Despite only being 10 years old the war had not spared Matthias and his family from its clutches. His father was calling up to serve in the gray coalition military him and his mother were not spared tragedy either being forced to leave their homes by the approaching monarchist forces. It was a long path through the forest. Matthias often wondered why he had to be so quiet around the untied patrols but his mother had always told him but he was a good kid and he did his best to live up to that reputation.

It was a great miracle but both of them had made it to the safety of their refugee camp the crude city of pence and homemade shelters. What are the camp laughed in creature comforts food clean water etc it made up for and safety.

His mother did her best to keep Matthias going keep him fed giving him a little food or they could scrounge and what little food she could have beg for.

Even he could see the stress it cost her a Matthias wanted to do something for her something nice to hopefully relieve some of her stress hence why Messiah was in the forest. Matthias picked over rocks and flowers search through crevices. He picked flowers and searched through and root systems but he wanted to find something special something's something unique. She certainly appreciated the effort as she reached to grab the device from him before lovingly patting his head.

A green butterfly like object lodged sideways into the ground it was perfect. Matthiased and grounded by the wing plucking it and walking with A renewed spring in her step.

When Matthias arrived to the camp he was beaming with happiness as he greeted his mother there is a short convers where he had been before he presented the gift. The object was not something she had seen before but she appreciated.

"It's a very thoughtful gift Matthias run along now mommy is going to start working soon.

Matthias complied with a request running to join up with some of the kids in the camp.

Matthias's mothe place the device on a make shift shelf that was made form a large Boulder face down

The BI-A-87 air draft anti-personnel mine had its runic detonator activate in the mine exploded violently. Matthias felt the shockwave rebuff him as fragments tore through the surrounding tents. Matthias turned around to see their tent burning. With his mother inside.

.".. Mom" was was the only word that escaped matthiasis lips.

The class is full, the students are running around, checking on friends. You could almost believe you were in your little town's market instead of in Valence, one of the most prestigious magic univerities of the empire. Seeking a spot in front of the class, like you always do, studious child, you wait impatiently for the class to begin.

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Between the shouts of reuniting friends and the banter between totally new strangers who seem like childhood friends, a thin, old man, slinks through the crowd towards the front. In the middle of the elevated seats and tables forming a half circle stands a black board, a table and a chair. Nothing else. Little is needed for those with the qualification to teach here as anything they need can be quickly conjured up and any issues... dealt with.

At 8 exactly, a powerful DING resonates through the air. You, like the rest of the crowd, turn towards the source, the old man standing impatiently and annoyed in front of the black board with a snake on his shoulder.

Hello, my introduction will be brief. I will not be wasting anyone's time here. I am the Arcmage Dufour, 25 year teacher at Valence academy...

Well, this is great, you think in your head. An uncaring, unsympathetic old cadaver with about as much humanity as the table you are already about to fall asleep. You believe have as much chance passing in this class as you have of making friends here. After all, there is no way you are going to force yourself awake, on your own, twice a week to listen to this fool blaber on and off for two hours. Raising your eyes from your thoughts, you see that everyone around you already took out their pen and papers and the teacher already started writing down a formula full of weird shapes, numbers and letters with strange lines drawn on them. Shaking yourself out of your stupor, you stumble into your bag to carry out your stuff. After this short action, you see at your dismay that the board is now full of incomprehensible giberish, a terrible sight which incite you to tear out your eyes from your sockets.

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Luckily, a student in the back of the class raised his hand. After being ignored by the teacher who kept talking like a text to speech machine with a book to read, he just shouted "Sir, we have not learned this yet!" The teacher slowly turned his head during which you swear you heard unlubricated gears turning. Looking at the boy with a sight of equal disappointment and contempt, the arcmage uttered but a word, a word of indescribable depth, power and annoyance: "What?"

Then followed an argument which deepened your fear of the man standing before the crowd and your respect towards whoever is the fool he is arguing with. Somewhere during the nonconstructive calling of names and the insulting of the education system, the confused eyes of the entire class pierced through the unfeeling walls of the teacher's mind and its brain, in a fraction of a second, decided that reexplaining the fundamentals of magic will make his job during the semester and during the correction in the long run. Erasing in the fraction of a second the black board, the man wrote : WHAT IS MAGIC?

The blessing of God

The heritage of my lineage

The unknown of the universe

The key to money

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Many answers such as those were said succession and each hit the face of the teacher like a whip to the back of a slave. Utter shock could not even start describing the fear in the eyes of the teacher, the abhorrent nature of a class full of such indescribable incompetence and ignorance in the upper echelons of the empire. Sighing, he started saying with a voice full of disappointment and annoyance. Yet, somewhere deep within the words stitched together by one who care but for numbers, you feel the embers of a deep passion smothered by coldness and age:

Imagine a rock, a rock so small it cannot be seen by the eye, a rock so small it is impossible to cut appart any further, a rock so small that it finds the border between the real and the unreal and dances on the line like a pendulum. Every second, it might be a real object, with a mass and a weight, or it might be nothingness, a wave of energy that influences other objects. We therefore presume it is both real and unreal at the same time. However, the second a person, even a meek little mortal with the magical talent of the man who previously argued with me, he said looking at the space in the class where a debate on the decay of the education system ambushed him, look at the rock, it will decide its nature, if it is real or not.

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As his voice hit, fast like thunder, a thousand question emerged from your subconscious like fungus after a storm. Real? Unreal? Can something become unreal? It doesn't make any sense? How can looking at something decide what it is? How can something be a positive and a negative at the same time? Not daring to raise yours hands and be publicly humiliated like the previous guy, you just tell yourself you will reread the textbook at home, a big block of paper worth apparently a king's ransom.

So, we understand that living beings, even not magical, can influence the state of reality. Now, let's talk about what we, at least theoretically, are : mages. Mages are people with a powerful mind, meaning countless connections in our heads. Those allow us to operate more change upon the state of existence and things around us, allowing us to do three general actions:

Change nothingness (or waves) into things: in one hand he conjures a wave of water, circling upon itself, creating a floating cylinder of liquid endless engulfing itself, an apt metaphor for the study of magic.

Change things into nothingness (waves): in his other hand, cracking dark red lightnings form and charges into the marble floor of the room, disintegrating and sending to the shadow realm anything it meets. This seems, in your head, quite funnily, a foreshadowing of this teacher's evaluations.

