Done with the whole mugger debacle, the pair of master and mentor - Ichor-Blessed and Paladin - continued on their way through the 11th District, resuming toward their original destination before that little backalley incident distracted them. Soon enough, they left the ditch of the 11th Outer District... only to enter a somewhat literal ditch that was the Underpass directly below the Royal Road section of District 11. A place of destitute poverty that'd make even the outer layers look like a patrician's palace.

Others might be affected by the sights, smells, and sounds that were the exact opposite of aesthetic, but to Frederika, this was her home for the first decade of her life, others might have adopted the beggary, but she was born in it, raised by it, if anything, there was a certain wave of nostalgia of 'returning to her roots'. As for the astrologist-turned-god, what lied before him were all temporary problems of fleeting mortality; none of these would matter once he transcended himself and the world into a higher existence, where there'd be no sickness, starvation, or suffering; utterly severing the pointless cycle of death and rebirth.

Right now, however, they weren't there yet, far from it, and though bothersome, they'd have to deal with these so-called mortal problems first, something the shorter of the duo put more thought into than her aloof mentor. "Hmmm... once we get to the Adventurer's District, pretty sure I can get us a steady revenue source by doing what I do best, Master." The dragonkin mused with her hand on her chin, having already removed her clawed gauntlets sometime after leaving the outer district.

"Hmm," Ah, revenue source, income, profits, all terms that his late parents - and then older brother - tried to instill into him, yet none of them stuck. Such... meaningless drivel, why bother meandering about with coins that you'd eventually lose upon the end of your mortal life? Fortunately, he could shift such burdensome matters to his apprentice here, "Pugilism, I suppose?"

"Bingo!" Rika flashed a quick thumbsup at the senior astrologist, "'sides, I need something-... no, someone to beat the shit out of right about now, I'll just imagine that thief-bitch's face when I do it, haaaa...~ now c'mon, those schmucks ain't gonna kick their own ass!" The brawler quipped as she renewed her pace through the subterranean passage.

"Understandable." Confirmed the astrologist as he maintained his steady, almost-floaty manner of walking.

@ERode

//O3 - Entrance area

Theodore looked around in interest as they explored the outer layer of Oratorio. Surprisingly, there were a few job openings here and there. Craftsmen, serving personnel, cleaners. Manual labor. It could be a start. However, he would prefer if any jobs they found were better suited for his folk’s skills. But he saw hide nor hair of anything resembling a pharmacy, arcane providers, or anything of the like. Even if there were no such things on the outer edge, surely, there would be further within?

With that line of thought, Theo was about to lead them all further in, toward the adventurer’s district. Yet, just then, a call resounded from a small paved clearing – a crossroads, of a sort – drawing his attention to the speaker. A leader type, surrounded by three geared adventurers. He promised ‘the usual’; a mining trip to the Abyss. The cut, in Theodore’s opinion, was shit. Only a fifth of each person’s work. Even so, many people gathered. His keen eyes tracked the workers, seeking out any that would be recognized by the leader. He saw Ezra and Maris doing the same; if they were going, the workers who were familiar with the jig were the ones to look out for.

Theodore was certain that the protection offered by the adventurers wasn’t necessarily intended for the workers. Or, if it was, the unarmored, unskilled folk going in still had a high chance of being injured. Theo motioned to the doctor covertly, disregarding the man’s pallidness. “Who’s the most badly injured? The slowest?” he questioned near-silently.

Yeah, he was thinking who to throw under fang and claw if it came to it. Furtively, the doc nodded at a few he thought were in the worst states. Theodore patted him on the shoulder.

Then, he approached the speaker. “Say, mind if there’s a group of us?” Granted, he and his company made for half as many as there were of the other hirelings. However, Theo didn’t intend for all of them to go – provided that the three he was thinking of could find something else. “And do you know of any clinics looking for staff? Mage shops? I’ve three I’d rather leave upside. A doctor, a witch, and her assistant.” Theodore motioned to Jaxon, Sana, and Arnfinn. Calling the child a witch’s assistant may be pushing it, but if possible, Theo would prefer if the cambion and at least one adult remained out of the Abyss – for now.

He knew it was dangerous. A bad idea. A terrible idea. But an irresistible part whispered to him to go. To see how it was for himself, to get a feel…Maybe even to get a hint of what he was being called here for, exactly.

Oratorio, //O3 - The Pallid Mermaid
@ERode

---

The crack across the skull told all. A direct hit, that sounded like it would be an exceptionally hard one to simply walk off.

“I’ll tell ya where a naked blade can be best used.”

Elys listened as the cylindrical mass was placed on the floor - a bucket. Her lips gently pursed as she heard the scraping of cloth and boots on worn wood. The one-handed man was thrown out, and she had no way of knowing exactly how close to death he was.

Serves the bastard right.

She stood there for a moment, the chatter of the tavern swirling around her as she considered the bucket in front of her.

She was willing to kill rats, was she also willing to wash floors for a lead?

She was used to taking whatever work she could find to scrape by, be it bodyguard duty or eliminating pests. Surely, she could do this too.

There was the promise of a lead afterward, and the mess was partially caused by her, anyway.

The only question left was how to start. She couldn't see what was on the floor. It could be painted roses for all she knew. The rest of the patrons seemed to be minding their own business enough that she'd have free reign to tackle this her way.

And she at least wanted to avoid having to wipe down the entire floor.

She could see the steps she took in battle in her mind. The likely direction of the spray of blood, and how it trickled and was wiped as the man was thrown out. So, there was likely a blood trail on the floor around the bar, which then led out to the door.

She would give more of a buffer to the trail, just in case she was off her calculations and missed a spot. But the owner would at least not say she didn't put effort into cleaning up her own mess.

She gathered the hem of her robes and held them at her hip, to the side so as to avoid the wet floor as much as possible. Her staff was placed leaning against the bar, and a careful ‘eye’ was kept on its mass. Stooping down and following the scent of blood, she reached into the lukewarm water, found a cloth, and proceeded to wipe up and down on the worn wood. Her hand wasn't practiced, but she still took the time to give the surface an even wetness.

She followed the presumed trail, scrubbing back and forth, going a little extra out of her way to ensure the floor was still cleaned if her assumptions were off. It took more time, but she was a stranger in this city. She needed a lead beyond simply diving head first into the Abyss that called her, needed to know what she was getting into, and needed to get to know her new home.

How could she share her influence without even knowing the people of this dizzying place?

So, she scrubbed. She scrubbed until her hands ached, and then she scrubbed a little more. Finally, she had cleaned every part of the floor she had wanted to. With a slight sigh, the cloth was dropped into the bucket, and the bucket was returned to the owner.

”I've done what I could. If there's spots I've missed, you'll have to mark them with your feet.”

She picked up her staff from the edge of the presumed bar counter.

“What can you tell me?”

//O4 - Main Streets

"Hmm, hmm..." Sebi hummed with a thinly-hidden smirk beginning to grow across her lips. Visibly vested interest in the man's tale -a hand to her chin, a nodding head, a swishing tail- belied the woman's disinterest in his plight. After all, the boy managed to do exactly what she'd have done in his situation too... minus the murder accusations, of course.

Sebi added once the guard offered a pause in his rant. "Sounds like a right scoundrel, he does." A pause. "And he certainly never gave me the impression of someone fit for guard duty. Too dainty," she said, throwing in a subtle compliment to the guard himself for good measure. A part of her almost hoped he wasn't even perceptive enough to pick it out.

"Indeed there is little justice here. Not every city's like this, though. It certainly shouldn't have to be this way," Sebi said, drifting off into her own sagely tirade -not without ulterior motive. "Even in simply trying to see the rest of the city, my daughter and I have been treated so poorly, but seeing that even the guards who protect it aren't given the basic decency of fairness it comes as no surprise."

Sumiye cleared her throat conspicuously, perhaps cutting Sebi off from possibly ruining her attempt at wooing the one guard that gave them some measure of respect. There were only so many times she could try getting past the guards before it became embarrassing. Sumiye, unlike her mother, acted with a tad more pragmatism -albeit with an accompanying defeatism too.

"At the very least, we could do something to save those two other ladies from making the wrong decision. That much justice could be done," Sumiye said.

"It'd be a poor image to come knocking at his door after being considered second... no, third! -to a pair of elven women," Sebi grumbled, paying no mind then to the guard that stood by.

