Battle not with Monsters
Take a seat and let me spin a yarn about a place that’s every bit as strange as it sounds – the burg called Battle Not With Monsters. Right in the heart of the bleeding chaos, nestled in a valley on the ever-shifting Plain of Infinite Portals, lies this miserable burg with a magic so twisty it’ll have a body turnin’ into the very thing they most detest.
Now, if you find yerself with a bloodlust that needs quenchin’, you’d be hard-pressed to find a more suitable place. Picture a town where every kill you make has a little extra somethin’ to it. Aye, every poor sod you off, a piece of their soul clings to you, startin’ a slow, sick dance of fusion, mergin’ and twistin’ until ye can’t tell where you end and they begin. It’s a proper kaleidoscope of souls, swirlin’ around a basher. Every kill brings you one step closer to the brink, a precipice where the self teeters on the edge of oblivion.
Let me paint ye a picture of the locals – tanar’ri they be, and no less than the cream of the crop when it comes to embodyin’ chaos and evil. Oh, they ain’t there for the weather, no sir. They’re drawn like moths to a flame, on account of the whole soul-mergin’ deal, I reckon. Travellers who have the misfortune to stop here find themselves in a vicious cycle, slowly but surely turnin’ into tanar’ri themselves, their every good intention unravelin’ thread by thread until nothin’ remains but the primal urge to destroy, to consume, to become the very embodiment of chaos and evil.
Now, let’s talk about the bloke who started this whole sorry burg – a sod by the name of Kovakz (nabassu tanar’ri [he/him] / CE), a one-time prime ranger who had a deep-seated hatred for tanar’ri — right until he turned into one, that is. A proper lesson in irony, don’t ye think? He’s the mastermind behind this abomination of a town, and now he sits back and watches with glee as folks come in and fall prey to the vile magic that pervades the place, transformin’ into their worst nightmares, one kill at a time. He’s seen it all, from noble knights to self-righteous priests, all fallin’ down the same dark path, a parade of misery and betrayal, a never-endin’ cycle of hatred and revenge, a dance macabre where every step leads to damnation.
If you ask me, there ain’t nothin’ good waitin’ for you in Battle Not With Monsters. Remember, when you gaze into the Abyss, the Abyss also gazes right back into you. It’s not just a burg, it’s a bloody warnin’, so take heed, cutter, take heed.
Source: Greg Jensen and Jon Winter-Holt, Mimir.net
