Ogres and Rabbits and Imps, Oh My!

Mjoll · May 2022

HI EVERYONE! That was my level 200 upsidaisy event in Salma, thanks for coming if you did!

I'm terrified of trying to call out everyone individually because I will definitely miss someone, but!

@Iazamat for putting up with me bashing all day for months and months and months...

@Illikaal for cheerleading me, chocolates and chalices, and grimstims, and fireworks, and route advice, and for being all-around a great dude.

@Trikal for letting me store my chocolates when I flamed out for a few months
@bulrok, @rijetta, @ehtias, @taj, @ardent, @almol, @kurak, @whirran, @Kanivara, @Tetchta, @alela, @Ayastia, @Tekias, @Alystrine, @Robyn ( oh no I'm sure I'm forgetting someone already )
My hype squad! Thank you for keeping me company in web/clans/discord during the long hours
@Bamathis thanks for putting up with the loud, drunk, biker gang leader who went a little crazy and killed a few million things for no particular reason

@Ictinus Thanks for wrangling!!

The flavour is awesome, and the rain of ghosting ghost arrows was hilariously confusing.

(Tells): Danson, Officer of the Argent Legion tells you, "Hail, Rereti."

(Tells): Your voice roars in Danson, Officer of the Argent Legion's skull, "Hoi, Danson."

(Tells): Danson, Officer of the Argent Legion tells you, "Be on alert - my contacts have begun filtering information to me
that a convergence of cultists will be happening within the next day or two. I am still waiting to here more specifics on
where and when."

(Tells): Danson, Officer of the Argent Legion tells you, "When I know where they've gathered, you'll be the one dispatched
to take out the mass gathering. Aye?"

(Tells): Your voice roars in Danson, Officer of the Argent Legion's skull, "I'll wait eagerly!"

(Tells): Danson, Officer of the Argent Legion tells you, "Rereti, I have urgent news regarding the earlier information."

(Tells): Your voice roars in Danson, Officer of the Argent Legion's skull, "Report."

(Tells): Danson, Officer of the Argent Legion tells you, "The village of Salma has been overrun by cultists of Muadi. Nearly
a dozen by reports, out in the streets and attempting outright conversion in the streets."

(Tells): Danson, Officer of the Argent Legion tells you, "The usual standard applies. Leave them as warnings."

(Argent Legion): You say, "LEGION! ON ME!"

A dirt path leading off the highway. (road)
Dawn rises upon a cloudless sky, the dim, reddish rays of the sun shining down upon the land. A cultist of Muadi worships
openly here, hands lifted and palms bared.
You see exits leading north (open pine door), northeast, and southwest.

Wearing simples robes and the barest of leather armour, this cultist of Muadi has many eyes sewn into their clothing. They
otherwise have little to differentiate them from other simple villagers and men and women you'd find around Salma.
A cultist of Muadi looks weak and feeble.
He weighs about 140 pound(s).

Sighing, you shake your head in utter disappointment at what just happened.

qeb stand&&parry head&&pole spinslash Cultist&&absorb ylem&&
You are not fallen or kneeling.
(Defence) Parry active. (HEAD)
Your aura of weapons rebounding disappears.
(Defence) Rebounding inactive.
You use Savagery Spinning on a cultist of Muadi.
You spring through the air with a bardiche held ready, descending upon a cultist of Muadi with a single, arcing cut.
Damage done: 741, cutting, brute
Spinning the weapon deftly in your hands, you move in for another strike.
A CULTIST OF MUADI SUDDENLY SEEMS TO HAVE A PARTICULARLY STABBABLE FACE! YOU CONFIRM THE THEORY WITH A BARDICHE JUST TO BE
SURE!!
You have scored a CRUSHING CRITICAL hit!
Damage done: 2259, cutting, brute
The final blow proves too much for a cultist of Muadi, who expires, pitifully.
Experience change (Bashing): 26 0.000% of this level gained
An ethereal stream of silver-white motes flows up from the corpse of a cultist of Muadi and to you.
Having slain a cultist of Muadi, you retrieve the corpse.
A rush of energy fills you as you feel ready to deliver a devastating blow upon your next target.

Murder ensues!! Then there's no one left to murder

The sight of a massive Ursal in the north of the village draws yells and clamoring from the remaining cultists that had been
scattering, now emboldened by the sight.

Whirran says, "Well shit."

Sounding out across the area with triumphant refrain, the piping notes of a trumpet send forth an insistent clarion call,
the decisive blast reverberating in faint echoes as signal and warning both.

Niroon, a cultist of Muadi shouts, "Ha! So the Warlord sends His executioner! Let us see how you fare against someone that
actually fights back!"

Kanivara says, "... let's go beat up a bear!"

Seirsha says, "That...can't be good, is it?"

Looking thoughtful, Holbrook says, "A fair challenge, I think."

