From the other side of the room, the clash of wood on steel rang out. With his buckler, Griff bashed a pale elf with icy-blue hair under the nameplate [MuthrTruckr43]. The battered wood of his shield rasped against her gritty Fulgurite armor, taking only a sliver of her red Health bar with it. At the same time, Kaz darted in and took her knees out with his Legendary Meat Tenderizer, bellowing his now-famous war cry as the hit landed, “FOR SALT!” Another handful of red drained from her bar.
Alone, neither strike did much damage, but Kaz and Griff had been wearing the elf down the whole time Roark was fighting MILFenwyn, and now MuthrTruckr43 was down to less than five percent of her red bar.
The elf swung her sparking, frost-enchanted zwiehander in a huge arc at Griff, the weapon’s blade edge glimmering with deadly streaks of golden magick. The weapon trainer ducked under it, bashing the blade this time with his buckler, then striking out with his much faster shortsword. Griff’s weapon wasn’t fancy like the pale elf’s. It was pitted, worn, and ugly. But it was damned effective, especially in Griff’s sure hands. The pale elf grunted as the weapon trainer’s blade found its mark in her lower belly, between plates of gritty gray armor. Her Health bar flashed out a critical warning.
“Got one here for ya, Griefer,” Griff hollered, slipping away before she could retaliate, leaving an opening wide enough for Roark to drive a horse cart through—or a Young Turtle Dragon. “Ripe for the pickin’.”
Roark nodded at Mac. His scaly companion rippled and went invisible once more.
Just as the elf was staggering to her feet, eight hundred pounds of beak, claw, and scales slammed into her, throwing her onto her back. Roark was by Mac’s side in a heartbeat, cutting away the last of the elf’s life with a few deft strokes. Her Health bar flashed out a warning, then emptied as she died.
“What was that?” Griff asked, wiping his shortsword clean on his pants. “Twelve heroes today, all over level 30?”
“Thirteen,” Kaz said. “But none can stand up to the Legendary Meat Tenderizer’s Shank o’ Lamb attack.”
“Aye,” Griff said appreciatively, “Knocks ’em right off their feet.”
In truth, killing so many heroes, especially at their relatively high levels, was a truly impressive feat. The dungeon was attracting far deadlier heroes than ever as its fame grew and spread, and if not for the teleporting plate system—which automatically sorted the heroes, breaking up their carefully balanced parties—they likely would’ve been ground into the dust by now. But Roark was realizing that the greatest weakness of these heroes was their inability to “solo,” a term he’d learned from Griff. Most of the various hero classes were so specialized that they required support of one sort or another, so breaking their teams up and forcing them to contend against a superior force alone almost seemed unfair.
Which was precisely the reason Roark liked the tactic.
The portal plate sizzled and cast the room in blue light as it dumped another hero into the Keep. A level 31 Arboreal Druid.
“Back to work, boys,” Griff barked, swinging his shortsword.
“For Roark! For the Cruel Citadel! FOR SALT!” Kaz charged, Meat Tenderizer raised high.
“Oh, shit!” The Arboreal Druid threw up his palms. Brambles and roots shot up between the cracks of the flagstones, whipping around the Knight Thursr and anchoring him in place.
Roark cast Infernal Torment, the flames licking up through the Druid’s flesh. He screamed and grabbed for a Health potion, losing concentration on the thicket spell. The vines withered and Kaz tore free, rushing toward the Druid once more.
Green light flared and the vines and thorns from the thicket spell shot through the air, converging on the Druid to become thorny armor. During Kaz’s charge, Griff had snuck around back, but as his shortsword lashed out, a whip of vines shot out of the Druid’s armor, smacking the blade away. Kaz attacked, but a branch as thick as a full-grown tree erupted from the armor, handily blocking the Meat Tenderizer’s crushing blow.
“Woohoo!” cheered the Druid. “I knew that Command Plants would eventually come in handy! In your face, Darren, wherever you are!”
While Kaz and Griff traded blows with the Druid’s plant-armor, Roark pulled out his Initiate’s Spell Book and scribbled [All plant matter within a ten-foot radius catches fire and burns to ash] in one of his empty level 6 spell slots.
