Fantasy ┌ spellsword ┘ Amaric Temple

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (5th floor)
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—1047

Markus ⚜ Stonehart​

Lvl. 5 | Supporter-Paladin
Status Focused
Spell Slots
Lvl. 1 6/6
Lvl. 2 3/3
Lvl. 3 1/1

TAGS Haze- ERode November Witch Carolyn

What Markus saw was the pot beginning to bubble. All the right ingredients had been brought together, what mattered now is how well they worked together as they stewed and just how hot the flame was. In truth, the group was proving more promising with each round of revision. If left to their own devices, they might have ran in head first with little plan or cohesion. Now, in no more than five minutes, they had learned more about each other. What they could do, how they thought, who would be the first to throw themselves on a blade and who would be the first to swing it.

Symphony and Heleni proved the most tactical. There were no mages for her to defend in the backline, so her threads would only ever be used from the front. Heleni meanwhile hadn't secured the support of the group to scout, but that type of faith came in time.

Leonel lamented his shortcomings, thus at least acknowledging them. That was better than some. Ayn was both foolhardy and thoughtful. If she lived to see it, and her age became wisdom, she may well one day be a force to be reckoned with.

The stone face cracked. Markus smirked.

"I shall show you another way we Guides earn our keep," Markus announced, yanking the attention back to himself with a slight elevation in his voice and a rejuvenated tone.

He then reached his left hand down and onto a medium-sized, dark-brown leather pack he kept tightly strapped to his thigh. It was dim, but the sharp eyed would see Markus had various packs of relatively small sizes strapped to his thighs and hips. Not quite enough to be obtrusive, but certainly someone as mobile as Ayn wouldn't want. A lifetime ago, he wouldn't have worn them for the same reason as she.

It wasn't but a second, but out from the pack he pulled an entire kite shield. This was clearly a variation of a [Bag of Holding], an item most commonly-associated with the Dungeon Guilds. Legendary versions of the item were things said amongst children with their fairy tales of knights slaying dragons, but they did exist. Unfortunately, the enchantment was not permanent. It required upkeep and expertise to maintain, which the Dungeon Guild had capitalized on. True though it was that some existed in the wild with the enchantment as permanent, those used by Guides such as Markus had to be turned in and refreshed every so often. It kept the market from being saturated with them and their value high.

Whether or not that was intentional was unclear.

The shield was thick, fairly heavy, but not entirely unwieldy. It had obviously seen battle, but also seen maintenance. The leather straps on the back were also large enough to accommodate the claw Leonel wore, if he took the time to adjust them. Ultimately, though, it was nothing special. While it was quality, it was hardly adorned. It was the the type of shield given within the Order to their promoted knights. Hardly ornate, but constructed well enough to protect from nearly anything reasonable. If only the Dungeon was such.

"I'll let you borrow it until you get your own, kitty-kat. I can't have you dying on your first delve," Markus told him, rounding out in another light jab.

He didn't hand or directly offer the shield to Leonel. Instead, it sat, metal against the stone of the Dungeon floor, waiting to be taken by the fellow Paladin. Another special glint in the weapon to those truly touched by Espel: the shield did have a history. Many items used in battle or with valor by those that served Espel had a faint, but radiant glow about them. This shield most certainly did. It was something both Heleni and Leonel would notice. Unfortunately, it likely meant its former owner had died. Died valiantly, but died nonetheless.

"Now, about some of those other ideas:," Markus continued, transitioning to address what was brought up throughout the rest of the conversation, "the Dungeon Walls are in fact tough, but I would not call them indestructible. I have seen them broken, and they do oddly repair when your eye is not on them. However, I doubt anyone here possesses the strength to break them. Perhaps with a pickaxe and my strongest version of Unleash, but such would be a waste."

"Besides, even in the largest chambers of the Dungeon are poor places for maxes and slung weapons," he added.

"There is merit to the plan of setting traps and using lures. Both Heleni and Symphony seem to have good resources for that strategy," he continued, but then quickly changed tune, "however, the mossmen are ambush hunters. You normally cross their threshold long before you actually encounter them. I only warn you of this because I do not want to discourage you from using traps and plans of the like in the future; you are currently targeting a creature that simply isn't suitable for that."

He then inhaled deeply, thinking over what else to explain. Plenty of questions, but time was being burnt. They risked another group coming along after the same bounty. Still, he also didn't want to rush it.

"Something to understand is that the creatures of the Dungeon somewhat... evolve as you get lower. The vines into mossmen, the mossmen into treants, then treants into leshy or any sort of vile abomination. It is their natural life cycle. We simply interrupt it quite frequently. Mossmen are fairly intelligent and have likely acquired the gear of many delvers. Not terribly many, else we would have heard about it before. Two, maybe three groups would be my estimate. It is possible, even, but doubtful that they may possess magic, but that typically does not occur until they become treants and a treant anywhere but a treasure room is unheard of - at least this early," Markus explained, providing more insight and again letting his experience paint a picture for them to draw conclusions from. He did not lead them in such a way that he told them what to do, instead he gave them information and some direction.

"I won't waste time now explaining every little nuance to it, but mossmen are essentially all flowers of the same plant. That plant can span several rooms and will need burnt out. Killing the mossmen is the dangerous part and each one will have the knowledge of the whole," he told them, providing perhaps the most insightful information he could on the species. It The life cycle of the creature was an interesting one. Nearly infinite seeds that grew into the living vines which themselves matured into plants that amassed into the sentient mossmen which themselves gained autonomy as treants whom would eventually find a new, harsher territory to adapt to and spread more seeds. Fortunately, they required magic to grow, else they would be such a problematic species.

"As to what gear they might have, likely nothing more than a few novice delvers. Anything they have must have been scavenged or stolen from someone they killed. Any delver killed by a mere mossman isn't likely to have magical gear, or if so, not much of it. They are likely no better outfit than you," Markus told them, though that smirk of his returned.

"And, on the note of gear, I have no qualms with plate armor. The problem is that even I can cut through typical steel with just my two swords and that most armor made topside is designed to be used with a thick gambeson and draped mail. Once you accumulate some money, I will show you shops with more suitable gear. It is thinner, generally only one or two pieces, and you'll find it will still protect you from most of the threats your current armor will down here. It also designed to be easily worn under cloaks or even swap out damaged pieces," he told them. Pride seethed between his teeth at his claim he could cleave through steel. That was an impressive feat. He had restrain himself from superfluous claim, such as how he could cut through steel plates like paper. True through it was, it was an unnecessary claim at the time.

"Now, while Leonel dons his new, not-so-shiny shield, I propose you four make a decision before you proceed. I am your guide, but not your commanding officer. I will not be directing you in combat, only outside of it. I suggest you lot decide who will be your de facto leader - making judgement calls in the heat of battle. Two people trying to bark orders at the same time amount to one idiot, no matter how brilliant they may be alone. Similarly, a group with no communication or acting alone often amount to several dead idiots, no matter how talented they are on their own," he told them, pushing for perhaps the most important decision they would make now that they had commit to work together.