"Stay your pride, mother. It's the right thing to do, no?"

The golden fox grumbled again, darted her glance between her daughter and the guard a few times, and then capitulated.

"I've an idea, but it will involve a bath," Sebi said to her daughter.

"And you're not just using this as an excuse...?"

"Come now! Even if it were, we've a mind to do ourselves a favor anyways," Sebi said, waving a hand dismissively. Sumiye said nothing -she couldn't argue that she wished to feel clean after having finally reached their destination. Almost reached, anyways. Sebi turned again to the guard.

"Mister...?" she trailed off, awaiting the guard's name. Whensoever he offered it, she smiled and continued, "Know you of any bath-houses nearby?"

_@ERode

Voi chose to remain quiet as the woman rejoined with her posse, and the old man and his dragonkin left. He has the thought to go after the thief and get his money, but even if he tried to. He has no weapons nor the numbers to deal with the thieves who have a head start and outnumber him, thanks to the woman. Seriously, if she wanted the protection money, then actually show that you can actually do it and not let the thieves go without any resistance.

Still, Voi, chose not to go after the thieves and after mentally hitting himself for getting himself into the situation, which he knows should have never happened. Since he has lived with a merchant for years, he knows why going alone into back alleys is a bad idea.

So he thought of his next move, and the first thing he thought of was being better prepared for he does not want to lose anymore of the money that Garth gave him. Voi knows he will need this money during his stay here, and it would be best to spend the rest of it on stuff he needs.

Thus, Voi figured that his next move is to visit the marketplace and get some supplies for himself. Mainly a sword to defend himself and help deter possible thieves. But, before he left the back alley to find the marketplace, He briefly thought how he could sense that the old man felt the same as the woman who wanted money from him. What it meant was something Voi insteads to find out, but for now. It is time to stock up on supplies so he headed to the direction of the marketplace. Time to see what else this city has to offer.

//O3 - The Pallid Mermaid
Crag made no comment about Elys’s handiwork. Perhaps she had done a standup job, or perhaps this was simply another test that she passed, to prove that she wasn’t just a feral woman that answered with extreme violence every slight that she encountered.

Or maybe he just wanted to see if she could take orders properly.

“Once you leave, go right. Past three blocks, go left on the fourth. Keep going until there’s a well, then to the left again. Path branches off. Go down the smaller one.” A pause. He picked up the bucket. “You’ll know you’re there if you can smell something that isn’t shit or food. Tell ‘em Crag sent ‘cha.”

The bucket disappeared beneath the counter, the mass that was the bartender turned once more.

“They’re the Bladerights. If yer gonna be a cutthroat for loose gold, they’ll be your foes, but if yer in the City because of heroic stories, you’ll do better work than with ‘em delver types.”
_@Estylwen

---

//O3 - Entrance area
“Playing at something?”

The leader of the operations, who had the countenance of a bear after a profitable salmon run, set his eyes upon Theodore. There was something unsettling about the lad, that much the boss could surmise. Too pale, too clean, and yet without the wealth to travel by carriage into the deeper recesses of Oratorio. Flocked by five others, all of whom didn’t appear impoverished. And there was the smell of lingering rust, the tang of blood, regardless.

“If you want in, then that’s that. I ain’t your tour guide, pretty boy. And down in the Abyss, you’re takin’ orders from me, understood?” Five minutes hadn’t elapsed, but the pickings were poor. “Send your lackeys off wherever and grab yourself a sack. We’re leaving.”

Following the leader’s gesticulations, Theodore would see that in the back now, there were sacks being handed out. Coarse sacks that were empty but for a heel of bread and a block of hard cheese. Water, it seemed, was the concern of others. Tools, it appeared, were non-existent, but perhaps that’d be handed out closer to the Abyss.

The group departed soon after. The Ichor-Blessed would have a scant few moments to give his orders, whatever they may be, before he would be left behind and sackless.
_@Silverpaw

---

//O4 - Main Streets
Sunken-Cheeks nodded ferociously at Sebi’s responses, feeling validated and appreciated for perhaps the first time since his wife divorced him eight years ago. Camille was a right scoundrel! And he was far too dainty for the task of protecting the Royal Road from those Outer Layer ruffians! Perhaps, if Sebi pushed it, while his partner was still on their piss break, she had a chance indeed of convincing the man to overlook their nameless and wealthless situation and let them into the Royal Road!

Sumiye sent her mother down another, more complex, train of thought, however, and that path was severed forever. Instead, it became a matter of bathhouses.

“Ah, Sunchy,” the guard spoke, performing a guard’s salute in a somewhat pathetic attempt to appear manlier than the armoured scarecrow that he was. “I’m not much for bathhouses myself, but for fairer folks such as yourself and your daughter, the Adventurer’s District should have a place to wash off in any of the larger inns there.”

Sunchy turned his eyes up to the sky, squinting as he stared at the sun.

“Aye, and the usual types that visit more public establishments don’t do so around these times, if you’ve coin enough to afford warm water.” Clearly, he was one of those usual types, even if he didn’t state it, as he gave Sebi directions to one such public establishment: The Onyx Sardine.

Undoubtedly a euphemism for a penis, but well, no one would pay for just a bath, after all.
_@Asuras

---

//A11 - The Shire's Lock
The Adventurer’s District called, and the Underpass that the Ichor-Blessed and their Paladin strode through offered nothing that would give either of them pause. The suffering of mortals was transient in comparison to the eternal flame of the stars, and neither Almagest nor Frederika had the means to offer alms regardless. It was cruel, perhaps, but if they stopped for one, they would undoubtedly be stopped by many others, each beggar equally deserving of charity, until it would be only through violence that the pair would be able to advance once more.

Better to ignore it, like every other passenger through the Underpass.

And once one was indeed past those dark tunnels, the first sight of the Adventurer’s District was certainly impactful enough to make one forget about all those unhoused, jobless fellows from just moments before. While the Outer Layer had been cramped and desolate, the Adventurer’s District, even during the day, was cramped and festive! Brightly colored stalls marked every which direction, and bands of valiant warriors were posed up everywhere, haggling over the price of supplies, plotting out future expeditions, or simply enjoying any of the distractions that the district offered. Thieves were present too, of course, but the sheer number of able-bodied and well-armed individuals meant that a softer touch was necessary, pickpockets and cutpurses slipping through crowded avenues, rather than thugs threatening the balls of fair-faced youths.

Of course, that didn’t mean violence was completely absent. Especially not when a particular tavern nearby, The Shire’s Lock, possessed an outsized crowd for this time of day, the sounds of flesh striking flesh and the cheers or groans of the crowd rocking out from large, creaking establishment. If the two entered, they’d no doubt find themselves at the very edges of a crowd that encircled two similarly half-naked fighters. Why were they fighting? Who knows! It sure looked passionate though, colorful bruises blooming like flowers over their body as sweat shone in the firelight.

And there were bets being made, and thus, money to be made…not that Almagest had any to spare. Frederika didn’t have any either, but perhaps throwing hands would earn her some?
_@Izurich

---

//O11 - Alleyways
It was a chase between a group of longlegs who, rather predictably, had the stride length advantage, versus a halfling with the advantage of the home field. Talia’s booty slap, being just a slap on the butt, hadn’t affected the ringleader’s speed all that much, but she nonetheless was faster in a flatout sprint than he, especially as his own lackeys peeled off, splitting down other avenues.

There had been no time in which the bag of coins could be exchanged though. It was simply too heavy of an object to be easily legedermained away while running away, and Talia herself kept her own men close by: dying to a halfing with a knife would’ve been a pathetic way to go out…but being unable to chase down a halfling would be equally pathetic.

Even if that halfling was utilizing every trick in the book to lose her.

Garbage was tossed in her path. Narrow streets were traversed. In one instance, her quarry even dove beneath a wagon, prompting her and her men to run around the other side, only for the halfling himself to simply roll out the same way he rolled in…which he proceeded to do two more times, until one of Talia’s thugs finally got the idea to crawl beneath the wagon after him, in which case the unfortunate follower received a kick in the face as the halfling scrambled off again. He was no acrobatic master, no aerial artist, but wow, was he annoying!

Their chase culminated down an alleyway, a deadend that revealed itself to possess a single hole in the wall that lead to the other side. The halfling sprang forth, shooting through the hole in the wall with ease. Talia’s men faltered, their broad shoulders making it a fool’s gambit to try to fit through. Who knew what would happen to them if they were stuck halfway?

