Chapter 8 (Patreon)

Later That Night…

Caleb Howard wasn’t the smartest tool in the shed, but he didn’t care.

He was a drop-out from Winslow High, a statistical commonality of low-life thugs who became yet another crime committing goon in search of the easy money, the easy highs, and the easy confidence that came with betting your continued survival at the barrel of a switched out 9mm semi-automatic. Caleb had next to no family to worry about other than a disappointed grandma who kicked him out the second she caught him smoking crack in the attic. He usually squatted in one of the gang’s traphouses, so rent was taken care of. Hell, some of his recent ‘work buddies’ were women with decent hygiene so it wasn’t like he was lacking in romantic pursuits!

Coked-up blowjobs were the fucking best.

And so, with his life as an Archer’s Bridge Merchant turning out to be everything he desired and more, Caleb was able to spend all of his time doing what he was starting to call the ‘Cycle of Life’ for people like him.

Fuck whores, sell dope for Skidmark, and get high off the surplus. Who could tell them no? The Merchants were still clawing up from the underground, but they at least had multiple Capes! Those other ragtag no-name gangs couldn’t boast the same, and Caleb had hopped around a few circles before being recruited into the Merchants. They weren’t the best, but they were gonna get there, and he couldn’t fuckin’ wait to ride the wave all the way to the top!

“Hell yeah,” he grunted, sliding his sore-covered hand through Molly’s greasy and tangled locks of auburn hair. She gagged and choked against his dick, the sloppy sounds only increasing his arousal. “We’re gonna be fuckin’ kings…fuuuck!”

“Mmmphhh!”

“Shut up and keep suckin’, bitch.” His spine tingled as pleasure mixed with the dripping euphoria of the heroin needle jabbed between the sensitive webbing of his dirty toes. “Ho’s like you aren’t meant to e-elev- fuuuck- elevate ya’ status. You’re good at suckin’ dick though, mmhm. Maybe if you keep your slut legs closed to the other boys I’ll bring you with me when I get promot-”

CRASH.

The raucous sound of glass exploding, a loud and shrill noise, echoed through the dark warehouse. Caleb froze, his cloudy eyes blurrily opening. He was more upset about Molly stopping the sloppy top than he was at whatever the fuck the other gangsters were doing outside of the dirty bathroom.

He clumsily cuffed the spooked woman over the head, ignoring her wince of shame. The shitty scent of clogged-up refuse from the toilet was already bad enough ambience. He didn’t wanna get blue balls because the bitch was scared over every big noise. “The fuck you stop for?” His words slurred as the drugs cycled through his system.

Molly, twenty something years old and light skin, probably would’ve looked good back before the Merchants got ahold of her. Now, with crusted on make-up and pores the size of raisins, she looked about as well as she felt - which, with fear flushing the high out of her body, was quite shit. “I-I’m sorry! But you ain’t hear that noise? What- what if it’s a hero or somethin’...”

Caleb groaned loudly, leaning back on the grimy porcelain toilet and shaking his quickly softening dick. Anger was clear on his face. “They’re probably just doin’ stupid shit. Now you got me all soft ‘n shit with your whining ass bitchin’!”

Molly shrunk back, her pupils dilating in fear. “I’m sorry daddy.” She hesitatingly started stroking his small, shrunken dick again, but her movements were jerky and unsure now - and Caleb was starting to lose interest. If she couldn’t handle a lil’ bit of Brockton Bay chaos in the foreground then she wasn’t worth bringing up in his grand scheme to become Skid’s second-in-command. He’d find another slut.

“Fuck off,” he spat, pushing her back on her ass and fumbling to pull his pants up. Molly didn’t hesitate to scramble to her feet and flee - good riddance. The sound of rushing footsteps and loud, angry voices were growing louder, and Caleb wanted to see what the fuck was going on that was so crazy that they had to sound like motherfucking elephants in a China shop.

There was no way that a buncha heroes actually busted into their warehouse - they had a nice, hidden spot on the far side of the Docks and no stupid Capes had shown any signs of taking notice. At least, that’s what some of the other guys said in passing. Caleb sorta just got high and occasionally sold dope to stupid kids on their way to his old high school.

It was when Caleb had finally shimmied his pants up his asscheeks and cinched his belt - which was an awkward ass task while sitting on the toilet - that a bone-shaking scream of gunfire abruptly tore through the air, sending his inebriated mind for a whirl. Surprise found him yelping and falling back on the toilet, his head slamming harshly against the concrete wall.

