch of the crowd's roar seemed to change, less hatred for her, just... Exhilaration. It took everything she had to keep up with Aurelio, who fought with a ferocity she didn't know elves possessed. "Who are you?" He gritted through gritted teeth as they locked arms, straining to hurl each other down. "Ferris," she grunted. "Of the northern realm." Instant recognition lit up his eyes, and she took that moment to kick the back of his knee, staggering him.

She slipped his grasp and wrapped a powerful arm around his neck from behind and squeezed, pulling her wrist with her free hand to clench it and hanging on for dear life. The elf's thick neck bulged and he strained against her, and she growled as she strained to hold him. "Please don't make me kill you, hero. I beg you." The shrieks of the people reached a fever pitch, and then a horrified silence fell as the knight's eyes rolled back, and he finally slumped in her grip, Ferris lowering him gently to the sand. He was still breathing. She offered a prayer of thanks for that, before straightening and bowing deeply to her fallen opponent, her arms crossing her chest in the way of the north.

In the silence that had fallen, she turned and walked as proudly as she was able towards the king, bowing with respect equal to what she had shown her opponent. As she straightened, she saw his face - taken back, perhaps even afraid, though he was disciplined enough to control it. He must have never imagined his champion could lose. This was the moment, now - before he could think of an excuse to not listen. Her voice boomed out, powerful if still hoarse from her struggle.

"I came to your lands to beg an audience with you, Highest Star. Not because you are weak. But because you are mighty. You are mighty! Strong in arms, powerful in magic, brilliant in war. Few lands would dream of challenging you. They would be fools to try. But something is coming. A dark tide rolls over the land, filled with devils beyond number, with monstrous beasts, giants like none that have ever been seen. Your people are powerful like few others. And that power will not be enough. You will all die."

The Highest Star of Heaven's Light, to his credit, did seem to be listening, though he didn't appear won over. "We need only raise our wards. This so-called dark tide will wash past us like a stone in the waves, and then recede. We need only wait."

"There is no waiting out this storm, Highest. The dark will remain till it finds a weakness, and crack your wards like an egg. You must bring your people south, join the people of the southern lands. Join your strength with theirs!

"You tell me to lend our strength to this battle? Let your own people do it themselves!"

"It's too late for that." Aurelio spoke from just behind Ferris, who all but jumped out of her skin with genuine surprise.

"Gods! You're already up?!"

"Highest, it is too late for her people to join. She's Ferris Iron-wrought, the last knight of the northern realms. Her comrades were slaughtered to the very last when the Ironheart fell."

"Impossible! The Ironheart?? That fortress was impregnable! I was there myself when the walls were charmed!" The king was aghast, eyes wide in disbelief. He glanced furiously at a few nearby elves who must have been his advisors, who looked ashen - evidently this news from the human realms hadn't been considered important enough to deliver to the king.

"The charms were strong, Highest, but they failed in the end. The stones were thick, but they crumbled before the tide. Our warriors were noble and strong and brave, and they died. Our families. Everything. It's all been taken from us. And only I was sent away," It was impossible to keep the pain from her voice. "Sent to give warning. So that the other lands might have a chance to survive. Please. Please grant me an audience."

"It is granted. I will speak to you within the hour." He whirled from the platform and strode off, surrounded by his retainers and clamoring advisors, leaving the crowd buzzing fearfully in his wake. Ferris turned to Aurelio, who was massaging his bruised throat with one hand and eyeing her cautiously.

"The elves of this land are powerful indeed!" She said, her voice booming theatrically to catch the crowds attention. "I thank you for allowing me to win that spar, brave Aurelio Swaying Leaf's Graceful Fall, so that I could plead my case with the king! Your kindness is eclipsed only by your strength!"

The knight covered his confusion with an elegant bow, the grace of it only slightly spoiled by his disheveled hair. "You're an opponent like no other, noble Ferris Iron-wrought! I am forever grateful to you, for coming to the aid of my people, despite our poor welcome. I'm certain that with you at our side, we shall overcome this darkness!" The crowd's answering cheer was even louder than their calls for Ferris's death had been, making the mighty witchwood boughs of the arena tremble.

She reached out her hand in the elven fashion, and as he took it, he murmured, "I was pulling my punches," startling a laugh out of Ferris. "Were those punches? I thought it was one of those lovely elvish dances." His elvish mask of serenity slipped momentarily into a grin, and they faced the crowd together, and bowed hand in hand, bringing another cheer from the people. Then she walked proudly into the tunnel leaving the arena, only allowing herself to collapse once they were fully out of sight.

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"Princess who begs the kidnappers to release her because she knows what her knight protector will do to them and can't handle seeing that happen to anyone again." - Making Up Adventurers, Cohost, 2024

"Forest and fields, you weren't kidding, it really does talk!"

The burglars were gathered around the traveler's pack they'd stolen, which had belonged to some sword-swinging giantess that had stumped into town earlier in the week. Something about her had smelled like money, so Eightfingers had his boys watch out, and if she went far enough from the inn they could sidle up to the room and see what there was to see. A few coins slipped to the innkeep made sure that he didn't see anything, and the whole operation went off nice and smooth. They had come back with a fairytale. Standing there in the pack was a wealthy child's toy, a beautifully sewn stuffed brown bear, wearing a perfect little replica of a noblewoman's gown and a little silver tiara. It was holding on to the edge of the bag tightly, squirming away when one of the lads reached out to grab it.

"Let me go! Please, please let me go!"

"Talks a bit too much, if you were asking me," grumbled Jughead, who had been carrying the pack till they reached their hideaway in the wood. "It's been carrying on like this since we nabbed it."

