Lucas Moyer-Horner
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Chapter 1: Today’s Harvest

Krang coughed violently and leaned on his staff for balance. Each time the Council sent him through one of these portals, it was a disorienting experience. Although the Magestone dust still irritated his lungs, Krang considered it a small price to pay for the powers he now wielded. The Breaking had left him, well, broken. But it also changed him.
The Council deserved credit for training him, and yes, he would have almost certainly died had they not nursed his shattered body back to health with their strange and powerful magic. Still, mere training couldn’t explain his transformation. Although he remembered little about his past, Krang had encountered enough of his Orc Kahn brethren on missions like this one to know that his resemblance to them was only physical. Orc Kahn combat, leadership, and culture were derived from a single concept: the inexorable power of brute force. Simple-minded fools! Like any good orc, Krang enjoyed the exhilaration of crushing an enemy’s face with his forehead or ruining an enemy’s knee with his heel. Physical strength was useful, no doubt, and even before his transformation, few orcs rivaled Krang in that department. Now, however, Krang was much much more than a brutish “chaos shaman” (mostly intimidation and sleight of hand, that was). His abilities and skills were perfected by the Council’s training. Now, his physical prowess was far exceeded by his drive for power, fame, and glory.
No, Krang was no longer just an orc. Anyone stupid enough to mistake him for a simple orc had ample opportunity to realize their misjudgment. In fact, he made sure they witnessed, first hand, his preeminence. He wore their bones so that they could see and so that others might avoid the same mistake. Thankfully, the bones of the slaughtered testify with silence.
Regardless, Krang had a mission to complete. Although he couldn’t remember exactly how many times the Council had sent him on missions like this one, and he had trouble recalling details from those previous missions, the goal was certainly clear and familiar, the Council’s command scorched into his consciousness, the static of their one voice crackling:
“Make haste through the Atlantean countryside. Find and conquer the city. You have three days to complete your task. Let nothing stand in your way!”
As he scanned the landscape beyond the portal, Krang sensed that something wasn’t right. Along the coastline to the east he squinted into the early morning sun and spied the distant spires of a mage tower. To the north he heard the faint but unmistakable grunts and clangs of a clan of rampaging orcs. As the wind shifted he caught a whiff of their unmistakable stench as well. He turned his head to the west and saw a small village on the sandy horizon. These were relatively common sights that Krang had seen before, from other portals that the Council had created amidst the vast sprawl of the Atlantean empire. But his time something was different.
Krang’s stomach felt slightly unsettled, there was a peculiar, fuzzy ringing in his ears. Using his staff for leverage, he straightened his back and squinted to try to see beyond the village to the west. The sun at his back illuminated the hazy outline of what appeared to be a massive stone wall beyond the village. Krang took a deep breath and began to exhale slowly, calming himself as the Council had taught him. He stopped mid-exhale and his eyes opened wide as he realized the source of his unease. It was a Draconum.
Before the Breaking, the Atlantean commoners considered the Draconum (or dragons) a myth, while the more learned considered them a relic of a bygone era. But they had returned and Krang had seen them. He had seen these massive, terrible creatures crawl out of their underground incubators and lay waste to entire villages. They were the most feared and powerful creatures of the Atlantean empire. Of course, Krang did not fear dragons; instead, one could say he had a healthy respect for them. It was not unusual for him to sense the presence of a mighty Draconum from this distance, so it must have been the source of his unease. Krang released his breath, finishing the long exhale. That’s settled.
Krang lowered himself to the dewy grass and sat cross-legged with his staff across his lap. As usual, the Council sent him through the portal bright and early in the day. Krang squinted into the sun and extended his finger horizontally so that its bottom edge appeared to sit just above the dark, calm water of the sea on the eastern horizon. His thick, gnarled finger obscured the lower quarter of the newly risen sun. It’s early, thought Krang, plenty of time to plan the day’s exploits.
