Episode 15. First gym of Johto. Big episode...
I hope you enjoy the episode.
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Episode 15. First gym of Johto. Big episode...
I hope you enjoy the episode.
I don't 'do' horror, but this was too interesting to pass up.
Closer to a funny look than an informative one, Geran tries Phasmophobia: a co-op game about locating and identifying ghosts.
An incredibly odd experience that has to be seen to be believed.
Closer to a funny look than an informative one, Geran tries Wheels of Aurelia: a visual novel/driving game set in 1970s Italy.
(Voted for by you guys)
Episode 13. The first chronological appearance of the new Plusle & Minun art.
I hope you enjoy the episode and I apologise for the sorry state of the video player. I'm working on a replacement.
When a fairy banker and an anime girl work together...you get a very profitable shop.
This time Geran plays a game he loves; Recettear: An Item Shop's Tale. An anime shop management/dungeon crawler.
Voted for by you guys.
Big Settler 2 vibes, but with lemmings and...somehow fewer pixels.
Closer to a funny look than an informative one, Geran tries MicroTown; a relaxing city builder.
(Voted for by you guys)
No, I'm not doing a death count...
Closer to a funny look than an informative one, Geran tries Celeste; a difficult precision platformer.
Voted for by you guys. Enjoy.
Episode 11. About a quarter of the way through the season already.
I hope you enjoy the episode and I apologise for the sorry state of the video player. I'm working on a replacement.
One of The Original real time strategy games.
Closer to a funny look than an informative one, Geran tries Age of Empires: Definitive Edition; the remake of one of his first gaming experiences.
Hey, here is Episode 9.
Just a note, I'm aware that the video player on my site has...broken more than usual. Trust me, I'm as annoyed about it as you are and I'm trying desperately to either fix it or find a replacement.
Some big changes to reward tiers and info about the free release of my D&D campaign story.
Make sure, if you're an existing patron on the $15 or $25 tiers, you check you're assigned to the right rewards. Patreon may not do it automatically.
Written Work: https://www.gar1onriva.co.uk/written-reviews/
For months I've been trying to find something to put at $15 that I'm happy with. While I enjoy the idea of a writing tier, I feel it hasn't succeeded. This is, at least partially, because this is a Patreon based around videos... Written stories just don't quite have the right audience. I do still want, and plan, to make writing available (in particular my Wandering Combine story), but in the meantime I'd like to change some things with this Patreon.
The Touka Tier, the current $15 reward tier, will be removed entirely. I love the idea, I love the art, but it's not a good fit right now.
The Jeffery Tier, currently at $25, will be reduced to be the new $15 reward. Anyone already at $15 will be entitled to the reward which offers a monthly gaming session with me: at least an hour, but these sessions often overrun. Ever tried finishing a game of Civilization in a single hour?
If anyone at $15 doesn't want to make use of this reward, that's perfectly fine too. I understand if it's not what some people may want, either because they're not big gamers or they wanted to show support for my writing, and I hold no ill will if this means you'll reduce your pledge.
I'll also be reducing the number of slots for this tier...at least for now. Along with everything else changing, I want to make sure I can keep up with whatever is needed. The slots will be going from 15 to 5, but may increase again when I have a better handle on things and depending on interest in the tier.
The Tabby Tier, currently at $50, will be the new $25. Like the Jeffery Tier, anyone already at $25 will be entitled to the Tabby Tier reward; a monthly private chat with me. Also like the gaming session, this chat (voice/video available at the patron's choice) is for at least an hour, but often goes on longer. This tier also includes the gaming session.
If anyone doesn't want to make use of the private chat, that's perfectly fine. Similarly, if this isn't something current $25 patrons want, I understand if they choose to reduce their pledge.
A new rule I'm adding, though, is an age restriction. It will be my policy starting now that a patron must be aged 16 or older to make use of the Private Chat reward. I hope that this isn't a problem for anyone.
The Touka Tier - a $15 reward based around written stories - will be removed.
The Jeffery Tier - the $25 monthly gaming session reward - will be reduced to $15.
The Tabby Tier - the $50 monthly private chat reward - will be reduced to $25.
I'll make the changes in about a week in preparation for the new month. If you have any questions/suggestions, please feel free to comment.
Thank you for your ongoing support.
- Geran 'Gar1onriva'
Hey, here is Episode 7.
Just a note, I'm aware that the video player on my site has...broken more than usual. Trust me, I'm as annoyed about it as you are and I'm trying desperately to either fix it or find a replacement.
One of my biggest tasks for next week will be progressing towards the new website.
In the meantime, I hope the player behaves. Sorry again.
Episode 5 is finally live.
Sorry it's a couple of days late. I've been struggling with microphone issues all week - which is why I didn't stream at all - and because of that I didn't even think to check my video schedule.
As a reminder, next episode will be a patron-exclusive one as we get back to our usual alternation.
Episode 4, I hope you want more.
This one sticks with me.
As a reminder, the next episode will also be completely free ($5+ patrons get a week's early access) before the paid episodes resume the usual alternation.
Episode 3, for your viewing pleasure.
A positive step.
As a reminder, the next 2 episodes will also be completely free ($5+ patrons get a week's early access) before the paid episodes resume the usual alternation.
Complete transparency, this is an example post that I've copy & pasted. Nonetheless, I feel it provides the information a lot better than if I tried to write it myself.
I wanted to give you an update on some changes that we’ll be seeing which may affect some of your pledges. Due to new laws passing in several countries and US states, Patreon will be required to start charging sales tax on some pledges starting July 1st.
Less than half of all patrons will be charged sales tax, and for most, the amount will be very small. For example, sales tax rates in the US range from 4% to 11%, so on a $5 pledge, that would be between 20 cents and 55 cents.
Whether or not you will be charged sales tax depends on your location, and what is considered taxable there. Not every pledge is taxable, not all benefits are taxable in every location, and sometimes only a fraction of a pledge will be taxable. The money that Patreon collects as a result of these laws are paid directly to local governments.
I’m working closely with Patreon to ensure I’m able to save you as much money as possible when it comes to sales tax - which is not something that’s possible with other platforms.
If you’re in a location where sales tax will be required, you should expect to receive an email from Patreon with more information about this very soon, but I wanted to make sure you were aware of these changes way ahead of July 1st when they go into effect.
Thank you for all of your ongoing support.
- Geran 'Gar1onriva'
Episode 2, here for you, and you'll do...something fun.
Damn. I thought I'd be able to rhyme that.
I hope you enjoy it.
As a reminder, the next 3 episodes will also be completely free ($5+ patrons get a week's early access) before the paid episodes resume the usual alternation.
For some reason Patreon won't accept me posting a link post, so here it is: https://www.gar1onriva.co.uk/pokesins/season-3/ep1-dont-touch-that-dile/
The first episode of a brand new season and a brand new generation.
Smell that? That's the smell of progress and improvement.
I hope you enjoy it.
As a reminder, the next 4 episodes will also be completely free ($5+ patrons get a week's early access) before the paid episodes resume the usual alternation.
The big finale! The long-awaited Ash-Gary battle!
What could go wrong?
Ooh...this is a doozy... Mm.
Navigating the dangers of 'balloons' and bears, my little Tidier tries to survive and thrive.
Closer to a funny look than an informative one, Geran tries Niche: a strategy survival game about genetics.
Seeds of Resilience 1st Impressions: https://youtu.be/_WEAEocOkno
Riva Peeva episode: https://youtu.be/I5bcNOmcGAA?t=436
The second of the Orange League two-parter.
As a reminder, both this episode and previous episode are free. The one after that this return to the alternation.
Geran lists his favourite franchises of games.
Voted for by you guys.
A dirty, naked witch, an adorable unseeable horror and a couple of cannibalistic English people. I love this game.
Closer to a full let's play than a funny look, Geran plays The Miskatonic: a visual novel/point n click adventure that takes a dark comedic look at the works of H.P. Lovecraft.
Geran, Hazel and Charlie return with the proper beginning of our Vox Aloria podcast. This month's segments are What's New, Nostalgia Corner, Theory Time and Debate Floor. With a mini Grrr1onriva.
00:00:00 - Intro
00:00:31 - Episode Outline
00:01:29 - What's New
00:04:29 - Sonic The Hedgehog Movie (Spoiler Free)
00:09:58 - Sonic Spoilers
00:24:45 - Ready Player One (Spoiler Free)
00:27:40 - The Invisible Man & Pacific Rim (Spoiler Free)
00:31:01 - Bear Grylls Experience
00:37:41 - Dungeons & Dragons
00:50:22 - Nostalgia Corner - A.R.S.E.N.A.L.
01:05:14 - Theory Time - The Sexy Brutale
01:26:04 - AI Dungeon 2
01:27:03 - Debate Floor - The Good Place
01:52:19 - Outro
01:53:12 - Mini Grrr1onriva - Showcase Cinema
01:54:32 - Outro
The Sexy Brutale 1st Impressions: https://youtu.be/n9ySHAJevls
Sonic Adventure 1st Impressions: https://youtu.be/H1nLDWnSHyA
Fishing: Barents Sea LIVE: https://youtu.be/9jBQqjEaMCk
Age of Encryption: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL5S5x8Vm92v5LP-7NGE9EU2z5Q4m6uNHa
The Wandering Combine [Part 1]: https://www.patreon.com/posts/wandering-part-1-34480022
AI Dungeon LIVE: https://youtu.be/CeWeqkcV8qk
The first of the Orange League two-parter.
As a reminder, both this episode and next episode will be free. The one after that will return to the alternation.
