Aight Est, Elys would have been able to liquidate her bounty for 30 Wealth. Mark that down on your tracker before I forget.
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//A4 - Harrison's Fjord
Though the adventurers of Oratorio did not belong to a single collective banner, they nevertheless congregated where one expected them to when there was nothing pressing to do. After making it out through the concentrated misery and barbarity of the Underpass, Meisa’s gaze was directed towards the larger dining establishments present in the bustling Adventurer’s District. With bright blue roofing and cedar-red walls, the Harrison’s Fjord looked to be about as promising as any other tavern to stake out adventurers who may be willing to take a day off from treasure-hunting and monster-slaying to do a guard detail instead.
It helped too, that the elven princess hadn’t eaten anything the night before, and the smell of freshly-baked bread and boiling milk was quite enticing for one who had only recently been subsisting off of hardtack and dried meat. The shitshow with the Blackhand Butcher, and Firenze’s own attitude after the fact had made any promise of a well-cooked, well-seasoned dinner off the table. If Meisa didn’t get anything proper to eat, her stomach was liable to collapse upon itself.
But she wasn’t here to fill her stomach, was she?
Pulling open the doors into the tavern, she was greeted with the chatter of adventurers and day labourers, the aroma of cooked food and spilled beer. Conversations of the weather, of the increasing price of delving gear, of a crazed wraith leaving a veritable trail of monster corpses in her wake within the Abyss last night, of someone kicking up the hornet’s nest that was a syndicate, could all be heard through the open, multi-floor space. Fresh-faced adventurers were most liable to talk about themselves, hyping up each other for another day of risking their blood and bones for a pittance, while more experienced delvers sat at tables on the higher floors, watching the happenings with a mixture of nostalgia and superiority.
The Harrison’s Fjord was perhaps at only half-capacity, and the morning crowd, while talkative, hadn’t yet devolved into raucous merriment. But they didn’t have much reason either to heed a single elf walking in, did they?
It was up to Meisa to grab attention, to find trustyworthy and capable sorts.
Or perhaps it was enough just to get impressionable, young cannon fodder, who’d be easily roused to action by stories of injustice and the potential for heroism?
@Click This
//A3 - The Plaza at Morning
A poisonous mercy and an infuriating retreat.
The bond between Blood and Void only festered further, but the boils had not yet popped. The first time, Elys had not been able to commit to murder in plain daylight. The second time, Theodore had sought to leverage the mercy he had shown for future gain and had been nakedly refused.
Where would the third encounter land?
Neither Ichor-Blessed knew, but both sought to enrich themselves, knowing that any further weakness could not be afforded.
…
“You want this repaired?”
The portly man examined the blade before him as his apprentices hammered away at horseshoes or raked the coals of the furnace. It was a sorry thing, an old, battered thing. The wrapping was frayed, the edge was chipped in far too many places, the point was blunt, and the blade itself was bent out of shape. That, combined with how cheaply-made the weapon was to begin with, made it clear to any blacksmith with half a mind that the money spent in getting it back to usable shape could’ve just gone to a new sword instead.
But there was something off about the woman before him, stinking of blood and death with a blindfold over her eyes yet a precise understanding of the space around her. He raised the sword up to his eye, looking at what material remained to even work with and frowned further. It had been repaired plenty of times before, an edge coaxed or ground out while more and more material was lost in the process. And every time that happened, it became a touch more fragile in the process.
“Listen, I could take your money and fix it up, but you’re an adventurer, aren’t you? Better to get a new one. Way things go, this one will just keep getting battered up faster and faster until it snaps when you least need it to.” She was a sorry sight, really. Looked like she could hardly stand straight. It made him give an offer knowing fully well he’d be getting nothing out of this. “Sell this one to me and I can knock off some of the cost of a new sword for what scrap metal I can get out of this.”
...
Food, water, blade oils, rope, tonics, blankets, firestarters, tents, leather packs, boots, monster-warding incense, hammers and pitons, knives and axes, there was much that Theodore had to purchase and consider, even without thinking about proper armor and weapons. Plate armor or a sturdy shield could protect him from blade and bite, but the immobility may mean that greater beasts would just crush him flat. Magical implements, especially when one of his followers had been a witch, could offer a source of self-sustained sorcery, but that'd mean he had to procure materials and reagents too. Bows and arrows could protect him from those flying monsters that he thankfully hadn't had to handle before, but every arrow that snapped was value that was lost.
On the other hand though, what of spice bombs or alchemists' fire? Powerful enough to deter monsters when he was in a pinch, and especially useful when he could safely presume that the monsters would be dogging him and his flock in great numbers? Would caltrops or weighted nets accomplish the same? Yesterday had been profitable, and today could be even more profitable if he played his cards right. He hadn't encountered any other Ichor-Blessed within the Abyss as well, and the only other one he knew was utterly alone, a pathetic, deranged lunatic blinded by the dream of divinity...but that didn't mean he could afford to take it easy either.
The Abyss called him to its depths, and she certainly possessed the madness and martial capability that would allow her to plunge into such depths faster than he, even disregarding her fledgling Ichor.