“Ah, fuck!”

Dizziness and vertigo dulled his senses. He wiggled his toes again, but the high wasn’t high enough to completely soak up the pain. It felt like the back of his head was bleeding. And maybe he did have to actually shit, now that he was sitting down again. His stomach was hurting a lot…like, a lot. It was a cold, cramping, unfamiliar pain - vaguely, he wondered if period cramps felt the same way. If so, then he’d understand why so many bitches were so god damned high strung.

This, though…this didn’t feel right. “Ughhh…” he groaned, neck lolling and darkness pulling at the edge of his vision. Something was wrong…terribly, horribly fuckin’ wrong.

With all of his willpower, Caleb threw his neck forward, fighting through the darkness to chance a glance at his cramping stomach. It felt like his soul was being squeezed out of his fucking bellybutton.

A gleaming, golden spear - masterfully crafted, even if he had no fucking idea about the artistic expertise needed to create weapons - jutted through his stomach like a harpoon through a whale’s blubber. It went out at least eight feet, clearing the stall’s doorway and pointing at the grimy and cracked mirror of the bathroom. His vision was actually starting to completely go, but vaguely, as he stared at his reflection with the big ass golden spear sticking through his gut, Caleb had to wonder…

Where the fuck was the blood?

__________________________________

I missed.

In my defense, it was hard to multitask launching my Weapon Magic at a thug sideways-shooting an uzi at me with seemingly no regard for his fellow gangbangers and groupies. The golden spear only barely missed the shooter as I teleported a short distance behind a ratty, torn-up couch. Although I couldn’t see where it hit - probably the wall behind the asshole - I immediately dissipated the construct just in case it bored completely through the concrete and hit some innocent bystander standing on the other side.

Not that I thought that there were any innocent bystanders in the most stereotypical crackhouse I’d ever seen, but y’know…collateral, right? I was trying to be more mindful.

“Aye, Rico - the bastard’s behind the couch! I got him pinned!” The uzi-toting Merchant yelled over to another thug, this one gripping a baseball bat and standing with his knees trembling. I could just barely see him from behind my cover - a young guy, probably only a couple years older than me, wearing a sports jacket, gray tanktop, and a gold chain.

“Listen, homes-” Rico stammered, his Spanish accent thickened with his fear, “I-I was supposed to just stop by and grab some bricks. I ain’t tryna fight no Cape! This ain’t even my bat!”

And that was true enough. After I broke in through the second floor’s window and Gate of Babylon’d the duo of gangsters up there playing cards, the third goon I hadn’t seen sitting in the shadows had run downstairs screaming about a cape. He had been the one with the baseball bat, and he had also been kicked down said flight of stairs after I panic-ported behind him and slammed my ratty sneakers up his ass. Said bat clonking down the stairs, in addition to the man’s panicked screams as he went alongside his weapon, had alerted the rest of the drug den.

Not that I was too worried. No, rather - in that moment, I felt a sort of…zen overtake me? It wasn’t anything crazy like complete and utter calm in the face of mortal danger, but I was here, now, with more abilities than I had a day ago and a more concrete understanding of how to leverage them. These were just your run of the mill lowlives, and if I couldn’t take them out then I just had to be the most disappointing fucker to gain the Celestial Grimoire.

My heartbeat steadily in my chest, sweat dripped down my cheek from inside my plastic Dollar Tree opera mask, and my fingers clenched and unclenched in heady anticipation. It was time to clean house.

“Fuckin’ pussy, go hit the fucker before I shoot you in the face!” The uzi-toting goon turned on Rico, spitting out obscenities as he flagged his own fucking teammate, and I blinked owlishly. “If you runnin’ our shit, you a part of this!"

Rico raised his bat fearfully and backed away. “A-aye man, aim the gun back at the fucking Cape!”

Druggies really weren’t the smartest of opponents. Random as all fuck and belligerent, but definitely not smart.

‘Then again,’ I thought, tensing my body in preparation as my second pair of eyes noticed the surprisingly quiet asshole rushing me from behind with a knife, ‘It’s not like they know I got like ten powers at this point.’

His lunge was suitably quick and impressive, but the strangled and half-mad battle-cry he let out was less so.