This is a piece of writing that's very special to me. I recently started playing Dungeons & Dragons and decided to write up each session as short stories. This sort of expanded so I plan to put our entire adventure into written form, possibly ending up with something book-length.
This is the first session. We have since played the second session and I'll be writing that up soon. We will continue to play more every couple of weeks. I will do my best to keep up.
I knew that I wanted this part to be free for all to read, but future sessions (which will be shorter pieces) will be available as part of the Touka Tier ($15) reward. I plan for 2-3k words a month to be continuing The Wandering Combine story.
Final Note: Moomoosa, the DM, has requested that no one attempt to predict the story. He is working very hard on this and doesn't want to risk it being spoiled. As I am playing through it about level with what you're reading, kindly do not speculate over upcoming twists and the like. Thank you.
The Wandering Combine (Part 1) Dangerous Roads
(A story from the Dungeons & Dragons world)
The sun was high above Wayhearth as Ela stepped out of the inn. She breathed deeply, smiling as the Summer breeze rustled her long white dress and jet black hair. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind one of the purple horns that curled tightly around her pointed ears. As the door closed behind her, she adjusted the pack on her back for comfort, then set off down the cobbled street, her pointed tail swishing lightly through the air.
As she walked, her solid white eyes looking around one last time for any temple or shrine, she felt eyes on her; tieflings were not common in the small city-state of Braycor, purple ones even less so, and recent events had turned Wayhearth into a tense and suspicious place.
Prior to Ela’s arrival in Braycor, the neighbouring land was occupied and ruled by a powerful Lich. When the Lich was cast down, the conquering forces renamed the land Liber and a mass plundering began. Magical and dangerous artifacts, weapons and items of all sorts were pouring out of the region and into the surrounding lands. By the time Ela arrived in Wayhearth, the border town adjacent to Liber, it had grown from a military encampment into a boomtown with many stores and services rushing to the area to capitalise on the aftermath of the Lich’s defeat.
She had not been in town long, scarcely long enough to find an inn, when she had been approached by a stranger and had agreed to join a caravan carrying items of value to Braycor’s capital of Seaford. Her reasons for so readily agreeing to the work eluded her as she walked to the caravan that day, but she vividly remembered the terms: fifty gold to be paid immediately, another five hundred upon completion, do not touch the contents of the caravan under pain of death. Unwilling to break a promise, even without memory of why she made it, Ela arrived in the square from which the caravan would depart.
Lined up before a large wooden podium were three carts. Numerous people of varying races milled around them, climbing aboard and inspecting the horses. Directed to the front cart, Ela approached to find four others waiting; two elves and a human were sat in the back, while a bright blue dragonborn was alone in the front seat, looking around excitedly.
As she climbed into the back with the others, Ela’s eyes were immediately drawn to a golden chest in the centre. Though small in size, something about it seemed to demand attention. A tall male high elf dressed in tailored robes was examining the box as closely as possible without actually touching it. Beside him sat another high elf, this one female, who was looking around with an almost disdainful expression. Ela sat in the seat opposite the female elf, next to a middle-aged human wearing a thick leather chest plate. As a little show of respect, the man moved aside to give Ela more room.
Once everyone had mounted their carts, one of the two men on the podium raised his voice, letting it boom around the square.
“Travellers, the time is now. You’ve been given your orders. Off you go.”
Seemingly in response to his words the horses began to trot, even as the dragonborn in the front looked bewildered at the unattended reins.
“Do any of you know how to drive a horse?” the blue dragon-like man asked, tearing his eyes away from the road ahead.
“I’ll do it,” said the human, climbing into the front without another word. Relieved, the dragonborn took his place in the back and settled in. It wasn’t long before their cart passed through the western town gates and began along the road; though where the road led, none of them could say.
“We could use a lookout,” the human called back to the group.
“I don’t mind taking the first shift,” Ela said.
“It’s not my job at all,” the male high elf chuckled. Ela nodded politely and climbed into the front beside the imposing human.
“Good morning. I’m Guy Conrad,” greeted the man as Ela sat down.
“Good afternoon,” she replied after a quick glance at the position of the sun.
“Yes,” the high elf noted, speaking to the driver. “You got it wrong.” There was an awkward pause. “So where’s everybody from?”
“My name is Ela. I grew up among the priests of Pelor. I’m a trained priestess.”
“A priestess?” the dragonborn exclaimed. “I didn’t realise we were in royal company.”
Ela looked at him for a moment, confused.
“Oh! I thought you meant princess. Sorry!”
“No, I’m... No. I was taken in by the priests of Pelor when I was very young.” Ela’s tail loosely coiled around her feet. She took a breath and began scanning the areas ahead and around. “And I’ve been with them ever since.”
“So how come you’re here now?” the high elf asked, his tone softening slightly.
“I...” Ela began before stopping. “I’m not entirely sure, if I’m honest. I don’t know what made me take this job... I can only assume it was the guidance of Pelor.”
“How about you, lizard-man?” the elf continued, leaning casually on his staff.
“Lizard-man?” the dragonborn repeated, frowning. “I know us dragons and lizards look very similar...”
“Sorry. Dragonborn. That’s it.”
Satisfied, the blue-skinned dragonborn puffed himself up.
“I’m Bakris Virnuush and I, very simily, have a similar story to our tiefling friend. I have no idea why I’m here, other than I know I should be here, and I’m here with all of you.” He blinked at the elf’s slightly bewildered expression. “I grew up in a town. Outside of a town, with other dragonborn, and unfortunately I’m on the road trying to find my mother and father...” His voice dipped. “As I haven’t seen them since I was a young child.”
“I’m sorry,” Ela commented. “That can be very hard.”
“That’s sad,” the elf said simply. “I’m asking the question, so I guess I’ll answer next. You can call me Erlan. I was born into a rich family, but you know how it is... After a hundred years of living in the same castle, you want to move out, so I decided to get on the road.” Erlan took a breath and looked up at the sky. “I’ve been doing nice things for villages, building houses and the like, but I’ve started to run low on funds and the reward for this is too good to turn down. I’m here for the money.”
“Oh. I see,” Ela muttered, turning her focus back to her lookout duty.
“Only so I can use the money to keep travelling and helping people out where I can,” Erlan quickly added. He then turned to the woman beside him who, up to then, hadn’t said a word. “What about you, quiet elf?”
“My name is Esieh,” she stressed before continuing. “I’m here for the money as well,” she stated in an offhand way. “I think it’s ridiculous that you’re not all being truthful about that.” No one responded, so she sat up a bit straighter. “That’s why we’re all here, right? Money?”
“Always for the money,” Guy the human chimed in, his great moustache bristling. “Always.”
Bakris looked at the others, making sounds of uncertainty and Ela reached up to grasp the pendant that she wore around her neck. Bakris noticed and leapt on the distraction.
“What’s that you’re holding?” he asked curiously.
Ela gave no response and soon the whole cart fell silent.
The caravan trundled along the road, passing fields and the odd homestead. Their cart was just entering the cool shade of a forest when Ela heard a rummaging sound behind her. She turned to see Esieh, her dark cloak hiding her face, digging around among the contents of their cargo. It didn’t take her long to emerge again, brandishing a rolled piece of paper in one hand.
“A map,” she declared, unfurling it atop a packed tent.
“Should we be looking through this cart?” Ela asked curtly, frowning. “Are we not here to guard and transport it?”
Bakris nodded in agreement.
“Yeah. I was told ‘don’t touch the stuff or you’ll die’.”
Even as the words left his mouth, they all heard a faint humming sound emanate from the small golden chest between them. Erlan cocked his head, all of his attention suddenly riveted on its sleek golden surface. Squinting at it he noticed it was covered in runes and, utilising his burgeoning magical abilities, sensed radiating power coming from it; an aura of magic unlike anything he’d felt before. Suddenly fearful, he tried to withdraw his enquiring mind, but was struck by an ethereal force that knocked him against the side of the cart.
Propping himself up into a sitting position, he held his head and groaned. The pain that bounced around inside his head eclipsed the physical injury from his forceful repulsion.
“Are you okay?” Ela asked quickly, stepping into the back.
“Yeah,” Erlan muttered, waving her off. “Don’t touch it, whatever you do. Just leave it alone.” He held his head tighter and sank onto the rough wood of the cart’s bench.
“I said don’t touch it or you die!” yelled Bakris, taking a blanket and throwing it over the chest as if afraid it’d bite him. He looked down at the wincing form of Erlan. “I think we’ve all learned: don’t touch the shiny things. Shiny things are nice...” He glanced at the covered chest. “But not when they do that.”
“These things we’re transporting are incredibly dangerous,” Ela told them, climbing back into the front. “We need to be very, very careful.”
Ignoring Erlan’s injury, Esieh returned to studying the map. After having left Wayhearth via the west gate, they’d followed the main road towards Eshlethas, an elven city. From there they would turn south, crossing a river before finally arriving at the capital of Seaford.
“That’s where we get our money,” Esieh surmised.
Ela subconsciously touched the pendant on her necklace again.
“Are any of you religious at all?” she asked a few minutes later. Bakris shook his scaly head. Carefully removing it, Ela held out her necklace for them all to see the pendant; a white disc emblazoned with a symbol of the sun. “I worship the God of Light, Pelor. This is His holy symbol.”
“A very interesting symbol it is,” Bakris remarked cheerfully. “What does it do? Does it give you powers?”
Ela blinked and delicately hung it back around her neck.
“No. It give me comfort and allows me to feel close to Him.”
“Anyone else worship the sun?” the dragonborn asked, looking at the others.
