Rise of the Rune Lords Session 20: The Eviction

Foss opened the door deeper into the foul Graul house, and a scything blade sprang out of the door frame and slammed against his armor, knocking him to the side. He grunted but appeared unhurt, and levered the blade out of the wall.

The larger room on the other side of the door stank of putrefying flesh. Eight wooden chairs were crowned with bleached skulls. The monstrous table was covered with a crude tablecloth of tanned human skin. A rotting human head sat where the centerpiece would normally be located.

The rest of the group crowded around the door while Foss searched for more traps, finding scythe blades at two more doors and disarming them quickly and efficiently. He then booted open the northern door while the rest of the group edged around the chairs.

The revealed room was strewn with toys of carved wood and bone and partial animal carcasses, a hideous parody of a nursery. The walls were marked with crude paintings drawn in blood.

Nevis winced. “By Shelyn . . .this place.” The gnome was turning a delicate shade of chartreuse. Two smaller ogrekin shrieked. Foss slashed at one with his axe, dropping it, and turned to the other, while Jori raced up beside him and attacked with her knife, missing. The melee was brief but intense, and Melissah tried to help and received a nasty wound from a spear for her trouble.

“Two fewer nightmares,” Iozua said. Melissah passed her hand over the wound, channeling protective energies. The wizard shook his head. “Anything worth spending further seconds in this room for?”

“I don't think so,” Melissah replied.

Foss grunted. “I can't imagine anything valuable enough.”

They moved quickly to the next door, a closet of sorts filled with dozens of humanoid fetishes crafted from all kinds of unspeakable junk. Foss looked the room over and found a jade ring on one of the human fingerbones dangling from the walls. The next room contained a bearskin rug before a tremendous hearth and a huge couch haphazardly upholstered in animal hide and human skin and decorated with animal talons, enormous hairy spider legs, fox heads, and human hands and feet. There was a dark, foul pit in front of the couch.

The next door led into what should be the final room on this floor. Foss glanced over the group, made an apologetic face, and opened the door. The room was a vile bedchamber, with three walking corpses standing guard and everything swimming with blood, rot, and flies. An enormous, blobby female with stringy black hair and grayish skin shrieked in rage.

“Now you fireball,” Melissah said to Iozua.

“Ya think?” the wizard demanded. He retreated slightly and hurled a flaming gem into the room, where it exploded, setting the undead Grauls on fire and covering Mammy Graul in a layer of blackened scorch that improved her appearance tremendously.

Jori ducked into the room and cast a ray of light at Mammy, scorching her further, and Foss charged. Mammy took his axe through her arm, but then she levitated toward the ceiling and cast a spell of vile corruption at Foss, who shook from a wave of sickness. Weakened, he hacked at her again, cleaving the grayish flesh.

Mammy Graul fell to the floor and the boards gave way. She tumbled into darkness and landed with a wet, crackling thud. Something below growled, then roared.

“Can I please burn this place down now,” Iozua whined, gulping and trying not to breathe. There was a slithering noise, and then . . . munching.

Foss edged forward and peeked into the hole. “Can someone please help with whatever that witch did to me before we have to deal with that . . .thing?” he said, pointing to a monstrous heap of plant and fungus life with two immense tentacles and a gaping maw.

“It's some sort of carnivorous plant,” Melissah said. She glanced at Jori, and between the two women they managed to remove most of the affliction, leaving only a bit of lingering weakness that should heal on its own.

“Thank you,” Foss said. “Both of you. Let's go down and deal with it. We can't let it live.”

“I can hit it with spells from here,” Iozua said.

“Who knows what else might be down there, though,” Melissah cautioned.

“Only one way to find out!” Nevis announced.

“It's EATING her! You think any innocents are alive down there?” Iozua demanded.

Melissah shook her head. “I was more concerned with an explosion of toxic mold or slime spores or something like that.”

“We haven't found the Black Arrows' equipment yet,” Jori said to the increasingly hysterical wizard.

“I've already offered to resupply them. I stand by that offer,” he snapped. He pulled a vial of dust out of his pouch, rolled it between his hands. “Here, I'll distract it!”

The fireball boomed under the floorboards. Two tentacles shot out, grabbed the wizard, and hauled him through the hole before he could even yell.

“Iozua!” Nevis shouted, and jumped in after him. Jori followed, hacking at the strange beastie, while Melissah cast a spell that summoned a crackling sphere of violet electricity. The tentacles continued to move, sweeping Iozua into the creature's maw, where he vanished with one gulp.

Foss leapt, burying an axe in the creature's back—if it had one—and slowing his descent slightly. A flurry of axe blows followed, and the plant monster flopped to the ground. Foss continued hacking until he'd opened a hole into the creature's gullet. Iozua fell out in a gush of slime, choking and swinging wildly with his daggers.

“What. The. Actual. Hell.” the wizard gasped out after he'd cleared the slime from his mouth.

“Damn, Iozua, you win the disgusting award this time. Thanks for coming to work today.”

“It slimed you!” Nevis declared, fascinated.

“Thank--” Iozua started. He choked, and hawked up a wad of slime. “Thank you, Foss.”

“I'm a little glad Pavander isn't here, actually,” Melissah said, surveying the dark pit. He'd be rolling in everything.” Foss chuckled a bit at her weak humor. “Let's get out of here. Please.”

The north door led to a tiny cubby with a chest full of equipment, much of which bore the Black Arrows' markings. Foss shoveled the rest into a bag and they left quickly through the southern doors, which led to a dark and foul but otherwise unremarkable stone hallway, a storage room, and then a room occupied by another Graul, this one with a tiny conjoined twin stuck to its back, and two enormous rats, called donkey rats by the locals.

The rats leaped across the room, and one of them sank its teeth into Foss' leg. He glanced at Melissah, wondering how she would react to the sight of more animals, but she shook her head. “Don't hold back!”

The fight was short but brutal, with Iozua burning one rat to death with a flaming sphere, Melissah summoning a small pack of stirges that latched on to the other rat and drained its blood, and Foss dueling the Graul, taking several blows from its ogre hook but ultimately winning. Jori winced at her rat bites and summoned a healing aura over the group that removed the worst of it.

The remainder of the vile house was foul, but empty of further enemies.

“H'okay,” Foss said, “I need to lie down for a bit. I think I've seen enough of their faces.”

“I need a bath,” Melissah concurred.

Rise of the Rune Lords Session 19: Honorable Arachnid

The monstrous ogrekin guard took off after Kibb with a bellow, and the party emerged from the trees to creep up on the barn. Melissah detoured to the farmhouse, casting a spell that summoned pillars of ice from the ground that would, with any luck, block the doors.

Foss planted his shoulder and heaved the wooden barn doors open, revealing a wide room with mounds of molding hay, grain stores, and even a large but crude still. He readied his axes as three ogrekin armed with spears looked up from where they were keeping watch. Behind him, Nevis began to sing and gesture, filling the air with hastening magic.

Iozua, bringing up the rear, made a broad two-handed gesture, and the far side of the barn filled with a roiling wall of fire. The ogres yelped as the heat washed over them, then the nearest yelped again as Foss charged, dodging a half-hearted spear thrust to sink both axes into the beast's torso, felling it.

