Shroud of the Avatar

I must admit, I question the concept of owning and training a dragon. On the one hand, it seems quite fulfilling; having a companion that can smite enemies from above and swoop down with vicious intent. However, what if said dragon decides to bite the hand that feeds it? Is there still a hand? To that end, what do dragons eat? From my encounters, their diet seems to consist of Outlanders. Further, where does one take a dragon in order for it to handle it’s privy duties in private?

That aside, I met up with Alley to take her pet dragon out for a stroll in Nightshade Pass. The majestic creature needed to spread it wings and take a refreshing bathe in the accompanying pond.

The jocular times were interrupted by that troublesome troll that lives by the bridge. It seems dragons do not take kindly to disturbances to bath time and the troll was turned into a smelly, grumbling plaything.

Standing to the side, I watched in both horror and amusement as Alley’s dragon rained down some fiery vengeance. The fire blast to the eyes was horrific to witness but satisfying to behold.

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No, we shant interfere. The troll brought this upon himself. Bath time is sacred for all of us and he must learn his lesson.

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I’m not sure what we are witnessing. I believe that is the golden spotlight of devastation.

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Desperate times indeed. The troll is winding up to throw a haymaker. Wait, my mistake, he’s trying to hit one dragon with two large stones.

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

After my glorious victory in the epic battle against Xavara the File Pillar, I returned to Desolis to claim my reward. While allowing the citizenry to congratulate me on ridding them of such a menace, I was approached by one of the local officials to inquite if I might be  lend my assistance in another matter.

These Desolis folks take their desert quite seriously and a band of roughs known and the Atavists have been roaming the dunes, leaping out from behind rocks and stabbing unsuspecting travelers with pitchforks. Since Xavara had fallen at the hands of my sword, perhaps I could point it toward these unsavory types?

With my new found fiery companion, I marched straight out into the desert and demanded satisfaction for the ill the Atavists had wrought.

My reply came in the form of a pitchfork to the backside, an act I did not take kindly to. As we all know, plate armor defeats cotton and flaming sword defeats pitchfork. My retaliation was quick, deliberate and riddled with fire. The pitchforks were broken, the citizens punished for their treachery and the roasted pig stolen.

Then matters escalated. Seeing my ill treatment of his followers, the pointy hat wearing big boss made his presence known with an all consuming ring of fire. Little did he know that my daily regimen consists of setting my own self on fire.

It should be noted that those who play with fire should not wear cotton robes. This, along with a flaming sword to the kidney, was the ultimate undoing of the Luminous Atavist. After frisking his smoldering remains for trinkets, I yet again returned to Desolis to regale all those who wished to listen and many who didn’t, of my great exploits and how they were now safe to roam the desert wastelands as they see fit.

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Now see here. If you’re about to launch a series of fireballs at my person, I give you fair warning, I shant take kindly to such actions and will be forced to retaliate. This will end in one of us begging for mercy.

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No mercy given! I’m just glad it was you asking. I had my doubts there for a few moments.

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

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Come Windy. If we are to face the hazards of the purveyors of evil and rapscallions of ill repute, we must fortify ourselves in mind and body. Since the mind portion is most likely a lost cause at this juncture, at least we can prepare the body.

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

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More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

Let us just move past all the broken bones and carnage strewn across the mountain side, as well as the multitude of failed attempts that lead to extended convalescence under the care of a local healer; slipping between the borders of madness and sobriety. Let us also look past the poor weapon and armor choices, inappropriate skill management and miscalculations with the business end of a sword.

Instead, it is time to bask in the glorious defeat of that fiery harpy known as Xavara. It may have only happened once, but it counts, and I’m accepting the reward.

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Yes my little mud buddy, I know you did most of the work with your mighty ground pulverizing punches. I also agree that things would have gone more smoothly had I not fallen headlong into the sulphur plumes on those first few attempts. In my defense, it was dark. But in the end I did offer up a few critical strikes and managed not to fall off the cliff, so double victory in my book.

I would regale you with more riveting details of the epic struggle, but I’m quite sure I need to visit a healer as that last crushing body slam has take a debilitating toll on my person and I’ve lost all feeling in my body.

More brilliant musings about my adventures in New Britannia

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