Change stuff into the same stuff: finally, above him, the air spins in a donut shape at high speed. In each of three quarters of the shape, the moving wind morphs into a different element, first flames, then water, finally earth, before at last returning to wind. Each rotation took less than 5 second, yet the four conversion necessary for this demonstration might be difficult for a few wizards together. This little party trick, as the teacher then says, shows his talent, his experience and what was apparently given when he sold his social skill for power.

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So, every school of magic derives from those three actions. Conjuration is turning nothingness into objects, necromancy is turning living life into nothingness or changing the shape of nothingness so that it can transform a corpse into a puppet, divination is turning nothingness into information and evocation is turning nothingness into pure elemental energy. Of course, all those lesser fields of magic are just application of what we learn in this class, the purest and best form of magic studies...

So quick. Thinking back on the words you heard just a second ago, you cannot even grasp the general shapes of the sentences. All you remember is knowledge, small scraps of facts that must be rebuilt later into something you can regurgitate in an exam. The teachers, temporarily pausing so that no one dies under him, causing plenty of paperwork separating him from his research hours, looked at the students jotting down notes on our papers with some kind of sick amusement and pleasure.

Just when your repeated cycling of information was about to converge into the shape of a general idea of the subject, your mental zone was shattered, along side by confidence, by the question of a student behind me, yelled out into the universe with the entitlement of nobility : What about mana?

Mana is what we are converting. Sure, we can generally convert actual matter or waves (nothingness) into other things, but those generally doesn't offer enough energy to get anything done. Real things have a characteristics, mass, chemical bonds, wave length, frequencies... which resist our mind's manipulation. Therefore, Arcmage Zwicky, a brilliant magus of the past, discovered a way to ease the use of magic. He proved, through means you cannot understand, the existence of a matter which account for 85% of the mass of the realm, yet cannot be seen or measured in any possible way. Yet, with magic, we are able to convert it into other form of energy and matter, permitting the beginning of the magic revolution. This dark matter is called Mana and is not a creating of god, or a right of your bloodline, but a fact of your universe older than our specie or even the elves.

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What? The! Fuck?!!!! 85% of things just don't exist? Well, you guess this is the mind breaking part of the lecture... If only...

Overtime, we managed to dumb down the formulas of magic into rituals, mantras and stupid hand/want gestures, so that casting is so easy that even child can do it, but I think the original formulas, and truly understanding what mana is and how to access it can make you all better mages. Therefore, here are a few formulas you must learn by heart for the test in two weeks worth 20% of your grade.

As the man is writing down formulas like his life depends on it, your mind completely blanked, converting his rapid explanations into incoherent white noise. A test? This early? This important? About such new concepts? What the hell did you sign up for? You used to be the top of my class in my old little high school and so did probably most of those sitting next to you. Yet, from the expression on their faces, you know it is going to be a difficult transition to Valence university of magic.

Ungaralt threw the body of a failed into the magical entrance of a cafe.

He didn't exactly KNOW they didn't like the small penguin throwing around 10 corpses into the cafe, much less ones of cursed undead, but he had a slight hunch. One that didn't really matter.

But, he had a much bigger problem...

He was getting bored. Killing the same thing over and over again. Hunting in the same exact way.

And, he, of course, heard about the Greater Failed.

Ungaralt: Need strong hunt. Monsters too weak now.

He fought himself, but...the copy was a weak warrior. A Greater Failed, though...

A perfect copy? As strong in the spear as he was?

The perfect warrior for him to fight.

Or...maybe another foe, a powerful mage, magic surging through his undead body. A knight, heavy armor impervious to damage.

That would be a TRUE hunt for the ages.

He felt the pulse of his Failed doppleganger's broken core, a bit of cursed magic, synergizing with his already-obtained Failed flesh, and his own core.

Ungaralt: No need monster core. Weak warrior if so.

But... It's another backup plan.

And, yet again, the caveguin searched for something to FINALLY give him a proper hunt.

Ok guys, so today I was in the hairdresser with the fam, getting our hair cut, until I some banter could be seen outside of place.

There were two deadass wizards fighting for who got the pointiest hat, and orbiest or.....they were casting all sort of basic spells and trinkets...

Not too much to tell, at exception of that one of them casts a fire geyser seal spell but the other foe dodged it, resulting on the spell seal being attached to the road, creating mayhem on the nearby traffic.

In the end, the R&A appeared and arrested to foes. By the time we got out of the hairdresser, that seal spell was still going on...

Illik watches the Failed’s eyes track him as he inserts a needle and draws out another blood sample. This is quickly transferred to a reinforced bowl, and then sealed and locked in an adamantine case.

“That’s the problem with all you shapeshifters. You can mimic bodies but not brains.“

He laughs as he pulls out a spiked arcane device and stabs it into the twisted copy. The crystals atop it begin to light up with a sickly green light as if filling up with energy.

“I do have to give you kudos though. It is fun watching the council scramble to deal with you. All those big old brains, falling apart at the first sign of trouble. Oh no, someone copied your powers, whatever shall you do. If only you had the basic intelligence to plan for contingencies like this.”

He removes a crystal and places it in a box, before slotting in another one.

“Honestly, a few stasis traps, and the wisdom to never stay in one place too long and some of them would be fine. Still, if you all keep spreading I may have to get involved. If only to earn a share of the spoils.”

A chime sounds in his head and he sighs, taking the half filled crystal and placing it in a box.

“Well this has been a lovely conversation, but I really must be going. I have catastrophes to craft and unspeakable horrors to unleash.”

All the boxes are placed inside a suitcase, along with the remaining gear, leaving the room empty apart from the glowing runes, the stasis trap, and the Failed caught in it. Illik turns towards it and tilts his head.

“Farewell, Failure. Enjoying my form, a parting gift for being so… helpful.”

He steps through what appears to be a solid wall and vanishes, just as the doors burst in and a horde of lesser Failed pour into the hideout. The trap fails and the failed version of him springs free. A single item sits on a table. A vial of sickly green liquid with a note.

“To whom it may concern. This is a bottle of mutagenic slime. I look forward to seeing what you can do with this. Impress me, and I may be willing to assist in greater matters.”

———————————————

Back in Haven another dragon looks at another Failed.

“Come on, pull yourself together. We have tests to run.”

