ERode

Qualia: Steampunk Spies, School Life Scandals, and Eldritch Spice

No, I’ll PM them to YOU. They’re basically interaction hooks and stuff that clues your character in to specific puzzle pieces of the plot.

Qualia: Steampunk Spies, School Life Scandals, and Eldritch Spice

@IzurichGenerally speaking, it's possible for a Technologist to come up with a weapon deployment system where that weapon is propelled remotely to where they currently are. It won't be as fast or as certain as the magical summoning hijinks from Shipgirls(TM) though. It'd also be very loud and very obvious.

Also, here's the CS template y'all. Example in the hider.

[anime appearance]
NAME
Age | Gender | Height | Weight
Nation | Major | Specialization

Their Story
As little and as much as you need to explain the general bits and pieces that made who your character is, how they became recognized as one of the world’s best and brightest, and why they’ve decided to fall in with shady organizations and become a spy.

---

Organization: Only the name, please.
Current Mission: I'll fill this out in a PM.
Secret: I'll fill this out in a PM.

Example CS

Solomon Antedivula

17 y/o | Male | 5'10 | 142 lbs
The Nation of the Rose King, France | Egoism | Prehensile Blood

Solomon was just a poor boy living in a first-generation immigrant's family on the countryside of France. As a child, he worked tirelessly on the sunny hills of the Rose King's domain. Sadly, he was bullied in school for not being into baguettes. One day while he was being bullied, a wandering Mongolian horseback archer came by and took a shine to the kid for a plot-based reason. They taught him the fundamentals of Egoism, exchanged telephone numbers with the lad, and over the course of many years, Solomon telecommuted his Polymath training, having the grit and determination to essentially self-study a wide field of works while also engaging in lots of self-reflection.

And then, on his twelfth birthday, he decided that he could do it. With a scalpel, a mirror, and a towel, he carved his first set of Formula upon his back during the early hours of the morning, and was irrevocably changed. Word spread quick of the Self-Made Polymath of Ardennes, and Solomon vibed with that, even though he wasn't really sure what he should do with this outside of training more.

But when that same Mongolian mounted archer called him again and offered him a job, Solomon knew.

Debts were to be paid, and kindness could not be left unrewarded.

Some years later, he secured his position in Bermuda, as an agent of Khan Academy, a "non-profit organization meant to make education available for all."

---

Organization: Khan Academy
Mission: Befriend the Student Council President, PC 1.
Secret: Solomon is actually a double agent. His true allegiance lies with the Greatest Bond, a crime syndicate operating in Germany, who has gained his loyalty by teaching him of the wonders of steamed bread.

Qualia: Steampunk Spies, School Life Scandals, and Eldritch Spice

The idea is that as Egoists gain more physical power, their body transforms into something that less and less resembles a human being. It's a permanent and gradual transformation that basically makes it impossible for them to reproduce, unless they're a weirdo Egoist who specced their body specifically for that shit. As for the wildest stuff...

At the highest levels, and at the risk of fatal Abstraction, Egoists can take on the form of building-sized kaiju temporarily (if they were martial-focused Egoists). Their regular form would just be a smaller, perhaps more humanoid variation of their kaiju form. Even in those regular forms though, battle between two Egoists would basically have them pinballing all over the place and cause copious amounts of environmental damage with each exchange...but thankfully, those that make it to the highest levels are also mature enough not to unleash their full power, especially during peacetime.

During the start of the Futile War between the Occident and the Orient, the Occident was forced to acknowledge that the concept of infantry was absolutely worthless in this 'new' era, as mere mortals were basically like pieces of paper caught within a storm when Egoists took the stage. Literal Dynasty Warriors shit, except the Dynasty Warriors also have speed cheats on.

Your average martial-focused Egoist could pull off this shit in their 'fuck yea' moments. Sending elephants flying n all.

