ERode

Iris Ascendis

I'll post after Sifr does.

Iris Ascendis

Don't kill yourself over it, mate.

Iris Ascendis

Quick sauce made. Don't mind Otis taking every opportunity to look down on his peers.

Iris Ascendis

_@Nanaya

“It’s that same sort of behavior that caused them to fight amongst themselves yesterday,” Otis replied, glancing towards the janitor. “The presence of a goal does not excuse an unawareness of one’s surroundings.”

With the principal’s voice alerting him of the attunement ceremony, however, it looked as if it wasn’t feasible to find Chloe outside anytime soon. He could form a spell to track her down, of course, but on the other hand, her hair and her countenance stood out enough. If all were destined to flow towards a certain space, then why chase, when one could wait? He drew a sigil in the aether instead, whispering an incantation for a spell well-used during his own alchemical mishaps.

The soapy fluids rose up from the ground in dark globules, fusing together one at a time in the form of a perfect sphere. By the time Michael returned, there would be but a single ball, floating two feet off the ground.

And there would be no Strigidae to be found.

---

Instead, Otis floated above the Leyline Attunement Zone, amber eyes gazing down once more at the clusters of students that formed. There was the shock of red hair that marked out Valen, as well as the brambly black of Ciara who approached him with ill intent. Iraleth, gleaming silver, had arrived as well, but he didn’t catch the glimmer of Hildegunde’s rifle anywhere in the auditorium.

Nor did he see the vibrant strawberry blonde of Chloe.

Hm.

With a flexing of his fingers, his Adapa manifested before him once more, and an e-mail was drafted moments later, sent to all his contacts within Compact 1.

I do not see Chloe or Hildegunde. Has anyone else?

Expedition to Isekai

---

//Day 3 | Location: Nameless Forest - Lakeside
_{@Vertigo@baraquiel@AThousandCurses@Nakushita@Yankee}
“Don’t be a coward now.”

As Duncan leaned down, Haruko raised her own arms up, wrapping them around his neck to pull him down further into a quick kiss. Just a brush of the lips, a softness and warmth that disappeared a moment later, before she took his package of cigarettes and took a step back too. “And if you wanted to ace the whole quitting thing, you wouldn’t be keeping one with you either, dummy.”

There looked like there was more left to say, but if either of them kept talking, it would never end. A glance towards Asahi, who was getting waved off by Kumi, and then Haruko too turned away.

“See you, Duncan.”

It didn’t take long for that golden ichor to leave Duncan’s body. His core was warm once more, and he carried more food with him too. Asahi was in a similar situation, feeling more energetic than he had in days despite the heavy feelings in his heart. What would change when they return? What would remain the same?

Kumi yawned. Her secret for not thinking or worrying, it seemed, was to simply do what she had always done. “Just clean out the containers after you’re done with them. Mold grows after two days.” She managed a smile at Asahi, before heading back to the fire. “Sounding a lot more reliable these days though, Asahi. I’ll hold you to that fact.”

And with that, the two boys disappeared into the woods, towards that singular mountain in the distance.

...only, of course, to come across Oros.

---

This morning, the forest really was just serene and quiet.

Perhaps it was a consequence of Shun’s violence the previous day, having cleared out that den of monsters by her own. Perhaps it was simply that such monstrous threats were an anomaly to begin with. The woods around her were quiet as she strolled in a wide perimeter around the students’ campsite. It had been a slow morning for most others, her classmates content with enjoying the remnants of a restful sleep and a full stomach, even though Hana and Hiroshi were both up and about in getting the place in a better shape.

It was an opportunity for Shun to rest, at least. A chance for her to enjoy her solitude and to feel her own body continue to recover. There was still a faintness that lingered in her limbs, a weakness in her tendons as she stepped over brush and roots, but any pain that she had felt from tearing apart her body had disappeared, leaving only the pleasant buzz of a remembered victory. And now, her body was refuelled properly. She had strength enough to go even more wild than she had before, if she wanted to.

Up above, twenty meters high, there were claw marks upon the trunks of trees, the lingering scent of something bestial.

Perhaps there would be another battle on the horizon after all.

She could track those claw marks or inform others of their presence. She could do neither, and instead continue to enjoy this artificial peace, born from ignorance and apathy. An outlier could do whatever she wished to, after all, and none would even notice she did it.

Revue of Annihilation

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

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

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

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

There was money to be made, of course.

But still, there was space to mourn.

_@Thayr

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t even know who you are!”

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

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

Revue of Annihilation

The desire to clean out the Underpass.

Iris Ascendis

Not yet, I'd say.

Iris Ascendis

_{@Nanaya@Psyker Landshark}

Gorias Velyphus.

Otis did not react physically, but there was a longer pause as he considered the situation. He recognized the opportunity here, after all, the chance of being able to pick at the man’s brain regarding the possibilities present. A stupid question would simply cause any message or future correspondence to be discarded from the get-go.

“I will investigate this on my own for the time being. If it turns out to not just be an oddity coming from the irregularity that is an Ethos, then I’ll draft a letter for you to send to Headmaster Velyphus then.”

The Strigidae released his grip on the chains, and with that, the arcane constructs disappeared, Davil tumbling onto the floor once there was nothing to hold him up. He turned to Iraleth, nodding once to her. “A clinic may be useful. Bringing him to Ciara will have the same effects, but she’s likely over there too, so it works out either way. Please record his ramblings on your Adapa and send them to me as well; it may be useful as a reference.”

No more reason to wait and faff about; he was on the move to search for Chloe now, to make good on his offer.

Revue of Annihilation

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ok, here we go!”
_@Asuras

---

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

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

“Th-thank you. Please t-”

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