“C’MON, SKIP AHEAD.”

“Writing is a process. It must be detailed! You can’t simply leave out details. What if the audience-”

“THE AUDIENCE DOESN’T MATTER, I MATTER, AND I SAY, SKIP AHEAD.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

-Imanna was pretty, she died, Eidolus got sad, and built the Dawngate to blow himself up.

However, our story takes place with the thieving-

“I prefer… opportunistic.”

“You hEARD THE LADY.”

“Can you please be quiet?”

However, our story takes place with the thieving opportunistic duo: a soon to be powerful master of the universe,

“GOOD!”

-and his sane, intelligent, stunningly beautiful associate.

“BAD!”

“Sorry, she’s the one paying me.”

“Don’t worry about it, Veigar.”

“ANGRY! RAGE!”

Now, these two cunning individuals were made aware of the circumstances they were about to encounter thanks to some interesting experiments-

“He glued a stick to a rock.”

“A STAFF TO A FOCUS. I spent YEARS on that!”

- and a rare anomaly: True communication with the spirits. Words of wisdom from the Spirit of Insight itself.

“It says hello, by the way.”

“It says whatnow-”

“Just, ignore him. Keep writing.”

As such,

“I WILL NOT BE IGNORED-”

“Please, Quiet!”

As such, prepared for the new age of shaping to approach, the spirit realm exploded forth from the gate, and the world would be changed forever. Of course, they were absolutely prepared for anything…

1 minute after the Dawngate opened

“I AM ABSOLUTELY NOT PREPARED FOR THIS.”

Mimi, in a bit of a panic as the worlds collided in the nearby gate, the spiritual energy shaking the ground and air thick with a searing heat. Laying still nearby, a cheshire grin spread wide on his sleeping form, Veigar had fallen.

“SPIRITS, BE ALIVE. JUST, BE ALIVE, YOU BASTARD. I SPENT TOO MANY YEARS OUT OF SCHOOL TO BE A PART-TIME ASSISTANT WITH A DEAD BOSS-”

Anxious, full-fledged screaming echoed through the night.

“Can- Can we, skip this part? He was asleep for this anyway.”

“Wait, why?… WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME IN MY SLEEP-”

“Nothing, Veigar.”

“..Oh.”

“What’s ‘oh’?”

“What, I don’t look irresistibly handsome and you DIDN’T take advantage of the situation? I TAUGHT YOU BETTER.”

“Spirits help me.”

“…Wuzzat, Insight?… It says no. And agrees that I’m deserving of a modelling career.”

“Can we FOCUS, please?!”

Careful so as not to raise alarm, Mirabelle carried the newly born-again shaper back to a hostel at the edge of the world’s heart. Passing in secret away from the prying eyes of pilgrims, paladins, and animals, the duo rested. While awaiting the rise of her unconscious-

“HEY, YOU ALREADY USED UNCONSCIOUS. YOU CALL YOURSELF A WRITER?”

“That’s not an issue here-”

“I DEMAND CHANGES!”

“By Grace, you are NOT worth the money…”

  While awaiting the rise of her unconscious-non-consensually sleeping companion, another miracle glistened in the window, out of view of the masses seeking refuge from the Gate.

A simple, small being. A spirit of unknown nature. It seemed to be waiting, watching Mirabelle. For what purpose, she was unsure. Such things were unheard of. Veigar had performed what no one had done before by summoning a spirit to his bidding-

“Actually, it’s more of a bargain-sorta deal. You know, all-powerful beings have to respect each other.”

And yet, here was another. And it was calling. To her.

How was she supposed to respond? What if it was a ploy? A trick of the light? Perhaps she was hallucinating, maybe the blast had killed her and this was some odd state of purgatory leading a similar scenario.

“Mimi, what the HELL were you on about?!”

“I was stressed. It’s normal to be stressed in that situation.”

2 hours after the Dawngate opened

“ThIS IS AN ABNORMAL AMOUNT OF STRESS FOR THIS SITUATION-” She yelled aloud. Covering her mouth and pacing the room, she cursed herself for the outburst.