"Magic toy for some noble brat, you reckon?" asked Nimble, who finally managed to catch the bear in his hands, holding her up into the afternoon light. "Pretty little thing. Must have cost a fortune for whatever fool had it made."

"You're going to regret this! Just leave the bag and go!"

"It'll cost another fortune to whoever buys it," Eightfingers said, rubbing his chin. "I know a fellow who deals magic bits and bobs, and doesn't ask silly questions about how one came by it... He can set us up with a buyer. Put it in the old birdcage if it wants to sing so much."

"Pretty little bird gets a pretty little cage," agreed Nimble, tossing the bear to Jughead as he pulled the cage from a heap of other stolen pieces of junk and hung it from a tree limb. Fetching her back, he placed her lightly into the cage, giving a buffoonish imitation of a courtly bow after placing a rusty old padlock on it. "I hope it serves, humble as it is, Your Majesty-ness."

The little bear rattled the bars of the cage uselessly, continuing to plead for release as the gang set about making camp, getting a little fire going and starting supper.

"You don't understand! You don't know what she'll do to you!!!"


The strangeness and novelty of their treasure soon wore off of the band, and they alternated between ignoring the bear, joking about her, or discussing stuffing her back into the bag and throwing it under a pile of blankets. One of the band seemed fascinated by the bear though, a gangly teenager just gazing at her from the tree he sat in.

"Moonstruck over a toy," the others laughed, making filthy jokes at his expense, but he ignored them. Late in the evening, he climbed down and walked over, holding her cage still when the tree branch swung with a breeze. The little princess-bear looked up at him with anxious eyes.

"Are you a..." he whispered, struggling to phrase a complicated thought. "Are you a thing? Or are you real. Alive." He waited in expectant silence for her answer.

"I'm alive, just like you. I wasn't always like this." She whispered back. "Please, please. You have to let me go. You have to let me go before she finds this place."

"Who? Before who finds us?"

Their discussion was interrupted as Snoops, on high lookout, called down from the tree.

"The inn's on fire!! I can see it from here, lit up like a bonfire!"

Other thieves climbed the trees for a better look, but the youth stayed with the bear, who wore a look of horror, her hands over her face.

"She's coming, she's coming! You have to run! She's going to kill you!"

"Why should we run? Who is she?"

"Armes Albrecht, my knight protector. Please, please go!"

Now it was the boy who began to tremble. Armes Albrecht, the King's Butcher, the Bloody Hand, Gorefiend Armes, War-Demon Albrecht. She was real? She was real?? She was a fairytale! But the boy had another fairytale in his hands before him now. So, maybe...

"What do they call you? Quickly!" The bear whispered.

"Trapper. C-cause I caught my foot in a snare once," the youth stammered.

"Trapper, you need to take me out of this cage, and run towards the town. As fast as you can! If we hurry, we can get there before she-"

A hideous shriek filled the trees, and there was a sound of cracking branches and a heavy, dull thud as the body of Snoops hit the ground beneath. The thieves began to shout in alarm. Far, far too late. A roar that could scarcely be human answered, along with shattering wood and charging through the brush.

"Oh god, she's here! ARMES, PLEASE! DON'T HURT THEM! THEY DIDN'T KNOW!"


It only took the knight a few minutes. She didn't even wear armor, her traveling clothes soaked in gore, face masked in red.

The clearing looked like it had been blasted apart by cannonfire. Trees were splintered, and the thieves had been scattered in all directions - in pieces. The ground was wet with blood, and Trapper clutched the crying bear to his chest as he hid in the hollow of a tree. He wanted to close his eyes, but was too afraid, and watched the heavy booted feet of the warrior as she strode slowly through the camp, and then very deliberately walked towards him.

"Come out here." Her voice was like iron, the command in it impossible to resist. He crawled out, trembling, gently setting the bear on the ground. The knight knelt and bowed her head.

"Have you been hurt, Princess?"

"Please, Armes. Please. He's just a boy. Please."

"Go back to the pack." The knight stood back up. "He's seen you." She raised her heavy blade, eyes burning with fury.

"I command you to stop!!"

Trapper whimpered as the edge of the blade halted inches from his neck.

"You will not harm him!" The bear spoke with a surprising amount of iron in her own voice. She placed her tiny form between the two, as if she would shield the boy herself, arms spread. "He will make amends! Won't you, Trapper!"

"Yes! Y-yes, I will!" He knelt and quickly began to draw the mark of the Redeemer in the bloody dirt with his finger tip. "I make my s-solemn vow, I won't say a word of this night! To anyone! Redeemer strike me down if I lie!!"

Armes held her blade ready for several long moments, the anger still burning in her eyes, before swiftly wiping it off on her shirt and slamming it back into the scabbard.

"We leave in two minutes. Others may come, and if you don't want a repeat of this evening, you'd be wise to stay hidden. Say your goodbyes."

The stuffed bear fell back onto her bottom with a gasp as the knight heeded her words, and took several deep breaths before turning back to the boy.

"I'm sorry. My father ordered her to protect me. I'm so sorry." She reached out and touched his hand with her soft little paw. "Run away from here and keep your oath. If she ever hears word of this, she will return, so.. please. Please. Be wise." With that, she quickly followed after the knight, crawling into the backpack before the War-Demon carried her away into the darkness.

Trapper knelt there a long while, till the fire died. Then he quietly rose, gathered his few belongings and began to walk in the opposite direction.

Damien

Jan. 9th, 2025 08:23 pm
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"Adventurer who showed up early." - Making Up Adventurers, Cohost, 2024

CWs: child abuse mention.

Damien...