Qualia: Steampunk Spies, School Life Scandals, and Eldritch Spice

_{On the seventh day, seeing our world in its entirety, God left.}

The luxury skyliner Queen Titania was a marvel of Formulization and engineering, a brass juggernaut of an airship that had all the amenities one needed to enjoy a thirty-day trip around the world. Gorgeous greenhouses full of exotic flora and avians served as wonderful areas to enjoy fresh fruit and well-brewed teas. Indoor sports gyms bedecked with equipment for all games of athleticism made friends and rivals out of the growing number of erudite youths who entered the ship at each stop on its global tour. Even the library, though it paled in comparison to Alexandra’s vastness, was a soothing marvel, all mahogany and leather as crystal players resonated classic music at astounding clarity. And even the dining rooms, both private and public, looked to be places that one ought only to go when dressed to the nines, the on-board chefs managing to delight with their crosscultural culinary creations every evening. There were no shortage of distractions onboard the Queen Titania, no shortage of entertainments and pleasures to partake for the two thousand prodigies within its spacious bowels.

But today was the thirtieth day, and the clear skies encouraged all to crowd around the concave windows of the foremost atrium to witness the one thing that the Queen Titania could not offer:

The Academic City of Bermuda, an artificial island on the equator made of brass and steel, its many towers jutting out as if to scrape at the underbelly of the airship.

Fifty years has passed since a tenuous truce rose from the ashes of the Futile War, and the crystallization of that peace now stood below the two thousand students. It was a lasting symbol of peace and cooperation, a cloistered space away that served as a neutral ground, where no individual government could profess power and where the youths who would shape the future of the world could learn to build a unified future.

But you were different.

For you were here for a specific purpose, a purpose determined by the government agency, by the secret society, that sponsored your admission to this prestigious academy. Through subterfuge and subversion, your goals will be accomplished with all the sophistication of an expert spy, all while you maintain the disguise of just another erudite student.

Those naïve fools, those sheltered academics, none would be any the wiser as you execute your schemes and machinations with precision and tact.

…

What you didn’t know, however, was that every other freshman aboard was also a spy.

HISTORIA TERRAE

The world was complete, but the rest was not.

Beyond the stretches of the atmosphere, that boundary line between life and death, rests not the vastness of space, not the allure of the celestial objects, not the fiery wrath of the Sun nor the brilliant nobility of the stars, but rather a mass of chaotic abstractions and half-formed entities. T’was the detritus of creation, left behind by the all-powerful existence that willed the world to being, and t’was the grail of forbidden knowledge that drove astronomers and philosophers to delirium and madness:

Formula, the divine calculus of the Creator, from which the world was given shape.

And through the sweat and blood of trial and error, through the inspiration and dedication of the prodigies and the passionate, the academics of the European nation-states solved the secrets of the stars and encroached upon hallowed domain. The Scientific Revolution set the Occident ablaze as Formulization was turned from a miracle to a study, countless inventions made at a blinding rate. Stones more buoyant than helium. Engines that ran without need for fuel. Towers that bottled lightning and dispersed it through the skies. And as cities changed overnight, as the lives of all within the continent improved by leaps and bounds, so too did the ambition of the powerful.

Wielding technologies that existed outside the bounds of natural laws, holding the power to distort the very fabrics of reality, the Europeans boarded their flying dreadnoughts, resolved to bring Enlightenment to the savage lands around them, and sparked off the Age of Exploration…

…but were met by civilizations who matched them in might.

In the Orient, warrior-philosophers had turned the divine science of creation inwards and casted aside pre-conceptions of humanity to actualize their martial ideals. Wielding starsteel stolen from the abstract firmament, they cleaved through false laws and mortal flesh alike, unrivalled and without peer beneath Heaven’s gaze.

In the New World, the Edenic Beasts have granted their gifts unto the indigenous empires that revered and devoured them, favouring mortal shamans and champions with eyes to perceive the Formula of the intangible. With the power to grasp the substance of storm and stream, they delivered supernatural destruction upon the invaders, becoming avatars of dynamism and disaster.

In the Dark Continent, the manifold tribes stalemated Western encroachment with their own reality-defining scripts, having teased out the truth of the incomplete universe from the inconsistencies of sunlight and moonlight. Armed with textile tools invariably more flexible in usage than the strictly-designed technologies of the Occident, they stalemated their northern neighbours across the harsh deserts and unforgiving shores.

The Age of Exploration ended within a month, every national power confident in the capabilities of their own Formulizations, and the Futile War began, a five year long conflict that maintained a bloody stalemate on all fronts and ended in a miserable ceasefire with countless lives lost and nothing truly accomplished. Whether innovative design, blasphemous alchemy, superhuman might, or skyshaping skill, none alone was enough to ensure global hegemony.