Some would call me foolhardy or arrogant for keeping still, crouched behind the couch, as a gangster rushed me from behind with a knife…but those people would be underestimating just how life-changing having an honest to God second pair of eyes were. He didn’t know I knew he was there. His movements, though quick for his size, were clumsy and not graceful in the slightest. I wasn’t a martial artist, but I knew a bit about hand-to-hand combat even outside of Heroic Aptitude being a bit of a cheat. This guy was trash.

My elbow lashed backwards just as the bastard came within arms length with his suicidal charge.

“Ack!”

I could feel something warbly and soft reverberate and squish at the strength in the blow, but I didn’t stop to feel empathy - it was only a matter of time before the uzi was being sprayed at me again and I did not think the hand-me-down leather jacket and t-shirt I was wearing would save me from bullets. I reached up as the thug folded over my shoulder and tightly cinched my right arm around his neck, choking off the pained groan he was letting out. A flex of my back and a sharp jerk of my shoulder and the thug flew bodily through the air in a controlled descent right to my feet, the bones in his neck creaking and the breath blasting out of his lungs from the pseudo-judo throw. He wheezed out what sounded like ‘please’.

I didn’t hesitate to slam my elbow once, twice into his forehead, hopefully sending him off to lala-land without too much cranial trauma. If he did end up with a few screws loose, though…well, I don’t think I’d lose too much sleep. Perks of having a few of ‘em loose myself.

I looked up, my mind as focused as it had ever been, just in time to hear the thug with the gun shout ‘shit’ and aim his piece at me again. At this point, despite having spent the better part of four years training with the damned things, I was getting sick of guns. My blood was still pumping, reflexes screaming at my body to do a dozen and one fucking things to get the Hell outta the way, and so I moved.

Woosh.

Bullets tore another vengeful streak through the crackhouse, sending stone chips and dried paint scattering through the musky air, but my magic was already surging through my core.

“Fuck, he keeps disappearin’!” The thug screeched, whipping his head around in circles.

Motherfuckers never looked up. It really was like the movies.

One golden spear cut through the air over the goon’s head, moving too fast for his stupid dumb brain to keep up with. It moved with pinpoint accuracy - I was getting quite good at maneuvering the oversized toothpicks - and  skewered his wrist to the ground, sending the uzi clattering across the floor. Just as it did so, sending him harshly to his knees with a scream of pain, I landed foot-first on his head like black Mario, goomba-stomping his teeth into the messy floor and scattering those too.

He was still alive, at least…just in need of a decent dentist.

That only left Rico. I whipped my head to the right, raising my hand and calling my magic to bear - only to pause.

The hispanic young man stood, eyes wide and lips trembling, with a dirty, ratty young woman with smudged makeup gripped tightly against his chest. The gun that the other thug had dropped was held in his shaking right hand, pressed too tightly against the woman’s head. The sight made me want to smile wryly at the genericness of it all - not because a woman was being held hostage - but I figured that that would be fucked up of me so I frowned instead.

“I could probably send a spear through your eye before you could pull the trigger, y’know.” My stoic voice was casual, almost conversational. I didn’t see a reason to bother with voice modulators, so its deep, youthful richness - something that had gotten me laid quite often back in college - was on full display. He seemed taken aback by the sound of my voice, probably expecting me to sound like a demon or something. With the way that his already bugged out eyes widened even more fearfully at my statement, it wouldn’t have surprised me.

“Señor, ten piedad de nosotros…” he muttered woodenly beneath his breath. I heard it, and it only took a brief second of remembering Spanish lessons with my perfect memory to translate the words.

“Sure,” I did smile this time, although he couldn’t see it beneath my mask, “Just let the hooker go and I won’t crucify you like they did my son.” I probably shouldn’t have been joking with the seriousness of the situation at hand, but hey - dark humor got me through almost all of my tribulations. I was a bit nervous here, truth be told. Getting an innocent killed on my first night out was not what I considered a win.

The woman blanched at my words. “I-I’m not a hooker!” Tears and snot ran from her eyes and nose, and the sight almost had me cringing away. “Please help me! I don’t want to die!”

“Shut…shut up!” Rico screamed, his arm tightening around the woman’s neck. She let out a choked sob as the thug took a staggered step backwards, his fingers twitching. “Both of you, shut up! You’re not a fuckin’ God, you freak…you’re a hero. Right?! Imma kill her if you don’t let me go!”