Walking slowly, sullenly down the path home from the village, Damien shook his head aggressively, trying to ignore the voice that called from the old well. He had heard it's whispers for weeks now, and tried to pretend nothing was happening. He couldn't tell anyone, he didn't want his parents to whip him for a liar again.

Damien, come... Help me, Damien... Help me, and I can help you... No one will ever be able to hurt you again...

The youth stopped, and couldn't help glancing at the well, his back throbbing from the numerous switch marks, bruises and cuts. Despite himself, he found himself trudging off the path and up the overgrown hill, till he was looking down over the slumped, moss covered stones, into the darkness. The cloudy day seemed to grow cooler, darker.

"What do you mean, you can help me?" He asked into the darkness. "What do you want from me?" The echoes came back, longer and louder than seemed right.

want want want you you you YOU YOU

Pull me up, Damien. Pull me up and I'll help you hurt them. And anyone else who ever made you sad.

The voice came out of the dark, but not like a real voice, seeming to come from below and behind him and just at his ear. Damien felt as though he were dreaming. He found himself reaching out and grasping the thick, rough rope hanging down, pulling it laboriously up in great heaves.

He toppled over as the bucket finally reached the top, spilling it on the grass as he fell backwards. Laying on the ground was a gauntlet, black and angular, with too many fingers. A black gem with a white flaw glinted on the back of the hand, like a dark eye. It was heavy and gigantic, but Damien knew instantly that it would somehow fit him perfectly.

Pick me up, Damien... Put me on. You were born to carry me...!

The youth's hand trembled as he climbed on to his knees, reaching out to place his hand into- he was seized suddenly by the shoulder, a woman's strong hand grasping him and pulling him backwards till he was sat on his bottom, restrained with his back against her chest.

"Nuh uh uh, you don't need any of that thing, kid. Don't touch it. Is this the one?" She asked over her shoulder.

"The very one." A wiry man with a long thin little wisp of beard coming from his chin came into view, with a massive hammer and a pair of tongs. "Looks like we made it here by the skin of our teeth, but we made it!"

HOW DARE YOU FOOLS

"Now, now, now. None of that." the thin man said. "We're just taking care of this now, instead of letting you use this poor boy for decades before someone kills him and starts the cycle over again."

IT IS MY DESTINY TO RULE ALL, AND HE IS THE TOOL BY WHICH I SHALL SEIZE THIS EARTH

"Let's shut this vile thing up," grumbles the woman holding Damien. "Stay back, my love, we won't let anything hurt you. You're safe with us."

The boy, still feeling lost in a dream, couldn't seem to move as the woman let him go, taking the heavy smith's hammer from the man as he carefully, carefully used the tongs to drag the gauntlet onto a flat stone.

I WON'T BE DENIED MY DESTINY! DAMIEN! KILL THEM, YOU MISERABLE FOOL! KILL THEM! KILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEMKILLTHEM-

The woman swung the hammer with a tremendous grunt of effort, and the words changed to a horrid shriek as the eye in the gauntlet cracked. The third blow shattered it, and it went silent.

The silence that followed seemed deafening, as the man carefully lifted the broken remnants of the gauntlet into a lead-lined wooden casket, which he slapped a stout lock onto afterwards before shoving it into his heavy pack. The woman tossed the hammer down into the well, and returned her attention to the boy, kneeling down beside him and gently taking him by the chin, drawing his gaze up to her face. "Are you alright, my love? You never touched it?"

Damien shook his head, feeling numb. The man joined them as well. He took off his pointed cap and set it aside, his balding head gleaming in the light as the sun began to break through the clouds. He had a kindly expression. "It promised you something, didn't it? What did it offer you, Damien?"

"It... It said it wouldn't let anyone hurt me again. And it would let me hurt them back."

"Is someone hurting you, my love?" the woman asked, her voice kind, but her eyes glinting with growing anger.

"My.. my parents, they..." he tried to say more, but suddenly found himself struggling to hold back tears, his chest hitching with sobs. The man placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and whispered softly to the woman, who nodded.

"My name is Nettle, Damien. And this is Thistle. We have been looking for you for a long, long time, my boy. And if want to, you don't have to go home. You can come with us." He used the handle of the tongs to scratch the mark of the Redeemer into the ground, to show his sincerity. "We won't allow anyone to hurt you again."

The boy nodded, uncertain, still gripped with the sensation that none of this was real. "I... I would like that."

The woman, Thistle, gave him a gentle squeeze, and as she stood up and dusted herself off the boy saw how powerfully built she was, despite barely being taller than himself. She made an odd pair with the wiry tall man. "I'll go to his home and retrieve his things. I'll... Explain the situation, to his parents." She practically spat that last word, her hands creaking as she balled her fists.

"We're going to start back to the village, then. We'll walk slowly, so you can catch up to us," Nettle said, and Thistle was off and marching down the hill, cutting an angle towards the path to Damien's cottage. Damien and Nettle began to slowly walk in the other direction, the youth's knees weak, leaning on the unusual oak staff the man lent him.

Nettle spoke quietly about the nature of the thing that had called from the well, explaining cycles of terror and quiet as it seized people and made them into tools of death. Dreadlords who brought ruin and despair. Damien swallowed.

"It said it was... My destiny. Is it?"

The man but his lip before answering. "It might have been, before. But not any more. That fate has been broken."

"Then what will I become?"

"Anything you want to be, Damien. You're free."

A little later, Thistle came calling as she strode up the path behind, and the three of them walked away, together.

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"Dread Lord who will conquer the realms with the power of ROCK!" - Making Up Adventurers, Cohost, 2024

"Time is relative," the saying goes.

