#Qa'Rajh Creations

[qarajhcreations]

The Grisaia Series, full review

Finally, I got to conclude the trilogy that is the main stories of the Grisaia series. And boy, was it a ride. To understand the series, you have to, obviously, start at the beginning; the Fruit of Grisaia (FoG) and take it from there. Yes, the characters are tropés at first (and stay as such, largely, through all three games), but as soon as you get under the skin of each of the main five girls, you quickly realise that the character writing (as in how the characters are "created") is at a really high level of quality. So high that you start to feel WITH the characters, you groan at Michiru, you sigh with Yumiko or you look at Sachi's twisted principes from the perspective of the potential victims. Even though Yuuji is the protagonist in FoG, you don't really get that much under HIS skin, it is very heavily hinted at that his story, before coming to Mihama Academy, is cause for interest. The classic "harem"-tropé where you don't really know a whole lot about the main character (the "you" in the narrative) is thus in place. However, Yuuji remains largely untouched in FoG. FoG also provided ten possible endings, which until Labyrinth of Grisaia (LoG) were impossible tell what was cannon and what wasn't. LoG picks off at a slightly odd point; where NONE of the endings are cannon, but all of them (the "good endings" for each girl) have mounts of truth to them. LoG focuses on Yuuji's story, and provides the insight into his mind and sight, also because, as we follow his story, so do the girls he live with at Mihama Academy. LoG also gives a very detailed look into the life of Asako; the first person other than his sister, that Yuuji loves (or even likes), which was very heavily mentioned in FoG in pretty much every single flashback from Yuuji's perspective, so it's really nice to get that information. LoG also provides five AFTER stories, which does the same as the "main" story of LoG; takes of from a point where none of the FoG endings where truth, but still had grains of cannon lore. These stories tell, what I guess, WOULD have been cannon, had Yuuji actually chosen anyone in FoG (you "choose" for him, but as of LoG, it's clear that it is not a choice he'd make on his own). LoG also provides a large amount of small extra stories, typically funny skits and shorts that may/may not have been intended as part of the story, but found unfit when it was put together. Kind of like the bloopers to a Jackie Chan movie. LoG's main story ended abruptly on a cliffhanger, so it was natural for me, that when the final main story branch, Eden of Grisaia (EoG), was published, I was quick to get it. EoG provides a closure, and it does so with gusto and bravour. Even though shorter than both FoG and LoG (main story), it is the one with most action, often leaving you at the edge of your seat, picking many of the problems from LoG up and dealing with them. However, it also gives Yuuji much more feeling as this gives something that surprises even our all's male tsundere agent. As LoG's main story did not have choices, and FoG gave me roughly 30 HOURS of reading before the first choice, I was geniuely surprised when EoG threw not one but TWO choices in my face. It's an amazing conclusion to this massive triology, that I ended up spending +100 hours in. +100 hours VERY well spent, I might add. EoG also added a prequel; how DID the girls at Mihama Academy meet, what was the school like before Yuuji's arrival in FoG? An amazing little story that fills surprisingly many holes. If I were to pin the stories, FoG, LoG and EoG up against each other, which I find kind of silly as they really are one long story altogether, I would say that. Fruit of Grisaia: 9.5/10 Labyrinth of Grisaia: 7/10 Eden of Grisaia: 9/10 My reasoning for this score is that Fruit of Grisaia had so much more "meat" to it's story, it tooks it's time describing details in environments, in characters, in the mood. Especially in Labyrinth, the story felt a bit rushed at times. The fact that it also "denies" the endings of FoG also is a bit of a bitter pill to swallow (though I'll admit it works much better for triology as a whole). Eden of Grisaia is very close to reaching Fruit of Grisaia's level, the action filled adventure is much more intense than Fruit of Grisaia is, and even though it keeps a steady pace in it's story-telling throughout it's entire story, it is still coming up a little short, simply due to it's length. But I'd actually like for you to ignore the scores for each of them separately, and instead take the trilogy as a whole, thus I will score it as a whole story. The Grisaia Series: 10/10 I've already explained pretty much my stance and how much I love this universe and in particular, the characters, so there really is no need for further explanations. If you are into VNs (as I am), The Grisaia Series is excellent in terms of art and Voice Acting, but especially the character writing and the overall writing is amazing. Even if you DON'T fancy VNs, I would still recommend this series to you; it IS a bit heavy to get started with, but pays off in the end.