“This is fine! It’s, fine. Really. No problem. Just going to… touch it? But what if it burns me? What if I burn IT? Is that even possible- THINK, Mirabelle, THINK, DAMN YOU.”

A moment of pause.

“Sweet Grace, I’m starting to sound like him.”

You are not him. You are better.

“Gee, thanks brain… wait… that wasn’t me.”

It was a shock. Though it could not truly speak, there was another conversing with her in a language she could replicate, but could clearly understand. It respected her.

She was a more suiting candidate, in its eyes, for the incredible power contained within Veigar. She must have it. She WOULD HAVE IT-

“-No. NO! I-I’m not thinking this…. It’s YOU.”

Trust in me, girl. No one else… only in me. I can give you power. Purpose. What has he done to deserve this? Nothing.

Kill him. Take his power. His energy. IT IS YOURS. TAKE IT.

“No! You’re… NO! LEAVE ME ALONE!”

TAKE IT! TAKE IT. TAKE IT TAKEIT TAKEITTAKEITTAKEITTAKEIT

“-AGHAGH- PAIN, AGONY, AND POWER- power… Uhhh… Mimi, what are you screaming about? YOU WOKE ME FROM MY POWER NAP.”

It was his voice that caused the screaming in her mind to stop. A sense of clarity, and calm. Steadying herself, she looked to him, then to the window. The creature was gone.

“Ahhh, I feel… AMAZING! Like I could take on the world! LIKE I COULD RULE THE WORLD-”

Veigar attempted to stand from the bed triumphantly, instead falling flat on his face, causing the nearby dresser to topple on him.

“MIMI HELP THE WORLD HAS BETRAYED ME-”

“…Betrayed…. Betrayal… so that must’ve… no. It was nothing at all.”

“ALRIGHT, WE’RE LEAVING THIS PART OUT TOO. NOTHING OF IMPORTANCE HAPPENED. AT ALL. NEVER WOULD I DO SOMETHING SO SILLY.”

“Of course.”

“Alright…. So, does that look good for a start?”

“I think it’s great-”

“I REQUIRE MORE WRITTEN COMPLIMENTS.”

“I will compliment you later.”

“…Fine. I accept your offering.”

“Alright then, we’re done for today. When’s good for a next visit?”

“Whenever I feel like it.”

“I-no, that’s-”

“Whenever. We feel like it.”

“Fine! Fine. I’ll make due.”

A promising student, with dangerous hidden potential, Mimi is unknowningly accompanied by the Spirit of Betrayal. Though not bonded as spirit and shaper, the being is more than willing to manipulate and coerce those around it for its need and utmost desire to shatter the bonds of mortals.

Allies: Veigar (So much to know… to be… to own.)

Friends: Zeri (Another student. I mean, her teacher is… something, but they’re nice enough to ignore that fact.), Fenmore (He wants to bring upon a new age… maybe we can get ourselves ahead of the curve.), Amarynth (So violent. So powerful…. and yet, she’s sad. Why?)

Enemies: Dibs (Stop talking, stop talking, PLEASE STOP TALKING-), Kindra (I have never felt more uncomfortable around another person-), Sakari (… I stand corrected.)

//Another fun tale! This one was a doozy, but I really enjoy writing dialogue! I think a more comedic set of team rocket-esque deuteragonists with some oomph to them really fits well in the universe, and I find the dynamic Veigar and Mimi could have here very intriguing to build around.

The additional tension of having a terrifying, parasitic spirit lurking is another relatively unique property here. Sure, parasitic spirits exist, but they have immediately satiable needs, like Corruption or Consumption. Betrayal, by contrast, has to wait. It has to weave and earn its kill, like building a house of cards. Only then, will it be sated.

Like a cloud descending to earth, or a blanket of snow spiraling downward; a soft white soul descended. As though casting a shadow, another entity manifested; a pool of starry night swirling together on the gate’s intricate grounds.In moments, the two essences collided; and a genesis was founded: a final flash of iridescent light.

