//A6 - Somewhere in the Adventurer's District

For a first foray into the Abyss, Sebi and Sumiye felt rather proud of themselves. They weren't dead -foremost on their minds- and they got a taste of the danger latent within. Neither quite felt like adventurers yet, but having gone through the ordeal they certainly felt like they'd earned some sort of stripes, however faint. After ascending back to the edge of Oratorio, their trio of colorful friends and one Ananta in tow and similarly intact, Sebi inquired about shelter with Allen. She and Sumiye were, of course, still homeless in the city, and she'd only agreed to venture with the fellow fox on the condition that she get more than just a scare out of it -whether she said so vocally or not. Wherever it was that Allen, Gam, and Millie themselves were staying, Sebi would follow. Tired and somewhat shaken, she couldn't muster the will to complain, even if it was a shack they led her to.

Come morning, Sebi awoke to her first sunrise in Oratorio and stretched the aches from her body. Youthful as she was outwardly, Sebi was still nearing forty, and no amount of pretty smiling could save her from being plainly tired. Leaving Sumiye to enjoy some additional rest, Sebi waited in whatever fashion and in whichever place for at least one of the other adventurers in her party to awake as well. She had no shortage of questions, and little intention of simply playing one of two mages to the group of five indefinitely. She needed to know what this all meant, and where it would go.

The next -or any number of them, really- to awaken or preempt Sebi were met with a sauntering woman and her light smile. She sat herself nearby, greeted, and wasted little time.

"The three of you... How much experience do you have, anyways, with adventuring?" she asked to whoever would lend her an ear. "While yesterday was... exhilarating, I still find myself a tad aimless I must admit. I'd not come to Oratorio for adventuring, per se, though I do not shirk it. What is it you're all seeking? Riches? Fame? To test yourselves, maybe?" she asked with a sly expression.

@ERode

---

It was a good night sleep for Cantor. No dreams. An overall pleasant sleep in an unfamiliar environment. Perhaps that is why he was the latter of the two. He exchanges a few pleasant lines with his roommate, an older face of the Ordo. 3 years older than him. Brother Othello. He has a lovely beard and a kind complexion. But a man with few words. The morning was to be taken care of in the mesh hall, where members shared communal meals together. Today, they have beet soup. Not all partake in the morning meal, though, as some followed a different scripture, which required a different time for breakfast. Or they might not have a morning meal altogether. This would then be followed by a small prayer where various acolyte gathers around and pray.

All of this was finished before 8.

Cantor now waits at his table, waiting for Sister Laina to grab him as instructed. Around him, others start to perform their daily routine. Most do embalming with various substances. However, some particularly well-gifted use magic of some sort to mask the damage done to their bodies. They were not as skilled as he imagined a mage to be. But then he remembered that Ordo Benevolence is a church that is being robbed by the landlord. Which is precisely the reason why he wants to do some exploration. The plan is to travel around the Adventuring Circle to take note of the prices of equipment and, more importantly, how to make money fast.

He asked his Head Priest to be here. It would be a shame if his on-paper "sole reason" being here got burned down because of overdue rent.

In some ways, the desire had haunted the gravekeep as he had slumbered. The reason for his journey to the central city, the city with the Abyss at its heart, had been one easily enough thought through when he had not yet been there, but now that he was there, he could not deny that some part of the soul yearned for that Abyss. Some part wanted to see what was there, what others had left behind, what others had searched for and failed to find, searched for and failed to bring, or had simply…failed to come back. The hole there shifted eternally, broken eternally, and yet some slight portion of the gravekeep’s soul yearned to see the whole of that place.

Some part of the soul wanted to go there, some part that would not be satisfied by the tales of others. He wanted to go out, in any case, and the reason for such could be easily thought through and reasoned through by simple methods. The gravekeep wanted to get away from the heat of the mausoleum, the heat of the fires that seemed to permeate any and all. He had kept true to his word, though, true enough that he had not allowed the embers to touch his tome, true enough that he would leave some of his faithful at the mausoleum to pay for a place to sleep, to eat, should the other methods fail. Three men he left behind to work those fires, to perhaps speak to others should they find time to breathe, to perhaps convert some few others. It was a slight hope, and one that carried the risks inherent in those of one faith speaking to those of another, yet was a hope nonetheless.

He and the other two, however, made their way to the edge of the Abyss, to the land where men who ventured there gathered. In one occasion, the gravekeep thought that they might find a group to work alongside, yet on another…perhaps a group that would give them a distraction, a pause enough in the treading of monsters there by the clamor of the group. Perhaps, perhaps. He would need to see something or another there.

🎕 Talia of Roses 🎕

//O11 - Deserted Backstreets

The renovations had went well. Rather, as well as they could go for a group with no capital. The room was rearranged to be more suitable as a hideaway. The merry men were all given enough room to sleep. Talia had performed a blessing to guard the room. It was a strange miracle: one of perverse slight of hand and illusion meant to deceive. If someone had approached from the outside, then they simply wouldn't notice the door. It wouldn't be of mind. The inside of the room was coated in the same illusion. Unless someone overturned everything and happened upon the valuables (though they didn't have many), they wouldn't notice the obvious hiding spaces.

All things considered, it was an unfortunate state of affairs. The capital they had wasn't much. She didn't have any plans to call upon Lastor and his goons. Worst of all, Talia smelled like the city. Her past clawed at her. She had to remove every ounce of smell. Back at the bordello, she would ensure that the salt breeze never lingered on her skin. Flowers, tallow, and ash were all used generously--one of the few pleasantries she had. But now there was only the scent of muck and waste, trademarks of the city.

That meant that she needed to find a place to wash. Of course, her men could fend for themselves. She wasn't their mother. But she needed to get the smell of the city off of her. It was a futile effort sure to be replaced the next day, but it was something ingrained into her. A bathhouse or even a well would suffice.