[qarajhcreations]

With Neloth, one of the most powerful Dunmer wizards in Tamriel, at our side, surely nothing can go wrong... right?

Together we enter the half-sunken Dwemer Ruin of Nchardak, which is filled with puzzles, traps and the still roaming Automatons.

[qarajhcreations]

Hairballs and Asteroids, chapter one

”Space… An endless void that we are all floating in, towards unknown borders, new frontiers or certain, impending doom? No one can truly know how far space is reaching; no one knows the final destination. Well… I’d hope the pilot of this goddamned vessel knows; we’ve been stuck in this cargo hold for three hours now!”

Oh, hi, didn’t quite see you there… Perhaps I should start by introducing myself; my name is Jade Khezad, I’m a black anthropomorphic tiger. I know, I know, that seems a bit weird, and frankly; there aren’t a lot of tigers around. At least not what I’ve seen so far. I’m mostly a merchant of pretty much whatever I can sell and buy. But in the most recent times I’ve also had a side-job, a side-job that got me into this situation; bound and chained to a make-shift bench, in the cargo-hold of an Imperial freighter, along with several other people. Let me go back to where it all started…

It was a regular day at the Nexus-8 trading station, many people coming around looking for items, for supplies, for a chat. Anything you’d expect from an intergalactic market, really. I had managed to acquire a stall for my wares this day, mostly tools and ship-parts left for scrap, but at the Nexus you could almost be certain to be able to sell pretty much anything and everything. A couple of hares bought a crate of laser-wielders, small but accurate and quick assembly tools. They were hover-racers, as it turned out, and due to a series of sabotages, many of the teams had lost most of their gear for the crew. I’ve made a standard out of never asking where my wares come from, of course it never hurts to be careful. With the Nexus being a neutral place, no planet or organisation had security forces at the station. But the Overseers, mostly storks and cranes, were always keen to follow requests on stolen or illegal equipment. Everyone at the Nexus was there for the sake of trade on equal terms, so other traders quickly disrupted the few attempts at attacks there had been over time. The station itself weren’t armed with any weapons, though it had an energy-shield, kept running by a massive hydrogen-plasma generator in the centre of the station, this was more meant against comets and meteors, rather than attacks from ships. The halls inside the Nexus were filled with wares and people looking to sell or buy, the brushed blue silver floors could almost not be seen from the bridge, located directly above the main hall. Several shops were permanent, by agreement with the Overseers, typically these shops had items that was needed at all times, such as food, fuel and stock exchange. I was about to close down to get some dinner, when a rather corpulent hippo in grey striped business suit approached me. As a merchant, you get accustomed to reading what people want from their looks. This guy however was hard to read, he seemed to be focused when he walked towards my stall, but when he got over, looking over my wares and me, he seemed confused and unsure about himself. The suit was neat, albeit a bit tight around his stomach. A pale red tie was fastened around his neck, and there were small pearls of sweat hiding in the folds of his grey skin. Having taken him for a businessman, on the wealthier side, and seeing as how he did not take contact, I decided to break the ice: “Can I help you, sir?” He turned his gaze downwards, he was quite a bit taller than me, but he didn’t feel threatening. He spoke, a pleasant, somewhat deep (and slightly constipated) voice: “Ah well, err… Yes, maybe… You deal in ship-parts, yes?” Hmm… that was an odd approach, I had never a particular ware more than any other, and I didn’t really care much to let the Nexus know what I was selling. But, there was truth to it, I had been scavenging around for wrecked ships. Mostly because, through listening at other stalls, I discovered that there was a lot of scrappers around, so ship-parts in good condition would sell nicely. I would have to show that I wasn’t suspicious of his question, so completely unfazed, I replied: “Yes, on occasion, I do. Anything particular you’re looking for?” His small black eyes blinked for a couple of seconds, as if surprised no questions to the request were made. “Well, I am looking for a flux capacitor to a personal cruiser ship, three stock drive.” Okay… well, that was unexpected. Personal cruisers were more than often designed specifically to the buyer’s demands, this made them expensive and the parts equally so. A flux capacitor were almost only installed in much heavier and larger ships, typically war-ships. This complex technological engine part helps using the fuel much better for short usage, normally known as the ship “warping”. Before the first flux capacitors, invented by Jegarr D. Flux, larger ships used a so-called “burst-engines”, where the fuel consumption, when warping, often came with the risk of wrecking the engine, as many of the burst-engines weren’t built to perform that much. As for the stock drive, personal cruisers were meant for comfort, the stock drive allows the engine to filter more of the cosmic dusts out, thus making the flight smoother. For a “standard” cruiser, a single stock drive would be considered a luxury, two stock drives was very rare, and the mere existence of a third stock drive was to most people, a myth. So, naturally, I raised an eyebrow, “I am afraid that I cannot help you in that, it’s quite beyond what I have on display.” Expecting that amount of quality from a stall at a Nexus was a bit on the odd side. Strangely enough, the man just smiled, shaking his large head slightly, “I wasn’t expecting that either, but if you’d like a job offer that pays well, and” he added in a lower voice, as to hide it from other people nearby, “I mean REALLY well, come and see me at the loading bay in one hour. Here’s my card, with the frequency to my CommsUnit, if needed.”