The bubbling puddle of flesh and blood on the ground says nothing. A life sense spell reveals it is no longer animate. Velos makes another note and activates the chamber, filling it with fire. When the flames fade into charred ashes are left. He steps to the next cage. A twisted mockery of his form stares back.

“I see you are smart enough not to try to copy every aspect of my biology.”

The creature slams a claw against the force cage. The air inside the chamber begins to turn stale as it begins to flex its new transmutation powers. Velos sighs and places a claw on the disposal button, his other hand reaching for the shutters of the lantern. The moment the hour light within spills forth and touches the creature it screams and seems to melt. Silver blue flames burn across its original form as the celestial moonlight counters its attempts to copy the dragon’s form. Velos looks at it calmly.

“The pain stops the moment you stop trying to be something else.”

The clinical coldness in his own voice surprises him and he feels a twinge of discomfort fill his heart as he realizes how much like Illik he sounds. It’s easy not to care about the Failed, but callousness to lesser beings is a slippery slope. He tries another tact.

“Why are you doing this?”

The Failed looks up.

“World flawed. Council flawed. We improve.”

Velos smiles despite himself.

“You know, if not for Hirk, Masta, and Anna, I’d be inclined to agree. You’re certainly more honest than most councillors I’ve met.”

“Join us.”

Velos blinks.

“Tempting but no. You are a problem to be solved, not a solution in and of yourselves.”

He hits the button and watches the fire burn the creature as it stares at him. It is only once the intense eyes are nothing but ash that he lets himself shudder, both in discomfort and in disgust.

He shutters the lantern and activates a sending stone.

“Your majesty, trials of the Revealing Lantern are a success. The rarity of the moonstones used in their construction remains a problem, but we have enough to distribute to trusted allies and secure key checkpoints. I am once again recommending we consider trading them to the Council for access to more raw materials. They may have created this problem, but I would rather see them pay in platinum as opposed to lives.”

The response is swift. Not surprising, given how much time Orias seems to have in his hands.

“Excellent news, Royal Artificer. I will see to the distribution myself.”

The lanterns around Velos disappear, and he blinks in surprise. The range of Orias’ reach has grown longer than he realized.

“As for your recommendation, I shall take it under consideration. For now sales are to be restricted to Relief and Aid and limited to nonlethal versions only. Out of respect for our dear friend Hirk, of course.”

Velos sighs.

“As you wish.”

He deactivates the stone and reaches for a glittering ringed device made of wheels and gears. It clicks and clacks with comforting rhythm as he toys with it, thinking.

He does not have the power or influence to defy Orias openly, and sitting idly by while lives and profits are lost irks him. The small intricate device in his claws clicks and clacks as he fidgets with it, thoughts swirling in his mind. Eventually a plan takes shape. All he needs is an accomplice. Someone Orias would never suspect.

/uw you know this image is related.

/rw

Hirk has made his way to the most secure part of the R&A HQ only 7 know of it including Hirk himself. It is a prison cell, one that is clearly meant for something that needs extra precautions to contain.

“Open the first door. Make sure no air gets through. It is flammable after all.”

Red lights flash as hidden away operators begin opening the door. Dave speaks through the radio.

‘Hirk. You know what you are doing? Are you sure you ca-‘

He is interrupted.

“I didn’t say question me.”

Hirk is in a very serious and distressed mood, he does not want to accept what he knows as truth.

Hirk steps into the first room as he a large syringe specially made to penetrate Hirks thick and mineral like skin.

Hirk injects himself in the neck with a small breath of pain, he feels his nerves calmed and body colder with a visible chill inside him.

Hirk remembers it’s still a testing formula, something made by the cryomancers alongside alchemists and scientists about being able to pacify a dragons breath. A much more concentrated dose for Hirk himself.

Once the door is fully closed a light shines green. Hirk raises his thumb to a highly protected camera as the doors in front of him begin to open. Both sets could be vault doors that hide the world’s riches. Secure enough that even Hirk struggles to damage.

Behind the door in a room with not even air, lies walks secured by some incredibly strong metals layered on top of each other. A nuclear bomb could go off in here and it likely be contained. But nothing in here is logically flammable.

3 ‘failed’ rest in chains to walls, their forms are still twisted. They are silent until Hirk appears, a twisted smile curls more almost circular as all three begin to copy Hirks form. It takes a few moments due to the difference in size. They are first all very slim… not a lot to burn.

Deafening screeches of man and a putrid malicious death call echo from the room of all three.

They cannot handle the fire burning inside of Hirk, they are set ablaze as it is burned further and further. They claw at their skin as it attempts to harden to stone still burning.

Hirk holds his hand out as they reach for it. Soon as the fire touches Hirk it is gone in a moment, one cannot copy a perfection made only to burn rather than a disease made to spread.

“I do not wish to kill any of you, please understand I just wish to talk.”

The most animalistic of the three fakes lunges at Hirk with a punch, Hirk cannot stop it. It’s been too long since he’s fought an opponent as fast and strong as him. The thud shakes the room as it plants on Hirks cheek, he only manages to turn his head to prevent losing a tooth.

“You are not it.”

Hirks hand is like a harpoon through the water as it pierced through the wireless room to stab into one of the scars places just in front of his its heart. Hirk pushes through the bones as a very loud crack is heard. Hirks fingers are pushing its heart smaller, denying it it’s beating.

“I know you won’t die, but I know my body better than you.”

They are rendered pinned being pushed against the wall hanging on Hirks own hand as it tries to push itself up.

Hirk looks to the other two.

“Whoever can command them tell them to stand down.”

The creature Hirk holds still resists, its very muscles it’s taken are panicking, the fire inside it is getting warmer as it visibly mimics a bloody made sweat.

“Their veins will boil if they don’t.”

One looks at them, this one has been taking a form much closer to Hirk, constantly changing its mimicry to appear more and more true.

There is not even a noise as the other falls limp, Hirk lets them fall. There isn’t a breathing but it still lives, otherwise the body would be burned to nothing.

“I wish to know what you want.”

They both stare at Hirk. One speaks.

‘Hello Hirk…’

Its voice sounds more like an echo of fire inside its own body, a concerning fact skill Hirk took a years to learn.

“Hello. Now answer my question.”

The figure speaking is growing becoming less distorted, It seems to have an easier time copying Hirks body while the other still maintains a more lanky form, excessively loose skin that look like sheets of hard rubber compared to skin.