Jori edged around to the catwalk and hurled her starknife, but the second ogre dodged it and both guards rushed at Foss. He jumped back and ducked, narrowly evading their spears. Melissah walloped one with her quarterstaff to little effect, while Nevis the gnome transformed her lute into a sword and hacked away at the other guard, opening a gash on its leg.

Iozua summoned another gout of flames and the fight was abruptly over, Foss taking the opportunity to finish off his final opponent.

“Well, that went swiftly,” Nevis said, wiping her blade clean. “Foss, you are a force to be reckoned with!”

“I think the giant cong-flagration had something to do with our success,” Foss said.

“Yes, my conflagrations are kingly,” Iozua replied, blowing smoke off his fingers.

Melissah peeked back out of the barn door to see if any other ogres had heard the noise, but apart from the increasingly-distant bellows of the guard thrashing around in the underbrush, there was nothing.

Nevis trotted over to the stinking still. “This smells drinkable if we mix it with a little berry juice and some wormwood,” she remarked.

Melissah twitched. “To a gnome, perhaps.” The little folk were renowned for being hardy and foolish, after all. “I don't see anyone coming, maybe try getting the doors open?”

Nevis found a dented brass cup from somewhere and dipped it into the spirits. She took a swallow, frowned, and then began choking and spat out the acrid fluid. “WOOOOOOOooo damn, no.”

“Excellent,” Iozua said. “This party needed someone to make really, really questionable choices. Now we are complete.”

“I aim to please,” Nevis coughed, smiling weakly.

“I wouldn't trust your aim right now,” the wizard replied.

“I wouldn't trust that hooch right now,” Nevis said.

“Or ever,” Jori told her.

Foss heaved away the boards blocking the far door, but it was still very slow to open. Shoving hard, he discovered that the far side of the door was covered in resilient spiderweb that parted only reluctantly. The large, stuffy chamber on the other side of the door was covered in disgusting webs that formed a funnel dropping down into the ground. In the far corners there were square platforms fenced in by wooden beams, forming crude cages. The walls inside the cages were studded with manacles, three of them containing emaciated, unconscious men.

“I can heal the men if you'll keep an eye out,” Melissah said. Iozua took up position next to the outer doors. “Will do.”

Nevis and Foss stepped into the webbed room, watching carefully. The gnome jumped and called out as a spider the size of an elephant emerged from the funnel in the floor and loomed abruptly over her.

“What are you gasping about in there?” Iozua demanded as possibly-venomous slobber dripped from the spider's mandibles onto the gnome's head.

Melissah quickly cast a spell. “Nice giant spider!” she said. It turned to look at her, bulbous eyes seeming to glow in the dark, and then it settled toward the ground.

“Guys, do you need help?” Iozua called. “I heard spellcasting.”

Nevis wiped at the goo. “Woah.” The spider continued its non-attack. “It's okay?”

“It's all right,” Melissah said. “Just . . . don't go crazy. It's still a big bug. I don't control it like a puppet. It will do what comes naturally if you provoke it.”

Iozua was sounding increasingly irritated. “I'm sorry, a big bug? What?”

Nevis peeked out the door at him. “I don't know if you should be happy you missed the spider or not!” The wizard shook his head, bewildered, and turned to watching the door. Foss, seeing that the situation was under control, moved to join him, and Jori followed.

“There's a spider in there. It's frickin' enormous,” Foss explained. “I mean, really . . . frickin enormous. And Melissah just told it to chill out . . . and it did.”

Iozua looked skeptical. “Huh. Nice.”

In the cage, Melissah and Nevis surveyed the injured men. “I've got antitoxins?” the gnome offered.

Melissah used water from her waterskin to wipe dirt away from their injuries. “They don't look like the spider has actually bitten them, they're just beat up and exhausted.”

“Holy hells, they are LUCKY!” Nevis said, casting a still-nervous glance at the spider, which was still watching them. She went bounding out of the room.

“Iozua! Iozua! You have to SEE this thing! It is SO BIG!”

“Nevis!” Melissah hissed. “They don't like rapid movements!”

“IT SLOBBERED ON ME!” the gnome bellowed.

Iozua rolled his eyes. “So, what, dog-sized?”

“Bigger! Like bigger than FOSS!”

“Oh, for pity's sake, if you want to see it, just come see it,” Melissah griped as she concentrated on healing the prisoners.

Iozua shook his head. “Ehhhh . . . I'm fine.”

“It was soooooo COOL!”

One by one, the men staggered out past the docile spider and collapsed on the marginally-cleaner hay in the outer room. Melissah followed them.

“Melissah, question for you,” Foss said rather diffidently.

“Yes?”

“What is this thing going to do if we just leave it here, with no ogrekin to control it? Is it going to eat everything in a ten mile area is what I'm asking.”

“It probably won't be good for the surrounding things,” Nevis said.

“Well, it is a hunter,” Melissah said, shrugging. “It'll do what any hunter in the woods would do. But web-spinning spiders generally don't move around that much. If you want, I can try to encourage it to head for less-civilized lands.”

Nevis grabbed Melissah's tunic and stage-whispered. “Ride it like a pony!”

“After you,” the druid whispered back.

“I trust your judgment,” Foss said. “I just don't want the local folk calling for help with a nightmare spider in a year or so.”

“We could put up a sign, like 'Beware the Spider',” Melissah offered. “I'm actually not opposed to burning these buildings down. They're just going to harbor something nasty unless people decide to come live here. But I'd move the spider out first.”

“Did someone say 'burn buildings down'?” Iozua asked.

“Oh dear,” Melissah said. “Now I'm sorry I suggested it.”

“That still should go up a treat,” Nevis announced.

“We should probably find out what's in the house before we go committing random arson,” Melissah said.

“It's targeted arson,” the wizard protested.

Out in the clearer air, the three captives, all apparently rangers, were starting to look a bit more alert. One looked much like Foss, only somewhat lighter in build, with a short, dark beard. One of his eyes was scarred. He matched the description Shalelu had given them of Jakardros. The other two were a large, dark-skinned human, and a smaller, slighter man with blond hair, who even in his current state managed a grin.

“Kibb,” he croaked. “Where's Kibb?”

“He's outside distracting the guard,” Melissah said with as much assurance as she could muster, “but he should be back soon.”

Jakardros looked relieved, but then he frowned. “Who the hells are you guys?”

“The Mayor of Magnimar sent them with me to see what happened to the fort after all the disturbances.”

The blond man, who Melissah vaguely remembered was named Kaven, punched Jakardros on the shoulder. “You don't remember Melissah? The bee lady? You must be getting old to forget a pretty face like hers.” He grinned, white teeth showing through the filth. Melissah produced a weak smile in return.

“I'm glad we found you alive. Shalelu was worried about you.”

Jakardros started to climb to his feet, but couldn't quite manage. “Easy, brother,” the dark-skinned man, named Vale, said. “Take it easy.

“She was worried about me? Truly?” Jakardros asked, his voice thick.

“We have a lot of questions,” Foss said, “but there is still a house full of these beasts. Will you be all right while we go finish this rescue mission?”

“There aren't any more Black Arrows here,” Vale said, grimly. “But if you're going to kill off the Grauls, then gods speed you on your mission.”

Kaven nodded. “We'll be fine. Things have gone pretty well for us so far.” The other two rangers shot him disbelieving looks. “What?”