 

[November Witch]

Symphony

Status: Annoyed & Frustrated
Location: Amaric Temple - 4th floor
Interaction(s): Sir Les Paul ERode Haze- Carolyn

Symphony would watch Markus speak, letting him say all he wanted to before she would speak up. But she certainly had some thoughts of her own when it came to what he had said. The shield was a welcome surprise. In fact, she almost asked if he had a second one. One might come in handy for her. After all, as long as it was close to her body, her threads could act as extra limbs. Meaning taking up one of her arms wouldn’t be a big deal. Alas, it wasn’t very pressing. Perhaps she could get one later, or perhaps not at all. After all, she’d fought things just fine without one so far… right? Her fragmented memory reached so far back in time, but she couldn’t remember clearly.

Symphony was slightly surprised to hear the walls were destructible, but less so what he added context to how difficult it would be to break them. The part about them healing piqued her interest alot actually. What could cause walls to do such a thing? Could she do something similar if she could figure out the cause? Perhaps the need for Orichalcum would be negated. Looking into it would be her top priority later. But for now, she knew her focus should be on the current delve.

She would simply nod in agreement as Markus said what she had been thinking. Slinging weapons weren’t exactly made for spaces this small. Perhaps in a much wider, more open room. But not on these first few levels. Maybe the place opened up further down. But from what they had seen so far, it didn’t seem like a wise decision. Though he would go on to point out that mossmen were opportunists. Ambush hunters. That would certainly complicate their trap ideas. Though it also opened up other doors, just knowing how they would fight. It seemed it wouldn’t be as easy as moving on after fighting them either. They’d have to find the flora that produced them and burn it out. Depending on how maze-like and how big the 5th level would be, it may be time consuming.

The good news was that they would likely be on an equal playing field when it came to equipment. While one couldn’t be exactly sure what they would have, the fact that it was only on the 5th level coupled with Markus’ information did make Symphony more confident. While she mostly tuned out for the small words on armor, the last chunk of what Markus said caught her attention. They needed a leader? Another person she would need to listen to? Her shoulders slumped slightly and her eye twitched once, out of annoyance. It was also clearer on her porcelain face than before. While she wouldn’t mind leading herself, she had vague memories of it not working in the past. Apparently, people didn’t like listening to a ‘toy’ or an ‘inanimate object.’

Symphony crossed her arms and turned away from the group. She took a few steps away from them, down the stairs that led from floor four to five. Though she stopped after only a few steps. Symphony would like to lead, but who would want to listen to her? In her remembered experience, no one. She sat on the steps facing away from the group still. Her elbows on her knees, and her chin resting on her hands.

“I have no preference. Decide amongst yourselves.”

Her voice had bits of annoyance and frustration in it, seemingly writing herself off, and forming the opinions that the others would have towards her. Not only did she form these opinions that the others had of her, but she was already judging them on it and pouting. Well, as long as it wasn’t someone who would scold her like Markus did earlier, she didn’t really mind having a leader. She just didn’t want to be bossed around. It was also yet another vote she had counted herself out of.

 

[ERode]

Well, when it came down to it, none of what they said even mattered because it turned out that while the walls were somewhat destructible, they were mostly indestructible. And even if they were easily destructible, apparently Symphony didn’t really know how to sling a rock properly anyways, if she was concerned about people dodging. What, did archers snap their bows because their arrows were telegraphed and there was only a chance of hitting one target at best? Did the engineers designing catapults moan because enemies would split up?

Ayn folded her arms, looking more than a little annoyed at everyone’s can’t-do attitude…but Markus basically told them all that nothing they just said mattered. She shot the older man a weird look when he called Leonel ‘kitty-kat’ (another term that she had only heard been used in the Virgin Merrow), but didn’t end up commenting on it either. There were more pressing things anyhow: the mossmen were, in fact, intelligent, and also ambush predators. So they were at least as smart as some animals, smarter because they could use tools and weapons. Which kinda meant that maybe they would be the ones to set traps?

“Man, this stinks…”

And that whole promise of showing them around to equipment stores seemed like a long ways off too; Markus had just mentioned some time ago that it would be a while before they could do more than just break-even on their costs, after all.

Still, when it came down to it, their Guide posed a new question towards them, apparently seeing that all their tactical and strategic speculation meant absolutely nothing because they knew literally nothing about their environment or their enemies. Symphony immediately opted out of discussion, and the seaweed-haired swordswoman turned to her with a halfway smile immediately afterwards and said, “Ok, I nominate Symphony then! It should be obvious why, right?”

 

[Haze-]

LOCATION— Amaric Temple (5th Floor)
DATE— Early Summer
TIME— 1048

⚜ Leonel Blackmane ⚜​

Level 2 | Guardian-Paladin
Status: Tired, grateful
Spell Slots
Lv. 1 3/3

TAGS ERode Sir Les Paul November Witch Carolyn

He straightened up. Only noticing he had his eyes cast down after Heleni mentioned it. It was deep-rooted already, instinctive. His eyes avoided others like he’d turn into stone just from one glance. In some way, he did turn into a statue— had a lump crawling up his throat the more he stared into someone’s eyes ever since they weighed his leadership back at the church.

The glaring, judging eyes of everyone that day. Stung more than any blade he’d ever taken.

Leonel leaned into one of the walls, arms crossed over his chest, feeling a shoulder guard almost slip on the sweating brickwork — “Never said it’d be useless to have a ranged option. Just worried about our lack of helmets—” — Before he motioned a claw up to gesture at his exposed blond mane, the voice of Symphony cut through. He hadn’t even noticed she was still there listening. Never had he been mean mugged by a living doll once.

Was he wrong for wondering how the metal in her face could twist into a pout?

“Apologies…”— He cleared his throat, discreetly pretending to be swatting away an invisible fly from his face.

Before the situation got anymore awkward, their guide spoke up right after Symphony gave her piece. Leonel watched as Markus pulled out something from his bag, damn near bulging and stretching the bag as it came out, horridly big. Too big to fit in there in the first place. Like pulling a rabbit from the ears out of a magician’s hat. He felt like a farm boy watching the knights cast the most basic magicks for the very first time.

At that time, it was the pure wonder of it. How cool it was, in a young lion’s eyes. This time, it was merely his adult self frothing at the mouth over how convenient that bottomless bag seemed. A smirk twisted his lip, slipped him. For a short moment, a genuine, lazy smile. It didn’t look right on the usual doom and gloom that were his very few expressions.

“They must pay you good daric if you’re willing to pull all this effort for first-delve rookies.”— He elbowed the wall, pushed off it and began walking over. Trying his damnedest to hide his grin —“Good service, decent chatter, valuable information, free equipment— want me to recommend you to other freshies? I'll put in good word.”

