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+5 to Strength
+1000 experience
+5 to Strength, Endurance, Dexterity, Perception, or Luck (determined randomly)
Scout
Effect for males: Dexterity or Perception (randomly).
+5 to Intelligence
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Reflecting on the literature he had recently absorbed, Kline leisurely walked home at a pace of 15 km/h. He even came up with the idea to definitely finish the Imperial Archive, in order to compile a ten-point rating of the Aruals in an encrypted diary. Immersing himself in the rich history of his current home turned out to be quite an interesting pastime. Especially when the description of his own homeland, spanning 1200 pages, fit neatly into just one and a half lines. And yet, one could tell no less about the glorious, distant Kridear than about the hundred and fiftieth bath robe of yet another Majesty.
Chiding himself for his proud thoughts, the knight, out of habit, involuntarily shook his head, and at that moment the ground beneath his feet swayed along with him. Successfully channeling his Endurance, Kline managed to stay on his feet and even turn around. A black cloud of hopeless madness, burning with furious hatred, swept across the capital, lifting mountains of urban debris, construction dust, and street sand into the air. The tail of a hell-dragon swept away an anonymous shop at the far end of the street. A crumpled sign, like a paper airplane, eagerly soared upwards along a whimsical trajectory. One of its wings, like a butcher's knife, sliced through the roof of someone's lovingly built home. The flimsy wooden structure plummeted downwards, burying the first floor and the workers leisurely sipping coffee beneath it. The tail of a bizarre infernal comet scorched the rainy autumn clouds with infernal flames, rushing after its rapidly descending master.
A moment later, the devastating shadow disappeared behind the hunched silhouettes of the residential buildings. An oppressive, anxious silence enveloped the surrounding space. The gust of hot wind caused by the meteor's flight struck his back with force, pushing the involuntary onlookers behind him towards the probable epicenter. And then, above the highest rooftops, a stream of dark blue-black, hopeless energy soared into the sky. It seemed as if everything around was absorbed by absolute darkness for a second. Kline didn't need night vision, but even a death knight involuntarily lost himself in the flash of all-consuming malice.
As quickly as it came, the night soon gave way to a burgeoning day, but the spectacle staged over Margel showed no signs of ending. Following the flash of dark matter, the ground shook again beneath his feet, this time so strongly that the knight fell to one knee. The deafening roar of the comet's fall, mixed with a unrestrained, bestial roar, spread through the surroundings with icy horror. A hail of broken glass littered the pavement, leaving deep cuts on the bodies of the people thrown back by the shock wave. The smartest of them somehow managed to get to their feet and, limping, ran away. Others, buried in glass, boards, and collapsed stone, showed no signs of life.
The fiery stream of not hopeless, but quite ordinary flame energy, caused by the rapid flight of the celestial body through the Earth's atmosphere, spread in demonic waves in all four directions from the point of impact. Fortunately, the buildings surrounding the center in a dense formation took on the brunt of the raging elements, managing with only charred walls and broken windows. Those who were caught in the blast while stuck in one of the narrow alleys of the capital were less fortunate. A madly screaming man ran past Kline, his entire left half charred like an overcooked crust. Blinded by pain and despair, he continued to open and close his mouth in a senseless manner, like a fish thrown onto the shore, dragging his burnt tongue. On the other side, a wounded woman huddled against a wall, holding both hands to her ears, from which blood flowed profusely.
A new gust of hurricane-force wind swept through the autumn streets, uprooting trees, tearing off roofs, scattering people and animals. Perhaps, the unusual matter of the explosion turned out to be even somewhat salvific for the city: the stream of dark energy, apparently, was entirely focused on the main square, thereby sparing most of the surrounding blocks from the destructive consequences. The faceless shadow, with triumphant flair, once again glided over the bottomless pits in the place of the former roofs, soared in a swift gust into the torn sky, and disappeared from sight. The performance was over.
Even being undead did not save Kline from the chilling numbness that gripped his dead body. Only after a minute of hesitation did he finally decide to head towards the center. Along the way, he helps other equally stunned townspeople pull a child's body from under the rubble. One of the trading streets turns out to be cut off by flames. Indifferently passing through the fiery barrier, Kline draws his Blade and cuts through the tilting cart, after which he pushes the burning debris to the edge of the alley. A small stream of people rushes into the cleared passage from both sides: the wounded on one side, the onlookers on the other. The knight follows the latter.
A charred crater is all that remains of the main square, of the face of the glorious Margel. A black magic-scorched funnel that swallowed all the structures and all the inhabitants. Only two people, in Kline's mind, could have survived this apocalypse, and he is relieved to notice one of them not far from himself. Deciding not to catch the other's eye in such a difficult hour, the knight turns in the other direction around the pit, realizing with each moment that he can no longer help here. At some point, he notices a black, charred hand sticking out from under the rubble at the edge of the crater, but upon closer inspection, he realizes that the hand is all that remains of this unfortunate person. Some vile, unimaginable force has turned an entire area into nothing, and no healing magic has any power here.
Powerlessly clenching his fists, the knight looks around, noticing familiar faces in the thickening crowd. He feels a little better, and his mind begins to be filled with all sorts of questions. "Gray reconnaissance," a familiar inner voice suggests. Someone, but the RSV guys, should know all the secret information, even the information that ordinary characters are not allowed to know. But for some reason, he can't remember the home address that Y left. Damned undead memory! But that's for later. Everything is for later. What if the wild beast returns again? What if it is already circling over the beheaded city, looking for villas and cottages, and...
Resignedly gritting his teeth, the black warrior leaves the mutilated heart of the empire and hurries to return home.
Happy Life
Ple-Sen