Talia herself though? She was the Queen of Thieves. If there was a bag of gold on the other side, she would plunge in without hesitation, for who could claim plunder, if not one who had a stout heart? Her shoulders were less broad than her men, and her breasts were made of the same substance that cats were. A hole fit for a halfling was a hole fit for her too!

Arms through! Head through! Shoulders through! Chest through! Hips…through!

It was strange, the slipperiness of it. As if someone had greased it so it was easier to slide through. But she was already most of the way through, so her legs were through too, Talia landing with a front roll before springing to her feet.

“Now!”

And then, the hole was plugged by a block of wood, carved specifically for such purposes. The Big Nan, sweaty from his running, leaned against the now-sealed wall, while Talia’s own men, stuck on the other side, were helpless to deal with what came next.

The halfling, accompanied by Tall-And-Skinny, sneered. It was a masterful plan, wasn’t it? Delaying for time, so that his allies could reconvene upon this meeting point, where the hunter becomes the hunted! That was why he was their leader! He was cruel! Intelligent! The sociopathic brains behind the operations!

“Well now,” he said, lower jaw jutting down in disdain. “I still owe you for the mark you left upon my buttocks. But ‘fore I do, what kinda thief even are you? Trynna shield the rich from the reprisals of the poor?”
_@OwO

---

//A12 - Marketplace
The Outer Layer was too dangerous to continue milling about alone, and the Underpass was much the same. Voi, in order to protect what remained of his assets, had practically ran through the Underpass, avoiding any and all contact with its derelict denizens before he broke free into the feverish hubbub of the Adventurer’s District. This, indeed, had to be where Oratorio truly was. The number of living, vibrant souls present was dizzying compared to life on the road, and so too were the great sums of coin being exchanged.

Following the concentration of people and market stalls, the white-haired Ichor-Blessed soon found himself in one of many marketplaces, where adventurers and merchants traded in all sorts of goods. There were weapons, of course, hauled off fresh from the forges of distant smitheries, but there were potion brewers too, tossing ingredients into their cauldrons as they shouted out the ‘daily special’ to anyone who was interested in purchasing. Porters squeezed through, their packs bulging with the supplies necessary for long-term missions, while squads of squalid Outer Layer residents tried to sell what materials they could to merchants who clearly knew who held the advantage in the dealings.

Predation was common, and the sharks could smell the blood, whether it be great warriors too drunk to understand the value of what they were trying to trade, or bloodied survivors, who were just trying to make enough money that they could pay for a trip out of Oratorio.

But the wares here had the promise of being functional, at least. Perhaps they would be expensive, but regardless of their quality, they were reliable and tested. Merchants whose wares did not perform as they ought to, after all, found out quickly what it meant to live in a city with no universally accepted and enforced system of law.
_@Theyra

The garb of a gravekeep was not so different from the garb of any other peasant of the soil, he supposed. A too big rat-quilt tunic, patched over and over again in colors faded from age and darkened from road-dirt, trousers of the same sort of wear, shoes worn-down from the hard road, and a rope belt whose loose strands had become a halo of wispy barbs about his middle, that was all the man wore and all he had kept in his walk. The cloak he had taken from an abandoned cart had fallen apart on the walk, the straw hat he had found off a scarecrow in a black-soiled field had likewise been stolen as a halfway joke. Better it than the boots. The five who trailed behind in a loose gaggle were no worse clothed than he, better in fact as some had spent less time on the road. A dust cloud rose in the distance, riders from the city.

What could but give him away as an oddity to the vast world was a shovel, for any self-respecting farmer would carry a hoe if not have any cart for his work, a tome wrapped in thick clothes from the rain at his waist, for few peasants would deign themselves to lose precious time in the effort of learning to read nor have the coin to procure such a service for leisure, and that he was walking the opposite way any farmer might walk, save to sell their crops in the markets. He had gained a few odd looks here and there whenever the topic had arisen on the walk. They hadn’t believed him for some, others thought he was mad, others still had gotten curious. The gravekeeper supposed he knew exactly who those last few were, for they still trode behind him in the morning sun, the stink of sweat drowned by the dust in the air.

The ground wasn't ground up ahead, turning from smooth fields into the jagged landscape of a shantytown. The city at the end of the world, the center of the world, was no new city to be sure. He had never been there before. Clouds of brown obscured those groups of travelers ahead, as well as the parts of the sprawl itself, though he could hear one of those behind him mutter a thankful prayer through cracked lips. The pilgrimage is over, the man said, with work to be done at last. He snorted at the exultation, though he heard more from travelers further ahead. There was work yet to be done. Hands gripped the shovel and fingers brushed the ledger. Yes, there was work indeed.

They neared it, dust-stained details coming into clarity with each handful of steps. Shacks, cluttered streets, the stink of humanity imbued into the very essence of the air, and a chaos to which the gravekeeper had never exactly been subjected to, that was all there was and more. Dirt kicked into the air until it was all you needed, a hustle from one place to another, and so many souls that he couldn’t tell precisely who was close to their end and who was not. Of course, it was quite likely that far too many nearby would be dead by the day’s end, cut far short from their usual destination.

He stepped off to one side of the road, the others close behind in a cluster as they too were wary of the whole issue. The gravekeeper took a deep breath, steeling himself among all the noise and chaos. They’d need some things to make themselves at home in the new city, things that would be best found further on to the center…the places closest to the Abyss, where the dead were likely more wanting of his services. One of them spoke up, a younger voice ran raw by the road-dirt.

“What now, Lethe?”

“Lodging. Lodging and a yard to work. Come, now.”

Fortunately, their trek through the underpass posed no issues for the duo, having one of them being a 'native' to such an environment might have helped, but then again, the pair had so few coins to their name that unless they wanted to donate the very clothes on their backs, they couldn't have done anything even if they wanted to. Regardless, Frederika was just glad that she didn't have to punch or claw their way through.

Arriving at the bustling and lively Adventurer's District, Frederika couldn't help but devour the surroundings with her draconic eyes, this was an experience that could only happen once in a lifetime! "Look, Master, the Adventurer's District!" Out of every other sections of the Fortress-City, it was arguable that the Adventurer's District was the best representative of Oratorio, after all, wasn't this city built specifically to cater to those brave - or foolish - enough to head into the Abyss? "Bet it's waaaay easier to find coins here than that somewhat literal shithole back there, hehe~"

"Hmm, indeed." This close to the final resting place of the Dead God, the Ichor-Blessed of the two could more readily feel the call of the Abyss, the ichor waiting to be harvested to herald his ascension. If he had simply followed his primal instincts, he'd head to the center right away, but... no, as lofty as his ambitions might be, he was no fool. His regrettably still-mortal body would need plenty of preparations first, else, certain death would be assured. "Lead the way, Frederika."

"Don't need to say that twice, Master!" With peppy steps, the dragonkin navigated through the busy streets, then homed in on the sights and sounds of an excited crowd from a nearby tavern. The Shire's Lock, the sign said, and it appeared to host a fighting ring, just what they were looking for! "Got one, over here!" She swaggered her way to the arena proper, after that, spotting the ringmaster was child's play, it was obviously the person handing out coins to battered and bruised men. "Oy!" With naught a shred of hesitation in her voice, the dragonkin sauntered up to the man, "I'm here to kick some ass and entertain y'all while at it, so, when do I start punching?"

"Huh?" The ringmaster, however, didn't exactly share Freddy's enthusiasm, instead, his visage bore a look that was somewhere in the middle between confusion and suspicion, "Whose sassy midget is this?" His eyes then fell to the nearest person next to the 'sassy midget', "Hey, old man, she yours?"

A brief moment before the organizer's question, Almagest's icy blue eyes narrowed ever so subtly as he noticed a certain pattern from the event's participants, but for now, he addressed the ringmaster, "She's my bodyguard," And more, but for this purpose, this was the most relevant information, "And a pugilist on the side, just to keep herself sharp among other incentives."

"Pew-guh-what...?" The coin-counting man blinked, genuine confusion oozing from his lips.

"..." As a scholar of the stars and a learned man in general, Almagest wasn't a stranger to a layman's eloquence (or lack thereof), "Brawler, fighter."

