//O7 - Outskirts of Oratorio
“Religious sort, huh? Guess there's still those types coming in.”

There was no condemnation in the corpse collector’s tone as he looked at the gathering of gravediggers. For Lethe and his followers, perhaps this was a duty that must be fulfilled, a task that was meaningful, but for the two who drew a wagon through the worst parts of Oratorio? It was just work. There was no need to justify it, especially when there were far worse jobs out in this city. The wheels continued to churn against the earth.

“Maybe you’ll find some sorts in the Adventurer’s District, aye. Little space for proper graves though.” The sprawl of the Outer Layer, how it seemed to expand outwards like a stain, made it clear that Oratorio was, whether by circumstance or design, a place where there was always a limited amount of space for the affluent and the capable. “Folks that aren’t sent back to their hometown are burned to ash instead. Saves more space, and the price of a casket would get you a pricier-looking vessel too.”

The younger of the corpse-collectors spoke up. “Plenty of opportunities though. Just not for a digger.”
_@Thayr

---

//O3 - The Underpass
Hollow eyes, sunken cheeks. A grief that is still raw, reflected in eyes still stained with naivety. He was a man, an average man with sunburnt skin and limp, dark brown hair. His clothes had not yet gradated to rags. He had not been like this for long.

Yet, incapable of perceiving anything of his except for his form, all Elys could understand instead was that he was missing a leg. That the smell of old blood and burnt flesh clung to him. That the calluses on his hand, the hand which he used to grab her wrist and pull off his shoulder, had yet to fade.

“Don’t preach to me,” he spoke, voice shaking, voice hoarse. Was it pride that kept him like this, able to lament but unable to beg? “I lost everything, and now I can’t even turn back!”

Around them, they were but an obstruction, the flow of people passing around them, no one interested in sparing more than a half-second in recognizing that the two existed. Perhaps a few kinder souls would have silently approved of Elys’s action, the risk she took by simply interacting with a denizen of the Underpass, but that was all.
_@Estylwen

---

//A7 - Ordo Benevolence
“A small giant? So a big human?”

Despite Laina’s joke, the red-haired acolyte remained somewhat amazed at the statement. Even the smallest giants were still bigger than the largest orc, a veritable hulk that, while not immune to sharpened steel, could still flatten a man with a swing of the fist. And that discounted those giants that used actual weaponry, swinging trees like clubs, tossing boulders as if they were pellets from a slingshot. Perhaps there was a sense that she saw Cantor in a new light, even if most of it was accomplished through a lie of omission.

“There’s no sin in thought and emotion,” she replied. “So long one doesn’t act on baser intents. And so long as those baser intents aren’t what’s informing this invitation, I’ll be happy to show you around, Brother Cantor.”
_@Shovel

---

//A5 - Market Plaza
The foxboy’s face brightened up at Sebi’s smile. He hadn’t actually expected them to accept; it was more of a shoot-his-shot kinda moment.

“Oh, no, we’re all pretty new at this ourselves, so you’d fit right in!”

It didn’t even register to him that perhaps wasn’t a reassuring thing to say, but on the other hand, it looked like his party was wholly willing to make some concessions in order to integrate two foxgirl mages into the party. Introductions went and passed quickly as they travelled up the wall that ensconced the Abyss. The foxboy, Allen, had travelled to Oratorio with the troll, Gam, in order to seek their fortune within the ruins of the Perishing Star’s devastation. Millie was the porter-slash-guide they hired with what money they had left after the trip, having signed a week-long contract to figure things out properly. A day had passed since then, and between Gam’s axe and Allen’s sword, it was apparent that they’d need some form of ranged attack.

It was apparent too then, that Sebi and Sumiye would have been interchangeable with anyone who had a bow or even a slingshot.

Regardless, in an amount of time both lengthy and instant, the newly-formed party descended down into the Abyss, its First Layer opening up to provide both prosperity and danger in abundance, the scenery of a mountain’s plateau within the depths of the earth. Trails of blood traced towards the wall, evidence of adventurers forced to evacuate due to their injuries, while in the distance, the howling of monstrous beasts sounded in defiance to nature’s guidance.

The party of adventurers tightened their grip of their weapons and their gear, before Allen let out a small nod.

“Ok, here we go!”
_@Asuras

---

//O4 - Underpass Marketplace
“I-I-,” the woman stammered, clearly in shock from the sheer display of brutal, efficient violence that had been delivered at the hands of the royal bodyguard. She looked between the two of them, two elves who treated the taking of mortal life like it was nothing more than a visit to the grocers, and could only shake her head in response. If she knew, perhaps she wouldn’t have made that mistake to begin with, wouldn’t have been in a position to lose a limb, to lose her ability to make her livelihood.

She swallowed. Even if it was clear to anyone that these elves weren’t heroic by any means, she still was saved, and gratitude had to be put into action, lest it be misconstrued as a sign of disrespect. Standing up with support from her fallen wagon, the herb-collector bowed once, before offering up a few bundles of dried medicinal herbs that had not yet fallen out the cart.

“Th-thank you. Please t-”

“You stupid! Knife-eare! Brutes!” An older merchant, pot-bellied, screeched at them, even as he hurried packed up his own stall of roasting meats. His face couldn’t seem to figure out if it ought to go pale from terror or red from rage, but his voice was hysterical enough to be understood as both. “The Blackhand Butchers’ll make an example out of all of us for this! We had a goddamn understanding with these!” He shook the hanging ornament. “Why did you fucking ruin it?!”
_{@Click This}

---

In hindsight, perhaps Firenze had overdone it a bit. Beating the thugs unconscious would have done the same trick. Nonetheless, she knew that if proper, good civilization was to rise again, petty violent gangs would have to meet their end, even if she had to resort to violence herself.

Even with her cushy life, Meisa was no stranger to violence. The elves treated criminals harshly, and violent thugs, as far as she was concerned made the cut. Still, Meisa didn’t quite approve, but mostly because it put her in a difficult position.

“Well, someone has to finally keep order! Are you alright?” she replied, making herself look presentable as the merchant woman stood up. She was going to speak further when one of the other merchants, began to scream in their faces. Right, did this man not have a sense of self-preservation?

“We are holding swords still, you know,” Meisa pointed out, nudging in the direction of Firenze, who was still standing around. She had taken the gang leader’s sword and still had the naked blade out. The praetorian woman looked quite happy with her new acquisition and some extra gold, but glanced towards the bellowing fat man’s hysterics as if to make a point.

Nonetheless, Meisa internally winced. This was exactly the situation she knew was going to happen. In for a penny, in for a pound, right? “Ahem. Addressing your point—Your understanding is bullshit, sorry. It’s just racketeering, and the particularly violent kind that doesn’t actually protect. Violence begets violence, you know?”

Firenze was still looking happy with herself, now that she was fully armed with lots of swords.
Now that the adrenaline of combat was dying down, Meisa screamed internally as she glared at her bodyguard. This was going to fucking suck.

Well, time to try and fucking sell it, because she was going to need it.

“Because the Blackhand Butchers are on the way out. Simple as that. They’ve overstepped their boundaries for far too long, and will be wiped out. You say they’ll make an example of everyone just for witnessing this? Then you might as well take it as a truth. The only recourse to fight back, or just roll over and die!” And what kind of stupid, uncivilized bandits would ruin their entire cash cow just because some stranger killed a few of their thugs, anyway? What was the entire point of having a protection racket if you were just going to make an example out of everyone who paid for the stupid ornament!?

She glanced at the merchant, and then the girl she saved, and then anyone that was watching. “The point of that silly ornament is for protection. If it won’t even protect you from them while minding your own business, did you really have an understanding at all? No, better to protect yourselves. And we can, at least, help you do that.”

Meisa gestured to the bodies of the thugs around them. Firenze might have caused the problem, but it was still one unarmed elf girl that had basically taken out five armed bandits. They had the credentials.

Oratorio, //O3 - The Underpass
_{In collaboration with @ERode}

---

Her breath caught a bit.

But she had to say something.

"You can start over." Elys said earnestly as she was held, eyes as wide as possible to catch the mass' interactions with gravity.

"Tell me what happened. I can help you." She said.