He stopped in front of the shield, lowering to pick it up and hold it up to his face. Worn out, scratched to high heaven— but there was still that dim glimmer of light clinging onto its contours. It was either a Paladin’s shield of a Crusaders. Long since it had seen any use by either, too. Not Markus’. His dual-wield style more than confirmed it, but that small context clue solidified it even more.

He fiddled with the straps, accommodating it too far into the elbow for his claw to at least poke out. Trying out a few jabs, swiping at the air, feeling the uncomfortable knock of the shield’s sharp edge grind against his shoulder and elbow with every motion. It wasn’t perfect, it weighed down his arm more than anything, but Markus hadn’t given him the shield with his claw in mind.

“Thank you, Markus…” — He flashed his claw, putting a fist close to his chest, the shield coming with it. Another show of Blackmane code of respect, genuine this time — “I’ll take good care of it. See it comes back to you in one piece.”

“Whose shield was this?”— He threw out the question. Half-curious, half-knowing he was likely not to get a straight answer if it was a touchy subject. It probably meant something to Markus if he’d been carrying a dead man’s shield all this time.

Before any of that, Ayn spoke. Much like the many times she’d spoken up, she left Leonel almost speechless.

“No…Not quite obvious, no.”— Wouldn’t be a dull moment with her around, he figured. Leonel turned to look at Symphony — “If she’s not opposed to it and everyone’s on board…sure, I’ve no objections.”— No spoken ones, not yet. Symphony hadn’t showed any signs of proper judgement thus far, she seemed more focused on herself more than anything. It was a democracy, alas.

“No objections with Heleni taking the role, either. It’s between you two, I’m out of the question...” — For a moment his head drifted to look at Ayn, a still, almost detached look in his eye as he weighed how exactly he could say what he was about to say as tactfully as possible.

“You’re out of the question too…sorry.” — He coughed, feigned it as he turned his head away from her. There was that invisible fly again buzzing by his face.

No tact whatsoever

 

[Carolyn]

HELENI​

“Kitty-Kat,” Heleni repeated amusingly. Her eyes traced a line from Markus to Leonel beyond the exchange of the shield. Imagine how forbidden a relationship between them could be: two former guardians lost until they met one another. She imagined the one-eyed paladin with cat ears and his supporting partner with treats in hand. The image made her cover her mouth to stifle a “pfft!”

But her mind registered more than just childish humor. Self-repairing dungeon walls, ambushing mossmen, and questioning leadership. At the mention of her name, Heleni pulled away her hand and said, “Nice of you to offer it, Leonel, but I’ve never had much interest in leading others.”

She operated alone before the dungeon. Fighting was an individual exercise until teamwork was thrust into her. Even among the group, she wagered only Ayn approached the same lack of experience. Take it as a two-for-one combination of inclination and freshness.

“So by process of elimination…” Heleni walked over to the doll and clasped her artificial hands “... you’re our leader, Symphony.”

 

[November Witch]

Symphony

~{A Hint of Emotion}~​

Status: Confused & Flustered
Location: Amaric Temple - 4th floor
Interaction(s): Sir Les Paul ERode Carolyn Haze-

Symphony sat upon the stairs, pouting, and waiting for the others to make their decision. Whatever it would be obviously didn’t matter to her. Now she’d have two people that could boss her around. Also, since she was the only one who wasn’t a human or at least living like they were, they’d probably throw all the menial or unwanted tasks at her like other groups had in the past. She was coming to terms with this until she heard Ayn speak up.

Her head moved to the side but stopped. Like she was going to look over her shoulder but stopped herself. It was no use. The other two wouldn’t vote for her anyways. But putting that aside, why would they want her in the first place? Did they really not care about having a doll lead them? Wouldn’t that come with some sort of social stigma or something? Perhaps Ayn figured out Symphony was alive for some time and figured her experience would be good? She probably had a point there, if Symphony wasn’t currently dealing with memory loss and-

Then it was Leonel, saying he wasn’t opposed. What was happening?

Her head swiveled 180 degrees to face them, her body still fully facing forward. She certainly looked confused, flabbergasted, shocked even.

“W-What?”

Symphony managed to mumble out before Heleni approached, and her head swiveled back to her front as Heleni moved there and grabbed her cold, metallic hands.

“Uhm…”

She wasn’t sure what to do with her hands, so she let the other hold onto them, then turned to Markus, still completely confused. As if to confirm what was happening, and if that was really something he would be okay with.

“I am?”

It seemed her confusion was genuine, and the most emotion she had shown since anyone had seen her. It was borderline amusing seeing just how shocked she was.

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (5th floor)
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—1058

​

"It should be obvious, right?" Ayn asked.

"If something is too obvious, it's often a trap," Markus advised.​

"Want me to recommend you to other freshies?" Leonel asked, kindly.

"I'm recommended as often as I am insulted. No need," Markus explained, half-sarcastically.​

"Whose shield was this?" Leonel asked, perhaps more somber than before.

"I don't know, honestly. Sometimes, it's best not to," Markus answered, matching that somber tone with the unknown.​

"I am?" Symphony asked, disbelief met with confusion.

"It seems so," Markus confirmed, hiding his displeasure with their choice.​

With their leader chosen and formation ironed out, all that was left to do was venture forth in search of these mossmen. Leonel led with his shield, followed by Heleni, then Ayn, then Symphony, and finally Markus himself. It wasn't difficult to figure out where these mossmen originated once they began their southbound exploration. The fifth floor entered on the west, exited on the east, and had several false ends. Two of which were on its South wall, neither of which were often ventured. This is what led to it becoming overgrown by the living vines until they turned into a mossmen cluster. Something not normally seen until below the tenth floor.

Nothing attacked them on their first few footsteps South. It was true that below the fourth floor, the temple became less labyrinthian. There were more straight hallways and simple corners. Even in a dead end like this, the design was fairly simplistic. The very first fork of sorts they found was already overgrown with vines. The path was clear. Only made more clear by the fact a good amount of flora appeared singed and cut down the hall as they progressed. A struggle. The fight the previous delvers found themselves in. It also meant that nothing would attack them in the immediate area.

The fact the Dungeon here was overgrown led to an odd sensation. That primal feeling of being watched. The one that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand and a cold chill shoot down the spine. Unlike the other levels, there was odd movement and life within the stone structure of the temple. Almost like maggots infesting rotten flesh, movements beneath the surface barely seen but still felt. Of course, that would apply to all but the living doll.

The pattern of the Dungeon was fairly clear. Large hallways that narrowed as they extended out, like narrows of the heart, until they reached specific chambers to stop in. To the East, this would have started the floor-defining trait of long hallways with unique-creatures within the chambers that were sealed by large, wooden doors. Here, though, it was just false flags and dead ends. The hallway narrowed enough that for each individual to have a reasonable amount of space to move, they had to fall single file. This put Leonel in an even more dangerous position, made judgement calls from Symphony nigh-impossible, and put both Ayn and Heleni in a difficult spot both defensively and offensively. It was perhaps the most problematic position they could be in.