And it really is. Mayfly species like humans or halflings or kender, they come and go in the blink of an eye in comparison to some of the more long lived peoples. The elves, for instance. They live a good little while, several thousand years, and their relative perception of time is obviously different. But it's still tied up in years, in months, in days and nights. It's fast time. The Dweller Beneath isn't concerned with that kind of time. She operates on a different scale. Deep time. Geologic time. The time it takes to take solid rock, bend and mold it like soft clay with heat and pressure.

The runes she placed in the bones of the earth were cut into the living stone over one hundred million years ago, and have been doing their slow, unstoppable work ever since, miles and miles below the sunlit surface. Shaping. Pulling. Changing the course of tectonic plates, pulling stone down into the furnaces of the earth, thrusting it back up in new configurations, new places. Molding the earth into the shape the Dweller sees fit to make it, one slow inch at a time.

There won't be any grand resistance by the surface nations. They won't unite to defeat her, undo her work. There will be no brave band of desperate heroes at the eleventh hour, because the work is the work of ages, indistinguishable from "nature" in it's slow, unstoppable course. If any of the short-lived people of the light can even survive in the world she's made when she can finally emerge. She had already won before the first elf sang to their first witchwood tree. She only needs to wait. Wait with the patience of the mountain. The patience of a stone.

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"For reasons that made sense at the time, this damp adventurer made a pact with the Overflowing Font of Slime and hasn't been the same since." -Making Up Adventurers, Cohost, 2024

Interview fragment, unknown publication, author unknown, date unknown but presumed pre-Unification

fragment begins

's it like?

"To be honest, it's not a bad gig, as far as 'serving an elemental otherwordly power' goes. The Overflowing Font of Slime doesn't ask for much." He is glistening with a green tinted sheen of slime and it splashes and drips from his hands after he slicks his hair back. "Mostly I just do my own thing."

What does it want you to do?

"Mostly it just wants to eat. and spread. And spread and eat. Like, you know slimes, how they do... they're not complicated. They grow, they spread, they eat stuff. The dungeon garbage disposal. I eat whatever I want, the Pact makes everything I don't need into slime - or ooze, maybe a gel once in a blue moon, it's a bit random - and it just falls off and wanders off to do whatever they do. I can go fucking hog wild at the buffet. It WANTS me to go hog wild at the buffet."

You leave monsters everywhere you go?

He raises his hands defensively. "They're barely more than amoeba, calling them monsters is kind of a reach, be real. Look, most of the ones I left behind today have already dried out." He points to his footprints in the grass, where the deposited slime has eaten the lawn down to the soil and simply shriveled up in the warm sunlight after. "I try to restrict my travels away from places with a lot of available uh, biomass - no forests or farmland - and I stick to where it's either warm and dry or mostly below freezing. The Font doesn't care. It's hands... uh... pseudopods off with me."

How'd you even end up like this?

"I was with a group moving through an old underground aqueduct system. It was wall to wall slimes in there, that's what they were paying us to fix, and we were getting steamrolled, literally just run over by the things. I had enough time to hold my breath and pray after getting pulled into one of those big fuckin cubes while watching my coworkers abandon me, and... turned out something heard. Next thing you know it spits me out and I have a new vocation."

What's the biggest difference in your life after that?

"Dating."

Worse?

"Thousand times better. They call me the

fragment ends

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"I suppose I should be honored by a visit from the kingdom's very own war devil. Come in, bloody one." The old woman didn't sound the least bit surprised to see Armes' massive frame filling her doorway, nor the least bit intimidated. "Get in before you let out all of the warm." The knight ducked into the cottage, shutting the door behind herself, and looked about warily as she drew back her hood.

The hovel was a single room, built around a rough stone chimney and hearth where a fire burned brightly, casting dancing shadows throughout. Wind whistled through gaps in the shutters, bringing the night's chill and the sound of rattling leaves and branches, the groan of he forest's trees swaying. The old woman was busying herself, hanging a black scorched kettle above the fire, picking through dozens of jars before settling on one with a nod, casting a few leaves into a earthenware cup. "Though I don't know what you expect a simple old woman like me to do for you," she added, watching Armes with sharp eyes. "Have you come to take taxes?"

"You are the witch Loemma." It was not a question. "You are a fugitive from the King's justice, for crimes against the crown and it's citizens. For the murder of children." The knight's voice was hard, but she didn't draw her blade, instead kneeling down and opening her pack. "But that isn't why I've come. The King's very own Magister spoke highly of your knowledge in arcane subjects."

The old woman's expression of indignant protest melted at the praise, and she grinned, revealing sharp teeth that gleamed in the light. "Ah, did he now? A miserable fool, but wise enough to know his betters!" she crowed, laughing like a rusty hinge. "So then! You come in need of my knowledge, my power, Armes Albrecht? To chase away the ghosts that haunt you at night? Something to quiet all of the screams of the dying?"

"I sleep well enough. You'll see why we've come momentarily. Myself, and the Princess." And she gently withdrew the Princess's small form from the bag, setting her on the table to face the witch. The bear gazed about the cottage for a moment, taking in her surroundings, and dusted her little toy paws off on her gown before dipping her head in courteous acknowledgement.

"Throw me in the Rot! What have you brought me?"

"Magister Orfeo was of the opinion that one who placed curses so deftly would surely have vast knowledge of their breaking as well," Alysia said in her small voice, the wide eyed witch drawing nearer in gleeful wonder. "If you know a means to undo the curse placed on me, I, Alysia Goldenseal, am empowered to offer a pardon for your... *previous acts*." The toy face was marvelously expressive, twisting as though she had a foul taste in her mouth as she spoke those words. "On the condition that if you commit any further crimes, you would face the immediate justice of the Crown." She spoke with the formal tone and cadence she would have used in her father's court, mustering as much dignity as her current state would allow. Being a plush toy only a foot or so tall didn't allow much.