The spell took, Hearthworld’s unknown magical rules assigning its values:
[Congratulations, you have inscribed Forest Fire in the Initiate’s Spell Book!
Forest Fire can be cast (1) time per inscription!
Base Damage: 120 HP to anyone in contact with plant matter, +10 Fire Damage/sec until blaze burns out.
Cooldown period between casting Forest Fire and re-inscription: (2) hours!]
Griff battled with a series of tentacle-like vine whips while Kaz smashed pieces off of a branch that kept regrowing despite his best efforts.
Roark took advantage of the distraction to creep within range and cast the Forest Fire spell.
Flames erupted from the Druid’s plant armor with a huge whoomph, black smoke rising in a plume. It burned merrily while the Druid ran around screaming counter spells, but none could touch the conflagration. Within minutes, his red bar had burned down to nothing and he dropped to the floor, a charred, smoldering corpse.
An ascending chime rang through the air.
LEVEL UP!
Final Form
THE SOUND OF DRIVING war drums filled the room and Roark was engulfed in a cloud of roiling amethyst smoke, followed by a short prompt.
[You have reached Level 36! You may choose to Evolve into a Jotnar Exarch or a Jotnar Infernali!
Warning: Troll Evolution is irrevocable. Once an evolutionary path has been selected, a Troll cannot change to another path. Select “Yes” to choose the Exarch path; select “No” to choose the Infernali path.
Note: The Exarch path is the primary evolutionary path of the Jotnar, and those who select Infernali do so at their own risk! Unlike the Exarch evolution, each Infernali evolution is unique and based entirely on the individual Jotnar; spells, skills, and appearance all may vary.
Evolve into Level 36 Jotnar Exarch? Yes/No]
Roark read and reread the message, making sure he understood what it was saying. After a third read, he seriously considered selecting the Exarch form. He’d seen Azibek, the former Dungeon Lord, in action, and that Exarch had been an impressive creature to behold. True, it was possible the Infernali would be even better, but from the sound of things, it might also be worse.
Did he take the sure bet, or roll the dice as he had so often before, hoping for a greater return?
He thought about it for a moment longer, worrying on one lip, before finally selecting “No.” He was the underdog—had always been the underdog—and playing it safe wasn’t the way to victory. As soon as he selected “No,” arcs of magenta electricity crackled through the cloud, giving off the scent of molten metal and hot slag.
Time seemed to lurch and slow as a new prompt appeared, this one different from any other prompt he’d seen before. An image of himself floated in the air, rotating slowly, and next to the ghostly image were a variety of horizontal bars with words floating above them: height, weight, skin tone, hair, tattoos. On and on they went. Experimentally he tweaked a few of the bars; his eyebrows rose sharply as the floating image before him shifted and changed. His skin lightning or darkening. His tattoos glowing in different colors, shifting in design and form—though perhaps not in function. His hair growing longer, shorter, changing color.
Seven hells, he could actually choose what he wanted to look like, at least within limits. He couldn’t become human, but after a little tweaking and adjusting he looked far closer to himself than he had in ages. His skin was skill unnaturally pale, but with a tinge of olive he could almost pass for human. He adjusted his hair and played with his facial features until they were more or less in the right proportions—deep-set, brooding eyes, slightl
y hooked nose, sharp jaw—though he couldn’t get rid of the serrated black teeth in his mouth. The wings behind his back no longer looked like crippled, shriveled things, but fully functioning appendages. He added a few glowing runic tattoos and some barbed spikes along the edges, which seemed like they might prove deadly.
Roark examined himself for a long beat, fairly satisfied with the new look. Intimidating. Deadly. Human, but more. Better. With a final thought of Zyra, he added a set of curling horns to his head, similar to hers though bigger, more pronounced. With a thought he hit accept.
[As a Jotnar Infernali you have unlocked your ultimate race ability!
Hearthworld is a sprawling planet filled with many varieties of deadly Infernali and Malaika chimera, and each of those chimera—from the lowliest Dungeon Troll to the exalted NecroDragon of the Deamonhold Deeps—has a variety of unique powers, special abilities, and spells accessible only by their specific creature class. Each power, special ability, or spell falls into one of eight categories: Transmutation, Infernal/Divine Conjurations, Otherworldly Elementalism, Necromantic Shackling/Divine Resurrection, the Art of Glittering Eyes, Shadow/Light Binding, and Wounding Power.