"Can you bring back my leg? Can you give me back my life?"

He hissed out those words.

"If you had the wealth to do that, you wouldn't be seeking it in the Abyss like everyone else."

"Wealth isn't the answer to everything." Elys said calmly in response.

"Can I take a guess at your situation? You... you used to be an adventurer, didn't you? Did you lose your leg in the Abyss?" Elys' tone grew more somber. If she was right, it really was a tragic tale.

"You think...I was an adventurer?"

A bitter laugh escaped his lips.

"I lost my leg, everything I owned...because I missed a fucking payment."

Elys' jaw dropped a bit in the darkness. Immediately, she thought of the raiders that burnt down her home. It seemed the corruption was more wide-spread than she thought.

"Who... who did it?

"What would it matter if you knew? The whole city is like this. A tightrope act with no nets beneath!" Was his response.

Elys could only imagine what pain this man had gone through. Could only imagine the turn of events that had brought him to this situation.

Yet, as she pursed her lips, a sick feeling twisted her gut. If what the man said was true, and the whole city was corrupt, how many stories were the same in this Underpass? How many others couldn't make their payments, and suffered the consequences?

Just thinking about it caused a bitter taste to coat her tongue. It wasn't fair. No one deserved what happened to her. No one deserved what had happened to this man.

She didn't have the power to change things.

Not yet.

She reached for his shirt, and gave a firm pull. “Listen to me, and listen to me well. Don't. Give. Up. You still control your fate. Are you really going to spend the rest of your life here?”

She let go of him, her voice softening.

“It's hard. But if I were you, I wouldn't sit down and let them win.”

She pried his grip from her wrist, shifted with her staff, and began to turn away.

“If I had the chance, I'd burn away all the corruption, so people like you don't have to suffer…”

She grimaced under her hood, and walked off. A fresh determination was born in her chest. The desire to clean out the Underpass. To give these people dignity. She could do it. She just had to persevere, and follow her heart. Follow the call. Surely, she could do it.

With gritted teeth, Elys walked through the darkness, guided only by her staff, until she emerged on the other side of the Underpass, and made it into the Adventurer's District.

---

---

His offhanded offer about being able to drink blood was met with more interest that the dhampir had expected. He was asked if he was for real, and if it meant he’d be turning whoever was interested into vampires. “No, no turning required. You’ll be able to stay human, don’t worry.” That led to more questions; if what he was claiming was true, how could it be. “Well…it’s a special ability of mine. You see Ezra, right? He’s weird for a human, but he can drink monster blood fine because he follows me.” Ezra did not enjoy it, but he demonstrated being able to do so with a recently dead wolf. There was some suspicion, some interest, some wariness because the workers didn’t know what to make of it.

“Think on it,” Theo shrugged. “It does mean you’ll have to accept me as leader if you’d like to be a blood-drinker, though.”

The mining trip continued. Theodore didn’t think much on the attack once it was over. However, the reality of it was that more and more monsters came. Goblin raiders slipped through, injuring or killing the workers while he tried to mitigate as best as he could.
They were always going for him.

It must be because of his Divinity that they were drawn to him, that they wanted to eliminate him.

The realization was unsurprising, if annoying. Theo headed outside. “HEY! These bastards are going after me. Watch!” He ran around some, acting as bait, throwing rocks at any monsters which got too close. After some observation, the adventurers were convinced that he was in fact a very appealing monster-bait, even if they didn’t know why. “C’mon, work with me here. I can’t do shit against the bastards without any equipment.”

He was given a shield, and a shoddy ill-fitting helmet. Theodore resented he would have to take the role of bait, but given that monsters were naturally drawn to him, he would simply have to accept this. At least for now.

After another incursion of monsters was dealt with, Theodore spent some time with the adventurers. The boss asked him what the deal was, that monsters went strictly for him.

“To be honest…I have a piece of Divinity in me. Believe it, or not, there’s something that makes me special. Anyone who follows me can drink blood safely – even monster blood. Looks like monsters have a thing against me, too.” The boss-adventurer was clearly calculating something. “Interested in working with me?” Theo went on to ask. However, the lead supervisor said they could talk more up above. “Sure,” the dhampir agreed with a shrug.

The rest of the mining trip was the same; he remained outside as a monster attractant, his followers and the remaining workers were inside, mining. Theodore had been able to procure two goblin spears; he kept ahold of one, and gave one to Maris. It helped with defending against the goblins; even crap weapons were better than nothing.

At the end of the trip, more than half of the workers of the initial group were dead. Theo and his followers looted some of the corpses; if they didn’t, someone else would. Most of the survivors were disillusioned, and he got a ‘oh, so you’re the same as the rest of ‘em’ kinda treatment from a few. Greg gave him a nod of understanding, though. Theodore wasn’t strictly a fan of looting corpses, now, but it was what it was.

The adventurers were over all excited about this trip; the venture was much more profitable than usual because of the monster drops they got. But Theodore and his followers weren’t unscathed; they were bloodied enough that they could not simply ignore their injuries. They would need to get some medical supplies, and have their wounds tended to. They were tired too, but being able to drink monster blood made them better off than the other workers, who were thoroughly exhausted.

The trip was finally over, though, and they were all starting to make preparations to leave. Theodore looked up at the skies. Would he make it in time for sunset to meet up with his other followers? There was also still the deal of discussing a potential partnership with the adventurers, maybe with the surviving workers too.

“I’d like to pick up my other three followers at sunset by the tower, but would you like to meet up somewhere today to talk?” he asked the leader. “If any of the workers are interested, I’d take them on too.”

The gravekeep stared for a few beats at the collector, thinking over what he’d said. Adventurer’s District would be a good place, true enough, and even if the people there had little interest in actually burying their dead, keeping it was a good start. They’d have a want to record, remember, to know, and that was the real need in his eyes. Of course, what his job might be in that hierarchy was uncertain, as uncertain as everything else, but it was a good enough start to the job. The gravekeep nodded a few times, mouth wry at the whole of the situation.

“I see. There’s always work, then,” he sighed, fingers tapping irregular on the tome at his belt. The Adventurer’s District would be a good enough place, and doubtless would largely be burying those same people, but that always assumes that the body was recovered. There would be those groups who fell in total, groups who could be recovered…groups whose gear could turn to gold and so fund the great mission. It would be hard, true, and dangerous…though it would have some benefit. There could yet be a place in the machine that the faith might be fulfilled, the mission accomplished, and the dead remembered.

“Thank you for your time. Might I have your names?”

A look passed between the collectors. They weren’t used to being spoken to; locals eschewed them and their trade. They were even less used to folk asking for names. The question hung in the air. The older one was the first to break it as he sucked his tooth thoughtfully, words somewhat careful, somewhat uncertain. It was odd enough, something that gave pause and question in return as to the why of it.

“Garbeck. And that’d be Terry.”

The gravekeep smiled, nodding slightly. “Thank you. May your work be light.”

With that, he turned, and the group made its way from the two collectors, their cart of forgotten dead, and on to the Adventurer’s District further into the city, intent fixed to find such folks who burned bodies, such folks who recorded the dead.

---

The rest of the night went without any hiccups. The afternoon supper was beet soup and a dash of meat for flavoring, followed by the nightly prayers performed by each member. Cantor was also welcomed to his room. It was a small room on the third floor of the building with two bunk beds, two tables, and four shelves. The smell of paper and lamp oils hung in the air. But still, it was enough for Cantor. To his knowledge, the nuns stayed in another section of the building.

Unpacking most of his stuff, Cantor remembered his conversation with Sister Laina. Knife huh? Cantor thinks before digging out his scalpel. Roughly 15 centimeters in length and no heavier than 50 grams, these are his most valuable possessions. He balanced it on his finger, feeling its center of gravity before rushing forward and repeatedly stabbing the nonexistent combatant in the abdomen three times before dashing backward. The cluttering of the room meant he could only move forward or backward, and the same applied to his foes. Based on his anatomy experience, he first got into the small intestine, then two more stabs at the stomach.