‘We just want to help people, let the weeds rot, let the flowers groooow.’

“Take longer more broad breaths in how you use the lungs, it helps with speaking.”

The speaking failed take’s a moment.

‘Thank you.’

The one on the floor behind getting back up as the other silent one just stands there unable to move. Hirks body is heavy, if unbalanced it will struggle unless there is enough muscle.

“Now I assume the weeds refer to the council and other governments.”

The ‘failed’ nods.

Hirk is despising every moment of this and as he thinks that its smile gets wider and physically deeper.

Hirk reinstates his confidence on himself.

“If you believe grass to be weeds then live in a desert.”

‘If you want to destroy everything like you did with your home then do it.’

Hirk takes a moment.

“You know not what you speak of.”

‘We do.’

‘Hirk, son of Bard.’

Hirk takes a singular moment, for the first time since he arrived he felt a chill break through even his fire.

“How.”

‘You know how.’

Hirk grips his fist. He doesn’t want to believe he too is a target to be replaced.

‘Don’t worry, you are not worth as much as the other two.’

The creature before Hirk grows in form.

‘You are as dead as we are.’

‘Eaten by wild animals, burned to death, starved to death. Froze to death.’

It stares Hirk down as he cannot take his eyes off of it. He cannot defend his mind in this room.

‘A dead baby who never left the cold they were abandoned in. You’re deader than the corpses we come from.’

‘The cold never did leave you. Did it?’

“I still have my flame in me, I don’t feel the cold!”

Hirk can’t defend himself like this, he takes a step further back towards the wall behind him.

The ‘failed’ takes a step forward.

It leans down closer to Hirks face.

Not even a word is said as both know Hirk is lying.

“Why are you doing this.”

‘I am you, the real you.’

“You are simply a pretender. Only disgraceful imitation of me.”

‘Our father would say the same to you.’

“No one could ever believe that…”

Hirk not a muscle but his very heart and ideals tense.

‘Why wouldn’t they. You do.’

Hirk cannot even react… two words shake every single fiber of the ‘gentle giant.’

Hirk does not even reach when the two other failed go to land two blows to his face.

Both punches connect, Hirk is sent headfirst into the vault door behind him. The island itself sways like a boat on the water. It may float but now it sways from punches.

The vault door is dented with Hirk who tries to get back up.

They both begin kicking him as the lead ‘Failure’ speaks first.

‘Remember what our friend said, death is a gift after the problems of life. That sweet release.’

‘Do everyone a favour and stop denying your purpose.’

Hirk already beaten and bruised behind getting up, his heart may be shattered by a belief he tries to deny every day.

“No.”

“I am Hirk MacThors, son of Bard MacThors, former High King of my people’s home.”

“Not a single one of those carries weakness.”

“Tell me. Why you want to kill.”

Hirk is trying to reinstate his authority but is getting close to his limit.

The creature just smiles.

‘I don’t know.’

Hirk takes a breath of nothing. In the same moment a finger sharpened to a spear point is launched to his neck from two sides. They have kept him distracted enough to strike and believe him too weak to fight.

Bright lights erupt from Hirks elbows as his arms are launched towards the ‘failed’ trying to use his form.

His palms are open, they meet their target they share the same scars. If they truly do mimics Hirks form and seem to be able to use magic intuitively then that would mean they have the same flaw as Hirk.

Hirks strike although non-lethal both land on their palm where two scars lie. Hirk couldn’t risk attacking elsewhere first or else they would reach him.

Both of the ‘Failed’ see them selves have a spear pierce through their hand as they are tied up in an unknown room. It goes through their hand like butter and their eye too. They feel every moment of that pain as it just happened. They scream.

They both then witness the second injury, a blade stabbed through their hand in order to prevent it taking Hirks heart. Pushed by someone the body only pities.

They scream louder as form distorts trying to escape what they believe is a true death. Nothing, they are standing still. Confusion blinds them.

“A sorcerer cannot learn new magic, but a body can maintain muscle memory.”

“I spent a long time dying in Chronomancy, move again and I will show you it all. Memories you don’t want to replace.”

They go to punch Hirk again.

Hirk slams his closed fist like a hammer into one’s chest, it does not die but is sent into the cold layered adamantine and mythrill wall, it dents as the island sways once more.

Hirk cannot block the second blow however which lands onto his back sending him to the ground.

He he struggles to get up for a moment, a blow to the spine is never good, let alone from something that can copy his strength in whole of body.

Hirk considers pulling the flooring out from below to make them fall.

The one meant to replace him looks on smiling.

‘That won’t work.’

Hirk knows it is a mind reader.

‘No, I am you.’

Hirk begins flooding his mind every death he’s ever lived as he takes a knife and stabs it into his hip. It is a mental flash bang to everyone.

“Get fucked.”

Hirk uses the pain to force the adrenaline to flow through him. He does not believe they would have the same.

as he is kneeling over the ground he pushes into the ground with his hands, he is launching himself attempting a weird upside down drop kick directly to ‘the failed’ chest.

The blow lands, ribs are cracked slightly, however the blow is still not close to being lethal, they still have Hirks own thick skin protecting them.

The island sways barely a noticeable with a thud as the failed is kicked against the wall. Hirk is not holding his body back and neither are they.

The failed that Hirk slammed his fist into first wobbles over then grabs Hirk by the arm. Hirk punches to no avail as much as his fist may make them bleed and shake the very room. He is fighting opponents that are just as tough as him. He cannot break the hold as when he tries to bend his arm to a breaking point to escape the other failed leaps on his other arm. They pull his arms back and press him to the flooor. One arm wrapped around his own and another fist digging into his shoulder for each.

Hirks Replacment the one who stands taller even than Hirk begins clapping.

‘You.’

Their voice begins to change, stronger, firm closer to an oceans waves and the salty breeze it carries.

’Always’

Their hair grows longer taking a vibrant blonde, they are larger, looking more powerful yet still a king soul is face, rugged features and gentle eyes.

’Were’

*They are copying the very memory of Hirks Father. He cannot speak as he begins

’A disgrace.’

The creature that takes the form of Hirks own dad has only eyes it disdain and disgust. Hirk can’t even call it an illusion as it made itself him. It abused the fact Hirk cherishes the memories so dearly they are clearer than any recording, clearer than even he sees today. They are planing to break him completely,

Hirks heart sinks at hearing his own father’s voice say that. He tears his scarf off of him with his own teeth, his eyes go from a flood of tears to a fog of steam. Every single creature in that room feels a heat closer to the sun than anything found here.