What was needed was synthesis. What was needed was the knowledge of the enemy.

On the semicentennial celebration of world peace, the Academic City of Bermuda, an artificial island off the coast of Abya Yala, was revealed to the general public. A cloistered society for the world’s best and brightest youths to convene and mingle, it was ostensibly established to form greater bonds between the next generation of Polymaths, promoting peace and progress for the betterment of the concrete planet. And though such a lie was sweet enough to be believed by the proles and the politicians, the subjects and the monarchs, clandestine government agencies and surreptitious secret societies knew better.

Bermuda was but the next stage in a war that has never ended.

DIVINUS FORMULA

Formula, the divine calculus of the Creator, from which the world was given shape.

Though to the layman, Formulization is simply an incomprehensible magic, to Polymaths, those trained in the craft of manipulating reality, it is a science that draws from all fields of human knowledge, from mathematics and physics to philosophy and astrology. A closer and yet paradoxically broader understanding of the world is what allows Polymaths to perceive the Formula that the world is composed of and thus be able to influence it. As Formulization is a craft that largely relies upon manipulating what already exists, there are still inviolable rules and limitations that must be followed, regardless of how fantastical the craft is, or how powerful the Polymaths are.

The effects of Formula spread from points of physical contact. No matter how knowledgeable, a Polymath can not influence what they can not touch, and any property or manipulation they extend must come from themselves.

Unseen Formulae cannot be influenced. Regardless of whether or not one is able to see the physical object in question, if they are incapable of perceiving the Formula that constructs it, Polymaths cannot change it.

The Formulae that construct organic beings, whether flora or fauna, are incredibly difficult to affect, due to their ever-changing nature, to the extent that most treat it as simply impossible and not worth pursuing.

The more powerful or widespread the effect one wishes to create, the more time it takes to write the script, and the greater the cost upon oneself. This cost manifests itself as Abstraction, as the Polymath’s body loses tangibility, starting from the point of physical contact. While simple rest would resolve the cost of most commonplace Formulizations, it was not uncommon for Polymaths during wartime to disappear entirely, leaving no trace of their existence. In extreme cases, the cost of Abstraction is borne not just by the Polymath themselves, but also their surroundings.

STUDIA CREATIONIS

After the Futile War, all forms of Formulization were standardized into four Majors, each with various Specializations within. Though traditionalists are stubborn in the purity of their specific Major, the modern-day Polymath have at least a basic understanding of the principles and theories behind other Majors.

Technologism is the craft of altering the properties of solids. The more enduring the object is, the more permanent the effect, which allows for the creation and invention of materials and tools that would otherwise be impossible to make. Relative to other Majors, Technologists find it the most difficult to spontaneously generate powerful Formulizations, but also suffer the least from Abstraction. Traditionally, they use their dominant hand’s pointer finger to manipulate Formula, a habit partially inspired by The Creation of Adam.

The three great inventions of the Scientific Revolution (the Steam Core, the Peizogravitas, and the Telesma System) were all products of Technologism. No other Major has affected the modern era quite as much.

Dynamicism is the craft of manipulating the path of intangibles, such as liquids, gases, and energies. While they must constantly work to maintain the effects they impose with their Formulizations, this tradeoff allows them to flexibly manipulate what is impossible for Technologists to write on. Of the four Majors, Dynamicists possess the greatest ability to perceive Formulae and most of them have only obtained such an ability through the favour of Abya Yala’s Edenic Beasts. Traditionally, they use the palm of both hands to manipulate Formula, as Dynamicists physically ‘pull’ or ‘push’ what intangibles they control.

The Dynamism of Lightning is banned by the Geneva Convention, and all known practitioners are either under heavy surveillance or to be killed on sight. Historically, no one has been able to perceive the Formula of Light.

Egoism is the craft of transforming the self. Originating from the meditation and enlightenment of Oriental monks, Egoists possess no significant ability to perceive Formulae of the outer world, but instead are intimately aware of the Formulae the inner world, that of their muscles and organs, their bones and their blood. Rejecting their pre-conceived notions of self, they pursue their personal ideals instead, tattooing artful scripts upon their bodies to serve as the framework for their Formula transformation. Through this, superhuman attributes are achieved, and through this, they take on bestial traits, losing their humanity. Traditionally, Egoists tattoo their scripts upon their backs, creating displays of ink-art that grow in complexity and beauty as they veer further away from their humanity.