Krang sat and smiled as he visualized himself crushing the feeble defenders of the mage tower with his bare hands, when the mystifying tinny static inside his skull returned and intensified. This time he could not ignore it. His head throbbed and his gut twisted once again. Even a mighty dragon could not affect him like this; he felt...apprehension? He stood up too quickly and the horizon spun. Once again, he was forced to lean on his staff for balance. A distant rumble from the west drew his attention. The rumble grew and Krang could feel vibration in the soil beneath his feet. He shifted his unsteady gaze to the remote stone wall, which seemed to shift and buckle impossibly. Large sections of wall that had been there moments beforehand were now missing. A large, slender winged creature soared at what seemed an incredible speed over the wall toward the village. Below, the stone wall exploded, spraying outwards and skywards, many pieces leaving trails of strange metallic blue flame. Through the rising cloud of dust, Krang saw the silhouettes of figures stepping through the ruined wall. WHAM! The concussive force of the blast slammed into him, forcing him to lower his gaze and regain his balance. When he looked up again he saw dozens of what appeared to be orcish figures standing in precise formation between the distant village and the rubble that had formerly been the wall. Orcs in formation?! Could it be? The dust continued to clear and scores more unrecognizable figures appeared. Despite being miles away, Krang crouched to make himself less conspicuous.
The presence of well-organized orcs working, apparently, together with a dragon multiplied the already significant disorientation Krang felt from his throbbing head. None of this made sense. What could possibly compel such egotistical and capricious creatures to combine their efforts? Or perhaps not what, but who? Regardless, Krang didn’t like to waste more time thinking about it and he certainly didn’t like the unfamiliar anxiety. He set off to the east, staying low, and veering towards a low point in the gently rolling plains. He approached a small rise and glanced back towards the west. Behind the still growing ranks of orcs, amidst the rubble and dust, appeared the silhouette of a large and imposing figure. A hefty banner barely waved from a tall pole held aloft in one hand. The other hand gripped an absurdly large sword that appeared to be resting on the figure’s shoulder. Even from this great distance, Krang could see the behemoth, cruelly sawtoothed great-sword. Krang inhaled sharply. Apparently the rumors that Krang had thought impossible were indeed true. The long-lost and legendary General Volkare had returned, but with a far more abominable and unlikely loyal legion than he had led before the Breaking. Volkare was known as a brilliant and merciless commander. Krang had no idea what Volkare’s motivations were, but his presence was unquestionably bad news. His mission to find and conquer the city became doubly urgent.
The Council’s most important lesson was how to observe and use mana from the Source. As he marched through the short-grass prairie, Krang used that knowledge to draw energy from the earth itself. A faint green glow appeared above the surrounding plains. The energy swirled upward, coalesced in Krang’s clenched fist and glowed brighter with each step of his bare, callused feet on the cool grass. By the time he was halfway to the mage tower, Krang held a small green crystal in his hand. He dropped the crystal into an upside down skull hanging by a string of sinew from his belt of bone. He continued his measured pace, focused on the approaching mage tower. This time a soft white energy swirled up from the grass and brightened in his fist. Behind him lay large swaths of desiccated brown vegetation as if marking the trail of death itself.
The violet-topped turrets of an unnaturally slender tower rose nearly 200 feet above a barren and deeply fissured wasteland. Krang knew better than to underestimate the strength of the fortress. It was a mage tower and almost certainly fortified by the inhabitants’ magic. Likewise, Krang knew the tower provided access to spells; powerful spells that would aid him in his mission to find and conquer the city. Mage towers were also well defended, but if he could defeat those defenders it would be his to come and go as he pleased. And with the sun already beating down on him from high in the sky, he was itching for a good fight and the notoriety it would bring to his name.
Krang grabbed a white crystal from his skull-pouch, held it in front of himself and squeezed his fingers tightly around it. A sucking sound emerged as air rushed in and a dull red glow spread from his now empty palm, engulfing him like a gentle flame. Vague memories of countless unkept promises boiled up inside of him. Long forgotten let-downs from his weak and fragile pre-Breaking life fueled an inner fire. All the orcs and humans who had assured him of their trustworthiness were now kindling. Their eventual betrayals of him for gold, or fame, or even laughs now burned in his mind with a crimson predictability. Krang gazed up at the severe, rocky landscape between him and the tower. A corner of his mouth rose in a smirk. The red glow spread to his eyes. If only they could see me now. They wouldn’t dare double-cross me. If only they could see what I see. Krang saw a trail of faint red flame marking an improvised path through the tortuous terrain ahead. He lifted his staff and shot forward with unnatural speed. The air in his wake shimmered from the heat of his passing.