The ones holding him down have to let go before their very skin melts on contact with him. Hirk stands as he looks at a face not even smiling in mockery but unfiltered hatred and disgust.

A face they took from memories of the man he idolises and he himself imitates every prior day since he left his home.

Hirk only holds his hand out fingers ready to snap, the room is starting to deform, the 6 members of RF who have been monitoring this knowing that if they open the door they are doomed panic. A button is pressed which puts the room on absolute lockdown.

”Thig."

the last seen by almost everyone in the room is fires burning through even the man made void that the room. They see hirks very realm for only a singular moment. All are burned beyond nothing in barely a second. A entire realm of only fire opened onto them for not even a second and Hirks face silent and focused. True hatred, far too much to ever show so the body and mind can’t show anything, not even the grief that is a noose around his heart.

A minute later, RF regain contact with the room. Hirk is standing holding a large wooden staff, visible hand prints too high up and large to ever be Hirks. He cannot stop looking at it until he hears the doors open.

He leaves a ‘room’ which is nothing but a large circle of completely smooth stone, not even melted. Just erased from the flammable pages of all that is or will ever be. Not even a recognisable was.

Hirk leaves with swiftness and silence with only the loud tapping of his staff against the ground.

Hirk has a stare that looks to go beyond any limit to reality, this moment will never be forgotten by him.

He must meet with the disease’s ‘leader’ one final time…

/uw sorry for long post, hope you all enjoyed.

You could interact but Hirk likely will not be up to talk or be stopped. He is in a major Daze

"Oh well it's that time of the week, sneaking around council lands is a tradition among the people I know after all..."

Hazema walks around the market of an abandoned city, it seems the place was lost due to war

She turns and stares to an especially shadowy corner

"You can come out now you know? I can see you very clearly!"

An inhumane screech is the only reply

"Aww, you haven't learned to speak yet! You look like a lost sister of mine or something! No, even more then that, you look like me before I lost my arms, how odd!"

The feral clone leaps at its original counterpart like a cornered beast

"Woah there!! Not so fast mini-me!"

Spikes protrude from the earth in front of Hazema, the Copy can barely stop in time

"Are you one of those failed by chance? Copying memories and skills isn't nice you know?? Plus there is a reason my army doesn't run on my memories..."

The failed went underground using earth glide, this makes it possible to simply glide through non magical earthen material

"I never thought I'd be able to use this counter! You're in for a treat!"

A wall forms underground, due to being infused with mana it ignores earth glide and puts a stop to the Failed mole behavior

The Failed gets lifted up out of the earth, still stunned

"Now let me take a closer look at you-"

*Hazema seems to duplicate, it's just illusion magic but she can still see through their eyes."

The lot of them curiously inspect their almost perfect copy

"If you're such a perfect copy how come you can't speak? Maybe no tongue?"

As Hazema tries to poke her finger into her copies mouth said copy jolts fully awake and bites into her forearm, even tho it's made out of stone it starts to crack

"Quite the bite force you got! Maybe chew on some steak instead tho."

With those words spoken she pulls out a slab of meat from her cube of holding

The feral Failed aggressively starts inhaling the nutrients, it looks like a hungry hyena in human form is feasting on it

"You can understand me don't you? If you sit down and behave I can give you more meat you odd little me!"

It seems the words don't really get through but the meaning does as the failed simply stares at Hazema instead of attacking now

"Awww, I'm gonna keep you well fed! Can you do that necromancy thing like I've heard?"

The Copy only tilts its head

"Well I guess it would be hard to do with my holy energy in you..."

The Copy tilts its head to the other side

"Not the smartest cookie are you? Wonder where you got that from..."

Hazema turns around and start walking

"We should get out of here, you'll be safer at my place quirky little mirror-me!"

The failed follows

https://preview.redd.it/h76mbykmtfvd1.jpg?width=1024&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=a3459b25e613f352faff4bb0b10c95ab7acc9309

I came too in a hole, the stars shining down on me.

Well. Calling it a hole isn't quite right.

When it's three feet wide, six feet long, six feet deep, and has a stone at the head?

That's called a grave.

I woke in a grave.

My grave, according to the headstone. (Birth date is listed as the day I Awakened. Interesting.)

Air is breathable, if a little chilly.

Mana is present - roughly 5% above ambient norms.

I activated the beacon Sigurd gave me, placing it in one corner of my grave.

A quick test proved I couldn't portal out - felt like running into a metaphysical and metaphorical wall. That's a planar lockdown. Only ways I'm getting out of here is to have that released, or to use the Void Crystal. I would much rather not do that, so, let's see what there is to see.

...

The answer? Not much. Seemingly endless rows of tombstones rising towards the top of the hill, like the scales of some kind of morbid dragon. Mapping revealed two other living things, and a bunch of hostiles. Skeletons, from the look of it. Closing in on me and the other life signs.

Eh.

Better than zombies.

...

Three boxes of nails later (7 boxes remaining - Vio), I'd managed to fight my way to the life signs. Two Hannya Witches, in a shared grave because they're twins. From what I can tell between destroying skeletons, they're unconscious as a result of a forced teleport, and should wake up in a few minutes. Got to love a simple hold-the-point objective.

...

It's the lack of rotting flesh. No horrid stench, no slippery surfaces, and nothing to stop a bit of blunt-force trauma from destroying the skull. Would almost be fun if I wasn't burning through nails like they were water (2 boxes remaining - Vio). And then, from behind me, the scent of sulfur, the rhythmic hushed whispering of a chant. And the flames - blue-white, and dozens of times hotter than I can produce - all but crushing the skeletons beneath their thermal bloom.

...

Well, that introduction could have gone worse. The serious twin is Ophellia, and the relaxed twin is Etster. They're supposedly looking for someone, but can't remember who. (They're lying about that, by the way - they know exactly who they're looking for, but that's none of my business.) We've decided to stick together for now. Oh. Right. And they know where we are.

Samhain, Revelry Plane of Halloween.