So, of course, it was when they were attacked.

Leonel approached the upcoming door that led to what was likely the chamber that nested these mossmen. Before he could announce this, his shield was struck by what felt like a large bolt or arrow, though in the dim light and at the speed it was fired, it was hard to tell. It was heavier than it was fast, in truth, causing no small jolt to go through his arm. Worse, immediately following, Leonel was yanked forward by the shield and the arm it adorned with a force he likely couldn't have resisted even if anticipated. This pulled him straight through the door and into the chamber where he was surrounded by not one, but by three mossmen. Creatures that wore human armor in contorted ways, an amalgamation of wood as bones, vines as muscles, and moss as skin. Two came crashing down with large axes, the third stood still with its arm being the apparent leash that Leonel was yanked by. Its hand, if one could call it that, was now embed in the shield, encroaching on it to try and lock it down.

Clearly, it knew what shields were.

Meanwhile, Ayn and Heleni had the floors and walls come to life, shooting vines at each of their appendages in an attempt to hold them in place. Their ankles, at least, were already wrapped by the time it started, but that was a simple task to overcome if they could merely cut them. Such would not account for other other half-dozen vines that were attempting to restrain them. Not powerful, not deadly, at least, not yet. Instead, it seemed, trying to slow them down while Leonel was attacked.

Symphony and Markus were safe from these vines for the moment. Their placement so far back being outside of the range of the vines, it seemed, or perhaps still being in the area wounded by the previous delvers. It was both unclear and irrelevant; the battle was in front of them.

November Witch ERode Haze- Carolyn​

 

[Meredith]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple Summit
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—0936

Neha Djabani​

Lvl. 3 | Shaman
Status: Filled with Anticipation
Spell Slots
Lvl. 1 4/4
Lvl. 2 3/3
Lvl. 3 1/1

TAGS EmperorsChosen Merciless Medic Prizzy Kriyze Sir Les Paul November Witch

The group was off to a good start.

Naturally, there was the usual jostling of new dungeoneers. It was not so uncommon for delvers to prod at each other upon their first meeting. Many twice-blessed dungeoneers that traveled to Ardynport were used to being comparatively powerful among their peers: the transition between being seen as a physical or magical savant to an average dungeoneer was typically difficult.

Of course, not all dungeoneers came from a background of reverence. Others were more used to struggling. The difference between these two types of delver were typically evident, whether within their skillset or their attitude. The guide took the time to measure each member of the part as they introduced themselves.

The tension within the group as Leander spoke over Cole in turn–really, didn’t acknowledge his interruption at all–was palpable. The guide licked her teeth behind tight lips, but she remained silent. Cole and Cassius both had powerful, driven personalities: Neha had a strong suspicion that the two would either come to love or hate each other in the dungeon. In contrast, Cecelia’s response was polite, professional, and agreeable. The guide was sure she would get along in most parties: the largest risk in this one was that she could be overshadowed by the others.

Leander was more of a wild card in terms of personality, but his motivations were clear, and were set to a much simpler end than the accumulation of wealth in the dungeon. His introduction revealed little the group did not already know–at least, until the sparkling of mana in the air.

Neha’s eyes lit up at his effort. The electricity that crackled hand-over-hand glowed just a bit brighter, just a bit longer than it perhaps should have, its afterimage lingering in ghost-like ash as elemental energy that dissipated harmlessly into the mana of the world. A person unattuned to elemental magic would never truly observe it, but all magic summoned from other planes was doomed to decay into the mana of the world.

The spell was impressive on its own, especially outside the dungeon, but it also forced her to consider his background. Sorcerers were typically wealthy, and from notable families. Neha didn’t recognize his name, but then, she wasn’t an expert on international politics–and certainly not magical lineages.

She offered only a shrug in response to his apology, but her lips cracked into a reticent smile at his excitement about the mana in the dungeon, unwilling to break in and interrupt the group.

Cecelia took up her mantle first. Her questions were as purposeful as her motions: she watched the others carefully but said little at first. This was likely learned: just keep silent, and in the places where you’ve been, nobody will say you’ve been seen. A virtue for a scout, but potentially detrimental to a dungeoneer. Her questions were good, though, and the guide nodded to encourage her–rolling her hand in a gesture that implied to keep them coming.

Cassius hadn’t stopped smiling since the group had come together. The way his gaze settled on Cole was not unkind, necessarily, but it was certainly calculating. He watched in the same way that Cecelia did: as if it was his job to do so. His introduction was clear: he was a monk, and quite a competent one if her contact was to be believed. The energy surging through his body certainly attested to that. She couldn’t say she was familiar with his monastic order–or, if she was being honest, any of them–but his role was clear. None of her group was intended to soak damage. Cassius was the closest thing they had to a conventional vanguard: and, if they could do enough damage, that would be sufficient even on lower floors.

Cole was more overtly sure of himself, but he had a rougher manner than Cassius. If he was nervous, it was hard to tell, but Neha was sure that his faux pas must have ruffled his feathers (or, rather, bristled his fur) to some extent. She watched the group carefully as he described his “prayers”. She was certain they were ones she would not want to hear him repeat.

More than this, her smile turned to a grimace at his comment about Espel, although she quickly relaxed her lips into a more neutral expression. Verbal slights to the church were typically risky on the summit. Her eyes searched behind him, but her head did not move. She did not want to give them the impression of nervousness, but she did want to be aware if there was an indignant paladin on the loose. Fortunately, it did not seem anyone else had heard him.

Heresay was always just a little bit risky in Ardynport.

Cassius seemed to know this, at least, although the guide struggled to reconcile his words with his tone. His response must have been meant to chide, but it didn’t quite sound that way.

Cecelia broke the tension once more. This was certainly made easier through her banter with Cassius. Though she seemed somewhat meek, the scout was nothing if not pragmatic, and she assured Cole he would be welcome in the party. Neha had first been afraid the girl would be ostracized, but this was promising: the guide had never heard of a masonic peacekeeper, but it seemed this group intended to be full of surprises.

Leander expanded on his role with a description of his spells. She had seen an ability like his Charged Strike used before, but it had not been a spell torn asunder from another plane. Idly, she wondered how this would affect its comparative performance. Firebolt was standard, Lightning Lure was certainly not, but his favoured spell–if it was truly a cantrip–was nearly unprecedented in a new dungeoneer. She would have to document its casting.

He truly was excited about magic. Neha supposed that he quite literally breathed it, through his lungs, and that had to account for something. His interest in Cecelia’s magic seemed genuine–which was strange, considering the reputation of illusion magic. The guide’s eyes narrowed in confusion as he stepped forward to offer Cecelia his wreath.