"Right, right," The ringmaster made a few small nods in misplaced understanding, "It's nice to give your grandkid a job 'n all, 'specially if she can't find anything else, but buddy, what kinda show can she even throw?" The man snorted, folding his arms, "I'm running a proper fighting ring there, none of that weird shit."

"..." Almagest's subtle frown returned, so it was as he thought after all, this might be a foregone conclusion, but for Rika's sake... "She fights." He'd try one more time.

This little... INGRATE!! For her part, the dragonkin couldn't even fathom why the man was denying her to participate, other than him assuming that she was a small child, and to be perfectly honest, she wasn't entirely wrong, "THIS KINDA SHOW!!" Spurred by indignation, Frederika launched a good jab to his upper arm, her draconic strength betraying her waifish stature as she packed enough force to stagger the adult man - who himself wasn't a slouch either - and she wasn't even using her full strength, "And there's a lot more where that came from!"

Staggered he might be, the man nonchalantly steadied himself and didn't look any more impressed than he was before, "Yeah, no, y'all ain't picking up what I'm putting down here," He shook his head slightly, "C'mon, use your brain a bit, girl. What are you?"

"Huh...?" Confused by the man's question, she wondered if he was daft or messing with her, or both, "Like he said, a fighter." Oh, maybe he was asking about her... race? Not sure how that'd be relevant, but whatever, "Dragonkin, or dragonborn, don't tell me you never heard of our kind before..." Especially with how much of a melting port Oratorio was.

The matchmaker signed, then he stood up, walked up close, and looked down at Frederika, showcasing that there was at least a full foot's worth of difference between the two, "Look at me, then look at yourself, then consider how it looks from someone else." He gave her a moment to think, "Now, if I win, what do people think? Or, If I lose, what do people think?"

"...??" It was painfully obvious at this point that she didn't quite understand whatever it was the dude tried to imply, "Obviously, they'd get a good sho-... eh?"

It was at this moment that Almagest placed a hand on Frederika's shoulder, then gently ushered her to the side for a bit, "Rika, a moment please," He said, his tone as tranquil as ever, though there was a tinge of care there if one was keen enough, "I believe this particular event only accepts burly individuals," The astrologist hypothesized, "They care more about putting a good show of muscle-bound men facing against other muscle-bound men, regardless of their actual strength. As in the end, it's a performance, a charade, not a true survival of the fittest situation." That'd be the Abyss itself.

"Most folks come from races where muscle makes might," The matchmaker clicked his tongue, sitting back down, "And of course it's a show. Ya think I want my talents dead, buddy?"

"Oh..." Finally getting it, the dragonkin actually found herself... unsurprised, especially judging by how the matchmaker regarded her right from the very first sentence he uttered to them earlier, then again, in the bigger picture, she had always have to deal with the permanent consequences of her malnourished upbringing, just that Almagest was one of the rare exceptions, "Tch, I'm probably actually older than you lot."

After the matchmaker confirmed it himself, there wasn't much left to say about the matter, "If it's any consolation, Rika, I believe they'd refuse the elvenkind as well due to their looks, and your kind - in the eyes of most others - do tend to be deceptively stronger compared to their preconceived notion of how 'strength' should look."

Whether it was due to exasperation or Almagest's cold rationality or something else, the horned brawler decided to peacefully drop the matter, for a given definition of the word, "...sure."

With a confirming nod, the astrologist turned back to the ringmaster, "If I may ask, sir, are there any jobs around here that'll accept able-bodied people regardless of their appearance?"

"Aye, there's always labour to be done, adventuring too." Perhaps the matchmaker wasn't a total jackass after all, he had a daughter that was similar to Frederika, physical appearance-wise, "If ya wanna make a name for yourself as a ringfighter though, check out Slaughterhouse No. 4 or Twenty-First Military Rule, they got a girls' division."

"Hmm..." The senior Ichor-Blessed listened carefully to the man's informative words, let it never be said that he wasn't capable of giving a fuck, despite what his detractors back home might suggest, "Understood," Almagest nodded, "Thank you, sir, then we'll take no more of your time." Almagest said before leaving together with his rather grumpy Paladin.



After leaving The Shire's Lock, Almagest glanced down at his apprentice, "So, Rika, what shall be our next destination?"

"Hmph..." Frederika turned her eyes to the side with her arms crossed at her chest, looking quite vexed, before she then sighed, "In this order: Slaughterhouse No. 4, then the Twenty-First Military Rule. If neither of those work out, dear Dead God, then menial labor it is." She gritted her teeth, hoping her damnedest to be proven wrong, "Obviously, adventuring should be last, going into the Abyss without any food or supplies is a death sentence... trust me, I know how it feels to starve." It wasn't... a pleasant experience to say the least.

"Affirmative, Rika." Almagest nodded, allowing himself the barest hint of a smile, "Lead the way."

Thus, the duo made their way to the ominously-named Slaughterhouse No. 4. If one avenue failed, there'd always be another, this was Oratorio after all, opportunities weren't in short supply for those bold enough to take them.

@ERode

Oratorio, //O3 - Following Directions
@ERode

---

Elys nodded a few times as the owner, Crag, spoke. It sounded promising. Perhaps this was the break she was looking for.

“Thank you.”

And with that, she adjusted her robes, stretched out her staff hand, and left the tavern.

The streets were once again a cacophony of sound and gravity. Curiously, the body of the one-handed man was nowhere to be found. Elys’ corner of her lip curled in a slight frown, before she headed to the right, past the flurry and rush of masses. She counted the segments of buildings, watching the patterns of moving masses to discern when a new block would begin.

The well was a bit of a challenge. She walked right past it, not realizing what it was, until she heard the slosh of water as someone pulled up the bucket. She corrected her trajectory, and continued until the air began to change.

She sniffed the air as the sounds of children an clacking wood came within earshot. Incense. The air was rich with it. Unique for the rest of the city, to be sure.

Elys stood in front of the bundling, surrounded by voices of happy children.

That… that didn't make any sense. She was looking for the Bladerights. A place where a sword could be used. But this…

She stared hard at the building’s mass in front of her.

For all intents and purposes… this place sounded like a daycare at best, orphanage at worst.

Was this Crag’s idea of a joke?

Her lips pursed.

Well. She may as well confirm her suspicions. Was this a place for children? Or was it a place for blades?

If it was the former, she'd be at a sore loss for time. She would have to make up for it by moving as quickly to the center of the city as possible. Try to find another opportunity. Or just say to hell with it, do a bit of menial labour for supplies, and dive into the Abyss.

If it was the latter, then her trust and good karma would have paid off, and she'd be closer to earning a bit of coin in a way she felt most comfortable at, where her skills flourished.

Regardless, the only way to know for sure was to move forward.

Elys patted her robes straight, ensuring she felt presentable, checked her staff and her sword, and approached the building. She tapped along the building until she found an indent to indicate a doorway, and opened it.

As she stepped inside, she called out.

“Hello? Uh, Crag sent me.”

---

It saddened Cantor that such disrespect was displayed so brazenly. In the place of worship, even. Still, he was not insulting God and his Glory, just insulting them, His servants. As such, Cantor kept his silence during the exchange, keeping a straight face as best as possible while the affront continued its assault on the poor Father. For other Acolytes, they seem to be in quite a rage. Others, resignation and defeat. He noticed one peculiar the Acolyte before looking at the Head Priest of Ordo Benevolence, whose aging seemed to increase after the conversation.

"Father, do we not have any other ways for financial gains? Outside of donations and service fees?" He paused, questioning where his boundary starts and ends as an acolyte. At the Monastery, his only concern was his daily chants and duties as an embalmer. When his Father told him to rest, he rested. When his Father told him to work, he worked. Sure, he was somewhat rebellious back then like partly dressed when doing the farmwork. But even then, he was still in line for an Acolyte. However, he understands his Head Priest, his adopted Father. This Father? The only interaction he has is the current one. Still, he deemed that his concern was coming from the worriedness of a student about their teacher's hardship. Something well within the boundary of an Acolyte.

"In our Monastery, we also offered the service of a sellsword to maintain our daily practices and rituals. Do we not have any warriors affiliated with us?" He continued, scanning the faces of others in the building, their anger palpable through their actions. "Perhaps we can create a band of warriors for our own, or try to let others work with us in exchange for free service?"

