ERode

HORIZON: In Wastes, Our Dreams

It’s not generally going to be anything so insane, Dark Cloud. Basically don’t think about it too much. You’ll usually be rolling multiple d6s, so extreme results are rarer.

There is one Guild. That Guild has many branches.

Cacophony Concord

The flex of her own calf muscles sounded like a jet engine’s roar, and with the cracking of the earth beneath her, Magpie leapt up into the sky, her hair and her clothes streaming back as she became a true human projectile. She was an arrow, no, a javelin, no, a goddamn missile of destructive brawn, and watching her ascent, the kannushi could only slap his flying boulder, bading it to rise. Could she make it though? Her hand reached out, five fingers splayed, digits tensed with unbridled might…only to strike the scalding surface of the sun instead.

Her skin melted, her flesh bubbled

The kannushi breathed out a sigh, placed his hands together f-

And Magpie tore the Sun out of the sky.

Two Immortals and a Nuclei crashed downwards, leaving a crater in the aftermath. The kannushi fumbled in desperation, aerial advantage lost and a leg broken by the unexpected fall. Before Magpie could close in on him, a hexagonal barrier formed around her, each surface shining like a mirror.

“Microwave her, Tamamo!”

The downed sunstone gleamed brighter, and its rays focused solely upon the brawler, 600 points of fire damage scorched off her bare flesh.

Raime’s speed, augmented by Quickstep, sent him through the barrage of spearheads unharmed, his steam-powered hand cannon whipping out and sending another blast piercing into the bard with devastating effect. The twinned bonuses of Destructive Acceleration and The Alpha bolstered the damage by an extra 40%, but whatever extra he was expecting out of Leif’s Wild Hunt was missing: the wolves had targeted the spiked crusader, preventing a blast that may have proved lethal. The battle-axe bard stumbled back, however, still feeling the effects of the scout’s attack, but his own hands didn’t stop either, strumming another cord. A pink-hued wave shot out, too wide for Raime to evade, and he suddenly felt that his legs were no longer his own. They hopped in place instead, the scout jigging to the notes of the bard’s music, and without the ability to evade, Raime found himself being grasped by the crusader. His upper torso was crushed by his enemy’s titanic grasp, his lungs flattened from the force. 132 physical damage chunked at his HP, but the worse was yet to come.

As Raime struggled, the crusader drew its great cleaver back, ready to behead him in a single blow.

But Leif was in no position to help. The grass rippled from the shockwaves of Mags’s fiery descent, and yet neither combatant let their eyes off of each other. Steel rasped against scabbard as the samurai sheathed her sword, adopting a low stance. The world narrowed down, seconds split into milliseconds, every iota of focus put upon the density of a single moment.

Then, the Earthrot golem exploded, a poisonous blast of force sending her tumbling. Rolling onto her feet even as necrotic maladies blacked the veins on her face, the samurai spotted sparks of cursed lightning pulsating from Leif’s pecs moments before the Calamitous Revelation was unleashed. She leapt into the air at that moment, bringing her sheathed sword up to block. Black energies splintered against the lacquered wood, some dispersed but more snaking into her arms, locking the muscles in place. A grimace formed, but the warrior was undaunted. Seven meters up in the air, her armor clad by the lightning that circulated through it, she lowered her arms and bared her teeth, tearing her sword out with her mouth.

There was no rasping of steel this time.

Empowered by the dark lightning it had consumed, the blade unleashed an earth-cleaving slash at sonic speed, fully intent on disemboweling the wolfpack shaman that possessed knowledge of the profane arts.

HORIZON: In Wastes, Our Dreams

Close your eyes.

What do you see?

Is it the achievements of your peers and your siblings, rising to prominence with the cycles of the sky? Your loved ones shower them with attention, a cascade of stardust that diminishes to mere specks. Nothing remains in your hands, no trade to inherit, no name to claim, no wealth to inherit, no prospects and no support. There is nothing left for you in your home, in your town, in your kingdom.

Is it the scorn of humanity, eyes ever watchful in the presence of Outsiders, in the presence of you? Your homeland exists in naught but fragments of forgotten dreams, your memorabilia having long been sold, scrapped to allow you and yours to find any footing in this hostile world. There is no place for you in a civilization that considers you subhuman, there is no place that would teach you their work.

