Path of Exile Talent Competition

T’was the night before Christmas, and all through the twitch
All the viewers were asking, who the hell is this bitch?
Tis no bitch: It’s Mathil! Haven’t you heard?
He’s the streamer of streamers, you stupid little turd.

Sit back and listen, for this story is right cool, bro
‘Bout a youtube poe builder, for those in the know
His vids were simple, and they had their quirks
But his builds were righteous, shot at times without a shirt

“We want more Mathil!” his viewers would scream
It seemed natural that next he should stream
Onto the twitch! Mathil’s channel was born
Streaming path of exile, it was arpg porn

His audience grew, even if shirtless was a no no
‘Cause he is one good looking dude. I’d wife, no homo
Plus those mlg skills, those jukes ‘round atziri’s 4 titties
And the builds, the builds, with mtx to make them pretty

On Buzzsaw! On Flamedab! On CocSpray and Fakener!
On CocSlam! On Beyblade! On Dreamfeather and Brrrrrrrrrr!
T’was glorious, the builds, from heaven they rained
(and boo to flippers jacking up prices on poe.trade)

It’s been a long journey, I’m glad I could watch all the while
To see Mathil grow to a top streamer for path of exile
So this Christmas, I say, my thoughts are not with Santa
Instead, they’ll be of Mathil, his stream, and maybe a banana.

Merry Fucking Christmas!

The Mysterious Challenger

A Short Story By HarkYonderHeathens

"

Twilight loomed over Wraeclast, and rain pattered the dull and barren coast. Amidst the swell could be seen a man. Fair of skin and porting a modest, if a bit ragged, attire. Having drifted ashore in the night, he was lying face down in the sand. A passerby, if there were such things in wraeclast, would have assumed him to be but a lifeless corpse. However, upon further inspection he would have found a man unconscious, yet filled with vigor. For in life there are thing that give a man such as he, our corpse, new life. Vengeance, was his quest, his drive, and his passion. A swordsman and duelist by trade, our unfortunate man was mercifully exiled by the lords of Oriath for defending his honour. And although the challenge before him was great, he made a pact, not to a lord, or a god, but to himself. He swore an oath of vengeance, in this life or the next.

And so, abandoned by fate and fortune, our champion, our gladiator, our slayer of men, invigorated by his newfound purpose raised himself from the earth to examine his surroundings. He was on a low beach, overlooked by a sheer face. Just peering over the lip of the face he could see vegetation. The dead surrounded him, corpses of long forgotten lives littered the shores of this godforsaken strand. In the distance he could see a ruin and a faint light. The scents of rain, ocean and rotting flesh permeated the air, providing an odor both rancid and saline. The gentle noise of the ocean was accentuated by the dull and percussive pattern of rain and thunder. Finding himself in no immediate danger, he then sought to gather his supplies. He had three small portions and a rusted sword, compliments of the gracious masters of Oriath. Just then he heard a weak voice from nearby. One of his comrades had survived the night. The other man was weak and only barely survived the swim to shore, it was clear that he would not live the night. In a voice filled with premonition the dying man said “Bastards dumped near two dozen of us off that ship, You and me, we're all that survived the swim. Never was much difference between Exile and the death sentence. Once I catch my breath here we'll take a look around. See what Wraeclast has on offer. Thought I saw some smoke at those ruins up the beach. Could be worth checking if there's-”. Suddenly as if possessed of some necromantic force a corpse stuck the dying man, eviscerating him and bringing him an abrupt end. The foul thing having killed its prey began to eat. The duelist drew his short sword and struck the zombie in the neck, the creature recoiled briefly, then resumed its vile consumption. Horrified, the duelist struck twice more, till the creature’s head came clean off. After he had regained his senses, he decided he would try to make it to the ruin his fellow exile had described.

After walking up the shore, the Duelist noticed that there were more than one undead on this beach, and given his sorry condition he decided it would be best to avoid them. Some of the closer ones would notice him but they were too slow to catch him, and so he moved up the shoreline, the light in the distance becoming closer and closer. Several hours later, the Duelist came upon a long stretch of beach rudely interrupted by a large ramshackle barricade, torches lit the entrance and the sounds of people could be heard in the distance. The duelist heard a low grunt and his eyes snapped to a large figure, standing near the walls. A sudden flash of lightning served to illuminate the ghastly abomination, it was taller than any man, with grey and rotten skin accompanied by several arrows and a sword protruding through grisly wounds. The abomination turned and seemed to stare right at the Duelist. Seeing no way to avoid the fight and get to the ruins, he decided that he should fight this beast. However, the Duelist was no fool and had taken on many larger adversaries before. He knew that there were two strategies for defeating such an opponent, first to use his agility and dexterity to out maneuver his opponent, however he calculated that in his current condition that would not be possible. So he chose the second option to use his endurance and strength to outlast such an opponent.