Niroon, a cultist of Muadi sneers arrogantly at you.

You turn to Niroon, a cultist of Muadi and suddenly scream, "Boo!" at him.

You use Savagery Spinning on Niroon, a cultist of Muadi.
NIROON, A CULTIST OF MUADI SUDDENLY SEEMS TO HAVE A PARTICULARLY STABBABLE FACE! YOU CONFIRM THE THEORY WITH A BARDICHE JUST
TO BE SURE!!
The attack hardly makes a dent on the frame of the immense cultist.
Spinning the weapon deftly in your hands, you move in for another strike.
NIROON, A CULTIST OF MUADI SUDDENLY SEEMS TO HAVE A PARTICULARLY STABBABLE FACE! YOU CONFIRM THE THEORY WITH A BARDICHE JUST
TO BE SURE!!
The attack hardly makes a dent on the frame of the immense cultist. <- UH OH

You see Niroon, a cultist of Muadi yell, "You think your pitiful strength is enough to best me?!"

Niroon, a cultist of Muadi says, "Pathetic."

You see Niroon, a cultist of Muadi yell, "I have stared Death itself in the face and held my ground when it stared back!"

Kanivara says, "We're not getting anywhere."

You ask, "Monologue over?"

Having had enough of this pitiful fight, Niroon, a cultist of Muadi begins to throw punch after devastatingly powerful punch
at Kanivara. You watch as his head caves in from the overwhelming blows, Niroon, a cultist of Muadi unwilling to stop until
she has stopped moving and lies still in death at his feet.
Kanivara has been slain by Niroon, a cultist of Muadi.

A nearly invisible magical shield forms around Seirsha.

Having had enough of this pitiful fight, Niroon, a cultist of Muadi begins to throw punch after devastatingly powerful punch
at Seirsha. You watch as his head caves in from the overwhelming blows, Niroon, a cultist of Muadi unwilling to stop until
she has stopped moving and lies still in death at his feet.
Seirsha has been slain by Niroon, a cultist of Muadi.

(MY BABIES!!!)

You reach out with a bardiche and poke Niroon, a cultist of Muadi, just to let him know you're thinking of him.
The attack hardly makes a dent on the frame of the immense cultist.
Spinning the weapon deftly in your hands, you move in for another strike.
You thrust a bardiche into Niroon, a cultist of Muadi as shards of ice bloom forth from the wound.
The attack hardly makes a dent on the frame of the immense cultist.

(well shit)

Whirran spits on the ground in disgust.

You see Niroon, a cultist of Muadi yell, "You are nothing before those who serve Death!"

Having had enough of this pitiful fight, Niroon, a cultist of Muadi begins to throw punch after devastatingly powerful punch
at Whirran. You watch as his head caves in from the overwhelming blows, Niroon, a cultist of Muadi unwilling to stop until
he has stopped moving and lies still in death at his feet.
Whirran has been slain by Niroon, a cultist of Muadi.

With scorn, Niroon, a cultist of Muadi says, "I would like to say you fought well, "Commander." But you are pitiful."

Having had enough of this pitiful fight, Niroon, a cultist of Muadi begins to throw punch after devastatingly powerful punch
at you. You feel your head cave in from the overwhelming blows, the swift silence that follows the last thing you remember
before all turns to black.

By the divine might of Bamathis, you are restored to life.
The trial of strength.
The morning sun struggles to pierce the veil of thick, black clouds, edging their dark shapes in silver. Burtle, a massive
Ogre stands here, wielding gigantic clubs.
There are no obvious exits.

You find yourself resurrected by the Warlord, ready to face trials and tribulations. If your path towards Adherence is true,
it begins here.

Mjoll's eyes narrow as she finds herself back on her feet somewhere foreign, "Welp."

Truly massive, this Ogre stands many meters from the ground and towers over most anyone who he might encounter. Not only is
his height impressive, but also his girth. He sports a bulging belly, which makes it difficult for him to fit in sturdier
armors. The especially thick Ogre is clad in greasy leathers from head to toe; a vest, trousers and well-traveled boots all
of a darker hue. In either hand, he wields a massive club menacingly. He is called 'Burtle.'
Burtle, a massive Ogre exudes an aura of overwhelming power.
He weighs about 1152 pound(s).

You greet Burtle, a massive Ogre with a sincere smile.

You ask, "Where the shit am I?"

Whirran's voice resonates across the land, "C'mon, Woof! CHARGE."

Burtle, a massive Ogre chortles at the question, though he says nothing helpful. His clubs present a threat, for certain.

Mjoll frees her arms of the sleeves of her coat, "Not much for words, big fella? That's alright, I think I get it."

Burtle, a massive Ogre gives a feral grin at the shift, re-gripping his wooden clubs.

Mjoll rolls her head, cracking her neck several times in the motion, "Right-o!"

