Bro's too busy with Helldivers now. Smh gamers.
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Didn't feel like it's all that necessary to make a post about it, Este, so here's Therese's immediate response. Elys'll be free to head off in whichever direction afterwards. If you wanted to have her spar with the students, it'll probably be something that takes a few hours at least though. In terms of capabilities, they're a mixture of Tier 1 and Tier 2s, with maybe a 40:60 split.
"Ah, the dream."
There was both understanding and resignation in the older woman's tone.
"Little other reason to come to Oratorio, except for the Abyss's siren song. Regardless though, so long as your hands remain clean, you're welcome here. A name would be convenient though."
//O11 - Deserted Backstreets
The three thieves traversed through town without much more in terms of fortunate or unfortunate encounters, keeping to themselves as they sought out a proper hideout among the shacks and alleys, the shoddily-made buildings of the Outer Layer. And while the potential hideouts they found couldn’t be considered anywhere fit for one to live in, they certainly could be fit for storing ill-gotten gains or hiding away from angry mobs.
A derelict warehouse, the home of rats the size of one’s hand, offered plentiful boxes for storage, rotten as those boxes were. The rats themselves, so long as one had a long stick, could be temporarily scared off, but there had to be an understanding built here, mutual respect built between mankind and the rats. It would take only one bite to end a life.
The sewers, filled with a nightmarishly sludgy stench, offered another avenue for long-term storage. While entrances were few, the labyrinthian sewers served as a perfect hideout if one wasn’t afraid of getting lost. Of course, hiding spots in sewers didn’t exactly take a genius thief to figure out. Just because the trio didn’t encounter any others within the sewers beneath the Royal Road during their first venture did not mean that they or their loot wouldn’t be discovered by another sewer-venturer down the line.
Other avenues could be found in an abandoned watchtower off to one corner of the district. The structure was a groaning, creaking thing, even on a day with no wind, and it was difficult to gauge just how much longer it would last for. The interior took some actual climbing skill to navigate, and if it collapsed, it would no doubtedly take everything in their hideout with it…but for that same reason, Talia couldn’t imagine anyone else thinking there was anything of value in here. Sometimes, it took a gamble.
But why take a gamble, when you could take a sure thing instead? Local gangs certainly offered such services, and one of the slumlords even offered a small suite in one of their properties free of charge, if only Talia and her men would do him an occasional favor every once in a while. It was certainly more secure than a random hiding spot, and it had the added benefit of serving as a place for them to sleep without worry too.
It was, of course, also a choice that may be naive. How much upwards mobility could she expect, if she were to align herself with an existing gang, while she herself was a total outsider?
The options were before Talia, nonetheless. With her numbers, it’d be difficult to renovate and maintain more than one of these potential hideouts.
@OwO
//A14 - Slaughterhouse No. 4
The dwarven woman let out a low whistle as the chains suspending the sandbag creaked rhythmically. The genetics of a dragonkin was nothing to scoff at, certainly, when even a shrimp like Frederika could generate that much force.
“You can hit hard, sure, but plenty o’ hard hitters round these parts. Like yer gusto tho, kid.” She nodded, then turned her attention back to Almagest. “If yer not giving her up permanently, guessin' ya don't know our deal in the Slaughterhouse. We usually take ‘em in, make sure they know their ropes. Then work ‘em up an audience n build a story up to get folks riled up.”
She did some calculations in her head quickly.
“Could bring her into one of the battle royales tonight, but just need ta know, old man. You’re rentin’ her out then? Kid’s not plannin’ on being one o’ my own?”
@Izurich
//O7 - Public Square
The wagoner was a man in his fifties, thickly built with a head that reminded one of a fish: bald and oval in shape, with bugged-out eyes and an overbite. He looked down at Lethe upon the Ichor-Blessed’s approach, blinking twice in the way that someone unaccustomed to people speaking to him did. A flick of his wrists, and the reins on the draft horse snapped, the beast itself slowing to a stop.
“Out the city,” was the response. “Found something you want?”