The result was unsatisfactory. He imagined the small giant he helped kill. Atop a barren hill, It stood above them despite being poisoned. Its strength must have never disappointed it. The brother band would have let it live had it not constantly terrorize the villagers and their livestock. The howling wind is produced from a simple act of swinging a tree. The men's orders mixed with the roar of a wild humanoid. To truly harm it, Cantor was forced to cut open its hide with the axe and sever the muscle connection from the bone. It took multiple swings for the giant to kneel and multiple more for its neck to release its hold from the skull.

Even for humans, the knife is not cut out. A padded leather shirt can significantly damper the penetration of the knife. And if he is against someone good, they would know this and club him in the head. So one hit kill... but doing that would require better footings or surprise them. He was only mediocre with an axe and shield, so switching would mean he must relearn how to use a different weapon and its nuance.

He decided not to consider who would teach him or where he could find someone willing to teach him. He hoped he could relieve the Ordo of its financial difficulties, even just by a little bit. But then again, the Ordo have stayed here before he came. It would probably still be here after he left.

Instead, he looks forward to tomorrow's city stroll. He still remembers how his ichor yearned to get here. It is, after all, only a day since.

//A7 - Where They Handle Death
Perhaps they would linger, that group of death-respecting individuals, when they descended into the Underpass. Their Divine Protection, one that warned of the encroachment of death upon the living, would trigger to an extent that was sickening, an extent that could not be experienced in greater intensity unless they had marched through a village in the grips of a plague, or a field at the end of a battle. Here too, were the dead. Did the corpse collectors visit these dank and dreary routes too, or were the abjectly miserable meant to rot and be devoured by vermin, broken down like compost?

What could six individuals do, when this was but one of nearly 20 routes that existed beneath the Royal Road, the final destination for those who could not even make it in the roughest quarters of the Outer Layer?

The Adventurer’s District offered no answers to that question, but at least, there was plenty to distract from what they had all experienced. A few cast curious gazes at the party that had neither arms nor armour, their dour-faced leader bearing but a shovel. A few others advertised their establishments, only to be asked directions to where the dead were kept. They travelled quietly compared to the rising rambunctiousness of the lively quarters, as adventurers returned from the Abyss to exchange their bounties for coin, their coin for pleasures, until gradually, the sounds of merriment dulled into the cluster of churches and facilities that handled the dead. It was easy to tell by the design of the exteriors which had gone into this as religious duty and which had done so for pragmatism. White plumes rose out from tall chimneys, while large stables housed horses and carriages that workers filled with corpses wrapped in linen bandages, some perhaps paired with a package of memorabilia. Parties of adventurers, shrunken by their loss, exited such buildings with a mixture of emotions: sorrow, rage, apathy, joy, relief.

Others left bearing small pots filled with ash; there were potters’ wares that lined this section of the district as well, for opportunity persisted regardless of how tasteful it was. And who could miss the minstrel, plucking at heartstrings just as steadily as their lute, offering a fair price to play a favourite song of the departed? Of the solemn priest, whether their faith was false or true, who offered a prayer to an uncertain afterlife for those who met a too-short end? Of the brewer, whose drinks were strong enough to numb or release raw feelings, for those who wanted to release their misery before they melded into the happy chaos of the district.

There was money to be made, of course.

But still, there was space to mourn.

_@Thayr

---

//A3 - The Adventurer's District
It was afternoon by the time that the remnants of the mining expedition returned, their packs bulging with loot. Monster blood seeped out from the coarse sacks, leaving trails of blood that mixed with the blood that they themselves bled, but this too was perhaps the first time that such wealth was in their hands. It was worth it. Perhaps they would have lost some familiar faces, but those who survived had made much more than what they would have otherwise, even after the adventurers took their own cut.

Many of them scattered once their supervisor dismissed them, seeking to make the most of their spoils before a thief could steal it away. Greg lingered briefly, his hand tapping Theodore’s shoulder. “Goodbye,” he said. “Hope there won’t be a next time.”

Cold words, perhaps, for someone who had been so friendly.

Now, however, there remained three adventurers and Theodore’s own, and the situation was…certainly a tense one. The Ichor-Blessed of Blood had shared something that was utterly insane, after all. To claim Divinity in a time after God had been slain was the province of lunatics and conmen, but the evidence of Theodore’s utility remained: the ability to draw forth greater numbers of monsters, to focus all their attention on himself.

“Now now,” the leader of the operation, Samuel said, “No need to go off rushing so quickly. Just get those two out to fetch your friends, mate. Us leaders can discuss the terms properly on our own.” The pot-bellied man’s lips quirked. “Let’s cleanse our palates with Oratorio’s finest. Depending on how far your ‘Divinity’ goes, this could be quite a profitable partnership for us.”

He rested a hand on Theodore’s shoulder. It was a weighty hand, and though there was no real force beneath it, it was clear that this wasn’t a suggestion either.

Where Elys was, however, all that was clear was the presence of another Ichor-Blessed. Though she had no sight, her Divine Protection itself seemed to have sharpened in response to the proximity of those who were similar, yet different, to her. Indeed, within a world of sensed masses, only one in that cluster of individuals emanated an otherworldly weight, one stained with that crimson scent.

There were others in Oratorio. Other Ichor-Blessed, who had found themselves acclimating to this cursed city faster than herself. And the heat of the sun against her robes, the festive conversations of monsters slain, adventures concluded, and coin made, all indicated that for many present, their day in the Abyss had ended, whereas she had not yet begun.

Night did not affect her as it did others, but what was night like in the Abyss, if those who delved into it preferred to leave early? Nay, perhaps it was simply the lesser adventurers who had done so, when snatches of conversations spoke of those who travelled further, stayed longer, lasting weeks within the labyrinthian nightmares that were the lower Layers. Still, those people had supplies, had gear, while Elys herself had but the sword that she had used for far too many years.

The Abyss called to her still, called to her like a hunter called the birds.

And if she thought about it further…had she not come originally in search of work? For what coin could be earned by a monster slayer? In the process, she had been buffeted by the corruption of the city, pulled left and right by individual desires, time gradually slipping away, until, until, until…

She was in the Adventurer’s District, but she was no adventurer.

Would she delve to slay? Or was there coin to make?
_{@SilverPaw@Estylwen}

---

//O4 - Underpass Marketplace
There was silence in the wake of Meisa’s words.

Or, at least, there wasn’t any willingness to respond to her. Who was this shrimp of an elf, to proclaim such things? Her guard had slain five, but they had the advantage of surprise to begin with. In a proper battle though? Against the numbers that the Blackhand Butchers had? There was no doubt in those people’s minds that in two weeks time, their bodies would be crowsfeed or bloated in a ditch.

But what if they did accomplish all that? Look at the way that the taller one sliced up those men like nothing, look at the ease in which those forest-dwelling savages devolved into looting? Look at the way they cowed the merchant lady they ‘saved’, exerting enough effort that she could do nothing but blubber and offer up what paltry wares she had. No doubt they’d collected on more of that life-debt. Violence was just violence; if the Blackhand Butchers were replaced, were they all that much better at the mercy of these women, who were clearly just as accustomed to death and bloodshed as those blade-bearing thugs?

It was a rock and a hard place, between two beasts hungering for the prey upon a single mountain.

Meisa could see the effects that her words had. Some of the merchants decided that they wanted nothing to do with a gang war and were already packing up their stall, trying to calculate just how much money they would need in order to relocate and gain a new ‘license’ to operate elsewhere. Others looked upon her, baffled at her arrogance, and wondered whether or not it’d be better to side more heavily with the Blackhand Butchers, so that they didn’t fall on the wrong side of this conflict. Still more were uncertain, hemming and hawing, a bunch of fence-sitters with no morals and convictions, who were guided only by their desire to make money.

Notably, there were none who had risen up and applauded her for her speech, nor any who had immediately swore themselves as her allies. For, no matter how impressive Firenze was, she was but one woman.

Plenty of adventurers had delusions of righteousness and grandeur. There were even those who gathered together in hopes of making a place for themselves, one that was a sanctuary amidst callousness and crime. But the Outer Layer remained the dominion of criminals, of syndicates with roots that spread as deep as the Abyss’s shadows ran long.

“I don’t even know who you are!”

Did it mean something, that the angriest one was the only one who would maintain conversation with these lunatic elves?