Whirran's voice resonates across the land, "I swear to Pit ya fat bastard if ya ate the Commander."

You strike Burtle, a massive Ogre in the gut with the butt of a bardiche before bringing the blade end mercilessly down onto
his undefended posture.
Spinning the weapon deftly in your hands, you move in for another strike.
You strike Burtle, a massive Ogre in the gut with the butt of a bardiche before bringing the blade end mercilessly down onto
his undefended posture.
The final blow proves too much for Burtle, a massive Ogre, who expires, pitifully.

(RIP Burtle)

Humongous even in death, Burtle, a massive Ogre is dead here.

Mjoll pokes the corpse of Burtle, a massive Ogre with the butt of a bardiche a couple times.

Your true test lies before you, waiting for you to lift your kill in triumph.

You struggle to lift the massive corpse of Burtle up, lifting his dead body high in the air with all your might and holding
him above your head!
You pick up the corpse of Burtle, a massive Ogre.

You strain to continue holding Burtle up triumphantly, the effort extremely taxing on your stamina.

Nothing but a dumb, weak Troll- can barely even lift the corpse.

You strain to continue holding Burtle up triumphantly, the effort extremely taxing on your stamina.

The Argent Legion? Nothing. The Warlord? An Oathbreaker.

You strain to continue holding Burtle up triumphantly, the effort extremely taxing on your stamina.

You think you can ever fill the shoes of Fezzix? He's the true commander of the Legion.

You strain to continue holding Burtle up triumphantly, the effort extremely taxing on your stamina.

How will you face the Albedi when you cannot even kill one single cultist?

You strain to continue holding Burtle up triumphantly, the effort extremely taxing on your stamina.

The shrunken head in your inventory sneezes violently.

Will you FIGHT or will you FALTER?

Didi's voice resonates across the land, "Cake."

You can find no such target as '0'.

You strain to continue holding Burtle up triumphantly, the effort extremely taxing on your stamina.

Can you become what you are meant to be or has it all been a mistake?

From nowhere slowly shimmers into view the familiar sight the the Warlord, Favored Son of the Celestine. Bamathis does not
afford you His usual greeting, His aura of Strife a veritable weight that only adds to your current status; you can feel His
eyes staring at you, fiery silver that glares with judgement and inspection.

You strain to continue holding Burtle up triumphantly, the effort extremely taxing on your stamina.

Do you deserve to walk the land as Strife incarnate?

(Rime) Afflictions for Whirran reset!
Having brutally battered them to death, Niroon, a cultist of Muadi presents Whirran as tribute for the Gatekeeper.
You divine the location of this death as A T-junction in the road in the Salma Settlement.
Your ally has fallen at A T-junction in the road.

You strain to continue holding Burtle up triumphantly, the effort extremely taxing on your stamina.

You strain to continue holding Burtle up triumphantly, the effort extremely taxing on your stamina.

Slaughter and death.
You say, "Only ever knew how to FIGHT. I'm a weapon. Tempered in the fires of Slaughter and death."

Your muscles ache dully under the strain of your body.

You strain to continue holding Burtle up triumphantly, the effort extremely taxing on your stamina.

You strain to continue holding Burtle up triumphantly, the effort extremely taxing on your stamina.

Still yet without a word to you, the Warlord turns aside and steps through a conjured gateway elsewhere. One moment Bamathis
is there and the next you are yet again alone, struggling, straining - fighting.

You strain to continue holding Burtle up triumphantly, the effort extremely taxing on your stamina.

You strain to continue holding Burtle up triumphantly, the effort extremely taxing on your stamina.

You strain to continue holding Burtle up triumphantly, the effort extremely taxing on your stamina.

You sense that Whirran has risen once more.

You strain to continue holding Burtle up triumphantly, the effort extremely taxing on your stamina.

Your struggle proves fruitful only once you've proven that you will never cease to fight. The pathway to your east opens,
affording you an outlet to elsewhere within Strife's Gauntlet.

what I want or I die! That's the way of Strength! I've walked this path for DECADES, and I'll walk it until it destroys me
Through gritted teeth, you say, "I don't give a damn if I deserve anythin'. I take what I want or I die! That's the way of
Strength! I've walked this path for DECADES, and I'll walk it until it destroys me."

You feel as if you're reaching your limits, arms exhausted. You feel ready to collapse under Burtle's weight at any moment!

The trial of strength.
The morning sun struggles to pierce the veil of thick, black clouds, edging their dark shapes in silver. Ominiously silent,
a white warhound stands here, teeth bared.
You see a single exit leading east.

Whirran's voice resonates across the land, "I'll die a thousand thousand times within the grace of His defiance,
abomination! WOOF! CHARGE! FOR SAPIENCE!"