The coins in his pockets felt at once heavy and light as the Ichor-Blessed of Blood strode through the plaza and examined the wares. He could not afford to fail, to falter, to make a bad choice and squander the advantages he currently had.
@SilverPaw@Estylwen
//O11 - Communal Well
The adventurers that were present hadn’t really made a mark on the Abyss themselves, but any kind of attention was positive attention for the starved and the incapable. And naturally, the most willing conversationalist that Talia snagged was that bare-chested orc who had taken it onto himself to do all the water-hauling for the neighbourhood, at least so long as his party mates were still trying to make themselves look presentable when they headed to the Adventurer’s District later that morning. He had introduced himself as Rajat Ol’dakka, and answered Talia’s questions to the best of his limited capabilities.
From him, as well as the occasional shouted remark from others nearby, the Queen of Pirate/Thieves could roughly estimate that the First Layer would be safe enough for her men to venture into, so long as they were armed with proper weapons and equipment. That, however, was the catch: weapons and equipment cost money, and maintaining both when one could only venture into the First Layer was almost completely unfeasible. The Second Layer was far more dangerous, however, in that even experienced adventurers could encounter a bad roll of the dice and find themselves in dire straits. Rajat’s own group, indeed, only ventured into the Abyss every other day, forced to make ends meet by taking on odd jobs during their days off as they slowly gathered experience.
He was confident though! Next month, they were going to finally give the Second Layer a shot, and if things went well, they could finally become full time adventurers! Maybe even move out to a small apartment in the Adventurer’s District!
The prostitutes that Talia accosted were fine with shooting the breeze with a new face too, so long as she helped out with their laundry. Though none of them looked as fresh and bountiful as Talia did, they still held the mannerism of those whose work involved seduction and invoking arousal, and as a result, there was a lot that they could say. A lot of it, however, ended up flying over her head. An arrow volley of names and predilections scattered out with no particular rhyme and reason, while there were plenty of good and bad stories to be said about the madams of the three brothels that the prostitutes came from. Still, some factoids and rumors stuck out to her.
Trouble stirred up with the Outer Layer merchants on the other end of the city, something about some precocious girl picking a fight with the gangsters that ran that part of the city. Then there were rumors that the recent deaths in the northern portion of Oratorio were being covered up, perhaps because the perpetrator was some sadistic bastard from the Royal Road. Some hoped that the Bladerights would do something about it, but others shot those hopes down as it wasn’t their territory, so they all ended up just hoping it wouldn’t spread. What was spreading, though, was the prevalence of spicethicket through the homeless of the Outer Layer. No one was quite sure who was manufacturing it, and ordinarily no one would care too much what the impoverished used to take the edge off of their pain, but in this case, the need for the drug had caused an uptick in violence, in the poor metaphorically eating the poor in order to scrounge up the coinage for the next hit.
Though, being the Outer Layer, an uptick in violence didn’t mean too much, so the majority of those that Talia listened to ultimately decided that this too would pass.
That, indeed, seemed like a prevailing attitude towards what happened in Oratorio.
Whether the Ichor-Blessed of Thievery could find any opportunity within what she heard, though, was dependent only on how creative she could get.
@OwO
Dang, Chunji is speedrunning the Rio social link.
They're already having a dramatic fistfight to air out their frustrations!
They're already having a dramatic fistfight to air out their frustrations!
Otis frowned.
A bad roll of the dice.
He didn’t like that phrase. Didn’t like the implication of something as indistinct as ‘luck’ out there. But he held his tongue there, a neutral stare matching Chloe’s glare. Regardless of the threat that the wolf-like being presented, it was no mere monstrosity, unidentifiable and without reason. It was no impossible threat either, not an insurmountable enemy. Instructor Alto had spoken of how Wingram was different from Strigari, how the former was merciful compared to the latter, but Otis himself couldn’t particularly picture it, in truth.
A few first-year students disappearing into the forest, never to return?
That was a rounding error. If they died, they would not become the heroes that the Vaalin Union desired. The facilities themselves would remain, and only those who survived the threats within and without deserved such a vainglorious title. The Strigidae understood this, did not feel anything about it. Chloe did, however. Ciara held darker, heavier nama, but Chloe’s burned just as well, simmering beneath the surface only to boil over and over and over.
“This is a space isolated from Castalia, in a manner even more so than Ascendia,” Otis said, “Nothing spoken here will be heard elsewhere, Chloe. If there is something you know, say it here. If you do not wish to answer my questions, be forthright with it, because I do not get the sense that you are quite as conniving and calculating as the environment you find yourself in.”
Whether that prompted any particular response from her or not, however, the owlkin himself would move on. Answers could be obtained from more than just a single source. Answers could be obtained even from a single source, regardless of consent, if one had the right tools and spells.
“Time, however, flows regardless of isolation, and when I had left, the attunement ceremony had already begun. Do you wish to attend, or would you rest and recover at a clinic?”
Just need to confirm, Silver, Est.
For selling off your assets, did you want opportunities for forming connections with any possible merchant, or would you rather just have that part truncated so you can move onto other things?
For selling off your assets, did you want opportunities for forming connections with any possible merchant, or would you rather just have that part truncated so you can move onto other things?