Standing now was what many would call angels: Wings purer than the white of a dove; eyes, olive portals into the world’s beating heart. One, a woman; the joy and wonder of the heavens and earth, a being of grace and benevolence. The other, a man; a guardian of all that was, powerful and commanding as a summer storm or arctic wind.

From the innermost shadows of the forest emerged two onlookers: twin spirits unfamiliar to this world; frightened for their future somewhere so chaotic and uncertain. The beings, synchronously, began towards them. As though predicting this event, they undertook separate approaches.

Calmly, the woman knelt down, gently resting and closing her wings. With a closed, quick smile and welcoming arms, she began to hum.

By contrast, the man stood tall, his arms crossed and expression neutral. Spreading his wings to their limit, he exuded an aura of power.

In tandem, the vitalities of Hope and Furor made their pacts, content with what they’d been offered. Glancing back at each other, the celestials nodded.

Quiet as they’d come, they’d vanished without a trace.

Vessels of purpose unknown and power unbound, The Shapers of Hope and Furor harbor a powerful connection to life, the universe, and everything. As the era of Shapers comes to pass, Cirathiel and Cereniphes will find themselves as mysterious allies and dangerous enemies to many. Those of the latter will find them more than prepared for the challenges they present.

Allies: Each other, Marah (They see what is to come / Pray they can act.)

Friends: Voluc, Mina, Salous (Tortured souls... I will guide you... keep Hope close.); Fenmore, Basko, Rezen (You promise a better world. I respect your resolve.)

Enemies: Desecrator, Voluc, Vex (Die again, Abominations.); Petrus, Viyana, Rezen (You cannot abandon morals for personal gain.)

The woman running the stand looked down, shaking her head and assisting in setting the produce back.

“It’s fine… city’s not kind to you, is it?” She asked, only just loud enough to hear over the crowd’s noise.

“Not really, no… when I can, I try to stick to the road. Travelling’s more fun than the destination when you’re doing what I’m doing.” She remarked. Standing to brush herself off, she took off her satchel, removing a single piece of paper and presenting it to the shopkeep.

“…What’s this? I’m not…” She shrugged and turned the page round to face Poppy again.

“Oh, right- reading isn’t a big thing in the west. Sorry- It’s asking if you’ve seen a hero for hire.”

“…You mean a mercenary? Sure. We got plenty of those here in-”

Poppy shook her head and waved her hands. “Nono, like… a hero, y’know? Not some shmuck killing guys for money or fame, saving the people, holding potlucks and beating bad guys!”

“-You came to Maridia to find one of those?” The woman snickered and handed the paper back, waving her hand to the masses in front of her.

“Only people you’ll find here are self-contained inventors, rude engineers, and sub-par night workers.” She exclaimed. The woman seemed particularly sour on the last statement.

Sighing and replacing the page in her pack, Poppy stood again, readying herself to take to the street again. The crowd seemed to be waning a bit, and the noise was dying down. Perhaps this meant the rush was quelling.

“Back down, bastard.”

-Or, that there was a commotion in the making. Curious, Poppy shoved her way past the forest of puffy pants and uncomfortably hairy calves to the center of attention: a man and woman in fine clothing standing over the frame of an elderly man and a young girl.

“You owe us, Ben.” The man spat down, his words thick with malice.

“Yeah, you owe us! You bought up that tasty loaf of bread, and never thought to repay our kindness!”

The elderly man, Ben, attempted to stand. Halfway into his rise, a solid boot would catch his gut, throwing him away. Groaning in agony, now winded, he attempted to speak through the pain.

“I… I’ll get the money… please, just-” He managed, cut off by another blow to his body. Yelping, the girl behind Ben jumped down and attempted to tend his wounds.

Poppy, quietly, removed her pack and reached in. Calmly, she would grab a set of simple leather gloves. She wouldn’t want to lose her grip on this one.

“You made a mistake, and we’re gonna get our compensation.”

“Yeah, our compensation! I think your girl here will make a lovely third~”

“Sure, why not, doll?”

