Posts from 🦊 Планета Флерантор, осколки человечества 🦊 Auto-translation in progress

“Something seems suspiciously simple,” thought Aristarchus, but he remained silent.

“And what does this lady look like? Describe her so I don’t mistake her for someone else...”

Unexpectedly, Clarissa’s gaze softened.

“Are you afraid?” asked the warden. “And rightly so. Even I am terrified of her. But don’t show your weakness to her—it will only provoke her. As for her name… she is Syren.”

It seemed that Clarissa didn’t intend to continue the conversation.

Sarabas approaches Grandpa and finds Ida already giving a lengthy speech there.

- Yo, Grandpa. Lady needs some time to gather her thoughts; listen to me for now, I'll tell you an epic tale.

There once lived a very weak warrior who disliked women intensely – he saw them as vile, inferior creatures, and the mere thought of physical intimacy with them made him nauseous. He felt such revulsion that it was as if ants were crawling on his veins, as if he faced the prospect of having a centipede living in his ear canal and eating live cockroaches. At their sight, he would frown so severely that his eyebrows eventually fused together. Then, he decided he needed to leave human society lest something terrible happen to him.

He went into caves – cold and dark, but free from this scourge. It was hard for him to live there, and he could only rely on himself. And whatever little he managed to acquire or craft was stolen by a mischievous snow fox. He was angry at her and tried for a long time to catch her, but all in vain – she was too agile; how could a weak warrior compete with such a nimble creature? But this strange acquaintance was not a curse but a blessing because through this peculiar interaction with the fluffy prankster, he didn’t go insane.

Over the years, the warrior grew accustomed to cave life, strengthened his spirit, matured physically, and filled his inventory with epic crafts – no one would recognize him now. However, this transformation did not bring him joy – the fox stopped visiting him. Why? Perhaps she simply got tired of him, which is sad, but at least she's safe and sound. But what if it wasn't like that, and the reason was completely different, more tragic and sad? This question troubled the warrior, and it became his reason to explore those parts of the underworld where no human foot had yet stepped.

In his search, he twisted off the head of a minotaur – a giant with a human body and a bull's head, made soup from a chimera – a monster stitched together from a lion, goat, and snake, wrapped gorgon hair around his fist – a monster whose hair consisted of snakes; he accomplished many feats, but when he finally found his fox, he was badly wounded – everyone knew he didn't have much time left. The fox was upset by this situation and asked the warrior what he wanted in his last moments. What he answered, no one alive can say – his words remained behind the dark veil of historical oblivion, but on that day, the fox turned into a beautiful human woman, and then she drowned in his snow-white desire – just as her fur once was. Or perhaps he drowned in her soft fur, resting both soul and body from the hardships of mortal life...? Bards and historians disagree about this! But the truth is that in his final moments, the long-standing anger that ruled the warrior’s heart finally subsided, but soon he himself faded away, leaving only a skeleton with a fractured pelvis. And what about the fox? With a flash of her golden eyes, she disappeared into the annals of history like a ghost roaming everywhere, continuing her great hunt.

Days, weeks, months, years, decades will pass, and one day, a descendant of that fox and that warrior will appear at your doorstep, and their words will tell the story of their shared past... He will place his hand on your shoulder - Sarabas places his hand on Grandpa's shoulder - and say "thank you for loving foxes," "thank you for opening your heart to our memories."

The fighters, led by a cunning grenadier, reach their destination. Before them lies the following sight: in the middle of the northern forest, something incomprehensible indeed rises.
– A huge crystal? – wondered swordsman 3. – Could this be the work of killer crystals?

– It's possible.

Their conversation is interrupted by mountain monsters rushing from all sides and with all their tentacles to help the formation.

THE BATTLE BEGINS

Round I

Snow Ratodon chooses position x4
Snow Ratodon moves x4
Ice Eye moves x3



Turn order:

Snow Ratodon [20] (35/35)
Snow Ratodon [20] (35/35)
Snow Ratodon [20] (35/35)
Snow Ratodon [20] (35/35)
Ice Eye [10] (40/40)
Ice Eye [10] (40/40)
Ice Eye [10] (40/40)
Gristle [10] (70/70) <<<
Swordsman [10] (90/90)
Swordsman [10] (90/90)
Swordsman [10] (90/90)
Swordsman [10] (90/90)

Is there free swapping between weapons? Can I move across cells with forests?