And then there was the deep call that her heart longed for. The thieves lacked the equipment to brave the abyss, nor did they have the skill and aptitude to steal her desires from others. But that would come later. First, a bath.

//A7 - Encounter at the Crossroads
It didn’t take much waiting for Sister Laina to emerge, dressed in common clothing rather than the vestments of the acolytes. A brimmed hat sat firmly upon her head, while her drab-colored tunic and pants, when combined with her already-bony frame, gave the woman a boyish look. She nodded towards Cantor, then set off, expecting him to follow her.

Immediately outside the Ordo Benevolence were buildings abandoned or under reconstruction, planks and boards sealing up what once would have been doors or windows. It was a quiet place though, tucked away against the wall of the Royal Road and distant enough from the open squares or the rowdy taverns that only adventurers who wanted to try a stint at squatting would be. You didn’t approach the Ordo Benevolence without a specific purpose, but looking at the white plumes of smoke that rose in the distance, perhaps it was because of the respectful solitude the Church found itself ensconced in that few cared about the place.

Quietude faded though, as distance was made, and soon enough, others strode upon paths of cobbled stone. It was morning still, too early for outer city merchants to have arrived, too early for anyone but the breadmakers to have stock out, too early for most adventurers to bother shaking off their hangover and roll out of their bed. But it was morning already, and the faithful rose as the Perishing Star fell.

Lethe, indeed, strode towards those grand walls that hid the scar left by the godslayer, and in doing so, felt the presence of kin. It was no particular pull, no significant compulsion, only a split recognition that the taller of the two beardless men who walked upon the same road he did was…

If there were indeed one thousand faces upon the Deity they worshiped, then the two may yet be similar in form.
_{@Thayr@Shovel}

---

//A3 - The Plaza at Morning
It had been a bounty, but the bounty was now just a burden, a bloody burden that left a trail of blood in her wake, as assuredly as the blood and viscera that had soaked her own clothes. Elys’s dark clothes had been a practical choice, but that only redeemed her in the eyes of others, not in their noses; her Divine Protection could not make out the details upon the masses that she sensed, but she had heard the sniff of disgust from one of the guards as she stepped out of the cage, carrying her spoils.

It was understandable, of course. She had been a monster slayer, but the monsters she had slain in the past were limited in number. Perhaps it was clearing out a den of goblins. Perhaps it was dealing with a troll by a river. Perhaps it was cutting down a carrot with furry legs. The hunt, the anticipation, had taken time. The draw of the blade, the intensity of combat though? Elys had trained for the intensity of fighting off hordes and waves, but she had never been tested.

Not until last night.

But she survived the night, and now, she could smell the bread that was being baked too, could hear the rasping of coals rousing the forge. Elys, indeed, would now have an opportunity to reap her reward.

There too, was the possibility of reaping what she sowed.

Theo smelled the blood that clung to her, but it was easier to simply spot her due to the flies that her grisly bounty had attracted. From a distance beyond what her own senses, worn down from sleep deprivation and combat fatigue, could alert her to, the Ichor-Blessed of Blood could spy that paradoxical, bipolar woman trudging along.

She had headed into the Abyss through the same entrance he had. He had stayed in the same district afterwards. And now, both of them looked to obtain better armaments for the purposes of challenging the Abyss and their fellow godlings.

Destiny entwined them.

But it was his choice whether to follow it, oppose it, or sever it.
_{@SilverPaw@Estylwen}

---

//A6 - The Stables of an Unknown Inn
When day broke, Sebi found herself in an empty stall of an inn’s stables, the place smelling of animal musk and manure. Certainly, the sleep had been rough, but her exhaustion when it came to sheer number of monsters that descended upon her within the Abyss had made the sleep deep and heavy. Even now, gravity itself seemed to be pulling her to sit, perhaps, or to lay down once more. And that had just been one night on the First Layer of the Abyss.

Whatever her future plans were, actively participating in adventuring would prove to be problematic.

Her companions though, a good twenty years younger than her, still had the energy of youth to keep them perky in the morning. Stepping outside of the stables, Sebi found Allen, the foxboy, seated on a stump as Millie pulled and brushed the straw out of his hair and tail.

“Good morning Miss Sebi,” Allen said, smiling brightly before letting out a wide yawn.

“Gam’s out to buy bread.” Millie considered the state of her companion’s tail, then smacked the cheap brush clean of straw before offering it to Sebi. “You’ve got a bunch too.”

The Ichor-Blessed of Light, of course, brought whatever pleasant chitchat to a halt with her relatively straightforward maneuvering of the conversation, causing both of the young adventurers to give pause.

“Does that mean, uh, that you’d rather not adventure with us? What about Miss Sumiye? Did she already leave?” Allen’s expression was already souring, prompting the porter to smack him on the head.

“We don’t have more than a week’s worth of experience,” Millie said. “And this one here’s just there to be a hero. For me though, heard that you can start making real money once you get to the Second Layer. A lot more and a lot faster than if you apprenticed and all.”

She paused, briefly.

“Needless to say, you could probably fetch yourself a better party, going by how yesterday went.”
_@Asuras

---

//O11 - Communal Wel
Life, after all, couldn’t exist without drinkable water, and the slums were congested with the destitute living, not the decaying dead. Stepping out from the slumlord’s property, it didn’t take too much effort for the Backstreet Queen to locate a communal well in the Outer Layer. It was a shoddy thing, the frame that allowed the bucket to be pulled definitely having seen better days, but it was nevertheless an oasis, a meeting place for the flint-eyed residents of the surrounding quarters to trade gossip, complain about those who weren’t present, and do their laundry. Drinking such well water would probably be fatal, but there was a trough close by where buckets were upended and the clearer surface water could be skimmed to wash one’s face or hands.