“And no one here want to fight. You think we’d have paid up if we were fighters? You think we’d be merchants if we could beat back those criminals?! If you didn’t even know who those men were half a minute ago, how could you claim that you’re capable of chasing them out, huh?” A snarl, a challenge. “Do you have a plan? Or are you just gonna run off to the other side of the city after placing us on the frontlines?”
_{@Click This}

The journey through the Underpass was uncomfortable as can be for the small group, tugged every which way by the sense of encroaching death until every string to the dying was tangled to the others. He couldn’t tell who was close to death, there was so many, and even then it ignored those who would die far before their time. Worse than the outer layers of the sprawl, the effects of such chaotic death, such unstable life, played a even more pronounced effect on the gravekeep's followers. They paused at a few points for one or another to vomit on the side of the path, so tumultuous was the road in the Underpass. Little wonder why the collectors did not venture to pick up the dead when there was so, so many.

Such people couldn't even afford to move out into the slums of the sprawl, the gravekeep soon recognized, couldn’t even afford to move out past the sprawl for their own sliver of land to build a shack on. What drove them to stay in such poor conditions, what shackled them that they could not walk to the sprawl? Reasons, however bad, were able to be seen here, there. Eyes glazed over from a concoction of some poisoned well, their life growing thinner by the hour, or the stumbles of one too overtaken by drink to crawl from a bottle, poor men dead enough by debt that you could see where fingers had been taken…each the gravekeep saw the markings of shackles. A shiver ran up his spine, though the man could make no comment of the poor souls. His followers were likewise mute, though the gravekeep could hear one mumbling a prayer.

Eventually the trappings of death fell away to the sights of churches and crematoriums, business of all kinds associated with mourning and consolations. The sense of death was still present, he knew he could feel it here and there in old priests, but there was so many other things compared to the suffocating miasma in the Underpass.

“I see no graves,” said one to the others in the group, “They don't bury at all here.”

“The men before said they didn't. Burning them and giving such to their companions…it's better than the others. At least there is still something.”

The gravekeep's gaze passed over each and every one of the buildings as his faithful conversed. Some were predatory, the man with a glass of strong ale for those who wanted to drown away, and some were benign, the priest who offered prayers, with many walking the line between. His eyes settled on a church, one of many, and he stared briefly at the tall doors. A sigh finally passed, that long exhale and deflation.

Lethe cautioned his faithful, turning slightly to address them before setting off to the church, intent to open those doors and speak to whichever priest ventured there. “Be respectful. Our mission is a holy one, but theirs may yet be as well.”

Oratorio, //A3 - Adventurer’s District
_{@ERode, @SilverPaw}

---

Once emerging from the Underpass, her breath caught in her throat. Despite the hustle and bustle of the streets on this side of the pass, she was completely at a standstill. Anticipation crept into her bones, her every sense straining, trying to understand what she felt, what she knew.

There was someone else here, glowing with ichor, stained with… the scent of blood?

The first revelation was that there were others like herself. How many were there? What did it mean that there were more than just her here?

It also caused her to jump to the next thought.

That spark of divinity she could detect.

It was rightfully hers, wasn't it?

There was a desire to collect, to gain more, to feel a sense of wholeness within one’s self. She couldn't explain it, but the sensations overcoming her were unshakable and unmistakable.

Only one could make it to the top, wasn't it?

With her every sense on edge, another thought crossed her mind: As much as she could detect them, they could likely detect her.

Movement was of the essence here. A moment’s hesitation and she would lose her advantage.

All thoughts of the new district, of delving into the Abyss, of making coin, were momentarily sidelined as Elys moved past the shifting masses, intent on hunting down the other ichor-blessed.

Soon enough, in her mentalscape she ‘saw’ two masses, one alight with ichor, the other plain. Other masses were departing, while yet others seemed to laze behind, waiting.

The ichor-blessed seemed to have friends, or some kind of association with others in this corrupted city.

Well. No matter.

Elys’ staff smacked the ground abruptly as she approached from behind, black robes flapping in the wind.

“I have business with the one who is of divinity here,” her head nodded cooly in the direction of the alighted mass, “The rest of you, leave us.”

---

---

Theodore sized up the unknown woman. She was Divine, he could recognize that spark within her. Only, hers was still an entirely empty vessel. Could she tell his was not? Certainly, she was no blind woman, blindfold or not. She'd snuck up on him almost unnoticed, and she was clearly very skilled. An adventurer who'd been blessed maybe? Overall, a fight he'd rather avoid for now, if possible.

So, he smiled. It was a pleasant if a subtly sharp-edged smile. "Looks like it," he remarked to the supervisor. "How unfortunate for you, then, that I have no business with you, Miss Murderer." He could smell that fresh human blood on her. Intriguing. Too bad she looked like she wanted to put him down to the ground too. Maybe some free intel for her would get her to reconsider, at least. "If you want what I have, all you need to do is head to the Abyss. You'll get the same; you'll see what I mean if you stay in that hole for a little while, at least."

Elys' face tightened at the mention of 'murder'. How did he know? Was his sense of smell really that acute? Or perhaps it was a trait his naturally possessed.

It didn't matter. What was done was done. He should really be more focused on himself. She listened to his intel, her curiosity partially satiated, before she took a step forward. Her staff was tossed to the ground. The shling of her sword leaving its scabbard, sharpened tip pointing at center mass of the alighted one in front of her.

"Why go through all that trouble when you're before me, and I can simply take what I want?"

"Come on now," the supervisor sighed, shifting his stance to face her more directly. "This isn't the backstreets. There are rules of conduct to follow."

Theodore's eyes narrowed as the woman unsheated her blade. "A regular brigand, then," he noted coolly. He and his followers shifted, ready to escape or defend if they would need to. Except, the way the lady kept focusing on him, he didn't think running was an option. It was as if he were a shining beacon to her. Was that the minuscule power he had gathered calling out to her? Was she akin to creatures from within the Abyss, recognizing and hostile to any Divine?

"Yet another monster after my ass," he huffed, irritated. Surprisingly, the leader of the adventurer group pitched in. "Oh, really?" Theo questioned him, though he never let the woman out of his sight, did not easen the grip on his shield and goblin spear any. "So, if I don't want to deal with your everyday thugs and thieves, I don't have to? Or is it just more so a 'if someone wants to beat you up, there are specific ways they need to go about it' kinda deal?"

Elys seemed to hesitate for a brief moment, hung up on 'rules', and 'conduct'. And though she could agree with giving a human being, divine or not, their rights to freedom and health, this was something... she couldn't back down from.

The smell of smoke. The shrieks of her family. The worst day of her life when everything was taken from her. It showed her how powerless she was. Showed her that if she ever wanted to right that old wrong, she would need to become a force to be reckoned with.

And staring right in front of her, ripe for the taking, was such an opportunity. She knew it was wrong. But she also knew her own wishes and dreams had to be accomplished - had to take precedence. For her family's memories. For her dream of getting to the top.

The dust ground beneath her feet as she coiled. "This monster can't afford to back down now."

And she struck forward, her sword cutting through the air towards the upper portion of the alighted mass, aiming for the neck.

“Of course. Adventurers are just vagrants and treasure hunters without rules. If you want to take something out on the surface, then you’ll have to offer something up to wager.”

The supervisor backstepped as Elys shifted to offence, apparently uninterested in stepping in to help Theo for free.

“Now, you could cry for help, friend, but I wager that’ll also have a cost to it!”

Theodore stopped consciously listening the moment the blindfolded woman shifted. He adjusted his shield, his stance. Maris, who wielded the other spear, edged to the attacker's side. Ezra circled her, getting behind her, though he wasn't close enough to strike. Not yet. The man picked up her staff, then aimed a strike at her ankle.

Meanwhile, the dhampir was barely able to rise his shield in time. The woman was *fast*. Even with his weapon having a longer reach, she was too good - most times, she could close the distance faster than he could try to pierce her. Even with the other two assissting, they struggled to hold her back. She weaved in between them, as slipery and agile as an eel in water. As lethal as a feral, starving shark pinpoiting onto the scent of their blood.

"What's the-" another parry, yet another poke of his spear the woman sidestepped, "going rate?" He questioned Samuel. It was an acrid realization, that he'd need the help if he wanted to get out of this unscathed.