The bastard was starting to get desperate, and desperation bred mistakes. Lethal mistakes. My blood ran even hotter through my veins, synapses firing one after the other, and I could feel my brain working faster and faster in the heat of the moment. Time didn’t necessarily slow down, but my perception of the situation grew significantly as the stress peeled back and the realization of the situation truly set in. If I summoned magic like before, he’d panic and shoot. He was more than ten feet away, so a teleport wouldn’t work - and if I tried to chain teleport, he could get the shot off in-between.

I was this woman’s only chance at getting out of this alive, and that responsibility…well, it weighed heavily. But it also empowered me. Sole Protector was no joke - I felt like I could bench press a fucking car. Not that it would help here.

But my enhanced perception and intellect definitely would. This man was nervous and desperate, but he was also not like the other goons. Sure, he was a drug-dealer, but I doubted he partook as often as other Merchants. His clothing seemed relatively nice, his teeth were clean, and the chain looked real…he was probably just doing drug runs for them as an independent dealer, rather than being a part of their gang. His pupils were shrunken in fear, but the telltale signs of drug-use that I could remember reading about back when I first got high and had an anxiety attack wasn’t showing.

The guy was sober. Scared, desperate, and judging by how his hands were shaking…he probably didn’t wanna kill the woman.

I activated Force of Spirit and took a step forward. Even with that one step, my body felt too light. Too reactive. It was invigorating.

“Aye, not another step p-puta!” He moved with me, taking a step back that was double the distance of my own. Too bad for him that he wasn’t closer to the door.

“Rico,” I said coolly, raising both hands to show that I wasn’t doing anything aggressive. My ability had me lowering my tone into one of disappointment, a genuine pitch change that even had me fooled for a second. “This ain’t you, man.”

He swallowed thickly, both brows practically disappearing into his beanie as he stared. “H-how the fuck do you know my name?” He hesitated, not moving back when I took another step forward.

‘Ol’ gummy-mouth over there said it,’ I thought, but of course he wouldn’t remember that. He was sober, not smart - and panic already had him jumping at shadows and stumbling over his words. There was no way for him to remember that fact right now.

“I know you, man. We used to hang out back in Uni, before…y’know.” I definitely didn’t know, but Rico had the bearings of a linebacker. Big, broad-shouldered, a bit dumb…I could definitely see him playing sports. He didn’t immediately call me out on my bullshit, so I dove further into Force of Spirits and added a bit of grimness to my voice. “Shit sucked, seein’ you just get expelled like that…but I told you to stop selling on campus, man.” I cringed beneath my mask at the pure amount of bull coming out of my mouth. At this point, I was prepared to chance threading the needle with my Weapon Magic if push came to shove. There was no way I actually guessed-

“...Jamal?” Rico gaped in shock, his mouth falling open. “Homes, when did you become a Cape? And- and why are you bustin’ up the Merchants? Skidmark ain’t the one to mess with, man!” There was desperation in his voice, like before, but this time it was different. He seemed like he was pleading for me to leave the crackhose…alone? Who the fuck was Jamal? And why did I feel like I was starting to get a peek into a dramatic backstory that I wanted no part in?

“I’m sorry,” I said tightly, not even having to fake the pain in my voice. This was getting painfully ridiculous.

“Nah.” Rico’s voice broke as he took a step forward, his large size easily carrying the woman in his arm’s with him as he glared at me. “Nah, nah, nah. You gotta answer me, man. You just stopped returnin’ my calls-”

He took another step forward…and I acted.

A woosh of displaced air was the only warning the emotional thug had before I was only a few steps away. Sole Protector bolstered my body, overcharging my muscles and brain and allowing me to move with a brisk strength that my otherwise normal human body would never be able to manage alone. My fist found purchase against the thug’s nose alongside the sound of bones crunching and blood spurting, and the man instinctively let go of the woman to scream and stifle the bleeding. His eyes were probably watering too - getting hit in the nose was no fucking joke.

I gripped her by the front of her shirt and easily threw her back towards the couch, the eyes glaring from the back of my head watching as she flew through the air and landed, with a loud grunt, on top of the disgusting cushions. My first pair of eyes, however, was too busy pinning Rico down as I did a little hop-up and slammed my right foot out in an explosive kick. It was like a mallet slamming into a slab of beef; his eyes practically bugged out of his head, saliva mingling with the blood from his broken nose as my size 12s knocked all of the breath out of his lungs - and probably fractured a few ribs, too.

