The new Dragon Slayer Selqet is coming through The Summoning Portal for the first time this week, just in time for the Dragon Strike event!

“37th of Solstice: Three subjects expired. No new information.”

Selqet stared at her notebook with furrowed brow after writing the summary of the day. Similar entries sprawled across countless pages. She had to learn something. Not just to prove the value of her program, but to get ahead of this unstoppable invasion force for everyone’s sake!

She stood up forcefully, slamming shut the notebook. She knew they had information… they just were tougher than she’d imagined. Somehow, the fear of Malum must still be greater than their fear of her. She’d have to change that.

She left her office and walked down the hall to the hatch that accessed the cage. The guards stepped aside as she approached. She walked through the door and the pristine aesthetics of her tight and tidy military corridor gave way to an assault on the senses.

This place always smelled of death. She was quite resistant to that now. She casually walked by the bloodstains on the rock floor without a glance. Now that they’d moved all subjects to confinement, such messes weren’t her concern anymore.

The door she approached was a great iron vault marked with the simple label “Subject 17/17.a”. She opened the door to a cold and dark rock cell. A small torch burned at the top of the room, but provided little light. A man was strapped to a table in the center of the room, and a sickly looking wyrm with one wing cut cleanly off was chained by each foot and its remaining wing to the back wall.

“Hello #17. Our work for the day isn’t quite done yet.” She approached the restrained, shirtless man who thrashed wildly and spouted curses as she approached.

“More torture, witch? You’ll get nothing from me.” Selqet leaned over the man, surveying his wounds while jotting notes in her book. He spat in her face. “Why don’t you unstrap me and see how well you can burn me?”

Selqet wiped the spit from her face and quickly reached out her other hand to the man’s chest. It began glowing red as the man screamed. She lifted her hand and his screams gave way to gasps as he looked down at his scorched flesh where her hand was.

“Just tell me what I need to know. I don’t want to hurt you, but I can’t tolerate that kind of disrespect.”

“DISRESPECT!?” #17’s obvious anger quickly overcame his distress. “You cast us out of our homes, kill our people, torture me… and cut off Azrael’s wing and talk to me of disrespect !?”

“You’re the invaders here. We have to do what must be done to survive.” While she was taken aback by his accusations, she quickly regained her fervor. “My home was burned by Malum’s forces. How many has your wyrm over there killed before we took him off the battlefield?”

“We’re recon troops, he’s never hurt a soul!” The man’s anger faded as his eyes drifted over his head towards his wounded dragon. “I was born here. This was my home. We’re not invading… we just want to come home.” He hesitated for a moment, then saw a hint of compassion in Selqet’s eyes. “Please, just let Azrael go and I’ll tell you what you want. He’s just a kid.” The dragon stirred in pain behind him, as if arguing with this desperate plea.

“That’s not how this works,” Selqet said, shaking any sign of sympathy out of her face, leaving only cold professionalism. “Your dragon is awaiting execution. You, however, could still walk out of here if you give me the information I need.”

#17 tightened his lips, letting his eyes break contact with Selqet’s and drift to some faraway place beyond the top of the ceiling. “So be it.” Selqet put her hand on the man’s lower abdomen and began to burn. He held back his screams bravely. Interesting, this one was tougher than most of the others. Perhaps she should note that along with his interesting claims of origin. Better to do it now than forget–

As Selqet reached for her notebook to record her thoughts, she momentarily lost concentration enough to miss a sudden quiet from the dragon’s continual bleating and crying.

#17a was on her in a moment, not-so-gently removing the arm burning his master with the assistance of his great teeth. As the wyrm continued to devour her, she thought coldly to herself “most interesting. The beast does seem to display extreme loyalty to its master, even at its own expense.”

When she opened her eyes on the other side of The Summoning Portal, she was rather annoyed that her notebook had not traveled with her for her to record her observation.

The new Hero Zaymoog is arriving in Dragon Strike: Puzzle RPG just in time for this weekend’s Dragon Strike event!