Mustering his might, the Duelist charged the lumbering giant. With his rusted sword in one hand and his flasks in the other, he prepared a series of double strikes. Using his mana and life liberally he recklessly tore into the abomination. Although the Duelist’s blows hacked away at the dead flesh, the beast’s mind was not without vigour and he in turn used his fists to attempt to pummel the Duelist. The Duelist procured a wicked grin, his victory and salvation were near at hand. The beast unleashed a mighty roar and with unholy might, pulled the sword out of his chest. This gruesome sight stopped the Duelist in his tracks, he knew then that this would be a close battle. Gathering his courage he bottomed his flasks and flung himself at his enemy. With increasing desperation the Duelist pressed the attack, the beast stuck back with his sword injuring the duelist. Out of flasks and mana the Duelist made one last attack, and using the last of his strength struck the giant’s skull. A loud crack could be heard, followed by a muted thudding sound as Hillock hit the ground. Picking up the sword, the weakened Duelist slowly made his way to the gate of Lioneye’s Watch...

The marauder looked down the stone path, carved in the way of his ancestors. Everything in this stinking place had the look, the feel, the spirit of the ancestors…but it was a lie. This was a dream, no, it was a nightmare, Kaom’s nightmare. He was what lay down that stone path, across a blistering river of lava. He looked silently to the only companion he had known in his long trek through this twisted and torn continent, and she nodded back, understanding, if not completely, of how emotional this was for him.

To see his people, his ancestors, mocked by Kaom like this. To see what he thought was best, was right! The way of the Karui was nothing like this wretched place. The marauder looked at the piles of skulls that decorated the pillars of bone, dedicated in name to the gods of the Karui, but actually made for Kitava, the father of corruption.

Worse, he had read the markings. He didn’t have to imagine what kind of man Kaom would be when they met. The king of legendary strength and power was no less a mad man than Voll, the emperor of purity he had already slain. Actually, he was more mad, for at least Voll felt some regret somewhere in his shattered soul. Kaom relished his misdeeds, thinking them the proper, Karui way. No, they were not. Nothing Kaom had done was the Karui way. The marauder was here to prove that.

The pair of exiles strode into the arena, the ranger glancing around with mistrustful eyes and the marauder standing proud, his dark tattoos on full display for the King of Fury to see. His bright glowing eyes took in the pair of challengers, the first pair to ever reach his sanctum in such fighting shape.
“Prepare to join your ancestors, little one!” Kaom sneered, the fire of his being flaring with excitement. Even as barely half a man, his blood boiled in preparation for battle.

Neither exile was given a chance to speak as Kaom launched himself nearly ten meters with a single leap, bringing his mighty axe down with enough force to shatter the stone floor. The ranger exploded in a puff of smoke, already barraging the huge inhuman warrior with volley after volley of arrows from the other side of the arena. The marauder refused to back down, even if he had back stepped the powerful strike. He stepped in, swinging his own axe with all the force he could muster, dark skin glistening with the sweat and blood he had expended to make it this far. The blow never landed.

Kaom caught the axe with one hand, laughing loudly with mocking delight as he jerked the weapon, sending the comparatively small man rolling across the arena towards his friend. The marauder came to his feet, axe somehow still in hand. Still, the arrows were hitting their mark, and he decided to level the playing field.

“Hyrri! Aid Me!” Kaom called to the surrounding rocks, and as if made from the shadows themselves, the monstrous women appeared. They rained their own arrows down upon the pair, who both rolled away from the initial barrage.

“I’ll get them! You finish Kaom!” the ranger shouted over the roar of the volcano. The marauder gritted his teeth. He would see this through to the very end. The ancestors demanded it.

He could feel their will filling his chest as he rushed towards the demonic king of the Karui of old. He could feel them in the strength of his arm and the speed of his strikes. Kaom bellowed with rage as the axe of his attacker landed on his burned and fractured armour, again and again. For every blow he landed on the upstart, three were returned. Somehow, the marauder was forcing him back, beating him down through sheer force of will!