He bodily flew backwards, airborne for a few feet, before his body slammed against the floor and he went skidding towards the far wall. He didn’t make a single noise other than a low, warbling groan that sounded like a bull getting fucked, so I dismissed the golden spear that had started floating out of the shadows above his prone body.

For once in the past ten or so minutes, silence took over the previous chaotic din of the crackhouse. Other than the faint relieved sobbing I could hear coming from the huddled form of the not-hooker, every thug inside the warehouse had been taken out. Without being killed, too - something I was expressly proud of. What I wasn’t proud of was the Peter Pan perk the Grimoire attempted to slide towards my soul, which I pushed away after a brief inner look. It would basically make me a Siren, luring men and women to the ocean in order to fuck and drown them.

I didn’t even like swimming, man. Give me something better, like a Bankai or Domain Expansion or something.

Sighing, I turned to make my way over to the woman. Now that all the threats were taken out, Sole Protector’s amplification effects faded from my body, calming my previously rushing blood and making me feel distinctively…dumber. Less perceptive.

“Hey,” I said quietly as I reached the sobbing women, crouching down beside the couch. “Not sure if these were your buddies or if they had you locked up her or whatever, but they’re taken care of.”

I would’ve done something more comforting, like touch her knee or pat her head…but she did not seem very clean. I didn’t mean to be a dickhead, but there were only a couple reasons why a woman would be wearing high heels, no panties, and a torn mini-skirt. I had no desire to touch what was probably fucking or sucking a Merchant minutes prior.

“...THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!” With a cry, the woman lunged forward and wrapped her arms around my neck, muttering ‘thank you’ every second as she nestled her dirty face into my t-shirt. I…had to resist the urge to dodge back or throw her off of me. Instead, I ignored my instincts and carefully patted her on her back.

God, she stank.

“It’s cool,” I muttered comfortingly, grimacing beneath my mask. “I got you.”

Calming her down and sending her off to wherever the fuck women of the night went took a few minutes, but it wasn’t like I was on some super serious time crunch. We were in the part of the Docks where cops very specifically ignored the sounds of gunfire and screaming, so I wasn’t worried about my potential looting being interrupted by badges.

What did worry me a bit was the fact that we were pretty solidly in ABB territory, and the Merchants were just the type of ratty ass bastards to skirt between the shadows and peddle their wares right beneath the noses of giants. I’d seen quite a few assholes strutting around the area rocking red and green, and it was only a matter of time before they became curious about the noise and sent people to investigate.

Thugs, I was pretty confident I could handle. Oni Lee? Maybe not without a bit more of a power-up.

Lung? …I wasn’t really looking to test the literal fucking human dragon with just Weapon Magic at my disposal.

So, with that distinctively worrisome thought wiggling in the back of my mind, I began to loot everything that looked even remotely valuable. There were plenty of duffle bags lying around, a lot of ‘em filled with drugs of varying size and types, but the one that interested me the most was on the second floor, beside the table where the unconscious thugs had been playing cards.

Opening it up, I felt my heart skip a beat at the sight. Stacks of cash in different denominations practically spilled out the top as I unzipped it. Twenties, tens, hundreds, even rolled-up dollar coins that were unique to Earth Bet - I wasn’t gonna take the time to count each individually stack, but I estimated that there was, at minimum, four or so grand just chilling in the duffel. It made sense, though - drugs were fucking profitable, and you had to have cash in order to keep the supply and demand flowing. This was probably remnants, if anything - the majority was probably given to Skidmark or whatever mook lieutenants he had in his ragtag gang.

Quickly, I threw the duffle bag over my shoulder and scoured the rest of the warehouse for more valuables. In total, outside of what I found in the duffel, I probably grabbed an additional five hundred just out of wallets and strewn randomly across tables in the kitchen and rec area. Someone had even shoved dirty twenties in between the cushions of the couch. Rico’s chain and watch was also thrown in with the rest of the money, and after a moment of thought I put the uzi in there too. Cassie needed more protection down in that little bunker of hers, and she definitely wasn't the type to go in with fists swinging.

It took me about ten more minutes to get everything stored away in the duffel bag, but finally I was ready to get the fuck out of dodge. Things had gone smoothly for the most part, and the last thing I wanted to deal with was Lady Luck putting on a strap and fucking me in the ass at the last second.