“What?! No! Please-”

It was around this point that Poppy tuned out. There was a bit of dirt on the inside of her glove that was bugging her. It was sharp, probably had a rock in it. It was very mildly uncomfortable. Beginning to remove it, she noted more screaming in the ring. No major bruises, the elder man’d be fine. All the other guy was doing was pulling her hair at this point. She was essentially just being loud.

“Help, PLEASE-”

Alright, she got the dirt out. That was a significant improvement. Now she could focus. Now, calculating the open area, lack of wind… the guy was probably only 240, 250 pounds? Easy enough.

Moving in now, in the middle of their presumably maniacal laugh, she tapped his leg, feeling up for a good grip. Guy had legs like a tree trunk, but not, like, a healthy tree. Good thing she wore gloves.

“…Uh… What… What’re you… runt, fuck’re you doin’?!” The barbaric man asked, visibly confused. The girl’s screaming stopped, the grounded man staring blankly at the midget who approached their assailant.

“Taking your spotlight. Good way to talk to people. You have no idea how hard I’ve had it today.” Poppy replied, finally having a good, solid grasp at his heel with one hand.

“…What?”

“Nothing. Brace your head.”

“…What?”

*Huck*

“whaAAAT-”

*Crash*

With a single hand, Poppy had effortlessly hurled the assailant like a pillow into the far wall, creating a sizeable hole and stunning the marketgoers. All eyes on her, and all mouths agape, she held up the paper.

“….Anyone know a hero?”

Blessed with a natural calm, ignorance of social nuance, and absurd strength, Poppy is bruiser with no time for scum, villainy, or short jokes in her quest to find a true-blue hero. Though the reason for her journey remains a mystery, her unwitting bravery and boundless cluelessness manifesting as bottomless courage, expect big things from the Shaper of Fortitude.

Allies: Kahgen (Not a hero and he knows that. But… a good guy, somehow.)

Friends: None (I don’t… talk to people, often. Can’t say I have any…)

Enemies: None (Not talking to people is a win-lose. Not all downsides. Guess villains would count, if I knew any.)

//Another blessing to write, though it might’ve seemed like it ended bluntty; that was the objective. I wanted Poppy to keep the part of her character that doesn’t realize herself, but I amped it up a bit for this. Lacking heroes is a big thing in the world of Dawngate; with most sides having a good reason with poor methods.

-Ljus stared, now wide awake as she stood within the once quiet complex, her gaze wide and jaw growing agape. A hole as tall and wide as a… coincidentally large wolf had formed through her sign, scarring its way through a walkway, three cabinets, and the roof, with not but a trace of their existence. Looking down at their hand with an expression of disbelief, a warmly smiling pink entity would move to press against her face, almost touching.

“… Hi…?”

A gifted student and secretary within the north turned confused protagonist, the Shaper of Light comes to the Dawngate in search of stories to tell and people to create new ones with.

Allies: Raina ( Book buddies and pen pals!~ ), Zalgus ( My boss; also a big pushover. )

Friends: Zeri ( TEACH ME HOW TO ART, PLEEEEASE?!? ), Faris ( Oh, gosh, so many stories to tell, all locked up!)

Enemies: Fenmore ( The… Wolf…?), Kindra ( Confused bisexual stuttering )

//GOOD SWEET LORD, It’s nice to be back on these! And to start with something like this? Just fantastic! Love the possibilities behind this! And, yeah, I did read a lot of Jack London as a kid, in case anyone suspects that.

The older woman leaves, shutting the door firmly behind her. The room is dimly lit by a fading torch on either side, illuminating the scarred face of the ginger-haired scoundrel at the center, eyeing down the man bound in chains on the opposite side of the cabin.

“Heeeey there, friend...”

The man whimpers audibly, still drowsy and damaged; barely recalling how he’d ended up here. He shuffles back as best he can. Unable to even sit upright against the far wall, the man collapses with a pained moan.