You huff.

e
The start of a small racetrack.
The morning sun struggles to pierce the veil of thick, black clouds, edging their dark shapes in silver. Fastears, the
racing rabbit is here, ready to sprint at a moment's notice.
You see exits leading north and west.

You eye Fastears, the racing rabbit, giving him the once over.

Oh no. Rabbit.

The start of a small racetrack.
The morning sun struggles to pierce the veil of thick, black clouds, edging their dark shapes in silver. Fastears, the
racing rabbit is here, ready to sprint at a moment's notice. Ominiously silent, a white warhound stands here, teeth bared.
You see exits leading north and west.

Your muscles ache dully under the strain of your body.

You say, "Easy there little guy..."

You can see the following 2 objects:
(Curing) Removed dementia from your possible affs.
"rabbit313946" Fastears, the racing rabbit.
"warhound188041" a white warhound.

The shrunken head in your inventory sneezes violently.

You cannot pick up Fastears, the racing rabbit.

Your hound is already looking to flank fleeing enemies.

The start of a small racetrack.
The morning sun struggles to pierce the veil of thick, black clouds, edging their dark shapes in silver. Fastears, the
racing rabbit is here, ready to sprint at a moment's notice. Ominiously silent, a white warhound stands here, teeth bared.
You see a single exit leading north.

You glance towards the north.
Upon a small racetrack.

You see exits leading north and south.

You squint your eyes and look out toward the north.
Upon a small racetrack.

You see exits leading north and south.
The finish line of a small race track.
The morning sun struggles to pierce the veil of thick, black clouds, edging their dark shapes in silver.
You see a single exit leading south.

------------------ v73556 -------------------

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This agile, white rabbit has been equipped with a sleek, red coloured cloth that denotes the number one in yellow on the
rabbit's back. Goggles are affixed to his face, so the wind won't disturb his beady eyes at the breakneck speeds he's used
to traveling at. He is called 'Fastears.'
Fastears, the racing rabbit looks weak and feeble.
He weighs about 3 pound(s) and 0 ounce(s).

The shrunken head in your inventory sneezes violently.

You spot the following:
"rabbit313946" Fastears, the racing rabbit. (180/180)
"warhound188041" a white warhound. (15000/15000)

You feel weary as you breathe in.

Idea #5101 has just been submitted.

Fastears, the racing rabbit fidgets in place, looking ready to set off in a sprint at any moment to the north.

big dumb Trolls, right?
Taking an unnecessary breath, you say, "I'm just a big dumb Troll, you don't eat big dumb Trolls, right?"

Fastears, the racing rabbit sprints off toward the finish line!
You look off to the north and dash speedily away.
You dash through Upon a small racetrack..
The finish line of a small race track.
The morning sun struggles to pierce the veil of thick, black clouds, edging their dark shapes in silver. Fastears, the
racing rabbit is here, ready to sprint at a moment's notice.
You see a single exit leading south.
Fastears, the racing rabbit was here first, and thus wins the race! The rabbit proudly lifts his chin up before returning
back to the starting line.

The finish line of a small race track.
The morning sun struggles to pierce the veil of thick, black clouds, edging their dark shapes in silver. Ominiously silent,
a white warhound stands here, teeth bared.
You see a single exit leading south.

You yell, "OH YOU'RE QUICK."

s
Upon a small racetrack.

You see exits leading north and south.

s
The start of a small racetrack.
The morning sun struggles to pierce the veil of thick, black clouds, edging their dark shapes in silver. Fastears, the
racing rabbit is here, ready to sprint at a moment's notice.
You see a single exit leading north.

You eye Fastears, the racing rabbit, giving him the once over.

Play yours
You say, "You know what they say, though. If you can't beat 'em at their own game. Play yours."

(Rime) Now targetting Rabbitf
qeb stand&&parry head&&pole spinslash Rabbit&&absorb ylem&&
You may not queue commands within a queue.

You use Savagery Spinning on Fastears, the racing rabbit.
FASTEARS, THE RACING RABBIT SUDDENLY SEEMS TO HAVE A PARTICULARLY STABBABLE FACE! YOU CONFIRM THE THEORY WITH A BARDICHE
JUST TO BE SURE!!
Spinning the weapon deftly in your hands, you move in for another strike.
You thrust a bardiche into Fastears, the racing rabbit as shards of ice bloom forth from the wound.
Balance Used: 2.41 seconds

Could it be that easy? Is that how you'll get ahead?

You must regain balance first.

You have recovered balance on all limbs.

You spot the following:
"rabbit313946" Fastears, the racing rabbit. (180/180)
"warhound188041" a white warhound. (15000/15000)

You snap your fingers.

You say, "Guess You'd figured I'd try that, eh?"

You feel the corners of your mouth lift slightly in a small grin.

You whistle appreciatively.

n
Fastears, the racing rabbit sprints off toward the finish line!
Upon a small racetrack.