“That sounded so condescending!” chuckled Erlan from his prone position as Ela’s expression fell.
“I worship Pelor, God of Light.” Ela’s tone was slightly hurt. “Not ‘the sun’.”
She turned back to her lookout duty and left the passengers to their conversations.
Some hours later, as the road beneath the canopy of the woods began to dim into early evening, Guy spoke up.
“Does anyone know when we’re due to make camp for the night?”
The other four looked at each other and found that no one could actually remember the orders they’d supposedly been given for the caravan job. Guy stood and waved at the cart behind, and soon the whole caravan stopped nearby.
Ela watched as Guy and Erlan, still wincing every now and then from his headache, walked away to speak with some of the guards from the second cart. They returned and stated that the others knew nothing either, but a movement in the woods caught Ela’s eye.
“There’s a shape! There’s someone there,” she announced.
“What? Where?” Bakris began looking around wildly.
“I saw a figure in the woods.”
“An animal shape?” Bakris suggested.
“No. A hooded figure. A man.”
As the words left her mouth, instinct told her to move. In that moment, a crossbow bolt whizzed past her face, narrowly missing her. Ela gasped in surprise, but Erlan didn’t hesitate. He immediately ducked into cover beside the cart and closed his eyes. Muttering an incantation, he placed a hand on his own chest and, within seconds, his body was encased in ethereal cyan armour. He rose, a determined expression on his face, but caught a piece of his new armour on the cart and fell to the ground.
More bolts flew towards the parked caravan. Ela dodged the one aimed for her, but Guy wasn’t so lucky. With a sickening thud, he staggered back, a crossbow bolt embedded in his chest. A third bolt flew towards the occupants of the rearmost cart, but was miraculously caught out of the air by a female tiefling with very pale, almost white skin. As Bakris jumped out of the cart and landed beside the dazed form of Erlan, five bandits emerged from the cover around the track, weapons raised.
With an angry roar, Guy snapped the bolt protruding from his chest and charged the nearest bandit. He raised his shield to ward off another shot, drawing his hefty longsword to strike for the man’s head. Wild-eyed, the bandit tried to jump out of the way, but Guy succeeded in drawing blood.
Ela saw Guy charge out of sight and heard the rush of battle cries around her as over a dozen of her companions readied themselves for combat. She stared at the approaching bandits and froze. Seeing one direct their crossbow at her again, Ela ducked into the rear of the cart and dropped off the back, her breath coming fast and ragged. She desperately fought to steady her nerves as the din of battle swelled.
Esieh, confidently levelling a hitherto-unseen short bow at one of the attackers, took up a position at the front of the cart as the guards from the other two carts surged forwards. Bakris, hurrying after Guy, rounded one of the carts to find a bandit coming alongside it. Weaving his clawed hands through the air, the dragonborn produced three glowing shots of magical energy and launched them with perfect accuracy at the bandits. One struck the man struggling to defend himself against Guy, while the other two smashed into the second bandit’s face, sending both highwaymen reeling. Unfinished, however, Bakris breathed deeply and bellowed.
“I have unlimited power!”
With that, he belched forth a torrent of lightning from his mouth, engulfing the already injured bandit before him. The horses bucked and reared as bright blue electricity cast long, flickering shadows over the entire caravan. When Bakris closed his mouth again, blue-tinged smoke escaping from his nostrils and between his pointed teeth, only a blasted skeleton remained, the bandit’s horrified scream fading on the wind.
As Erlan climbed to his feet, he heard the faint sound of music and felt the pounding ache in his head lessen. Looking round, he saw a halfling from the second cart strumming on a little banjo and singing. Erlan gave him a grateful nod then immediately turned his focus to a bandit some way down the track. Carefully picking his moment, he uttered the words of power and reached out with one hand, sending a tiny shot of fire between his charging companions and striking the bandit on the cloak, catching it alight.
Choosing that moment to climb back atop the cart, Ela watched as the bandit’s clothes burst into flame. Despite his distance from her, and the clash and yells of fighting all around, the screams of the bandit as he burned alive reached her clearly. She couldn’t look away as his writhing body fell to the unfeeling dirt, her ears deaf to Erlan’s rejoicing.
Suddenly an ear-splitting crack echoed around the forest, followed immediately by the reverberating of magic. Finally able to look away from the fiery corpse, Ela’s face whipped round to see an ethereal cyan rune fade from the air in front of Erlan. His eyes were wide and deathly, his face turning down to see a devastating crack slowly repair in his magical armour. By the shimmering, ruptured nature of the armour, even Ela could tell that whatever hit him had very nearly destroyed his protection. She turned to the source of the noise to see a red tiefling lower some sort of long crossbow.
On the other side of the carts, Guy and Bakris looked down at the surviving bandit. Bloodied and singed, he was lying on the ground at their feet, begging for mercy. Noticing the man’s abandoned crossbow, Guy picked it up thoughtfully and jogged in the direction of the remaining outlaws. He barely saw as Esieh dropped off their cart, slipped into the bushes, and loosed a shot. Ahead of him, one of the two remaining bandits fell to the ground, clutching at the arrow that was jutting out of his leg.
Behind him, Bakris left the surrendered bandit in the custody of two guards from the third cart and turned to survey the scene. His eyes scanned over the large wooden cart that blocked him from the majority of the action, and a smile cracked across his face. Quickly climbing aboard, he ran along the wooden bench and vaulted onto one of the horses that were hitched to it. His hands were already beginning to move, a defiant shout on his lipless mouth, when he landed poorly. His eyes twitched in sudden pain and he slumped forwards on the animal.
With his fellow guards rushing to get to grips with the enemy, Bakris shakily drew his short crossbow and fired a shot at the last two bandits ahead of him. Despite the pain radiating through him, his bolt struck the strange weapon held by the red tiefling. She dropped it in shock as a caravan guard bore down on her, neatly lopping off her arm before finishing her off.
Seeing the destruction wrought upon his friends, the last bandit turned and fled down the road. Ela climbed down from the cart, walked over to stand beside the musical halfling, and watched the terrified man run. Guy, however, wasn’t content to let him escape; he gave chase, bursting through the undergrowth around the road, using his thick shield as a ram. Across the road from him, Esieh crept forwards quickly, raising her bow, but was unable to land a shot on the bandit. Free from the horse, Bakris strode awkwardly forward, wincing every now and then.
“Don’t worry about it, Erin...Erlan...Esia...Esia!” he called hoarsely, raising his reloaded crossbow.
“Esieh!” the annoyed woman corrected. Bakris turned to shout to Guy.
“This is for the bolt that hit your chest!” he declared, firing without looking.
The bolt flew straight, embedding itself in the back of the fleeing man’s head. The bandit slowed, stumbled and collapsed forward.
Erlan crouched down to examine the bandit who had surrendered to Guy and Bakris. He lay dead with two spear wounds in his chest. Erlan glanced at the two unknown guards with whom Bakris had left the man; one was a man in bronze holding a long elegant spear.
“Why did you chase him down?” demanded Ela, catching up with Esieh, Bakris and Guy. “He was leaving!”
“He was a very bad man,” Bakris replied simply, hooking his small crossbow onto his belt.
“Who had given up,” Ela pointed out. “I don’t see why he needed to die. Especially after all this...” She looked around at the dismembered corpse, the blasted skeleton, and the burning man. Her eyes lingered on the latter as fire still crackled over his body. “Brutality.”
Erlan approached and started throwing dirt onto the fire, patting it until it went out.
“I do feel I have to apologise for...hiding...” Ela continued, looking at the ground. “As soon as...as soon as it all began.”
“That’s okay, little one,” Erlan reassured, striding over. “Some of us have to do the fighting and some have to keep our spirits up.”
Ela’s tail curled around her legs as she turned to Erlan.
“I am not a little girl.”
“Sorry...ma’am,” Erlan said, raising his palms. “How old are you?”
Ela straightened her shoulders.
“If you must know, I am twenty-three.”
“Oh.” Erlan shrugged. “I’m one hundred and twenty, for your information.”
“Kindly do not look down on me because of our age difference.”
“I won’t do so again,” Erlan stated.
With an acknowledging nod, Ela turned and walked back to their cart, stopping to lean against the wooden siding. The others exchanged looks then joined their companions from the other carts who’d already begun to loot the bodies for valuables.
When they returned to their own carts, Esieh had pocketed any money she’d found, Bakris was curiously examining a small red vial and Guy proudly carried the strange weapon the tiefling had wielded. Though damaged by Bakris’ bolt, it was clearly unlike any crossbow they’d seen before; it had a long metallic cylinder and a wooden stock, but no obvious firing mechanism. Erlan carried over two of the bandits’ swords and chucked them onto the back of the cart.
As they remounted the cart, Guy took us his position at the reins and Bakris sat beside him. In the back corner, staring at the rough wood and with her tail wrapped tightly around herself, Ela was silent.
“Are we not going to bury them?” Guy asked hesitatingly as the cart passed the lightly smoking corpse beside the road.
“Let the crows eat them,” Erlan replied flatly.
As if in response to his words, the cries of carrion birds became louder. They all looked up to see a great flock circling overhead. Casting her eyes back down, Ela nestled in a bit tighter.
Night fell on the forest and torches were lit. Before long it was too dark for Guy to see the road ahead, and even those with eyes capable of vision in the dark began to struggle. Pulling into a clearing near the road, the three carts set up individual camps and tents.