---

Nevertheless, works wait for no one. After receiving the answer, Cantor bowed his head in respect to Father Nathaniel before going back to his station. He worked till all his assigned cadavers were finished, their ceremonies conducted before cleaning his hands. It seems he got some time before the nightly supper and afternoon prayers. As such, he took it upon himself to resupply others with what they needed, whether it was more embalming liquid, clean tools, or just a simple exchange of nods to let others know of his existence. Still, he went to the worried Acolyte he noticed earlier. Or perhaps rage? Frustration? The way her fists clenched and brows furrowed as Nathaniel insulted their service. It must have disturbed her enough for her tools to remain unclean after work.

"Good evening Sister, I am Cantor Amentha. An acolyte." He introduced himself before motioning to the tools on the table. "Mind if I help you?"

//O3 - Heading into the Adventurer's District

“Sure thing, boss,” Theodore rolled his eyes. He didn’t care if the man saw it or what he thought; he didn’t think politeness would be paid extra. He went to grab a sack; Maris and Ezra took one each as well. The lack of tools was concerning, but Theodore figured if they needed to ditch and escape, they could do so even from the Abyss.

Sana, Jaxon, and Arnfinn followed along part of the way. While Theo spoke to them, Maris was trying to coax the geared men into chatting with her. Meanwhile, Ezra was sidling up to the workers with that slick, charming smile of his.

“Whatever adventurer’s district we pass through, let’s make it our area of operations for now. You three find whatever jobs would most suit you. Sana, try to stay with Arnfinn if you can.” The woman nodded. “Doc…If you find a clinic, I doubt it’ll be up to your standards, but just deal with it.” There was an unhappy acknowledgement.

The group soon trekked through the Underpass. Theodore did not even once glance at the suffering mass of humanity gathered there. They made it through largely unbothered, as theirs was a fairly sizable group. The Adventurer’s District had a distinctly hopeful atmosphere. This was where all those deluded fools came to chase their dreams.

Well, he was one of them, now.

Theodore’s gaze flicked here and there. Streets were lined with stalls, colorful banner hung all around, and there were establishments a plenty. At first glance, what stood out was a tallish tower. The dhampir decided that would be their meeting area, and related it to others. “Just before sunset, today. If we aren’t all there, those who are will try to find whichever cheap place to stay. Then try again next day; dawn, noon, sunset. Got it?”

With that decided on, three of his followers went off on their own. Theodore could see them staying with each other, before the three were swallowed by the crowd. This left just him and two others, along with all the rest of the people they’d joined up with, of course.

While Maris and Ezra were making nice with whoever was open for conversation, Theodore took his time to get a bearing on their surroundings. He wanted to see if theirs was the only group of their kind, or if going mining to the Abyss was common practice. Were there any who gave them pitying looks, or any who were obviously trying not to look their way? Or were they all too busy with their own lives?

What kind of opportunities were there in the Adventurer’s District? Who was hiring, who was selling what? Unfortunately, there wasn’t any leeway for interaction, but there was much one could learn about a place and its people just by looking.

---

Ananta was fully aware that what the man some steps ahead of her had done what many would consider the smart thing. What many would call the 'reasonable' thing. Such filthy things they were, slum dwellers. No better than animals in how they lived. Rolling around in their own waste on the daily, taking undeserved scraps from those who'd truly worked and from their betters. Thieves and criminals, the lot of them. At the very least, they knew where they stood in life. At the bottom.

Or, so many would say.

Ananta was a remarkably difficult person to inspire rage in, many found, very much unlike her adventuring peers. Adventurers, in general, were often rather brazen people. Crass, rude, vulgar, and perhaps hundreds of other similar words could be used to fit the description of the average. You could liken them to those mercenary companies of knights, just far more honest with themselves. And while you could generally trust one to fulfill their requests to at least the bare minimum... The less said about their negotiation skills, the better.

Ananta imagined that much of her success, in terms of connections and companions, came from her ability to simply keep a cool head and be polite, just as much as her incredible luck. Much of the time, working out the details of the requests that came directly to her group, instead of just something random off the job board, was left to her, as she was the most suited to it. Perhaps it was something that another might find insulting, but Ananta couldn't find a reason to feel such a way about it. She and the rest of her old party knew very well that it was only her words that had gotten them many valued requests and contracts, and she was valued for it, just as much as she was for her perceived skill.

Many wondered about her origins, be they a close companion or a stranger that'd only heard word of the achievements of Ananta and her party. Her general demeanor, appearance, and manner of speaking inspired some fantastical things, often said in jest when in her presence. Perhaps the most common was some assumed background of a noble lineage. Be it anything from a bastard child of some important house attempting to make her way in the world, a disguised baron's daughter trying to bring her family some manner of fame, or a runaway daughter of some royalty... Jokes and jests, as she said. She'd always taken some small amount of amusement out of these sorts of things. Simply shaking her head with a light smile, gently brushing them off as nothing more than the jests they were.

There was a sort of twisted amusement she got out of it as well. It was a strange phenomenon, wasn't it? How, when faced with someone like herself, someone of her words and looks, it was subconsciously assumed that she held some kind of noble heritage? Much of her true amusement, after all, came from the past she'd never spoken of. It was far, far easier to get what you wanted when the person you spoke to thought you were like them, or their better, after all. One of her greatest weapons in negotiations was that very assumption.

It was that same past that she had to clamp down upon. Ananta was not, and never would be, ashamed of where she had come from. The status she had attained? Sure, she struggled to feel something besides a sense of guilt in that, but that feeling would never apply to her true background... But a lack of shame it in did not make it wise to share. There were many a stigma that would follow such a reveal, and that left her far better off leaving her background as a mystery.

But one of the few things that might force her to put her throat in a vice to stall vitriol from spewing out would certainly be attacks on that background. Not her background specifically, - no one knew it, after all, - but on those she would consider her fellows, even if she knew that not a one would see her as one of them anymore. That protective instinct was something she knew she had to clamp down upon in front of many. In front of her party, the clamp was certainly loosened, but never in front of those who would use it to put her at a disadvantage. Even though they may see it as Ananta holding sympathy for those downtrodden instead of what it truly was, it was a disadvantage nonetheless.

And regardless of what she dearly wished to say- regardless of what she dearly wished she could do to the adventurer some steps ahead... Ananta didn't dare do more than narrow her eyes at the man's departing back. An action that would be missed, in this darkness, by most all.
Was it cowardice, to act this way? To allow things like this to happen, with the titles she held, and the place she'd come from?

She knew the answer to be nothing other than yes.

Her focus turned, and she locked eyes with the battered child. She didn't dare feel pity, she would not insult the child like that. Not when she understood. Her gaze would not hold an inch of judgement, for it couldn't. Not when Ananta had experienced the very same, just as near all slumborn had. Her eyes, hidden by darkness and by hood, simply waited.

Many would say that doing such a thing was a mistake. Animals such as this would take the smallest scrap to the furthest reaches of the mortal plane, should they be given such an opportunity, they would say. And though Ananta would privately disagree vehemently with the phrasing of such a sentence, she did not fully disagree with the sentiment of the words. To be born in such a place transformed every aspect of life into a fierce competition for survival, and if you wished to see another day, you had to take every inch you could.

Indeed, a detour such as this could turn out to be a mistake. At the very least, it would certainly delay her first delve to the depths of the Abyss somewhat, that was for certain... But she had all the time in the world, before needing to brave the soul of Oratorio.

And thus, her journey was paused, for a moment. Ever so slightly, Ananta moved to the side, allowing any behind her to make headway, and kept a close eye on her belongings and her environment. She couldn't give all of her fellows assistance like this. Not without endangering her own chances of survival. But she would pause for this young one.

The child needed a chance to speak.

Ananta could only hope that what they asked for was something she could provide.

@ERode

---

It was a rather boring non-answer, but Meisa let it be for the moment as she watched Camille select his brushes and paints. The movements were natural, with the practiced ease of a painter in his element. Firenze, with her experience in spy craft could tell it wasn’t fake—and Meisa, who had far more experience in sitting for paintings had a similar impression even if he didn’t compare to the elven painters of her memories. Nobody did, in this era.

Meisa nodded at Camille as she went up the ladder, dismissing his request in her mind. As she did so, Firenze decided to make herself comfortable, finding something nearby to sit on as the painter continued to set up. Most of the words and terminology that came out of Camille’s mouth flew well over her head, but she continued to preen at the attention and pleasure of being able to sit for a painting instead of her mistress. It was Meisa who had a proper court education, and although some of the developments in art were past her time, it was something that she understood well enough. Assuming she didn’t discover a serial killer’s lair upstairs, the golden-haired elf was actually feeling excited to talk to the man. He still obviously lacked culture given how she’d been ignored, but at least he knew his art.