A CommsUnit is a small, but hugely practical, device. It uses a set of twelve-symbol frequency code, using both letters and numbers; this gives a total of 3.379.220.508.056.640.625 possible combinations, and thus it’s nearly impossible to just guess a frequency. Typically, a CommsUnit is placed in a bracelet or as a small trinket, placed on the side of the head. CommsUnits come with a holographic projector, which allows them to receive messages, with both sound and visual input. I glanced at the card, as the man turned around and walked, or rather waddled, towards other stands. “Alexander Swift Jr., We’ll find a ship suiting your needs.” I took some time to consider it, and as the only trade I had, was a badger looking for hull plating for his cargo-ship, I had plenty of time to think things through regarding the offer. I began thinking about how much I disliked being at the Nexus, not that the people were bad or hostile… It was just… Boring. I enjoyed scavenging for parts and other items a lot more. Especially when the scavenging wasn’t exactly legal, that always got the adrenaline flowing through me. Flinging my leather jacket over my shoulder, after having locked my stall down with the remaining wares, I headed for the loading bay. The ramps from the main hall were mostly empty, though the Nexus was open for trade all the time. This was mainly due to the fact that it kept itself out of planetary orbit and maintained it’s own gravity, this also meant that there was no “days” and no “nights” on the Nexus. The loading bay was, naturally, connected to the docking area, where the ships were located. I quickly spotted Alexander; he was talking to a pit-bull in overalls, part of the docking crew, no doubt. The pit-bull signed on a clipboard, and slugged himself towards another merchant and another ship. Alexander looked up at me, and then at his CommsUnit, “You’re about seven minutes too early. That is good, that is good. I was half expecting you to not show up at all.” I shrugged my shoulders, it was in general a good idea to not straight-out trust a ship-salesman, he spoke again, not awaiting an answer, “Can we take your ship? I’ll have some-one bring my own back to the shop. We can discuss the terms of the job on the way.” There was nothing of a threat in his voice, but still you quickly got the feeling of Alexander not being a man you said no to. I was inclined to hear more though, so I just signalled for Alexander to follow.

My ship was of somewhat elder date, a lot of the plating was considered as “old-fashioned”, even though most of the parts weren’t more than a couple of years old... Tops. The oldest part, and probably what I loved the most of the quirks to my ship, was the dashboard. I had stripped it from a newly wrecked Hunter-7X fighter, a very fast and agile single-pilot fighter, with a fuel-consumption like a black hole. The few of them that were even put into service, had a short lifespan, most crashed because of the Hunter-7X’s high speed, but also because the fuel containers were largerly exposed, turning the Hunter-7X into a potential superfast fire-bomb, rather than a sleak fighter. And verily, not long after I had gotten into the damn thing, it started reaking of gas; the tanks were gonna blow. In fact, much of my ship had scrapped or scavenged parts, to say nothing of the countless moderations added and removed again. Alexander raised a brow on his grey, wrinkley head, it was easy to see as his stubby hairs were few and far apart. “Might not look it, but she’s reliable, mostly built her myself.” I padded the under-side of the “Scrap Eagle” (as I had come to call her), to ensure Alexander that my ship was sturdy. Pressing a hidden panel, three buttons appeared, pressing the middle one (the two others were meant to do something, but those functions was not a part of the Scrap Eagle). A hydralic gasp came, as the entry hatch into the small cargo hold of my ship opened up. “Pardon the mess, I practically live in this ship, so things are a bit cramped.” Alexander had to duck, squeeze and push his way through, but for his size, he was surprisingly nimble. Closing the hatch behind us again, Alexander made room, so I could take the lead. For me, I could manouvre the mess and other stuff, pretty much in my sleep, but I had to slow down for Alexander to follow, I noticed him taking into account many details about my ship.