“I like your optimism, sir,” Nevis said.

Melissah looked at Jakardors for a moment. “The first Graul we encountered had a bunch of Black Arrow patches . . . do you know if the others were . . .slain?”

Jakardros nodded wearily. “My patrol wasn't at Fort Rannick when the ogres attacked. I lost a third of my men trying to retake the fort, and when we retreated south into the Kreegwood we were easy pickings for the Grauls.” He sighed. “I can't imagine anyone's left alive at the Fort. If I'd returned sooner, we could have helped defend the place, but now a forty-five year tradition is dead because of me. Commander Bayden would sooner have died than surrender the fort, so I assume the worst.”

“I would say it's dead because of the ogres,” Melissah said. Kaven reached out and squeezed Jakardros' shoulder.

“You have GOT to stop blaming yourself for this, Jak.”

“We're going to kill them,” Nevis said, “but how many of them are in the house?”

“I lost count of how many Grauls are in that house,” Vale rumbled. “Too many, to be damned sure. Watch out for Mammy Graul, little one. She's . . . she's about the worst thing the gods put upon Golarion.”

“Necromancers, man. What can you do?” Kaven said.

“It sounds like this 'family' has been terrorizing this area for long enough,” Foss growled.

As the party gathered itself to leave the barn, they heard a bellow from the farmstead outside. “Where's this danged ice come from?” The guard was poking, perplexed, at the ice pillar outside the farmhouse's eastern door.

Melissah waved her hands, and the giant spider emerged from the back room, striding across the barn and out of the door. Iozua raised his eyebrows.

“Wait, there really IS a spider?!”

“Told you!” Nevis said.

The guard shrank back in horror for a moment, but then he raised a cruel hooked polearm and charged.

Melissah pointed at the ogrekin. “There's someone for you to play with! Give him a hug!”

“Yeah, give him a mouth hug!” Nevis shouted.

The spider leapt forward and sank its mandibles into the ogre with loud snapping sounds. Screaming, the ogre struck back, tearing the spider's abdomen open with a lucky strike of his hook. It hissed and curled up, falling to the ground.

“NO!” Melissah yelled. She hurled a ball of snow at the ogrekin, and it yowled again.

“Damn, I can't wait to see what'll happen next,” Foss said.

Jori grinned. “Right. This is going to be epic.”

Iozua summoned a sphere of flame around the mutant's toes and it finally fell, smoking and charring. He then directed the sphere toward the eastern door of the farmhouse, neatly cutting a hole in the ice pillar.

“Sorry 'bout your loss,” Foss mumbled to Melissah. “I could tell that thing mattered to you.”

“I'll be all right. But thank you.”

“Right,” he said. “Let's go kill more stuff.”

The door opened into a musty kitchen that reeked of blood and week-old meat. It was thick with clouds of fat, greasy flies. Thumb-sized cockroaches ran along the walls, floor, and ceiling. A thick butcher's block sat under three cruel-looking cleavers that hung from a rack. Bloodstained smocks of thick leather, one still dripping fresh gore, hung on bone spur hooks by the door. A crockery platter of severed fingers and toes sat on a rickety old table next to a basket overflowing with hacked-off hands and feet, all sporting stubs of congealed blood where their digits once were.

Iozua's face went hard. “Never mind. I'll buy the Black Arrows new stuff. I'm burning this place down. Because I am not going in there.”

“I want to go in,” Foss said quietly.

“I dislike having to entertain your weird fetishes,” the wizard grumped.

“I want to make sure this ends. I want to see their faces.”

Nevis pulled a vial from her pouch labeled “antitoxin” and downed it. “I need that just looking at this room.”

Foss gestured, and the party stepped inside, ready, they hoped, for anything.

Rise of the Rune Lords: Melissah's Story

There was a bees' next in the Arbor. The girl could hear the buzzing even over the roar of the swollen river. These weren't the tiny, glittering green bees of the marsh; they were fat orange things, striped in black, that floated almost lazily through the spring air.

“Silly nuisances,” Guide remarked, tapping the rotten stump with his staff. “They don't belong here. They'll never find enough nectar in these woods to see them through the winter.”

“There are flowers in the water-meadows,” the girl said.

“Not bee flowers. These fat fellows are used to farmlands, rich and heady and full of sweets for them to feast on. They'll learn their mistake soon enough.”

The girl thought that would be a shame. She discovered an odd liking for these bees, with their bright colors and placid busyness. They may be foolish, but it was a brave and jaunty sort of foolishness that seemed friendly and inviting.

Guide tapped the girl with his staff and she turned quickly to follow. She had enough work of her own to do, learning to be a Druid. There were six Druids in the Arbor: Guide, Storm, Star, River, Marsh, and Mist. And Girl. She had no name. Undines were named for their work or for their family, and she had neither. Guide had hinted once that the girl's father was no Undine, and the girl was lucky she was still born to swim with the People. Most of those so born had to be left with their unswimming relatives, assuming any could be found. It was a waste, but women had their passions and would bear land children from time to time. At least the girl could be useful.

This last was said with a sniff and a significant glance. The girl did her best to look useful and not at all like the half-foreign children or the strange foreign bees who would starve soon.

Yet, they did not starve. The girl returned to the rotten stump in summer to find the nest had grown enormous. The bees were thriving, growing fat on something in this desolate land. The girl smiled as fuzzy orange insects landed on her.

“I am not a flower, silly things,” she said, and gently shook them off. Guide would be returning soon, and there was still gathering to do.

The bees seemed to watch while she dug for roots, cut small green plants, and filled her basket with hard purplish berries. When she paused to rest the bees landed on her bundles or petted her skin with their tiny feet. The girl took a plum from her pocket and cut it in half. “Do bees eat plums?” she asked, putting the fruit on the stump and squeezing it so the juice ran.

* * *

In the fall, the bees didn't drone. They roared. Some ferocious beast had invaded the hive, tearing out a great section of rotten stump and feasting on the bees' diligent work. The girl spent hours digging up clay and straw to patch the hive together. The bees would not be consoled, and stung her hands and arms in their fury. She pulled out the barbs and rubbed mud over her skin to draw out the poison. It hurt, but it wasn't their fault they didn't know she was trying to help.

“Maybe you really will starve, now,” she whispered, and astonishing tears dripped down her cheeks. The bees should live. They were pretty and brave and fierce and foolish.

So the girl set a trap. Guide had taught her to catch rabbits and lizards with snares, but from the size of the gouges something bigger and stronger was needed here. The girl spent all day digging. That night, she didn't return to the Circle, where usually she slept. Instead, she slept on the ground after an unpleasant meal of shelf fungus and sour berries. Her hands were blistered and her knees were rubbed raw.

In the morning, she dug again. It took her three days to build that trap.

Guide was furious. He made the girl scrub the floors and sweep the entire Circle and carry water for all six Druids before he let her collapse on her pallet and sleep a few short hours. Then he shook her awake and the chores began again, along with a lecture that she was forbidden to leave the Circle. It hardly mattered. She was too tired to care.

The punishment felt like an eternity, but Guide was quick to lose interest in lectures and finding new chores. Druids were not farmers, after all, with endless rounds of work. When you could summon water with a wave of your hand, why wait for someone to carry it? There were better ways for even a nameless girl to spend her time.