Under the cover of a towering tree Guy stoked a small fire, while Erlan erected a large group tent he found in their wagon. Aware of the lack of light, Ela walked to the back of the cart and took hold of the mace that she’d placed there back in Wayhearth. Moving to the side of the cart nearest the fire, she stuck it into the ground headfirst and then reached out to touch the handle with the tips of her fingers. She whispered a brief prayer to Pelor and the entire mace lit up with a pure white light.
“Anyone for cards?” Erlan called to everyone, seating himself beside the fire as Guy began to cook.
Bakris and Esieh made assenting sounds, joining him by the source of warmth. When Erlan looked to see if Ela would be taking part, however, he saw her walking away and stopping to kneel near the edge of the light. Her white dress reflected the brilliant light from the mace as she faced it, reaching up to grasp the holy symbol around her neck. His keen vision saw that her mouth was moving, and decided not to interrupt her meditation.
Their friendly game of cards soon turned into gambling as Guy joined in and gold began changing hands. Their laughter and lamentations echoed around the camp. Before long, Ela stood back up and returned to the cart. She retrieved a blanket from her pack then took a seat beside the wagon, her back against a cartwheel and her tail wrapped loosely around her once more.
They played into the night, long after the enchantment on the mace had subsided, but eventually decided it was time to get some rest. Guy and Bakris volunteered for the first watch while Erlan and Esieh retreated to the communal tent. Looking down at the isolated form of Ela, Guy considered waking her before leaving her to her sleep, instead beginning to walk patrols around their little campsite.
Bakris, rooting around in the back of the cart, found a scimitar; one of the bandits’ weapons that Erlan had taken. He looked up at the colossal tree at the edge of the clearing and smiled. Muttering a brief spell over the sword, it suddenly burst into light, much as Ela’s mace had. He carried it to the base of the trunk and widened his stance. With a hearty grunt, he threw the weapon upwards.
The rotating light source flew gracefully, making it almost to the start of the branches far above the clearing. As it neared the lowest branches, however, it illuminated unusual shapes among them. Plummeting back down, the sword embedded in the leaf-covered ground, but Bakris stayed staring up.
“Guy?” he called quietly. “Did you see that?”
“No,” answered Guy, stopping his constant patrol and standing beside him.
Bakris retrieved the sword and threw it again, but was unable to get it high enough to shed any light on the branches.
“I don’t see anything,” the human told him with a shrug. “I’ll try.”
He took up the fallen weapon and threw it with all his might. It clanged loudly against the tree and rebounded into the undergrowth.
“What’s going on?” asked a soft voice behind them.
They turned to see Ela stood near the fire, blinking at them. Stood as she was between the fire and them, her purple skin seemed unusually dark. Her pure white eyes, however, stabbed through the low light.
“I thought we needed another light,” Bakris began to explain. “So I cast Light on a sword and threw it into the tree.” Ela blinked at him, confused. “I threw it up the first time...and there was something odd up there. The other times Guy and I just...missed.”
“What do you mean...‘something odd’?”
“I saw something that wasn’t tree-like.” Bakris concluded.
“Would you like me to try and light it up?” Ela offered.
“If you want to. I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Bakris said hurriedly.
“If it’s concerning you, then I can...” She paused and rubbed her eyes. “Sorry. I’m still tired. Then I can help.”
Bakris nodded furiously. Stepping closer to the tree, Ela touched her fingers to her pendant and spoke a few words. It sprang into light like her mace did, illuminating the base of the tree. Looking up into the black expanse above, her fingers still on her holy symbol, Ela closed her eyes and quietly muttered a short prayer to Pelor. Upon its conclusion her eyes shot open and the branches of the tree exploded into colour.
Instinctively Guy ducked down and covered his head, but Bakris and Ela stood watching as dozens of birds ignited in purple. Each one glowed vividly as they streamed out of the tree, frightened by their own brilliant light. They screeched and cawed as they flew madly through the air, approaching each other and immediately fleeing again. Ela was mesmerised, the purple glinting in her completely colourless eyes and making her small fangs flicker as she smiled in absolute fascination.
Guy’s expression turned disgruntled as he glanced up at the elaborate living lightshow, but the young tiefling couldn’t tear her eyes away. She watched until every one of the careening purple birds was out of sight. She sighed happily, returning her eyes to the world around her, and felt a warmth within as a certain fellow lover of light smiled. Bidding Guy and Bakris a good night, Ela retired to the tent.
The human and the dragonborn wiled away the hours of the night, talking as they kept watch. They briefly remarked on the bandit hostage that Erlan found dead, before Guy brought up something that was on his mind.
“Do you think Ela is ever bothered by having that light all the time?”
They both looked over and saw the bright light from her holy symbol spilling out of the tent.
“No,” Bakris said, shaking his scaly head. “I think she likes it. She worships the god of light, or something like that?”
“Pelor, she said.”
“I think it comforts her.” Bakris sat on the ground near the dimming fire.
“I’ve heard that Pelor is a kind god,” Guy explained, looking over at the tent. “Doesn’t like cruelty.”
“That explains why she didn’t want me to chase down that bandit and shoot him with my crossbow.” Bakris nodded to himself. “But I think I saw a little smirk when that other one burned. Pure justice.”
Thinking on Bakris’ words, Guy moved away to patrol the perimeter again. When their turn on watch was over, they entered the tent and found the two elves already alert. Not needing to sleep as other races do, elves instead enter a trance-like meditative state during which their minds can rest. The four hours of trance they’d had was plenty for them to feel fully energised. As they left, Bakris called after them:
“Don’t worry if you see any purple birds!”
Erlan and Esieh exchanged a quick glance, but such a statement didn’t seem out of place for the dragonborn.
The next morning the party worked together to pack up the makeshift camp, covering the remains of the fire and rolling up the tent. With everything prepared, Guy took up the reins of the cart again and was joined at the front by Ela. As they trundled back onto the road they saw the rest of the caravan ready and waiting. Wordlessly the wagons moved off one-by-one, taking their place behind the leader.
After scanning ahead for a while, Ela slumped back in her seat then turned to speak to everyone aboard.
“I would like to...apologise for my behaviour yesterday,” she said solemnly.
“You have nothing to apologise for,” Erlan told her, but she shook her head.
“I feel I need to explain.” She hesitated. “The...fire and the lightning... The destruction and violence... It’s not something I saw during my time with the priests of Pelor. It shocked me, is all.”
“The real world is different,” Erlan stated plainly.
“It certainly is,” murmured the tiefling.
“Did you spend your whole life in the temple?” Guy asked gently.
“No. They found me when I was only six years old.” Her fingers subconsciously sought out the holy symbol around her neck. “And I’ve been with them ever since, travelling with the caravan of priests. They taught me what kind of person to be.” Her eyes drifted down to the dirt road passing them by. “They are my family.”
“Where are they now?” Guy’s voice was gruff, but had a soft touch to it.
Ela looked up and her hand fell away from her pendant.
“They’re still travelling. I hope to see them again one day, but now...I just know that Pelor needs me elsewhere.”
The sun drifted quickly across the sky as their cart ground slowly along the road to Eshlethas. Bakris offered to share some dubious nuggets of dried meat that he kept in a small pouch, but only Guy was willing to accept. Esieh leaned on the side of the cart, boredom written across her face, watching the dark shape of the next wagon in the caravan. The longer she watched, however, the harder it got to see it. A thick acrid fog began to seep out of the trees and soon the rest of the caravan was completely out of sight.
“I don’t see the others,” Esieh stated flatly.
“Can someone create a light to guide the other carts?” Ela asked, struggling to see anything in the grey miasma around them.
“I’ll light a torch,” Erlan answered, slipping one into small metal sconce on the back panel. He began to strike his tinder, but stopped when he realised that he could also see no shapes or movement behind them. “Stop,” he commanded Guy.
Not daring to pull off the road in the blinding fog, Guy slowed the horses to a standstill in the middle of the path. They waited in silence for some time before deciding that they should have been caught up by the others. Erlan sighed.
“So who is going back to look for them?” he asked wearily. Ela and Bakris were too occupied staring at the fog to respond, while Esieh and Guy just looked at him. “I think the fog has been here too long to find them on foot; they could be miles back.”
“Should we take the cart?” suggested Guy, already jumping down to lead the horses around.
It wasn’t an easy feat between the low visibility, the narrow path and the agitated horses, but Guy succeeded in turning the entire wagon. Remounting, they began the journey backwards. Standing in her front seat, Ela squinted through the mist. It was so thick that even the other people in the cart appeared slightly blurred and grey. Removing her necklace, Ela whispered a short prayer and it started emitting a strong purple light. She held it up like a beacon to light the way.
Where the purple glow fell upon the road Ela could see only the tracks they’d made. Retracing the path for some distance, Erlan suddenly called for them to stop again. When the horses slowed, Erlan jumped over the side and wandered off the dirt track.
“There’s a purple tree,” came his voice, muffled slightly by the fog.
“A purple...tree?” repeated Bakris, bewildered.
Ela climbed out of the front seat and walked to the back of the cart. As she did so, she tied her pendant around her neck again. Reaching past Bakris, she retrieved her mace as well as a sturdy wooden shield and moved cautiously after Erlan. As she approached, she saw the elf examining a very unusual tree.
The bark was impenetrable and had an almost metallic sheen to it. Above the trunk, the leaves were a bright purple shade and made of something decidedly inorganic and crystalline.
“This is unusual,” Erlan muttered, more to himself than Ela. “Transmutation takes many forms, but this...” Looking past the first tree he saw the unmistakable glint of crystalline leaves reaching further back, out of sight. “What do you think, Ela? Do we follow the trees?”
Gripping her equipment a little tighter, Ela looked up at the broad, transmuted tree.