Is it the crashing of the waves, the siren call of the unseen waters beyond the world’s end? Your studies had drowned you, submerged you in the knowledge of humanity until you found yourself within the Deep Sea, within the chaos of the dark that brought brilliance. You grasped onto it in your erudite isolation, the words of power in which to overwrite the world, and when you surfaced it once more, the epiphany broke what few attachments you had. There is nothing more to learn in a society so stable, nothing to draw your interest within the stagnant sludge of politics and power.

Or is it the flowing of a river, to a lake you’ve never seen? The crossing of a mountain, to a side you’ve never ventured? The call of adventure, the restlessness of youth, whispering for you to risk your life for naught but the fulfillment of your soul? The flame burns for so long as you breath. There is nothing within these walls for you to breathe, nothing within these walls to make you wonder.

Open your eyes.

Beyond the horizon lies Talze-Utera, the Faraway Expanse at the edge of the known world. The ever-shifting domain from which monsters emerge. The uncharted lands from which Outsiders arrive. No laws, no gods, no rulers, no despots. Here, at the frontier of civilization, one needed only strength, smarts, and a small helping of serendipity to make a name, to make a fortune.

Before you, stands the Outlanders’ Guild.

You take a breath.

You enter.

…

The Wardens watch from the Branches of the Celestial Tree.

Do or Die.

Roll the Dice.

Sancta-Manzst, the Patchwork Empire

Can there be Empire when there were never others to conquer? Can there be Kingdom when there was never a king to rule?

The Empire of Sancta-Manzst rules this land constrained on all sides by the encroachment of the Faraway Expanse. Entirely landlocked, its scholars know only of the ‘ocean’ through records of disputed veracity unmined within ruins and wastes, its people know that it is by the mercy of the Celestial Tree that their sanctuary remains untouched by the monstrous hordes lying past the world’s end. From the branches of Tree are they granted daylight and nightlight, for every star in the sky are but leaves, and the Moons and the Sun are but fruits for the Wardens to partake.

Fiefdoms split this Empire into a patchwork of competing interests, the nobility constantly maneuvering their human resources to better their own lot, to expand the territories of their family, but for all the skirmishes between domains, all the backstabbing and negotiations, Sancta-Manzst never falls into a true civil war, for all fear or revere the Pale Regent who sits upon Unmoving Throne, awaiting the return of their King. In the middle of the Empire stands the cloud-piercing mountains of Kamari-Teinda, and it is through its glacial reserves and snowmelt that the rivers and lakes of the Empire remain full. To anger the Pale Regent is to face a miserable drought or a savage flood, and for that, the monarchs of the patchwork fiefdoms offer the Regent their rings, their loyalty.

But while the Pale Regent possesses the loyalty of their subjects, it is the Wardens, the deities who tend to the Celestial Tree, who monopolizes their faith. Their testaments, divined through visions whilst immersed by nature, guide the people to be custodians of their enclosed world. There is no afterlife that awaits them, no escape from what disasters they afflict. This world is already heaven, and when death comes, the fragments of their soul will wander until a new vessel is formed. The seeds sown by the righteous shall be enjoyed by their successors, and one ought never to take more than what is needed.

Loyalty sees the flames of conflict quenched by snowmelt. Piety sees the flowers blossom in unbreaking cycles. And yet, this Empire remains a birdcage, and freedom lies beyond the edge of the horizon.

Talze-Utera, the Faraway Expanse

Where does our world end and where does their world begin? Where shall one live and where shall one die?

Talze-Utera, the Faraway Expanse, is an ill-defined territory past the frontier fiefdoms of Sancta-Manzst, where the dirt-patched wasteland gives way to vibrant sceneries that ought to be impossible without the waters of Kamari-Teinda to sustain it. The air is heavier here, uncomfortable for humans to breath in for long, and those that remain within Talze-Utera for long periods of time would inevitably succumb to a life-eroding fatigue. Monsters too, creatures far removed from the toothless wildlife or the domesticated burdenbeasts of the Empire, roam freely, some more intelligent than others but all dangerous in their own rights. They all seek, in one way, shape, or form, to cross the wastelands that separate Talze-Utera and Sancta-Manzst, to destroy humanity for any host of disparate, nonsensical reason. And for those that wander into the Faraway Expanse with neither caution nor allies, death is a swift inevitability.