“Not feelin’ too good, are ya? I take full responsibility for that, pardon my prior behavior... it’s just.... there’s something about you. Maybe it’s the punchable face... mighta been me findin’ that lil’ thing you had all bloodied up outside your room.”

She moves forward  squatting close to his form and hushing to a slight whisper.

“I ain’t a heroic type, but... you really gotta work out some issues on your own. Get a pig or something next time.... assuming there is one.”

The woman unsheathes a rather long, particularly intimidating serrated blade, prompting another chain of long whimpers. Slowly, she sticks the blade into the floor adjacent to his face, pressing the edge against the bridge of his nose softly. Trying to react to the pain, his head pulls back. The woman’s opposite hand pushes him down hard, gouging the base of his nostrils in the struggle and setting it back in place.

“Shh-shhh. None of that. There’s a better reason than spontaneous heroics here you might wanna listen to, friend.”

The man pipes down, his cries softening as best he can manage.

“See, I was paid. I was paid real well for your head, yeah? But, being honest, this buyer’s not the picky type.... he’ll take any sort of ornament that means the world to you. And,  with a lil’ extra compensation for me lending you a hand here, that might just be enough for me to glaze the truth.... sound fair?”

The man nods hastily, scratching his nose slightly against the serrations of the blade.

“Now... what could be so valuable? Don’t suppose you’re the ‘X marks the spot’ kind. No private journal; you’re definitely too inbred to be literate... oh, I know...”

The knife trails down, dragging through the pool of blood from his recent wound towards a fine, oddly shaped ornament around his neck.

“Your family commissioned some wack ass keys, from what I’ve been read. Little trophies of silver and platinum... runic stone, bronze....”

The blade moves up, pulling the shining golden piece against his fattened neck.

“Gold.... the most pretentious metal, if I gotta say. But... my, is it ever pretty?”

The man eyes down at the steel grazing his neck, sweat glazing his features heavily now.

“Now... tell you what... you give me the locale to that little chest of yours, and I might not take your head.... sound fair?”

Knowing his situation well, he nods hastily again, careful not to prick his jugular.

“U-Under... my desk.... my quarters... loose marble with a symbol on it... j-just... untie me and-”

“Untie you?!”

The woman snickers, re-affixing her blade against the flesh of his throat in full.

“Nah... I know you haven’t taken that thing off in years. You’ve been wearing it in your sleep, in the bath.... Does it come off for sex? Ah, you wouldn’t know either. No.... Watch.”

The woman hoists the adornment up with her free hand; easily gliding it up until it reached the fourth of his chins; straining to pass it.

“Seeee? This is what red meat n’ wine’ll do to you, friend. Now I can’t get that pretty little thing off your neck without breakin’ it.... or.... breakin’.... something.”

Unable to fight, the man struggles in his bind shaking violently in a feeble attempt to escape as the blade begins to saw through his neck. He tries to scream, blood filling and spouting from his throat. With barely a sputter, and surprisingly little effort for the size, the man’s head lops off from his body with a thud. Grinning, the woman plucks the small piece from the pile of flesh and red.

“Can this day get any better?”

The door opens.

“Still got haddock, Cap’n!”

“FUCKIN’ RIGHT-”

Nonchalantly, Mallory stands, boot and lower pants coated in gore, excitedly moving to get dinner.

A particularly grotesque-looking woman with a flexible set of morals and a lack of concern reasoning; Mallory McKennon takes the mercenary business to dark, violent places unseen by the city-goers of the visiting parties to the World’s Heart. The spirit of Oppurtunity is more than willing to show her ins, outs, backstabs and beneficial choices of all varieties; and Mal is more than happy to capitalize.

Allies: Ronan (Slippery little fuck; Love ‘em.)

Friends: Kahgen (Grandpa’s still got fight left. Not too shy from a little hard work, neither.); Moya (If it ain’t my favorite lil’ smuggler.); Tess (5 for effort, 10 for that night in Valden.)

Enemies: Varion (Lil’ too picky with work, aintcha? S’pose that’s how you ended up alone.); Mina (I relate to you in more ways than I like to admit... no wonder you’re dead.)