A man with that sort of artistic fervor could start a cultural revolution…

The second floor was actually sort of cozy, with the bed, big bright windows, and a large, if haphazard library of old leatherbound books. Meisa ignored the bundle for the moment as she stepped towards the books, taking a few and flipping through them while looking at the others’ spines. The topics were remarkably archaic and dense –for a human in this era. While they might not have been typical reading even in her time, philosophy, ethics, astronomy, and the other sciences were all studies of a learned man. If this was what Camille read in his free time, then he was a remarkably civilized and learned person. From how worn and dust-free they were, she wondered…

Maybe this frivolous painter could make a good ally to her cause. The house wasn’t so bad, either.

Finally overcome by curiosity, she peeked under the blanket, expecting old paintings—and got old paintings. Curiously, they were of an older woman. There was an obvious progression in age of the subject and in the increasing skill of the art. If anything, it was an interesting window into the man’s artistic career. Carefully replacing the blanket the way she found it, she picked out a book on cuisines of her lost kingdom, and returned downstairs.

“I wouldn’t say those are dusty tomes at all,” she said, waving the culinary book she chose. “If anything, it’s remarkably varied! I haven’t seen some of these dishes since the kingdom fell.” She had a nostalgic, almost wistful backing to her otherwise chipper tone, glancing between the artist prepping and her supposed paladin enjoying herself in front of him. She gave a beaming smile to Firenze. “Firenze, dear, maybe you can help make some of these dishes again to return the favor to ser Moissan?”

She bullied right on even as her purple-haired companion began to look cross.

“Ah! Right. I couldn’t help but to overhear part of your conversation. I may not be the subject today, but I used to sit for many, and paint, too. I was taught in the classical school in my youth, though it’s been a while… It’s not often I come across a man of culture in this day and age. What inspired you?”

Now Voi had started to feel better since coming to the city and getting mugged. He now had a sword of good quality and some supplies, including some warm clothes for when winter comes. A smile was on his face as he took a moment to think about what to do next.

From all that running here and once getting here. Voi knew he was in the right place with all of the activity and good being exchanged. He knew what he wanted but, now it is time to see what he can get. So he started going to merchants and trying to get a good deal while trying to get on some of the merchants' good side since he will be staying here for a time.

It was a good thing his parents, and later his foster father were merchants, as what he learned under them did help him get what he needed. Getting a good steel sword at a good price took some time. Granted it took some spending more gold then needed but, it was certainly less expansive then buying the supplies. That is what made his coin purse noticeably lighter, more so if he bought it at the quality he initially wanted. But it if he is going to go into the Abyss than he needs them. Voi will certainly remember how much supplies cost when he buys them next time. Getting some warm clothes was very easy and took little time to get. Nothing fancy, but it will do its job.

Voi even manged to get on somewhat friendly terms with two merchants that he traded with. Even though getting their favor required him to spread more then what was need but, if he was going to stay in this city. He might as well get on some people's good side, and he still has coin to spend.

Still, it was nice to see that there were civilized places in this city or at least in comparison to the outer section. Though he has yet to see any type of guard and so he better be careful regardless.

But, with a good sword and supplies. Voi was unsure of what to do next. He could go into the Abyss and see for himself what it is like down there. Though he could try to find lodging for when he needs it and he still a quite of sum leftover that he still has. He could maybe buy more stuff, but what he did not know.

The decision came when he heard a sound coming from his stomach. Now that Voi thought about it, it has been a bit since he had eaten anything and perhaps it was time to get something to eat. Maybe meet some people who have ventured into the Abyss in the process. So he learn something about it before going in himself. So Voi went to the nearest place he could get something to eat.

//O7 - Public Square
Lodging was an uncertain thing in the Outer Layer of Oratorio. There was a sense of seediness and danger even in the cleanest inns, with little more promised than a small bed and a blanket over a hay mattress. Furnishing was expensive, after all, and if you spent too much on furnishing, there was little one could do to prevent its theft. Of course, innkeepers with enough income could purchase the protection of local gangs, those steely-eyed thugs who stared down Lethe and his followers when he drew near whilst stinking of poverty, but that made one susceptible to having that same inn be commandeered by those gangsters whenever they wish for it.

It was an uncertain thing, lodging, and it was made more so by the fact that after the long trip to Oratorio, Lethe’s purse was empty. Work had to be found, work for a gravekeeper to do, and yet in this district, there looked to simply be no space for a graveyard to be. In the distance, white smoke rose up, a sign perhaps of cremation, but here, where the living were already bordering death, there was nothing. Nothing but…

Movement caught his eye. An aged draft horse, pulling a heavy wagon, its rider allowing it to trot slowly through the streets. The rider’s partner hopped off the side, grabbed a cloaked individual slumped against the corner of the alleyway. His gloved hands manipulated the person’s face briefly, before he nodded and hurled the body up onto the wagon, where it joined the tangle of limbs, the small pile of corpses, that the draft horse continued to pull outwards.

Wherever the two men were bringing their load, it was not to be inside Oratorio.

Whether Lethe sought to hail those two or allow them to continue their grim work unbothered, however, remained up in the air.
_@Thayr

---

//A15 - Slaughterhouse No. 4
The people in the Adventurer’s District were friendly enough, at least. A few questions here, a few statements there, perhaps a coin or a paid drink to loosen the tongue, and there were plenty who were happy to point out the direction that the odd pair needed.

The travel time was longer, of course. While it was clear that the matchmaker they talked to before was someone whom had a ‘roaming’ show, Slaughterhouse No. 4 was contained within a proper establishment, giving it a sense of legitimacy. A few breaks had to be taken on the way, a few pickpocketing attempts had to be thwarted too, but considering how neither Almagest nor Frederika gave the sense of possessing wealth to begin with, it was uneventful for a stroll through the District.

And before the old man’s legs could give out beneath him, his Dragonkin Paladin spotted the audaciously colorful sign of ‘Slaughterhouse No. 4’ in the distance, braziers of green fire burning by its entrance. It was a wide building, made of good, solid wood, but a flat one too, featuring only a single floor. The doors weren’t locked, and strolling in, the two would find themselves in the sheltered portion of a sandpit arena, which was partitioned off from the perimeter by a wooden fence, roughly the height of Almagest’s waist. In the midday, there were only fighters present, striking at wooden dummies with weapons or their own fists. Others lifted rocks or performed body-weight exercises, still more sparred against each other, in a way that suggested it was more for cardio rather than to hone technique.

Compared to the raucous Shire’s Lock, this looked to be a proper place to train and fight.

“Aye, old man,” a dwarven woman strolled up to them, her coarse hair tied back in bun, her own face a collection of scars and wrinkles. “Whatcha here for? Sellin’ ‘er to the pits?”
_@Izurich

---

//O3 - Bladerights Estate
Silence followed the echoes of her voice, though there was undoubtedly the presence of another in the room. Candles, deduced through their slender form and the uncommon warmth of the interior, were placed at the back, while a winged staircase, though one that was unevenly constructed, offered a path up to the second floor. As the living mass shifted, Elys could perceive the presence of a statue around the candles as well, a humanoid with four limbs and an inhuman skull.

But that was beside the point. Within the building, she could hear steps upstairs, the lighter steps of children, and she could hear the lecturing of a matronly voice too, teaching the finer points of language and mathematics. There was the smell of boiled milk and vegetables, a soup in the making, as well as the more-distant sound of water splashing, of fabrics being scrubbed against a washboard. It had to be a place for children, a place for students, a place for orphans.

The clacking of wood, however, sounded still, in an offbeat rhythm to the heavy steps of the mass approaching her. What was it? What did that sound suggest, in the context of a place for children, a place for education?

“Always sending the interesting ones, hm?”

The voice was effeminate, a watery thinness.

“You’re a swordswoman then. What do you want?” A pause. “And what do you value?”

Incense clung to the woman’s clothes, thick with reverence and penance.
_@Estylwen

---

//A7 - Ordo Benevolence
“How can a band of Acolytes compare to those who do this for a living?”