Adventurers, of course, were present too. There were plenty of parties who generated less income in the Outer Layer, those who made enough to worry too much about nighttime robberies if they slept in the stables but who didn’t make enough to afford an inn proper in the Adventurer’s District. A strapping young orc lad was hauling up buckets of water for the women of the district, getting calls of appreciation and the occasional slap on the ass as he did so, while his companions huddled about trying to scrub the blood off their clothes. Prostitutes from nearby brothels were in full force as well, cleaning out the crustiness of their bedsheets and sharing slivers of soap with others in the well-community that they recognized. Bare-faced though they were, there were still hints of who they once were before the wear-and-tear of the business got to them.

There was a well, and there were people.

If she had nothing else, Talia could wash up with relative ease. But perhaps there was opportunity here for some ‘missionary’ work?
_@OwO

---

"A quaint place for such a bustling city," Cantor comments as Laina introduces him to the history of the surrounding area. Some buildings are vacant, while others are in the process of renovation. They slowly made their way to the grand wall surrounding the supposedly "opening" of the Abyss. From there, they will travel along the wall's perimeter to reach other sections of the Oratorio. The cobbled road was not crowded, but people did seem to give way for a member of the Ordo. More out of respect than actual authorities the acolytes possess. Although some do furrow their brow when they see Cantor's acolyte robe. Anyhow, the pair trailed along the wall. Sister Laina mainly does the speaking, and Cantor does the listening. But every so often, he would point at a building and ask for its purpose. Some are just abandoned. Others are warehouses and taverns. Even one supposedly to be a blacksmithing of sorts. He wondered how the city would look like from above. But alas, they continued their travel.

And then, his ichor tugged at him. Like a soft ping that went off in his head, it was sudden and left as quickly as it came.

He locked eyes with another trio of travelers on the road. Their leader seemed to be a man with cold features. They all carried duffle bags and rucksacks filled to the brim. Adventurers, perhaps? To reassure himself of the pinged sensation, Cantor approached the traveling trio and introduced himself.

"Good day to you. I am Acolyte Cantor of Ordo Benevolence. Would you mind if I ask you some questions?" He extends his hand to their leader.

---

---

Theodore had put the swordswoman so far out of his mind that he was genuinely taken aback to see her. He’d noticed the stench first; the accumulated monster blood and viscera. The buzzing of flies drew him closer, and then there was that sensation of another Ichor Blessed. She’d gained some energy for herself now, and it was a strange thing – it still felt like absence, yet clearly, she had something. It was like staring into a gaping maw, a never-ending hunger driving it to consume any and all who would dare approach. Similar to the Abyss, in a way.

Was that her domain? Greed? Absence? The anti-thesis of being; nonexistence? He wasn’t certain. He wasn’t, but he was attracted and repelled to it in equal measure.

When he finally saw her, all miserable and beaten down, fatigued and unaware, as feeble as a nearly dead prey–
He hissed on an inhale and stopped in his tracks.

The surge of wrath and retributive desire was swift, powerful, and blinding; it was as if a surge of lightning had struck him that very moment.

Theo narrowed his eyes at the woman, bloody fantasies plaguing his mind. He could cut her down now, he could have her at her mercy, he could humiliate her.

How easy it would be, to surround her and beat the rest of her measly life force out of her. How simple, to pass by and run his spear through her, leaving her for dead. Perhaps even tripping her would suffice, and she’d meet her end in an ‘accident’, an unfortunate soul who’d fallen into a ditch and broken her neck after she’d chewed off too large of a chunk of the Abyss than she could handle.

Then, there was a second desire, the inverse of his first one, and nearly as strong.

He was tempted to simply meld into the crowds, disappear, and let this one meeting never come to fruition without her being the wiser. Why would he bother interacting with her at all? Why should he pay her any mind, when she was so downtrodden? Surely, he had already surpassed her?

But no.

That would be running away.

Her first run might have been tough, but who knew how the next ones would go?

He could become villainous enough to murder her in plain sight, but what would he gain? A small amount of Ichor and resources, in exchange for infamy?

Clenching his hands, straightening up, a blaze of fury brightening his crimson irises, he strode up right to her. “Hello, there,” he greeted a beat before reaching for her shoulder. His hold was firm, and he pulled lightly, urging her to turn around. Just in case she still had her reflexes, he was prepared to avoid any potential reflexive attacks on her part.

His followers were right by him, merely watching. Some were cautious, even spooked; the doctor and the child both looking at the blindfolded woman as if she were a fairytale monster manifest. Maris and Ezra were both tense, though they both oozed a particular smugness and sense of superiority. Sana appeared mostly neutral, if somewhat disapproving.

“You found it, didn’t you?” he asked rhetorically. His voice held a clear spark of anger; challenge, even. She couldn’t see him in the physical sense, but he stared right where he expected her eyes to be located underneath the blindfold. “Remember,” he demanded. “Remember who helped you.” He stared her down, studying her tired figure. She might be too out of it to appreciate subtle implications, so he’d spell it out for her. “You know I could have attacked you now as you’d done when you first met me. You know what would happen if I did, don’t you?” Know that I spared you. Know that I was merciful. “Remember that. If you have any honour,” he spat, finding it difficult to believe that she might, “you will find a way to repay me.”

He gave her the chance to respond, if she would, exhausted as she was.

But he did not expect the conversation to be long, if there even would be one. After their second meeting, he’d withdraw into the crowds, and continue with his plans – a shopping trip would be just the thing to clear his head.

Oratorio - The Adventurer's District, //A3
_@SilverPaw

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---

---

Her exhaustion had gotten the better of her. She had inherently kept all her remaining attention on the sounds around her, avoiding the masses that moved around her in the city that stirred in the morning - that she had failed to detect one of those masses, crimson-stained, was headed directly for her. It wasn’t until she felt a light touch on her shoulder that she was alerted, and by that time, it was far too late.

She could ‘see’ them. The crimson flame was surrounded by masses that stuck idly by him. Friends? Followers?