Cassius was raring to go, and it seemed that their questions had all been collected. The guide raised her hands–first in front of her clasped together, then out towards the sky, outstretched in a pantomime of shaking off fatigue. She offered Cassius a wink, leaning down to grab her bags. She began to strap them onto her body as she spoke.

She addressed Leander’s apology first. “Few questions are out of line for dungeoneers. Any piece of information you may need to help you within the dungeon is valuable, and everything valuable deserves to be pursued.” Her head tilted in acknowledgement towards Cassius and Cole. “I have no doubt that you will be elated by both the rush of mana as you enter the dungeon and the magic you will see inside.”

With her bags settled, she gestured the group forward, beginning to walk towards the entrance of the dungeon at a leisurely pace. Their tent was at the far end of the row. Instead of moving back towards the central corridor towards the dungeon’s impressive doors, she led the group around the edges of the temple summit. “The first four floors–that is, the secured floors–are neither difficult nor profitable. Most of the monsters are cleared pretty quickly. Spawn rates are low, and most things are slain before they can mature or congregate into more dangerous groups.”

Once they were past the tent lines, she turned to walk backwards in front of them, more fully engaging with the group. “Beyond the secured floor is an area known as the Proving Grounds. It’s mostly unpatrolled, and creatures become more evolved and numerous… this is where you see minor but iconic alpha monsters like those Rat Kings that are all over prints in the stalls that prey on tourists. Average dungeoneers never make it beyond the fifteenth floor. Poor dungeoneers quit or die before that.”

Her tone was neutral. This was a simple fact of the profession.

“The first nine floors mostly contain mundane traps, although there are occasionally some magical spawns. These start simple–bear traps and the like–but can end up with convoluted puzzle systems. As long as you can recognize a potentially sinister mechanical device, you should generally be able to check for traps. Oh–you’ll want to look out for tripwires.”

“They become more complex as you go along. Traps are sometimes integrated into room gimmicks: wrong puzzle answers, like stepping on improper floor tiles or killing enemies in an incorrect order, might trigger traps against the party. Some of these might be dismantled as a way around the floor gimmick, but others are more set in stone.”

Her palms turned up in a sort of shrug. “I can’t tell you much about the dungeon beyond the thirtieth floor. I have seen it, but it’s hardly my expertise. You’ll need to join one of the major factions before you can pass through the gate to the thirty-first floor. This usually involves finding sponsors and making local connections with other dungeoneers.”

She stopped about ten feet short of the door guard, but did not move to engage with him yet. “So far as profit goes: there are many ways to make money in the dungeon, but most rely on killing monsters. It is much easier to empty a mossman or other hoarder’s lair of its valuable metals and jewels than it is to try to mine in the dungeon, so real mining would generally be a waste of your time. You might check the goods board in the trading post before we delve to get a mind of what’s currently in demand. Prices fluctuate quite a bit: new dungeoneers usually trade their wares with the Dungeoneer’s Guild at a rate dependent on marketboard prices, but prices inside the dungeon fluctuate as well, depending on demand.”

She eyed Cole as she spoke. She didn’t want to disappoint him, but she wanted to see their party succeed, and in the dungeon that required adaptability. “Metal is generally valuable, one way or another.”

“And as for myself? I am a shaman, a practitioner of planar magic, although you might call me as much of an artist as a magician. I direct uncontrollable elemental energies through physical conduits such as the totem I was carving upon your arrival.” Her hand rose to her chest, and she gave the party a cursory bow as if introducing herself for the first time, posture unwavering despite her baggage clearly outsizing her. “Many of my abilities are protective. I commonly imbue handheld talismans with protective barrier spells, and have a few tricks for general damage, but my greater magic depends on the immediate summoning and direction of powerful energies.” For the first time, her smile grew wider, showing the tips of her glittering fangs. “Of course, the wanton release of such magic is… quite destructive.”

“Try not to get caught up in that kind of storm.”

Turning, she waved to greet the guard, but (as if suddenly remembering something) stopped and turned her face again to talk back to the group. “There should be a guide-in-training joining us as well, although she may intend to catch up with us inside. We’ll give her just another moment–was there anything else you wanted to know?”

^1. "Delver" is a sometimes derogatory phrase typically used to describe unscrupulous dungeoneers. It likely originated as a Masonic phrase for members of the organization that explore the dungeon as part of their profession.

 

[Merciless Medic]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—0936

Cole Forrest​

Lvl. 1 | Warlock
Status: Slightly Unamused, Eager
Spell Slots
Lvl. 1 2/2
Pact 1/1

TAGS EmperorsChosen Prizzy Kriyze Sir Les Paul Meredith November Witch

The first person to speak up after his vague explanation was Cecelia. It made him feel like he was at least a little welcome. Practicality over cultural and religious stances. Good. Very good. Then it was Cas, his comment had Cole giving him a rather flat expression with unamused lidded eyes. He just huffed, not caring to repent either. But, the faith in Espel was something to not be ignored as their power was very obvious here in this world. It left him feeling strangely concerned.

Cecelia also gave some sort of explanation about what she could do. Since she said she needed physical components, his first thought was alchemy. Her next set of skills she mentioned was... rogue-like. Yes. She's a thief, a spy. And apparently a magician, as he looked at the pile of gold that appeared out of thin air with some minor alarm and curiosity. That would certainly come in handy.

However, he could tell that Leander was less enthused about Cole's abilities, which was something Cole expected. It told him that Leander held problems concerning where his magic came from. While he might not be a follower of Espel, he had to make sure not to cross Leander so as to not incur his electrifying wrath or pull the followers of Espel into Cole's mess.

Leander seemed to be a ball of information sharing though, not that Cole minded. However, he was starting to feel - from Cecelia's exposing her skills to Leander's more specific spells... It made Cole shift from slight discomfort. Should he reveal more? Everyone else was. If he didn't, the others wouldn't be able to trust in his ability, but then again... Trust goes both ways, and he couldn't trust any of them with his life either.

He huffed, listening idly as Leander explained Charge Strike, Firebolt, Lightning Lure, Witch Bolt, and Lightning Bolt-

Lightning Bolt??!!

How strong was this kid? How in control of this power was he?

Honestly, while Cole didn't need to control the magic gifted to him as it's purely among the whims of him, but he did feel a little jealous that this kid can just wield the power of lightning so casually. While he didn't know the amount of dedication and discipline it would take to do all of that, he was at least a little aware of how spells function.

But, he shook away his envy and doubt. No, what he gave him was good enough. Good enough to stay alive, get recruited by some group, and be sent to the lower floors.

He watched as the sorcerer-boy complimented Cecelia and... gave her a... flower necklace? Cole was so flabbergasted by the display that he stared for a good several seconds in complete and utter shock before ripping his eyes away.

The fuck was this kid on? He was becoming incredibly difficult to read and it was starting to nag at him. Maybe this was a way to get on Cecelia's good side so she would do him a favor later? Yeah, that seemed to be the most likely, but it still made him... feel weird.