Despite the pain, there too was resignation and acceptance, that of a man who had bore much in his elderly age, one who was accustomed to the suffering of this world.

“And who would care for the dead, if one lost their arm or their leg to the Maw of the Abyss? We would be reaching for sunlight, yet find ourselves grasping lightning.”

Slowly, the Father picked himself up, and another Acolyte rushed to his side to offer support. Without his staff, he could not walk, and his brows furrowed further as he was lead away to his chambers. No doubt, there would be prayers made and prayers unanswered. The God they revered was dead, and it was in divinity’s memory that the Church of Ordo Benevolence continued their services, unpaid and unthanked as they were.

Others, however, were too young to accept the unjust millstone that sought to ground good men to dust.

Her eyes, dark as the earth, bored into her bloodied tools, knuckles gleaming white against her pallid skin. She was a waif-like thing, the robes of an acolyte hanging loosely over her form, her red hair the colour of dead leaves, her bloodless lips drawn in a tight line. But her expression smoothed over at Cantor’s approach.

She drew in a breath. “No, thank you Brother Cantor. I can take care of this myself.” And she moved to do so, picking up her tools with deliberation to clean them off one by one. “I am Laina.”

And then, with slightly more deliberation, she asked, “You’ve worked as a sellsword before?”
_@Shovel

---

//A3 - On Route to the Abyss
Certainly, there were larger groups of individuals that Theodore saw while being lead towards the high walls that bordered the Abyss. There were groups that looked to be preparing for a proper expedition, porters carrying heavy luggage and adventurers equipped with gleaming armour, maps being brought out by the leaders of the expeditions, men and women hardened by their experiences of the Abyss’s depths. Smaller groups looked towards the white walls, the remnants of the God-slaying spear, with excitement instead, even if they looked barely better-equipped than the Ichor-Blessed’s own group of miners.

Most were just getting by, however. Those clusters of adventurers who had lost their innocence but had not yet seen grand success. They glanced over at the group of Abyss-miners and smirked, deriving a sense of superiority in the fact that they, at least, weren’t so wretched as this lot. A few of them even called out to the portly leader, about the latest batch of dead meat to feed the goblins, and received similarly friendly jabs about the lycans. Perhaps it wasn’t a common practice, but it wasn’t an illegal one either.

Though was there anything truly illegal in Oratorio?

The clinking of chains sounded brightly. A sideways glance confirmed that slavery too, while not common enough to have been encountered up to this point, was still very much alive in this City of Opportunity too.

But who cared for those bound and collared, that row of pathetic fellows? They still lived better than the wretched of the Underpass, after all, who'd doubtlessly trade their languid freedom for chains and a proper roof over their heads. And what could Theodore even do other than observe, when he too was bound by the chain of 'work', by the ever-present call of the Abyss?
_@SilverPaw

---

//O8 - The Underpass
Strange, how silence could dwell in a place filled with echoing noise.

Strange, how time, that hypocrite, could extend to eternity or collapse to instant, all while claiming objective, equal progression.

The child’s tongue moved within her mouth, licking at the bleeding gap in her teeth. Drinking it, along with saliva, to clear out her throat. She had not the energy for a desperate plea, knew not whether this strange woman was someone she should cling to, or just someone who enjoyed watching the misery of the young.

But she opened up her mouth regardless and spoke a single phrase.

“Ma's sick.”
_@Kero

---

//O4 - Camille's Atelier
Ever-humble, Camille shook his head.

“I’m but a student still,” he said, with a self-deprecating smile. “And in the eyes of elves such as yourself, I can’t imagine that any man without a long beard and a wizened face could be considered capable of ‘culture’.”

So Camille wasn’t wholly oblivious to the possible ages of his guests. He continued his work regardless, however, and watching from over his shoulder, Meisa could definitely see the sort of progression that his works took. A charcoal stick formed Firenze’s outline, giving her silhouette the impression of rising out from the shadows, while a finer stylus traced into the canvas itself the grooves in which paint would soon settle. There was a sense indeed, that despite the incomplete totality of what untrained eyes would see as Firenze, Camille worked to capture the fewest possible details that were required to get at the royal bodyguard’s essence.

The sharpness of her jawline. The arch of her nose. The graceful wave of hair that fell over one eye, the way her eyelashes lifted up in the opposite one.

“As for my inspiration…well, it was a matter of inheritance, in truth. Someone who I’m indebted to granted me this lifestyle, as well as the contents of their study. I don’t truly believe I understand their actions even now, but I figured that I would understand it more, if I were to read what they’ve read.”

He pondered over an imagined line. Then, with a stiff arm and a stroke of afflatus, he followed through with what he envisioned.

“If you don’t mind me asking a question in return, miss, could you tell me your own reasons for entering Oratorio? I’ve seen a few elves around here before, but those who do possess the countenance of outlanders and spellcasters, or would not have appeared outside the Royal Road to begin with.”
_{@Click This}

---

A12 - The Rooster and Ridge
The aroma of roasted chicken and butter made Voi’s choice for him and drew him past the swinging doors of the Rooster and Ridge, a humble eatery. At this time of day, only those who did not have any plans at all of heading down into the Abyss were present. Lunch had passed, after all, and dinner was still far away. A few hardy folk nursed their drinks and chewed on bones and cartilage, but they looked more like labourers than anything else, while an absent-minded man, the proprietor of this eatery, absentmindedly cleaned the table.

But there were still a few in this room whose appearance spoke of adventure, or at least of danger.

In the corner, their boots kicked up onto the table and their wide-brimmed hat settled over their face, a lone ranger reclined, chewing upon some kind of herb as they whiled away their time.

Commandeering one of the larger tables now that no one would tell them off for it, a band of friendly, youthful faces poured over what their black-haired leader claimed was a map of the first layer of the Abyss, their collective pittance of funds scattered over that same table as they argued and discussed what their plan would be for tomorrow.

A pair of older, grizzled adventurers hunched over their own tables, drinking heavily from the bottle and glaring at the squad of rookies with derision. Occasionally they would spit out something about ‘amateurs’ and ‘monster fodder’, but nothing came of those remarks.

None of them gave Voi anything more than a passing glance when he entered. White hair, pale skin, and blue eyes were a striking combination, but perhaps there were weirder sights still, once one descended into the domain of the Perishing Star.
_@Theyra

🎕 Talia of Roses 🎕

//O11 - Deserted Backstreets

Of course, Talia responded to the halfling with her impeccable wit! Her penchant for theatrics was certain to help her escape the sticky situation she was in! She gave her strange reason for following her. In fact, Talia ended up spilling out her entire ethos for why she so strangely chased him down!

The halfling was having nothing of it. With each flowery flèche, the halfling gave a brutalist parry and riposte. It was rather deflating, in all honesty. Talia had began to boringly reply to the halfling by the end of their conversation.

Her conman-like speech didn't really have an effect on him either. In an effort to prove herself as more than a charlatan, she had utilized a drop of her divine power to bring forth a miracle. With a little hum and dance suitable for a woman of a bordello, Talia had invoked a miracle in the deserted backstreets: she had caused coins to glow. While the halfling wasn't too enthralled about it, his companions were more entertained by the glowing coins that had once belonged to the white-haired merchant.

Still, such an ability merited a modicum of respect from the halfling. Rather than be absolutely opposed to Talia's words, he at least saw some value in her. She was likely someone who was going to be found as a ditch-corpse, but she also might have a job for him in the future. They ended up introducing themselves in the end, Talia somehow slinking her way through a sticky situation.

With just as much gusto as before, Talia jumped back through the halfling hole. The grease made it easy--head, shoulders, chest, hips, and all. Her two men outside were surprised to some degree, but also not extraordinarily surprised. She had poisoned their minds with her words already, after all.

Once the halfling plugged the hole back up, Talia realized something. She actually forgot about the coins halfway through. Well, it wasn't like she could glib such an amount from a thief. If anything, she'd have to fight them on their own turf for it. Oh well, she thought. At least she made friends.

---

"Well, I suppose we should aim to fill our coffers." Talia hohummed to her remaining merrymen as they walked through the alleys.

"So let's find someone on the street and hammer them." The beefcake who seemed to have difficulty wearing a shirt replied.

"Or we can look for a job." Added the chubby one.

"We're thieves. We do thievey things. Though I suppose beating someone up for their coin pouch is also thievery. And not doing our job but collecting pay is also thievery. Marty, Mork, and Glimsby are all out picking pockets. That's good for living expenses. What we need is to start safely raisin' capital."