“Hello, there,”

“Last time someone thought to put a hand on me, they lost it in one clean sweep,” Elys growled, hand holding her battered sword twitching. Her chin jerked sharply to his hand. “Remove it.”

“You know I could have attacked you now as you’d done when you first met me. You know what would happen if I did, don’t you?”

That’s when Elys paled under her blindfold. The masses attentive to the crimson flame seemed a touch more ominous in their presence now. How many were there… four, five? Too many to take on with her bare fists. Even too many with her staff, wedged in her other grip around the loot she held.

She couldn’t fight with a broken sword.

He knew that.

And he was furious.

Almost immediately, her heart sunk a little, trepidation pooling in her veins. But she refused to bow her head, staring aloofly at where she assumed the crimson flame’s eyes were.

“Remember that. If you have any honour, you will find a way to repay me.”

“Repay you?!” Elys hissed. There was no way she would do anything of the sort. It was only her in the vision ascending the stairs, no one else. To even consider another Ichor-blessed as a friend, or even in non-hostility, was blasphemy.

“We don’t have that luxury. Surely you, of all people, would know this.” She said, biting down on her tongue before she said anything further. She was at a severe disadvantage. She needed her sword fixed, among a growing list of extreme necessities, in order to survive.

Right now, she could hardly defend herself.

But perhaps it was for the best that she didn’t have her sword, torn as she was about the reality of being an Ichor-blessed. Torn over having to end the others in order to survive.

Abruptly, she turned away. “I wish to be left alone.”

He seemed ready to leave anyway, and as she clenched tighter to the sword in her hand, she could only feel a faint sense of humiliation, having to ask for pardon instead of simply taking her leave.

If he left in peace, she would have to hurry. Sell her loot, and head to the Bladerights.

🎕 Talia of Roses 🎕

//O11 - Communal Well

While it wasn't drinkable, the water was--at the very least--not completely foul. It let her wash away the lingering smell of the city and the oil that clung to her skin, at least.

Of course, Talia hadn't merely come to the well to wash up (though it was a large component). Information was as good as gold. Well, it wasn't--it was about as good as the gold you could make off of it. When it came to information, prostitutes were often a core source. While the workers didn't serve a high class clientele, both rich and poor often had loose lips when it came to alcohol.

So she made conversation with those who would listen.

To the adventurers, she spoke about the labyrinth. She had quite a talent for both showing interest in a conversation and playing dumb. In fact, it was quite difficult to tell whether she was playing dumb or actually airheaded. Her bubbly words would disarm any adventurer. Though, perhaps they just took pity on her.

To the prostitutes, she was much more familiar. She spoke more generally about the happenings around the city and the outskirts. What the prostitutes could have heard. It was friendly small talk that was much less dopey--as if to reassure them that she did not wish to encroach on their clientele.

The walk had not been especially long, by all means it hadn’t, and though the day was relatively early the streets already bore far too many people. He couldn’t tell how many yet would die soon, though the gravekeep supposed such might be due to the people, might be due to the fact that most seemed to be far more interested in dying of unnatural causes than the natural ones. Such mercenary souls weren’t long for the world, and they willingly took up the challenge in exchange for the coin or the thrills. His two faithful kept close, close despite their looks saying that few were interested in stealing what meager things the trio had upon them.

And yet…and yet he felt a tug, an entirely different tug. Something…connecting, together, something else. He’d never felt the concept before, that feeling, and it was altogether different to what he had felt of the dead. What was it? There was no specific point to it, no direction, and he could instead perhaps liken the feeling to…the spider at the center of the web, feeling another pluck against the silk. What…was it? The gravekeep couldn’t tell, though as his eyes scanned over the heads of the crowd in wonder a brief pang thundered against his heart and soul at the sight of another.

They seemed like him in a way not physical, not in stance, not in origin. They seemed like him in a way Lethe could not place. Their feet, booted, covered…walking a path. The image of the path came before the gravekeep in a flash. Were they touched as well? It may well be so. He had not met another before. They approached.

"Good day to you. I am Acolyte Cantor of Ordo Benevolence. Would you mind if I ask you some questions?”

He considered them for a moment, and the question, looking down at the man. He didn’t seem to offer up violence to the gravekeep, not at all, but instead seemed to bear a genuine curiosity. Nevertheless, it would not do to become unguarded. It would not do at all. The ghost of a smile yet played about the corners of the tall man’s mouth as he spoke. “I would not, Cantor of the Ordo Benevolence.”

---

The previous evening had been an exercise in a steaming pile of shit. Meisa had navigated the immediate incident with the merchants and the Blackhand Butchers by the skin of her teeth. Firenze was supposed to be there to prevent her from making boneheaded decisions, but the purple-haired woman had too much bloodlust to talk anyone out of a stupid decision if it involved copious amounts of violence.

Her shitty bodyguard spent the entire rest of the night calling Meisa a stupid fucking bitch in the most pleasant terms an elf could offer, too!

Regardless, despite how fucked up the two elves could be, Meisa felt enough responsibility to not get all those merchants ruined or killed. Part of it was the semblance of a conscience lurking under whatever qualified for one in her psyche, and other was simply the fact that not protecting those merchants, and not taking down the shittiest racketeering group that she’d heard of in her entire multiple-hundred year life was counterproductive to her goals to becoming the embodiment of civilization. What kind of shitty goddess of civilization and civility would be so derelict?

Not this lady.

That did put her in a very difficult spot, though. Pissing off some crappy gang was one thing—Meisa and Firenze could hole up in the Atelier, or at worst, in the Abyss proper. She had not forgotten about it, after all. She had barely gotten the merchants’ cooperation, but together, they’d pooled together just enough money to be sufficient to hire a group of adventurer-mercenaries. It wasn’t the best solution—after getting back the house, Camille was helpful enough to inform them that the Blackhands had influence in two whole sectors—but it was a stopgap measure before she could come up with some harebrained scheme to deal with the gang. With that in mind, Meisa was making her way to the Adventurer’s District to hire a group—it remained to be seen how trustworthy they could be, though.