You see exits leading north and south.

You glance towards the north.
The finish line of a small race track.
The morning sun struggles to pierce the veil of thick, black clouds, edging their dark shapes in silver. Fastears, the
racing rabbit is here, ready to sprint at a moment's notice.
You see a single exit leading south.

s
The start of a small racetrack.
The morning sun struggles to pierce the veil of thick, black clouds, edging their dark shapes in silver.
You see a single exit leading north.

n
Upon a small racetrack.

You see exits leading north and south.

n
The finish line of a small race track.
The morning sun struggles to pierce the veil of thick, black clouds, edging their dark shapes in silver. Fastears, the
racing rabbit is here, ready to sprint at a moment's notice.
You see a single exit leading south.
Fastears, the racing rabbit was here first, and thus wins the race! The rabbit proudly lifts his chin up before returning
back to the starting line.

You peer about yourself suspiciously.

s
Upon a small racetrack.

You see exits leading north and south.

s
The start of a small racetrack.
The morning sun struggles to pierce the veil of thick, black clouds, edging their dark shapes in silver. Fastears, the
racing rabbit is here, ready to sprint at a moment's notice.
You see a single exit leading north.

The start of a small racetrack.
The morning sun struggles to pierce the veil of thick, black clouds, edging their dark shapes in silver. Fastears, the
racing rabbit is here, ready to sprint at a moment's notice. Ominiously silent, a white warhound stands here, teeth bared.
You see a single exit leading north.

"Your game," your voice resounds within your mind, echoing. You can almost feel the Warlord's gaze laying on you. What would
He expect if the first strike did not work?

You say, "Now hold still little fella..."

You use Savagery Spinning on Fastears, the racing rabbit.
FASTEARS, THE RACING RABBIT SUDDENLY SEEMS TO HAVE A PARTICULARLY STABBABLE FACE! YOU CONFIRM THE THEORY WITH A BARDICHE
JUST TO BE SURE!!
Spinning the weapon deftly in your hands, you move in for another strike.
FASTEARS, THE RACING RABBIT SUDDENLY SEEMS TO HAVE A PARTICULARLY STABBABLE FACE! YOU CONFIRM THE THEORY WITH A BARDICHE
JUST TO BE SURE!!
Balance Used: 2.41 seconds
Could it be that easy? Is that how you'll get ahead?

You say to Fastears, the racing rabbit, "Stay."

Fastears, the racing rabbit sprints off toward the finish line!
You look off to the north and dash speedily away.
You dash through Upon a small racetrack..
The finish line of a small race track.
The morning sun struggles to pierce the veil of thick, black clouds, edging their dark shapes in silver. Fastears, the
racing rabbit is here, ready to sprint at a moment's notice.
You see a single exit leading south.
Fastears, the racing rabbit was here first, and thus wins the race! The rabbit proudly lifts his chin up before returning
back to the starting line.

You snap your fingers.

Will you give up when the first strike does not work on the Albedi? Will you huff at them instead of bringing the might of
the Legion down upon them? FIGHT or FALTER.

The war-blessed bardiche, Onslaught thrums with power in your hands, giving off a faint silvery glow that soon fades.
You pull the war-blessed bardiche, Onslaught from your weaponbelt fluidly into both hands.

You strike Fastears, the racing rabbit in the gut with the butt of the war-blessed bardiche, Onslaught before bringing the
blade end mercilessly down onto his undefended posture.
The final blow proves too much for Fastears, the racing rabbit, who expires, pitifully.

Yet more of Strife's gauntlet opens to you, a pathway opened elsewhere.

The trial of will.
The morning sun struggles to pierce the veil of thick, black clouds, edging their dark shapes in silver. Weary-eyed, a
retired Imp soldier slouches here.
You see a single exit leading west.

You tilt your head curiously.

Having brutally battered them to death, Niroon, a cultist of Muadi presents Whirran as tribute for the Gatekeeper.
You divine the location of this death as A T-junction in the road in the Salma Settlement.
Your ally has fallen at A T-junction in the road.

Having brutally battered them to death, Niroon, a cultist of Muadi presents Seirsha as tribute for the Gatekeeper.
You divine the location of this death as A T-junction in the road in the Salma Settlement.

Having brutally battered them to death, Niroon, a cultist of Muadi presents Yettave as tribute for the Gatekeeper.
You divine the location of this death as A T-junction in the road in the Salma Settlement.
Your ally has fallen at A T-junction in the road.

Mjoll's gaze narrows as Niroon beats back her allies again and again. "Oi."

Ridark, a retired Imp soldier lifts his gaze to spy you with a weary expression. "What is it you seek here, warrior?" His
voice is uncaring for what happens elsewhere.

Whirran's voice resonates across the land, "We do not humour the forked and deceitful tongues of the abominations! To
entertain his words is the first seeds of failure planted! To arms, for Sapience! To arms, we fight! For the Lord! For the
Father!"

