It would seem your master is quite a capable diplomat. Enough to keep you and their mother from beating the shit out of each other again. You have to commend the woman. Takes some balls to attack while you are medically handicapped.

You have to admit, it was amusing seeing two gnomes trying to hold down a hellspawn. Especially when she was trying to kill you. Your Master told you not to interfere. You obeyed. And were entertained by her family’s shenanigans.

While the Master was placating her parents, you were investigating your surroundings. Overall, you would say you're impressed. Looking over the magical and scientific amenities showed someone liked to experiment. You weren’t much of an intellectual, but you could tell none of this was cheap. Could really make quite the mystical fireworks if you knew the proper steps.

Shame none of the brains were food. Just sacks of meat.

You really liked the flamethrower they had somehow built. You weren’t going to mess with it, both because the Master told you not to and for the all too recent memory of being melted by one of these. An inexperience undead like you would likely break it. Your pride couldn’t take like that. Not this soon.

You remembered the last time you tinkered with a firearm not ending well. This would be not too dissimilar.

Reprocessing...

Poking one of the many jars, you see the contents squirm. A violet wave of energy shoots out at you. It fizzles, far too weak to harm you. Still, it proves not everything is quite dead in these jars. While that would be fine in most cases, psionic creatures are an entirely different animal. Hells, something as simple as telepathy can ruin a person. With enough skill and power, psion’s became quite lethal.

Gods’ know you’ve seen what a true psionically gifted individual could do already. It truly a marvel to see someone rip into others with just a thought.

Reprocessing...

You are flipping through a spellbook. Some of the arcane language is lost on you, but you can appreciate the dedication. Not the easiest thing to spends years learning the simplest of spells. Especially when others are born gifted in the magical arts. Can be discouraging to some but invigorating to others. Different strengths, different executions.

May the God’s have mercy to whoever is fighting someone who was born gifted and learned how to use magic like everyone else who wasn’t. Nothing quite like talent and education working together.

Reprocessing...

You’re looking at the altar in the room, trying to piece together which deity you’re looking at. It’s a man in a robe, black as the night. A unique appearance but not any one God I recognized. Shame, but that does bring up the idea that there is a third option when it comes to magic. A higher being, with enough energy to spare, can grant their abilities to another. Usually God, but anyone with divine inclination would do, although those were rare.

One of the most daunting experiences you’ve ever had was knowing a priest of sorts who received the backing of an entire pantheon. The things they could do was astounding.

Reprocessing...

Picking up a small hammer, you inspect it. A soft tap leads to a broken finger that starts healing soon after. Magic is all good, but that’s only if you have the right spell and enough energy to fuel it. Swords and shields never really had that issue. With a good smith and some training, you’d find a magicless fighter could be just as dangerous. Course, that’s if you got past the walls of fire or all the other numerous death afflicting spells a mage threw at you.

Made those who fuse martial proficiency with arcane knowledge all that more of a threat. Do you know what hurts more than a sword? A sword on fucking fire.

Reprocessing...

Holding a rather pretty knife in your hands, you find it to be magical. You know this because the entire knife changes to match your bone color. Like a chameleon. It brings to your mind a well-known fact every veteran knows. You could have all the power in the world, and it would mean jack shit if you were caught off guard. Nine times out of ten, a blade to the heart would still kill you. Your stats make you stronger, not immune to the basic laws of the universe.

Assassins, spies, snipers, Hell’s a common thug could utterly destroy you if they had the initiative and the right tools. Nothing like a surprise attack to utterly murder you in your sleep.

Reprocessing...

Man, all this reminiscing really reminds you of your early days! Like that one time you were...

...fighting a damn...

Reprocessing...

...dirty gob...

Reprocessing...

Reprocessing...

...lin...

Reprocessing...

Reprocessing...

Reprocessing...

Why is everything spinning?