Firenze, on the other hand had her own job to do, and that was to dig up dirt on the Blackhand Butchers to probe them for weakness and information.

//A4 - Harrison's Fjord
Though the adventurers of Oratorio did not belong to a single collective banner, they nevertheless congregated where one expected them to when there was nothing pressing to do. After making it out through the concentrated misery and barbarity of the Underpass, Meisa’s gaze was directed towards the larger dining establishments present in the bustling Adventurer’s District. With bright blue roofing and cedar-red walls, the Harrison’s Fjord looked to be about as promising as any other tavern to stake out adventurers who may be willing to take a day off from treasure-hunting and monster-slaying to do a guard detail instead.

It helped too, that the elven princess hadn’t eaten anything the night before, and the smell of freshly-baked bread and boiling milk was quite enticing for one who had only recently been subsisting off of hardtack and dried meat. The shitshow with the Blackhand Butcher, and Firenze’s own attitude after the fact had made any promise of a well-cooked, well-seasoned dinner off the table. If Meisa didn’t get anything proper to eat, her stomach was liable to collapse upon itself.

But she wasn’t here to fill her stomach, was she?

Pulling open the doors into the tavern, she was greeted with the chatter of adventurers and day labourers, the aroma of cooked food and spilled beer. Conversations of the weather, of the increasing price of delving gear, of a crazed wraith leaving a veritable trail of monster corpses in her wake within the Abyss last night, of someone kicking up the hornet’s nest that was a syndicate, could all be heard through the open, multi-floor space. Fresh-faced adventurers were most liable to talk about themselves, hyping up each other for another day of risking their blood and bones for a pittance, while more experienced delvers sat at tables on the higher floors, watching the happenings with a mixture of nostalgia and superiority.

The Harrison’s Fjord was perhaps at only half-capacity, and the morning crowd, while talkative, hadn’t yet devolved into raucous merriment. But they didn’t have much reason either to heed a single elf walking in, did they?

It was up to Meisa to grab attention, to find trustyworthy and capable sorts.

Or perhaps it was enough just to get impressionable, young cannon fodder, who’d be easily roused to action by stories of injustice and the potential for heroism?
_{@Click This}

---

//A3 - The Plaza at Morning
A poisonous mercy and an infuriating retreat.

The bond between Blood and Void only festered further, but the boils had not yet popped. The first time, Elys had not been able to commit to murder in plain daylight. The second time, Theodore had sought to leverage the mercy he had shown for future gain and had been nakedly refused.

Where would the third encounter land?

Neither Ichor-Blessed knew, but both sought to enrich themselves, knowing that any further weakness could not be afforded.

…

“You want this repaired?”

The portly man examined the blade before him as his apprentices hammered away at horseshoes or raked the coals of the furnace. It was a sorry thing, an old, battered thing. The wrapping was frayed, the edge was chipped in far too many places, the point was blunt, and the blade itself was bent out of shape. That, combined with how cheaply-made the weapon was to begin with, made it clear to any blacksmith with half a mind that the money spent in getting it back to usable shape could’ve just gone to a new sword instead.

But there was something off about the woman before him, stinking of blood and death with a blindfold over her eyes yet a precise understanding of the space around her. He raised the sword up to his eye, looking at what material remained to even work with and frowned further. It had been repaired plenty of times before, an edge coaxed or ground out while more and more material was lost in the process. And every time that happened, it became a touch more fragile in the process.

“Listen, I could take your money and fix it up, but you’re an adventurer, aren’t you? Better to get a new one. Way things go, this one will just keep getting battered up faster and faster until it snaps when you least need it to.” She was a sorry sight, really. Looked like she could hardly stand straight. It made him give an offer knowing fully well he’d be getting nothing out of this. “Sell this one to me and I can knock off some of the cost of a new sword for what scrap metal I can get out of this.”

...

Food, water, blade oils, rope, tonics, blankets, firestarters, tents, leather packs, boots, monster-warding incense, hammers and pitons, knives and axes, there was much that Theodore had to purchase and consider, even without thinking about proper armor and weapons. Plate armor or a sturdy shield could protect him from blade and bite, but the immobility may mean that greater beasts would just crush him flat. Magical implements, especially when one of his followers had been a witch, could offer a source of self-sustained sorcery, but that'd mean he had to procure materials and reagents too. Bows and arrows could protect him from those flying monsters that he thankfully hadn't had to handle before, but every arrow that snapped was value that was lost.

On the other hand though, what of spice bombs or alchemists' fire? Powerful enough to deter monsters when he was in a pinch, and especially useful when he could safely presume that the monsters would be dogging him and his flock in great numbers? Would caltrops or weighted nets accomplish the same? Yesterday had been profitable, and today could be even more profitable if he played his cards right. He hadn't encountered any other Ichor-Blessed within the Abyss as well, and the only other one he knew was utterly alone, a pathetic, deranged lunatic blinded by the dream of divinity...but that didn't mean he could afford to take it easy either.

The Abyss called him to its depths, and she certainly possessed the madness and martial capability that would allow her to plunge into such depths faster than he, even disregarding her fledgling Ichor.

The coins in his pockets felt at once heavy and light as the Ichor-Blessed of Blood strode through the plaza and examined the wares. He could not afford to fail, to falter, to make a bad choice and squander the advantages he currently had.
_{@SilverPaw@Estylwen}

---

//O11 - Communal Well
The adventurers that were present hadn’t really made a mark on the Abyss themselves, but any kind of attention was positive attention for the starved and the incapable. And naturally, the most willing conversationalist that Talia snagged was that bare-chested orc who had taken it onto himself to do all the water-hauling for the neighbourhood, at least so long as his party mates were still trying to make themselves look presentable when they headed to the Adventurer’s District later that morning. He had introduced himself as Rajat Ol’dakka, and answered Talia’s questions to the best of his limited capabilities.