As a Jotnar Infernali (Subclass Hexorcist) of the highest order with a thirst for knowledge and magical prowess, you have earned the right to select (2) Infernali Grimoires, which will bind with your Initiate’s Spell Book. When you interact with other chimera of Hearthworld, be they Infernal or Divine, you have a 25% chance to learn any unique powers, special abilities, or spells they use in your presence—so long as the power, special ability, or spell falls within one of the two classifications you have chosen! Once learned, you will be able to cast those restricted abilities as regular spells! But be warned: Once chosen, your Grimoires cannot be changed. Please choose (2) Grimoires from the list below:
Change Yourself, Change Your Friends, Change the World: Transmutation Tricks
Conjurers’ Field Guide to Summoned Chimera: Gotta Catch ’Em All!
Harnessing the Arcane Elements: Which Arcane Power is Right for You? (All of Them!)
Raising Your Loved Ones or Enslaving the Dead - You Decide!
Skin Deep: The Art of Glamorous Makeovers
Embracing the Darkness Inside! Goth Teen Edition
Tome of Wounding: That will Show ’Em who’s Boss!]
Roark quickly scanned the titles—they were quite strange for mystic grimoires of supposedly untold power, but then Hearthworld was a strange place—reading over the brief description that accompanied each book. They didn’t reveal much, and this seemed like a large decision he did not want to take lightly.
If he was understanding this correctly, he would be able to learn restricted abilities from some of the most powerful creatures in Hearthworld. That could be a tremendous edge, especially considering the fact that he was about to broker a deal with a handful of powerful Dungeon Lords. Dungeon Lords with unique abilities that he might well be able to pilfer for himself. But what to choose?
He quickly ruled out Embracing the Darkness Inside—the idea of a Shadowmancer just felt used somehow—and Tome of Wounding he skipped past, since he already had some very formidable damage-oriented spells as a Hexorcist. Likewise, Harnessing the Arcane Elements seemed like a skill set he could replicate with his current powers. Raising Your Loved Ones or Enslaving the Dead - You Decide! had some appeal, true, but the idea of necromancy, no matter how powerful it might be, simply didn’t sit well with him; as a noble of Traisbin, one of his family’s primary jobs had been to ensure that the dead stayed dead and enjoyed a peaceful afterlife. He couldn’t in good conscience dabble in such dark arts.
That left him with three books to choose from:
Change Yourself, Change Your Friends, Change the World: Transmutation Tricks—Turn your skin to literal stone, petrify insolent would-be upstarts, grow a set of fangs and fur. Need a few party tricks? Well, turn your assistant into a bunny, or turn yourself into one for that matter! The art of physical, transformative magic!
Conjurers’ Field Guide to Summoned Chimera: Gotta Catch ’Em All—Who doesn’t need a little help once in a while? Well, as a summoner you can get as many helping hands as you need—though be warned, a summoned monster may also help themselves to a bite out of you!
Skin Deep: The Art of Glamorous Makeovers—Reality is vastly overrated, and though you might not be able to change it, you can certainly put a better face on it. Illusions and Glamours for the win!
Though all were good options, he ultimately decided to go with Transmutation Tricks and Glamourous Makeovers. Illusion magic was powerful stuff, and his own limited ability to cast glamours had already been invaluable. Without his ability to pass as human, he never would’ve gained the ability to leave his dungeon, infiltrate Averi City, recruit Griff, or form the Troll Marketplace. Expanding on that ability seemed like the logical next step with potentially unlimited benefits. Transmutation Tricks, on the other hand, he chose because physical magic and raw strength were his weakest areas as a Jotnar Infernali. Augmenting a potential shortcoming was always a wise course of action.
With his choices made, he accepted all changes and dismissed the text.
Time resumed its normal flow in a rush. His black hair whipped around his face, which twisted and shifted, adjusting to the proportions he’d input. His muscles strengthened, and his body elongated. His head pounded as if his skull were about to crack open, and horns burst forth from his scalp, curling and growing. The purple tattoos of power twining up his arms and shoulders pulsed in time with the war drums as Roark felt the bones in his wings stretch and twist, gaining solidity and wicked spikes. The membrane between them caught a gust of sweltering air, and suddenly Roark realized he was aloft. He twitched a muscle deep in his shoulders, and the wings answered easily, raising him higher.