But those possessing both caution and allies are privy to the power and possibilities granted only to the brave Outlanders. The air within Talze-Utera is heavy, but gradually acclimating to it becomes a boon from which warriors gain might surpassing their Imperial peers. The monsters within Talze-Utera are cunning and ferocious, but slaying them allows one to drain their essence and take it in as their own, forging a more intimate connection with the nature of the world. And, inexplicably, enigmatic artifacts can be plundered from the ruins of an Expanse that has never known civilization. Artifacts that grant forbidden knowledge. Artifacts that grant thunderous power. Artifacts worth great amounts of coin, if one could discern their true value.

Yet not all that stumble out of the Faraway Expanse are monsters.

Once in a blue moon, groups of Outsiders emerge from Talze-Utera, caravans of alien peoples possessing humanoid traits and some humanoid speech, but strangely bereft of any knowledge of how they arrived in Sancta-Manzst. Treated with suspicion or derision by humans, afforded only the right to live on the edges of the Empire, these Outsiders stake out what existence they can alongside the frontiersmen, forming small villages that dot the wastelands. The most beautiful or intelligent of them may be able to curry the favour of a local lord and obtain special rights, but for many others, they can only labour with their bodies or risk their lives.

And so, it’s oft the case that Outsiders return to the Expanse as Outlanders.

Outlanders, Delvers at World's End

To whom do you appeal as you draw your blade or pull your bowstring? To whom do you plead as your clasp your Totem or proclaim your Words?

While the private armies of the lords and aristocrats maintain order within the Empire and push forth the agenda of their masters, it is under the Pale Regent’s authority that the Outlanders’ Guild operates. Granted the Imperial Edict, any member of the Guild are bequeathed certain privileges that accompany their appropriate rank, as well as a certain amount of expectations. While most Outlanders are ultimately just freelancers, mere Runners, who work odd jobs within the frontier fiefdoms and wasteland villages, that alone is enough to sustain the lives of those who once had nothing else going for them. Monsters will still emerge out of the Expanse and into the wastelands, and it is no secret that some monstrous populations have already wormed their way into Sancta-Manszt.

Only when recognized as Rangers does the Outlander obtain the privilege of plunging into Talze Utera properly. It is known, then, that the ones most at risk of dying on the job are new Rangers. But those that survive, those that thrive, those that reliably complete their work and obtain both achievements and power within the Faraway Expanse, become Riders, individuals of fame and renown, granted the ability to accept any work across the Empire, to offer their allegiance to any fiefdom or aristocrat and obtain a stable employment. It is a dream of many to reach that stage, to obtain what was once lost to the wayward wanderers who enter the Outlanders’ Guild.

And those Riders exceptional to become heroic are granted an audience with the Pale Regent themself.

Despite being able to make bold decisions as an extension of the Pale Regent’s authority, the administration of the Outlanders’ Guild still collaborate with the local fiefdom in as many cases as possible, simply for the sake of convenience. Due to this, local cultures and influences play a great role in shaping the character of each individual Outlanders’ Guild, and on occasion, two Outlanders from different Guilds may find each others’ common sense and professionalism absolutely intolerable.

---

Sometimes, ya want to do a standard fantasy RP with a steady progression system because apparently you just can't get into any actual RPGs. You finish your Goblin Slayer and your Grimgar, binge a couple of nice adventure-y songs, watch someone play Skyrim for a bit, take a look around, realize you're already running like, two-and-a-half RPs and think to yourself...nawwwwww.

Then you write all this shit down in one night and ignore sleep to get it all done.

Anyhow, character-arc-driven fantasy adventure RP, where players are Outlanders with relatively heavy and dramatic backstories, and the wilderness they encounter is savage enough that life and death is decided within three rounds of combat. I'm generally looking for player casts that number in multiples of 6. This is basically still an anime RP, so things will gradually become more superhuman as people get their power ups and their stat boosts, but also it would be cool if y'all were the type that are into inter-character skits while journeying and are comfortable flatout getting murdered or maimed if things go hilarious. I'll pull my own punches back because I already have immortal meatsacks to bully in another RP, so it probably won't be that bad...but you also never know.

If interested, feel free to toss questions. Also sorta weird, but I've probably been really vibing with the idea of a 'closed' world. This might be the first step to becoming a flat-earther.........

Also, tabletop is there because I might have people throw some dice, but there won't really be much of a system here. Probably just yeeting d6s like ye olde JTTRPGs.

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, Slick] Damage X, Restrain, Extend, Construction, Trap, Enhance, Mark, Blink, Powerful

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

[Silver Self + Extend + Slick] = 60 Mana

PHYSICAL: E| ARCANE: D | CHAOS: C | 380

_{@BrokenPromise@Majoras End@OwO@mantou}

Impact.