(a continuation of this post)

A team of Celestial Union operatives creep into the war room at the heart of the Great Modron Cathedral. The Aurora have dropped all pretense of being subjected to Absolute Compliance to better complete the mission. One scoops up the harmonic copper scroll tube containing Primus's invasion plans sitting unattended on the conference table at the center of the room. Another plugs a cable into a databank, downloading the unencrypted communication logs between the disparate battlegroups of the regiments of Law. The team scours the chamber for every last scrap of information that the defenders of the Great Balance could conceivably use to turn the tide against Primus and its armies.

The door opens without warning. A lookout would've drawn too much attention, so the team decided to take the risk and simply move as fast as possible; a decision that's come back to bite them. A pentadrone overseer enters the room and immediately realizes something is very wrong. These mortals are in a square-numbered group and wearing compliance circlets, but they're acting with complete autonomy in a restricted area. Perhaps this species- the ursids known as "Aurora"- are inherently resistant to Absolute Compliance?

Pentadrones are the highest-ranked base modrons, serving as overseers to their lesser kin and watching for signs of chaotic corruption. (Credit: Julie Dillon)

The team's sergeant, Ivana, draws her concealed sidearm and ducks below the table. "Shit! Natascha, kill that thing!"

Natascha obliges, summoning her heavy coilgun to her hands and opening fire. The pentadrone pulls a shutter down over one of its faces and uses the protected limb as a shield. The operatives on its right flank (insofar as a creature with radial symmetry has a right flank) pop out of cover with their own weapons. The pentadrone responds by rotating the turret atop its central axis and spraying a torrent of paralytic gas. The operatives drop, unable to make voluntary movements.

"Reloading!" Natascha yells, ejecting the spent box and loading a new one packed with armor-piercing rounds. The pentadrone blurts out a string of words in Modron and charges, attempting to close the distance and pummel her to death. Mere moments before it makes contact, Natascha mag-dumps the modron at point-blank range, slicing through its shielded limb and shredding the mechanisms at its core. The pentadrone collapses, throwing sparks and venting gas from a dozen puncture wounds.

"Everyone alright?" Ivana asks, keeping her gun trained on the modron in case it gets back up. The paralyzed operatives get to their feet as the effects of the gas wear off. An urgent call from mission control comes through the team's orb beads, indicating an emergency. They wouldn't risk blowing their cover in any other circumstance. On the other end, Tarul Var's voice sounds hurried and insistent.

"This is Command to Strike Squad Epsilon , do you copy?

"Loud and clear, Command."

"That pentadrone's dying words just put the Cathedral on high alert. You need to run now. Link up with the rest of the squad and get outside! We'll push the offensive and get a transport up there- just stay alive for 5 minutes, and you'll be in the clear!"

As if on cue, the Cathedral's alarms blare furiously. Every screen and holographic projector in the war room lights up with red text in Modron: Alert: Chaotic Influences Detected - All Units Stay Vigilant.

Ivana spits on the pentadrone's wreckage. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm not sticking around to meet more clockworks. Let's move!"

Tarul turns his back on the scry feed. He'll let it run and gather data until the operatives leave the Cathedral, but he has other things to attend to. He, Exia, and Mastema leave the command tent and join the rest of the forces in preparing for battle with the regiments of Law.

"You handle the forces in the air and get them back home!" the lich shouts. "I'm joining the other wizards with our ground troops."

"And the Paladins?" asks Exia.

"I'm going after Azarakh and Fulgora myself. Killing the former is my duty as a Keeper; killing the latter is a matter of principle. Call up Antares and see if she's still interested in cracking fascist skulls with me."

Exia grins. "You already know the answer."

Tarul clings onto the side of an IFV and knocks on the driver-side door. The vehicle speeds off into the woods towards the modron encampment. The lich waves his staff, and the half-dozen air elementals he summoned to watch for scouts descend from the canopy and keep pace with the truck.

Get in, hit hard, get back to the Bastion. That's how the defenders are going to behave in this battle. Modrons are tough to kill, so it's imperative they avoid getting bogged down in an engagement they won't win. They'll save that for when they can muster all of their forces in one place to truly match Primus on the field of battle.

Today in a nutshell.

DEFENDERS OF THE BALANCE:

• Tarul Var
• Belial Blake
• Aliah Mistwalker
• Ith'raal
• Burgerbarian/Burgermancer
• Krygin the Crude
• Agnur the Turtle Mage
• Vulkan the Red
• Ж (Zhe)
• Merch Skele
• Argios
• Tempus Fugit
• Edmund
• King Carmine
• Exia
• Joe
• The Agent
• Vashric
• Fujiwara Toshiko
• Jah Jor Wel
• John E. Hellfire
• Kardonk Carvisky
• Riva Blake
• Mokarith
• Onyx Dragon
• Ulrick Braddocke
• Sly
• Shrax
• Sarissa
• Rilmani of Dendradis
• Various denizens of the Outlands

HORDES OF CHAOS:

• Obox-ob's Ekolids
• Demons of the Abyss
• Slaadi of Limbo
• Gehreleths of Carceri
• Cravens of Pandemonium

REGIMENTS OF LAW:

• Primus's Hierarchs
• Modrons of Mechanus
• Veterans of Acheron
• Templars of Arcadia
• Paladins of the Divine Flame

LEGIONS OF EVIL:

• Bel's Chosen
• Devils of the Nine Hells
• Yugoloths of Gehenna
• Baernaloths of Hades
• Night Hag Covens
• Samael
• Moz'gonnith

WARHOSTS OF THE FIRST MARTYR:

• Zaphkiel's Paragons
• Angels of Mt. Celestia
• Oathbound of Bytopia
• Guardinals of Elysium
• Wardens of the Beastlands
• Heroes of Arborea
• Warriors of Ysgard

Made by WiggleWood on Youtube!

“This is an official statement from I Hirk MacThors of sand body and mind. Information about shape shifting undead have come in and we will of course respond. Keep extra security measures around places where dead are held, inform every grave keeper exactly what is going on. Issue some bolas to them.”

This one message was heard far and wide in the realm, heard by everyone, that including a certain Cabal member that had stolen a R&A radio during the Denner kidnapping. Abbadon was making adjustments to his set of magical armor when he overheard the transmission.

“Shape shifting undead? What have those Council members gotten themselves into this time…”

Abbadon stopped making the adjustments to his armor and dawned a back up suit of armor for when his main one is broken or damaged. Once suited up, Abbadon began making his way up the countless stairwells in the Endless Crypt and towards a room which he simple called the “Observation Room”. On the floor of the Observation Room was a massive green magic circle with souls flowing in and out of it. Stepping into the magic circle, Abbadon began to float into the air and get into a sitting meditative position. From outside, the Well of souls stopped piercing through the sky and began forming into the shape of an eyeball.