Finally we reached the cockpit, I conviently closed the side-room with my bunk and clothing; a girl’s gotta have some privacy. A total of eight chairs were present in the cockpit; two by the controls and six in two rows of three. I had taken odd-jobs like freighting passengers back and forth, usually shady stuff, but also pretty rewarding in the end. Had a few rough batches, not so much with passengers themselves, except for that one turkey, who tried to have his way with me while piloting the ship. He got into a lovely and very close relationship with the pipe-wrench that I kept under my own chair. Paid a little less on delivery, but it was worth it. Mostly the trouble was either with getting passengers on, or when the “welcoming party” were greeting my passengers. The two chairs by the controls were comfy and soft, kind of a need if you are to sit on your own tail for hours on end. While it was comfy for me, Alexander sank deep into his chair beside me, as I began warming the engine up. Signalling to one of the Overseer cranes, a hatch soon opened up into outer space, and as the Scrap Eagle began taking off, I turned to Alexander, “So, where’re we headed?”

[qarajhcreations]

Fate of Flowers - Chapter Fifteen

This is the fifteenth chapter in the story about the five warriors of the Hana Unit. Please read the first fourteen chapters and the prelude before reading this one.

When the early rays of sunlight beamed unto the stony plain, there was no sight of the hunters or the girls, the bedrolls had been hidden very well amongst the lower leaves of the trees. The weathered hunter, who didn’t seem to have a name, or even talk for that matter, had spotted some low bushes, and as the camp woke up, the bed-rolls were tucked under the vegetation, for them to collect after they’d finished the Troll. They moved in an unorderly manner towards the cave, but the was no signs of the inhabitants being outside. Himawari led the group, closely followed by Butakusa and Churippu. The stench from the depths of the cave made the hunters stop slightly, the girls had tried something that smelled almost as bad. In order to test the concentration of the recruits, Suchiruu had initiated sounds, sights and smells that could divert the focus of an untrained soldier. The sound testing ranged from surprising silence, to barking dogs next to them. The soldiers weren’t trained to fight while blind, although some of the legends of Densetsu of Orgengrad claimed that she trained with a group of mercenaries from far south, that only fought in complete darkness, coordinating their every move, so that their swords would only hit an enemy and not a fellow soldier. The smell testing had been the worst, pleasantries such as soap and chocolate to seduce the soldiers, only to be replaced by putrid and rancid smells, of which the origin was left in the unknown to the soldiers. It was common that these tests where added to the daily training. Slowly, the group moved inside the cave, the rough stone didn’t show signs of being cut or carved, a natural cave. Moss and some other hardy plant-types grew here and there, in the cracks of the stone. The air was denser, the deeper into the cave they moved. Churippu had taken the lead, her broadsword would be more efficient, should a Troll try to rush them, compared to the handaxe and shield Himawari was using. Butakusa had handed the spear back to one of the other hunters, going back to his heavy club, one sitting in his hand, and his longstone-axe in a hanger in his belt. With cloth and leaves tucked in under the metal armour of Churippu and Himawari made almost no sounds. The hide clothing of the hunters made no, or very little, sound against the stone floor in the cave. Occasionally the group would stop to listen, but there was no other sound than their own breathing.

Hozuki took the rear end of the patrol, as the cave narrowed, the unit stretched out. They could walk two, maybe three, side by side, but for the sake of being able to fight at all in the cave, they all walked in a single line. A cold wind reached them, the hunters all, except Butakusa, stopped shortly. In a low voice Hozuki explained that natural caverns, such as this, often had more than one entrance. “If there is a source of water in here, that would also lower the temperature a bit.” While the cave turned and sloped often, it was only a single cave, they had passed some small holes, none of them big enough for a Troll to jump them. The natural light in the entrance of the cave, was almost all but gone here. The hunters were used to hunting at night, but even in the thickest, darkest part of the forest, there was still some things that you could make out in the darkness, a tree, a rock, any kind of things. But the walls of the cave, had nothing of the sort, it was just a mass of cold, damp stone. A couple of the hunters had been talking, in low voices, near the entrance to the cave, but now even their mumbling had ceased. The cave had begun to slope a bit more, going deeper into the ground and everyone began moving slower and more cautiously. After the cave had spiralled a couple of times, they spotted a small light not far ahead. The calm green glow lid up in the dark cave. As they got close, they noticed that the cave walls and floor was covered in a layer of moss. A clear sign of the moisturous climate in the cave. Amongst the moss clumbs stood a small cluster of luminous fungi, a Glowcap. Further down the cave, several other clusters created a dim lighting, just enough to navigate, but nowhere enough to see detail.

