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Batch Hangnail, the imp, shifted impatiently in the hedge, brambles poking at his meaty backside. He wasn't afraid of the dark, certainly. him sleepy, and while others fled the catacombs he snored, to awaken to the terrible voice. No ordinary well was this deep, but Batch already suspected this was no ordinary well.
Table of contents
The Dark Holds a Variety of Depths
Sometimes you just die, no matter how many hate cards you happen to have. Flash forward to First up, we have a Junk-colored list that I personally helped develop:.
- 1. Blurring the Lines between the Natural and Supernatural.
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- The Chocolate Monster (A Ruby Roo Story Book 2).
These combo decks are exceptionally powerful because they are difficult to interact with. Counter magic is bad.
Discard spells are bad. Are they just a Legacy fad or are they here to stay? Let me know in the comments below. Hello Jeff! Although the castle was made to accommodate the aura that radiated within the realm of Wrath, the Garden was one of the few chambers that bore mortal realm semblance.
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In the center was the pool. From either side, there were erected statues of the Demon Queen. In both she was clad in her favorite emerald cape. On her left, was Courage, and to her right, was Will. Courage stood tall and majestic, her cape flinging behind her, wearing her traditional bare attire, wielding her trusted Sinew which was jabbed in bedrock.
To her right, was Will; kneeling, clad in her wicked altered armor, both hands clinging to the hilt, her head pressed on the blade and her body bearing the gashes of vicarious combat; the hot purifying waters seeped through the impaled stone of Courage and through the wounds of Will, meandering down a trenched path that seeped into the pool.
Some time ago, one party of invaders was a clan of mountain dwarves; clan wars are common, and this tribe, being one of the losers, was forced to give away their land and resources to the victor. They invaded her castle in hopes that slaying her might regain their prestige. They charged at her clad in their classical dwarven heavy armor and wielded their cumbersome war hammers and axes. Ten dwarves. It took only a few minutes to dispose of them, her Sinew cutting through them with ease.
Those who still had enough limbs to function properly were resurrected as zombies and given the complex task of building and integrating the statues. Once the structures were finished, she disposed of them for good.
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The Demon Queen always returned the bodies of her victims to their homeland. The realm was already riddled with ghouls and damned to serve in her dungeons. Sending them back in caskets would strike fear in the people and, hopefully, weed out the cowardly elements. Other than the statues, the Garden was ripe with various flora. Red blaze, the typical hell tree: bark as crimson and flaky as dried blood, sprawled branches nurturing scarlet leaves.
Shale rough paths running through the soil which housed the flowers: Iresine Bloodleaves huddled amongst Sedum and Dark Center Poppies. The soil was shoveled straight from the old battlefields; the legion of corpses that had decayed beneath it had made the culture quite rich. The room was a dome. The chandelier illuminated everything. The plant life, the pool, the queen, and the sacred walls.
The walls were decorated with her history, spanning years. Her birth, her training, her trials and conquests neatly painted like holy text. She heard the familiar sound of wings. Etna dropped her bag on the edge of the pool and sat down dipping her feet in the water. Where are we going to start our inspection, if I might ask?
She was looking up at the chandelier, lost in thought.
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Are you not well? She sighed and swam towards her. She heaved herself up and sat next to the little creature. Get my things out. She retrieved a new towel, a set of the same clothing her master used for training but with the addition of her cape. Some sort of alteration enchantment? Not really sure about the magic behind it except that its ancient. Essentially the key locations, the ones that require the most attention.
Dying due to my own fault is always worse. She put on her clothes and slung on her cape. The castle exterior was made of metamorphic granite, smooth dark grey walls sparsely decorated with her draping crimson banner and high erected battlements with stationed ballista. The entrance was high arching to accommodate the more hellish and sizable of visitors with an iron portcullis, the square spacings jagged to prevent small intruders, fairies or shapeshifters, from entering.
Hot oil was prepped to spurt through small machicolations in the walls. Eraanthe had an assortment of minions at her disposal, but when it came to outer guard duty, she tasked the Damned Legion. Undead soldiers clad in tarnished silver plate mail, their faces masked with the image of their long dead king; failing to protect their lord in their waking life, the protectors were exiled to become bandits where they committed unspeakable acts. The authorities captured them in due time and publicly executed them. However, their souls were not for the ocean of Wrath but for Limbo, their essence reserved for the highest caliber of torture; reliving again those days of bloodshed and decay and self-hatred, tormented by apparitions of those they had failed and wronged.
On one of her visits to the threshold, Era took notice of their agony and found a more appropriate punishment for them. To guard her castle for all eternity.
Faint sprays of light passed through the mosaic windows of the main hall. Cubic illustrations of Era, clad in her enchanted armor, fighting, on her throne and many other different poses. Made of glass slates of red and grey tones. The sound of hooves and flapping wings filled the air. The floor, a smooth marble, the walls polished and possessing tight archer venues.
The torches that were connected to the pillars reeked of crude oil. With the daily polish done, the imps, sans Etna, returned to their bed chamber which was an old tower in the back of the castle now converted to a colony. Passing through the ward, the duo reached the entrance. She signaled the Legion to raise the gate. A steep granite bridge ran through the great chasm between the entrance and the Perimeter. The Perimeter spanned only some kilometers in length and served as the primary defense initiative in case any adventurers got this far. It was her guarded section of the forest and the first real trial for any incomers, tall oaken trees huddled together, their long branches extending into one another, allowing only glimmers of light to pass through.
The dark and damp atmosphere was ideal for the Herders; grotesque, stubby little trees that roamed or hid among their taller brethren and bushes. Their twig fingers were sharp as needles and their bark poisonous to the touch. Weak and small, they compensated with their numbers. They spied on them and whispered among themselves as the duo waded through the moist soil paths.
Speak only when spoken to. The only useful flora that grew here was the medicinal Bloodweed and the odd mushrooms, but the rest of the produce was venomous. The berries, the flowers, the other exquisite shrooms. Mild stomach pains at best, total organ failure at worst. Besides Herders, the rest of the creatures that roamed the area were your typical mongrel stock; the occasional lost zombie, the arm length black leeches, carrion crows, exotically azure-black marked vile toads and plague rats.
Eraanthe had little interest in them. She was looking for the guardian of the Perimeter.