The girl crept back to the pit she had dug, intending only to fill it in. The rains had done half the job already, but when she began to attack the edge with her digging stick something thrashed in the mud, scrabbling at the collapsing earthen walls. The girl shrieked, imagining some kind of furious mud dragon, but then she saw two bright, beady eyes.

“You shouldn't be such a thief,” she scolded the animal that lay panting in the mud, the last of its strength spent. “Still, I suppose it's not your fault that you're hungry.”

Getting the animal out of the mud was far more difficult than digging the pit in the first place. In the end, the girl had to braid a rope from vines and tie food to a stick that she stuck almost out of its reach so that she could get her rope around it and haul it from the muck. By the time it was at ground level, they were about equally muddy, but at least a brief wallow in the river took care of most of the mud. The animal lay on the shore, watching her, making no move to leave.

“You're a strange-looking thing,” she told it.

“It's a badger,” came a voice, and the girl shrieked for the second time in one day. Guide reached down, hooked her arm, and lifted her out of the water. “We don't generally see them around here.” His lips quirked wryly. “A honey badger. They do whatever they like, but never anything useful.”

The girl waited, but that seemed to be the end of his commentary, and he turned back toward the Circle. The girl followed, unsure whether she was in trouble again or not. Guide didn't seem angry, in fact, he almost sounded amused, an impression that was confirmed a few minutes later when the girl made a discovery.

“It's following us!” she hissed.

“Following you. It'll expect you to feed it, now.”

“But I don't want it!”

“It's a little late to say something like that! You tamed it, that makes it your responsibility.” Guide shook his head. “Trust you to find some completely ridiculous beast to be your companion. I suppose we'll have to start training you in earnest, now.”

“Wait, you weren't training me before?”

That did not seem to merit further response.

* * *

There were at least six hives in the Arbor, now. Whenever she passed that way, which was not often, the trees seemed to throb with activity. The girl had learned to move through the woods without causing disruption, enough to sometimes take an extra comb and share it with the badger and the other Druids. Even Storm enjoyed a bit of sweetness in her tea.

This visit would be the last for a long time to come. Warriors had come up the river, bringing gifts to the marsh Druids. Gifts and requests. They were planning a raid on a human settlement where no humans were supposed to be. They wanted the blessing of the Circle. Storm had looked up from her weather-gazing and said, “Send the girl. It is time she earned a name.”

The girl was not so certain she wanted a name if it meant going to war. “What does it matter if some humans live on a beach?” she asked.

“It does not matter now,” Guide said. “But they do not belong here. They do not know how to live in these lands. Soon they will grow hungry, and when humans hunger, they attack.” Guide was the angriest at the news. He would have gone with the war party himself, but Storm forbade it. The Druids of the Circle did not go to war.

So, the girl climbed into one of the canoes with the raiders. There was some difficulty as the badger attempted to join her and the warriors thought they could chase it away, but the badger had impressive teeth and claws and would brook no arguments. It finally settled on the girl's feet. The warriors stared at her while they rowed, their gazes flat and unfriendly. The girl wasn't like them, with their deep blue skin and hair like water weeds. Her skin was pale and pinkish, dusted with blue freckles. Only the webbing of her toes and fingers marked her as a swimmer and not a land woman.

“She looks like a human,” one of the warriors sneered.

“My father was not a swimmer,” the girl said.

“So your mother was friendly, eh? Are you friendly?”

“Cutter, be silent,” one of the woman warriors snapped.

“It's just a question,” Cutter protested. “We could use some friendly women around here.” He pawed at the girl's arm. She felt her lip curling. Bees did not suffer indignities, not even if stinging would cost their life. She called fire into her hand and threw it at Cutter. He flinched aside and the fire missed him, but the other warriors laughed.

“I'm not your friend.”

“No, you bite,” said the woman, showing sharp white teeth. “Are you a Biter?”

“Not with those rabbit-teeth, she isn't,” Cutter huffed, eliciting more laughter. But he turned away and ignored her after that.

The raiders camped for the night a few miles upstream of the human settlement, a crude and ugly log palisade that squatted in the mouth of the river. Undine scouts vanished into the darkness. Weapons and armor were brought out, cleaned, and tested. Strategies were discussed in low voices. No one seemed interested in the girl at all. She stepped into the trees and began to walk.

She threw rocks at the palisade for ten minutes before anyone even came to look, and it wasn't even a human, but some tiny creature that poked his head rather incautiously over the logs and blinked into the darkness. After another minute, the girl realized that he couldn't see her. He looked exhausted, his eyes blinded by more than just night.

“Down here,” she called finally, taking pity on him.

“Marteth?”

“Do I sound like Marteth?”

“No, but I could hope. Come out where I can see you, whoever you are.” He didn't even sound curious. But curiosity was a luxury, of sorts. The girl edged forward until the little man's eyes focused on her. “Who are you? What do you want? And why are you speaking like a native?” Questions coming from some lingering sense of duty, not any interest. The girl had expected anger and suspicion. But those were luxuries, too.

“I am a native,” she said. “What are you people doing here? Don't you know it's dangerous?”

“Yes, to our sorrow. What do you want?”

That was the difficult question. Truthfully, she didn't know, but she doubted he could rouse his tired mind enough to comprehend any complex equivocation. “Raiders are coming to chase you out in the morning.” That was direct enough.

“Are you by chance making some kind of joke?”

“No. They are camped upriver. There are a lot of them. They are armed.”

“I gathered as much when you said 'raiders'.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

The little man chuckled briefly. “Probably die.”

The girl threw up her hands. “Over this patch of dirt?! You really are mad. Just go. It isn't worth it.”

He stared at her for a while. “I . . . think there's something you need to see.”

“What?”

“Come to the gate.”

Bewildered, the girl walked along the wall until part of it groaned and creaked and tilted, rising from the ground high enough for her to duck through. It occurred to her that the little man might consider her a potential hostage. It was even remotely possible that the raiders were frightened enough of the Druids that they'd be willing to go along with it, but a man needed to have some sort of initiative left to imagine anything so ambitious as hostage-taking. This felt more like a plea.

The first thing she saw inside the palisade were two humans, both straining, red-faced, at the ropes that must be raising the gate. When she approached they let go and backed away, breathing hard. The girl nearly laughed at them, they looked so comical in their identical clothing and armor. They had weapons strapped on here and there, but they didn't look dangerous to her. They looked rather fuzzy and bulky and orange and black in the firelight. Like bees, defending their little hive. One gestured toward his forehead vaguely. The tiny man said something to them in a strange tongue, and both humans repeated the gesture and walked away.

“What am I supposed to see?” she asked.

The little man swept his arms wide. “Behold, your mighty foes!”

The camp was a wreck. It was obvious that the humans had meant to build a shelter inside the walls, but they hadn't finished it or had later demolished it for unknown reasons. A few small fires burned fitfully. The people were huddled around the fires, wrapped in filthy blankets. A few sprawled helplessly on the ground. They barely looked up as she passed. They were sweating or shivering or moaning. The camp stank of vomit and piss.

“Plague,” she said.

“Yes. So, really, raiders or not, we're dying over this patch of dirt.”

The girl surveyed the collection of wretched hulks and sighed. What could you do with people like this? So foolish, but a jaunty and brave sort of foolishness. “I can help.”