“They’re a marvel, but they’re not the important thing. We have missing comrades.”
“Yes,” Erlan nodded, straightening up from his examination of the roots. “I think you’re right.”
He called back to Guy and the cart rumbled up to them, emerging from the fog. They climbed aboard and continued on, searching for the other teams. A little while later, they heard a sound ahead; a rhythmic clomping sound. The fog swirled as the first of the other two carts came into view. The halfling driver, who introduced himself as Davyas, explained that they slowed down considerably as the fog crept in.
“We thought you’d slow as well,” the diminutive man explained in a squeaky voice. “But I’m grateful you came looking.”
Everyone stood back while Guy turned the cart again, gently coaxing the horses in a wide arc. Setting off in the original direction, taking it slow to keep the other teams within sight, the caravan came level again with the transmuted tree. Once more Erlan called for Guy to stop.
“I suppose we should investigate this,” he said, rubbing his hands together subconsciously.
“We have a job,” objected Ela. “We have been hired to guard and escort this cart. We should do that, should we not?”
“This isn’t normal,” stated Erlan, climbing out. “It could be a threat to other people. We have a duty to take a look.”
Ela blinked and her face flushed, almost imperceptivity tinting her skin with pink.
“When you put it like that, I have to agree,” she said, casting her eyes down.
Everyone readied their equipment to venture into the undergrowth while Erlan walked back to explain that they intended to discover the reason for the abnormal effects. Davyas understood, promising that he and the others would watch the carts during their absence. Guy held the metal crossbow-like weapon, tempted to take it with him, but decided that visibility was too poor to use it properly.
The atmosphere deeper in the forest was different. Free from the ever-present scent of horse, and the constant low rumble of wooden wheels on uneven roads, the sounds and smells of nature permeated. Birds and insects flitted though the air, small creatures rustled bushes as they passed, and the wind rattled the stone-like branches like the clatter of dice. As they penetrated further from the path, the group found more and more trees were purple and inorganic.
The peaceful ballad of nature was suddenly punctured by a loud snapping noise. Four pairs of eyes whipped round to see Esieh holding a broken branch that she had clearly just torn from a low transmuted tree. Ignoring the others’ expressions, she ran her hand over the surface and, to her surprise, found it to have the texture of polished metal. Turning her attention to the leaves, the others closing in to get a better look, Esieh realised that they were made of delicate crystal; the closest she’d seen before was amethyst, but this was far weaker. Gripping one purple leaf, she found that it crumbled under the lightest of pressure. They had the texture and look of quartz, but the strength of a leaf.
“This is seriously weird,” Esieh commented, watching the gem in her hand bend and break like it was nothing.
After seeing Esieh with the branch, Ela turned her white eyes upward. A smile slowly played onto her face, revealing her small, sharp fangs. She placed her mace and shield on the forest floor, then tentatively approached a tree. Reaching up slowly, almost as if afraid it’d bite her, she stretched out one hand and very gently touched a single finger to one of the gemstone leaves.
“Grant me light,” she whispered under her breath.
Instantly it began to shine with white light that emanated outwards from within its crystalline structure, turning purple in the process. The natural facets of the leaf sent beams of holy light spraying out, hitting other gems and continuing the cycle. Soon the light from a single leaf lit the forest in a spectrum of purple and violet.
The wind softly shook the branches, manipulating the light within the leaves, shimmering and glittering like a thousand diamonds. Ela’s eyes widened and sparkled as she watched the rays of purple bounce, reflect and combine all around her. The once-oppressive fog also played its part in the show; the vapour around them echoed the light, staining it a pale fuchsia.
Ela’s breath came long and deep as even her white dress shone in shades of purple. Her arms fell by her sides and her tail flicked excitedly as she gazed, the world around her fading into colours and lights.
Saying nothing, Bakris and Guy continued onward, followed by Erlan and Esieh. Lagging behind, loosely carrying her equipment, Ela barely paid attention to where she was going, still fixated as she was on the display of lights. Some way deeper, Guy raised a hand.
“Do you hear that?”
Stopping to listen, the others also began to pick the sounds out of the heavy air. Voices, singing in some unfamiliar language, rebounded weakly around the petrified trees. Moving closer to the source, the notes of a woodwind instrument joined the sounds, their combined effect almost hypnotic in its alien chords. Bakris closed his eyes, opening his inner magical senses to the sounds in an attempt to understand them. Whether there was no supernatural power within the music, or he was simply unable to perceive it, the dragonborn opened his eyes.
“It’s just music,” he told the others.
A doubtful expression on his face, Erlan slowly weaved his hands in the air in front of him, his fingers tracing intricate patterns. His tongue uttered phrases quietly as particles of orange flickered and spun in his palms. When he’d finished he looked around at the solidified trees and nodded.
“I thought as much.” He saw his companions’ quizzical looks. “The trees were transmuted,” he told them, shrugging.
Esieh rolled her eyes.
“Stay here,” she said, covering her head with her thin hood and disappearing into the bushes ahead.
Minutes passed with only the alien music to listen to. Then, with scarcely a rustle, Esieh leaned out of the undergrowth and beckoned them forwards. Keeping low, and avoiding stepping on any fallen transmuted branches, the group neared the source of the sounds.
The silent elf crept on ahead, leaving the others to follow much slower. Ela tried to replicate Esieh’s path and movements, unsure how a humanoid creature could move so stealthily. Guy, however, cut across a gap between cover and froze in the open when the music immediately cut off with a discordant note.
Stopping level with Esieh, Ela saw an unearthly scene. In a round clearing among the purple trees, floating or sat upon fallen logs and stumps, were several tiny creatures, no more than a few inches tall. They had three pairs of paper-thin wings each, but otherwise resembled elves. Ela had never seen a pixie before, but the fey beings had featured in a few books she had read in her youth with the priests.
In the centre of the clearing, around which the pixies sang, stood a satyr; a short man-like creature with goat legs from the waist down and curved horns atop its head. Its goat-like ears were pricked up and its heavily-bearded face was staring directly at Guy. In its human hands it held a set of wooden pipes tied together with fibrous strands.
Once the initial shock of seeing Guy passed, the pixies erupted into a babble of tiny voices. Unable to understand them, however, the group could only watch and listen. Even without comprehension, Ela could recognise the inherent poetry of the Fey language; each voice dipped and rose like a leaf on the breeze, floating and spinning before settling, only to whip back up into the next chorus.
“Common?” Erlan asked hopefully. “Elvish?”
His words made no impact on the drone of little voices, but one pixie chose that moment to vanish entirely; whether it died, turned invisible or left this plane of existence, none could say. The satyr added its deeper, yet still light, voice to the din. Placing her mace and shield on the ground as quietly as possible, Ela stepped out of the bush. When fully in the open, she crouched down and slowly stretched out an open palm to the fey.
The voices fell silent. The closest pixie, no more than ten feet away, cocked its miniscule head and fluttered towards her, landing on her hand. Ela smiled at it. It looked at her, its minute face scanning over her horns, pointed ears and finally her pure white eyes, before its features shifted into a childlike smile of its own.
Slowly, mere inches at a time, Ela’s tail curved around her so the pointed tip was level with the standing creature. Fearfully the pixie took flight again, hovering a foot away. Her smile not wavering, Ela began to wiggle the tail, the very tip bobbing rhythmically. Upon seeing this the pixie’s grin returned and it clapped its tiny hands.
Taking a seat on the ground, Ela crossed her legs. Her tail kept bobbing and her palm was still offered to the supernatural being. The pixie flew back to settle on it, standing as light as air on her pale purple skin. In a voice so quiet it’d be inaudible beyond a few feet, Ela began to whisper to it. Speaking in Elvish, a language believed to have been derived from the Fey language of nature, she tried to reassure the little thing. She offered friendship, kindness, and understanding. She promised she’d never hurt it, and that her companions were harmless. The pixie listened, riveted, and even seemed to understand some words, nodding gently.
Taking a breath, Ela slowly turned her head to look at her fellows, still crouched in the bushes behind her. Bakris carefully rounded the tree near which they were all hidden and sat with his back against the metallic trunk. Guy, finally moving from his statuesque position in the open, strode to the edge of the undergrowth beside Esieh.
As soon as they began to move, the fog, which had been fading gradually since the music stopped, tightened around them once more. The pixie in Ela’s hand took on an expression of fear and zipped through the air to the exact spot it had previously occupied, the choir of voices beginning anew. The satyr hurriedly lifted its wooden pipes and recommenced its playing. The light grew dim as the grey mass around them clouded the sky and limited their vision. The fey in the clearing wore mirrored expressions of panic.
“Maybe we should back off...” Guy suggested, taking a step backwards.
“Yeah, maybe we should get away from the trees,” agreed Bakris.
Erlan had just began to rise when his eyes were drawn to the tree above them. The crystal leaves had started to glow and, in an instant, shot bolts of purple energy at each of the people around it. Ela, Esieh and Guy yelped in pain while Bakris winced as the energy, taking the form of coloured lightning, arced into them. Erlan fell backwards in shock, tumbling clear of the bushes.
Standing where the tree had been, or perhaps it simply woke up, was a creature unlike anything they’d ever seen. Part metallic-wood and part living amethyst, it twisted its trunk in a seemingly impossible way and brought a branch round to smash into the back of Esieh’s head. She was knocked forwards, landing unceremoniously on the hard earth.
Rolling to face it, Esieh and the others looked up as the crystal dryad prepared for battle...
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 2...
A murdered woman, a convenient suspect and a smug husband. And a mysterious chatroom...