He must remember his purpose. Zaymoog stood silent in the grove facing the rising sun as it scattered its first light through the forest. He stood in front of the great oak… the old father of the forest. Before him lay a clearing ringed in tiny red mushrooms. Beyond that… the behemoth.

The hulking stone creature rose over the line of the trees on the far side of the clearing. Its great claws were as tall as Zaymoog, but as one’s eyes rose higher, the crag became more menacing.

It seemed to be cut perfectly of stone. Scale details rose alongside the trunks of the trees. The muscles on its legs seemed eerily too realistic to really be stone. The nearby trees drooped, stunted for years by the great stone wings blocking the sun’s life-giving light.

And towering over the forest –taller than even the great oak– loomed the face of an ancient lifedrinker. At first, one could be forgiven for thinking this was the greatest sculpture ever crafted. Until, that is, one saw the smoke pluming out of the stone jaws from the still-burning inferno within.

Zaymoog didn’t look at the wings choking his forest or the menacing face of the stone dragon though… his eyes focused directly on the beast’s front left paw. The pointer claw of it specifically. He knew what tricks this monster could play. To look at the entirety was to see illusions, ticks — danger where there was none.

Zaymoog no longer had a clear recollection of how long he’d watched that single claw. He would keep watching it until the great oak was safe or had withered away of old age. It was his purpose. How he longed to close his eyes, but he mustn’t.

The crack of sticks! Who was in his forest!? He felt a definite presence. It had been so many years… yes, he couldn’t mistake that feeling. To the North. Still, he must not look away.

Getting closer now. It was at the clearing! Zaymoog knew it couldn’t be good. There were no friends or allies. Only those that wanted to harm the great oak and control the might of the beast.

“Are you still here, old man?” An aged, gravely male voice to his left. “Should’ve given up centuries ago. You can’t fight this power… but at least you’re here to witness it.”

Zaymoog straightened himself and responded without taking his gaze off that single claw. “You’ll have to forgive me, but the years must’ve reduced your importance to me. Who the hells are you?”

A guttural laugh pierced the air. “Still have that wit, huh? Even with all these years alone.” The voice paused, but Zaymoog could hear him approaching… not approaching him… but the base of the beast! “It really is a glorious creature. Do you ever speak to it when you’re lonely?”

“Demons don’t speak,” Zaymoog retorted, “The great oak is company enough for me.”

Zaymoog heard a curious sound… a delicate bell and what sounded like a great wind blowing down from the mountains.

“Oh he does speak,” another laugh from the voice, “and now you’ll get the opportunity to meet your silent friend of all these countless ages.”

A great crash rung out from the clearing. Before Zaymoog could even guess at its origin, it happened! The claw moved! First it stretched upwards, shaking sand out from its cuticle. Then the entire foot was flexing… Zymoog could see pebbles falling from the sky across his vantage as the dragon shed its stone skin.

“Most venerable brood mother!” The voice shouted over the commotion of falling stone and stretching dragon. “I have come to call you to a great purpose at the behest of lord Malum!”

Purpose. Yes. Zaymoog must remember his purpose.

“I HAVE SLEPT SO LONG… NOW LET THE WORLD WEEP, FOR I AM–”

Before the dragon could finish its monologue, a blinding flash lit up the grove. In front of the great oak, Zaymoog stood with his staff towards the great head of the beast and a blazing aurora emitted from him. The commotion of rock ceased. The dragon’s roars quieted, and all the world stared at Zaymoog.

Suddenly there was a loud PLINK, as if a chain had snapped and the light abruptly ceased. For a moment it was not clear what had happened. There was sunshine. Peace returned to the forest and the birds sang… Then the bones began to fall.

The dragon’s skull fell with a crash into the clearing, all flesh stripped cleanly away from it. The trespasser’s discarded bones also clattered to the forest floor unceremoniously, out of Zaymoog’s view.

He had accomplished his purpose at long last. Then, something wonderful happened. For the first time in thousands of years, Zaymoog blinked.

His lifeless body fell to the ground in his grove. For now he would rest, though his fight against Malum was not yet done.