Klava’s breath escaped between clenched teeth as a wine barrel bounced against her side, six hundred pounds of weight slamming her against the adjacent wall. She could feel the sharp, throbbing pain of a cracked, perhaps broken, rib as her stomach broiled in nausea from the impact that travelled into her organs, but there was nothing to puke out, and there was no reason to just stay still. The melody that travelled through her body flooded out with adrenal urgency, her entire body glowing with an icy sheen as she applied Slick to herself.

In one moment, Klava slipped up and over the barrel, tumbling to the ground.

In the next, her Construction, over three hundred cubic meters of glacial ice, exploded, revealing a Bob that was dented, yet undamaged.

“I’ll fight you when you’re my size, junkbot.”

The machine reached out with precision that could only be granted by automation. The Maiden drove her beloved blade into the ground, pushing her forward even while prone. His fingers snagged her hair, but the strands were much too silky to be held by dented machinery, and Klava slid right between the behemoth’s legs, opening up her eyes to all that was before her.

Sniper lady unrestrained, pyromancer leader ready to fire, Timekeeper struggling against the maniac that vaguely resembled Betty. Thank god she hadn’t taken her Blink out. If she did, Timekeeper was going to be absolutely murdered by three older ladies. Klava pressed her elbows against the ground to press herself upwards even as smouldering embers from the flames that Bob had just trampled shot up into her face. Inconsequential burns, nothing compared to Sofron’s searing. Easy to ignore, and more importantly, offering up just enough rough terrain that she could kick off of and accelerate on. Poised like an ice skater, Klava adopted a low profile as she sped into, then past the firing lines of the male pyromancers, her target in sight.

The old-fashioned huntress.

Moya-no-Yume gleamed as it thrust forth, mist trailing off its honed edge, Klava beelining straight for Jane…only to kick off to the right instead, dropping low and driving her dagger into the ground. Slick as the rest of her body was, her Instrument itself remained sharp, transforming into an anchoring point that allowed her to swing in the opposite direction, converting her true attack against the huntress into a sweeping kick.

Invariably less fatal, but intentionally so. A berserk butler avenging his master would be a problem. A butler running to get his master to the hospital would be very much less so.

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, Slick] Damage X, Restrain, Extend, Construction, Trap, Enhance, Mark, Blink, Powerful

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

[Silver Touch + Construction + Slick] = 150 Mana

PHYSICAL: E| ARCANE: D | CHAOS: C | 440

_{@BrokenPromise@Majoras End@OwO@mantou}

Flames all around, exploding beside her as she ducked and wove. VIP and healer cut off from the rest. Titan in front, pyros behind. Ghost off to the side, naturally able to bypass any obstacles. And in the distance stood a violinist, a pale-skinned aberration amongst the increasing chaos. Smoke wafted down, soot coating her skin before cool waters naturally washed it off. The heat did not sting her eyes, nor did the flames ignite her traumas.

Through the haze, Klava recognized the violinist. The one that was kidnapped, the one that was enthralled. Finn, clad in lightning, was already off. Did he have a personal connection? Did it matter? Youthful passions lent itself easily to a desire to save the damsel above all else, but the Maiden did not feel such passions herself. She was as fair as frost. She was as cold as laws.

She brushed her hands against the sides of her head, pulling back her bangs and clearing up her vision.

One breath.

Compared to the fantastical capabilities of monsters and magi, unrestrained by the laws of Melodies and Notes, Espers were individuals bound by scarce resources. It was in that scarcity, though, that an Esper’s greatest strength could be unveiled. Imagination and resourcefulness, rounded out by the knowledge that they had two lives compared to the one of their foes.

Her blade hissed coldly. Her mind rested at a razor point.

I hadn’t realized storms were so gentle.

Well, there were no grandpas here.

“Protector, switch and take care of the backline. Weapons only, team with Apollo to restrain and kill the pyros. Tetrad, your wand shoots magic. Focus the ghost. Don’t need you to kill it, just occupy it. We’ll secure our back first. I’ll handle Big Bob. Stay frosty all.” Another breath, deeper, for a voice loud enough to be heard over a blizzard. “And Timekeeper! Focus on evasion and keep the girl between you and the pyros!”

Her piece said, Klava clapped Protector on the back as she stepped forth, right to the edge of the charred and blazing heap that cut the pathway in half. Here, the pyromancers wouldn’t have a shot on her unless they wanted to get right up at the gap. She raised one leg up, then stomped it down onto the ground, the chiming of bells sounding brightly as the Esper adopted a wide stance. Her arms raised out to the side, palms facing the gargantuan foe as if to embrace them.