Loemma snatched Alysia from the tabletop, making a contorted gesture at the same time with her free hand - as quick as Armes was, the witch was quicker. From the knight's perspective, the world seemed to swim and turn around her, and now "down" didn't go towards the earth - instead she fell backwards, her back crashing into the stone wall of the hovel, each of her limbs seeming to weigh dozens of stones. Her vision sparkled and she reeled with the impact. "Be still," Loemma scolded, sniffing as she turned the princess around, upside down. Alysia fussed and struggled, but the old woman's grip was harder than iron. "By the Pit, you truly are her, aren't you? There's a spirit in there, a shiny little soul. Bound tight. Fairy work." She held the bear up to her face, ignoring the way Alysia recoiled. No, not ignoring - she clearly enjoyed it, smirking. "Insulted some queen bitch of the realm Fae, did you? Needed to be taught a lesson, toy?"

"Y- That is correct. I was... not courteous." Alysia squirmed, and gasped as she saw Armes, who was struggling to breath under the magical weight crushing her in place. "Release my retainer! She will die!"

"Oh, that she will. I'll release her, by the Pit." Loemma sneered, and her hand twisted unnaturally in another painful gesture, which made Armes roar in agony, struggling briefly before sagging and falling to the ground in a heap. Her eye stared sightlessly at nothing. Alysia shrieked and flailed in the witch's iron grasp. "The only release that suits one of her sort. Now, as for you. Let's get you sorted." She hummed a cheerful tune, crowing to herself with laughter every now and then when one of the princess's sobs was particularly amusing. She spat onto a roughly human shaped doll made of knoted straw, and then breathed into it's featureless face for a moment, before carelessly throwing the bundle into a glass jar, which was in turn placed in a cage of sticks and wire. "I bet that halfwit Orfeo thought this was a transformation, and thought it might be unraveled. It's simpler than that," she murmured, absorbed as she drew a precise diagram around the cage with a lump of red chalk. A series of nested shapes, wormed throughout with writing that Alysia couldn't read, but felt as though she should understand - like a half-recognized form seen in an unlit room. "The faefilth drew your spirit out, and... pop. Threw it into another shell. I bet your body is decorating some fairylord's bedchamber now, or they stuffed an imp into your skin and are using it for a housemaid." Her musings were lost on the weeping princess, who was uselessly reaching for Armes.

"In any case. It's simple enough. I simply- " Alysia screamed briefly as she felt herself suddenly ripped from her form, the the pain was replaced with a cold non-sensation. A void. And then, suddenly... she was in a chamber made of dirty glass, resting on.. a straw mattress. No, not a mattress - a mannequin made of straw, as big as a person. She couldn't feel, but she could see and perceive. She was in the jar. The witch towered above her, laughing and tossing the little toy bear that used to house Alysia about before discarding it. She seemed woven all throughout with strings of light. "All better, Alysia Goldenseal?! Everything you could have asked for?!" Her massive face drew near, steaming the glass with her breath. "I'm sure I can find *some manner* of use for a shiny little royal soul... Or sell it to some prince of the Pit to dine on, perhaps!"

Alysia wailed, the sound making the glass reverberate around her shapeless form - she seemed to be nothing but a willow-wisp, a light in the glass. The world around her looked wrong, and strange - tangles of luminous threads connecting everything, both present and not present at the same time. Some even connected to her. She followed one with her "gaze", and saw it ran directly the stuffed bear she had inhabited. She felt a sudden urge to tug, and reached out with... with what, she had no idea - reached out and tugged the thread. The bear jerked slightly on the dirt floor, unnnoticed. The princess experienced a sense of vertigo, of being in two places at once - simultaneously in the jar and in the bear again. She released the thread and instantly was alone in her glass prison. She tugged the threads running to the straw doll, and similarly found herself within and without it. Alysia went silent. She would have held her breath, if she could breath at all. She looked in the direction of Armes, and saw that even in death, the threads of light still wove throughout her knight. They were fading, however. She reached across the distance - still not entirely sure what she reached with, or how - and grasped the thickest bundle. She held lightly, and understanding dawned. This rope, seeming to her tiny form as thick as a treetrunk. Strumming a chord on the bundle, the knight's stilled heart twitched and jolted. Alysia quickly began to work.

Loemma ignored the corpse and the foolish soul in the jar as she danced around her home, making plans, making great plans. With the power this could potentially grant her, why, she could topple the kingdom - she could topple it in an afternoon, for a lark! Ah, she could laugh, she could sing! What a day, for this opportunity to come walking into her very own front door. She was beginning to pour quicksilver into her scrying dish when the sound of breaking glass caused her to whirl around. The cage had toppled, and rolled to the floor, the jar broken. She snarled a curse, rushing over to catch the spirit before it could dissipate, but it was already gone. "Fucking hells and-" She stopped as the wood near her fireplace clattered to the floor, and looking around, realized the bear was gone. "You clever little *beast*!" she cried. "Too clever by half! I should have put you in a cold iron box, instead." She followed the little scuffed prints through the dust and ash, past the fireplace, and snatched with hands as quick as whip, pulling the filth-streaked bear out from the cabinet she'd hidden beneath. "Did you think you could hide, fool?"

"No, please! I - I promise! All will be forgiven, if you simply release me! Please! Un-unless... you refuse...?" The witch relished her pleading, and grinned her evil grin, sharp teeth seeming ready to bite.

"I refuse your *gracious* offer." Loemma answered, sneering gleefully.