Cassius seemed eager to go into that dungeon, and that was probably the only sentiment Cole and he shared.

Finally though, Neha stretched and grabbed her things. They were leaving, going around instead of going through the summit's marketplace.

Making sure he had his things, Cole stuck himself close to the group, even if it was to their chagrin if they had any. After his blatant display and hushed tone earlier about his heretical view on Espel - granted, this was how he got into trouble with his 'parents' - he wanted to make sure he stuck close to the few people who he would have to travel with.

Neha spoke, and Cole listened. The idea that the first few floors were going to be easy sat well with him. He can relax, let the others do all the work. He can relax his prayers until he was actually needed. He looked around at the vendors and tents as they passed them by, smirking softly at Neha's backwards walk. But, most people barely make it to the fifteenth floor? He huffed, obviously not liking the sound of that.

This will have to be a very very long expedition that will likely end with him leading back to the city before he could get to the floor he needed.

The talk of traps had him looking at Cecelia with some... hope? It was hard to tell just what emotion he conveyed when he was looking at her, but it was clear he expected her to do her job well for all of their sakes. No pressure.

When Cole heard he now needed to play nice with even more people and get sponsors, his expression fell flat once again. His eyes lit up once he heard about how to gather money. Money was often something of short supply with his family. He was definitely interested, his eyes having already picked up what everyone was selling as they walked past them.

He at least felt good that someone - specifically their guide - wanted to reassure him about the metals on the lower floors. What also felt nice was hearing her abilities now. A shaman? Certainly a very interesting person.

At the idea of there being another person, Cole let out a little sigh. Just how many people was he expected to travel with? When asked if there was anything they'd like to know, he shook his head at first. "Well..." He interrupted himself. "I would like to take a look at what sells best here before I dive into those floors. I don't mind if others come with me either." Whether this was in response to what Neha said about the guide-in-training or if it was to his little mini-quest to see what sold well, it didn't fully matter. "It could help us with these... exorbitant prices, if these guys become our only option." He gave a disdainful look behind him at the summit's marketplace, clearly not liking the air of quick swindling.

However, he made a about-turn face and gave an easy smile, ready to enter the temple, see the trading post inside, and then go dungeon diving.

 

[Haze-]

LOCATION— Amaric Temple (5th Floor)
DATE— Early Summer
TIME— 1058

⚜ Leonel Blackmane ⚜​

Level 2 | Guardian-Paladin
Status: Fuming, focused
Spell Slots
Lv. 1 2/3
Frenzy
1/7

TAGS ERode Sir Les Paul November Witch Carolyn

An ambush, they said.

Maybe the reflexes really were dulling on him. Beating some drunkard’s nose in after getting shoulder checked didn’t tell you how heavy your arms had gotten, how the sharpness in the noise had started to fade on your ear, or how slow your knees took to bent now that the muscles had relaxed. No, he hadn’t noticed at all. One, two years back, the instinct would’ve kicked in before the door started croaking from the weight of the vines pushing behind it.

The adrenaline came pooling in late, he was already struggling to dig his feet into the writhing vines underfoot as the tendrils yanked his arm. He tried stabbing at the walls, looking for any level of purchase, clenching his teeth, feeling his shoulder stretching. Then pulling, wanting to tear— and it would’ve if he hadn’t given up the struggle as soon as he did.

Leonel went back to his youth, feet up in the air and having his brain scramble against the walls of his skull. Being grabbed by the ankle and flung around like a ragdoll by Lord Blackmane in their little play-pretend sparring matches, like an ogre man-handling a rook dungeoneer. When he landed, it was on his knees, arm still taut and stretched out.

It was dark. His halved sight didn’t help the situation out in the slightest, too. He heard vines twisting in on themselves, and the trademark sound shoulder plates made against the breastplate whenever the arms raised. That, and the faint hint of movement he could see on his peripherals. They were on either side of him, two of them, and both preparing a guillotine to lob his head clean off. They were up and over him, had him pinned against the wall. No wiggle room.

Too organized for something without a brain. Funny.

The first thing he did was call upon Espel's light. He would need his full sight for this.

His training, the senses, those long aged and blunted Blackmane senses, all of it came back rushing in waves— a second wind. Thought and action became one seamless motion, down to the same level, an innate feeling, and he was a sword once again. Without thinking, the muscles in his body tensed as a red flash blinked around him, hissing out a clenched breath. Becoming lighter, stronger. Leonel spun, stomped, slammed his shoulder against the mossmen on his right, his sword arm snapping a crescent arc at the vines grappling the shield as he twisted.

Deep enough cut for him to snap the rest of the vines by pulling force alone. His shield arm immediately swung over his head to catch the axe headed straight for his nape. Barely. The blade got caught on the edge of the shield, off-center, already starting to slip. He grunted at that sore burn in his shoulder making his arm shake under the pressure. Pathetic is what he was.

He winced, threw his head back as the axe finally slipped from the shield and came down, feeling the blade nick him, cut a clean split across his forehead. Another bloody graze for the bunch, another beauty mark. Right above the bad eye too, this one — “Fucking hell…” — It took a few strands of blonde hair with it. The eyepatch, too. He stumbled back, making sure the doorway had his back and not anything else. Holding back the urge to cup a hand over the running wound and keeping his shield up straight instead, hunkering down behind it. The blood trickled down, he tasted it on his lip. Leonel frowned.

Going back to that damned mire, those bastard heretics. The night he lost his eye, his crew. Speared through in a dozen different places, crawling like a dog on the mud, cupping the bloody, leaking remains of his eye oozing out of its socket. Struggling to get up, each pull and throw in the mud aching on his shoulders much the same as now— clenching his teeth and feeling the gums fill with an iron taste of blood-red rage.

He shuddered a breath, steadying himself.

Focusing not on the smell and taste of iron on his tongue, but on the gang of mossmen before him. There was no time for dwelling in the past, not now — “I’m alive.” — The lion shouted behind him, not bothering to look. He was too focused on watching out for when they tried skewering him with those vines again — “Need one of you here. Now.”

Feet shuffled to a stance, breath hitching still in his mouth, his clawed shield stretched out, turning palm side up slowly. Almost invitingly. It was the most basic countering stance for a Black Lion, open and exposed. Yet not exposed at all.

They were smart enough to devise an ambush, but were they smart enough to recognize bait?

Spoiler: spells casted

Cantrips -
.| Gift of Espel

Lv 1 -
.| Unleash
.| Lionsclaw: Crimson Fang (preparing to cast)

 

[ERode]

“I mean, I don’t wanna be responsible for a drunk anyways. Do enough of that every morning,” Ayn snapped back, a juvenile rolling of the eyes. With two votes for Symphony already, it was more or less just a formality that Heleni agreed too, but it was nice that she did. Even if the doll was utterly baffled and Markus was definitely unenthusiastic about the idea.