From him, as well as the occasional shouted remark from others nearby, the Queen of Pirate/Thieves could roughly estimate that the First Layer would be safe enough for her men to venture into, so long as they were armed with proper weapons and equipment. That, however, was the catch: weapons and equipment cost money, and maintaining both when one could only venture into the First Layer was almost completely unfeasible. The Second Layer was far more dangerous, however, in that even experienced adventurers could encounter a bad roll of the dice and find themselves in dire straits. Rajat’s own group, indeed, only ventured into the Abyss every other day, forced to make ends meet by taking on odd jobs during their days off as they slowly gathered experience.

He was confident though! Next month, they were going to finally give the Second Layer a shot, and if things went well, they could finally become full time adventurers! Maybe even move out to a small apartment in the Adventurer’s District!

The prostitutes that Talia accosted were fine with shooting the breeze with a new face too, so long as she helped out with their laundry. Though none of them looked as fresh and bountiful as Talia did, they still held the mannerism of those whose work involved seduction and invoking arousal, and as a result, there was a lot that they could say. A lot of it, however, ended up flying over her head. An arrow volley of names and predilections scattered out with no particular rhyme and reason, while there were plenty of good and bad stories to be said about the madams of the three brothels that the prostitutes came from. Still, some factoids and rumors stuck out to her.

Trouble stirred up with the Outer Layer merchants on the other end of the city, something about some precocious girl picking a fight with the gangsters that ran that part of the city. Then there were rumors that the recent deaths in the northern portion of Oratorio were being covered up, perhaps because the perpetrator was some sadistic bastard from the Royal Road. Some hoped that the Bladerights would do something about it, but others shot those hopes down as it wasn’t their territory, so they all ended up just hoping it wouldn’t spread. What was spreading, though, was the prevalence of spicethicket through the homeless of the Outer Layer. No one was quite sure who was manufacturing it, and ordinarily no one would care too much what the impoverished used to take the edge off of their pain, but in this case, the need for the drug had caused an uptick in violence, in the poor metaphorically eating the poor in order to scrounge up the coinage for the next hit.

Though, being the Outer Layer, an uptick in violence didn’t mean too much, so the majority of those that Talia listened to ultimately decided that this too would pass.

That, indeed, seemed like a prevailing attitude towards what happened in Oratorio.

Whether the Ichor-Blessed of Thievery could find any opportunity within what she heard, though, was dependent only on how creative she could get.
_@OwO

Oratorio - //A3 - The Plaza at Morning
_@ERode

---

“Sell this one to me and I can knock off some of the cost of a new sword for what scrap metal I can get out of this.”

Elys leaned on her staff unsteadily as she listened to the blacksmith. She had heard this before. And she knew the blacksmith was right.

“Sorry, sir. You could offer me all the new blades in the world, but I can't part with this one. It’s… well, it’s my late father’s.” She said, her voice dropping a tone.

She could remember the day her father sat her down and patted her knee, speaking softly and very seriously to her.

“Remember, dear, if case anything were to ever happen to your momma and poppa, you mustn’t forget about your inheritance hidden in the shed.”

“But I don’t even know how to use a sword.”

“Don’t worry, dear. Poppa will teach you.”

Alas, the raiders struck their home before he ever had the chance. Everything Elys knew, she had to learn on her own.

She fought her sleep deprivation as she stood on her feet, knowing she still had to make it through the day before she could rest.

“Please, anything you can do for my blade to repair it, I would really appreciate it. I’m willing to pay the price for it.”

She’d wait nearby for it to be repaired, of course. Leaving this district without a working blade was… well, an unwise move, to say the least. Especially when she could feel the Crimson-flame nearby.

🎕 Talia of Roses 🎕

//O11 - Communal Well

Well, conversations were easy. Talia certainly got a good amount of value from what she heard. The basics of the abyss and the current rumours and troubles of the city gave some insight. Though, how much Talia could be involved in them was the question.

However, today Talia was blessed with something she didn't have yesterday: a paltry amount of capital. With some guesstimates, she could presume that venturing into the abyss with her men would cost most of it. Knives and short spears would take a little over half. Supplies would take up the rest. But it was an intriguing option: one that would get her closer to filling the void in her heart.

On the other hand, she could have investigated why a precocious girl was fighting with gangsters. Though, that felt a little too similar to herself. The murders? Well, maybe if she had a little more power, she'd investigate those. As it stood, it would just be like a mouse pondering upon a corpse. And the drugs, she'd be getting way over her head immediately. Or more likely, she'd just find nothing but people who were strung out.

That settled it. She and her thieves would buy up some gear and dive into the abyss. The greed stemming from the mystery box called adventuring loot was too much to ignore.

---

“I would not, Cantor of the Ordo Benevolence.”

He nodded, before asking these questions: "Are you an adventurer? If so, we are willing to trade some coin for some info. Secondly," And he took a step closer [color]"you realized me?"[/color] Like clockwork, that ping happened once again, stronger than all of its previous iterations. He also picked up a peculiar smell from the Ichor Blessed before him. A smell of ashe and smoke. Very strong too, one might add.

Sister Laina pulled up on him, she didn't speak for now. The two members of Ordo Benevolence look curious for the adventure group to respond.

//A6 - Outside an Inn

For all of the effort to bathe herself just twenty-four hours prior, Sebi had already accumulated another layer of dirt and sweat in this tireless city. Not merely did she maintain an ache in her muscles, she couldn't seem to ditch the clawing earth. Adventuring certainly didn't seem kind to her -never mind preferable.

Sebi blinked at the offer of a brush. Were its previous user anyone other than a fellow foxkin she might have recoiled, but here instead she shrugged internally and accepted it. She untied her hair, which was bound by a ribbon and a band, each doing their part to keep her extraordinarily-long locks from touching the ground. She found another stump and sat down to busy herself with getting rid of the straw.