Another gust from the depth bought with it a gut-wrenching stench of rotting flesh. Apparently not a fitting smell to the nose of one of the hunters, who suddenly stopped, and in the next painfuily long second, knealed over and spewed the contents of his stomach out onto the moss. Everyone stopped at the sound, but other than the natural sounds of the cave, nothing else was heard. The man slowly wiped his mouth clean, and, looking apologetic, he took place behind Hozuki as the rear guard. Hozuki noticed the proud hunter reduced to a visibly shaken man, then she remembered that the hunters were already undernourished due to their poor hunting luck as of late, and a sudden loss of whatever they had had to eat, would naturally weaken a person. She thought to herself, It would be better for the group, if he could just wait by the entrance of the cave, he’s slowing us down, and in no condition to fight. But then then she thought it through; at no point had they seen a hunter, aside from their encounter with Ueko, where there were no other hunters nearby. A lot of things were easier when you were at least two persons on a job. Four eyes would find tracks better than two. One could act as lookout, while the other readied the prey. The prey would be easier to carry back more quickly. These hunters, she thought, are dependant on eachother, just like a unit of soldiers. This... man probably wouldn’t be able to cope with being alone. That, and when there was both roaming Skavens, Gnolls, and Demons about, a single, poorly-armed and unfit hunter would not last long. No, it is better for him that he stays. Hozuki gazed over her shoulder, in the light from the more frequent Glowcaps, she could see that he was using one of his spears to support himself. His visible cheekbones were making his stubbles appear more protruding on his pale face.

At the next turn Churippu stopped suddenly. A cropping in the stone walls, hid the light from entering, and the last cluster of Glowcap was some steps back. In the shadow, an effigy had been assembled, and it took a minute for the group to realise that it didn’t move. The remains of a bear caucass was staring into the mossy cave. The smell of old, rotten meat seemed to come from the bear, even though only the head of it was still somewhat intact. The bones had, at some point, been placed in a certain matter, but either poor skill of the creator, or time and tear, had made most of the bones collapse into a pile, only the bear’s ribcage and it’s head still stood. A trace of dried-out blood looked like a shadow going deeper into the cave. The weathered hunter, who guided them from the village and to the cave, stepped forward. Where the other hunters weren’t exactly happy with the sight and the smell, even Butakusa had closed his nostrils with a clasp of his fingers, the silver-strained man didn’t seem to mind. His lack of emotion gave no doubts to his professionalism, Himawari was silently impressed. The men still thought they were goddesses, equal to Shigami Maiboku, a mixture of awe and curiosity was always sensed if one of them got too near one of the girls, it was pretty odd. The weathered man picked up what appeared to be one of the bear’s leg-bones, slowly his fingers traced over the pale bone, as if he could tell how the bear had died from the bone alone. The expression on his face seemed grim in the dim light as he turned to face the group, in his hand he held up a large bone-piece. The piece was badly cracked, with his free hand, the hunter pointed first to the bear caucass, and then to his own shoulder. Something had struck the bear with enough force to shatter it’s shoulder blade, which probably would have ended the fight pretty quickly.