"By hammering someone?"

"That comes later. Right now, we're doing things danger-like. What we need to do is establish a hideout. Somewhere to stash our goods and prep for bigger plans." Talia posited. Though, how much time she had to ruminate on this idea wasn't certain. After all, who was to say that she wasn't just blindly inspired by the halfling's hobbit hole.

"But that ain't coins?"

"It's property. That's a type o' capital. A place to store our ill-gotten gains. It beats carrying it around in our pockets for another thief to slash and grab."

Silently, the beefy man and the chubby man nodded as if they had learned a valuable lesson courtesy of the white-haired merchant.
@ERode

Regardless of whatever assorted reasons that made only a few grabby-fingered folks dared to try their hands on Almagest and Frederika's pockets - them lacking the trappings of wealth or some other thing - the fact remained that Frederika wholly believed it was because most pickpockets wouldn't dare messing with a dragon's wrath, leaving only those desperate and/or stupid enough to try. After all, wasn't that the reason why those three stooges threw Voi to her instead of that Thief Bitch? They preferred to take their chances with Talia and her goons instead of her, and that whore was in a group of six.

Smart, really, Oratorio might be a melting pot filled with people from all walks of life, but Dragonkins were still quite rare, especially when compared to Humans, Dwarves, or the like. Are we as rare as Elves? Mmm... could be, I guess. Even so, the myths and legends of dragons - everything from terrible draconic tyrant-kings to erudite wyrm sages - still held strong to this day. She might not be able to level a whole fortress by her lonesome like some of the mightiest dragons could, but even having just a tiny morsel of that power already put her a cut above the common man. Still, it was a bit of a shame, she could use some warm-up before a proper fight in the ring, oh well.

After a few inquiries here and there, the duo eventually homed in on the infamous Slaughterhouse No. 4, located within the confines of Adventurer's District 14. Frederika entered first, followed closely by Almagest. "Oooh..." Red eyes widened to take in as many of the primal sights as possible, now this was a true arena, where pugilists could test their mettle, and earn coins while they're at it.

While Frederika was being all impressed and starry-eyed, Almagest noticed the female Dwarf approaching them in a way that suggested she had something to say to them, "Mmm." The astrologist hummed quietly, a rather subtle attempt to mask his winded state after walking so much. Curse this mortal body. Divine Ascension couldn't come soon enough. "I'm just here to accompany my pugilist ward." He made a small nod as his hand gestured to the Dragonkin.

"Ah!" Her ears perked up at the conversation, prompting Freddy to swivel and face the two, "Real fine place you got here, ma'am! Heh, put me in that ring and I'll give your audience a show they'll never forget!" Her usual gusto and confidence returned as Frederika went over to the nearest punching bag, got into a proper stance, then gave the sandbag a solid hook, sending it swinging with enough force to knock a man off their feet, "So, whaddya think? Need more proofs or can we talk pay?"

@ERode

It slowly became apparent to the small group that the city, however it may be, had a dearth of graveyards. The sheer mass of humanity was impressive enough, taking Lethe aback a good deal, and doubtless however the dead were sorted through would likewise take him aback. A sinking feeling came to the gravekeep’s heart, though, at the prospect that how the dead were dealt with - and how their stories were kept or lost - would be a desecration of the dead, of the duties entrusted, and that he may be starting from scratch and alone in the city.

As they moved through the streets, it also became known that the streets were not entirely welcoming to those it didn’t know. The gravekeep could see the hungry eyes here and there, men and women who had a certain method about them and knew how to shake loose coin from another, though they seemed to yet have eyes. He was almost glad they had, though the emptiness there wasn’t such a great comfort. They needed somewhere to work and, hopefully, that same place could be somewhere to sleep. It would make things easier, Lethe supposed. The others weren’t so calm. They looked with wary, concerned eyes at the men who watched. There was something to be said of robbery when a person is poor, new, fresh, that it had a new sense of danger compared to when a person knows the normal and when things are not in line to it.

He eyed movement in the square, though, a heavy wagon with two men and a cargo of the dead. They stopped to pick up a limp man on the street, who had laid resting against a wall, and a thought sprang to Lethe’s mind. One of his had also seen, spoke in a quiet, sharp voice from behind the gravekeep.

“What d’you suppose they do with them?”

“City doesn’t seem to be free with space. Perhaps a mass grave, perhaps over into the center. Best way to know, though…”

The man didn’t tarry on the latter option, nor for that matter for former. Both potentials was a desecration, a removal of the knowledge and a passing that had been left unnoted, unknown, unmourned by any and all. It was simple silence, one that was even worse by the latter option. While a grave lent the dead their brothers, a dump into the hole there at the center of the city was a removal from all, a hatred, a waste. Those who did it could have their reasons, from space to the hunt to…distraction, but it yet paled in comparison to the damage such would cause to the dead souls themselves, to the people yet left who would never know the name or life of their dead brother. Lethe shook himself free from all of it. Contemplations would lead him nowhere.

He approached the slow wagon with some care, careful to not be seen as a potential robber, careful to not be seen as a potential cargo. It was a fairly vague goal was the brief reflection as he cleared his throat, spoke up to the man in the wagon. “Scuse me. Where do you take them?”

---

---

Even as some of the adventurers sneered at the workers, Theodore merely smiled faintly as he observed and assessed the would-be pioneers. The most promising ones were the best prepared ones, but to get someone of their ilk under his wing? He’d need something convincing. In a pinch, he could make do with the doe-eyed ones as followers. Unlike his current employer, however, he didn’t want to obtain someone merely to waste them as ‘dead meat’.

First, he’d prefer some experience, even if it was in the form of a mining trip. He noted the jokingly macabre exchanges about goblins and lycans, determined that neither him nor any of his would be killed. However, it did occur to him that these other workers who’d signed up for this might be quite proficient in surviving. After all, minor injury was leagues better than death, dismemberment, being eaten alive, or who knew what else.

Theo’s gaze only briefly lingered on the slaves. It brought back memories, that. The sight was visceral to him in a way that the poverty-stricken homeless of the Underpass – whose suffering he was unfamiliar with – had not been.

Pleading eyes. Pleading for death. For an end to the suffering. Or worse: insensate, lifeless eyes staring unseeingly at nothing – perhaps, already glimpsing the imagined afterworld. Desiccated bodies drained of their blood, of their life essence. A relief of bones etched into paper-thin skin. Living skeletons; mere shells of bodies lingering on the earth, waiting. Waiting to be free, for eternal rest to claim them, and grant them reprieve.

He had given them that. That final, absolute freedom.

Arnfinn had been the only one different. The first one to show him that there could be another way.

But at this very moment, there was nothing indeed to do about those wretches, no way to free them. No saving graces, whether an easy death or a ‘heroic’ saving was in store for the slaves.

Theodore passed them by, not entirely unaffected. A new insight was gained; in Oratorio, those who were too weak could and would be enslaved. A fate worse than death, if you asked him. To be avoided at any and all cost.

Would the Abyss prove that people were the worst monsters? Or would literal beasts, savage and relentless, put things into perspective?

Interesting was the first thing that came to his mind as entered the Rooster and Ridge, not because of the sweet smell of roasted chicken and butter that was interesting. But he noticed that no one stared at him or anything like it when he entered, which was a welcome relief since coming to this city. Though it did occur to Voi that meant the people here were used to oddities like him or what lays in the Abyss makes oddities like him nothing in comparison. He did not like the second thought.

Either way, he took note of the three adventurer groups. The ones that were around the table with a map of the first layer of the Abyss, apparently, the veterans who were silent except to say some insulting words to the younger group and the loner.

Voi tried to seem subtle in watching them, and for a moment, he thought of which group to go to. He plans on going to the Abyss and some backup would be nice and since they seem to have some knowledge of the Abyss. More so, the older grizzled pair. Since that map may be a fake but at least that group seems friendly enough. Though he was curious about the loner who seemed like an adventurer.

But the sound that could only come from a hungary stomach he remembered why he was here and hopefully there is still something for him to eat. Still, he will give him time to think of which group to approach. If they are still here when he is done eating. So Voi walked over the the person who seemed like the proprietor of this place and politely tried to get his attention. "Hello, and are you the owner of this place? I would like something to eat if possible."