He was flying.
Slowly, the war drums faded, and the smoke cleared. The smell of molten metal was driven away by the stink of burnt flesh and wood.
Roark folded his wings, dropping to the floor awkwardly. That would take some practice, it seemed.
Kaz was staring open-mouthed, and Griff was nodding in appreciation at Roark’s Final Evolution. Neither spoke.
Something crunched behind Roark.
He turned to find Mac munching his way through the charred corpse’s ankle, completely unconcerned with the dramatic display. As if realizing he was being watched, the Young Turtle Dragon looked up at Roark guiltily, crunched through one final bone, then leaned back his head and shook the now dismembered foot down his gullet.
Roark grinned. “I can fly.”
“Roark can fly!” Kaz boomed, clapping.
“Can you actually fly?” Griff asked, scratching his chin. “The way Heralds can fly? Or can you just glide?”
Roark’s mind flashed back to Azibek the Cruel. The Jotnar Exarch had been able to leap into the air and flap his wings, staying aloft for a few moments before slamming back down to earth. But was that the same thing as the sustained flight of the Heralds? He wasn’t sure.
Roark opened his mystic grimoire to the character page.
╠═╦╬╧╪
╠═╦╬╧╪
WHAT A CHANGE.
Griff had been right to push him to achieve his final evolution. Roark’s stats had shot skyward. His speed had increased dramatically, both his Health and Magicka levels were untouchable, and every other measurable ability had increase by an order of magnitude that bordered on incomprehensible. He could now deal 1225 damage, and his Critical Hit Chance had increased to twenty-two percent, while his Critical Hit Damage had swollen from two hundred percent to two hundred and fifty percent! His Stunning Blow Chance had increased by two percent as well, and he was now seventy-five percent resistant against normal weapons.
And most impressive of all? Not only did he see the two grimoires added to his special skills, but he’d also earned an ability called Ariel Wing ...
He closed the character page with a flick of his hand and offere
d Griff a deadly grin. “No, mate. I can actually fly.”
He gave a few hardy pumps of the great leathery appendages, lifting from the ground while wind swirled around his feet.
“Well, that will be one hell of a tactical advantage,” Griff said, returning the grin.
“And founding the settlement will be our strategic advantage. Let’s go.” Roark stowed his slender rapier and headed for the throne room, shouting at a passing Thursr Knight, “Heroes in the foyer who need to be looted and marked for griefing.”
From the Dungeon Lord’s throne, Roark sent messages to all of the skill trainers, Variok, Zyra, and Mai to meet him in the throne room. He’d already bound the arrivals to his cause as Greater Vassals, utilizing his World Stone Authority, and now the lot of them—including Roark, Kaz, and Griff—would make up the eleven senior officers required to found a settlement.
As the others drifted in, part of Roark wondered whether Zyra would show. Since the feast, it seemed like she had been avoiding him, hiding out in her laboratory.
But she stalked in last with the Herblore trainer Griff had recruited, a bent, warty little hag leaning on a Gnarled Root Staff.
“What’s all the hubbub, Dungeon L...” Zyra began, her tone sashaying along the line of impertinence, as always. But when her gaze landed on him, the words died on her tongue. Her hood followed his lean form up to the freshly minted horns curling around his head. Though Roark couldn’t see her face, he imagined her jaw had dropped in disbelief. “You’ve Evolved ...” She trailed off. “Jotnar Infernali,” she finished in a near whisper.
Roark grinned. He couldn’t resist a little teasing. “Careful, your awe is showing.”
Zyra shook her head. “My shock, more like. I honestly never thought I’d see the day,” she claimed, though she didn’t sound at all displeased.
“Tell that to your voice,” Roark returned, smirking. “Because it sounds bloody damned impressed with someone.” This gained him the rare dusky laugh from the hooded Reaver. Satisfied, he turned to face the gathered officers of his new settlement. “And that’s not the only good news. We meet all the prerequisites. All that’s left is to sign our charter. Then we can begin to build.”
Troll Nation Page 17