The new Hero Pala will soon appear in Dragon Strike: Puzzle RPG in time for this week’s Dragon Strike event!

Pala slipped through the open window, still securing the small jars of precious cargo in the leather sack slung across her shoulder. Emerging into the crisp night air, she quickly slid down the wet thatch of the roof, dropping silently into the empty streets below.

She rolled away from the edifice of the stone building. She darted across the dusty street, which was still eagerly drinking the summer rain that was so rare in Sartoland. She gave a quick glance around to make sure no one had spotted her, then stood and ran down the steep embankment towards the river.

Without hesitation she jumped headlong into the roaring waters, gripping the bag tightly under her shoulder. She didn’t quite swim downriver so much as bounce. To be expected. She’d be sore tomorrow, but as long as she kept her plunder safe….

The town bell rang out sharply. She glanced at the shoreline between collisions with rocks. A little over halfway there. Was she getting faster at this or were they getting slower at noticing?

Yuki is arriving through The Summoning Portal, and she’ll be here just in time for this weekend’s Shadowlands Tournament.

Yuki wiped the blood out of her eyes and focused on the great beast rushing towards her. The minotaur was bearing down on her, trampling both his allies and hers as he charged.

With a flourish of her swords she leaped over her attacker as he approached, slicing deep through his exposed back. The beast fell.

Yuki had no time to celebrate that victory. She ducked to barely dodge an incoming javelin. As she rose, two of Malum’s hoplites were on her. She grabbed the right one’s arm and spun. His sword found the heart of the other. Yuki finished him off as he fumbled to get the blade out of his compatriot’s chest.

What was that? Dragon steps. Yuki searched the chaos of the battlefield and saw a line of light cavalry approaching on whelps. Not today. Yuki channeled her energy into her swords and released a poison bolt at the oncoming attackers. Still coming, but they’d succumb to the poison before long.

Yuki suddenly noticed how few her allies were. She still saw alliance colors among the fray, but they were scarce… and too often overwhelmed. The battle would soon be lost.

She scanned the field for the command banner. She needed to get to the King and ensure his escape. There! Not far. She could make it.

Her legs pumped as fast as they could. She dodged blades and projectiles, almost there! Just as she thought she could yell out to the royal guards, her entire body was suddenly struck with a force that knocked her off her feet, yet pierced her armor with dozens of blades.

Yuki tore off her helmet. She couldn’t see through the mud. What was that pounding sound? Gradually her vision cleared. A giant strode towards her shouting at the top of his lungs and swinging a giant wooden club over his head. The club was bristled with steel pins covered in blood. Yuki looked down at her broken armor and battered body… her blood.

Yuki looked past the massive warrior rapidly approaching. The giant’s attack had scrambled the royal guards. She could see the King retreating over the ridge with his bodyguards. There was some victory even in defeat.

The bleeding warrior rose to her feet, brandishing her swords for one last stand. She gave all the focus she had left into one blast at the giant. Enemies fell all around him, but the giant continued on.

Wait! It was working. He staggered slightly. He continued towards Yuki, but the poison was rapidly taking its toll on his body. “If I can only outlast the brute…” thought Yuki as she charged towards the oncoming hulk.

His club smashed down on her, but she darted around his left foot. Stab once, twice in the shin.

Down came the foot, but Yuki was much too quick. The giant, you see, had a loose hem on the seam of his trousers. Grabbing this cord, Yuki bound up the leg of the giant.

To the thigh now. Stab stab. The giant frantically swatted at this tiny sharp knight, but to no avail. Yuki was already swung around to the rear, where she found many little handholds with the help of her blades on the way out the top of the giant pants.

In immense pain and panic, the giant fell to one knee… his massive heart beating at such a furious speed had accelerated the poison’s course. He panted for air and began to grow dizzy.

Hitched onto his belt to take a rest, Yuki also gasped for breath. She’d lost too much blood, and she knew there was no coming back from an exertion like that in her state. Her vision was getting blurry now.

So too was the giant’s who tried to stammer out some words in a language Yuki didn’t understand before falling into the mud of the battlefield. Yuki drifted away before he hit the ground.