Grabbing Rico’s phone, I meandered my way back to the ‘living room’ of the crackhouse and collapsed back on the dirty couch. With the money I’d collected, I could finally buy some decent fucking clothes and maybe even commission an actual Cape outfit. The stains from tonight’s drug den assault would be nothing but a distant memory come morning, so my aversion to the nasty stains and weird scents abated a little.

A quick dial of the emergency hotline later, and I was greeted by the bored voice of what sounded like a middle-aged woman.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Yo,” I responded, languidly crossing my ankle over my knee. “I’m Avalon, a new hero. While patrolling I came across a Merchant drug den. I don’t like drugs, so I showed ‘em the errors of their ways. Can you send someone to pick them up?”

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds before she spoke again, her voice still boredly professional…but a tad curious, maybe.

“...Avalon, huh? Interesting. We’ll have a squad sent as soon as possible. Are there any other Parahumans on the scene, Avalon?”

I glanced around with both sets of eyes. Bullet-holes riddled the wall behind me, four bodies were knocked unconscious and definitely not getting up anytime soon, and two more were sleeping upstairs. A bunch of mooks, maybe, but no parahumans.

I smirked. “Nah, just little ol’ me.”

The cockiness in my voice could probably be heard over the phone, because when Miss Dispatcher spoke again, there was a definite edge of tempered amusement coloring her tone. “Little. Right. Well, on behalf of Brockton Bay, thank you for your assistance Avalon. Stay safe.”

“No promises.”

Feeling light, I ended the call with a 'click' and tossed the phone behind me. At the same time, the Grimoire tentatively, almost shyly, offered forth another mote of light like a peace offering- this one larger than the previous and infinitely more interesting to me. It was Warhammer again - a universe that I was unsure of and unfamiliar with - but it didn’t say anything about skulls of the dying or screams of tortured souls. No, rather it offered a boon that seemed…wildly useful for the small amount of charge it asked for. And I was tempted. By the God above, I was fucking tempted.

Omni-Disciplinary Mage (Warhammer Fantasy: High Elves - 200 CP): While it certainly isn’t overly talked about, given the prevalence of the auspiciousness of High Magic, the Asur Mages have access to every other common Lore of magic. Yes indeed, odd as it may be to think of a noble High Elf utilizing the Lore of Shadows, or Death, you can certainly do so if the Qhaysh is truly not to your liking. Furthermore, from here onwards you will have unilateral access to every avenue of magic you encounter that is not restricted by something like race, or otherwise secret.

What the fuck even was High Magic, or ‘Asur Mages’?

These cryptic terms made me unsure of taking the plunge, but the thought that I’d have access to every avenue of magic I encounter for the foreseeable future was something that I just couldn’t refuse on a common-sense level. Wasn’t this something that I so desperately needed in a world like Worm? Sure, I wouldn’t be accessing any foreign magic while living in a world without magic, but what about when I left Earth Bet? So many worlds utilized different types of magic, and I was a greedy man. I wanted all the fucking magic, even if only to one day sit at the top of a massive wizard tower and shit my excellency down on the peasants below.

‘This better not turn me into a fucking High Elf or something…’ I inwardly sighed, allowing my soul the chance to reach forward and hook around the mote of light.

Even as I reeled in the perk and synchronized it with my soul, I shouldered my duffel-bag and made my way briskly towards the exit. Warhammer Fantasy magic or no, I still had things I had to do tonight. Serious things - things that would ruin me and my quest if I didn’t do them.

Cassie had given me a shopping list, being the temporary cripple that she was, and I had to grab some important things on my way back to the hideout. Fortunately, I had perfect memory and memorized everything.

First destination? The sleepy bistro on the corner of Barksdale Road, down in the Southern Docks. Hopefully they were still open.

Apparently the little hacker was absolutely obsessed with their pizza bagels. Considering I'd only had coffee all day, well...I'd probably end up becoming obsessed too.

__________________________________

Perks Received:

Omni-Disciplinary Mage (Warhammer Fantasy: High Elves - 200): While it certainly isn’t overly talked about, given the prevalence of the auspiciousness of High Magic, the Asur Mages have access to every other common Lore of magic. Yes indeed, odd as it may be to think of a noble High Elf utilizing the Lore of Shadows, or Death, you can certainly do so if the Qhaysh is truly not to your liking. Furthermore, from here onwards you will have unilateral access to every avenue of magic you encounter that is not restricted by something like race, or otherwise secret.[/spoiler]

800 CP Remaining.