It was not the war she'd been sent to fight. She wondered, many times over the following days, if that war would have been easier. Fighting the plague was an endless, grinding effort with no time for rest. The raiders appeared on schedule, whooped a few war cries, and threw a few spears over the wall. The girl climbed up and shouted, “Plague!” at them, and climbed down again, not even waiting for a response. Eventually, they went away. She was too busy even to be amused.

“And I thought Guide's chores were bad,” she said, spooning an herbal concoction into a dying man's mouth. The girl couldn't have said whether the medicine was any use at all, but the attention seemed to sooth him, so she kept spooning.

“I'm sorry?” asked the tiny man, who she now knew was called Wentzel.

“It doesn't matter. Hand me that towel.”

Some just died, there was no help for them. The first few days, no one even had the strength to move them. The girl rushed from cry to cry and snatched at sleep in between, mostly sitting up wedged in a corner. She feared if she lay down, she would not be able to rise again and do what needed to be done. But, gradually, things began to change. The dead bodies disappeared, one by one. Scraps of shelter appeared over the sickest, then over everyone. Hot food appeared. Clean clothing. The girl allowed herself to fall onto a pallet and sleep, and no cry came, no desperate hand shaking her awake. When she rose in the morning, there were other hands to bathe and clean and feed and soothe.

“It looks like we might pull through after all, thanks to you,” said Wentzel.

The girl sighed. “The raiders won't stay away forever.” And she wasn't digging any pits this time. One badger was enough. She didn't need an entire army following her around and making nuisances of themselves.

“No, I suppose they won't. What about you? Are you . . . in trouble? You're welcome to stay . . .”

“No, thank you. I have other things to do.”

The girl sat in the Arbor, beside the rotten stump full of bees. Her badger dug at the ground, gulping down a wealth of disgusting grubs.

“They still don't belong here,” Guide told her.

“Not yet, but maybe one day they will.”

“Maybe. Why did you return?” In his voice, she heard that he had not expected it, but, strangely, he was glad.

“There is still one thing I need to know.”

“Ask, then.”

“Tell me my name.”

The Guide's face twisted briefly. Then he grinned. “You are Melissah.”

“Melissah,” she said, tasting the word.

Honey bee.

Rise of the Runelords Session 18: Back in the Saddle Again

"I would like to point out that I'm just doing this to be nice and he doesn't actually have any authority over me," Melissah announced, eyeing her new traveling companions. They'd been on the road a week, but she still wasn't quite comfortable with such a crowd. Her wagon-cum-house was surrounded on all sides by people on horseback. Friendly people, supposedly, but also ARMED people.

"I'm excited!" the gnome bard, Nevis, announced. She was nominally sitting next to Melissah in the driver's box of the wagon, but the term was applied only loosely.

The human wizard, Iozua, grinned. “Hey, that's how we got started on this whole thing. Both doing it to be nice and excited. The . . . novelty wears off after the dozenth-or-so corpse.”

Nevis produced a lute and began to strum it, bouncing dramatically along next to Melissah and causing even the placid mules to twitch snort.

Iozua's somewhat alarming friend Foss nodded. “I'm not even sure how I got caught up in all this, but it's been a hoot, so I'm still here. Except for that haunted manor. That place sucked.”

“Would not visit again,” Iozua added.

Meliisah ventured a smile. Aside from Shalelu, who she'd met a few times, she'd known these people precisely seven days. They weren't exactly unfriendly, but they had seemed a little preoccupied and more inclined to talk to each other than to her. And the bard was, well, a gnome. “Well, it's been very nice to meet you all. I'm sure none of you whatsoever are axe murderers.”

“I prefer the bow,” Shalelu announced.

Foss glanced down at the two axes hanging at his belt, then raised his eyebrows at Melissah. He shrugged.

“Define 'murderer',” Iozua said.

Melissah opened her mouth, not sure what was about to emerge, when Nevis' shrill voice cut the air. “Oh, the adventureres who weren't axe murderers . . . did travel to do goooooood . . . on the trail to mystery through the woooooood . . .”

Shalelu's horse neighed loudly and half-rose on its hind legs, causing the other horses to shy and effectively silencing the talk for a few moments.

“You have a lot of energy, eh?” Iozua remarked once his mount settled.

Nevis grinned. “I have a lot of a lot of things! Oh, let me share with you something I'm working on, I call it Divine Swimmer!” The gnome began playing vigorously.

“Is this a . . .song?” Melissa asked. It didn't sound like tavern music. Or any kind of music, really. But then, she didn't spend much time around musicians, so what did she know?

“I've missed this,” the human woman riding beside Shalelu remarked. She hadn't spoken much during the ride, seeming lost in her own thoughts. By the cut of her clothing, she looked like a noble, and an obvious standout in a group of otherwise unexceptional “travel-folk”.

They were riding along the river north of Turtleback Ferry, a village of some four hundred souls. Fort Rannick lay not far on this road, the home of the Black Arrows. They were a group of rangers who patrolled the roads and kept the villages safe, but for the past several weeks no one had heard from the fort. The river was gray and wild, swollen with recent rains. Livestock and even a few trappers or hunters had disappeared, and the wild animals were growing bold and restless.

Then the pleasure barge Paradise went down with almost two dozen people still aboard. That was the last straw for Melissah. She traveled these roads year-long, stopping in villages just like Turtleback Ferry to sell honey, wax, and mead from the beehives she kept in her wagon. While she could handle herself in a fight if need be, she preferred to avoid such things. Much better for proper soldiers to get involved. People who got paid for this sort of thing.

However, that did not seem to be an accurate description of what the mayor of Magnimar had sent back with her. The getting paid part might be, but proper soldiers? Or, any kind of soldiers for that matter? They looked like a troupe of strolling players, and not your high-class Lord Skillian's Men, all done up in livery. No, this group looked like the kind of strolling players who might become bandits themselves if the villages weren't too keen on their performance.

They reached the bridge, where the road crossed the river, and Shalelu pulled up abruptly. “I heard something.” Foss immediately dismounted, moving in the direction the elf was pointing. Melissah pulled on the reins, bringing the mules to a stop at the side of the road, and jumped down. With the music stopped, she could hear the noise herself, a pained yowling.

“It sounds like a firepelt cougar,” she said.

“We faced one of those before, in Thistletop,” Jori said.

Melissah winced. “I can try to calm it . . .”

Iozua gestured for her to proceed. Foss glanced back and nodded.

“If you can, please.”

Melissah edged past into a clearing. Once she was past the first line of trees, the cougar was clearly visible in the underbrush, panting heavily and struggling with loud clanks against a vicious metal jaw trap. Melissah approached slowly and openly, keeping low and giving the animal a chance to look her over. It didn't shy away like a wild animal, in fact, it crawled toward her. It was clearly trained.

“Will it allow me to try and open the trap?” Foss breathed. Melissah took out a jar of honey from her belt pouch and smeared some liberally on a rag, offering it to the cougar. The huge cat sniffed and licked at the sticky sweetness.

“He should, just don't make any sudden motions.”

With the cougar's attention on Melissah, Foss began to work at the trap mechanism. Behind them, Shalelu's head shot up and she hissed.

“Something's coming.”

Nevis instantly vanished into the brush, while Iozua cast a spell, surrounding himself in a silvery haze that settled toward his skin. Melissah glanced at the cougar, then hurriedly did the same, covering her own skin with a layer of toughened bark that would deflect blows.