Though a controversial Major to pursue as a Polymath, due to how meaningless superhuman might is for most careers, the personal benefits sometimes outweigh all other consideration. In some cultures, Egoists are known as Flamechasers.

Mesmerology is the newest and least developed craft. Born from a synthesis of the three traditional Majors, Mesmerologists claim to have the ability to perceive the Formulae of the mind and to be able to alter the properties of such, allowing them to subsequently manipulate memories, reroute brain functions, and even transfer knowledge directly from one mind to another. These are merely claims, of course, and any Polymath who brands themselves as a Mesmerologist would be the laughing stock of any proper convention.

But if there was ever a Universal Genius, perhaps they would be able to do what Mesmerology promises.

FACTA MAGNORUM

In 100 AD, Ptolemy began recording the shapes of starlight, which he believed to be glimpses of the Creator’s Formula.

In 1512 AD, Michelangelo painted The Creation of Adam, commemorating both the Sistine Chapel as well as his first successful attempt at perceiving and altering Formulae.

In 1537 AD, Paracelsus completed his standardization and systematization of Technologism, becoming the father of the craft and paving the road for an academic route towards becoming a Polymath.

In 1541 AD, Paracelsus, in his hubris, crafted a Formulae script that altered the world irrevocably. The days in a year was reduced to 360. Everything within a 150 kilometer radius of Salzburg was lost in Abstraction. Paracelsus was posthumously stripped of all titles.

In 32 EE, the Age of Exploration started, ended, and gave way to the Futile War.

In 87 EE, the Academic City of Bermuda finished construction, welcoming the first generation of students.

---

TL;DR? Don't worry, I gotcha.

Qualia is a Steampunk Academy RP, where everyone is a budding Polymath (an individual who was trained in the manipulation of reality through writing) and where everyone is also associated with a different shady government agency/secret society, initially for the purpose of gaining an advantage in the future war. The world itself is just a litttttttle bit eldritch too, and that'll definitely play into a larger plot to encourage more cooperation and diplomacy than just straight up unga bunga combat PvP. As a general note to dissuade people from making spies that are too perfect, the age range for characters goes from 13 to 18, and as such, they're still teenagers. Expertly trained, exceedingly intelligent teenagers at best, but caught in the throes of puberty all the same.

I've left most of the specifics of the world vague, so feel free to come up with your own interpretations of your character's home country. Just consult with me ahead of time so things don't end up getting too off-color. If you're interested, pitch me questions about the world and character ideas!

And as for inspiration vibes...Princess Principal, Shinobigami, Yuuki Yuuna, Link Click, and Reverse 1999 were my jams for this particular RP~!

Character Sheet

[anime appearance]
NAME
Age | Gender | Height | Weight
Nation | Major | Specialization

Their Story
As little and as much as you need to explain the general bits and pieces that made who your character is, how they became recognized as one of the world’s best and brightest, and why they’ve decided to fall in with shady organizations and become a spy.

---

Organization: Only the name, please.
Current Mission: I'll fill this out in a PM.
Secret: I'll fill this out in a PM.

Example CS

Solomon Antedivula

17 y/o | Male | 5'10 | 142 lbs
The Nation of the Rose King, France | Egoism | Prehensile Blood

Solomon was just a poor boy living in a first-generation immigrant's family on the countryside of France. As a child, he worked tirelessly on the sunny hills of the Rose King's domain. Sadly, he was bullied in school for not being into baguettes. One day while he was being bullied, a wandering Mongolian horseback archer came by and took a shine to the kid for a plot-based reason. They taught him the fundamentals of Egoism, exchanged telephone numbers with the lad, and over the course of many years, Solomon telecommuted his Polymath training, having the grit and determination to essentially self-study a wide field of works while also engaging in lots of self-reflection.

And then, on his twelfth birthday, he decided that he could do it. With a scalpel, a mirror, and a towel, he carved his first set of Formula upon his back during the early hours of the morning, and was irrevocably changed. Word spread quick of the Self-Made Polymath of Ardennes, and Solomon vibed with that, even though he wasn't really sure what he should do with this outside of training more.

