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8/5/2025, 10:13:54 PM
“TUZ!” The word jerks your mind away from the thick, metal carapace encasing you like a coffin and the thick raindrops rattling against your helmet.
”The Finder War occurred long before the light disappeared,” Cheesti begins, her words bouncing through your head like an echo in a cave, “And we can only imagine the horrors those brave souls witnessed among the ruins of old Umberal….”
The simple act of swiveling your head in the direction of the voice is enough to elicit a dull creak from your armor. We moving, you ask, the words crawling out of your dry, cracked throat muffled and weary.
“All in due time,” Grunts your counterpart who addressed you–MODD was his name. Clanking into your hastily-dug trench swearing under his heavy breath, your fellow Mox studies you through goggle-encased eyes. “We wait for the giants to pass. Then we go.”
”The Chytree Hierarchy. The Coalition. When neither was willing to share the spoils buried beneath the ground, there was but one solution.”
Zaan, you croak as you and Modd both turn to stare at the third Mox standing on the trench’s corner like a grim statue, hear that?
“Hells…”
The curse comes out of Zaan’s lips like a prayer as you feel the earth quake beneath your feet. Joining your companion at his side, you feel your scales quiver and a clawing sensation in your gut when you spot the source: long, confident strides carry them across the battlefield–each step clearing several groups of trenches.
Magi’bahs. Elementals. Constructs of Magic and Energy. You’d seen some before in the traveling circuses that had passed through your village as a fledge, but these were no carnival attractions:
These were giants.
You watch with a mixture of terror and reverence as your brothers in the defensive lines scatter like Zitzers, limbs thick as towers crashing through their ranks like waves crashing against the sea cliffs. A few brave souls stand their ground only to evaporate like puddles in the heat upon making contact with the colossi.
Flocks of those big-eyed bastards flank the giant’s heads–Chytree Maguses. Cocky shits. One is humbled for good when an arc of energy springs from a hill across the battlefield and vaporizes a hole straight through his chest. His comrades don’t even watch him drop to the ground.
“Nice of the snipers to do their job…” Muses Modd as the remaining mages set the offending hill ablaze with arcane explosions, “Just like we practiced, ey, Tuz?”
You bend as low as you can in your armor and square your stance as your fellow sappers chain a large, metal sphere to your back before handing the chains over to you.
“It’s armed,” Modd continues as you finish locking everything into place, “So don’t go taking any spills until you’re on their side of the battlefield.”
>CONTD.
”The Finder War occurred long before the light disappeared,” Cheesti begins, her words bouncing through your head like an echo in a cave, “And we can only imagine the horrors those brave souls witnessed among the ruins of old Umberal….”
The simple act of swiveling your head in the direction of the voice is enough to elicit a dull creak from your armor. We moving, you ask, the words crawling out of your dry, cracked throat muffled and weary.
“All in due time,” Grunts your counterpart who addressed you–MODD was his name. Clanking into your hastily-dug trench swearing under his heavy breath, your fellow Mox studies you through goggle-encased eyes. “We wait for the giants to pass. Then we go.”
”The Chytree Hierarchy. The Coalition. When neither was willing to share the spoils buried beneath the ground, there was but one solution.”
Zaan, you croak as you and Modd both turn to stare at the third Mox standing on the trench’s corner like a grim statue, hear that?
“Hells…”
The curse comes out of Zaan’s lips like a prayer as you feel the earth quake beneath your feet. Joining your companion at his side, you feel your scales quiver and a clawing sensation in your gut when you spot the source: long, confident strides carry them across the battlefield–each step clearing several groups of trenches.
Magi’bahs. Elementals. Constructs of Magic and Energy. You’d seen some before in the traveling circuses that had passed through your village as a fledge, but these were no carnival attractions:
These were giants.
You watch with a mixture of terror and reverence as your brothers in the defensive lines scatter like Zitzers, limbs thick as towers crashing through their ranks like waves crashing against the sea cliffs. A few brave souls stand their ground only to evaporate like puddles in the heat upon making contact with the colossi.
Flocks of those big-eyed bastards flank the giant’s heads–Chytree Maguses. Cocky shits. One is humbled for good when an arc of energy springs from a hill across the battlefield and vaporizes a hole straight through his chest. His comrades don’t even watch him drop to the ground.
“Nice of the snipers to do their job…” Muses Modd as the remaining mages set the offending hill ablaze with arcane explosions, “Just like we practiced, ey, Tuz?”
You bend as low as you can in your armor and square your stance as your fellow sappers chain a large, metal sphere to your back before handing the chains over to you.
“It’s armed,” Modd continues as you finish locking everything into place, “So don’t go taking any spills until you’re on their side of the battlefield.”
>CONTD.
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