A pack of dogs burst into the clearing, followed by a massive, lumbering beast that seemed to be half-man, half-ogre, but warped and deformed. The lead dog immediately went down as Shalelu fired an arrow into its chest. Foss kicked the broken trap aside and axes seemed to sprout from his hands, downing another of the oncoming dogs and stepping forward to shield Iozua and Melissah.

A delighted squeak emerged from the underbrush, and Nevis began to sing at the top of her lungs, “Oh, tehre once was a hero named Foss-man the brave . . .” the remainder was drowned out as Iozua gestured and a mass of twitching, heaving tentacles burst from the ground, seizing the dog pack slamming them to the ground with hideous whines and crunching noises. Melissah felt sick.

“I's huntin' kitty cat! No concern o' youse less youse wanna be hunted too!” the half-ogre bellowed. Not sure what else to do, Melissah summoned a sphere of water to knock the monster aside. He stumbled but forced his way through, knocking aside the tentacles that slapped at him.

Foss hacked relentlessly at the remaining dogs while Jori hurled a lance of searing light at the ogre, who was singed but unimpressed. The ogre jabbed at Foss, who avoided the blow. Between the warrior and the wizard, he went down in seconds, struggling feebly against the churning water orb and then flopping, helpless, to the ground.

Melissah dismissed the orb and wrinkled her nose at the carnage. “Er . . . are we just killing this fellow because we can, or were we planning to, um, question him?”

Foss glanced at her a bit sheepishly. “Okay, maaaaybe I am an axe murderer. A little.” He shrugged again. “He's still alive for now.”

“Oh,” Melissah said weakly. “Ew.”

Jori didn't seem concerned with the ogre only a few strides away. “Anyone hurt?” Everyone shook their heads. Nevis emerged from the bushes, strumming a final dramatic chord.

“That was easy,” Iozua remarked. “It's much nicer with several capable individuals.”

The cat edged over toward the half-ogre and growled.

“I can ask the kitty questions if necessary,” Nevis offered. “It's a skill of my people.”

“Go right ahead, it would save me a spell,” Melissah said.

“What do we want to ask him? Why he's here? I guess I can just translate in general.”

Iozua nodded. “Maybe he will just tell us if he knows anything.”

“Animals aren't usually smart enough to intuit what you might consider worth knowing,” Melissah mentioned, “so you'd want to be as specific as possible.” She shook herself. She was starting to sound like her old teacher.

Nevis cast a spell, and the cat eyed her, interested. “He says his name is Kibb, and thanks for saving him,” the gnome translated. “You're welcome! Who's the bad man?” the gnome pointed at the ogre.

“He took my human. Him and his family. We fled the fort but they took him and his friends.”

“Oh, you're from the fort? What was your human doing there?”

“They were rangers. Humans call them Black Arrows. But the big ones attacked. The ogres. Only three Black Arrows escape.”

“Where are the escaped Black Arrows now?”

“Ogre family has them. The Grauls.”

“We were sent to find the Black Arrrows, were we not?” Iozua asked.

“So your humans left the fort? We were headed that way ourselves. Do you know anything about the fort you could use to help us?” Nevis continued.

“No. Humans escape the fort. Grauls have them at their house. Help me save them?”

“Of course we'll help save them!” Melissah announced when Nevis finished translating. The gnome grinned.

“We'll be happy to.”

“I will show you the way!”

“You're going to want to see this,” Shalelu said, pointing to the ogre. She'd ransacked its belongings and dumped them into a small pile. The ogre's spear and belt radiated magic, but the cloak was what held Shalelu's interest. It had a number of black patches sewn on it—the badge of the Black Arrows. Some were bloodstained.

Iozua shook his head. “Those patches bode ill for their former owners.”

Nevis waved to the south. “Kibb will lead us to the Graul house as soon as you're ready.”

Melissah grimaced at the ogre, who was alive if unconscious. “I'm all for just leaving him. It'll be a good long while before he can cause any more trouble.”

“Do you think he could tell us anything of value?” Iozua asked.

Shalelu snorted. “Seems unlikely,” the ranger replied, tossing her bow over her shoulder and reclaiming her horse.

Foss shrugged. “I'm fine with leaving him. We got enough information from the cat.”

“Leave him to harass someone less capable than we are?” Iozua asked. “I'm not sure that's very . . . responsible.”

Melissah felt ill again. “He's not very dangerous by himself,” she protested, weakly.

“I can drag him back to the village and circle back, catch up with you,” Shalelu said, clearly impatient and wanting to get on with it. “For all we know, he's responsible for the disappearances. The evidence on his person certainly suggests guilt.”

Iozua inclined his head to the elven ranger. “As you will.” He glanced at Melissah, who struggled against an audible sigh of relief.

“That's just fine with me!”

Shalelu and Foss heaved the ogre over her horse's back and she set off toward the Ferry. The others mounted up, Melissah and Nevis climbing into the wagon seat.

“Your sense of mercy is commendable,” Iozua said to Melissah. “The question of when to apply it is trickier in practice, I think.”

Melissah shook her head. She felt foolish. “You don't have to tell me about it. What are they going to do, stuff him in the loft over the store? It's a tiny village.”

“They will engage in whatever form of justice soothes them, I imagine.”

“Probably didn't do him any favors, I know.” Melissah sighed. “Well, let's go before it starts getting dark.

Kibb led them to a partially overgrown trail deeper in the forest. It would be best to approach on foot. Melissah released the harness and tethered her mules, poking around in the back of the wagon until she located Pavander, the honey badger who seemed to have appointed himself her companion. He sleepily waddled out to take guard station next to the wagon.

The Grauls lived on a sickly farm in a forest clearing. The woods around their land were decorated with human-shaped fetishes meant to ward off intruders. A tangled field of corn and other diseased plants grew in the eastern section of their land, while to the north slumped two sagging buildings: a barn and a farmhouse. The windows were boarded over, and moss grew heavy on the shaded sides of the decrepit structures.

Iozua squinted from the shade of the last row of trees. “Can anyone make sense of these tracks?”

Jori sighed. “Shalelu could.”

“I can,” Melissah offered.

"Or that. That works too."

"I can vanish and sneak up to check out one of the buildings first if we want, or I can make you vanish for the same.

"Either way." Iozua said.

“I can transform into something small that won't be noticed,” Melissah said. “We'll go together. Safer that way.”

Nevis nodded and spoke a few words, vanishing from sight. Melissah concentrated and became a bat, flapping up into the tree branches and over to the slumping buildings. She couldn't exactly keep an eye on Nevis, but her sensitive bat ears gave her an idea where the gnome was headed. After circling both buildings, they headed back to the others.

Iozua blinked as Nevis reappeared. “Did not hear you return.”

Nevis winked. “That's the hidden song of silence.”

“There are at least three ogres in the barn,” Melissah explained, “and a barred door, so that would probably be the best palce to start. We could try blocking the entrances to the house so that any ogres in there couldn't come up behind us right away. Well, if we can take out the guard quietly.”

“Sounds good,” Iozua said.

“Ah, yes. Yes, I was thinking something like that too. Good plan,” Foss said.

“How many exits are there from the house?” Iozua asked.