Around the other side of the wagon, his partner stepped out, more curiosity rather than suspicion in his own gaze. No one had reason to rob the corpse-collectors, after all. “Who’re you to ask anyhow? Don’t look like you’re around these parts.”
An assertion that came, no doubt, from the fact that Lethe had approached them to begin with.
@Thayr
//A3 - The Entrance into the Abyss
As their path continued through the Adventurer’s District, quietude began to descend. It wasn’t due to the decreasing amount of people, no, for there were still plenty of adventurers present. But outside of those who were bold and inexperienced, less of them saw it fit to make merry. They had to get into the headspace for adventure now, after all. An adventure not through the vast lands, but through the forbidden depths, where death and glory was divided by a borderline the width of one’s blade-edge. Grand walls loomed before Theodore and the mining crew, and rather than entering through any ground-level gate, they were marched up the staircases instead, trudging up higher and higher until they joined many other adventurers upon the tops of the walls.
It afforded a view that was at once beautiful and terrifying.
Behind them laid the entirety of Oratorio and the lands they had traversed to enter this city, a sprawling of terrains and the cloud-dappled heavens. Before them was a sheer drop into the depths of the Abyss, the hole bored into the planet when the Thousand-Faced God was slain by a foreign entity that pierced through the firmament. This was the cradle of the monsters, that accursed labyrinth from which corrupted creations spawned out of. Standing on the edge, Theodore could not help but entertain the idea of simply stepping off the wall, of plummeting into his destiny.
A drive towards death. It would come for him either way. Why delay it? Why not return as fast as gravity would allow, into darkness so deep that he could make out no details of what laid at the bottom, even when the sun was shining bright overhead?
But the Ichor-Blessed did not step off. Shepherded by a gruff-voiced man, he was instead lead upon a rudimentary elevator system, crammed upon a single platform that no doubt was overtaxed by the presence of everyone aboard. The chain was a lifeline for all these miserable, unprepared, undersupplied part-time labourers, but that chain looked so fragile, so slender.
It slinked away nonetheless; his ‘employee’ would be taking the next elevator down, no doubt with much more space inside the wooden cage than was afforded to the twenty-odd that Theodore and his followers were stuck with.
What could be done though?
Without power, all he could do was plot and bear with it, the abyssal descent a snail’s pace rather than a freefall.
@Silverpaw
//O7 - A Shanty Between Buildings
The girl was still for a moment. As if in disbelief. Being ignored for so long had paralyzed her to what she would do if someone actually heard her story and sought to help her in a way that exceeded a coin or two dropped in pity.
It was the movement of others in the Underpass though, that forced her into action. Other beggars, hearing of medicine being offered, shifting and preparing to approach. Other children, for there were too many children, who saw the possibility of a soft heart, a charitable soul. The girl nodded, then turned, guiding Ananta out of the Underpass and into the Outer Layer once more.
For one Ichor-Blessed, it seemed, the Abyss could wait.
Thirty five minutes and twenty nine seconds later, the dark-haired adventurer found herself in the space between two larger buildings, nothing more than a nook made due to inefficient spacing. The remnants of a wooden fence and rough canvas wrested from an old carriage formed a roof for the pathetic shanty, where an older woman laid. Her hair, a dull red, seemed to have wasted away with the rest of her body, her clothes hanging off her bones. Upon their approach, she opened one eye, the shifting of the blankets indicative of her grasping something hidden.
But it was her daughter, with a stranger who didn’t look completely a scoundrel. The woman relaxed, if only enough so that she could sink into the fatigue of sickness once more.
“Thank you.”
Words, rasped out from a leaded tongue. Her child scrambled to her side, helping her sit upright as she beheld Ananta properly. There was gratitude, but resignation too.
“You got hurt again, Sasha.” She nudged the girl’s cheek. The bruise was forming. “I told you. Watch out for yourself first.”
“But ma, she says she can help.”
“And I told you.” A dry cough sounded, the movement causing the blankets to shift once more, revealing bare flesh and the very edges of a strange, pulsating mark. The woman moved her blankets once more, covered it up once more. “It’s not something that can be helped.”
