Wherever there is war, in Profectus, you will find Profectus's Red Witch. Her scarlet robes of  proofed against any weapon, her hands beringed and bejeweled with treasures beyond mortal imagining. Amidst the flames that scar Lemrysh Forest, hovertanks flying overhead and the endless spider-legions of the Traveler's war-factories marching forwards, the circlet of gold that has never yet been the crown she was half-born to on her head, one gesture from her hand is worth more than ten plasma rifles - if she has time to prepare.

She had little time to prepare and there are three Daughters this raid, amidst the fires of the camp, and her soldiers are fool enough to flee. She strikes with reserves of stolen power, leeched from a thousand children of Karakral and one wounded Daughter, the endless maw of hunger birthed in the Empty Well, channeled through her own shattered birthright of consuming flame, given thorns to grow and grow and grow -

They evacuate a not especially small part of Lemrysh Forest, and the Traveler calmly looks at her as both sides retreat and says that he would prefer that he be warned next time, before she uses weapons that might be as damaging to him as to his enemies. Especially if, as she says, it might somehow have cracked reality itself. Not, to be clear, that he believes that part, but that he thinks that there exists such a thing as basic common sense with reality-destroying curses. Just, you know, in case they happen to work.

Wherever there is war, in Profectus, you will find Profectus's Red Witch. Her scarlet robes of  proofed against any weapon, her hands beringed and bejeweled with treasures beyond mortal imagining. Amidst the flames that scar Lemrysh Forest, hovertanks flying overhead and the endless spider-legions of the Traveler's war-factories marching forwards, the circlet of gold that has never yet been the crown she was half-born to on her head, one gesture from her hand is worth more than ten plasma rifles - if she has time to prepare.

She had little time to prepare and there are three Daughters this raid, amidst the fires of the camp, and her soldiers are fool enough to flee. She strikes with reserves of stolen power, leeched from a thousand children of Karakral and one wounded Daughter, the endless maw of hunger birthed in the Empty Well, channeled through her own shattered birthright of consuming flame, given thorns to grow and grow and grow -

They evacuate a not especially small part of Lemrysh Forest, and the Traveler calmly looks at her as both sides retreat and says that he would prefer that he be warned next time, before she uses weapons that might be as damaging to him as to his enemies. Especially if, as she says, it might somehow have cracked reality itself. Not, to be clear, that he believes that part, but that he thinks that there exists such a thing as basic common sense with reality-destroying curses. Just, you know, in case they happen to work.