Yes. No

deals 50 damage in an area of 3x3 with a fixed accuracy of 100% and a range of 3.

Is the range calculated from the center or the edge?

Grandfather took a liking to Sarabas's story. Perhaps because it possessed a certain depth, or perhaps because they both loved chanterelles.

Sarabas takes the prize, but Ide has nothing to worry about: Deros has more.

Receipt for 30 barter points x1

Unexpectedly, Clarissa's gaze softened.

"Are you afraid?" asked the warden. "And rightly so. Even I am terrified of her. But don't show her your weakness; it will only provoke her further. As for the name… she is Syryn."

It seemed that Clarissa didn't intend to continue the conversation.

- Understood...

Aristarch takes the package and heads to the indicated location.

Do we measure the range from the center or to the edge?

Center.

Grandfather liked Sarabas's story. Maybe because it had a certain depth, or maybe because they both loved foxes.

Sarabas takes the prize, but Ide has nothing to worry about: Deros still has some left.

Receipt for 30 barter points x1

- Thank you very much!
After saying goodbye to his grandfather, the narrator places another hand on his colleague's shoulder.
- Good luck, I believe in you!
Showing her two thumbs up as a final gesture, Sarabas heads to the quiz.

Gorus silently examined the body of the ambitious gachi fighter, paused for a moment, and finally nodded.

"Choose an opponent, warrior!"

There were three glorious names to choose from:

1) Tisa Gentong
2) Mad Ratodon
3) Old Ol'dy

... Woman, animal, old man. Which battle will be more honorable, and which defeat less shameful?
After thinking for a bit, Tsulak chooses the first option. Is this queen as good as the peasants sing about?

Aristarch reaches the right tent... with difficulty. For some unknown reason, his mind becomes clouded when he tries to find his way, and only thanks to Clarissa's precise directions does the clumsy student manage to reach his destination. Inside, however, he is met by... chaos.
A beautiful woman sat on the edge of the bed and idly watched as a dozen naked men tried to carve a statue out of white stone. The work had just begun, so it was not yet possible to determine who the statue depicted. But the eccentric architects moved unnaturally, as if someone were controlling their movements. An unknown aura emanated from the woman. Attractive and dangerous. This aura tormented the body and mind, causing an irresistible desire to become something greater. For example, a doormat for the beautiful stranger.

"On your knees."

The woman's gentle voice addressed Aristarch.

Zaya

In another part of the fighters' settlement, Zaya and her kin are returning home. A hall of impressive size served as home for such a large family – a dwelling worthy of a lineage of great warriors. Brothers and sisters quickly vanish out of sight, so as not to strain the narrative budget and their dear father's eyes, and Zaya is left one-on-one with her progenitor. 

– Daughter, I understand everything... – Medvedson began in a decidedly uncomprehending tone, – but why on earth do you need that bookworm? Reading books for you is the only thing he's good for. Storn came by to see me. Complained about you. Says he's lost two sturdy gurps because of your letters. How many times must I repeat it, daughter. Gurps are for exchanging information between clans, not for lovey-dovey nonsense. 

The father looked sternly at his daughter. He wasn't angry, but he was clearly displeased. Medvedson, a warrior of the clan and a respected fighter. And his daughter hadn't even earned the rank of novice! And on top of that, she loves bookworms!

Unfortunately, Zaya couldn't formulate any coherent answer, so she instinctively resorted to the weapon women have used to get their way for thousands of years.
🥺 😣 😖 😫 😢 😭 

A loud wail echoed throughout the hall. And Zaya could cry like nobody's business.

- DADDY I LOVE HIM! COME ON, DADDY! DAD! - the girl hugs her father while continuing to wail.  

A beautiful woman sat on the edge of the bed, idly watching as a dozen naked men tried to carve a statue out of white stone. The work had only just begun, so it was not yet possible to tell who the statue depicted. But the eccentric architects moved unnaturally, as if someone were controlling their movements. An unknown aura emanated from the woman. Alluring and dangerous. This aura tormented body and mind, arousing an irresistible desire to become something greater. For example, a doormat for the beautiful stranger's feet.

– On your knees. 

The woman's gentle voice addressed Aristarchus.

What a bitch! I step away to do some WORK for a day, and some hag is already trying to whisk him away! 😠

“What kind of devilry is this? Witchcraft? I didn’t know humans could cast spells… Or maybe this isn’t a human at all?” thought Aristarchus.

– I presume you are Syrin? – addressed the apprentice to the lady.