"Then in the name of the King, die," answered the hoarse voice of the knight. Her massive blade, broader than a hand, erupted from Loemma's chest, the thick arm of Armes Albrecht wrapping around the woman's shoulders from behind for leverage as she drove it deeper, till it projected a full arm's length directly from her breastbone. She coughed and gurgled blood, wide eyed with disbelief, but no last curse or insult followed. She simply collapsed bonelessly to the floor, rattling a final breath. Armes let her down, but carefully caught the princess into her arms as she did, stepping away from the corpse without a backwards glance, gathering their belongings and carrying Alysia out of the accursed place, out into the wind and the night.

-------

Months later found Armes traveling in a loose caravan of pilgrims journeying to the temples of the capital, who kept their distance from the warrior - the ones who knew her reputation especially. Armes rode a nameless horse, traveling in silence, eyes vigilant and hand resting on her belted sword's pommel while the other held the reins. The dark skinned young woman riding beside her sat stiffly in the saddle, dressed in traveling clothes of fine quality, carrying a stuffed bear dressed as her twin in her lap. Her expression was a tranquil mask, never changing, though her eyes were active and keen. Her joints creaked in a strangely wooden way as she held up a hand and indicated something to the knight, who leaned close to speak. None of the pilgrims had ever seen the young lady part from the bear - some spoiled nobleman's daughter, for certain. Likewise none had seen her eat out of the privacy of her tent, and she only spoke from behind her raised hand or a fan - "The young Lady is shy," was the only explanation Armes would offer the procession's leader.

"She so resembles her Majesty the Princess."
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I'm writing essays for scholarship applications and some of these demand that we share it publicly on our ~~blogs~~, and right now this is all the blog I've got. Which is really cool when some of these are asking about one's trans or queer experiences, when you might not be out necessarily. Gonna be really exciting to find out if they demand I use my legal name, lmao.
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Going to just freestyle for a moment here. The question I've been asked to write about is why it is challenging for transgender students to afford and approach college. But the answer isn't really that difficult, right? It's "cis people". That's it, right?? Trans people are pushed to the margins in everything, in *everything*, so it doesn't defy reason to see that effects education as well. Trans people have a harder time getting jobs, particularly jobs that pay well. Trans people have higher rates of homelessness, mental illness, suicide risk. Because at every turn, we have to be afraid – afraid for our stability or even afraid for our lives. Without job security, even affording bare necessities is difficult, and things like schooling become a luxury at best, a dangerous risk or impossible at worst. And in a nation where transphobic bigotry seems to be becoming not only acceptable but *trendy*, it seems almost disingenuous to ask the question of why trans people aren’t going out for class.

I don’t know. I’m not out, offline. Maybe I’m not staying in my place. But while I’m usually “only” perceived as gay, going out publicly still often feels fraught with danger, and I am over six and a half feet tall – that has never made me safe from violence! It simply means people who want to fight bring a few friends with them. And I know for a fact that I only tasted a tiny portion of what out trans folks have been enduring, barely a taste. It’s a tragedy because most of the trans people I know are as smart as a whip, incredible artists or musicians, just these absolutely brilliant shining minds – and they live paycheck to paycheck, or couch surf, barely surviving. It’s a crime. It’s a crime! They deserve so much more than this.

I don’t know what else to say. It makes me furious.
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“I don’t care what hole in the ground you found it in, I’m not paying gold for this trash!” the merchant shouted, punctuating her words with a fist pounding on her counter. “It’s rubbish! Refuse! Garbage!! I can’t sell it!”

The maze rat on the other side of the counter looked increasingly despondent, and the merchant steeled herself for inevitable tears. “You don’t understand… these were the only things we were able to snatch on the way out. It was a nightmare in there! Can’t you please take a second look?” He looked up at her as he pleaded, and the merchant bit off an oath. It was monstrous of the law to allow people so young to become “adventurers”. And being the closest shop to the mouth of the labyrinth meant she was always their first stop once they crawled back out. She groaned, and rubbed her temples with thumb and forefinger, before reopening the Encyclopedia Magica and putting her glasses back on.

“All right. Show me your trash, one more time.”

“Thank you! Oh, thank you – now, here, this dagger, we found it under a pile of tr–“ She silenced him with an upheld hand, and turned the blade over in her hands, flipping it back and forth as she held it up to the light. Under the glow of the special candles she used for appraisals, it didn’t sparkle – no enchantment. But it was, she admitted, at least somewhat novel, now that she looked closer. Bronze, bright and sharp, well cared for, but with a handle that was dark with years beyond years of handling and use – an heirloom piece. The guard had a sculpted detail of a wasp on it, that was nice. With all the emphasis on magic and enchanted tools there wasn’t much demand for simple items of quality. But maybe with the right story…

“Listen to me. Remember this for the next time you come selling. What you found was the last resting place of Hernan d’Avispa, and this is his famed dagger, ‘the Sting.’ Right?”

“No, it was just in a heap of trash-“

“I cannot sell a trash knife, dungeon brat! But I can sell the Sting, the lost weapon of a noble hero. Now do you understand what I’m saying?”

Confusion blossomed into understanding on the youth’s face, and he nodded swiftly. “Oh, of- of course! It was lodged in the skull of an ogre – he must have killed it before succumbing to, uh, to his own wounds, after fearsome combat!”

“Now that’s more like it! Good. Five gold pieces, then.” She marked five tally marks on a slate, already certain she could sell it for three times that.

“Surely for an artifact of such rarity you could give me ten…” the youth said with a sly smile, and she laughed. He was getting the spirit of it.