But when that same Mongolian mounted archer called him again and offered him a job, Solomon knew.

Debts were to be paid, and kindness could not be left unrewarded.

Some years later, he secured his position in Bermuda, as an agent of Khan Academy, a "non-profit organization meant to make education available for all."

---

Organization: Khan Academy
Mission: Befriend the Student Council President, PC 1.
Secret: Solomon is actually a double agent. His true allegiance lies with the Greatest Bond, a crime syndicate operating in Germany, who has gained his loyalty by teaching him of the wonders of steamed bread.

The Epic of Beginnings - Fragments of a weathered scroll

^{@Rune_Alchemist@Pyromania99}

Inventory

Coinage: 8 Silver, 5 Copper

• The (shredded) clothing on his back.
• A fur cloak.
• Untanned boar skin.
• Leather Belt
• Knight's Shield
• Knight's Dagger
• Knight's Longsword
• Dwarf's Polearm
• Rope
• Some preserved food
  Enough for two people to last a few days.
• Roll of what seemed to be a mat of thick fur, likely for sleeping on
  Comfortable, but only one.
• A heavy looking fur/cloth blanket.
  Cozy, warm and heavy. Good for sleeping in colder climates.
• Communication horn
  Made from bone, hollow and likely used for communication.
• A small pot and a ladle
• Frozen canteen of water
• Map of the Under roads.
  A map detailing some routes used by the Dwarves and Shadow Elves to travel in their subterranean homes. Its not entirely complete, but it at least shows the routes to the two most notable settlements and several other places of note. Unless you travel off the paths, you probably won’t get lost.

Isidore took a minute or two to process everything, and once he had finished doing so, he came to a very simple conclusion. For someone who came from the same modern society that he did, Augusta was adapting very quickly. Even with all the politicking and grim business from his own past life, the concept of a purely political marriage never arose beyond vague and outdated variations of praise. Perhaps a matriarchal society would benefit her more, and perhaps she will simply always just be a princess, but Isidore had his own doubts. To offer royal authority and power to a stranger with no background, all for the purpose of establishing a peace and alliance that a real princess was already here to do was suspect, especially when it sounded like Augusta would be free to do whatever she wished as well. A puppet princess then? A token symbol, furthering the agenda of an existence closer to Elder Beast than mortal? It was a strange scenario…but not any more so than his own.

Anyhow, Augusta’s eyes saw all; if she agreed to it so readily, the Queen may be guileless after all.

“Congratulations,” Isidore said, offering a slow clap and a polite smile. He pitied the Prince, but this reality must be one that the bookish Uruthan would’ve been long prepared for. “l have come across an interesting proposition as well. An individual of influence suspects the Queen’s advisor of something, and will be meeting me at the Rusty Ale Lake to discuss such matters. Tomorrow night.”

He glanced in Sorcha’s direction, a tinge of ironic amusement in his eyes, before turning back to the newly-titled Sirithen princess.

“Augusta, lend me your eye for character during that time. And if there is merit, keep that same eye on Rullphana in the future.”

-FV-

"Oh, that would be lovely," Tian-Gui replied to the waitress. "In lieu of the promotion combo then, could I have the Reaper Burger instead then? Thank you." A pause. Even if it didn't look like Iphie and Jin-Sun were immediately enthusiastic about drinks, it didn't hurt to order some anyhow. "And y'know what? Slap on that pitcher of Sapporo."

With that, the order was given, and in another fifteen or so minutes, the order was had. With his trademark combination of neat eating habits and gargantuan bites, the titan of the Final Five devoured his food at speeds that made one question if he were truly tasting it, if not for the appreciative nods he gave along the way. Meyer sauce truly was the best accompaniment there was for salmon, and even though there was that little bit of 'quality' missing from pre-prepared meals, Tian-Gui wasn't much of a gourmet and technology had slowly bridged the gap between frozen and fresh over the years. If not for the robotic sameness of each individual dish, you could hardly tell that DIHOP meals were cooked by automatons! Beer, of course, was nice too, and though two members still couldn't legally drink, the raven-haired sentinel made a big show of his toasts, toasting to Kyouko's second calling in life, Runa's joyful school days, Jin-Sun's resolved revengeance, and Iphie not yet becoming totally corrupt with the amount of power the Courtlandt Group was amassing. It was fun times all around, really.