The mage tower’s intricately wrought door splintered and cracked from the impact of Krang’s shoulder. Surprised that it still stood, Krang looked up to see the unmistakable sparkle and glow of magical reinforcement. No matter. Krang’s toes dug deep and sprayed dry dirt behind him as he took three quick and powerful strides towards the door, lowering his shoulder for the final destructive blow. But the door wasn’t there. His heavy lean and momentum caused him to fall flat on his face and slide across the smooth stone floor into the tower, leaving a faint red glow in his wake. Despite his inglorious entrance, Krang was not caught off guard. He knew that mages reveled in trickery and misdirection, and he also knew that they would not hesitate to strike. As he slid, Krang pivoted on his ample nose (yes, that ample) so that he was facing the doorway through which he had stumbled. The fact that the door had returned, undamaged, barely registered. As he rose into a low crouch, Krang accessed the Source and ground his teeth in determination. A cool blue aura immediately flowed over his body.
A pale, dark-robed humanoid stood before him, raking viciously downward at his face with unnaturally long and razor-sharp claws. Staying low, Krang smashed the clawed hand aside with a bone-crushing strike of his staff to its wrist and used the momentum to spin to his right. As he spun, Krang lowered the crystalled point of his staff to the ground, gripping it tightly in both hands, then all in one motion he thrust his hips forward and stabbed the staff upwards. The crystals on the staff’s point glowed bright red and then were awash in putrid green as they stuck through the stomach of another spiky black-haired monk who had launched itself at Krang. Krang guided the soaring and skewered monk up and over his head, rotated, and brought the dead monk crashing down onto a third monk behind him. Meanwhile, the first monk with wide-spread arms and wrecked hand flailing sickeningly behind it, spun and jabbed savagely at a spot near Krang’s kidneys, below his bone shirt. The monk’s long fingers were pinched together so that its knife-like claws resembled the head of a spear. Dripping with an acrid green substance, the monk’s claws were sharp enough and swung with enough force to be buried into Krang’s flesh up to the wrist. Instead, the hand caromed to the side. Krang’s iridescent sapphire aura sparkled brightly at the point of contact and then extinguished. The monk, surprised and unbalanced, fell forward. Krang released his staff, leaving the third monk to struggle beneath the weight of its dead ally. As he jerked his head around towards his original assailant, Krang’s neck felt resistance. He powered through the resistance, rotating his head and torso together, neck muscles bulging red with the rage of battle. To his surprise, he found the monk gasping for its final breaths, the point of one of the massive horns on Krang’s headdress buried six inches into its chest. Krang paused only a moment to wryly raise an eyebrow at his good fortune. Then he spun slowly around, scanning the room. The small area near the door where the battle had occurred was lit with a dull yellow light from an unknown source. Robed figures stood watching from the shadows along the walls of the circular room. Sensing no apparent threat from the spectators, Krang clenched his fist and turned toward the monk still struggling to fully extricate itself from the limp body. The monk stumbled to stand, a large hole burned in its dark robes from the other’s caustic blood. Krang unclenched his fist, using his innate ability (an ability vastly improved by the Council’s tutelage) to summon a large, dense sphere of bone into it. Without hesitation and with the last of his mad battle rage, Krang lunged forward, jabbing the sphere into the monk’s face. The monk flew backwards through the air and into the shadows.
“Welcome to our tower, master Krang”, said the pale blue-skinned woman escorting Krang up the tower’s spiraling main stairway. “My fellow mages and I are pleased to offer you full access to our tower. It seems the stories of mighty Mage Knights assaul...erm...arriving in the empire are true. I apologize for any inconvenience caused by our...welcoming party. Our Savage brothers are a particularly fervent order.”
“Exterminating vermin is a specialty of mine, monk. I’ll send you the bill. What order did you say you were?” asked Krang staring up at the tall, slender and severely yet revealingly dressed woman walking slowly up stairs ahead of him.
“I’m of the Northern order.” The monk stopped at a small landing and opened a door, gesturing for Krang to enter. “We greatly appreciate your, um, contributions to the Atlantean empire, master Krang. These are dark and uncertain times and it’s a rare honor to host a renowned Mage Knight at our tower. Please take a scroll from our collection as a token of our gratitude.”
“Heh. I don’t doubt you’re eternally grateful that I relieved you of your nasty doormen, but I’m sure the locals don’t think highly of my assaulting your tower,” said Krang as he walked past the Northern monk towards the mostly empty scroll rack in the center of the small room. “This all you got?”
“I’m afraid so, master Krang. But I hope you won’t be disappointed with the utility of our modest spell selection.”
Krang unraveled a scroll, scanned it, tossed it aside. He grabbed another with the same result. Growing frustrated, he unconsciously clenched his fist and summoned a small bone sphere. He grabbed a third scroll and unrolled it on the table. Krang spoke in a rumbling baritone that grew more imposing with every word.