“Ha ha ha ha,” the dark-haired esper said, mimicking the robotic laughter of her foe. “You’re proof enough that the strength of machinery is a sham. I’ll rent out your lady with the money I make off your scraps.”

Arcane power built beneath her skin, the resonance of a melody sending chills down her spine. It was always a gamble, but Klava was compulsive.

At the moment it broke into a sprint, she would Construct a curved slope, Slicked enough to prevent any sudden deceleration. A slope that would extend right into the ceiling, to send the robotic cretin right into stone and dirt. It had proven resistant to magic. Now the question: was it resistant to itself?

Well, if she had to run because it actually turned out to be a lightning beam cannon that Big Bob was building up, that was fine too. Klava’s Mark on Apollo’s ass, after all, still remained as her get-out-of-jail card.

Qualia: Mission Sub Rosa

_{@Yankee@banjoanjo@Psyker Landshark@Vega7285}
Ultimately, Valeriya did deign to come along after all, leaving the Japanese restaurant without having actually eaten her lunch, which made it at least somewhat awkward, when the ladies who invited her to come didn’t actually go in the same direction as her. Jeanne, speaking of her desire for a proper bath and bed after a night spent tied up beside a charcoal wreckage, had left with Ryuuko, and Nazca, citing the need to develop her nighttime photographs, had come along, leaving the Russian Technologist with just Bang, as Inti had already left ahead of the rest.

Curious coincidences, that...well, if Hana hadn't decided to come along as the third wheel.

Following the trail of smoke that continued to rise at a steady consistency, the trio came across what had actually caused the smoke signal to begin with: six small spider-droids stacked atop each other, sequentially burning each other down through some sort of Formulized charcoal. It must have been going on for a while now, and passers-by hardly cared for the curious little tower. Even in a world of steam and fog, gears and lightning, there was still a place for the furnace, after all, and the miniature furnaces themselves seemed content to smoulder and burn away. The trio continued, eventually meeting up with Inti at the place Jeanne’s instructions lead them to.

It was a common intersection, if not for the yellow-and-black tape that cordoned off an area twenty-six meters away. A man dressed in black with a half-dome helmet on his head and the monochrome rendition of the island’s crest pinned to his breast pocket stood in front of the cordon. His hands were placed behind his back, and the section that was cordoned looked…just the same as any other section of the street. Whatever hubbub that this may have generated looked to have died down around the morning; compared to Jeanne’s rampage, this was much less attention-grabbing. A shattered streetlamp, a couple holes in adjacent walls, and a policeman that looked just a little bit bored, standing guard at an incident that received little to no attention.

Certainly, it was the scene of a shooting. Certainly, there was no blood shed on either end of the barrel.

So, what was there to investigate?
_{@Click This@Medili}
The walk back to the apartments that both Jeanne and Nazca stayed in was uneventful, largely due to the triangle of general disdain that had formed: Ryuuko’s disdain towards Nazca’s restaurant choices, Nazca’s annoyance regarding having any involvement with Jeanne, and Jeanne’s general disinterest in speaking to plebians. Whispers and stolen gazes trailed the Frenchwoman as she strode through the streets, but none bothered to accost her for her actions, in part due to the presence of the chimeric Egoist. Protection, it appeared, went both ways. Reputation, though, was a one-way road, and by association alone, the three misfits’ standings began to meld into one another.

After all, an Abya Yalan immigrant, a Japanese expatriate, and an unrestrained witch of a Polymath had plenty of intersections to draw rumours and gossip from.

The consequences of association would take time germinate though, and the three made their way to the three-story Incan-style apartments that Jeanne resided in. A few students were already enjoying the gorgeously turquoise waters of the swimming pool, while the smell of cooked meats wafted down from the balconies. An Occidental student had taken full advantage of the spacious patio to enjoy the nubile beauties below while grilling himself some lunch. Someone else, unseen, went up and down the scales of a piano, their efforts leaking out through the windows. It looked as if for some Polymaths, the first day of Bermuda wasn’t spent studying, investigating, or even giving a shit at all about the debacle at the Inner Circle, but rather simply relaxing and enjoying a life free from government overseers or parent pressures. The vertigo of freedom could consume the limited time of one’s life, but perhaps a day or two wouldn’t hurt.