@Kero
Bullshit, go!
Otis didn’t spare a thought for those who came after him, only to lean against a wall and watch. Time was of the essence indeed, the atmosphere in the classroom such that the twinned realities would collapse upon each other once more, this time within Classroom 104. His Personal Barrier manifested once more, that sense of distance, of isolation, segregating him from the charged atmosphere, the bucking and breaking of a fragmenting leyline. There was less than a minute now, hardly any time to consider the pros and cons of methodology, hardly time to even consider personal safety in the pursuit of knowledge.
Think. What did he know?
Davil had shifted to another portion of Ascendia. Ascendia was a place bereft of essence, and one burned personal essence in order to continue existing there. The Arcane leyline’s quality was the accelerated drain of emotional essence and the strengthening of conceptual essence. But who knew how much essence Davil had? He could not have used his Ethos in the situation. It had to be associated then, with his Prime Essence somehow interfacing with the overlapping worlds, for while overcharged leylines were consumed, the pathways of those leylines remained. A void, a vacuum of essence, in a world where it was still ever-present.
Was he sucked in, like a leaf down a drain? But, due to the imperfect nature of this method of traversal, caught in-between?
Focus.
It took him three seconds to cross the room. Less than that to pull at his own prime essence, the Seeker who reached across worlds. In the void of essence that made up the pallid feather, Otis filled it with his own, envisioning the form of the one that he sought. That deficient fool who had too many disparate parts to just be a fool. He wove threads into the aether, entwined those threads until they were chains, chains to pull, chains to weigh, chains to shackle.
The pathways of that arcane leyline still existed, its flow bound by another but its grooves remaining regardless. There were no other oddities present, so there was only one thing to do.
Tear Davil out, by the roots.
Binky closed her eyes. Her brow twitched a bit before she brought up her hand. Like a compass trying to gain it's bearings, she turned side to side before reaching out her hand. Her finger was pointed at a locker at the end of the room.
"There, I think it's over there."
Estelle followed Binky's finger, nodding. Honestly, the Witch Hunter was happy that despite the great amount of evil present, there were plenty here who were still alive, and their captors were either dead or arrested at this point. She spared a smile towards them, a lightness in her step as she approached the locker. There was a chance that it was booby-trapped, but honestly, she didn't imagine anyone wanted to stay here any longer than necessary. Places like these, in a way, ought to just be repurposed into social housing or something.
"I can test for weretigers," she said, turning her head towards Cerberus. "Would require them to be gathered as close together as possible though, or I'll burn out my Mana pretty quick."
Before that, however, she did what she had to.
A swift swing from her Dai-Katana, and the Witch Hunter bashed the lock off of the locker, allowing the door to swing open of its own accord and hopefully reveal something that wasn't a time bomb strapped to a grimoire.
//O7 - Public Square
Lodging was an uncertain thing in the Outer Layer of Oratorio. There was a sense of seediness and danger even in the cleanest inns, with little more promised than a small bed and a blanket over a hay mattress. Furnishing was expensive, after all, and if you spent too much on furnishing, there was little one could do to prevent its theft. Of course, innkeepers with enough income could purchase the protection of local gangs, those steely-eyed thugs who stared down Lethe and his followers when he drew near whilst stinking of poverty, but that made one susceptible to having that same inn be commandeered by those gangsters whenever they wish for it.
It was an uncertain thing, lodging, and it was made more so by the fact that after the long trip to Oratorio, Lethe’s purse was empty. Work had to be found, work for a gravekeeper to do, and yet in this district, there looked to simply be no space for a graveyard to be. In the distance, white smoke rose up, a sign perhaps of cremation, but here, where the living were already bordering death, there was nothing. Nothing but…
Movement caught his eye. An aged draft horse, pulling a heavy wagon, its rider allowing it to trot slowly through the streets. The rider’s partner hopped off the side, grabbed a cloaked individual slumped against the corner of the alleyway. His gloved hands manipulated the person’s face briefly, before he nodded and hurled the body up onto the wagon, where it joined the tangle of limbs, the small pile of corpses, that the draft horse continued to pull outwards.