“Hope won’t cut it, monk. Those who disappoint me don’t live long enough t-”. He stopped, rolled up the scroll and slid it into a hollow bone in his belt. Krang looked up at the monk and cracked a mischievous grin. “I’ll take this one.”
Krang felt good about his victory over the monks. But the achievement was more than just an ego boost; Krang was actually stronger because of it, his skin had grown thicker and battle-hardened. He sought fame and glory like a young plant seeks light and water. And also like the plant, a small taste of success fueled his ambition for more by tenfold. After all, Krang was a Mage Knight.
Mage Knights were renowned throughout the empire for their tireless lust for power and their skills in battle, but also for the mystery shrouding their motivations and the source of their extraordinary powers. The Council invited only the finest specimens of the various races found in the Atlantean empire to be Mage Knights. Thus far, very few had proven worthy. As far as Krang was aware, most of those had died excruciatingly. When successful, the Council’s training amplified and honed a Mage Knight’s innate potential. Through each successive triumph in battle, a Mage Knight’s skills matured and sharpened, drawing them closer to the acme of their natural abilities.
However, it wasn’t just a yearning to perfect their instincts that drove a Mage Knight’s craving for fame. Victory also uncovered ancient powers buried within them. Primordial talents of cunning, dexterity, and ingenuity were seeded deep in a Mage Knights’ unconscious through the Council’s arcane purification and rejuvenation process; a process culminating in an incubation of indeterminate length following each mission. Most Mage Knights were under no illusions regarding their position as implements of the Council’s secretive grand scheme, nor did they care. Freedom was a concern for the weak.
With one hand clutching his staff and the other laid self-reassuringly on his bony scroll sheath, Krang strode confidently toward the mage tower’s main door. Barely slowing, he stuck out his hand and glanced back toward the throng of fawning observers, meaning to slam the door open for an appropriately dramatic exit. Instead, Krang found himself sprawled ingloriously on the floor, rubbing a bruised nose and staring up at a seamless stone wall. Outrage replaced confusion as he heard someone snickering behind him. Without hesitation, he stood up and whipped his arm around, launching an apple-sized ball of bone at the giggling magic-user. Krang blinked, confused once again. There was only a chipped and cracked wall where a mage’s split and bloody skull should have been. He slowly scanned the room, searching for the soon-to-be expired jokester. Finding no obvious target, Krang stomped over to a pale blue-skinned monk, this one bald and wrapped in thick skins and animal furs. He hoisted the man a foot off the ground by his throat.
“Who’s responsible for this?”
“Mmmnggggg!” groaned the wide-eyed Northern Monk, pawing at Krang’s hand.
“Come forward now,” said Krang, rotating so as to see everyone, his voice booming through the large room, “or this one dies.”
Yet another pale blue figure stepped forward, this one tall and hooded, and carrying a long sword in one hand and an axe in the other. Krang grinned at the prospect of another fight, but then frowned as the Northern Monk who had escorted him to the scroll room stepped in front of her kinsman. She clutched a young, unkempt girl out in front of her at arms length.
“You must take me for quite the fool, monk, if you think i’ll just chastise this waif and be on my merry way.” Krang sneered and tightened his grip. The struggling monk released a pitiful squeaking sound.
“She looks like a servant, master Krang,” said the female monk, “but her looks deceive you.”
The young girl held her arms wide, palms facing Krang. Her features and clothing became wispy ribbons of white energy that swirled like a mini cyclone and then were sucked up into her glowing palms. In her place stood a slight, purple and white-robed figure, wearing an incredibly elaborate white helmet (if that’s what you would call it) surrounding an otherworldly purple mask. Krang couldn’t tell if the helmet was the skull of some exotic animal or somehow manmade. It had four spiraled horns, two on each side, and various pointy and ridged protrusions. Impressed, Krang dropped the struggling monk, who collapsed into a heap on the floor, gasping for breath. Krang extended his finger to investigate the strange head-piece and got about an inch away from it before he poked an unseen barrier.
“I see we share an interest in flamboyant headwear,” spoke a female voice behind the mask.
“Strange choice for your last words,” Krang replied with significantly less venom than he had intended, intrigue replacing his earlier embarrassment. “And who might you be?”
“We are Illusionists,” said three voices in unison as two more similarly dressed figures appeared beside the first.
“A moderately useful trick,” said Krang. He took a deep breath, gathered an inner peace that he had discovered since his recent victory, and said in a serene, welcoming voice, “Come with me, Illusionists. I think you’ll find my adventures quite...fulfilling.”