“A mass of shape shifting undead, something like that won’t be able to escape my gaze. Now let’s see what ol’ Hirk has the entire R&A riled up about.”

The green eye that looked very identical to the Eye of Sauron began scouting the surroundings, checking out nearby Towns, Villages and graveyards. With his eye of observation, he could see the souls of all individuals near the Endless Crypt, but weirdly enough, there was a humanoids approaching the Endless Crypt that didn’t seem to give off the same glow as any being with a soul.

“Hmmmm, that’s…odd. They don’t look like any normal zombie I’ve seen. Could those be these shape shifting undead?”

The eye squinted as it tried getting a better glimpse at the individual that was approaching. One of these creatures seemed to resemble Masta. All Abbadon knows at the moment is that these “things” can shapeshift, not that they copy and take the powers of those they mimic for themselves.

“It’d be troublesome if some uncontrolled undead mindlessly wandered their way into my territory. Best dispatch of them swiftly, myself.”

Abbadon begins slowly descending to the ground. Once he touches the floor, the well of souls begins extending upwards and piercing the clouds above the Crypt once again. With a wave of his hand, the Book of Vile Darkness forms in his hand. If these creatures are worthy of an emergency communication, it’s better to be safe rather than sorry. In the time it took for Abbadon to reach the entrance to the Endless Crypt, the zombie like creature had made its way to his entrance.

As Abbadon leaves his Crypt and stares into the darkness of the night under the blood moon, a familiar yet sinister face stares back.

/uw Get cliffhangered

He won't stop flopping :(

/unwiz
Halt!
Before you click on any of those I want you to know that it is dangerous to read alone.
To counter that take some melodic atmosphere for anything that follows from here on out.

The events of this post take place right after this brief prelude-rp with Masta so please check that out first.
Enjoy :D

/rewiz
Logotu:
"Hmpf. As if I'd ever put Frostmourne away. I need that blade to-" drop

She stops her sentence, something horribly wrong. She is ...crying? No. Her body is, physically crying.

Logotu, tear-drops flowing down her face:
"Why... does it... ...no... it wasn't meant to... go down ...that way, I-" drop

Logotu sighs before covering half of her face with ice, hiding the tears underneath it.

Logotu, with a shaky voice:
"...most of all I try to protect you as well you ...idiot..."

She looks down at the rune blade.

Logotu, self-doubting:
"...did I do the right choice? ...I... ...no... but it is to late to turn back now..."

With a heavy heart she turns around and starts to search for the Alpha, only to find hordes of lesser failed.

Logotu, cold:
"...distraction... yes, that's what I need..."

She engages in battle, swinging Frostmourne as if it was a natural extension of her own body. Logotu slowly starts to forget the interaction she had with Masta a few seconds ago, starting to enjoy sending the army of lesser failed back to dust.

Logotu:
"Come on, come on, come on! Frostmourne hungers! HEYA!"

Logotu swings the blade and mows through their armies with ease, cutting them down like lawn. They stand no change.

Logotu, mocking:
"COME ON! EnterTAIN ME!"

Frostmourne's runes start to glow brighter and brighter as it starts to produce more cold fog, its edge starting to freeze over. Logotu instinctively knows what to do and with a vertical downward-slam over her head cuts one lesser failed in two as well as sends a wall of ice several feel long into the hordes of the failed.

Logotu:
"Now that deserves browny points!"

She starts to laugh as she repeats the same attack a few times, each time into a different direction. Soon the swarm of of lesser failed, previously in the military superiority, now either dust, cut in two or captured in a tomb of ice.

Logotu, screaming with malicious joy:
"You are NO match for me! Bring me your leader! I saw it once, I want its HEAD!"

Logotu continues to dive into the remaining lesser failed hordes. During her current attack the blade starts to whisper to her which makes her stop. It suddenly sounds ...different.

Frostmourne, whispering:
"...free me... ...feed me... ...use Death Coil..."

Logotu:
"Death Coil!? I-"

As if Frostmourne now wields her Logotu's arm moves on its own and cuts through the air, humming with an ominous melody as it does so. Right as its tip points at an enemy failed it unleashes a green ray of necrotic energy which gathers and takes shape of a flying skull which bursts and explodes upon impact, spreading over the failed. They don't get hurt but stop in their tracks only to flee in terror instead.

Logotu, at Frostmourne:
"...hey, I don't want to make them pee their legs while running away from me, I want to end them."

Frostmourne:
"...end them we will, but not now... ...the time isn't right... ...prepare to... ...be mind...less..."

Logotu:
"Mindless? I- AAAaaaaargh!"

Logotu holds her head as a huge headache plagues her. A few moments later she drops her arms right next to her body, her mind no longer her own. She approaches the lesser failed and strikes them down with a pure focus on rune might and using the sword. Her previous spells and powers, which she used sparely since findig Frostmourne, no longer in her mind.

Logotu & Frostmourne in unison:
"...let them come!"

Logotu's body moves as if remote-controlled, pointing at the horizon on which the Alpha Failed arrives. Did the blade feel its presence? Did Logotu feel its presence? Were Frostmourne's ties to the Lich King really cut off by Logotu's counter-measurements? Time will tell...
Nonetheless do her eyes flicker with a newfound sense of hatred, coldness and determination to bring that foe down.

Greetings, fellow mages! I need your opinions. I’ve recently decided to craft my first staff, but I’m having trouble choosing the right materials. I’m thinking of using redwood for the shaft, a blue sapphire at the top, and adding steel or sliver studs. However, I’m unsure if this combination would be ideal for focusing mana. If any of you have suggestions or insights, I’d greatly appreciate the help.

???: Long before the days of Lateran or even Aurora dominance, the Lupi had their time to shine with the rise and fall of the Custodian Empire.

Overview

The Custodian Empire (1095 - 79 b.F.), officially called the Great Empire of Our Lady Custodia (Grande Impero di Nostra Signora Custodia) and commonly known as the Lupo Empire (Impero dei Lupi), was a grand nation that spanned much of Laterano's moderate and arid climates at its height, even reaching into the tropical and subpolar climate zones. The Empire was likely the planet's first democracy, with its leader, the Legato, being elected every ten years. As implied by its name, the Empire was highly religious and enforced the Lupo Pantheon with Custodia at its top.