Whirran's voice resonates across the land, "NO QUARTER."

A slight pause as the thought creeps across Mjoll's countenance, "Strength. To be a right proper pain in
the ass. Strength to be the weapon I need to be."

Big ogres. Small rabbits. What am I to make of this Imp, now... Looks familiar, too.

"Strength," Ridark, a retired Imp soldier grunts, shaking his head. "I've had strength for many years and it's never gotten
me anywhere. If it's a fight you need to get that strength, I refuse," he says aloud.

You say, "Well, I weren't askin', really."

RIDARK, A RETIRED IMP SOLDIER SUDDENLY SEEMS TO HAVE A PARTICULARLY STABBABLE FACE! YOU CONFIRM THE THEORY WITH THE WAR
-BLESSED BARDICHE, ONSLAUGHT JUST TO BE SURE!!
Ridark, a retired Imp soldier deflects the attack!
Damage done: 0, cutting, brute
Ridark, a retired Imp soldier quickly lifts his sturdy scabbard, warding off the attack with tired ease.
Spinning the weapon deftly in your hands, you move in for another strike.
You spring through the air with the war-blessed bardiche, Onslaught held ready, descending upon Ridark, a retired Imp
soldier with a single, arcing cut.
Ridark, a retired Imp soldier deflects the attack!
Damage done: 0, cutting, brute
Ridark, a retired Imp soldier quickly lifts his sturdy scabbard, warding off the attack with tired ease.

(Ope)

Whirran's voice resonates across the land, "Sapience, rally! To arms! Suffer not the presence of the abominations upon our
soil! Do you all fear to stand for what is ours!"

Having proven that he can defend attacks and give them right back, Ridark, a retired Imp soldier says, "You will not make me
through swordplay, warrior. The time is long gone that such would motivate me to fight."

Strife is not only found in weapons, but in many facets of our lives. To truly embrace Strife, to become one with it, you
will need to prove that you can evoke Strife beyond the swing of a hammer or bardiche.

You say, "Listen here, short stuff, there's a nasty fight out there that I wanna get in on, yeah?"

Ridark, a retired Imp soldier lifts a hand and gestures. "What is so worthwhile out there? We have both fought in wars, in
countless battles. It is always the same."

"Blood! And pain! Struggle! Everything that makes livin' worth livin'!" Mjoll lets out with a rote vigor,
"That's what's out there!"

You say, "Bein' locked up and safe is worse than death! I need to fight! To feel alive!"

Or unalive, if you wanna be semantic about it.

Ridark, a retired Imp soldier shakes his head with another weary expression. "Being locked up and safe is /better/ than
death as you aint DEAD," he argues back, bristling faintly. "All my family aint DEAD, my village!"

"NO!" Mjoll refuses with a strong shake of her head, "Life is in the struggle of it! Safety is weakness! It's disgusting!"

"No!" Ridark, a retired Imp soldier yells back, his hand shifting down to his sword. "I've fought enough for countless
folks, and you won't call me weak! The meaningless death is what is disgusting!"

Mjoll sneers down at Ridark, a retired Imp soldier, "You've gone soft in your gilded cage. I bet a single
starving bandit could kill your whole family before taking any of your food. Pathetic."

is eyes flaring at the mention of his family, Ridark, a retired Imp soldier says, "Do not bring my family into this!"

You say, "Eh? What's that? You gonna make me? Where they at? Maybe I'll slide through before that bandit does, I worked up a
bit of an appetite holding that ogre over my head, yeah?"

Ridark, a retired Imp soldier can take it no more, having been pushed over the edge, and charges you!

You say, "Grilled Imp's pretty good."

Ridark, a retired Imp soldier gives a yell and slashes at your abdomen with his small blade, slicing into you painfully.
You jerk your body to the side, lessening the blow.

You demand, "OH NOW YOU WANNA FIGHT?!"

You use Savagery Spinning on Ridark, a retired Imp soldier.
You spring through the air with the war-blessed bardiche, Onslaught held ready, descending upon Ridark, a retired Imp
soldier with a single, arcing cut.
Damage done: 565, cutting, brute
Spinning the weapon deftly in your hands, you move in for another strike.
You reach out with the war-blessed bardiche, Onslaught and poke Ridark, a retired Imp soldier, just to let him know you're
thinking of him.
Damage done: 565, cutting, brute

(Ayyy!)

You say, "GONNA SLICE OFF A STEAK OF YOU."

Batting through Ridark, a retired Imp soldier's defenses with a sharp upward swing, you bring the war-blessed bardiche,
Onslaught crashing down upon against his head, momentarily felling him.
Spinning the weapon deftly in your hands, you move in for another strike.
You spring through the air with the war-blessed bardiche, Onslaught held ready, descending upon Ridark, a retired Imp
soldier with a single, arcing cut.
The final blow proves too much for Ridark, a retired Imp soldier, who expires, pitifully.