The Illusionists turned toward one another. They could have been considering the offer, telepathically weighing the pros and cons, or they could have been sticking their tongues out at one another, Krang had no idea what was going on behind those impassive violet masks. Until they started to snicker again, this time in unison.
His patience fully lost, Krang lowered his skull-topped staff. The crystals protruding from the skull’s orbits glowed blood red. The Illusionists’ laughter ended abruptly. Again in unison, each clawed at its headpiece in obvious distress.
“I see you’re reconsidering my generous offer,” said Krang smoothly.
No longer coordinated, the Illusionists began to groan, still clutching their headpieces. The glow from the staff’s crystals intensified and one Illusionist let out a horrific scream. The one who had originally revealed herself stumbled towards Krang and bowed. Or was she doubling-over in pain? No matter.
“We are...yours...to command…master Krang,” she managed to spit out through apparently clenched teeth.
“What a pleasant turn of events,” said Krang, regaining his peaceful poise and scanning the small crowd of wide-eyed spectators, “now let’s go.”
After a few hours of swift trekking, Krang stood next to crumbling stone steps leading down into an impenetrable underground darkness.
“You lot sure aren’t much in the stamina department, are you?” he said, leaning impatiently on his staff.
The Illusionists wobbled forward, apparently regaining their ability to act in unison, but clearly exhausted from the long trek through the barren wasteland.
“You won’t be any use to me down here. What can you do for me before I go?” Krang asked.
“Hold on,” the Illusionists replied together, trying to catch their breath.
“No,” said Krang, “I’m going to slay whatever horrible beast lives in this dungeon, and I’m going to do it right now.” Pointing his staff toward the slumped Illusionists, he continued, “and YOU are going to make yourselves useful. NOW!”
Krang stepped carefully through the narrow underground passageway, listening carefully for signs of danger. He unthinkingly fingered the white crystal in his skull-pouch, the one that had replaced the green one he had used to buoy his stamina across another unforgiving wasteland. Those guys can produce crystals, too. He dropped the white crystal back into the skull-pouch. Not bad.
Krang’s brief day-dream was interrupted by a deep rumbling sound. The dungeon shook from the passing of some massive creature. Krang stepped into a vast cavern. As was common among the races in the Atlantean Empire, Krang could see well in the dark. However, the pitch blackness of the dungeon forced him to strain his eyes to see across the huge cave. The floor was strewn with piles of rubble at the mouths of large holes in the cavern walls. Krang looked up and saw a similar hole in the ceiling. Where and what was this thing? He took a few more tentative steps along the wall.
A geyser of rock sprayed upward from the cavern floor. Krang sprang nimbly aside, avoiding being crushed by a boulder as big as himself. A huge worm-like creature emerged from the hole in the ground. Its eyeless head bent towards him, a long slimy tongue waving around as if tasting the air. Krang saw two massive maws lined with pointy dagger-sized teeth, each large enough to swallow half of him. Perfect. I’m meal enough for the both of them. I wonder how well they share?
The Crypt Worm lunged. Krang ducked behind a Boulder, which exploded on impact, sending his staff to the side and Krang flying backwards into the cavern wall. The worm reared up once more to strike. This time, there was no boulder and no escape for Krang. He reached into the Source. With his hand glowing red, Krang grabbed his scroll sheath.
The worm lunged hungrily at Krang for a second time, its belly already gurgling in anticipation of a meal. It found flame instead. Flame and pain.
Krang, slightly surprised at how completely the burning shield had halted the monster’s momentum, stood up and forced the shield back at the screeching worm. Its entire face was ablaze and the fire was spreading along its body. Krang called a massive bone sphere big enough to require two hands as the burning shield disappeared. He lept up and brought it down heavily onto the worm’s scorched skull. It twitched one more time and then lay still.
Already feeling stronger after killing the worm, Krang retrieved his staff and began searching the cavern. Dungeons like these always have some lost treasures. Plenty of would-be heroes die fighting creatures like this one. Some of the fools are even well-equipped.
Krang stepped out of the dungeon to find the Illusionists sitting by a makeshift fire in the waning light of the sunset. They had recovered enough from the long walk to return to their nondescript, peasant-like appearance.
“What did you find?” they asked, looking up together at the sword in Krang’s hand.
“A big hungry worm,” said Krang, “and a sword that just might tip the scales of future battles in our favor.”
One of the three Illusionists picked a skewered snake off the spit above the fire and offered it to Krang. Maybe a quick bite and short break were a good idea. He reached for the stick, but stopped short of grabbing it. A familiar ringing noise bounced through his skull. Krang smacked his dried lips and looked to the west. Smoke from dozens of campfires rose above a forest beyond a marshland.
“Naw, I’m trying to cut back. You should too. Put that fire out. We’re heading back east.”