The parry of blows was like a symphony to Elys' ears. She spun, she danced as the attacks came. And, once again, she slashed forward at the alighted one, meeting his spear and cuffing it. She pressed, causing their faces to be inches from one another.

In that moment, she twisted her sword, shifting the weight, hoping to catch the alighted one off-guard and behead him.

But her blade stopped short.

Images flickered through her mind. Images of the Bladerights.

How would she face them, if they saw her now? How would she explain this.

Elys gritted her teeth, cursing under her breath and taking a step back from the other divine, sheathing her sword.

"I can't do it. I've had everything taken from me, and I still can't-" A heave of air, of frustrated exasperation.

She reached for her staff that had been picked up, and made to leave.

"You still can't become someone who takes?" Theodore filled in for her. He was breathing harshly by now, sweat lining his brow. He'd accumulated a few more cuts, but otherwise, he and his followers were still alive and kicking. "For fuck's sake," the dhampir growled. He spat a glob of saliva and blood onto the ground. "Just get into the fucking Abyss like I told you in the first fucking place, you goddamn lunatic." He watched her warily as she made to leave. The staff Ezra had 'borrowed' was thrown her way where the woman proceeded to pick it up. The trio she'd attacked out of nowhere was understandably tense. They watched. They waited. They were ready for another unpredictable attack.

No response was given. The monster-slayer had already disappeared into the crowd.

Oratorio, //A3 - Adventurer’s District
_@ERode

---

What was wrong with her?

She backed down from a fight. A fight that would have strengthened her. Wasn't this the fate of those blessed with divinity? Didn't they walk the hard path of cutting out the competition? Couldn't there only be one? Surely, camaraderie was an impossible future. Not with the fate of the world hanging in the balance. The fate of who would rule it…

All these thoughts swirled In Elys’ mind as she walked.

The life of her and those who shared her fate was meant to be lonely. Meant to be a test of skill, of wit. The long staircase to the top could only be graced by one person, after all.

Elys’ feet continued to move, sidestepping masses near on auto-pilot, her head feeling like it was about to burst. Before she knew it, Elys was nearing the wall of the Abyss.

This. This was the place where the crimson one said where his strength and light came from. The light she was primed to snatch away…

Perhaps a look to the Abyss was in order. If nothing, fighting a few monsters would clear her head. That's what she was, after all - a monster-slayer.

She would decide what to do about these other divines in the city later.

//A7 - The Ever-Burning Mausoleum
It was a solid building, with solid chimneys. No windows from the outside, but the chanting of canticles sounded alongside the rising plumes. It was continuous, that liturgy, a task taken on in succession rather than unison, but the words were ancient or foreign, indecipherable beyond the underlying emotion within the art.

If the end came, let it be bright.

The Ever-Burning Mausoleum was such a building, and when Lethe pulled the doors open, he could feel how heavy they were, could feel the hot draft that struck him as if he were entering a forge. His eyes teared up from that ambient heat, his dark clothes ill-suited for the searing brightness of the undying pyre. Acolytes, half-naked to avoid an unwanted immolation, chanted and raked ashes in sequence. It was through the gift of the Thousand-Faced that such miracles could be accomplished to begin with, magic alone being the source of the inferno that so readily blackened and disintegrated bodies beyond recognition.

Here too, however, money remained something to be considered. Clear prices segregated the services that would be given to the rich and the poor and those in between. The more money one spent, the whiter the ashes, the more private and glorious the spectacle. No doubt, the cheaper prices had no guarantee to begin with, that the ash brought back truly belonged to the one that was sent off.

Perhaps that was just another compromise though. If one’s life had burnt out, then so too ought one’s flesh.

"You appear to not require our services," a man, noteworthy due only to his age and the burn scars entwining with his sinew, approached Lethe's flock. "Are you followers of the Flame-Face? Or have you come only to watch our ceremonies?"
_@Thayr

---

//A3 - The Mug At Dusk
It could have ended in bloodshed and great loss, or even just a first blood and a small loss.

But instead, nothing had come of the encounter, that monstrous swordswoman breaking away and retreating. It had been an exchange that only lasted a fraction of a minute at most, far too short for any of the bystanders to have really noticed or considered it to be of any concern.

For those involved, however, it had changed everything. There was no mistaking it, after all. If that woman had not announced her presence, if she had simply steeled her resolve and struck like a proper bandit would, Theodore would be missing his head. Even if they had fought her with all they had, with all of Theo’s followers, they would’ve likely been on the losing end. It was by the fortune of her weak will that those who were Blessed by Blood had not been forced to swallow their pride and run away.

And now, there was a true and proper conundrum. Was it still wise to split, when that inconstant Ichor-Blessed could change her mind and return? Was it smart, however, to simply miss his other three followers, in an unknown city that was approaching the gloom of gloaming? If there was one Ichor-Blessed, there had to be more. Who knew how many threats remained then, how many who would be as flagrantly aggressive as that swordswoman?

Regardless of what Theo thought, regardless of what he did, he found himself sitting across from Samuel in a dingy pub. The Mug At Dusk was a proper hole-in-the-wall, squished between two more raucous establishments. Candles burned away by the half-dozens within the building, its dim light serving more to accentuate shadow than to illuminate darkness. Some huddled to play cards or games of chance. Others whispered furtively, planning heists or trysts. Still more remained by themselves, their moods ill-suited for the revelry that was common in other parts of the Adventurer’s District.

Samuel himself, however, was in a good mood.

“C’mon, mate, drink up,” he gestured. “Yah got outta it with your head intact and your wallet unharmed, so what’s there to sulk about? Now for real here, what exactly is your deal here? Divinity, blood-drinking, monster bait, tell me everything you can offer, and maybe you’ll get real rich, real quick.”
_@SilverPaw

---

//The Abyss
The Abyss welcomed her.

Even as the day died, after all, there were still guards up on the walls, ferrying adventurers up and down, and Elys too found herself descending into the darkness. Without the sun overhead, darkness consumed the Ichor-Blessed of the Void in her entirety, dark robes mixing with deep shadow. She could not appreciate the fog until she felt the damp against her skin. She could not appreciate the ridgeline terrain that paradoxically persisted in the depths of the earth, but could feel the softness of the grass beneath her feet. She could not appreciate the vibrant hues of the wildflowers yet smelled their scent in the misplaced breeze.

The beauty of the Abyss, its allure of adventure within a nonsensical labyrinth, was perhaps lost upon her, who sought only to wield her blade and to lose herself in the death-dance. To lose her thoughts before what she sought to achieve clashed once more with her own ideals as a human being.

It was a seductive thing though, the Abyss.

Even if ‘adventure’ was lost to her, ‘battle’ was not. And as the earth around her began to shift, the labyrinth rearranging itself beneath the twinkling rapture of the Perishing Star that crested over the horizon, she could feel it.

Monsters. Drawn to her, and her alone. Motley crews of murderous goblinoids, the entirety of their meagre intelligence driven to violence and plunder. If they had freedom of choice, they would undoubtedly be ‘evil’, but just as animals were driven to predation without burden upon their souls, so too were monsters driven towards the destruction of the creations of the Thousand-Faced Deity.

They would come. She would fight.

Perhaps that is where her solace lied, her identity as a monster slayer.

Or perhaps that is where she would fall further, away from what an Ichor-Blessed ought to be.
_@Estylwen

//Abyss - First Layer

Sebi and Sumiye had opted to relegate themselves to observers for much of their foray into the Abyss. Though "into" still felt a tad exaggerated for how little they plunged thus far. On the First Layer, Sebi could still make out the rim of Oratorio's proper civilization, and questioned at multiple points how it was that anyone would deign to live so precariously close to a nature reserve of flying creatures perfectly capable of ascending up to the levels of buildings above.

The two kitsune followed just behind their more experience trio of adventurers, focusing on taking in the sights. Sumiye leveled no end of questions to Allen, Gam, and Millie about the First Layer, curious of its dangers and curiosities. Despite being surrounded by sheer cliffside and a gray stain of mankind, it felt miraculous that such a place as this 'Abyss' could remain in pristine condition -as wild as any other nowhere Sebi knew of.