Ah, guess they should've stuck closer to Finn, huh? The kiddo was definitely on the not-good-vibes side of things right now. Neither Ashley nor herself managed to stop the youth before he moved to push the front door open and immediately earn the bartender's antipathy. And if Finn was confident that Dante already knew who he was, then Ashley's own paper-thin lie was only going to hold up as well as a tissue did in a toilet.
But should she play along with the lie anyways? Or would that be insulting? On the other hand, how direct could they even be, considering how they were all in their civilian forms right now, without any magical masking to hide their identities? Estelle folded her arms and furrowed her brow, before letting it all out in one long sigh.
"If you're too busy right now though, we can come back later. Or maybe give us a phone number we can call you with?" She gestured towards the children she was apparently chaperoning. "I wouldn't want to disturb your business more than necessary, 'specially during peak hours."
Which kinda felt like a lie, going by her current affiliation with GEMINI, but if Dr. Moller could hold back on the kill order, then Estelle herself was fine with that too.
And blammo. Interrogation starto.
He clicked his tongue.
Otis hated stubborn fools. Especially ones that possessed Ethos.
With empty threats breaking down, the Strigidae sprang away from the acidic arrows, their scattershot nature making it easy enough to avoid if he kept moving. The beast’s focus was on Hildegunde, undoubtedly due to what she and Chloe knew, and while Chloe had been secured, the riflewoman had a clearer head. Who knew what blood loss and fatigue could do to one’s memories? He loaded his gun with phantasmal ammunition once more, the beginnings of a spell upon his lips.
Then, quite on time, Iraleth and Ciara arrived with the brilliance of a sunburst followed by the arcing of shadow.
“That’s my cue then,” the Strigidae said. “Don’t be too invested in winning, if the three of you can’t handle it.”
And with that, he backstepped into the void within his Door, allowing the structure itself to fade into nothingness upon his exit.
Ciara, however, would receive a mental message before he disappeared completely: this is as good an opportunity as any to secure an advantage.
And thus, he was within that false heaven once more, a micro-universe craft from a creator-god who had yet to live past two decades. Within the space, Chloe floated, whatever blood she shed becoming sanguine globules that hovered around her in the weird physics of the World Between the Doors.
"Are you conscious?"
There was no particular concern, nor perhaps even any urgency in his voice as he posed the question.
"If you are, explain what happened. And explain how you are in the center of it."
Chunji, after all, had defined the roles.
Hildegunde had followed, and Chloe had lead.
All he could do was backpedal, sandals slip-sliding against the muck and grime of the slums as he ducked and bobbed, the thin blade of his assailant carving graceful lines through the air. In the corner of his vision, the High Elf could see others nearby simply shuffle away. Doors to shacks closing and being braced. People disappearing down other routes. He understood them. If someone was being attacked on the subway platform, he’d step inside a train and pop in his earbuds. If a kid was crying on the sidewalk with no adult in sight, he’d just walk around the tyke and trust that someone else would deal with it.
This was a threat towards him, after all. Not to anyone else.
He pivoted to the side, right as a thrust drove the point of the sword into the space he had been moments ago. Pain bloomed bright and hot over his arm; the blade had grazed the forearm that cradled the package against his chest, and just like that, Cassius felt his legs weaken. Death had been conceptual, then potential, and now very, very real.
Dread caused his knees to buckle. He fell backwards, his heartbeat turning into a continuous roar within his eardrums. No words could be exchanged. Didn’t even have time to surrender. One step in, lunge.
Blood coated the blade properly, the sword piercing through…
…the package he raised up, and the arm that held it.
Adrenaline suppressed agony, time dilating as a flood of chemicals drenched his brain. The world was so bright in that moment, as discordant intuition took over. A primitive intuition, from that savage era that humanity had yet to evolve away from, as he pushed himself upwards, package and hand slamming into the sword’s crossguard while the rest of his body followed suit, against the cloaked assailant’s body.
The distance closed, enough for him to bury the throwing knife into their gut. He heard the breath escape from them, an exhalation of pain and surprise, but Cassius didn’t stop, not when he didn’t have any thought of stopping. In and out, in and out, like the sewing machine his mother owned, like the keys of his laptop during the final weeks, repetition that drove a sharp point into the soft belly and the organs beneath, until he was forced to stop from loss of breath.
Viscera coated both hands, and the blood that splattered against his robes caused them to cling against his skin. The mask of his assailant had fallen ajar, revealing the face of a youth who couldn’t have been over twenty. The poison that coated the sword was making its way into his system, the veins in his injured arm darkening, his sensations numbing even as his nerves burned. That strange, unnatural feeling intensified from the package, now that a hole was punched into it, now that elven blood had fed it.
Distantly, Cassius could see Meira. He couldn’t tell if she was running or walking or standing or watching.
All that was in his head, up to the moment he passed out, was a simple realization: this was how victims of knife attacks end up with dozens of stabbing wounds, when just a few would have done the trick.
And thar we go.
The UNO reverse card is late, but it do be there. ;3
The UNO reverse card is late, but it do be there. ;3
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