Jeanne’s eyes, as she glanced towards those vacuous buffoons wiling away their time to indulge in transient pleasures, spoke of a different mindset.

“Well,” she spoke once they entered the living room of her suite, “It’s reasonable for us to part ways now. May your endeavors in photography be useful, Miss Whitehall. And Ryuuko, though I understand this goes against our friend Mr. Robespierre’s edicts, I am accustomed to bathing alone. Do you mind?”

The Frenchwoman didn’t wait for an answer. She entered her bathroom without hesitation but without haste, and the shuffling of disrobed clothing sounded, followed soon after by the rushing of water. If Ryuuko deigned it appropriate though, a mere door was no deterrent to any Egoist.
_{@Izurich@Kumbaris}
Sukoro tilted his head to the side, then shook it.

“There is a misunderstanding, Miss Konigsmahne. My Starsteel Formulization does not disappear. Its function is to obscure and impede, rather than to lock away. If you would like to reset the pattern, however, that can be achieved handily by break and reconnecting the electrical loop.” The Japanese Technologist smiled. “This otherwise sounds agreeable, however. I will have a small chest delivered to your residence by this evening, and I wish you the best with regards to the competition.”

And with that, the young man turned his attention away from the two ladies, tearing down his study and starting anew. It was clear, anyhow, that their conversations had delved to topics unrelated to himself personally.

Cacophony Concord

And thus, the battle began in earnest!

Foul incantations reverberated through Leif’s body as Weishaupt mimicked the casting motions of its master, the spinal parasite that had sank itself into the shaman’s back unleashing bolts of deathly lightning as he shot for the enemy backline. From the depths of the earth, the millions of insects and vermin that had passed away, decayed away, roused themselves from their slumber, melding together as mounds of earth found humanoid shape. Each of them targeted a different enemy, lumbering forwards with malicious intent.

Ames was the first to draw their blade, however. Humming with unified spiritual energies, the swordsman’s hooked sword turned into a phantasmal vapour and arced through the air, confounding both the samurai’s katana and armor. She widened her eyes, the complexion of her skin paling as her own mana was drained by the singular strike, before narrowing them in determination. Drawing in a deep breath, she let out a war-like shout, the thunderous sound shaking both the Earthrot Golem and Ames to the core, stunning the two before either could continue the offense. And, without hesitation, she angled her katana for the exposed animist’s throat and drove the tip forward.

But neither Raime, nor Mags, nor Leif were in any position to assist. Already, they were at the backline, Raime’s hand cannon erupting with bursts of steam. Rather than singular bullets, the Chihananshi Mk II was naturally a weapon meant for close to mid range combat, and a shotgun blast resounded with each pull of the trigger. The robed kannushi grimaced, his chain of hand signals broken as he brought his arms up to shield his face from the pellets that shredded his body, but the bard jumped back instead. From the sky, a fully-armored crusader landed, bearing dual greatswords and sporting spearheads poking out from every inch of its armor. The shotgun blast did little to give it pause, and with his Type-Guard Nuclei established, the bard began to strum his axe-guitar, multi-colored melodies surging out to further empower his steelbound guardian. One punch sent the HP-sponge of a golem flying back, the specialized stats of a singular undead incapable of withstanding the power of a monstrous Nuclei, while the other hand thrust out. There was a click, a whirr, a holy hymn, before a hailstorm of spearheads shot out, tracking the paths of Leif and Raime.

At the same time, however, Magpie was able to close the distance, the kannushi given no time to react before she unleashed a flurry of acupuncture strikes, each blow sending a scarlet energy racing through his meridian lines. He stumbled back, whatever divine powers he had planned on unleashing sealed, and looked around to see his allies all preoccupied. Suddenly, the deck of talismans he had didn’t look all that reliable compared to the trained and toned murdering machine that was Magpie’s entire body.

“Ah fuck this shit I’m out.”

The earth cracked beneath him, and instantly, the kannushi flew seventy-five meters into the sky, atop a massive, flying boulder from which sacred ropes and talismans were affixed. Immobile and yet daunting, the [Silence] effect placed upon him still meant that it had to be a Type-Castle Nuclei, brimming with some dangerous passive effect…which showed itself soon enough, as a malicious light expanded outwards from the killing stone, and Leif, Raime, Magpie, and Ames’s bodies all began to slowly bubble, weeping welts forming upon their skin.