Wherever the two men were bringing their load, it was not to be inside Oratorio.
Whether Lethe sought to hail those two or allow them to continue their grim work unbothered, however, remained up in the air.
@Thayr
//A15 - Slaughterhouse No. 4
The people in the Adventurer’s District were friendly enough, at least. A few questions here, a few statements there, perhaps a coin or a paid drink to loosen the tongue, and there were plenty who were happy to point out the direction that the odd pair needed.
The travel time was longer, of course. While it was clear that the matchmaker they talked to before was someone whom had a ‘roaming’ show, Slaughterhouse No. 4 was contained within a proper establishment, giving it a sense of legitimacy. A few breaks had to be taken on the way, a few pickpocketing attempts had to be thwarted too, but considering how neither Almagest nor Frederika gave the sense of possessing wealth to begin with, it was uneventful for a stroll through the District.
And before the old man’s legs could give out beneath him, his Dragonkin Paladin spotted the audaciously colorful sign of ‘Slaughterhouse No. 4’ in the distance, braziers of green fire burning by its entrance. It was a wide building, made of good, solid wood, but a flat one too, featuring only a single floor. The doors weren’t locked, and strolling in, the two would find themselves in the sheltered portion of a sandpit arena, which was partitioned off from the perimeter by a wooden fence, roughly the height of Almagest’s waist. In the midday, there were only fighters present, striking at wooden dummies with weapons or their own fists. Others lifted rocks or performed body-weight exercises, still more sparred against each other, in a way that suggested it was more for cardio rather than to hone technique.
Compared to the raucous Shire’s Lock, this looked to be a proper place to train and fight.
“Aye, old man,” a dwarven woman strolled up to them, her coarse hair tied back in bun, her own face a collection of scars and wrinkles. “Whatcha here for? Sellin’ ‘er to the pits?”
@Izurich
//O3 - Bladerights Estate
Silence followed the echoes of her voice, though there was undoubtedly the presence of another in the room. Candles, deduced through their slender form and the uncommon warmth of the interior, were placed at the back, while a winged staircase, though one that was unevenly constructed, offered a path up to the second floor. As the living mass shifted, Elys could perceive the presence of a statue around the candles as well, a humanoid with four limbs and an inhuman skull.
But that was beside the point. Within the building, she could hear steps upstairs, the lighter steps of children, and she could hear the lecturing of a matronly voice too, teaching the finer points of language and mathematics. There was the smell of boiled milk and vegetables, a soup in the making, as well as the more-distant sound of water splashing, of fabrics being scrubbed against a washboard. It had to be a place for children, a place for students, a place for orphans.
The clacking of wood, however, sounded still, in an offbeat rhythm to the heavy steps of the mass approaching her. What was it? What did that sound suggest, in the context of a place for children, a place for education?
“Always sending the interesting ones, hm?”
The voice was effeminate, a watery thinness.
“You’re a swordswoman then. What do you want?” A pause. “And what do you value?”
Incense clung to the woman’s clothes, thick with reverence and penance.
@Estylwen
//A7 - Ordo Benevolence
“How can a band of Acolytes compare to those who do this for a living?”
Despite the pain, there too was resignation and acceptance, that of a man who had bore much in his elderly age, one who was accustomed to the suffering of this world.
“And who would care for the dead, if one lost their arm or their leg to the Maw of the Abyss? We would be reaching for sunlight, yet find ourselves grasping lightning.”
Slowly, the Father picked himself up, and another Acolyte rushed to his side to offer support. Without his staff, he could not walk, and his brows furrowed further as he was lead away to his chambers. No doubt, there would be prayers made and prayers unanswered. The God they revered was dead, and it was in divinity’s memory that the Church of Ordo Benevolence continued their services, unpaid and unthanked as they were.
Others, however, were too young to accept the unjust millstone that sought to ground good men to dust.