Closer to a funny look than an informative one, Geran tries Interrogation: a dialogue-based puzzle game about getting a confession.
One of the most fun shooter mechanics ever... So why am I super cold about this?
Closer to a funny look than an informative one, Geran tries SUPERHOT: a first person shooter where time only moves when you do.
This is the second example of the kind of thing that'll be available for $15+ patrons. For a while I played Frostpunk quite obsessively; to the point it affected my dreams. Based on some of the stuff I saw in that game, I had an idea for a story. This is essentially fanfiction set in the world of Frostpunk.
Alongside the prompted works, I'm also open to writing 'fanfic' stories set within the worlds of games, movies and TV. These are a bit harder to write as I strive to make them fitting to the lore and world, as well as compelling to read. Patrons can request any such topics, but which ones I do is harder to predict.
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Warm At Last
(A Frostpunk Story)
The trek from London had been long, hard, and very punishing. My community and I were among the hundreds upon thousands herded into Land Dreadnoughts and sent north; supposedly the only refuge against the ever-growing cold. Weeks aboard a cramped, stinking box on tracks, surrounded by masses of people who had ignoring the signs - scoffed at warnings – and then expected to be saved anyway. It was almost a relief when the colossal vehicle got stuck in the billowing snow, forcing everyone on-board to make the remainder of the journey by foot.
Before leaving London, I had attended regular congregations at my local church. It astounds me to this day how so few people turned to our faith when the winds came, bringing with them the howling doom of our civilisation. Every few days I would get together with the other members of our little parish and soon our meetings represented the last bastion of warmth and hope in the world. When the announcement spread that the cold was to get worse, that we were to flee north, my friends and I were among the first to line up to board; our faith told us that this was undoubtedly the way forward.
Walking across the Frostlands, as they are now called, was nothing if not perilous. Shifting ice, sudden spiking blizzards, carnivorous wildlife and the ever-present cold itself all shrank our numbers; of the two thousand or so who left the Dreadnought, the survivors couldn’t have numbered more than a hundred. Of my congregation of twenty-six, only Theodore and Maurice made it. When we finally crested the ridge and looked down into the circular crater in which we would live, many wept openly in relief.
We have lasted here for thirty-nine days now. The Captain has established adequate food lines, gathered plentiful resources from local deposits and even sent scouts to search for other survivors. The only two demands for which discontent is brewing are a lack of medical services and, of course, the bone-chilling cold. He claims that he cannot spare the educated personnel to staff more Medical Posts, but that he has a plan to see to our needs. I do not have confidence in him.
About a week into our new life in the crater, I stood staring up at the central Generator that provides our burgeoning city with heat and power. A gigantic construct, the cylindrical structure towers greatly over even the chimneys of the steelworks. An unending stream of thick grey smoke pours from the burning opening at its top, fed by our growing coal reserves. I sometimes climb to the rim of the crater to gaze at it, marvelling at the feat of engineering that could produce such a constant heat. It truly represents the best chance for our future.
As I stood within the inner ring of tents that serve as our living quarters, basking in the radiant warmth of the Generator, the loudspeakers pitched up and announced that the Captain had signed a new law; Houses of Prayer were to be constructed for all to use as they saw fit. Such news brought me great happiness and I rushed to see my friends. They too were overjoyed and together the three of us assisted in the Houses’ construction. The nearest was built right across the street from our communal tent, but we were pleased to see that enough were built that every citizen had easy access to one. While we had been attending to our spiritual needs in the cramped tents, we excitedly moved our daily meetings to the House of Prayer instead.
The 6pm horn sounds, signalling the end of work of the thirty-ninth day. I stand, once more, in the shadow of the Generator. In our time here, the engineers have worked to improve on the design as built by the original explorers. They say it now has greater heat output and range than ever before, but standing practically below it I still feel cold. I slightly adjust how the crutch sits under my right arm, hearing it creak under the weight that my right leg, if I still had it, could have easily supported. I start slowly towards the Generator.
The House of Prayer was more spacious, and warmer, to meet in than our tents. With our parish’s priest among those who never made it to the city, it was left to the three of us to carry on our beliefs. For five days straight we met every evening at 6:30pm, after our work shifts, and took turns mounting the podium to uplift the other two. Sometimes other people would attend, but few stayed for the whole service and fewer still stuck around to discuss what they heard. Despite the church being built of scrap metal and recovered wood, it imbued us with a sense of purpose; we didn’t mind that no one else took part.
We were taken aback, however, when we arrived the next day for our service, only to discover another congregation making use of the space. We had heard of this ‘New Faith’ from the other workers, and seen their shrines being erected outside the sawmill and steelworks, but the number of followers filling the House of Prayer was surprising. We left them in peace, then returned when it sounded like the prayers were coming to an end.
After newly hopeful faces streamed past us back into the cold, we approached the old man who had led the service. Theodore politely explained how we had used the church at 6:30pm every day since its building and, while we had no problem sharing the space, would appreciate it if he’d move their service to another time. The man listened patiently, nodded with understanding, but declined our request. He replied that many of his congregation were coal miners and preferred mass to be immediately after their shifts ended, so they might get the long rest they needed for their vital work. Also, he pointed out, there were only three who followed our beliefs and the space was better used to help as many people as possible. With those words he left us in the empty church to conduct our own service.
Over the next week, despite the old man’s blunt words, we patiently waited for the New Faith mass to conclude before entering the House of Prayer. When the churchgoers left, however, we noticed more and more of them casting us expressions of derision and even some of suspicion. On the seventh day of this, a man spat at the floor as he passed us. I opened my mouth to say something, but Theodore cautioned me against it; Maurice had taken ill from the cold and was recovering in our tent, so the two of us felt lost among the crowd of the New Faith. That was the first day since its construction that we didn’t hold a service in the church.
At the base of the pulsing Generator are control stations covered in dials and switches, conveying a myriad of information to the trained eye. While I still cannot understand most of what I see, the time I’ve spent around the giant machine over the past few days has taught me a rudimentary knowledge of the incredible technology on which we rely for the city to survive.
My eyes find the dial showing current fuel usage, but how one reads what it says and converts it to a quantity of coal per hour is beyond me. Perhaps the only meter I can read clearly is also the one understandable by every person in the city; the giant Stress Gauge built into the side of the metal cylinder encasing the upper half of the Generator, as well as a much smaller version among the dials.
Turning from the control station, I hobble to the nearby metal ladder – thankfully free of frost – and drop my crutch. It would only impede my climb.
What started as mere dirty looks had grown. After Maurice had recovered from his illness, unassisted by the Captain’s medical professionals, the three of us took to travelling around together. It was the only way we could feel safe.
Almost a month after arriving at the Generator, the sawmills had depleted all the frozen trees within reach, necessitating use of a complex wall drill to collect wood from within the sides of the crater; evidently a forest had once stood here before being engulfed by the all-consuming winter. With most of the former sawmill-operators out of work, my friends and I were reassigned to hunting.
It was a tiring job; more so than the sawmill had been, as it required leaving the relative comfort of the crater each night to check traps and bring back whatever had been caught that day. Upon returning, after dropping off the food, we would then travel to the House of Prayer at 7am for a quick service before retiring to the tents.
On the morning of the thirtieth day, Maurice and I were late returning to the city. One of our traps had malfunctioned, injuring instead of capturing its prey. It took us almost half an hour to track down the creature and then repair the damaged trap. By the time we had dropped off our catches at the cookhouse, it was almost 7am. We hurried towards the House of Prayer, expecting Theodore to be concerned for our whereabouts, but came across a crowd as we rounded the corner onto its street.
The massed people ignored us, instead straining to watch something transpiring outside the church. We heard shouting ahead as we pushed through the crowd to get a better look. When I saw what was happening, my blood ran as cold as the ground beneath my feet. Kneeling outside the church, surrounded by men in hooded black robes, was our friend, bloodied in the face and begging. Standing before him, adorned with a purple stole and the symbols of the New Faith, was the leader of the Faith Keepers.
He demanded that Theodore confess to heresy, but was refused.
He demanded that Theodore convert to the New Faith, but was refused.
He demanded that Theodore repent publicly, but was refused.
With a gesture from the leader, two Faith Keepers proceeded to beat and kick Theodore until he made no more sound. That was when the leader turned to the crowd and demanded to know where ‘the other two’ were.
Climbing ladders with one leg isn’t an easy task, but all that time spent working in the sawmill greatly improved my upper body strength. After each ladder, a metal walkway runs partway round the cylindrical Generator, ending in another ladder. From a distance the black metal tower, lit from within by a fiery glow, seemed almost divine and impossibly sleek. Up close, however, all of the stray pipes, pumping pistons and precarious supports undermine its mystique and reveal it to be merely another fallible construct of man. The walkways clank as my one foot lands heavily, the railing along the edge rattling as it takes my full weight between each step.
Below me I hear activity, but I cannot bring myself to look down. Voices carry up, snatched by the bitter wind, along with the slightest hints of smells. The distant scent of the cookhouse handing out the evening meal slowly gives way to a powerful smell of industry as I ascend the final ladder and reach the peak of the rumbling machine. It roars louder than I’ve ever heard it and the smoke bellows thicker than I’ve ever seen it as I grab the highest railing to steady myself. Leaning away from the railing, I steal a glance into the great opening atop the Generator, down into the roiling fires of hell itself.
Chained by our wrists to the Generator, side by side, Maurice and I faced the crowd and, more prominently, the Faith Keepers. The great multitude outside the House of Prayer had given us up immediately. My friend and I thought we were hidden within the mass of people, but it’s likely we’d been recognised the moment we’d arrived. We saw Theodore’s body being dragged away as we ourselves were hauled in the opposite direction.