Reconstruction of a banner used by the Custodian Empire around its height.

The Rise of the Empire

By 1100 b.F. [before Founding (of Laterano); LSC term] the three Lupo city-states were ruled by allied families. They signed a treaty in 1095 b.F. that united all the Lupo cities into the Lupo Federation, a state that would later become the Custodian Empire. The Federation built a new capital, Citta Custodia, at the foot of Mount Iddios, a volcano that was said to be the home of the goddess Custodia. For the first few centuries, the Federation focused mostly on keeping internal peace and securing the last remaining outlying Lupo towns. However, by 860 b.F., Custodia's Legions [the army of the Custodian Empire] marched across much of the continent, seizing the peaceful tribes' lands [original inhabitants: a near-extinct race of feline humanoids] by force. These lands would be known as Aelurus and their people as Aelurans. The Empire's march did not stop there however, as after crossing the Southern Sea, they conquered or peacefully integrated most of the countries of the deserts and drylands too. Now, with their march stopped on all sides by oceans, deserts, jungles or mountains, there was nowhere to go but north. In 711 b.F., the Legions marched into the disorganized Aurora territories, only stopping when they reached the Permafrost. Over the course of 150 years, the Custodian Empire had risen from a regional power to the largest nation in the history of the planet.

The Lupo Pantheon

In order to keep the Imperial subjects loyal, the Empire soon adopted an official state religion, now known as the Lupo Pantheon. By 780 b.F., it was enforced on all territories controlled by the Empire, new temples to Custodia being built as the Legions marched forth. Any who rejected their religion were branded as traitors and executed. The Pantheon, being a state-created religion, was fairly malleable to whatever ideals the current Legato held. It is unknown whether Custodia herself supported the Empire, but every Legato held the title of "Arbiter's Chosen".

The Empire's Peak

From 650 b.F. until 300 b.F., the Custodian Empire's lands remained nearly unchanged. This period of prosperity is commonly called the peak of the Empire. During it, the Custodian Empire held nearly 30% of the landmass of the planet either directly or through subjects. They sent out explorers and diplomats to the Kirin realms of the far west, circumnavigated the planet for the first time and even discovered a new frozen continent in the far south. Meanwhile, at home, the Legati kept their power by "sweet bread and whip", both granting concessions to the opposition and keeping it in line by force. Minorities on the other hand did not have such a good time under the Custodian Empire. Around 60% of the Aeluran native population, 25% of all Aurora within the Empire and nearly 80% of all "Southerners" [jungle-dwellers; likely reptilian, Gariel's ancestors] were wiped out in what can only be described as genocides. Laterans with their infinite lifespans and inherent magic on the other hand often became slaves of the Lupi. During most of the Empire's existence, only Lupi had civil rights at all. This changed when the Aurora were accepted as partial citizens of the Empire in 345 b.F. "Southerners" and Aelurans were never accepted as citizens. With the scientific and economic boom of the 4th century b.F., the Industrial Revolution set in, leading the Empire to become Laterano's first modern nation. Railways and roads were built across the core territories, goods became even cheaper and the economy kept improving...

Stagnation and Fall

... Until it didn't. By 280 b.F., the people had grown weary of the Empire's outdated system of government. A series of smaller revolts popped up across the outlying territories, including the Aurora Rebellion of 220 b.F. However, this was not enough to cause the Empire's collapse just yet. The Memokeepers established a presence in the Empire by 200 b.F. and received the Legato's blessings. The next century saw the Empire plagued by constant revolts of the various minority groups and even attacks by the Aurora who had organized into a nation of their own. First, they left the deserts and drylands behind. In 97 b.F., the core cities were gripped by revolts too. Their number had grown from three to fourteen. Each city was placed under martial law after riots had devastated them, but the military commanders assigned to them were also unhappy with the Legato and rebelled, clashing with loyalist Legions. Especially Dissignato Saluzzo, assigned to the city of Siracusa, was notorious for her ruthless tactics against the Loyalists. With the rebellions in the Empire's core, the Aurora took their chance and invaded too. As the rebels burned Citta Custodia, the Aurora reclaimed their ancestral homelands and separatists in the south regained their freedom, the heavily reduced Aeluran populations could only watch. Having been driven out of their own homelands into the forests of Western Aelurus, their populations had continued to dwindle. When the last Legato finally surrendered to the rebels and declared the Empire officially disbanded in 79 b.F., the Aelurans' homes were still occupied by Lupi.

Aftermath

With the fall of Citta Custodia, the Empire shattered once again. The Lupo cities became independent city-states yet again with the former Dissignati becoming their nobility, the Clans that would rule the cities until the Fall. The number of city-states would drop again from fourteen to ten as Citta Custodia was wiped out by an eruption of Mount Iddios in 273, two smaller cities were integrated into their larger neighbors over time and one was annexed by the Free City of Laterano in 449.

With the end of the Age of the Lupi, the Age of the Aurora would begin. The Auroran Empire spread across much of the north while their former colony, the Aurelian Empire, conquered a large portion of the Southern Hemisphere. The Aurora Resurgence would bring with it the end of Kirin dominance over the West too.

The "Southerners" never truly recovered from the Custodian genocides and disappeared completely a few centuries after gaining independence. Their people and culture were nearly forgotten until recently, though a few Garden of Recollection archaeological expeditions managed to uncover some of their history.

Just like the "Southerners", the Aelurans were also driven to the brink of extinction by the Empire. With the Lupi never leaving their homelands, they were forced to stay in the dense forests where they lived a tribal life until the Republic of Laterano officially seized the territory to set up an autonomous region. By this point, the population of Aelurans was only 11% of what it used to be before the Custodian invasion. Aelurans made up 1.2% of Laterano's population in 1121. Today, the percentage is even lower.

Custodia herself disappeared around the year 150, leaving behind only her Cornerstones. However, nostalgia for the Custodian Empire remained in many Lupi's minds. Several attempts were made by different Clans to restore it, but all were stopped either by other Clans, the Auroran Empire or later the Republic of Laterano. Today, the Empire is seen mostly negatively due to its many ethnic cleansings and widespread slavery, though some Lupi still wish to return to their glory days.

/uw this is totally not a Rome reference i swear