Volkare’s Return (Legendary/Thrilling)
Mage Knight = Krang
Tovak dummy skills (rolled blue)

Round 1 - Day

Offers:
Adv. Actions = Counterattack, Stout Resolve, Peaceful Moment
Spells = Burning Shield, Chill, Meditation
Units = Northern Monks (black crystal), Utem Guardsmen (gold), Illusionists (white), Illusionists
(crystals put next to the first 3 units for Volkare’s Return - race level Thrilling)
Tactics: Krang picks Planning, Volkare gets Early Bird - Vokare goes first

Turn 1
Source = green, green, blue, black
Volkare: green card (rerolls green source to green)
Krang: Savage Harvesting, Improvisation, Determination, Swiftness, March
Play: move 4 from powered Savage Harvesting (green source) across 2 plains and adjacent to a Mage Tower (guarded by Monks) - discard March and Swiftness for 1 green and 1 white crystals.
Gain: 1 green and 1 white crystals
#Reroll green source to white.

Turn 2
Source = green, white, blue, black
Crystals = 1 green, 1 white
Volkare: wound (rolls white, Illusionists leave unit offer to join Volkare - adds 1 grey token to his army)
Krang: Stamina, Rage, Improvisation, Promise, Mana Draw, Determination (+1 card from Planning)
Play: white crystal to power Mana Draw (turn black source to red) for 2 red mana tokens - move 5 from powered Improvisation (red mana token, discard Promise) to assault Mage Tower on wastelands (reputation down 1 = 0) - block Monks’ attack with block 5 from powered Determination (blue source) - kill Monks with attack 5, 4 from powered Rage (2nd red mana token) + 1 from sideways Stamina (4+1=5).
Gain: Burning Shield, 4 fame(4): level up(2), AA = Peaceful Moment, skill = Battle Hardened (discard Curse, Tovak adds Cold Swordsmanship to skill pool)
#reroll blue source to black

Turn 3
Source = green, white, red, black
Crystals = 1 green
Volkare: white spell (explores countryside tile and rerolls white source to black)
Krang: Ruthless Coercion, Peaceful Moment, Tranquility, Rage, Burning Shield
Play: influence 5, 2 (and discount 2) from Ruthless Coercion + 3 from Peaceful Moment to recruit Illusionists (reputation down 1 = -1).
Gain: Illusionists

Turn 4
Source = red, blue, black, black
Crystals = 1 green
Volkare: green card (rerolls green source to blue)
Krang: Tranquility, Rage, Burning Shield, Crystallize, Concentration, Swiftness (+1 from Planning)
Units: Illusionists
Play: Tranquility to draw 1 card (Stamina) - move 6 from powered Concentration+Stamina (green crystal) over plains to dungeon on wastelands - spend Illusionists for white crystal - enter dungeon - face Crypt Worm - block Crypt Worm’s attack with block 6, fire block 4 from Burning Shield (red source) + block 2 from Rage - kill Crypt Worm with attack 6, fire attack 4 from Burning Shield + attack 2 from swiftness and crystallize sideways
Gain: 5 fame(9): level up(3), command token (armor 3), Sword of Justice (discard Sapphire Ring)
#reroll red source to white

Turn 5
Source = black, black, white, blue
Crystals = 1 white
Volkare: green card
Krang: Sword of Justice
Units: Illusionists (spent)
Play: announce end of round

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Ade Lewis
United Kingdom
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I defy anyone who denies this game creates its own stories... :)
Thanks for the great read.
 
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