The very land itself was sharing in Kaom’s pain. The arena shook with every blow Kaom took, lava and smoke pouring from their surroundings like blood from open wounds. Balls of fire began to shoot across the arena as Kaom faltered, blow after determined blow almost forcing him to his knees.

But he wasn’t finished yet. Not in this place. Grinning a wicked smile, Kaom called out once more, “To me, my ancestors!”

The marauder looked up, his blows faltering for just a fraction of a moment. Had Kaom really done it? Had he called upon the ancestors themselves? Was his way…actually the Karui way?

And then the truth became clear. The skulls, the ones that Kaom had used to decorate nearly every inch of his dreamed home, began to burn with an inner fire. The pair of exiles had seen this trickery done before, a mere sorcery of fire and death. There were no ancestors in this place, or rather, none besides the ones that the marauder himself had brought in with him.

Righteous anger surging forth anew, the marauder bellowed with renewed determination. Kaom’s grin, much like his strength, faltered as the marauder began a renewed and reinvigorated assault, blow after heavy, deadly blow reigning down on his buckling form. The ghostly skulls rushed to aid their master, slamming into the marauder with searing heat and gnashing teeth. The muscle bound exile swept them aside with the flat of his axe, like swatting away a swarm of insects. The ranger assisted with yet more arrows, shattering the skulls mid-air as they rushed to Kaom’s aide.

Finally, seeing his dream slipping from his grasp, Kaom mightily swung his axe in desperation. The marauder matched the swing, bringing his axe down onto Kaom’s with all the power and ferocity of someone battling to avenge a thousand misdeeds. And As his blow shattered the axe of the titan before him, he would do just that.

The volcano shook and rumbled as Kaom screamed his last cry, falling dead at the marauder’s feet. The flames of his demonic form burst with one last flare of un-life, before they, and their owner, were finally silenced forever.

“Grab the crystal! We need to move!”

The marauder was lost in his own thoughts. He looked down at the fallen king, downed by his own hand, still heaving great breaths of victory, more than a little blood trickling from his wounds. He couldn’t hear the sound of the volcano preparing to release its bowels on this hellish world, or the shout of his companion, or even the thrum of his own heart. He could only hear the peaceful quiet of his ancestor’s thanks, their souls reveling with his in the triumph of the Mad King’s defeat. This was a glorious day for the Karui people, for now, the way was clear.

At least…it would be soon. The marauder quickly reached down to tear the crystal he needed from the dead king’s corpse, sprinting after the ranger the way they had come. There was one enemy who yet threatened this land, and soon…soon the great beast would fall. It would fall the same as Kaom had. By the marauder’s own hand.

Click Me!

"

The Thousandth Death

A Path of Exile Short Story


Shadowrope hid behind a pillar. He made sure that none of his skill gems were loose in their sockets and that the grooves in his daggers held enough poison for the grim venture ahead. Once he was satisfied, he glanced to the left, distracted by the constant zipping of his ice golem. The damned thing was making too much noise. 'I should never have gotten it in the first place.' he thought, but quickly shrugged the thought aside. What was done was done and there was no room for regrets.

He jumped out from his hiding place, quickly surveying the layout of the long narrow hallway in front of him, rushing the nearest skelleton, his daggers drawn. Why did it always have to be skelletons? Stabbing them never made a satisfying sound. He'd have to settle for the sound of bones rattling down to the floor as whichever force binding them together dissipated on contact with his skill-gem-enhanced weapons.

He mostly slashed at them, letting the momentum of his attacks drag him forward, gliding from one to the next, going for a stab whenever he found a piece of bone wide enough to accomodate his blade.
While Shadowrope's body was performing the deadly dance trough the half-light of the corridor, his eyes searched the gloom for the source of the neverending horde of undead.
'There!' He saw the necromancer muttering in the corner, reanimating long dead bones and sending them forward.
He whirled towards it, his daggers held ready for a synchronized stab. One should be enough, but he was going for two. One into each side of the creature's chest.

His attack flew true and he felt the blades sink into flesh. His moment of satisfaction, however, was quickly interuppted by a sharp pain in his own.
"No!" he muttered. "Not again!"
He fell to his knes, looking down at two puncture wounds, mirroring the ones he had just made on the necromancer.

He let his daggers clatter to the floor and clawed at his belt for the life flask hanging there, but it was too late.

As his soul left his body for the thousandth time, he had a strange vision of himself fishing on the bank of a river. He was calm...