Bamathis Once more, the form of the Son of Autumn slips into view. This time, Bamathis wears a solemn expression of
intensity the likes of which only very few have ever seen. Strife is His mantle, yet in this moment Strife's Gauntlet has
been conquered by another. He lifts a hand and you find yourself lifted, no longer having to hold yourself up amidst
exhaustion and your trials.

You are transported by the power of the Divine.
High above the World Tree.
You find the weather around you imperceptible. From this vantage point, you can spy Sapience almost from one end to another.
The spot high above Yggdrasil affords those who travel here the ability to enjoy the glorious majesty that is Sapience in
its purest form. You float high enough to rival even the peaks of the Siroccians in the distance, though the air is steady
and nearly calm by some Divine mandate. With the views given and vantage points afforded, this makes the perfect place for
someone to watch all of the Celestine's Creations. The air around Him filled with uncomfortable tension, Bamathis, the
Warlord stands here. He wields the argent warhammer, Lurati Vontem in His hands.
[Milestones]: You have completed credit milestone #83: Enter a room you have yet to explore!
(HA!)

Higher and higher you drift, leaving behind Strife's proving grounds and swiftly you find the familiar sight of the
Warlord's fortress greeting you as you drift high above Sapience below. You eventually come to a stop high, high above
Yggdrasil, its faint rhythmic beating still felt by your connection.

Here stands the Warlord high above Sapience, watching over what His Father created. "You have answered every call," Bamathis
states, His voice firm and strict in its tonation. "You have fought for the purpose My Father gave Me, for My Legion,
without faltering." His gaze once more finds you, the silver narrowed with an intensity far beyond mortal comprehension.
"For so long, you have been My right hand and implement of destruction."

Mjoll can do nothing but float, though her gaze wanders from Bamathis eastwards towards Salma distractedly.
"Aye, Warlord. I hope I've been an acceptable weapon."

Bamathis listens, yet His gaze shifts aside to look toward the landmass that is Sapience below. Seldom do you find the
Warlord so contemplative, especially where you are concerned - His favored from a very early day, and now one who aspires to
adhere to Him in a way no mortal has attempted before. Heartbeats pass before He returns His gaze to you, remaining silent.

Silver steel girds the Warlord's visage with the narrowing of His eyes and the deep solemnity of His concentration. His gaze
passes over and through you with the appraising stare of an unyielding commander, Strife's General taking in your measure
without comment or judgement.

Niroon, a cultist of Muadi shouts, "Send to me your dogs, False Silver God. I will destroy them all and send them to My Lord
as tribute! Again!"

Warping under sudden pressure, the air convulses in response to a brilliant silver aura, manifest turmoil and disharmony
converging about the armoured figure of Bamathis in a silent but no less palpable expression of His singular might.

Rumbling war-drums sound out across the firmament, rolling in slow, deliberate beats reminiscent of soldiers marching in
lockstep.

It is not often that Mjoll shrinks from a gaze, and she doesn't start now. Her chin ticks upwards
defiantly, though a grin is starting to spread.

Silver fire burns suddenly in His hands and He turns it on you, intense heat flooding into your heart where it spreads
through flesh and bone and blood. Exhausted and spent though you are, the ruthless flame burns away impurity with each
searing passage it takes.

The sky ripples, glorious silver spilling out across the heavens before coalescing into a singular arrow-head, high above
the World Tree.

The might of Strife Incarnate suffuses your frame, the need to wreak violence and disharmony near-overwhelming in its
intensity as the Warlord forges you into something more, something greater than the mere sum of your parts. Lust for battle
stirs in your soul like a predator's gnawing hunger and a roar tears free of your lips, a defiant scream of asserted
authority from which the drowning currents ebb away, leaving you in full control of your power.

Piping notes join the clamorous chorus, the soldiers of the Warlord's Keep lifting their arms in disciplined salutes while
the boisterous paean of victory reaches its final verse in celebration of Ov De Rereti Mjoll Seirath, Adherent of Strife.

Mjoll's eyes widen, then narrow quickly, that grin growing teeth as her head starts to bob up and down,
"Oh. Oh shit yeah!" She blurts out, practically laughing, "Oh let me at 'em. I needta hurt somethin'!"

His gaze shifts aside, cast down towards the small village of Salma where crowds have gathered amidst the shouting of the
yet remaining cultist.

Simply, with a note of unrestrained pride, Bamathis says, "You know what you must do now, as Adherent, to push past what you
could not before."

Niroon, a cultist of Muadi shouts, "Come then, "Commander". I cannot wait to best you again."

Gesturing toward the distant village, Bamathis says, "Your foe awaits in Salma."