The gang of five followed along already worn paths; sometimes upon established stony roads that death-wishing masoners decided was worth their time laying, and others upon not-quite deerpaths long trodden down into dense dirt by the countless adventurers before them. Things appeared to be going well -a chance Sebi and Sumiye continually relished in given their newness- minus infrequent moments that Millie cautioned silence and meekness as dark shapes swooped high overhead. Trouble granted them mercy, but showed no such favor to other divers nearby.

The kitsunes' first true taste of what the Abyss was made of came in the form of a tumult up from a winding cliffside path below their gazes. Their compatriots demeanor shifted to one of caution, and then combativeness as the noise drew closer. What sprinted into their visions first was not a crash of ugly creatures, but a dark-haired girl, frantic, fleeing something else unseen in the trees.

The young lady relayed to them her pursuer's number: eight beasts in all, and accompanied by a 'rider'. Sebi hummed at that word. Were there intelligent things down here in the Abyss? She and her daughter stood cautious of Ananta even as they surmised she was being truthful about her predicament -the shaking in her hands seemed genuine- unsure of what they could trust in this unfamiliar place. There was nothing stopping banditry from flourishing in this place, after all.

What's more, Sebi felt a pang of something familiar in the dark-haired girl.

"I don't suppose they're the sorts of beasts one could outrun or outwit?" Sebi asked Ananta, still hopeful they could avoid falling into combat. Her eyes glanced to the trio she'd originally arrived with, searching for false optimism in their expressions -whatever came out of their mouths, be it bravery or pragmatism, she had no intention on outright trusting.

_@ERode@Kero

The heat, waves lapping at the gravekeep's exposed skin while burning all the rest, a constant motion like waves, like a breeze, like a natural order which was not to be interrupted. Stark shadows were cast by the flames, the crematoriums, turning the half-clothed shapes into mere black shapes in motion, an imitation of a shadow play of such gravity. The canticles and chants seemed to roll and clash against one-another, overlap, overlay. The church was a vast machine, one of immediate motion and structure and method, one of prescribed system and universal application, a devouring thing, a needy thing.

For a moment, he felt small. Heat dashed against his eyes and the gravekeep could near feel his shovel turn red amid the forge-heat, imagined as may be. Such feels were quickly shaken away when he was addressed.

"You appear to not require our services."

"Are you followers of the Flame-Face? Or have you come only to watch our ceremonies?”

Lethe gave to the man a half-bow, studying him for but a moment before speaking. “I am merely a recorder of the dead. We journeyed to this city on a holy mission, to bury the dead and record their deeds that their souls thereafter may be saved in memory. I find the first of my writ to be…difficult to apply, yet seek to at least provide for the second. Tell me, do you record the dead you burn?”

Oratorio - The Abyss
_@ERode

---

She took a breath in.

Now she understood the allure of the Abyss. She, all of a sudden, wasn't in a rush to leave.

Another breath in, feeling the dampness against her skin, the grass under her soles, the faint breeze bringing the scent of flowers.

A deep part of her felt at peace.

So, when the goblinoids found her, it was only in calm eagerness that she met them. They wanted to fight, and she needed this.

A crew of about five goblins in total, raising their spears high, bloodlust dripping off them.

Elys only drew her sword, widened her stance, and waited for the prey to come closer. The largest of the massds started the charge as they surrounded her, lunging forward with his spear. She side-stepped, her sword coming down to slash the spear clean in half. An attack from the right and left. Elys spun on her heel, leaping onto the largest goblin to dodge the spears. Her staff cracked down in a sweep, knocking back the spears. She stepped off the goblin before it could try and shrug her off, embedding her sword in its neck and yanking hard. There was a snap as the blade cut and separated the neck, and the goblin collapsed.

There was an outcry from the goblins surrounding her, satisfying something deep within Elys’ heart. She could see the masses trying to find an opening, using her blind spots. But that was the thing - she had no blind spots. As a spear lunged towards her spinal column, her sword swung behind her, cutting the spear clean in half. Another slash as she spun towards them, and they sustained a deep gash through the chest and belly, causing them to fall.

The remaining masses were starting to hesitate, which she used to her advantage, impaling one while slashing at an another. They collapsed, leaving only one goblin. It was whimpering, turned tail and ran. Elys watched the mass shrink from her ‘view’, and sighed. She wiped her blade off on the grass, and sheathed it.

Her body hummed with adrenaline, feeling much more like itself. Yes. This was normal. This was her life, wasn't it? Killing monsters. This made sense. This was who she was, wasn't it?

But as she stood there, her heart beginning to settle, the answer left her heart hollow.

She was missing something.

But what? What on earth could she be missing? Did the vision she saw really change her so much, and leave her dissatisfied with her life?

Was she meant for something more now?

How did that look like?

What was she to do?

Elys sighed. She plopped down on one knee, looting the corpses she had felled. The small pouches were easy enough to find from running her fingers over the bodies, and she pocketed four. The spears were destroyed for the most part, and she was no good at extracting livers. So, she left the rest and stood.

She had proof of her effort.

But she was still unsatisfied. Why was she called here? Why did she feel so… comfortable here?

So, Elys turned heel, leaving the corpses behind as she ventured deeper into the Abyss as the darkness of the night enveloped her.

---

---

As soon as the woman was out of sight, Theodore half-sat, half-collapsed right onto the floor. “Ahhh, fuuck,” he groaned. He looked up, glaring into the sky as sweat droplets rolled down his neck, back all damp. He breathed in, almost snarling as he did so. He’d never thought himself weak. He’d won against a fucking two century old vampire and all his minions, fuck’s sake. Granted, they’d been half asleep, but still…

To be proven so undeniably wrong in the span of a handful of seconds. It stung. It served to ignite his desire for power even more, and he swore to himself he’d not be beat next time.

As the surge of adrenaline left, he became loose-limbed, feeling almost light headed. The blood loss probably didn’t help it. “Damn, didn’t think I’d need to resort to this,” he muttered. He let his spear and shield clatter to the floor, shifted into a meditative posture, and concentrated. As his breathing and heartbeat slowed, he could almost feel the blood. He willed it to stop pouring out of his body. The wounds he incurred scabbed over, painfully quick. From the hiss Ezra and Maris produced, the same had happened to them.

“Aaalright,” Theodore sighed. He picked up his gear and stood up. “You two, go with the boys, and handle the selling for me. Buy some good shit too, yea?” He patted each on the back. “You know where to meet up.”

With that, he followed Samuel, who took him to a dingy little bar. After the man ordered them drinks, he naturally wanted to know what exactly was on offer.

"Sure." The dhampir drank deeply from the offered drink. It wasn't the best, it wasn't the worst. It sure beat goblin blood, though. "The deal's that, as far as I can tell, I've got a piece of the dead Thousand-Faced God in me. So, to an extent, I 'rule over' a piece of existence. That piece, predictably, is Blood," Theodore flashed his fangs. "I'm not that far off from your regular human or vampire right now, but...Monsters really want to kill me, looks like." He paused to sip at his drink some more.

"Whoever pledges to follow me gets to drink blood safely. As long as we can hunt blooded monsters in the Abyss, that will cut down on supply costs," he summarized what Samuel might have noticed on their delve already. "You've seen I can do some weird stuff here and there," he traced one of his recently-healed wounds; when he'd performed a miracle after the fight, they'd scabbed right over. The same had happened to his two followers, and if any strangers nearby had had an injury, they'd have experienced this too.

"Now, there's a reason why that sword-lunatic wanted to cut me down too." He sighed, and drank another mouthful. "When I and my followers spend time in the Abyss, we get this sort of...energy. The more of us there are, the longer we live through that hellhole, the more of it I get. Seems like I - and any other Divine, and maybe the monsters - are the only ones who can sense this. I'll need a bunch more of this power, then I'll be able to do more, become stronger. And whatever benefits me, benefits my followers, is the general gist of it."

"And those pledges...they basically about as much as any other religious nutjob in this age? Just gotta say it in order to be one?"