The roar and pound of the Generator behind us was loud, but not compared to the righteous mob clamouring for more of what they had just seen. With a merest wave the leader of the Faith Keepers quietened the crowd and stepped up to Maurice.
He demanded that Maurice confess to heresy, which he promptly did.
He demanded that Maurice convert to the New Faith, which he promptly did.
He demanded that Maurice repent publicly, which he promptly did, through tears of anguish and regret.
Although many members of the crowd appeared disappointed, the truly faithful among them rejoiced as Faith Keepers undid Maurice’s chains and half-escorted, half-carried him towards their headquarters to complete his conversion. With a dark glint in his eye, the leader of the Faith Keepers turned to me.
“It is said that you preached heresy as a member of the Doomsday Order, promoting the belief that the world is dead and should be cremated in the fires of oblivion!” he bellowed, repeating word for word what he’d said to my friends. “You must confess!”
With no hesitation, staring deep into his frosty eyes, I answered.
“I confess that.”
“When confronted with the New Faith, in this city, and with us as representatives,” the leader continued, indicating everything around him, “you must swear to convert fully to our beliefs and forever abandon those of the Doomsday Order! You must convert!”
Again, without blinking, I answered.
“I will convert.”
“Here today, before the New Faith, its people and our Captain, you must repent publicly for any role you played, any action you took and any people you corrupted when a member of the Doomsday Order! You must repent!”
That was when I faltered. I lowered my gaze and thought of Theodore, of Maurice, and of all those believers who never made it to this frozen city. I thought of how our beliefs and ambitions kept us alive and hopeful back in London and of how they kept us working beyond the point of human endurance here. I realised that my next words would be the last public statement ever made by a member of the Doomsday Order.
“I cannot repent for that. While I will never follow it again, for a time I wholly believed in the Doomsday Order as the inevitable truth of the world. I cannot repent for that.”
My defiance momentarily stunned the onlookers, but the Faith Keepers only grinned. They encircled me and I felt pain all over. They stepped back.
“You must repent!” they chorused.
“I cannot!” I shouted.
Again they closed in and pain filled my world. It subsided.
“You must repent!”
As they encircled once more, one pain shone brighter than all the rest; a sharp, searing, blinding pain in my right leg. Glancing down I saw a flash of bone.
“I repent!” I cried, as it all went dark.
When I awoke I was in one of the Medical Posts. There was only a single doctor on duty who informed me that he’d had to amputate the leg to save my life. He told me that he was glad I repented, but that my missing leg would forever remind me of the price of hesitation. With that he moved on to the next patient.
Pulling away from the fiery mouth of the Generator, I look around at the city. Far below, rows of flapping tents barely shelter those who toil to keep everyone fed and contented. The many Houses of Prayer toll their bells. The hunters are just visible snaking their way through the waist-high snow beyond the edge of the city. In the centre circle around the Generator mill many lights, some dashing between the tents and other buildings, but most concentrated around the control stations.
I wonder if the hunters will look back at the Generator as they venture out. I wonder if they’ll see the large Stress Gauge that dominates one side and how the needle will be rotating inexorably towards the red. I wonder if they’ll fully comprehend the meaning of it. Would I have, if I hadn’t spent the last few days around the Generator, speaking to the engineers? I certainly wouldn’t have known which levers to pull and then break off.
I wonder if Maurice will see. I don’t blame him for his actions. I trust he doesn’t blame me for mine.
I look out beyond the rim of the crater and see the nightmarish swirling clouds that haunt the horizon, inevitably bringing with them the next freezing storm.
This world is dead. I cannot burn it all, but I can burn this city; this Generator is our best chance for that and we knew that before we’d even arrived. I just wish we hadn’t hesitated and waited as long as we did. Maybe then Theodore would be here to see it.
Releasing the railing, I stagger for a moment and then throw myself into the overloading Generator. I didn’t hesitate that time, and for my faith I receive my reward.
Warm at last.
Ever wanted to realistically forge a sword? Then sell it to...anime...people. For some reason.
NOTE: I assumed this was in early access. It is not. Welp.
Closer to a funny look than an informative one, Geran tries Fantasy Blacksmith: a realistic blacksmith simulator.
This is an example of the kind of thing that'll be available for $15+ patrons. I wrote this a couple of weeks ago based on two things: a target word count of 700 words and the prompt 'When I put my hand in my pocket, that wasn't what I was expecting'.
Patrons will be able to suggest virtually anything to be added to an ongoing 'pool' of prompts. Quotes, emotions, literary devices, settings... I'd even be open to writing 'fanfic' set in the worlds of things like TV shows, movies and games, but those might be a bit more limited in what I could write about.
Note: I reserve all rights to this story and its ideas and characters. Replication or reposting of this story is an infringement of my copyright.
If you like what you read here, please consider pledging $15 or more to gain access to at least 5,000 words a month, split across one or more stories. The first month using this reward will be March 2020.
“Hey, mate, got a light?”
I looked at the big man who asked the question, cars passing us by on the quiet street. I blinked and gently shook the dust from my mind.
“Yeah,” I replied, reaching into my jacket. My fingers felt something metallic, spherical, about the size of a snooker ball, and with a little rubber button on it. I accidentally pressed it, drew the item, and looked down at what was in my hand. “Oh. The Neutron Singularity.”
And then the world ended.
When I put my hand in my pocket, that wasn’t what I was expecting.
Let’s go back a bit.
“They caught the thief,” Dr Moson announced to me, leaning casually on a disassembled particle reactor.
“Did they?” I asked, leafing through the manual.
“Yup,” Moson continued, flicking a loose nut and immediately regretting it when his finger hurt. “It was Dr Raase in Applied Logistics.”
“I thought he was highly respected,” I said, losing my page and returning to the contents.
“She. And she is. Or was, I guess. The Military Police just escorted her away.”
“Who gets her office?”
“I dunno,” Moson shrugged, standing back up. “Probably someone who works in Applied Logistics.”
“Damn,” I muttered.
“I’d better get back to work,” Moson sighed, slowly walking towards the door. “Those polarities aren’t gonna reverse themselves.”
“Did you catch the game last night?” I asked, picking the manual back up off the floor.
“I did!” Moson exclaimed, rushing back to lean on the reactor.
“What was with that seven-ten split, right?”
“I thought you were talking about the football.”
He paused again.
“What do you think of Dr Stepson in Antiquated Procedures?”
“He has some innovative theories,” I replied, consulting the Latin phrasebook.
“She. And I hear she’s getting a divorce,” Moson continued. “I might ask her out.”
“I hope it works out better than last time,” I stated, flipping the phrasebook the right way up.
“C’mon!” Moson exclaimed, looking hurt. “That would never have worked. She never forgave me for not taking her name. There couldn’t be two Dr Stepsons! I hear her new husband did, though.”
“What does he do?” I gave up on the Latin phrasebook.
“He works in the medical unit.”
“My chest’s been hurting,” I said, pressing on it and wincing.
“Then stop pushing your stitches. Lung replacements don’t heal overnight.”
“You know what I really want?”
“Don’t say a smoke.”
“You’re just lucky we’re covered,” Moson went on, leaning heavily on the reactor and staring at the ceiling. “Most jobs don’t provide organ replacements.”
I pressed my chest a bit and winced again.
“Then again, I suppose most jobs don’t grow the organs,” Moson finished.
We remained in silence, broken only by my occasional little yelp of pain.
“I guess I’d better get back to work,” Moson admitted begrudgingly.
“Did you see the other game last night?” I asked, looking up from a tray of frayed wires.
“I did!” Moson exclaimed again, facing me.
“I can’t believe he got a hole in one.”
There was silence for a few seconds before a there was a loud clatter, not unlike the sound of a tray hitting the floor.
“I should go back to work now,” Moson sighed firmly.
I looked down at the wires that had scattered across the floor.
“I’m going home,” I stated.
“Will I see you at the pub later?” Moson asked, edging out the door.
“Yeah,” I answered, pulling on my jacket. “I just need to grab something from the break room.”
“Okie dokie!” Moson’s hand waved in from the corridor and he was gone.
I looked for a moment at the mess of my lab and strolled past the break room, down a lift and into the vault. I stood, thinking, before settling on the Neutron Singularity and stuffing it in my pocket.
That’d fetch a good price next.
Last month I posted a long thing about changes I was proposing for this Patreon; the rewards and the presentation, mostly. Since then I've been brainstorming and designing things. I'd like to share with you what I've got and present one last chance for feedback before I implement it some time next month.
After extensive thought and planning, as well as discussion with patrons and other fans, I think I've got my new lineup of rewards, as well as their new names.
$1 - Rivan Tier
Access to the Patreon Feed AND ability to vote in the monthly First Impressions and Top 5 votes.
$3 - Elma Tier
An exclusive role on the official Gar1onriva Discord server AND all the rewards of the previous tier.
$5 - Minun Tier
The password for all current and past Main Series (Season 1 and 2) PokeSins episodes AND all the rewards of the previous tiers.
$10 - Plusle Tier
The password for all current and past Exclusive (Season 3) PokeSins episodes AND all the rewards of the previous tiers.
$15 - Touka Tier
Two or more short stories a month, written by me based on prompts from patrons, totalling at least 5,000 words AND all the rewards of the previous tiers.
$25 - D.Va OR Jeffery Tier (Which do you prefer?)
A monthly private gaming session with me, lasting at least an hour, on a mutually agreed game and time AND all the rewards of the previous tiers.