Geez, if he had someone in mind, he should’ve just brought them up! And as for the whole deal about traps and such…

“Well, Leo doesn’t think it’s obvious, so I guess it isn’t a trap either. Hail Symphony, Leader of Markus-Party!”

The swordswoman clapped her hands, and that was the end of that.

The levity ended as well. Ayn kept her mouth shut as she strode behind Heleni, fingertips brushing past the overgrown vines. The alluring sensation of mana density still buzzed beneath her skin, but joined with it too now was the ever-present anticipation of combat. Symphony hadn’t given them the order to clear out their surroundings incrementally by hacking and burning away the vines, so the expectation of suddenly being attacked in all directions never faded either. It honed her nerves to a razor-sharpness. The connect between the pommel of her sword and the palm of her hand was electric. It was her discipline, beaten into her as a smith did steel, that kept such sensations from bursting out.

Not that Ayn, of course, was ever going to be the first to meet the enemy.

A drumbeat, then the scraping of boots against stone, and Leonel was gone. The passageway turned alive, the sensation of something wriggling against her ankles all that she needed to know in order to act.

“Unleash!”

Magic surged, the scent of spring blooming inside her as emerald hues shone out from her hair. It was as if the wind was against her back, always, every motion and movement guided by the vernal zephyrs. As if the world aligned with her body, as if she could leap and touch the sky.

But she’d hit her head against the ceiling if she did.

Twin arcs flashed out, crescent strikes freeing both Ayn and Heleni’s ankles. Her right leg lifted up next, left foot pivoting as her hips opened up to give extra strength and breadth of motion. Heleni was shoved forwards by a boot against her back, past the initial wave of grappling vines. It should be obvious what the young paladin would have to do, especially if Leonel was going to spell it out for her.

As for Ayn?

Well, until Symphony ordered her to break through, she would hold her own ground, dual swords flickering in dim light to cut down the encroaching vegetation. Gotta give their backline battle-mage opportunity to act like a leader, after all!

 

[Carolyn]

HELENI​

A crusader seldom sought safety in the role. They were cast by duty into the dens of the enemy, seeking foul beasts with sword in hand and prayer upon their lips. And lo did the mossmen dwell in a mockery of verdant greenery. Their vines aped the outside world just like how the creatures themselves mimicked humans. But there were no life-giving properties behind the pretense. They were parasites that reproduced only to kill more. This could not be tolerated.

But the malice behind her thoughts about them would not reduce their intelligence. The mossmen were ambush hunters and so they possessed a low cunning. They understood numbers, timing, and terrain. The latest especially came to prominence in the narrow hallway they were attacked at. Funneled in a single-file line with limited ability for the rear to aid the front, Leonel was pulled away while her own legs were immobilized.

Did they think the surprise would cast fear on Heleni’s heart? No. There was rage enough to turn her cold instead.

Her sword slid from her scabbard quickly with the shield in the other hand. It was almost as if she had willed it into existence. Next she felt Unleash strengthen her limbs beyond what muscle and bone could accomplish in their lonesome. With the vigorous spell surging through her body, Ayn cut her loose although the accompanying boot on her back was less welcome.

“Fear not the night,” Heleni said. Her words after were a chant to her patron. One that sprung a white-hot flame that ran down her blade. “Since day has come!”

Once, twice, she swung low in a scything fashion to keep the vines honest. She refused to be caught again in their trap. Although she was leaping into three heavily armed enemies, the chamber they were in was leagues better to fight in than the tight squeeze she broke past. Her third slash was aimed on the hands of an ax-wielding mossman, intending to remove its most dangerous asset.

 

[November Witch]

Symphony

~{Web of Thread}~​

Status: Worried & Determined
Spells: Steelsilk Enchantment, The Ties That Bind & Razor Whip
Location: Amaric Temple - 5th floor
Interaction(s): Sir Les Paul ERode Haze- Carolyn

This narrow hallway was problematic to Symphony. The further down she went, the more and more uncomfortable she became with their situation. She was about to speak up, and have the group halt, but as she opened her mouth to do so, a dull thunk sounded from up ahead. The unmistakable sound of a bolt or an arrow against a shield, then scuffling. Not a moment later, the walls before her came to life with vines attempting to get a grip on those in front of her. Well, Heleni and Ayn at least. She couldn’t see past them to Leonel. She pushed off with her right foot, pressed her left on the wall and pushed off that too. With this jump, she managed to just barely see over the heads of the taller girls before her, and Leonel wasn’t there. Likely pulled into the threshold of the door ahead of them.

“We need to join Leonel.”

She landed with a thud and placed her left hand on the wall. Threads started to snake out of her fingertips and worm their way around, between, and intertwine with the vines around her. She knew her thread would hold, she just had to hope the vines would hold too. Her eyes flicked to Ayn, and the weapons she held. Ayn was better suited for the task in the rear compared to Symphony. She wouldn’t exactly be able to cut any vines. She could probably use her strength to pull some out, but if too many got a hold of her…

“Ayn, jump high.”

The small doll would say. Being under 5ft, Ayn wouldn’t have to catch too much air for Symphony to squeeze under her, her left hand held to the side so her threads wouldn’t get caught up in the legs of Ayn as she landed. However, as Ayn came down, and the doll rose to her full height, her right hand would briefly touch Ayn’s stomach with her right hand, threads connecting the two as the doll headed towards the door.

“Keep those vines off us and watch our back. I’m going to help the others. If you get stuck or need help, scream out for me and I’ll pull you towards me.”

Symphony said as she ran forward, her voice getting quieter as she made distance. Her heavy footsteps thundered through the small, echoing corridor. With some speed and her strength, she’d rip out any vines that attempted to latch onto or restrain her. Heleni had just gotten into the other room, hopefully on time. After another moment, Symphony would emerge from the doorway and see the mossmen around Leo, and that Heleni was going for one. She’d step forward, touching each of their backs, and connecting herself to them via threads that seemed to intertwine and connect to their clothing.

From her right hand, many threads would be expelled, twisting and intertwining around one another as a whip was being formed. If Heleni or Leonel seemed to get in too far over their heads, or if it seemed as if they would not be able to dodge an attack, she’d yank on their threads in an attempt to pull them out of harm's way. But if not, she’d leave them be and continue to conjure her thread whip.

With a clear view of the people around her and a general understanding of their current situation, she could now play puppet master to this show…

 

[EmperorsChosen]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—0931

Cecelia Blake​

Level 1 | Arcane Assassin
Spell Slots
Lvl. 1 3/3

TAGS Meredith Sir Les Paul Merciless Medic Prizzy Kriyze

Cecelia's eyes turned to Leander as he spoke up after her. He was quite open with his abilities and specialties, a pleasant surprise given previous responses have ranged from basic to secretive. Her eyes widened slightly. Clearly he had an affinity for electricity. While their group didn't seem to have a traditional wall, Cassius and he would be more than suitable as fighters if the group couldn't just eviscerate a target before it reached them. On top of that, mastery over a high level spell was a boon, especially since she heard there was little worry of mana once in the dungeons.