"Hmm..." Theodore took a moment to think about it. "The other guys, they haven't really made official pledges per se." Maybe he should create one down the line though. "So, it's partially based on intent, but the intent can be as vague as 'I'll see what this guy's about' on your side. I also have to recognize you as a follower, but as far as I'm concerned that's just a matter of following some simple rules." He gave Samuel a look. The guy struck him as pragmatic, so he figured he'd understand that much.

"One: follow me, not anyone else. If you ever feel like ditching I'd appreciate a heads up, too." Obviously, letting him know would be optional. With the existence of other Divine, it was more than possible for a follower to switch leaders. Something to keep in mind, for sure.

"Two: Don't ever even think about drinking any person's blood without my permission. I don't care if it's a vagrant nobody would miss, or someone you seduce, or someone you pay for it. Don't do it without consulting me, seriously." At the very least until he trusted Sam a bit more. But even then, it was often more trouble than it was worth. Simpler to stick to animals and monster.

"Three: Don't go looking for trouble, but if something happens, whether it was your fault or someone else's, you inform me. Then we can deal with whatever it is." He smirked as he gave a light shrug. "Basically, don't do anything outrageously stupid, and we should be fine." His smile gained an edge to it as he showcased his fangs again. "I reward loyalty and usefulness, and I punish betrayal, maliciousness, and unconscionable foolishness."

"Reasonable enough." Samuel folded his arms. "So, you basically harvest that 'energy' from the Abyss, and your followers can gather it for you. With that in mind then...let's say every fella in my expedition becomes your follower. Gets you that 'energy'. What do I, being the one who gathers 'em up for you, who protects 'em until they get out of the Abyss, get in return?"

He leaned forward.

"Only the starving'll be interested in drinking monster blood. For folks like me, well, I'd want something else."

Theodore raised an eyebrow, amused. "I don't mind gathering up my own followers." The starving wasn't a bad suggestion; getting desperate souls from the Underpass onboard would be doable. Though, there'd be little point if they just died off soon after, so getting Samuel's men was preferable. "I intended for you to still get your protection fee," he shrugged. "But if you're saying the potential for more money isn't enough..." the dhampir grinned. "Well, more power for me means more of it for you. I'll get to a point where it won't be just 'drinking blood', though I can't say what else it'll be. I expect I could even actively share some once I've enough." That was a guess on his part; he figured maybe he'd eventually also be able to do something himself by manipulating that energy. What that 'something' was, only time would reveal.

"Mhm, well, there's the other thing to consider here." Samuel said, scratching his chin. "Seeing that you need to be alive for this arrangement to work, is there even any reason for you to come down to the Abyss? My boys and I can handle monsters just fine, least normally, but the Abyss isn't a normal kinda place. If you're here to spark up a new faith and all, better not risk your neck, if you know what I mean."

"Hmmm, fair point." Theodore leaned his head on an open palm. He had never considered not delving. He didn't think the strong urge to explore deeper was something he could - or wanted to - resist. "As long as me attracting monsters is useful, I do need to be down there. I need to be there," he emphasized. Without the appropriate context, it was perhaps a strange notion to Samuel, so he rephrased. "At the very least, I'd like to know what kinda place the Abyss is by seeing it myself, but..." he grimaced. "I do need to get stronger if I wanna hang out down there, and not just from the," he waved a hand, "mystical end."

"What, you want to go deeper? Beyond the First Layer?"

Theodore gave the man an unusually solemn nod. "Yes. As deep as it goes. Into the core, unto the end, to The Final Layer - eventually."

He whistled. "Welp, guess you ain't holy until you're crazy. I'll keep on the First Layer myself. Don't expect me to guard you against the swarms that'll come over in the deeper layers."

Theo chuckled. "Fair enough. I won't think about going deeper as long as I've trouble on the First Layer, either. So, deal?"

"Yeah."

Samuel stuck a hand out.

"Here's to a profitable relationship, Theo."

The dhampir reached out and shook it. "To a lucrative alliance," he agreed.

"The Black Ledger."

The man nodded, but only in understanding.

"Those who bring such bodies, their family or their companions, remember such deeds. As for us, Flame grants purification so that an unshackled soul may rejoin the cycle without regret."

The gravekeep stared for but a moment, nodding when he was finished with such brief internal deliberations. It was clear, to some degree or another, how such an order - the believers of the Flame-Face - treated with death. They saw it as another part of their cycle, a cycle of souls from one life to another to another. They saw souls as malleable, that they would come back into life after a moment in the black sea beyond. He had not considered this, for souls had always seemed evidently abounding in that sea beyond. It did not seem that the soul of a screaming hellion might find themselves transformed from one state to another, to that of a peaceful being, yet then again they had passed through the veil of the most severe transformation of all, that of death.

And yet, it did not seen to change his holy writ. The recording of those who had passed was a holy mission by its association with those who were living, those who would read the names and the deeds and be able to know again the dead. Thus would the soul be kept and saved, not forced to be left abandoned in the sea beyond.

"Who writes in the Black Ledger? What do they record?"

“Of its record, one takes the name and the dates, the cause and perhaps their occupation.” He peered closer towards Lethe. “Are you not of that flock? Few concern themselves otherwise, except those personally involved.”

"I am a recorder of the dead. My ledger is my own. In recording those who have passed, their souls are preserved and protected from oblivion, and the living profit by knowing those who have come before. This is what I have held for truth. Should you be correct, or should I, it does not alter the impact of the record. Do those who so record in your Black Ledger want for aid in their holy task?"

"Curious."

The older man folded his arms.

"The Black Ledger is a denomination separate from this Mausoleum, though their work finds greater purchase with those who have lineages storied or wealthy." He gestured at Lethe's appearance. "If you wish to join them, they can be found in the Royal Road...though I suppose their practice is not one that aligns well with your faith."

A slow cock of the head followed, questioning, contemplating, marionette-like almost. That the older man did not comment on the clashes of his own reasoning with the gravekeep, yet felt the need to do so when comparing the man with the Black Ledger, was something of an insinuation which he did not enjoy. "Why so?"

"Their's is a belief that there are lesser and greater lives. Through records, legends past dwell within the present, while the chaff are scattered and left behind."

A quirking of the lips. The flames consign all to equal oblivion, whilst the ledger separates those with pasts forgotten and pasts treasured.

"You don't strike me as the type to extoll the virtues of an unbroken lineage, though your work resembles theirs."

A snort came as the response, a mouth wry with the sour thoughts that came from such blasphemous statements. The Black Ledger truly did not sound like an institution which would agree with the gravekeep. "All souls have worth. Those who could accomplish greatness have been snuffed away in childhood while those who do not stretch their lives away. I make no judgements to the dead, only service so that they may be spared oblivion."

He paused, considering. "Would the Flame-Face give men toil? Would it patron a ledger in exchange for men at the fire?"

"We worship but differing Faces of the same Deity, who dwells amongst us even past their demise. So long as your labour is honest, I've no reason to refuse you and yours. Mind that the pages don't burn though."

A day and a night had passed, just like that.

…

Talia woke up once she could no longer ignore the snoring of her merry band of thieves. Pickings were slim in the Outer Layer when it came to thievery; the best her men had done was steal from the wretched and the poor, when it came down to it. A redistribution of assets was a kind way of thinking about it, but on the other hand, it was a far cry from the sort of thievery she had engaged in before.

A bright new day awaited her, however. She smelled about as rancid as her surroundings, but her pockets were a bit heavier. She still had no real power, but that halfling was a useful piece. Everything remained in flex for the Queen of Thieves, but what of it?

The future, after all, was a coin, forever spinning.

It was her task to grasp and place it on whichever face she desired.

…

The atelier served as a good enough hideout, but only for the time being. Sleep had came fitfully for Meisa, even with Firenze standing guard. Her clash with the patrol from the Blackhand Butchers hadn’t caused any immediate ripples the day prior, but now? There was no way that the leader of that gang hadn’t heard, and if her Paladin’s dispatch of five of those men hadn’t inspired any real confidence amongst the merchants, they weren’t dealing with just a bunch of hoodlums with hatchets. It was a stroke of divinity and fortune though, that she had managed to convince a few of the merchants present to assist her in funding, if nothing else, but the fact-of-the-matter was that she had far too little time to prepare.

