Pathfinder: Avengers of Westcrown
“Ready as this audience that’s coming here to dream,
Loving every second, ev’ry moment, ev’ry scream…”
The Devildrome. I didn’t even grow up here and I have looked forward to this.
And it was better than I had expected. So many things added up… The barbarian not knowing what this even was… Motýl’s attire… It was great before it actually started. And how fame talks in this city… I decided that I needed to acquire some of my own.
Mages- especially summoners- are squishy. It’s almost like summoning big things makes them feel better about how squishy they are. Even when they’ve summoned, they’re still squishy- I keep glancing back with Motýl every now and then just because it’s fun. They summon something big and tough, enough that they feel that it makes up for their shortcomings in life, and we need not break a sweat to finish it? They have every right to be afraid.
I think that I could enjoy the spotlight, from time to time. I channeled my power all around me to take care of this stupid overgrown slime… Apparently Shadowblade hadn’t “ninja-ed” around as well as he should have and also got hit, as I found out afterwards, but a man who calls himself by Shadow cannot complain when he is not seen. The crowd cared much more about the evil energy. And then they saw the blinding flashes as my weapon connected. They saw when I called upon demonic strength to hit a foe that… simply made a plinking sound after any other attack. I wasn’t just “that guy with Motýl” anymore… And they noticed more when I tackled the reigning champion, a Wundras, who tragically stepped out of his squishy little summoner element and into a “real” fight.
I’m fond enough of our Wundras, but… The rest, as I understand, deal with magic, racism, and narcissism. By the time that I had finished this thought, our Wundras had attacked, and I was already moving in to tackle the other. “Not real magic,” heh… The ground felt pretty real to me when we hit it, and the little prick of viridium here and there revealed some pretty real blood. And he might need to deal with a bit more than just “icky elf sweat” after that… But, I mean, it wasn’t magic, so it couldn’t be anything important, like leprosy or anything. Because that’d just be needlessly evil.
It seemed like a victory for this whole revolution, though, when I removed my helmet. The sound that his ego made as it crashed from the clouds all the way to the ground was one of the most beautiful sounds that I had ever heard, and reminds me of why I’m here.
At least, one of the reasons… In my understanding of these things in Cheliax, on stage, when the fighting is done, someone kisses Motýl. She moved, and… There was more of an awkward stumble instead. As soon as I thought that I understood…
Still, DEVILDROME. Reservations about each member aside, we did come out on top… And the roar of the crowd, the passion, the glory… We all made a name for ourselves. And they were probably all good names, too!