Amulak, of course, was totally alright. After all, in a party where he was the sole backline, and where his Nuclei offered him plenty of ability to hide out somewhere like a sniper in a ghillie suit, there was essentially no way that anyone would notice him out there, vibing while his gamer buddies caused chaos.

The Epic of Beginnings - Fragments of a weathered scroll

^{@Rune_Alchemist}

Inventory

Coinage: 8 Silver, 5 Copper
Carried

• The (near-nonexistent) clothing on his back.
• Broken Hourglass
• Leather Belt
• Mining Goggles
• Leather Gloves
• Broken Lantern
• Pickaxe
• Knight's Dagger
• Dwarf's Polearm
• Rope
• Canteen of water
• Some preserved food
  Enough for two people to last a few days.
• Communication horn
  Made from bone, hollow and likely used for communication.
• 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.
• Dusk Ring
  A ring bearing the engraving of Shadow Elf royalty. One who carries it carries authority recognized by the crown of the Shadow Elves. Most who see the crest will be willing to show some manner of friendship and authority to the bearer.
• Moonlit Water
  A type of holy water blessed by the Goddess of the Moon. Cures minor wounds and invigorates the body. Its surprisingly not a clear color - but a deep, oceanic blue. Seems to faintly glow at night. Not strong enough to harm demons.

Stored

• A fur cloak.
• Knight's Longsword
• Knight's Shield
• Untanned boar skin.
• A small pot and a ladle
• 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.

Isidore considered asking for a demonstration of how those tools worked, but decided quickly enough that he could figure it out on his own time. Rather, he needed knowledge and experience elsewhere. His fights, if they could be called such, against Sorcha and the archdemon had both proved that he had neither the techniques nor the strength to prevent himself from being disarmed, whether through magnetic repulsion or flatout disintegration.

So the furnace needed to become a forge. And though he understood cars and circuitry, the nature of blacksmithing was something that he needed to see firsthand to comprehend, to visualize, to recreate.

“Call me Isidore,” the dark-haired youth spoke bringing forward a hand to shake. “It’s a matter of professional…curiosity. I use weapons, but don’t know how they’re made. I’m here to amend that.”

Qualia: Mission Sub Rosa

_{@banjoanjo@Yankee@Click This@Medili}
“I couldn’t see the gunman, and the gunman missed all six shots,” Jeanne spoke, turning her face towards Bang. “They were low on my list of priorities.”

As the rest of the table fell into discussion, rumination, and interrogation, the Frenchwoman settled back into her seat once more, letting all the white noise wash over her. By nature, a devilbat Egoist of Occidental origins should have been easy to spot during their month-long flight across the known world, and yet, no one recalled any such individual. Being attacked while chasing another appeared to indicate collusion, but most of the bullets didn’t even land anywhere near her. And if the Egoist were an opportunist taking advantage of the scenario that Jeanne had established, what were they hoping to achieve prior to this? It was when Nazca spoke up that the blonde Technologist deigned to speak up again. “Playing at spywork, Miss Whitehall?”

Nothing but a light jab. Nothing but a little prodding from the French to the British. Jeanne moved on just as effortlessly, interlacing her fingers and setting them on the table.

“And as for your question, Bang, it’s simple.” Her fingers tightened, clasping together firmly. “Something stalked me within the mists, and when I attacked, something fled in great bounding leaps. Naturally, I pursued.”

But any Polymath would know that correlation did not imply causation. The case certainly had its share of oddities, of peculiarities.
“For the gunman, it’s a simple task to show you where the shooting occurred.”

Perhaps, of all present, only Nazca would understand what Jeanne was doing as she rolled the right sleeve of her shirt back to reveal a flexible, blackened metal chasis beneath, studded with nodes and circuitry. “Formation Pyre,” she spoke in French, then directed her gaze outside the window.

Against the picturesque sky, it was easy to see.

The trail of black smoke, snaking up to the false heavens.

Jeanne settled back down, her posture perfect and her facade unperturbed.

“One hundred and twenty two meters southwest of that point.”
_{@Izurich@Kumbaris}
There was no response to either Lucretia or Bunga.

Sukoro continued to draw, his pencil gliding smoothly over the canvas, rendering the drawing three-dimensional despite the lack of shading. It was a study, a study of the deathly plant. How its petals peeled away to reveal its bud, how its fibers intertwined to form its body, how the spots and bumps upon it created the sense of a slice of pepperoni or salami. Sweat continued to drip, the Japanese Technologist’s robes clinging to his body, his shoulder moving vigorously while his arm was as stiff as the pencil in his hand.