$50 - Tabby Tier
A monthly private voice/video chat with me, lasting at least an hour, at a mutually agreed time AND all the rewards of the previous tiers.
I was seriously considering trying the Patreon merchandise program that they're running, but after crunching the numbers it is a massive rip-off. The additional costs to creators, regardless of whether anyone signs up to it, are just too high to consider.
Each reward will be referred to by its tier name in the future, noted further by their character mascots. I made a whole selection of tier icons (visible at the top), but I chose these ones due to their relevance to the associated reward and/or how much I like the art.
Because both D.Va and Jeffery can work with multiplayer gaming - and I like both icons - I'd like to know which you prefer, whether you're a $25 patron or not.
To give you some idea what my writing is like, I'll be posting a couple of stories to be available for everyone. I also intend to put them on my website in the near future. To remind you, I have a degree in Creative Writing and really love writing.
I mention about 'prompts from patrons'; this means that any $15+ patrons can suggest words, phrases, quotes, feelings, devices, topics, settings, or whatever to be added to an ongoing 'pool' of story ideas. Or you can just sit back and see what I can come up with all on my own.
The final changes will be coming into effect starting in March.
I hope you like the ideas and designs I've come up with. Check back soon for a couple of stories to hopefully whet your appetite for my writing.
Please leave your thoughts and feedback, either as a patron or not, and whether any of the tier changes are tempting you to pledge/upgrade.
Thank you for taking the time to read.
The final Orange Island gym badge is this episode.
Over three quarters done with the filler season!
Hope you enjoy this episode.
Geran lists his favourite hypothetical jobs if he lived in the Pokémon World.
Vote for next month's Top 5 by pledging $3 or more.
A lost soul, a vengeful dungeon master and...maybe racism?
Closer to a funny look than an informative one, Geran tries a pre-early access build of a rougelike deckbuilder with RPG elements.
A new game, a new town, a brand new set of things to annoy me.
Closer to a funny look than an informative one, Geran tries the sequel to a fantasy shop simulator/barbarian killing game.
NOTE: Any spoilers commented will result in immediate and irreversible blocking. I'm not kidding. I hate spoilers.
Shoppe Keep 1st Impressions: https://youtu.be/RYHnwvX9xYs
Shoppe Keep review: https://www.gar1onriva.co.uk/written-reviews/shoppe-keep-review/
This (and the BTSF) is my last release of 2019. I hope you enjoy them.
Thank you very much for all your support this year. Just a few months before we start with Johto. I'm excited for those episodes to go public at last.
A new podcast with Geran, Charlie and Hazel as regular hosts. We discuss a variety of topics, but this episode is mostly a test to see what people like and how this will work. Please leave any thoughts or suggestions in the comments.
We're due to begin regular monthly podcasts in February.
Running late for work, Freeman has time for an exercise bin and a trip to the break room.
Closer to a funny look than an informative one, Geran tries the fan remake of one of the best shooters ever made; Half-Life.
NOTE: Any spoilers commented will result in immediate and irreversible blocking. I'm not kidding. I hate spoilers.
This is a post I've been thinking about and planning for about a month. I would like to make big changes and all but overhaul how I do my Patreon. I want to change up some unpopular rewards, inject a bit of character into the tiers and find new ways to interact with you guys and give you what you want.
One thing at a time.
My current rewards are as follows. Remember that each subsequent tier includes the rewards for all previous ones:
$1: Patreon Feed - Gain access to my Patreon feed and see any posts I write for patrons.
$3: Video Voting - A monthly vote to decide a First Impressions I'll make the following month.
$5: Main Series PokéSins - A password that gives access to all main series episodes of PokéSins which are currently all Seasons 1 and 2 episodes.
$10: Unreleased PokéSins - A password that gives access to ALL PokéSins. Seasons 1, 2 and 3 are all included.
$15: Newsletter - A monthly newsletter about what I do, play and watch away from the channel.
$25: Monthly Gaming - A monthly gaming session with me and maybe some of my friends too.
$50: Monthly Private Chat - A monthly skype/discord voice chat where we can discuss basically anything.
Of these, three tier rewards are either not used at all or are barely used. Well...four, really, but I never really expected the $50 tier to be massively busy. Ignoring that one the ones that need tweaking are $3, $15 and $25. The $5 and $10 PokéSins tiers are my most popular, so I will not be making any changes to those.
**TIER IDEAS - ITIERS, IF YOU WILL**
Let’s start at the lower end. I like the Video Voting reward. I like that viewers have some direct control over which games I play and I look forward to bringing the Top 5s back into the vote. That’s why it saddens me that I get maybe three people voting each month. In addition, there is currently no one actually on the $3 tier; everyone who votes is a $5 or higher patron. That tells me that it isn’t appealing enough.
I got some feedback about the Video Vote last month, so in the future I’ll try to offer a wider selection of games as options and then inform voters of the winner.
What I would like to do, however, is move the Video Voting reward to be on the $1 tier instead. My reasons for this are twofold; firstly it’ll increase the pool of potential voters. Secondly since I stopped writing update posts on the progress of videos, there isn’t an awful lot that $1 patrons get for their support. If every single person who pledges could cast a vote for what videos get made, that would be a very tangible return on their pledge.
If I moved the vote to $1, however, that would leave the $3 tier empty. I have an idea for that. You may or may not be aware that a viewer set up a Gar1onriva Fans Discord server for viewers to chat and interact. It’s been great having a community like that; I go on every couple of days to catch up and chat a bit.
What about if I set up an Official Gar1onriva Discord server and changed the $3 reward to a special Discord role? I’ll be honest that I don’t have a lot of experience with Discord or running a proper server, but I’ve enjoyed the company in the Gar1onriva Fans Discord and I’m willing to give this a go.
Any thoughts on that?
As for the $15 and $25 tiers...I don’t have much in mind. While I enjoy writing the monthly newsletter, again there aren’t many people on that tier (or higher) to read it. Plus I’m seriously considering starting a podcast that would all but make it redundant.
I get that monthly pledges this high aren’t going to be a common thing, but I feel that inadequate rewards may be playing a role.
Any ideas whatsoever (except PokéSins-related things as discussed below) are welcome as to what I could offer for $15 and $25.
I know some people will suggest making changes to the PokéSins rewards; reducing them, adding more, making more episodes, etc. I’m afraid that I am vetoing all such suggestions. I’m very happy with the way I’m currently handling the main series and it pains me to say that I’ve fallen behind on the Johto episodes for $10 (which I plan to make up for somewhat this month... More on that another day).
My channel has daily content and most of it is gaming stuff. It may not be as popular as my PokéSins stuff, but I really enjoy making it. I’m also moving more towards scripted reviews and heavily-edited scripted gaming series, and don’t forget that I plan to start livestreaming on a very regular basis in the new year. My point is there is lots of stuff that I can do that isn’t connected to PokéSins, so please think outside that particular box.
You may have seen on other Patreon Creator pages that you can put an image for each tier, giving them some character and making them more eye-catching. I love that. I really want to do that. Thinking along those lines also gave me an idea; I think it’s finally time to ‘name’ my reward tiers.
At the moment I refer to the different pledge tiers by the dollars per month or the reward; $10s are Unreleased PokeSins, $3s are Video Vote, etc. I propose that each tier is given a name and character, taking from the pool of series and art that I’ve done on my channel. I’d very much like patrons of each tier to help pick their tier’s mascot and for the character to have something to do with the tier if possible.
At the top of this post are icons I very quickly made from the various characters who have (or will soon) appeared on my channel. I’m also open to having new icons made to represent series I’ve not had official art made for before, if there’s a particular favourite.
I have some ideas for pairings already.
For the $1 pledge the only option I really see is ‘Rivan’, and it can use one of the versions of my avatar. I thought this because anyone who pledges is playing a very active role in keeping me doing what I’m doing; they are a true Rivan without a doubt.
For the $5 and $10 pledges, it’s gotta be Plusle and Minun in some form, right? The way round that occurred to me was Minun at $5 and Plusle at $10, but I’m open to alternatives. Perhaps FEEBAS at $5 and Yin & Yang at $10? Pokémon-related, definitely.
Not thought much about the others. I’m inclined to let my one current $50 patron have almost free pick for that tier, though I suspect the ‘Tabby Tier’ might be a favourite. Same for the few $15 patrons for their tier.
The other tiers I’m completely open to ideas. Which of my characters do you think should represent the different tiers?
I’m looking for a lot of feedback here. Rewards, pledges, characters... Can’t really sum this one up much. This was a rather rambling post, but it’s hard to streamline an overhaul like this.
Please give me your thoughts and bear in mind what I’ve said. Whether you’re currently a patron or not and whatever tier you might be on, I value your opinion greatly. With your feedback I can mould this Patreon into something better than ever.
Thank you very much for taking the time to read this and thank you even more if you give me your thoughts.
Your support keeps me and this channel going.
Caaaaatch you later,
They lay it on a bit thick with the filler this episode. Still, we're making headway through the season.
The most incomprehensible game I've ever played.
Closer to a funny look than an informative one, Geran tries a Dynasty Warriors-style anime hack 'n' slasher.
Helllllo and welcome! My name is Geran, also known as Gar1onriva, and by watching this trailer you'll get an idea of what my channel is like.
I do almost daily videos of games, reviews and opinions. If you like single player games, multiplayer games, anime reviews or, of course, PokéSins, this is the channel for you.
To celebrate my 27th Birthday, I stealthed and fultoned some innocent mercenaries in MGSV.
Which make better PokéSins episodes? The really good Pokémon episodes...or the really bad ones?
This is one of those two.
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