Ambduscias

քʟɛǟֆɛ ɢօɖ ʟɛȶ օʊʀ ƈʀɛǟȶɨօռ ɖɨɛ Despite the fact that the very name Azdrazi brings me physical pain to read, I'm rather partial to this. Still preferential to the idea of polymorphing being entirely removed excepting the transition between ones' descendant guise and their true body, but I think the way you handle it is as close to (my) original vision of Azdrazi as it has came in a long time. Also please God remove this cringe "Hoard Mentality" thing. The blame for that one falls on the DARK TIMES. Good job other than that, don't see any stand out problems after a twice over.

real gamers remember the dark ages, when ghoul CAs were handed out like candy and there were swarms of 10+ PC undead on the roads actively terrorizing people. it's not a matter of the posts to drain, or how strong it is -- it's a matter of the peoples' willingness to actively use it and make it an entity in the world rather than another magic slot.

Somewhere in the depths of the jungle, a disgruntled Cao Cao can be heard wringing his hands in a distinctly simian manner. ”Stinky monkey think they best Cao Cao, enrightened representative of forever-Emperor. Arr according to plan.”

Bertholdt’s weary eyes take note of the message. He orders his servants to pack his belongings; it’s time for another road trip.

“Free my digga Burbur’Lur,” remarks a similarly imprisoned Cao Cao. He rattles at the bars of his cage in the Sky God’s basement.

It was a dusky summer evening that Sir Gregor Thorne stumbled upon the notable Heavenly Regent of Shen, Cao Cao, surrounded by an army of Simian retainers. He was lost for words, jaw agape; taken by the raw masculine power of the fat and muddy monkey they all looked to with reverence as their King. Within moments, the reputable Knight of Renatus scampered back in terror; he needed time to process his thoughts! Later that night, Gregor Thorne donned a bunch of furry pelts and silks, putting a mask on over his face; crassly, he muttered… “Ni hao?” to the mirror. It didn’t sound right, no; he didn’t know this foreign language, and it felt vile on the tongue. But when he uttered the words he’d heard, “Yerrow Turbans Go Home,” he felt oddly at home and comfortable. He knew that his true, enlightened identity, was culturally one of the Hou Zi. Even later that night, he found himself adventuring: and who but the honorable Heavenly General, Sun Wukong was present? He donned his mask, swiftly, hoping to ingratiate himself with these exotic foreigners. “Herro, Sun Wukong,” he said - before looking to the side, seeing the absolute unit of a gargantuan Monkey King bring his club down on a miscellaneous peasant. “We go now to strike foul farse-monkeys!” shouts Cao Cao, calling all the banners of the Hou Zi realms. And so they wandered out in search of gold and conquest, and Ser Gregor Thorne knew he was at home. Colorized photo of Cao Cao knighting Sir Gregor Thorne as a warrior of all Hou kind https://www.twitch.tv/zacclay/clip/HorribleTawdryNoodleVoteNay?filter=clips&range=24hr&sort=time

A Call to the Host It was the dawn of the evening, when the last rays of the golden sun fell smothered beneath the waves of the ocean when the horns blew; the birds and the trees themselves fell silent with trepidation. The noise was a terrible one that shook bones, windows, and insides alike with a fervor that would impart upon the heavens their meaning. From the shores of Qinghai to the Heavens from which Hou Shen ruled, they called the banners for one and all warriors – brigands, fiends, the noble; all would be welcomed to redeem themselves through service. The Emperor rests upon his laurels, hands left prostrate on his fat belly; eyes like flame fixed upon the horizon of distant Krugmar, and further yet upon the golden fields and valleys of Arcas. Once more Chosen blew the horn and made the trees shake and the fish flee with its power, and again it’s destined recipients were beckoned. Beneath, in the thick of the throng, the few loyalists that lived toted the tools of their trade; the perfidious butcher of Donghai, Pang Jiāngjūn, and the Emperor’s Champion, Shen Bu astride his horse; with Hou-Shen’s spear upon his shoulder. “My most loyal retainers!” came the terrible boom of the corpulent despot’s voice to his legion; half-brigand, half-warlord, but ultimately zealous army of simian warriors. “The hour, once scribed in the Heavens, has dawned for the most glorious Empire of God’s chosen tribe! The lands ought to tremble beneath the hooves of our horses!” “All generals loyal to the Hou are called to our banner; for within and without, we will leave only glory in our wake!” And with that, the banner of the Shen Dynasty unfurled; forevermore, the Emperor would have his Imperial Guard.

“Just as planned,” says secretary-general John Ted Staunton-Vimmark Horen.