And after what seemed to be an eternity, he stopped, placing his pencil onto his thigh and letting out a long hiss through his teeth, his entire body seeming to sink down into itself.

Expertly rendered, and yet wholly without expression, his study of the plant was as if through the lens of an impartial creator, neither proclaiming the work good nor bad. His eyes, half-closed turned to the two ladies who had been forced to wait, before his head naturally tilted downwards in an expression of apology. “Pardon me,” the young man spoke, his voice scratchy from a combination of thirst and silence, “I was not ignoring you, but rather simply had other matters to handle first. It is a pleasure, Miss Konigsmahne, Miss Kurniawan.”

He stopped speaking, eyes looking at nothing in particular while he recalled their questions, before continuing. “And yes, I would be happy to provide you with a chest inscribed with my Starsteel Formulization, Miss Konigsmahne. In exchange, could you lend me your Black Knight for a few days, so I may study it?”

It was fair, after all. One work for another. Perfectly acceptable...

“And yet another apology, Miss Kurniawan, but considering my own circumstances, I’ve been endeavouring to avoid, rather than socialize with, others. In regards to that particular part of the world, hrm…” He brought one leg up, crossing it over his knee, and leaned his elbow against it while propping his head up with his palm. “…maybe you could ask Mr. Kieu? I heard he was quite the social sort, compared to myself. Honestly, I wouldn’t even be able to name a Nusantaran Polymath off the top-of-my-head, so even if I saw them, I wouldn’t know them.”

It made sense again, of course. Japan was notoriously insular as a nation.
_@Jumbus
“I’m doing lovely today, thank you! And yes, such a troubling matter to hear of in the morning. I haven’t had the chance to read up on it myself, but, between me and you, I think it’s simply wrong for Mr. Robespierre to defend an arsonist and all. I get that’s what he’s known for but, like, that’s basically a shut-and-closed case, isn’t it?” The lady shook her head. “Makes me troubled, really. Like, I get that you’re all smart and good kids, and the governments that sent you definitely trust you to behave yourselves, but all it takes is one bad Technologist to do something crazy, y’know?”

She blinked, and then her face flushed, her hand moving up to cover her mouth.

“Oh, I’m so sorry for rambling on like that. It’s honestly a terrible habit of mine, but, well, I guess that’s to say that I’ll do whatever’s in my power to help you out with the prosecution!”

…there definitely seemed to be a misunderstanding here. Whether Franz chose to correct or maintain this misunderstanding though, was a decision that he’d have to make later.

“That being said, I could certainly hotprint Bermuda’s currently-enrolled students for you though. It won’t have anything that isn’t publicly accessible information though, due to privacy concerns, but there’ll be photos without a doubt. Just, you know, nothing specific like their addresses or anything else their countries would like to keep private.” A slightly awkward smile formed over her expression and she looked off to the side. “…and not all students postured themselves correctly during the photography sessions either, so some of them might look a bit off…”

The Swedish lady recovered from that easily enough though, and directed a bright smile towards Franz.

“I could have it delivered through the Postal Service to your residence by this evening though. Or is there another location you’d like to receive this, Mr. Steiner?”

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, Slick] Damage X, Restrain, Extend, Construction, Trap, Enhance, Mark, Blink, Powerful

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

[Silver Projectile + Construction] = 120 Mana

PHYSICAL: E| ARCANE: D | CHAOS: C | 590

_{@BrokenPromise@Majoras End@OwO@mantou}

So that was their play?

Even as Protector was set aflame and Timekeeper was caught in the splash of it, Klava decided that it was probably still ok. The pyromancers looked only about as motivated as anyone else would when they were threatened with their lives by some spooky monster, after all. Sniper lady and her robot butler was going to be more of a pain though.

But that was fine too.

“Sealing off the pyros,” Klava said, moments before weaving a melody through her fingers and coalescing a large, crystalline snowflake. Throwing it forward, the projectile struck the burning barrel right as it crossed the mid-section of the path. In an instant, a seven-meter tall iceberg burst out, filling up every nook and cranny around it and pushing the barrel back the way it came, before crackling as it set itself in. Fire versus ice wasn’t a particularly bad matchup for ice, and regardless, all they needed was time. Time to deal with one threat while the other was forced to reposition. “Head for the corridor, all! If the robot rushes, we play bowling with a slick and a push!”

Naturally, she followed her own advice, slapping Timekeeper on the shoulder to get him to follow after once his spell neutralized the next explosive barrel.