They continued further into the cave, which now began to open up, becoming wider. Suddenly a thundering roar made the whole group press against the cave walls; in the light they could only make out the figure, a hulky creature; they had finally found the Troll. And it too had found them. In a swift motion, for a Troll, it picked up a large branch, and lifted it above it’s flat head. A few of the hunters backed slightly; most they’d ever had to face was a bear, a wolf or maybe even a boar. This was something different, something much more dangerous. Butakusa issued a couple of grunts, as the Troll began to advance towards the center of the group. Swiftly the hunters spread out to the sides of the cave, leaving the girls, Butakusa and the weathered hunter in the middle. The Troll didn’t seem to notice, but now it started to move faster, like a dark-grey mass. Silently, a wooden spear cleaved through the stale cave air. One of the hunters from the side groups had thrown his first weapon. To little effort, unfortuneatly. The spear hit, with it’s sharpened wooden tip, on the Troll’s shoulder and bounce harmlessly to the floor. While it didn’t hurt the Troll, it caught it’s attention, and with it’s free hand, it tried to shield itself from where the spear came. It kept running in the same direction as before though, now just with it’s focus to the side of the cave. It roared in anger as another spear whizzed past it’s head, tearing through the skin of it’s large ears. Now spears began to come in from the other side as well, the Troll couldn’t guard from this side, as the branch was meant as a weapon, thus slowing it’s arm just enough to hardly be of any use. As another spear hit it’s free arm’s shoulder, the Troll lifted it’s arm to protect itself again. By doing so it left it’s softer stomach open for attacks, the weathered hunter swiftly grabbed one of his stone-tipped spears and flung it at a low arc at the advancing Troll. The stone pierced through the tan skin, spewing black blood from the wound. But it did not stop the Troll, and now the Troll had reached the five persons in the center. Himawari had her round shield and hand-axe read, Churippu her broadsword and Hozuki her crossbow to her cheek with a bolt nooked already. Butakusa had grabbed club and his axe, twirling them both with his wrists, and finally the weathered hunter, he had his last spear raised. This isn’t good against a charging enemy... A shield wall could minimize the damage, depending on the speed, but the best defense would be a line of pikes or spears, but we don’t have that. Himawari looked concerned around her, none of them were adequately equipped for this fight. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a vague nod from the weathered hunter directed at Butakusa. It was subtle, almost impossible to see, but several hours spent observing the officers at the barracks, had made her keen at seing such small signals. Without a sound both took off, heading straight for the Troll.

Reaching almost at the same time, the weathered hunter ducked in as the Troll swung the branch at where his head would have been. Faster than what any of the girls expected, the hunter managed to land three quick stabs with his spear, before having to duck away from the branch coming the other way back again. Meanwhile Butakusa approached from the other side, in two quick swings, his club hammered against the knuckles of the Troll’s idle fist. His stone axe hit around the Troll’s elbow, but even though Butakusa placed all of his strength into the swing, the flint edge of the axe only grazed the surface of the Troll’s hard skin. However, the Troll reacted by retracting it’s hand away from what was hurting it. Butakusa just barely reached to get his axe back, when the Troll reacted. His axe was sent whirling off somewhere else in the cave, himself knocked off of his feet, landing on the mossy cave-floor, still holding on to his club. He shook his head slightly, seemingly not all that hurt from the blow. The Troll had turned towards him, even though the weathered hunter tried to stab through the cartilage plates on the Troll’s back. The stab wounds in it’s stomach had already closed, only leaving slight scars on the soft skin. As the Troll raised the branch above it’s head, Butakusa still seemed out of balance, however, instead of getting out of the way, Butakusa pushed off with both feet, barreling himself forwards, slamming his club in against the Troll’s face. The Troll began bleeding from it’s nose, and as the black liquid reached the Troll’s mouth, the Troll seemed to go into a trance of rage. Roaring and flailing, the Troll was moving towards Butakusa. Meanwhile, the weathered hunter tried to find an opening. Too late he realised his mistake, as the branch was swung back, the wood hitting him in the stomach. Even though he tried to block the blow with his spear, the dry “whack” mixed with man’s “ooof” as the air was knocked out of, the very second before his feet lifted from the mossy cave-floor. A couple of the other hunters quickly rushed over, attempting to care for their fellow hunter. However, just like the Troll in front of the village gate, this Troll also now exposed itself, it’s slow and savage swings leaving little time to protect itself. In a surprisingly harsh tone, Himawari suddenly broke the tension: “Now, FIRE!” And in the blink of an eye, three small crossbows fired almost simultaneously, the bolts whistling through the air. the first one flew close by, disappearing without a sound somewhere in the depths of the cave, but before the Troll could reach to react, the second bolt found it’s target. The Troll’s cheek was pierced, and the bolt went into it’s mouth, but right as the Troll was about to roar in pain, the third and final bolt struck. With a resounding “thuck”, the bolt struck and penetrated right between the Troll’s small red eyes. The Troll’s pupils turn towards the feathered end of the bolt, now sticking out of it’s own forehead, with the bolt having pierced the brain. Slowly it seemed that the message of death was conveyed to the Troll, a low groan, that sounded surprised, escaped it’s throat, getting lower and more faint. Suddenly it’s knees gave in, and the grey body tumbled forward, dead as the stone that the cave was formed in. Himawari sighed with relief, even though Butakusa went over, whacking the Troll in the back of it’s skull a couple of times, probably just to be certain.