You cackle hellishly.

You bunch your powerful muscles and launch yourself in a majestic leap northwards.
A T-junction in the road.
The afternoon sun shines down, its rays broken only by the occasional wisp of cloud. A walnut and dark green backless chair
stands here. An enormous Ursal man stands here, towering over almost all others. A bristling mass of black, wiry hair stands
before you in the shape of a muscled, hulking boar. There are 2 mud-coated hippos here. A moderately sized black war banner
has been planted here, bearing the crest of the Argent Legion. There are 10 fragments of a mosaic here. There are 2 busy
mages here. A massive golem of shifting black sand and djeirite. Particles of ground bone swirl in a coalescing swarm here,
jagged slivers and blunted pieces caught within its midst. A massive golem made of clay stands here. A great jar-shaped
golem looms here, ominously still. The sickly sweet stench of death and decay wafts off of a sadistic, jade tainted warhound
here. A large wall of ice is here, blocking passage to the east. An attentive guard is standing here, wielding a heavy
sword. A large wall of ice is here, blocking passage to the west. A large wall of ice is here, blocking passage to the
north. Like a bird-shaped hole in space, a dark raven spirit glides through the air. Lacking height and bulk alike, a puny
golem is here. A large wall of ice is here, blocking passage to the south. Ever alert to his surroundings, Dima is standing
here. A black rhinoceros is here, pawing at the ground. The gloriously-bearded Yettave is here. He is riding on a saddled
scrubland cow. He wields a brutal, scything handaxe in his left hand and a brutal, scything handaxe in his right. Hulking
over the area, Almol stands here, its enormous body like granite. It is riding on a spectral stag. It wields a jewel-
encrusted buckler in its left hand and a savage, bloodstained flail in its right. Taj is here. He wields a hunter's spear in
his left hand and a hunter's spear in his right. The monstrous form of Alela is here, her stony body towering over you. She
is riding on a crystalline arachnid. She wields a jewel-encrusted buckler in her left hand and a menacing flail in her
right. The monstrous form of Kurak is here, its stony body towering over you. It wields a reinforced tower shield in its
left hand and a wooden club in its right. Qelres is here, giving off a truly ghastly stench. Kanivara is here, shrouded. She
wields a oversized carrot on a stick shaped warhammer in her hands. Whirran is here. Iazamat is here. He wields a gem-lined
buckler shield in his left hand and an elegant crozier in his right. This area has been overgrown with a swathe of seething
plantlife. The area has been flooded with sand. The air ripples around the nearly imperceptible form of a fulcrum of power
floating here. A massive sandstorm threatens to choke out the life in this area.
You see exits leading east, north, south, and west.
[HINT]: Niroon, a cultist of Muadi seems particularly alert.

You laughingly say, "BOOP!"

Forming shards of ancient weaponry with but a flick of your wrist, you direct the fragments to hover around Niroon, a
cultist of Muadi. The enchanted arsenal whirls violently before striking, silver light flaring with each magically-inflicted
wound.

Niroon, a cultist of Muadi says through gritted-teeth. "It will be a real battle, then." He offers a nod at Iazamat before
turning his full attention to you.

***SEE FOLLOW UP POST TO SEE ME PANIC MY WAY THROUGH LEARNING HOW TO ADHERENT***

You use Adherent Shards on Niroon, a cultist of Muadi.
Forming shards of ancient weaponry with but a flick of your wrist, you direct the fragments to hover around Niroon, a
cultist of Muadi. The enchanted arsenal whirls violently before striking, silver light flaring with each magically-inflicted
wound.
The final blow proves too much for Niroon, a cultist of Muadi, who expires, pitifully.

Seirsha says to you, "Nice work, Commander."

The gloriously-bearded Yettave exclaims to you, "Good Showing Commander, Seems like you found something good in that bottle
of yours!"

Whirran leaps in from the south. (Whirran)

Kanivara says to you, "Well fought."
Iazamat smiles at you.

Seirsha says, "We were worried for the bottle..."

You laughingly say, "I'm so confused."

Almol gives you a respectful salute.

(Tells): In the back of your mind, you hear Kanivara saying to you, "Had me panicking for a hot minute."

The ghost of a smile passes fleetingly across the lips of Qelres as it glances at you.

Whirran collapses at your feet, bloody and beaten.

Whirran says to you, "I uh."

Kanivara says to you, "He kept trying to fight, despite getting nowhere."

Whirran says to you, "Held the line while you were gone."

Booming across the land with a harsh fervor, the voice of Bamathis, the Warlord resonates, "The Argent Legion will always
fight! Led by the first mortal Adherent of Strife, Mjoll Seirath! FOR SAPIENCE!"

Didi's voice resonates across the land, "Go mj."

You shout, "FOR SAPIENCE."

You see Kanivara raise her voice and shout, "For Sapience!"