And he definitely didn't forget about Mason's granddaughter too.

After all, how else would she have found the group if Tian-Gui hadn't been standing up at that moment, toasting to Mason's health? As she spoke up about the presumed laxness of the group's environment, he settled down once more, shifting to the side slightly before realizing that there wasn't going to be enough roof for her on account for his shoulder width. "Hey, welcome to the party, little miss!" Tian-Gui spoke. "Runa, mind scooching over a bit so she can sit?" There was a pause, just long enough for her to seat herself if she wished, before he continued. "And honestly, you're totally right about that. If someone came barging in to attack us, we'd have to fight them off ourselves..."

He grinned, even as he caught the gaze of the waitress and waved her over.

"...which is what I prefer."

What protector needed protecting, right?

Symphony of Espers

❄

22 | Female | Freelancers | Meltwater Spring
Moya-no-Yume | Dagger | Physical | Frosted Sheen
Snowdrop Vestige | Sangfroid Convention
Glacial Stream | Aqua | Rime Rose
[Freeze, Cold Insulation] Damage X, Restrain, Dispel, Rain, Trap, Enhance, Trigger, Blink, Powerful

DAMAGE: D | SPEED: C | SENTINEL: E | 750

[Silver Touch][Trap][Powerful][Damage X] = -108 Mana

PHYSICAL: E| ARCANE: D | CHAOS: C | 602

_{@mantou@BrokenPromise@OwO@FamishedPants}

“Yeah, man! Do your own thing and fight the power.” Klava said, pumping her fist in the air to encourage Apollo to follow his heart…and her orders. Glacial ice burst into prismatic glory, disabling everyone on the first floor, before the muscled skinsuit-man decided to start spraying a stolen gun blindly. Not a very cashmoney move, but it was moves like those that made the frost maiden remain behind the APC to begin with. Whatever chastisements their boss of the day was gonna be giving them, none of it would relate to herself.

Sadly, good things like APCs weren’t meant to last, likely because the precinct must’ve had at least one or two rocket launchers in their armory, as per standard American police force armory requirements. With Protector being besieged by shotgun-bro and his two shield-bros, however, and Klava herself being so much less sturdy than the eight-foot sentinel, she didn’t really want to head in from the backdoor either. “Alright, Binky, just give me a few seconds, yeah?”

Leaping up, Klava pulled herself up onto the top of the APC, sighted a second floor window, and ran at full speed, her sandals clanking against the reinforced roof. At the last moment, the dark-haired esper jumped, body curling into a ball as she somersaulted, before kicking them out as she neared the window. With the chiming of brass bells, glass shattered inward, showering two grunt mafiosos. They jerked back, surprised at the sudden incursion, and that flinch was all that Klava needed.

She didn’t like killing, after all, but this was America. Hesitation meant defeat.

Moya-no-Yume slipped through the air, driving up into the soft flesh underneath the jaw and puncturing the unprotected brains above. Using that as her point of leverage, she pulled the dead man’s body around her, just in time to block a barrage of bullets from the second, before flicking her blade out and tossing it at her assailant. It whispered through the air, swift as snowmelt on a summer’s day, and struck his knee. He collapsed, cursing in pain, eyes drawn to the ruined muscle and sinew. Before he could look back up, Klava’s shoe had already connected with his jaw, the man spinning backwards and slumping against the open window, his neck at an odd angle.

She looked at the first man she had killed. Young. Maybe just a couple years older than her. A soft jaw, babyfat not yet burned away. Glassy gray eyes and black curls, in the way that some British kids were. Unpleasant business, being an Esper. But the government paid well. Grabbing the corpse by his tie, Klava spoke coolly into her earpiece, “Sending down a gift. Could you make sure the three lvl 10 goons stay where they are?”

Without waiting for a response, she pressed her hand against the dead man’s chest. Atmospheric mana crystallized into the symbol of a snowflake, pure white over the bloodstained fabrics, and Klava whispered, “Deaddrop Snowpile.”