However, then her gaze locked with his as he turned his attention to her. The eye contact was milliseconds too long to be an awkward mistake or happenstance, meaning that a question was coming. Or, in this case, it wasn't a question but an insinuation. It seemed that the nature of her abilities tipped the others off as to how she usually made use of them. However, they didn't seem to know that she wasn't a thief but an assassin. That meant she had at least partially succeeded in concealing her occupation.

Her eyes remained locked with him as he approached. The rest of her expression was lax but her gaze was sharp and analytical. Though of all the things, she wasn't expecting what he did next. Cecelia stared at the wreath as he held it out, then back to his face, and repeated a few times. It definitely thrown her for a loop, to the extent there was a delay in her response to Cassius.

"Um... As you wish... Cassius..." Cecelia replied, giving the monk a brief nod before she returned her attention to Leander's gift. "...I... um... thank you, Ser Leander," She said, allowing him to don the wreath over her if he so chose.

It was then that Neha spoke up and began leading them off. Cecelia appreciated her precise and informative responses to her inquiries. So, up until the fifth floor, things will be rather lax. The traps too, turned out to be that which she could handle. Cecelia was somewhat surprised by the fact bear traps were used in addition to tripwires, but it made her more comfortable given she had limited experience with her work in the city. The more advanced traps did have her slightly wary, however.

The thirtieth floor and beyond were something she could worry about later as it sounded like they were a ways away. If Cecelia ever reached that point, she would have no trouble getting access through the gate with her connections. There was little point planning for it right now. The same could be said of profits as that wasn't Cecelia's primary goal in coming here, but it would still be beneficial for purchasing supplies and reagents.

Then, finally, the woman spoke as to her own abilities. She was the support it seemed. It was fitting for a guide. Cecelia could only imagine that the woman was well preferred as, while not a healer, she still could decrease the chances of a death or maiming of her party through her abilities, though such type of magics Cecelia was for the most part lost on.

Cole seemed to be the first to take to Neha's suggestion and Cecelia followed suit with a nod. "Indeed... I will do the same if we are to wait for another regardless," She added simply in agreement. They needed to be ready to adapt to or game the system here if need be.

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (5th floor)
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—1100

​

Markus proved to not be entirely true to his word. He did help, if in the smallest way. Once Symphony had leapt into the room, he conjured three glowing orbs of his own. A Gift of Espel, though not the same as those created by Leonel. In an odd twist, the ones made by Markus were dimmer than those of Leonel—evidence of how their God had half-forsook the Paladin. Despite that, his raw skill with the light resulted in them being larger, faster, and more mobile. They shot out like fireballs into the chamber to illuminate it, allowing the group to do a full and proper assessment of their enemy. Meanwhile, a simple glare from him as he walked forward froze the vines in place, most of them unwilling to attack him as he observed the fight.

An ironic standstill given how he also could not attack them.

The chamber itself was now in full view for the group. It had two more doors, small ones like the corridor they had just been so violently ripped through. The orbs created by Leonel were not enough to light the entire chamber, though his weren't was widespread as Markus'. With the field of view opened, it would have been a fair estimate to guess the room was a square roughly forty-by-forty foot. No one light could illuminate the entire thing, but the overlapping orbs from both Paladins easily covered it. Granted, there were plenty of shadows cast, too; the room was almost entirely taken over by vines that had laid down to become thick, gnarly roots covered in an almost furry algae. The room itself had truly looked to be claimed by the flora.

In total, the room had five present mossmen in it. The two wielding axes, the central one with its arm elongated, and two behind it that all seemed attached. The latter three created some odd amalgamation of man-like plant that wore no armor and instead seemed purpose-grown for the sake of the trap they had laid. Behind them against the back wall of the room with no corridor were larger plants, the largest of which being firmly planted into the wall like most vines they had encountered were. With the exception this root cluster was possibly a hundred times larger, spanning nearly the entire length of the ceiling and at least three foot in other direction, protruding with guttural roots into the room several more feet. The bodies of what must have been other delvers and rats were embed into its root form, as if the creature itself was grown upon a body of bones.

Because it was. At first, it was but a mere body of rat corpses that fed its vines, only expanding to unwitting delvers later in its life. The cycle of life in a Dungeon was more contained than in the wild.

Adorning the top of the largest root cluster was a series of yellow and red petalled-flowers that matched the smaller ones found on the ground leading from the body of the first. One of these smaller root bodies bearing appreciably beautiful flowers in any other context was also the origin of the vine that was used to launch at Leonel. The other pod was slightly smaller and closed for the moment.

More enemies would eventually make themselves known as what appeared stationary flora along the walls began ripping itself from whatever anchored it. Four more moss men, naked but larger than the others, were slowly freeing themselves to join the fight.

Leonel had expended plenty to free himself and set the stage for the fight. What he would learn upon his invitation to fight was that his one good eye was about to be blinded. Not by any magic or means of the opponent, but by the cut he just sustained. Blood trickled down from it and into his own eye, causing it to burn and tear up. Leonel was tough and durable, true, but no fortress was impregnable.

Heleni took full advantage of the attacks made and momentum provided by Ayn. The mossmen might have been able to respond to her sword had it been a slash alone, but what it had no response for was the flame that accompanied it. In one fell slash, the crusader did not merely disarm the mossman, but set it ablaze. A violent shriek of sorts erupted from it, but it ultimately only stood still as it was afire. All connected, all one, the vine cluster did not risk spreading these flames, but instead tried to withdraw all of what were effectively its nearby appendages from it, leaving the one ax-wielder to stand alone and on fire, burning whatever equipment it carried along with it.

While Ayn and Symphony remained on guard, the very room itself decided to go on the offensive. While some of the vines had laid down to entirely become rooted, others were able to rip off the wall and floor, causing a creaking like an old boat in a harsh storm. These were unlike the vines from the corridor. These were more like dancing pythons, more a limb than a simple vine. By that very nature, however, there were far fewer of them. Only a mere five in the room as opposed to the dozens of vines. Each had a clear point of attachment to the wall that led to the root cluster, too, making them easier to track than the countless army of vines.

The mossmen still had not detached themselves from the wall, but the python-thick vines had. From each side of the room, two swept wide, trying to trip the legs of all those within the room. Another came crashing down on Ayn and Symphony, trying to crush them under it due to their relatively close proximity. Another independently trying to hit Leonel. None tried to attack Heleni for fear of the flame from her sword.

The other axe-toting mossmen instead further distanced itself from the fire and over to the group of mossmen ripping themselves from the wall, intent to protect them during this vulnerable time. The other vine waited, too, but only because it had no immediate target to hit.

Affliction Gained!​

Leonel will be considered [Blind] until his eye is flushed and bleeding stopped.

November Witch ERode Haze- Carolyn​