"I think..." Sebi began with a smile, dwelling on wording, "...Were I younger and more experienced already in adventuring, I would continue to join you. Sumiye however..." She cast a glance back towards the corner where her own sleeping stable lie beyond. "She's still quite young, and may be a lot more warm to joining the party proper. Much as I'd be worrying for my daughter having just experienced the only first level, this is what the city is all about, in the end, isn't it?" she asked rhetorically. Sebi continued meticulously brushing her hair.

"For a group with a week's experience, you'd handled yourselves as well as this inexperienced lady could tell. And... we all survived. There's something to be said or that, no? Nevertheless, I can only say I wish you considerable luck if the second layer is what you're after. Do tell me if you ever reach there."

She did believe it, to a certain extent -that the party before her showed promise. She'd yet to hear about statistics, but they were scrappy, had a week on her, and weren't dead or maimed for that matter. Even if their experience was all in running away, that was still a powerful skill. She smiled warmly, sagely.

"No, I think you all show quite the promise I must say. While I cannot join you, I watch and hope for your success. If only because you offered me a hand, however simple, in my struggle here in this new city." A drawn out groan drew Sebi's attention; Sumiye showed, mid-stretch, and greeted the group.

"Quite the day. How often do you all venture down there? It's been so long since I've seen anything like that kind of energy," Sumiye said through a yawn. By comparison to her mother, Sumiye felt groggy, but quickly revitalized. Even a boulder for sleeping could leave her capable of doing it again the next day. Truly the power of being young.

@ERode

//A6 - Outside an Inn
“I wouldn’t say that,” Millie said. She rotated her right foot, still recalling just how frenetic their descent yesterday had been. None of them had expected quite that number of monsters, nor that level of aggression. With Allen being their only frontliner, they had been overwhelmed so quickly that it was mostly due to Sumiye’s magical prowess that they had managed to escape. “Well, if you’re worried about Sumiye, it’s not usually as intense.”

Allen nodded energetically. “Really, Miss Sebi, I’m su-”

“I’m sure she was just chaperoning her daughter,” Millie said, silencing her friend with another smack on the head. But the foxkin wouldn’t stay quiet for long, especially not when Sumiye emerged from the stable next.

“Good morning, Sumiye! Did you sleep well? Your mom’s not going to go with us anymore, but you’ll stick with us, right?” He bounded up to the exorcist-paladin; the lad certainly had more of the affect of a dog than a fox, with the way his tail swept from side to side. “Oh, and we usually go there every other day. Today’s a rest day, you know? Where we work and such so we can fund the next trip!”

Which meant, of course, that this group of adventurers didn’t yet make enough money to sustain themselves indefinitely off of the bounty of the Abyss.

Millie stared at Allen’s back, then shook her head.

“Thanks, Miss Sebi,” she said. “Though you helped us more than we helped you, I feel. If you two weren’t with us yesterday, well…” It was a bit dour of a topic, even for the relatively realistic carrier, so she changed it. “But if you're not thinking of being an Adventurer, what’re your plans in Oratorio? I could introduce you to this merchant I work for, if you need a job.”

Gams arrived by then, waving a burlap sack that was at least half-full. “Got sum for everyone,” he said. “Bread ‘n milk. Roasted corn for cheap too.”

Breakfast, it looked, was here.
_@Asuras

---

//A11 - Market Plaza
For Talia, the Underpass wasn’t anything entirely noteworthy. It was more than she had witnessed in the past, but it wasn’t so much more that it overwhelmed her. Of course there were places where the outcasts amongst the outcasts lived. Of course there were places where the most wretched of the beggars and lepers could stay. Of course the rich and affluent would design a city such that those who could not afford to walk upon the Royal Road would literally have to walk through sewage. It was uncomfortable, but that was it.

And it was forgettable, once the din of the Adventurer’s District welcomed her.

The atmosphere changed in the blink of an eye as the darkness of the tunnels gave way to the colorful, bustling streets and avenues. Here was where ambition was tested, where adventurers descended in search of glory and immortality. In the light of late morning, people were heading off to the markets for supply now, or hustling for side businesses in order to afford the funds for their next trip. More well-armed, well-known adventurers cut through the masses with their individuality and their polished arms; only those who pierced beneath the surface could return with artifacts that pulsated with magical power, and in the Ichor-Blessed’s own gaze, she could sense a kernel of divine power as well.

To steal such artifacts would require skill, knowledge, resources, and planning that she simply didn’t have, however…but thankfully, Talia was in a position to obtain at least the third on that checklist.

The markets awaited her, merchants selling everything and anything an adventurer could want. And in a place where purses were loose, perhaps the Backstreet Queen could even come away with a net profit.
_@OwO

---

---

They spent a good hour at the markets, browsing the wares, bartering the prices of the things they wished to purchase, and finally buying it all and gearing up. At the end of it, they’d spent nearly all the group’s gold, with only Theo, Ezra, and Maris benefiting with new armor and weapons. Theodore as well as his followers considered it a good long-term investment, however. The dhampir didn’t imagine they’d need to make such huge shopping trips in the near future.

The doctor had coaxed them all into buying a bit of medicine with their last gold. “You need to get patched up if you’re planning to descend into the Abyss again,” he claimed.

“Do we?” Theodore pointed at his wounds which had scabbed when he’d used his miracle the previous day.

“Listen here,” the doctor frowned at him, one of his rare moments of assertion. Well, if only when it came to his expertise, he was usually like that. “There are still bits that are bloody, and if this comes off, it’ll just bleed again. I bet you’re low on iron too, so—Let me get that medicine.”

And that’s when the doctor did his buying, surprisingly managing to get them some medicine he claimed was good for its price. The three adventurer aspirants had their wounds rubbed with strange oils, got the wounded areas bandaged, and were made to drink some very…very strange concoction.

There were a few bits and pieces the dhampir had in mind. As they traversed the markets, he and the group were on the lookout for anything they could scrounge up.