And in the next moment, she tossed the corpse down, letting gravity deliver the gift of death upon the trio at the end of the staircase.

Silver Gate Academy [Accepting New Players]

_{Literally Everyone}

Insanely enough, considering the events of the night before, Seirin wasn’t forced to return to her estate and be locked under seventy layers of security. It was insane enough that Otis almost felt like he should’ve protested such arrangements, until he remembered what Utsumi had shown.

With the ability to replicate any mythological weapon, and with an S-class swordsman who could instantaneously slay something as improbably powerful as that aberrant youkai, perhaps the safest place for Seirin to be was between two of Silver Gate Academy’s teachers…which would certainly be safe, if she hadn’t been sleeping with the girls, rather than between the adults!

Needless to say, with his own expectations of Shinzou plotting to snatch Seirin out of the proverbial cradle, the young Strigidae, regardless of what promises or reassurances the teachers made, stayed on watch the entire night, his nocturnal senses sharpened to a needle point. Right now, he was essentially two losses, one win against Shinzou. He wasn’t gonna to accumulate another loss and make his ratio any worse, just because the ‘professionals’ didn’t have plans of whisking Seirin away to a proper safehouse. And with that, the hours passed, the sun gradually rising again to the sight of a tawny-haired owlboy with a nasty squint and a pile of empty cans all around him.

“Shinzou…” he muttered, rocking back and forth, his gun clutched to his chest…

…

By the time breakfast was had and a nice hot shower was experienced, Otis was in a much better place mentally. And by the time he was properly dressed with all his classmates + one non-classmate ready to go, he was basically in perfect condition. Sunlight did much to rouse him from his paranoid stupor, and more importantly, after a good few days of hard work and stratagems, it looked like the Kyoto field trip was finally going to offer up some quality leisure time.

Which meant that the promise made all those days ago could finally be followed up again.

With force of will and perhaps a twitchy finger, Otis led the others through perhaps the straightest and least legal path towards Aeon Mall in southern Kyoto, where the vaunted grail that was NAMCO rested within. Climbing over fences, hopping down slopes, walking brazenly through elementary school grounds, and evading the gaze of the police once concerned bystanders began ringing up calls regarding suspicious tourists, the Strigidae brought them to brightly-lit arcade, where everything from that Love Live rhythm game to the classic scam claw machine game were. Loud pop music cascaded from the speakers, while other holiday-enjoyers finagled about blindly with VR headsets on. Photo sticker machines lined the walls, ready to capture memories and souls for the price of a single coin, and pro gamer otaku hunched over their vice of choice, whether it be Street Fighter or Uma Musume.

Standing at the glittering threshold, Otis slapped the arcade’s glass window while looking at the others with an almost manic energy (definitely caused only by his two all-nighters and the caffeine that had replaced his blood), before saying, “This is Namco. This baby can fit so many games. All the games actually. So we’re going to play all the games. 100%. Completion even. I’ve been preparing to kick Shinzou’s ass to bits this whole trip, which means that I’ve had no respite too. This is the same for y’all too. Let’s go blow this joint to smithereens and empty out the tickets and the prizes.”

There was a fire in his eyes, a passion that few had ever truly seen, even in the heat of battle.

“Seirin, Lorelai, Lady, Ultana, Koyuki, Aurelius. Claw machines first. We shall show these conmen the might of Silver Gate.”

And then, in a blink-it-or-miss-it moment, the corner of Otis's lip twitched.

Symphony of Espers

❄

22 | Female | Freelancers | Meltwater Spring
Moya-no-Yume | Dagger | Physical | Frosted Sheen
Snowdrop Vestige | Sangfroid Convention
Glacial Stream | Aqua | Rime Rose
[Freeze, Cold Insulation] Damage X, Restrain, Dispel, Rain, Trap, Enhance, Trigger, Blink, Powerful

DAMAGE: D | SPEED: C | SENTINEL: E | 750

[Bronze Projectile][Restrain] = -40 Mana

PHYSICAL: E| ARCANE: D | CHAOS: C | 710

_{@mantou@BrokenPromise@OwO}

In another universe, Klava would’ve suggested that they did some parkour hijinks to sneak up the outer walls of the building, avoiding trouble while they ascend to perform a decapitation strike upon the leadership of the Cobra Gang. In that other universe, however, the Protector didn’t exist.