“Sorry, today all appraisals are final. Now c’mon.” She grinned and slapped a palm on the counter, ready to deal. “Show me what else you’ve got.”
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The SAGA System was a very late TSR product, which was used to power two different games - a Marvel superhero rpg, and a Dragonlance game (which is what I own), which was positioned as the successor to the Dragonlance ADnD 2nd Edition modules. It very clearly takes a lot of it's design from ADnD - but at the same time, it was enough of a departure that players largely rejected it. It's sometimes held up as being what "killed" TSR, but that's ridiculous - one small game that wasn't heavily marketed and poorly supported isn't going to kill a company like TSR. And additionally - SAGA isn't a bad system! It has an emphasis on storytelling and performance (the GM is the "Narrator", and sessions are played in Acts and Scenes) that I find really nice, while it retained a lot of familiar touchstones from ADnD that made it relatively easy to pick up and fool with.

The major downside is it's dependence on a specific, never reprinted deck of cards. 9 suits, 8 of which are associated with different stats, each with a value, an associated character, and two character traits (one trait, if it was the suit of dragons). The lower value cards had "good" characters on them, and positive character traits, while high value cards had villains and negative traits. This provided an incentive to use the low value cards in character creation to make heroes - to play a villain you'd need to spend a high value card on your personality traits instead of your ability scores. If you want to play this game with regular playing cards, you have to modify them a lot, or figure out how to play it with dice, which would be a lot of work. I've tried!

Anyway. Let's get this show on the road! First things first, here's the character sheet - I hate this character sheet! It's small, it's cramped, it spends a lot of space on the stupid logo. And it doesn't photocopy well. THIS is what killed TSR.

The character sheet on the back cover of Dragonlance SAGA ttrpg, by TSR.


With that off my chest, we deal out twelve cards. I'll include a picture of my spread.

The cards for stats:

A spread of playing cards, each with a character portrait, number, suit, and a few words to describe a personality.

And the rest:

Four more cards, with character art, text, numbers. Its all of wildly varying quality.

In terms of numbers, it's a GREAT spread! Lots of eight and nines, AND the sole ten card in the deck, heck yeah! The major downside though is that a lot of these cards are Dragon cards, cards from the suit of Dragons. These pose a challenge because every attribute comes with two parts - the ability score (reflecting natural ability) and the ability code (X-A) representing training, which reflects how powerful the weapons characters can wield, what armor they can use, how many senses are sharp or diminished, and how many schools of sorcery or spheres of mysticism they can use. Dragon cards are an X, reflecting zero ability in that score's use, even if one has tremendous natural aptitude.

So that 10 of Dragons poses an interesting question. What do we do with it?

First things first, we'll grab out most of our lower value cards to use for personality traits, social status and reputation - that's Dragons (1), Dragons (6), Arrows (4), and Crowns (3). We took one moderately high value card for Reputation - a higher Reputation value translates directly into a larger hand to use in play. More on that later.

That leaves eight cards for the physical side - and as luck has it, a lot of these cards are REALLY good together! Dragons (10), Dragons (9), Moons (8), Hearts (8), Shields (8), Crowns (6), Orbs (6), and Dragons (3). Why do I say that these cards work well together? Because the associated stats have synergy. Let me explain.

As I mentioned, each suit has an associated stat and family of actions. Four physical, four mental.
On the physical side:
Swords -> Strength (Melee actions and brute force actions - you know what I mean)
Helms -> Endurance (Resisting melee attacks, surviving poisons, illness - physical robustness)
Arrows -> Dexterity (Missile attacks, anything that requires you to be "good with your hands")
Shields -> Agility (Shield use, speed, ability to avoid missiles, hide, etc)

On the mental side:
Moons -> Reason (Use magic, deduction, knowledge. Score determines spell points pool, code how many schools of sorcery)
Orbs -> Perception (Alertness, detection, finding hidden things. Code determines sharp/dull senses)
Hearts -> Spirit (Intuition, strength of character and depth of convictions - score determines mystic spell points, code is how many spheres of mysticism (similar to cleric magic))
Crowns -> Presence (Resist mystic attack, the force of your personality, your natural aptitude for leadership)

When you assign a card to an ability, the suit determines the grade. If it's the same ability, you get a grade of A. If it's closely related - like assigning a sword card to Endurance instead of Helms - you get a B. If it's at least the right group - a physical suit to a physical stat - you get a C, and if it's fully unrelated - a Swords assigned to, say, Spirit - you get an ability code of D. Only Dragons will get an X code. This is why they're kind of problematic for ability usage.

So anyway, back to our character in progress. The cards, once again, are Dragons (10), Dragons (9), Moons (8), Hearts (8), Shields (8), Crowns (6), Orbs (6), and Dragons (3). What leaps out to me right away are the high cards that aren't dragons - Moons, Hearts, and we'll set Shields aside. If we want to play to a strength, you could do a LOT worse than that. So let's start there.

Reason of 8(A) and Spirit of 8(A). This character won't have the highest possible amount of spell points, but they'll have access to SIX kinds of magic, as well as the ability to potentially use both at once in combination magic, which is only possible with A codes.

Presence will get Dragons (9) for a score of 9(X) - strong willed and with a powerful sense of self, but no leadership experience at all. And Perception will get Shields (8) - Very perceptive, but with 1 diminished sense - I'll go with sight.

At this point I am getting a good idea of who I want this to be - I'll adapt the character I've written several short stories about on Cohost, Meggie the Mole - Meghanna the Magnificent!