“Two, one on the front and one off on the eastern side, there.”

“You've probably seen ol' pumpkin-head guarding the outside,” Nevis chimed in. “Couldn't see into the house without making a ruckus.”

“Then we probably also cannot secure the house doors without being noticed,” Iozua mused.

“Well . . . I have a spell that could block the doors for at least a little while,” Melissa offered. “It doesn't have much range, though, so I'd have to be really close.”

Foss frowned. “Would the people inside know something was up?”

“It involves giant ice spears bursting out of the ground, so they might notice, yeah.”

Everyone blinked at Melissah for a moment.

“That's awesome,” Iozua said, finally. “Let's definitely do that.”

“Heck, now I want to see that,” Jori added.

"Mighty Melissa brought forth frozen fear straight through the portals in front and in rear!"

Melisah boggled at the gnome. "Is that innuendo?"

Iozua grinned. “In your . . . no. No, I will rise above.”

Jori returned a smirk. “Will you, though?”

“This time.”

Cobra Kai as Greek Tragedy

So, I've been watching Cobra Kai (a spinoff of The Karate Kid), and firstly, I recommend watching it if you enjoyed the original Karate Kid movie that it's based on.

But, the interesting thing to me about this show is that it's pretty much taking the form of a Greek Tragedy, and in doing so re-imagining the original movie AS a Greek Tragedy from the perspective of Johnny Lawrence.  Daniel LaRusso becomes, not a hero or a villain, but the vehicle of a deus ex machina punishment of Johnny for his hubris.

Now, I'm certainly not a scholar of the Greek Tragedy, but my admittedly abbreviated understanding is that they generally take the form where the hero has the good life.  Then the hero commits a sin against a god or gods, usually in the form of hubris--of thinking that he doesn't need the gods, because he's so awesome he can do everything himself.  He thus ceases making proper sacrifices, or disobeys the gods, or otherwise scorns them.  This, of course, infuriates the gods, who are jealous of mortals, and they proceed to punish the mortal and make him lose everything he loves until he eventually realizes his crime and (usually) takes his own life out of despair.

That is certainly what is shaping up here, as Lawrence's attempts to elevate himself, recapture his glory days, and build some sort of future for himself are met at every turn with tragic consequences, usually due to the direct or indirect interference of Daniel LaRusso or one of his family.

What makes it all the more heartwrenching is that on a couple of occasions Johnny and Daniel meet in neutral circumstances and are actually quite friendly, but the ex machina keeps churning away in the background, setting them eternally at odds until its revenge is complete.

I'm looking forward to Season 3.

Fall, or Dodge in Hell

I quite enjoyed Neal Stephenson's latest novel, which is a return to his Snow Crash days of mixing technological advancements with Biblical mythology.  It also serves to highlight the worst problems and excesses that are typical of Stephenson's writing.

This novel combines transhumanist notions of The Singularity, life-extension, and post-humanity with the Book of Genesis.  As in most of Stephenson's works, there are good guys and bad guys, with the good guys being individualistic and reality-oriented, and the villains being authoritarian and preferring a weird quasi-religious techno-communism that is also, bizarrely, rather anti-technology.  There are also numerous sub-stories involving telepresence robots, visits to decayed sectors of America, a nuclear bombing scare, and the interaction of prosthetics and the human brain.  In other words, it's a typical Neal Stephenson novel.  Oh, and Enoch Root is in it.

The technological vision is, as always, fascinating, but toward the end the plot progression breaks and everything degenerates into a mindless action sequence which, in a movie, would have an immense special effects budget.  And then it just sort of . . . ends, and none of the ideas in the novel are really resolved.

My suspicion is that the reason why his novels end this way is that Stephenson is unable or unwilling to explicitly name the fundamental motivating principles of his good guys and bad guys.  He does an amazing job with characterizing the sides and building up the conflict and motivations, but at the point in the novel when it would be appropriate to cash in on the build-up he falters, shies away, and slaps on a Standard Action Movie Ending that feels like it belongs on a completely different book.

It smacks of a refusal to commit; a preference for a quasi-academic detachment that gives one the license to say anything without being criticized for meaning anything in particular.  As long as ideas remain floating allusions, metaphors, and allegories instead of being nailed down by explicit, stated terminology, there isn't much that anyone can say.  Attempts to argue can be effortlessly evaded by claiming some other intended meaning or none at all.  It is a request not for one's conscious agreement, but to smuggle some half-understood, partially-baked notions into one's subconscious.

It's an approach that is fundamentally at odds with the notion that to be a "good guy" means to be rational and reality-oriented.  It comes across as a declaration that while mysticism doesn't work and has to be rejected if one wishes to function as a human being, Stephenson still really, really wishes this weren't so.  It is a reluctant, embarrassed acceptance of rationality on the pragmatic grounds that it works, but it's also a fallen, broken, miserable substitute for an impossible, but still ultimately desirable, transcendence.

Anthem Fixes

I'm not really sure this would be enough to "fix" the game--there's still a lot that's really mediocre and uninteresting about how it is put together.  But these would be major improvements that would probably get me playing it again (yes, I've basically stopped even though it's only been out for a little over a week).