[qarajhcreations]

Sight between the Buildings

We cling to homes and abilities

A feeble attempt to break our cyclic equilibrium

Of solitude and sanctuary

We seek the herds and the loudest crowds

To feel whole, to feel alive

Is living really a matter of wholeness?

But what of those who are not in the crowd?

How do we perceive the hermit

The loner, the wanderer, the soulless cripple?

Do their lives matter to us happy people in the mass

When we do not know how to reach them

Or have the ability to understand them

Amongst the living, walks the undead

Droning, mindless, pointless

These people sees no tomorrow

With no future possible, what dreams do these strange folk have?

What hopes do they have for themselves?

How can we make them a part of our happiness?

If only we knew

[qarajhcreations]

First time I’ve dabbled around in Photoshop. The task: to create an alien (friendly) lifeform, with as few visible line between image parts as possible. I’m pretty happy with the outcome. Yes, those are indeed the feet of a Bluefooted Boobie.

[qarajhcreations]

Khodrin Emberhelm, DnD character bio

Khodrin Emberhelm is a Mountain Dwarf fighter, that I’ve created for a DnD e5 campaign. In a group of mostly mages and rogues, as a fighter, Khodrin’s job is to withstand damage in close combat, and hopefully deal some damage out himself.

Outfitted in a full chainmail, and donning a shield and a warhammer, Khodrin’s a force to be reckoned with, once he gets close. He keeps a light crossbow for ranged combat. Starting stats (level 3): Strength: 16 Dexterity: 8 Constitution: 17 Intelligence: 10 Wisdom: 13 Charisma: 12 Hit points: 28 Armor class: 18 Initiative: -1 Speed: 25 Allignment: Lawful good

Life in a Dwarven stronghold isn't particular flashy for a young, you work, you eat, you work some more, and then you likely eat again. But to most Dwarfs this is just fine. Ask a Dwarf if his work is dull, and you'll find a Dwarf considering you as the lazy and unproductive type. Born into a clan of mine-workers and prospectors, Khodrin upbringing was pretty common. It wasn't glorious as it would be for higher class Dwarves, but with the Dwarven communities through work, no-one was ever truly "low-class". At the age of 50, Dwarves are "mature", this is normally marked with a feast for the entire stronghold. Roast pig, mead and ale in unmeasurable amounts. Of course, Dwarven tradition and laws are rather strict, so it's not exactly unusual that fines or other punishments are handed down after such a feast. Despite Dwarves normally being keen on upkeeping rules, alcohol (and especially Dwarven ale in large quantities) can alter that in a Dwarf. Alcohol also lifts the filters that keep you from calling someone something that you normally wouldn't utter out loud. Unfortuneatly, Khodrin's boss, a wealthy prospector from a high-ranking family within the stronghold, was quite the tyrant. Miners having their pay withheld for vague reasons, work-hours being beyond reason (even for the hardy and strong Dwarves). Many of Khodrin's workmates used the boss' name as means of swearing, under their breath of course. During a toast, Khodrin proclaimed that "He was proud, despite working for a dirt-digging sleaze-bag." Considering the miners normal work of picking through stone and minerals for ore and gemstones, dirt was one of the most degrading, as it served no purpose to a mountain Dwarf. Even worse, of course his boss eventually caught wind of Khodrin's mishap. One fateful day, Khodrin, now aged 72, was called to see his boss, his own clan-leaders were there as well. No words where spoken, the clan-leaders just shook their heads and pointed towards the door. Khodrin had to leave the stronghold behind, having brought shame onto his clan. Bitter he quickly packed his belongings. As if the news had spread through every single tunnel, every holding, every home of the stronghold, no-one uttered a goodbye, even tried to get eye-contact. As the large iron gate shut behind him, Khodrin had his first encounter with the outside world. The light of the sun was harsh the first couple of days, day and night cyclus, something not at all present within the mountains. Following the simple and mostly unnused trade road leading out of the mountains, through winding passes and down into steep gorges, Khodrin made flat land within a couple of days of marching. The soft soil of the hillsides, wet and muddy, made him uneasy. Here the path up into the mountains molded with a larger trade road. With no idea where to go, Khodrin decided on waiting. And so he did for several days in fact. Until a trade caravan came through, stopping and asking Khodrin, if he wanted hire as a guard, despite not really having any combat experience, he shrugged, nodded and hopped on the back of a wagon. For several years, Khodrin was known as "The Silent Dwarf", as he hardly ever spoke. A nod here, a grunt there, that was the extent of conversation the merchants and the other guards had with him. Even compared to other Dwarves that the caravan occasionally met, Khodrin remained as silent as the mountain he was born under. Khodrin worked double, guard while the caravan was moving (and when needed in towns and villages) and smith while in a town. While the tools were lacking, to a Dwarf's standards, his ancestral skill of metal and stone had him level with most town smithys. One night, enroute for Athlin, the wagons were ambushed, on the outskirts of the Silver Oak Forest. Three guards and two of the merchants were taken out by arrows, before anyone could even react. In the darkness, Khodrin's Dwarven eyes allowed him to see a sight of horrors; the Undead, several zombies and a few skeleton archers was closing in on the remaining wagons. In the distant, under the moonlit shades of the trees, a hooded figure with an eerie looking staff. With a crooked finger the figure directed the corpses. Something within Khodrin told him to stay still, and to say nothing. A coward's choice perhaps, but neither the zombies nor skeletons seemed to notice. To Khodrin's luck, the hooded figure didn't really seem to care, or it thought everyone to be dead. In order to ensure no-one was near, Khodrin waited until the first glimpse of sunlight broke through the trees. While none of the merchants or any of the guards where particular close, it was still some kind of family. And Khodrin had done nothing to even attempt to save the others, he just froze, which, in hindsight, probably saved his life. Leaving the wagons behind, Khodrin walked the road towards Athlin, where he arrived three days later, carrying only his clothes, rations and his smithing gear. Through grunts and sign-language, Khodrin managed to secure himself a job at Amduhr's Armory. Silently, of course, he woved to never freeze up like that again, to protect those around him, if at all possible.