Her eyes, dark as the earth, bored into her bloodied tools, knuckles gleaming white against her pallid skin. She was a waif-like thing, the robes of an acolyte hanging loosely over her form, her red hair the colour of dead leaves, her bloodless lips drawn in a tight line. But her expression smoothed over at Cantor’s approach.
She drew in a breath. “No, thank you Brother Cantor. I can take care of this myself.” And she moved to do so, picking up her tools with deliberation to clean them off one by one. “I am Laina.”
And then, with slightly more deliberation, she asked, “You’ve worked as a sellsword before?”
@Shovel
//A3 - On Route to the Abyss
Certainly, there were larger groups of individuals that Theodore saw while being lead towards the high walls that bordered the Abyss. There were groups that looked to be preparing for a proper expedition, porters carrying heavy luggage and adventurers equipped with gleaming armour, maps being brought out by the leaders of the expeditions, men and women hardened by their experiences of the Abyss’s depths. Smaller groups looked towards the white walls, the remnants of the God-slaying spear, with excitement instead, even if they looked barely better-equipped than the Ichor-Blessed’s own group of miners.
Most were just getting by, however. Those clusters of adventurers who had lost their innocence but had not yet seen grand success. They glanced over at the group of Abyss-miners and smirked, deriving a sense of superiority in the fact that they, at least, weren’t so wretched as this lot. A few of them even called out to the portly leader, about the latest batch of dead meat to feed the goblins, and received similarly friendly jabs about the lycans. Perhaps it wasn’t a common practice, but it wasn’t an illegal one either.
Though was there anything truly illegal in Oratorio?
The clinking of chains sounded brightly. A sideways glance confirmed that slavery too, while not common enough to have been encountered up to this point, was still very much alive in this City of Opportunity too.
But who cared for those bound and collared, that row of pathetic fellows? They still lived better than the wretched of the Underpass, after all, who'd doubtlessly trade their languid freedom for chains and a proper roof over their heads. And what could Theodore even do other than observe, when he too was bound by the chain of 'work', by the ever-present call of the Abyss?
@SilverPaw
//O8 - The Underpass
Strange, how silence could dwell in a place filled with echoing noise.
Strange, how time, that hypocrite, could extend to eternity or collapse to instant, all while claiming objective, equal progression.
The child’s tongue moved within her mouth, licking at the bleeding gap in her teeth. Drinking it, along with saliva, to clear out her throat. She had not the energy for a desperate plea, knew not whether this strange woman was someone she should cling to, or just someone who enjoyed watching the misery of the young.
But she opened up her mouth regardless and spoke a single phrase.
“Ma's sick.”
@Kero
//O4 - Camille's Atelier
Ever-humble, Camille shook his head.
“I’m but a student still,” he said, with a self-deprecating smile. “And in the eyes of elves such as yourself, I can’t imagine that any man without a long beard and a wizened face could be considered capable of ‘culture’.”
So Camille wasn’t wholly oblivious to the possible ages of his guests. He continued his work regardless, however, and watching from over his shoulder, Meisa could definitely see the sort of progression that his works took. A charcoal stick formed Firenze’s outline, giving her silhouette the impression of rising out from the shadows, while a finer stylus traced into the canvas itself the grooves in which paint would soon settle. There was a sense indeed, that despite the incomplete totality of what untrained eyes would see as Firenze, Camille worked to capture the fewest possible details that were required to get at the royal bodyguard’s essence.
The sharpness of her jawline. The arch of her nose. The graceful wave of hair that fell over one eye, the way her eyelashes lifted up in the opposite one.
“As for my inspiration…well, it was a matter of inheritance, in truth. Someone who I’m indebted to granted me this lifestyle, as well as the contents of their study. I don’t truly believe I understand their actions even now, but I figured that I would understand it more, if I were to read what they’ve read.”
He pondered over an imagined line. Then, with a stiff arm and a stroke of afflatus, he followed through with what he envisioned.
“If you don’t mind me asking a question in return, miss, could you tell me your own reasons for entering Oratorio? I’ve seen a few elves around here before, but those who do possess the countenance of outlanders and spellcasters, or would not have appeared outside the Royal Road to begin with.”
