You tell yourself you've seen it all—it helps reassure you. From spore-infested death cults summoning creatures of darkness, mutated tribals breeding themselves extra limbs, to great spires of obsidian spewing forth swarms of alien spiders. You never really know where you'll end up getting pulled to next.
Sometimes the elder gods who guide your travels are merciful—sometimes they spare you a few moments away from carnage and existential dread to enjoy a drink in a saloon between realities. Time to enjoy your only friend's company somewhere different than between bouts of her tearing out spines and you shooting holes through whatever magick crazed abominations you find yourselves facing.
Basilissa is thousands of years old, but remains fiery and brash despite all her experience. While you typically approach every new dimension with terrified caution, Basilissa scoffs at danger—her bare fists not having failed her yet.
It's during one of these rare moments of venting and relaxation that you begin feeling the familiar tingle of yourself being pulled into the void once more. Basilissa lets out an irritated growl as she feels it too—it's time to get to work.
Visions of a jungle swarm your mind, radiant purple skies, insectoid aliens praying to towers of obsidian that peer through the leafy canopy to claw at poisonous looking clouds. The words "Stop the ritual" echo in your ears.
Moments later you find yourself staring at Basilissa's flat, red skinned stomach, and a quick gaze upward lets you meet her frustrated gaze with your own.
"So much for relaxing, huh?" You grumble, a smirk forming on your lips as you caress the handle of your revolver.
"Next thing I see's gonna get an extra hard beatdown." Basilissa snarls, stretching and cracking her knuckles as her fiery mane flares in annoyance.
"Well, what do you think we've been dumped into this time?" You ask, giving Basilissa a playful nudge as you brush past her, keeping a close eye on the strange jungle's brush.