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Hoagie helps designing the Stars and Stripes, with some slightly alternative motives. We meet two twins that may or may not be artistic. And finally, Bernard catches up with Green Tentacle.

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Purple Tentacle have mutated, Green Tentacle can’t stop him. Crazy scientist sends two people off in time, with no means of getting them back. And we’re in the middle of it all!

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We visit the mysterious realm of Apocrypha, a world of secrets ruled by the Daedric Prince Hermaeus Mora.

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(Underneath) Wings of Destruction

As paths collide, out mental whiskers connect

We both fled the angels and the doom in their wake

With nowhere to hide, nowhere to run

Our differences aside, we can’t help moving forward

Slowly we drift towards eachother, we share our fears

We face the other, eyes locked in their equal

Meanwhile the angels leave trails of ash

Closing in, ever circling, they’ll reach us

With wings of our own, we could escape

The forests engulfed by the fire from above

No storm ends their searching flight

But we both decided, to peel our wings off

There are those who guide the angels

Those who dare not take the skies themselves

And in the moment, the heavens are open

We have only ourselves and the little path we stand

As the crowds cheer for more angels to fly

The flames by our feet cannot match the heat in our hearts

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After listening to the Skaal shaman, Storn, we head south for a meating with the Dunmer mage Neloth in his home of Tel Mithryn.

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The Skaal lives a secluded life on the north-eastern shore of Solstheim, perhaps they have means to fight Miraak?

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After blundering about on Solstheim, we finally find a lead towards an ancient ruin pretty much in the centre of Solstheim. More exactly the Temple of Miraak, so if we can’t find the man himself, at least we can learn something about him.

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As we land in the Dunmer settlement, known as Raven Rock, it seems that everyone have some kind of mind block, whenever we try to mention Miraak. But not all have forgotten all, and we finally discover someone with at least a hint of remembrance.

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The first in a series of videos regarding the Dragonborn DLC for Skyrim. We explore the ash-wastes and the frozen north of the island of Solstheim. Here we aim to track down a man known as Miraak, who had his cultists attack us back in Ivarstead, claiming us to be a “false Dragonborn”. And we can’t let THAT stand.