She had access to funds, but did not have it with her on hand. She needed adventurers or mercenaries, but she knew not who would be trustworthy. Camille’s atelier was a wonderful place, compared to what she saw of the inns in the Outer Layer, but even though the young artist could secure the doors and windows, it was all still so flammable. Today, undoubtedly, would be a decisive day.

Meisa, after all, would have to prove that Civilization could overcome crime, or her support would vanish like the morning dew upon the windowsill.

…

It was Flame-Warden O’see who roused Lethe and his followers in the morning from the communal sleeping chambers within the Ever-Burning Mausoleum. It was strange, how quickly they had acclimated to the constant dry warmth, but their faces and lips felt cracked regardless, and they could see that many of the other adherents slathering oils or butter over their skin. Coin could be earned here though, so long as they sought to toil, but that didn’t mean that they were bound to the Mausoleum either. O’see had told them after showing them around the various crematories that they were free to work for food and board, but that they weren’t bound to it either.

Whether Lethe sought work that aligned closer to his duty or settled into the role of one who swept and divided ashes was up to him. He too felt the pull of the Abyss in the same way as any other Ichor-Blessed, but his faith held strong against the impulse to descend still.

…

Theo could be nothing but optimistic.

After all, once he set everything down and counted it out, between himself, Maris, and Ezra, they had made more than triple the amount of money that Arnfinn, Sana, and Jaxon had. Their wounds hadn’t fully healed, of course, but their relationship with Samuel meant that they were only in an even better position to make money.

And there was the matter of Ichor too. Could there be any other Ichor-Blessed in Oratorio who was in a better position than the Domain of Blood to take in the Ichor of the Abyss? To grant the destitute miners of the city his blessing, to allow them to gorge their fill upon what would otherwise be entirely unpalatable, to obtain tons of that Divinity-fuelling substance through it!

Day was bright, his ambitions, brighter.

Perhaps by the end of it, that psychotic swordswoman would be mundane compared to him.

…

There was nothing but mundanity that awaited Cantor when he roused. Little had changed after an evening’s rest, after all. The weight of Ordo Benevolence’s debts was a yoke around his neck, while the work that would await him in the noon was thankless and gave the church only a pittance. There had to be other ways of making money, and there were, but such things would have to be done separate from his religious duties.

He had promised a walk with Sister Laina though. Whatever anxiety he held in the future would wait until after he got a lay of the land.

…

Elys herself understood now, just little it counted to get a lay of the land beneath. Her sword was chipped and bent in far too many places by the time the sun rose. No wonder Oratorio could expand without thought. No wonder adventurers would continue to come into the city, and find monsters, adventure, waiting for them.

The monsters were alive, but they were only offshoots of the living, breathing thing that was the Abyss.

She had witnessed it herself, after all, once the darkness fell and the Perishing Star rose, once the ground beneath her twisted and churned, rearranging itself in such a way that while the biome of a high-altitude mountain plateau was maintained, everything that could have been used as a landmark had shifted away, peeling into something…unnatural.

And the attacks had been endless too, sporadic waves that eluded any attempts to sleep. The swordswoman had tried to maintain her blade, of course, but the wolves howled on, the goblins crawling out from holes in the ground. The ogres and orcs emerged from the white fog, and she had almost lost her shoulder to the death-dive of a vulture.

It was nothing like her work as a monster slayer, and when she finally managed to secure a lift out of the Abyss, her limbs were leaden weights, her sword in such a state it could no longer be sheathed in her scabbard.

But she had gained much too. Had obtained that same ‘substance’ that she had sensed in the bloodied presence, and knew too why he possessed more than she had.

All her strength did not remove the necessity for followers.

If Elys did not find those willing to follow the Void, she would never do more than scratch at the surface of the Abyss.

…

As for Time? Time was running out, at a steady pace that could not be escaped.

As for Light? Daylight offered new opportunities, but also chance enough to revisit previous ones.

Oratorio - The Adventurer's District
_@ERode

---

To say she was exhausted was an understatement.

Her knees trembled under weight. Her eyes, though they could not ‘see’, bore the burden of sleep deprivation. Her sword dragged behind her as she shuffled into the streets of the Adventurer's District starting a new day.

In her other hand she carried her spoils. The Night in the Abyss had exhausted her, but it had also answered a lot of her questions. What she was meant to be doing in this city, and the best way to go about it.

She could feel the substance the Abyss gifted her, but her loneliness made it dispute, stick to her less. She needed people to believe in her. In her cause. In her dream.

She could do that.

But first, she had to repair her sword. And in order to repair her sword, she needed money.

It was time to sell her loot.

Her exhaustion, however, made her lightheaded. She needed rest. Elys pictured her day in taking care of her finances in this district, and making her way to the Bladerights by sundown for a meal and rest. If she had it in her, she'd spar with the students in the evening.

With her mind made up, Elys moved past the large masses of buildings, listening for the shouting of a merchant who would be interested in buying her loot for a fair price.

---

---

After Theodore’s discussion with Samuel concluded, they each went separate ways. Theo didn’t bother asking the man where he stayed; when it was time to find each other, he was confident they could do so.

The walk across the darkening city was surprisingly pleasant. Sure, part of it was the pleasure of having made a good deal. But even tired as he was, he’d always had a special fondness for the night. The stars could be seen faintly, far, far above. Had it really been from somewhere up there where the Perishing Star had descended from to slay the Thousand-Faced God?

Even those who had lived at the time gave no clear account of what had happened. Perhaps, it had been beyond mortal comprehension. After all, how could godhood or god-slaying feats be perceived or understood by mere mortals?

It did beg the question, however, whether the Perishing Star was a deity, or an anti-thesis thereof. No one worshipped it, not as far as he knew. Was it even a being, an entity in any comprehensible manner? Well, the Thousand-Faced had not necessarily been such. Yet, the god’s death had brough doom and ruin upon them. They had lost the divine, yet had gained magic.

Was magic merely the natural result of the god’s death, a concentrated blessing dispersing into a myriad of infinitesimal pieces available to any and all who but strived to harness that potential? But if it was that, wouldn’t have monsters been attracted to any mage adventurers? He’d heard of no such thing.

It was a mystery.

The monsters. The Abyss. The inexplicable draw he felt to descend into the very depths.

There’d been that one moment when Theodore had stared down, and wanted to jump,
Was it a premonition of things to come? Was death an inevitability? Would attaining godhood inevitably lead to him abandoning who he was, his self, his very soul?

All of that was an unknown. Whatever came, however, the urge persisted.

It stayed with him well into the new day. It would be a constant, until he died – whether that death be literal or metaphorical.

He and his followers had met up at the tower. He’d retained his spear and shield, but the others had sold their loot or else had brought their earnings. Through the night, each of them kept a portion of their earnings; one of the preventions against getting robbed.

They’d found a shabby, run-down inn. The rooms were cramped and unsanitary, and the other guests within surly or loud or too drunk to do much other than stumble around. The proprietors didn’t seem to care – as long as the minimal fee was paid, it was all good in their book. Honestly, the lodging were barely a notch above the stables. In the morning, Theo questioned if even that assessment had been correct; he was fairly certain he’d got a rash or two from bed bugs.

After a cheap, oily breakfast, Theo decided getting a decent bath was in order. Apparently, there were communal washing facilities available. The group got cleaned, then they all headed to the markets together for a shopping trip.

Arnfinn was clinging to him. “Will you get hurt again today?” he asked quietly.

“Hmm, well,” the dhampir absent-mindedly patted the boy's head. “This is why we’re getting some gear now. That’ll help me not get hurt, or get hurt less, at least.”

The cambion pouted. “I don’t like you being hurt.”

Theodore chuckled. “I know, I know. I’ll get stronger, though. Strong enough not to get hurt.” That was a promise to himself as much as it was to Arnfinn. His first day had been successful, and he was buoyantly riding the winds of good fortune. However, the previous day had had its own striking revelation.

There were other people like him out there. People like the blindfolded swordswoman. He’d warned his other followers of her. Until he had other recourses, encounters with her were preferably to be avoided.

But he couldn’t run forever. He needed power. Whether it be equipment, training, the fragments of divinity gathered from the Abyss…He’d get it all.

First order of things, however, was buying some adventuring equipment and supplies.