A flash of light shone out from the cracks of the APC, before the back door was pushed open and Klava, freshly transformed, strode out to chaos that was human conflict, staccato beats of gunfire guiding her eyes to the mafiosos who either found themselves glued to the Protector or shooting at the Protector. That eight-foot-tall titan would hold for now, but that action meant there was no room for strategy beyond a run-and-gun through the interior of the precinct. She narrowed her eyes, looking up at the windows once more, before letting out a sigh. Certainly, it’d be worse to be caught outside now and gunned down by assault rifles. Gripping her dagger in one hand and draining the cup of coffee in her other hand, Klava tossed the empty cup down the alleyway, focused the mana in the atmosphere until it crystallized in a needle of ice, and breathed out.

The tempo of battle continued, but her eyes focused upon a target beyond the Protector’s melee. Veronica had stated there was only one staircase that lead upwards, which also meant there was only one staircase that allowed others to head downwards.

“Frostblade Grave!”

Threading through the melee, Klava’s needle struck a mafioso right as he stood right between the first floor and the staircase, glacial ice exploding over his body and locking him in place. His allies behind him found themselves blocked off by that frozen body as well, a mixture of confused shouts sounding out. Undoubtedly, they’d be able to break him free if they used their guns, but…will they?

Klava really didn’t care. Still standing behind the relative safety of the APC, she cheered, “C’mon Apollo, your time to shine!”

After all, the man had two clusters of targets to AoE now. What a bargain!

The Epic of Beginnings - Fragments of a weathered scroll

^{@Rune_Alchemist}

Inventory

Coinage: 8 Silver, 5 Copper

• The (shredded) clothing on his back.
• A fur cloak.
• Untanned boar skin.
• Leather Belt
• Knight's Shield
• Knight's Dagger
• Knight's Longsword
• Dwarf's Polearm
• Rope
• Some preserved food
  Enough for two people to last a few days.
• Roll of what seemed to be a mat of thick fur, likely for sleeping on
  Comfortable, but only one.
• A heavy looking fur/cloth blanket.
  Cozy, warm and heavy. Good for sleeping in colder climates.
• Communication horn
  Made from bone, hollow and likely used for communication.
• A small pot and a ladle
• Frozen canteen of water
• Map of the Under roads.
  A map detailing some routes used by the Dwarves and Shadow Elves to travel in their subterranean homes. Its not entirely complete, but it at least shows the routes to the two most notable settlements and several other places of note. Unless you travel off the paths, you probably won’t get lost.

“It’d be my pleasure,” Isidore smiled coolly, even as his wrist continued to throb from the vice-like grip she held it in, even as his heart hammered against his chest at the surge of adrenaline (was it just adrenaline) that forced his body into overdrive, when the battle had already concluded. This close, it was impossible to ignore how beautiful Sorcha was. Beautiful? No, Augusta was beautiful, with demure, doe-like eyes, a heart-shaped face, and ethereally long hair that evoked artists’ depictions of Venus. Sorcha was handsome, a heroic jawline and strong features accentuated by eyes that weren’t light brown, but rather gold, golden as the lightning she harnessed within. Perhaps in the corona of Augusta’s beauty, he had missed out on this, but now…

“Truly, Tamaln society lacks courage and good taste.”

He tilted his head to the side slightly, a silent request for Sorcha to release him, and once the warrior did, he took a step away, bending down to pick up the dagger he’d dropped. His fingers tingled still, a curious, excited feeling that matched the rate of his heartbeats, and briefly, Isidore frowned. The world the Goddess had deposited him in was one filled with beauty and depravity, yes, but the differences between this and the world he had departed from wasn’t so great that he’d have no tolerance to it. How on Earth was he still managing to feel this way then, like a twenty year old who’d only just met women rather than girls? The raven-haired youth shook his head to clear away such thoughts, sheathing his dagger and kicking up his halberd once more.

Turning to Sorcha once again, he said, “Ignore that. Shall we return to Leuca, or is there more to do at this armory?” A brief pause. His heart was still beating a bit too fast. In the absence of a life and death situation, Isidore couldn’t cool down nearly so easily. “And next time we duel, I’m bringing a stick.”