Merchants, carriers, and adventurers would at times leave empty crates lying around. Here and there, they found empty flasks – filthy, but reusable if washed. They unearthed two strips of leather just long enough to work as a sling. If they needed something more long-ranged than his spear, it’d be an option. Arnfinn collected a fistful of rocks that’d be good for throwing, eagerly presenting them to Theo, who stashed them all.

Finding a well, they thoroughly washed the flasks, using some borrowed soap to get the job done. As they proceeded through town, they’d catch any stray rats to ‘juice’, proceeding to fill the flasks with animal blood.

And so, they explored the adventurer’s district. “You three haven’t shown me where you’d found work yet. Is it any good? Feels like you’ll improve your skills there?” As they took a walk around the district, Theodore was keen to find any establishments, people, or other opportunities that’d offer training of some sort. He wasn’t entirely certain if only going to the Abyss was the best way to improve their combat abilities, or if lessons outside of that from a learned mentor would speed up the process. He also knew Sana and Jaxon both were eager to progress in their respective crafts too.

Oratorio - //A3 - The Plaza at Morning
_{In collaboration with @ERode}

---

The blacksmith quieted down, setting the sword back upon the counter as he folded his arms. There were always those types, flocking to Oratorio with a heavy past and a paltry inheritance, using an heirloom until it broke and became unsalvageable. He could understand it. Some tools, as they aged, rose rather than fell in value.

But you didn’t trust your life with hammers and tongs the same way you would with sword and shield.

“Look, at this point, you have two options. I can polish it and clean up the edge, but it won’t last long as a weapon. Put it up on a display if you want to remember your father by it. Otherwise, I can take it apart and forge a new blade for it while keeping the hilt and the guard. It won’t be the same, but it’ll be functional.”

A muscle ticked in Elys jaw as she weighed the options. She thought of her father, taken from the world before his time. Her mother. Her only inheritance in front of her.

It was true, the blade had seen a lot. All of her failures as a monster slayer, and all of her successes.

But what if the Crimson-flame decided to pursue her, and make trouble? She needed a blade that would be functional. How on earth would she pursue the Abyss without it?

Was it worth saying goodbye to the blade?

Elys leaned on her staff, jaw clenched, before she slowly nodded. "You're right, you're right. It broke in the Abyss, and I can't have that happen again... Keeping the hilt and the guard sounds fair, I trust your wisdom on this."

The blacksmith nodded. She had some sense in her, at least.

"It'll be ready tomorrow. I'll lend you one of the others off the rack until then."

---

Tired and bleary-eyed, and her purse a little lighter, Elys wandered back into the plaza. Her lender sword was attached to her hip with a nice weight, and despite the exhaustion and overall disgust with her robes at that moment, she felt fairly well.

She was tempted to turn around and go back to the Bladerights, sleep and spar with the students. Most importantly, sleep. Maybe even take a bit of food.

But despite her exhaustion and hunger pangs, there hung an ominous threat over her head. She could still feel the Crimson-flame somewhere nearby. And that meant one thing, and one thing only - she had to be ready. She needed to make as many preparations as possible.

She was the one with the vision, after all. She had to make the impossible happen. And it could very well happen today.

So, she found herself a place in the center of the plaza, stepped up on a gray mass she assumed was an old crate, stamped down on her staff, and began to speak to the passerbys.

“I’ve had a vision of the future! The Thousand-Face God never died when the Perishing Star extolled a heavy toll. They live on! I have been blessed with a part of the countenance of that very same God. Follow me, and I will lead you to Paradise!”

---

It was obvious how different this district was. The sense of hopelessness pervading through the streets and the people didn’t spread its rot here, and had Meisa not known better, it would have felt like a scene from non-elven cities of times long gone. But unfortunately, it was not, and she wasn’t here to see the sights, either. The smell of freshly cooked food was enticing.

In the end, she decided on an establishment mostly at random, aside from picking what she felt gave the best opportunity for her. She came in with all the confidence of an elven princess, or an employer seeking the help of hired labor. At the same time, though, she wasn’t bombastic or naïve enough to throw wide the doors and announce her magnanimity in hiring adventures for a quest. No—she was also hungry, despite it all, so she went up to the proprietor first, sliding in between two groups and flagged down the attention of the proprietor. She glanced about, noting the appearance of the adventurers within, and what they were eating and talking about.

As far as food went, it was the basic tavern fare. “Bread and beer please,” she ordered, taking the same quick, cheap meal that the others were. Beer in the morning offended her aristocratic elven sensibilities, but in Oratorio there was an image to upkeep… and despite how decent this district seemed, she wasn’t going to trust the water or milk anytime soon. The two groups that were to her sides contrasted themselves—to her right, a seasoned looking group was keeping to themselves, enjoying their meal with the temperance of adventurers that had seen some shit and knew how to deal with it. On her other side were clear rookies, boisterous, with equipment that seemed untested in the Abyss in Meisa’s opinion.

She deliberated on what type to hire—but fuck it, what if she went for both? Mixing the inexperienced with the experienced? She remembered something similar from a time long ago, to get inexperienced soldiers quickly up to speed. It didn’t translate the best here, but it was better than nothing. Meisa knew full well that this was going to be a tricky affair—she knew adventurers were a finicky sort…

“Say, barkeep,” she began after a while, pitching her voice enough that the nearby adventurers could also hear, “Are any of the groups here looking for a job? See, there’s this issue that some merchants are having…” She quickly summarized the situation, sprinkling in the enticement of discounted supplies and further opportunities while still keeping her voice heard. “We’ll pay handsomely for the protection,” she finished. "Anybody you know here willing to take that kind of job?"

A fucking annoying situation, but if it worked out, she wanted some good connections for the Abyss, too. She just needed to make sure some stupid gang wouldn’t mess things up before she could build up enough to smash them. It would be the stupidest end for a goddess-to-be like her.