Gameplay

• Select Javelin.  The Forge area in Ft. Tarsis has FOUR Javelin loading spots.  Why is only ONE of them occupied by my CURRENT javelin?  All FOUR of my Javelins should appear on the loading area, and I should be able to pick which Javelin I want to use for my next mission by going to the Javelin I want to use.  Currently, I have to walk to the Forge, wait for the Forge to load, open the Javelins screen, click on the Javelin I want, click on the loadout I want, exit BACK  to the Forge, exit the forge, walk to the Javelin on the podium, click on it, select my mission.  This is silly.  It would be VASTLY more efficient if I could just walk up to the platform and click the Javelin I want to use, select my mission, and GO.
• Matchmaking parameters.  Currently I have no choice whatsoever about my matchmaking parameters.  At a minimum, I should be able to choose: Level Range, Other Javelin Types and LANGUAGE.  Since this is a GLOBAL game, chances are good that even with voice chat I'm going to be in a group with three people who DON'T SPEAK ENGLISH.  Give us an account option where we can set our language so we can play with people we can actually communicate with.  I have nothing against Korean or Chinese or whatever players, I'm sure they're wonderful, but we can't communicate!
• Enemy spam.  Few, interesting enemies are MUCH better than gobs of sad little boring enemies, especially when they magically spawn in.  Cut the NUMBER of enemies in the game and make them TOUGHER and MORE INTERESTING to fight.  (And when I say "tougher" I don't mean "give them more HP and armor".  I mean, make them more COMPLEX to fight.)
• More Foe Types.  The game has a ridiculously tiny number of foes to fight, which isn't helped because when you're flying around at high speed the Scar, Dominion, and Outlaws look EXACTLY. THE. SAME.  So, really, there are TWO enemy types--the ones that look like people and shoot you with guns, and Skorpions.  Occasionally, a Titan with some elemental buddies.  Woo.
• Interesting Puzzles and Missions: As a friend of mine put it, there is exactly one type of mission in Anthem: the one where you shoot all the enemies there are.  DULL.
• Change the Tethering: If three people are still back at the mission start platform listening to the mission briefing and one person has TAKEN OFF, the one who has TAKEN OFF should tether BACK to the mission start instead of forcing everyone else to keep up with the zerging asshole.  Also, some missions will actually drop a physical wall that locks you out if you don't make it to the fight at the EXACT INSTANT that the person in front does.  This is idiotic.  The ethos should be "you're in a group, WAIT for them" not "you're in a group, so you HAVE to keep up".  And it shouldn't even give you the "catch up" warning unless you're MORE than one objective behind.  So if the group is on Objective 2, you shouldn't tether unless you're FURTHER AWAY than the Objective 1 area.  If you're between Objective 1 and Objective 2, NO TELEPORTING.
• Less Flying between parts of the mission: Why does every mission involve you flying halfway across the map several times?  Put the parts of the mission NEAR each other.
• Fix the Store: The Regulator store where you can buy crafting components has the worst store interface I've ever encountered in a game, ever.  You can only buy things ONE at a time and EVERY purchase involves FOUR screens.  SCREW that.  Here's how a store interface SHOULD work:  click on the item you want.  Select the number you want.  Click buy.  DONE.  Not this Click the item you want, opening a popup window, then HOLD DOWN a key to buy ONE item.  Then you get an animation, and a popup saying "you bought this item!"  THEN you have to click Exit to get back to the buy menu!  WHO came up with this nonsense?!
• Mission Rewards: Give us a couple of options for mission rewards.  Let us choose between coin, a blueprint, a consumable, or a piece of gear, or something.
• Getting Missions: Put all the contract boards right by the Javelins.  It's bloody tedious to walk all the way across Ft. Tarsis to get a new contract, then all the way back to start the new mission.  Every contract board should have THREE OR FOUR new missions available, not ONE AT A TIME.
• More weapon types:  At a minimum, I want to see: Bows, Crossbows, different types of melee weapons (why does each suit only have ONE melee attack option?)  This is a quasi-fantasy setting, so why are the weapons so BORING?!
• Underwater combat:  The underwater areas are just scenery currently.  It's dull.
• The Storm Javelin: This suit needs a re-design.  Oh, your defenses are augmented if you're hovering OUT IN THE OPEN WHERE EVERYTHING CAN HIT YOU.  Brilliant.  No, wait, that's dumb.  Instead, they should have massively augmented defense against all ranged attacks at all times, and be correspondingly vulnerable to ALL melee attacks.  This will encourage hovering while still allowing them to maintain their mobility.  They also should NOT HAVE a melee attack.  They should have a default single-target range attack with a cooldown LIKE melee (that detonates combos), but that doesn't involve them charging into melee.  This would actually succeed in completely differentiating the four suits.  All of their "support" abilities need to have a much shorter cooldown than the support options on other suits, and they should get more support OPTIONS.
• Cross-suit drops: Let us get gear drops for suits other than the one we're currently wearing.
• Text chat in the Launch Bay: The inability to communicate with other players is stifling.  Yeah, I know most games the general chat channel is a cesspit.  That doesn't mean making it impossible for us to communicate AT ALL is an improvement.  You've already arranged it so that there's no economy since we can't trade gear, so why not let us at least chat with A FEW people?  The Launch Bay is bloody pointless as it stands.  It doesn't make getting out on missions any faster.  It doesn't let you meet people, since you can't TALK to them.  It's a completely useless and pointless space.  All you can do is show off your Javelin appearance and do a couple of emotes.

Story

• Quit hiding the lore in the Cortex. Every conversation we have with someone should tell us about the character AND some interesting detail of how the world works.  Not just their PERSONAL interests and philosophy, but how that connects back to the world.  For instance, Prospero.  All he does is have INCREDIBLY dull conversations with you about how painting your Javelin cool colors increases "shock and awe".  This is stupid.  And he talks about the same thing MULTIPLE TIMES.  You don't learn anything new.  It's just a re-worded version of the old conversation.  You know what would be INTERESTING?  If he'd revealed that, due to the fact that your Javelin is TELEPATHICALLY CONTROLLED (using Ember, which reacts to thoughts), feeling good about how you look is CRITICAL to being a Javelin pilot.  The Sentinels, for instance, all look exactly alike because it makes them feel a specific way.  Freelancers go for a bold, exciting look because how it makes them feel actually changes what they can do with their suits.  THAT would be interesting.  It would say something about the world that contains all these machines that are AFFECTED by your MIND.  And, it wouldn't be deadly dull to sit through.
• The world is tiny. It should be the plan RIGHT NOW that you'll release TWO new cities with complete new storylines and exploration zones as big as the current one by the end of the year.  No, not new freeplay events.  ENTIRE NEW ZONES.  They should have different terrain types, different enemies, and TRIPLE the size of the game.  And all cities past Ft. Tarsis should be optional in order, so you can go wherever you like in whatever order you like.  Opening up the world to exploration should be THE top priority.
• Quit treating us like a singular actor.  The gameplay is built around grouping up, so why in the world does the STORY treat us like we're a Lone Hero, only rarely acting in concert with a few NPC friends?  Why do the NPC's all FAWN over us and our personal amazingness instead of treating us like just one of a fairly large and diverse group?  (Or ask us, a random stranger in a discredited profession, to intervene in their personal lives.)  Strange as this may sound, the story would actually be a lot BETTER if it was MORE IMPERSONAL, because it would match the gameplay instead of fighting with it at every turn.  A few personal stories/interactions are fine, but it should be kept to the main story characters.  All other NPC's should be focused around revealing what kind of WORLD you're in instead of their irrelevant personality quirks and irrelevant personal history.
• What is my motivation? Why should I keep playing after I hit level 30 and I've done all the story missions?  Do the same 3 strongholds a billion times?  They were barely interesting the FIRST time I did them.  Get high-level gear?  It's got the same random stats as regular gear, just more of them.  Play with my friends?  My friends don't play this game because it's boring and there's nothing to do.
• PVP.  This game desperately needs some PVP, but, I suggest, NOT the deathmatch PVP that you have in other games.  It needs to be challenge-oriented.  Call it "training".  It should be team-based, like Capture the Flag, but you can also have other variants like, say, a race, a competitive escort mission, Tower Defense (or some kind of "survive the longest against endless spawning enemies" thing), an Easter Egg hunt (find the most Shaper Fragments), a Do the Most Combos in the Time Limit challenge, all that jazz. There's lots of cool competitive stuff you could do that wouldn't involve just dull deathmatches.
• My Own Space: So, in Ft. Tarsis we don't even have an apartment.  Not even a BED.  Do we sleep in our Javelin?  Building and customizing player housing would be very nice, or at least something to do.
• Mini-games.  Playing card games or dice games or SOMETHING.  The aforementioned PVP challenges.  Acquiring Titles that NPC's will recognize.
• Make it so that we can have visible character nicknames instead of just our Origin account names.  Maybe make this something you acquire via various challenges.  A title.  I don't care. I don't appreciate you broadcasting my account username to all and sundry, and it means that most people's names are STUPID.  Being able to acquire a randomly generated visible "nickname" would be VASTLY preferable.  And it'd be something to do to roll the dice a bunch and get one you liked.

Even all this would probably not be enough to keep me playing the game constantly, but it might be enough that I'd at least come back periodically when you released a new zone and play for a week or two.

But, honestly, I kind of expect this game will be a ghost town inside of six months unless they do some seriously huge content releases.