Moving on to the physical scores. As a Magus of the Magisterium, Meg isn't the most physical, but I think she spends a lot of time on research expeditions and hikes to gather specimens. So I imagine her to be fairly sturdy, and physically very robust, but not very fast... So we'll quickly assign Dragons (3) to Agility, Dragons (10) to Endurance, Crowns (6) to Strength, and Orbs (6) to Dexterity. This gives her:

Agility 3(X) - she's not fast, and can only use the lightest, simplest shields;
Dexterity 6(D) - She's fairly good with her hands, but with limited training can only use up to Light missile weapons;
Endurance 10(X) - She's INCREDIBLY healthy and sturdy, not easily harmed, but has no idea how to wear armor of any kind besides reinforced clothing;
Strength 6(D) - Stronger than her slight size would lead you to believe, but with limited knowledge of weapons - nothing heavier than a Light melee weapon, like a bludgeon.

Meghanna is a human, so the human modifiers now come into play. In Dragonlance, Humans are either "Civilized" or "Barbarians" which is it's own whole racist/colonial baggage. In any case, the most important effect that has is that one physical score must be reduced by 1, and one mental score increased by 1. I think That I'll reduce her Endurance from a superhuman 10 to a merely incredible 9, and increase her intelligence from 8 to 9. So now here final scores are

Agility - 3(X) Endurance - 9(X)
Dexterity - 6(D) Strength - 6(D)

Reason - 9(A) Spirit 8(A)
Perception - 8(D) Presence 9(X)

She's really come together! It paints the picture I'm hoping for - a highly talented and powerful wielder of magic, comfortable outdoors, able to go a long haul, but not an athlete - and almost all of her training has been focused strictly on magic, leaving her only the basics in every other field. I think that's why her eyesight is so poor as well.

We'll set aside the stats now, and look at the person. Let's fill out the first three fields of the character sheet quick -

Name: Meghanna the Magnificent (Meggie the Mole)
Race: Human
Role: Magus of the Magisterium

Next up is "Demeanor" and "Nature." If you have a particular character in mind, you can ask the Narrator if you can just pick your own. But the character creation as written says to get these attributes from the cards (See? I said we would come back to this). This is a perfect use for the low cards in the deck, so let's see what we had left, again... Dragons (1), Dragons (6), Arrows (4), and Crowns (3).

Dragons (1) has "Eccentric", Dragons (6) has "Treacherous", Arrows (4) has "Cautious" and "Inventive", and Crowns (3) has "Independent" and "Reasonable".

I think... It's fair to say that Meg is *eccentric*, to say the least. And she's definitely the inventive type. So we'll use those two cards. Next the character sheet asks for her vital measurements and/or a quick physical description and a homeland... We're skipping homeland because I Don't Care About Dragonlance, and nothing on this earth can make me. Physical description...

"Meg is a short (4'8"), fat (~180lbs) human woman, with curly brown hair and brown eyes, with pale skin. She has a round face, and wears extremely thick glasses - and even with those her vision isn't very good. Her squinting combined with her inward-turned posture gives her a rather mole-like appearance - leading to a nickname that has haunted her even into her professional career."

Next up... Social Status. We'll assign Crowns (3) to that, giving her the status of "Commoner" as well as a Wealth score of 3. She doesn't pull a large wage in her role as an academic, but her needs are met! Last is Reputation, which will get Dragons (6) - She has completed six quests and is known as an Adventurer! This means I'll have a hand size of 4 cards - and as an added bonus, after the next completed quest, she'll be bumped to Champion, which will give me another card in my hand.

You really don't want a Reputation less than Adventurer, or at the very least Novice - Novice has 3 card hands, and that's probably the minimum that will let you survive.

This gal is really shaping up! Let's solidify the details with her equipment.

Melee: A Dagger (+2 dmg, VL (very light)) - I picture this being one of those gardening knives that can also saw or dig.
Missile: A Slingshot (+2 dmg, VL) - She can plink someone real good with this thing and a stone.
Shield: None, she needs her hands to cast.
Armor: Reinforced Traveling Robes (-1 dmg, VL) - The robes of a Magisterium Magus, but reinforced for travel - and with LOADS of pockets.

She also has a pack full of travel and camp necessities, a change of clothes, soap, water purifying tabs, journal, pen and ink for writing, and specimen jars.

Quickly I'll pick her 3 Schools of Sorcery, her 3 Spheres of Mysticism, and define her special ability for her role as an academic Magus.

Schools of Sorcery:
Geomancy - manipulating rock, stone, and metal.
Divination - reading the past, seeing elsewhere in the presence, and seeing the possible future.
Transmutation - changing one substance into another. With her A code, any substance can be changed to any other.

Spheres of Mysticism:
Animism - Communing with nonsentient living things, including plants - not "speaking with animals", but meanings can be shared.
Alteration - Transforming a living being into another form, temporarily.
Sensitivity - similar to/synergistic with Divination. Read the auras of a place or creature, what has been there recently, where it went.

And on the subject of magic - her Sorcery points are 81 (9 x 9) and her Mystic points are 64 (8 x 8).
LAst is the Special Ability she gets from her Role...Normally I would hash this out with the Narrator, but I AM the narrator in this case! So I get what I want.

"I took a class on that once!"
She can cast spells that are outside of her known schools! But they require 50% more spell points to cast, and no card she plays is ever trump for magic she isn't expert in - this means she's limited to simple spells only. This gives her a certain degree of versatility - a lifelong learner's specialty.

SO! That's just about everything! I'll put it all into a character sheet... but not the one in the book! Because it sucks! I'll post a different one.

A better character sheet, filled in with the information we have put together in our little character exercise.

I had a lot of fun with this! I'd LOVE to play Meggie, and I think she would *whip* in a campaign - so if anyone in the seattle area wants to play SAGA sometime, get at me!!
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I'll figure this thing out later.

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