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8/7/2025, 2:04:21 AM
The mammoth steps of the conjured colossi fade behind you as you dive deeper into the belly of the beast. Your heart pounds against your metal-encased chest as you strain to listen for any ambushers waiting around the corner. Zaan moves like a shadow–an impressive feat for someone up to their frills in metal–but his patience pays off, as does yours: the Chytree might have the numbers advantage, but their soldiers are stupid. Brainless.
Command warned you of Mzz’goe’virr mercenaries and poisoners on Hierarchy payroll–with luck they were engaging the Gnoks. Wherever they were, all the Chytree had were their precious Constructs: Metal husks driven by simple directions from their glowy-eyed masters. A Mox would have filled random trenches with traps. A Durher could pick up your metal moving a mile away. A Gnok, well…
They probably would have been able to cheat their way into owning this land. Mzz’goe’virr? They’d be too busy skulking into the villages at night and snatching away all the fledges and kits.
You offer a quick and quiet prayer to OAD thanking them that there aren’t any Skogs around.
Advance. Creep up. Mace to the head. Advance. The process almost becomes rote until you spot runes glowing on the side of the trench hidden behind a pile of containers! Guess these Chytree CAN think like a Mox now and then.
Too little, too late.
You hear the Conjuration Camp long before you see it–clanking footsteps… dull, droning chants… you’d seen one before a few months back–circles upon circles of Chytree-woven mats to kneel on, warm vats of Suu Juice to pour on the mages to keep from keeling over of thirst.
Even with the wards placed on your armor your scales tingle as a wave of magical energy washes over them! Leaving you and Modd to scout ahead, Zaan returns a few moments later with heavier breathing, but looking no worse for wear.
“Y’okay?”
“Sentry.” Zaan pants, prompting Modd to steal a glance behind you. “We’re not getting in there. There’s a barrier, an-”
Won’t be a problem, you reply with a wink. Bomb’ll tear through the barrier too. Magic, remember? Your fellow Mox freezes like a statue before nearly keeling over with hushed laughter!
“Godsdamned idiots, the lot of ‘em..” He mutters through his mask, “Them and their precious magic…”
>CONTD.
Command warned you of Mzz’goe’virr mercenaries and poisoners on Hierarchy payroll–with luck they were engaging the Gnoks. Wherever they were, all the Chytree had were their precious Constructs: Metal husks driven by simple directions from their glowy-eyed masters. A Mox would have filled random trenches with traps. A Durher could pick up your metal moving a mile away. A Gnok, well…
They probably would have been able to cheat their way into owning this land. Mzz’goe’virr? They’d be too busy skulking into the villages at night and snatching away all the fledges and kits.
You offer a quick and quiet prayer to OAD thanking them that there aren’t any Skogs around.
Advance. Creep up. Mace to the head. Advance. The process almost becomes rote until you spot runes glowing on the side of the trench hidden behind a pile of containers! Guess these Chytree CAN think like a Mox now and then.
Too little, too late.
You hear the Conjuration Camp long before you see it–clanking footsteps… dull, droning chants… you’d seen one before a few months back–circles upon circles of Chytree-woven mats to kneel on, warm vats of Suu Juice to pour on the mages to keep from keeling over of thirst.
Even with the wards placed on your armor your scales tingle as a wave of magical energy washes over them! Leaving you and Modd to scout ahead, Zaan returns a few moments later with heavier breathing, but looking no worse for wear.
“Y’okay?”
“Sentry.” Zaan pants, prompting Modd to steal a glance behind you. “We’re not getting in there. There’s a barrier, an-”
Won’t be a problem, you reply with a wink. Bomb’ll tear through the barrier too. Magic, remember? Your fellow Mox freezes like a statue before nearly keeling over with hushed laughter!
“Godsdamned idiots, the lot of ‘em..” He mutters through his mask, “Them and their precious magic…”
>CONTD.
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