From the Cellar: GoW Tales of Nail-Biting Suspense

As I awoke, stretching the slumber from my still aching limbs, the sun was not near as present as I expected. It seemed that the clouds had dominated the early morning battle and the sun was in retreat behind a wall of fog. The thought of clouds too drunk from the mead of victory to rise to their rightful place in the heavens brought a rare smile to my oft somber face.

As I fed my minions, I checked my map, an easy purchase from a questionable merchant I had stumbled upon many years ago. Krystara stretched out before me and it appeared my path would lead me straight into the heart of Whitehelm. A shudder ran through me as I thought of this land of golden temples. A beautiful sight that every adventurer in Krystara should see for themselves, yet filled with zealots, far too judgemental of foreigners for my liking. Ridding my mind of the xenophobic thoughts, lest I be as bad as they, I called to my minions and we began our trek.

It did not take long, once I crossed into Whitehelm proper, before I felt the presence coming towards me. A zealot for sure, from his posture, I could tell he was intent on a fight. I tried to pierce the veil of mist still hanging, to spy what troops he had in tow, but I could not. As I moved closer, the fog shifted slightly and a head stretched out towering high above, then another… and finally two more heads joined the throng. It was a Hydra! Or so I thought…

I kept looking for other minions, but none seemed to appear. Was this Protector of Whitehelm guarding the border with only a Hydra? As I closed within fighting distance I got a better glimpse of the Hydra before me. Each head was a glistening pale blue framed by a pure white mane, teeth, too many to count, gnashing in anticipation of the feast to come. I smiled for a second time thinking how odd this Hydra looked, almost as though it were bred of Celestasia…

And as if I had the power of the Djiinn, my thoughts giving life to the horrible truth, the drunken clouds finally cleared, mocking me as they departed. Before me stood not a single Hydra but four Celestasia! I had made the primal mistake in underestimating my opponent, he had managed to raise an entire brood of Celestasia and less my eyes deceive me again, they had attained Mythic status under his able tutelage.

Praying to watever gods were listening, I stepped forward, hoping that this Whitehelm Guardian would stand by their chivalry and offer me the opening swing of our unavoidable bout. As I approached, he gestured. A simple, slight move of the hand that was both a salutation and invitation to begin. Offering no pleasantries of my own, I charged.

I knew that if I allowed but one of his dragons to strike, my fate would be sealed. Their ability to fuel one another is frightening to say the least. Fortunately, fate smiled on me. There was mana abound that morning and it leant itself to my cause. As I drew forth the raw power from the earth, my Valkyrie ascended, pulling from the clouds she cast her spell, quickly filling both my Giant Spider and Sunweaver with power. As they split left and right, repectively to flank the dragon horde, my Keeper of Souls continued the charge. As he closed the final gap, my Spider struck filling my Keeper just as he swung. From that point on my Keeper transformed into a dervish of death and destruction. Every blow he landed tore flesh from the Celestasia before him and tore mana from Krystara feeding either Valkyrie or the Giant Spider, who fueled the onslaught. Sunweaver played her part well, biding her time for the right moment to re-charge my Keeper, but the opportunity never presented itself.

A few moments later, my minions back in tow, I stepped past the Protector of Whitehelm, weeping over the four shattered bodies of his once mighty brood. I looked up and saw that the sun had come out to watch my battle. Hopefully this victory would be the sign of a very bright day to come.

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