@Click This
A12 - The Rooster and Ridge
The aroma of roasted chicken and butter made Voi’s choice for him and drew him past the swinging doors of the Rooster and Ridge, a humble eatery. At this time of day, only those who did not have any plans at all of heading down into the Abyss were present. Lunch had passed, after all, and dinner was still far away. A few hardy folk nursed their drinks and chewed on bones and cartilage, but they looked more like labourers than anything else, while an absent-minded man, the proprietor of this eatery, absentmindedly cleaned the table.
But there were still a few in this room whose appearance spoke of adventure, or at least of danger.
In the corner, their boots kicked up onto the table and their wide-brimmed hat settled over their face, a lone ranger reclined, chewing upon some kind of herb as they whiled away their time.
Commandeering one of the larger tables now that no one would tell them off for it, a band of friendly, youthful faces poured over what their black-haired leader claimed was a map of the first layer of the Abyss, their collective pittance of funds scattered over that same table as they argued and discussed what their plan would be for tomorrow.
A pair of older, grizzled adventurers hunched over their own tables, drinking heavily from the bottle and glaring at the squad of rookies with derision. Occasionally they would spit out something about ‘amateurs’ and ‘monster fodder’, but nothing came of those remarks.
None of them gave Voi anything more than a passing glance when he entered. White hair, pale skin, and blue eyes were a striking combination, but perhaps there were weirder sights still, once one descended into the domain of the Perishing Star.
@Theyra
Nice, came back just in time for the satisfaction of shooting Alto in the knee.
Esfir took her sausages back. If the adult orc had run with it, she wasn’t going to stop him. She couldn’t really. Her legs were simply too short to catch up. But that wasn’t anything to be mad about either. If it came down to it, revenge could be a very long thing. And the forest already had plenty of poisons available.
On the other hand, killing a fellow Orc without understanding the laws governing this place would be a dangerous thing too, and for that, she nodded at the Captain Xol-something. It didn’t feel appropriate to smile here, but in return for the raw sausage links, she rolled one of the freshly cooked ones off away from the flames, before grasping one and offering it to the Captain in return. It didn’t escape her, that upon his arrival, the rest of the orcs quieted down and made space.
He wasn’t a Warchief, but he occupied that same area of power, compared to the rest of the adult orcs. Smaller than Kougaut, yet undoubtedly just as strong, so that meant that he was fast too, deadly. She licked her lips.
“I’m bartering my sausages. And I’m selling my sausage-making skills as well.”
Esfir met the Captain’s gaze, but only just. She wasn't certain how much of him was a predator and how much of him was a warrior yet. She didn't know how he reacted to eye contact.
“But I’ll be hunting for my own food regardless. Didn’t make a spear just to use it as a walking stick.”
@Zeroth
On the other hand, killing a fellow Orc without understanding the laws governing this place would be a dangerous thing too, and for that, she nodded at the Captain Xol-something. It didn’t feel appropriate to smile here, but in return for the raw sausage links, she rolled one of the freshly cooked ones off away from the flames, before grasping one and offering it to the Captain in return. It didn’t escape her, that upon his arrival, the rest of the orcs quieted down and made space.
He wasn’t a Warchief, but he occupied that same area of power, compared to the rest of the adult orcs. Smaller than Kougaut, yet undoubtedly just as strong, so that meant that he was fast too, deadly. She licked her lips.
“I’m bartering my sausages. And I’m selling my sausage-making skills as well.”
Esfir met the Captain’s gaze, but only just. She wasn't certain how much of him was a predator and how much of him was a warrior yet. She didn't know how he reacted to eye contact.
“But I’ll be hunting for my own food regardless. Didn’t make a spear just to use it as a walking stick.”
@Zeroth
Oh hey, Zeroth, just letting you know that Discord changed how long they save uploaded images to their server, so now, well, most of the image links you've used for the Character tab are broken.
Also heheh, got one more month before we can say that we move at a pace of one IC day per one OOC year.
Also heheh, got one more month before we can say that we move at a pace of one IC day per one OOC year.
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