Fantasy ┌ spellsword ┘ Amaric Temple

[ERode]

Well, that went south real quick. From Leonel practically keeling over from the pollen to Symphony rushing in before any of them were in position to assist her from a range, the entire situation devolved into one that made it clear that the ‘cost’ of handling this particular encounter was getting a bit too high. If she went all out, perhaps this situation could be resolved, but on the other hand, they certainly weren’t aware of any of the capabilities of the mossmen until up to this very moment. Sap-spewing vines to ward off flames, body-transmogrification capabilities to turn into weapons, poisonous pollen that Leonel’s protective magic could do nothing against, and now seedshot that turned into vine-nets?

Ayn stepped further back as the seeds that bounced off her clothes erupted into a burst of entangling vines. Her blazing swords swept through them, white flame practically incinerating the seedlings, but it had given the mossman cluster enough time to move onto the next scheme anyways, with its vines extending into a fan that further scattered the pollen into the room.

Now, what was this situation called?

“Yup, this is unwinnable.”

Maybe they could force a draw if they pushed themselves to the maximum, but they would still be five floors deep in the Dungeon, with no way to easily or safely get back up. “Save your spell,” Ayn said, side-eyeing Heleni. “I didn’t see any eyes on those monsters to begin with. And Leo?”

She sheathed her own swords swiftly, the flames extinguished the moment the blades slotted into their scabbards. A quick stride carried her behind the armored man, and Ayn hooked her fingers around his belt.

“Leonel, we’re pulling Symphony and getting outta here! Ready? Threetwoone!”

After all, it wasn’t like the mossman cluster could leave this place. Retreat, regroup, and rethink. This was no duel, and the mossmen proved themselves to be dishonorable first! Seriously, those brainless creatures were asking for it with that kind of behavior. Next time, she was going to bring a fan!

…

And more likely a lot of oil.

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (5th floor)
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—1101

​

Just as the benefits of their Unleash spell were fading, the trio of Spellswords on the clear side of the room were granted a brand new foe. Two of them, actually. They first made their presence known with the eerie chitter of their high pitched whines, eerily human in comparison to the mossmen. Out from the bottom most pod crawled two tiny creatures, each smaller than most shepard dogs, both with large bug eyes and a twisted form. At first glance, even in the dim light, they appeared gaunt and diseased. Their forms slightly more human in that it appeared as if there was a rib cage, but no skin. Thin wisps of green foliage came out of their body as if hair, twisted roots like horns, and a malformed face with no nose.

"Watch out! Those are immatu—" Markus warned, knowing precisely what these were and in a slight panic because of it. Immature treants. The arcane cluster must have been further along than he anticipated. Releasing these early meant it had already given up. Succumb to its death and released its children as a final act of preservation. These little bastards were fast and feral, powerful in their own right. Hardly comparable to a proper treant, but still more than he expected this group to handle.

They possessed a myriad of abilities the cluster did not. Their claws and horns were as hard as steel, their bite could drain mana, they could spew poison and spit acidic sap. None of which he had time to warn them of.

They shot out at Ayn and Leonel faster than any natural creature of the wood. Their speed wasn't blinding, no, but it was blurring. Like little wooden cannonballs with no cannon. It was possible Ayn and Leonel might have blocked or parried this initial burst but Markus was finished taking risks.

The eyes of the Paladin glowed a golden hue as he willed into existence a bright, vibrant wall of light given physical form in the clearest of crystal. Sanctuary of Light. A typical Paladin Spell, though it normally required more practice with the light and more affinity than a crusader. Something Leonel could probably learn to do and had likely seen before. It was much more rare for a crusader; their focus was often much more offensive. The wall itself was able to entirely halt both immature treants, creating a loud thud once their skulls rammed into the surface followed by several faint screeches from their claws trailing down the wall of light.

Meanwhile, the vines that Symphony was struggling against were already breaking in small batches. It wasn't quick by any means, but it loosened slightly more with each flex and movement. It meant she was in fact strong enough to break free on her own, it would just take time.

The fault was that the same crystal barrier that had prevented the attack had now immobilized the cable they intended on using. That plan wouldn't work so long as Markus maintained the spell. It put them in quite the predicament.

"That barrier only lasts a minute. I can't harm them; it's my curse. Leaving Symphony to them is probably certain death—their sap is acidic. She is metal," he said, urgency coating his entire speech, and his tone more even than it was gruff. He had shifted from the more relaxed, educational guide he seemed to be to a more assertive stance, and that carried over in his voice. For the moment, at least, the immature treants were continuously assaulting the wall, trying to break through. Symphony was not a concern.

"If you have any tricks left up your sleeve, now is the time to use them. Only their claws and horns are tough. Their core is inside their body just like a heart. If you can damage it, they die," he explained, being fairly certain at least Leonel would have something left in him. Markus was no fan of it, but the alternative would effectively put the entire situation on him. It also didn't actual eliminate the threats, only buy them time. Even for him, that was a blow to his pride. That, and it rubbed salt in the wound that was his curse.

November Witch ERode Haze- Carolyn​

 

[Haze-]

LOCATION— Amaric Temple (5th Floor)
DATE— Early Summer
TIME— 1101

⚜ Leonel Blackmane ⚜​

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

TAGS ERode Sir Les Paul November Witch Carolyn

His hand went up to try and follow up on Symphony’s orders, bat as many firebolts as he could down the vine cluster’s way. He was interrupted before a spark could even manifest between his fingers.

He side-stepped the bulk of the seedlings coming his way, swatted away the few that’d been caught peltering on his shield. He stood there, head thrown down to watch the mana-sappers burst into vines around him with a light, crooked smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Spitting out a quick scoff between grinding teeth. It was short-lived, less than a second, more of an imperceptible twitch or a tic. The type of smile that wasn’t a smile whatsoever. The type of smile that had him wondering why exactly he hadn’t simply taken more rats and living vines over this hellish detour for the mossmen.

The feeling was a rollercoaster— he was coming down now. That acidic smirk on his face beginning to curve down, feeling his spitefulness start to gain sharpness, red-tinted clarity. All these tricks and hidden feats the vines could pull off were starting to get on his nerves, wane on his patience.

But none of that petty resentment showed through the deadpan expression he wore now. He was more worried about why exactly that one bud was filling up with mana. It was nothing good, another trick, he was aware of that.

“Hm…”— Was Leonel’s only grumbled out response as Ayn approached him from behind, damn near grunting like a caveman. He took in a breath, his mind trailing off for a moment, wondering who’d taught the girl how to count. Alas, he didn’t have the time to be annoyed at Ayn’s rhythm. Right now, he had to focus on pulling. And pull he did.

He threw his spear down at his side, planted it like a bannerless post to use as leverage, hooking the bend of his elbow around it while he tangled the mana threads in his palm, looping them around his wrist, his forearm. It’d be stupid to try and grapple the bundle of strings with his claw, risk them snapping or catching ablaze, so he had to make do with trying something even more idiotic: pulling 300lbs of orichalcum with only one hand.

Dragging, rather. The strain was enough to humble a lion like him. Leonel twisted and pulled with his entire body behind his arm, his face already starting to go red, feeling like his shoulder would give out at any moment; wondering just how much Ayn was really helping by pulling at his belt. Moral support, maybe — “Get the— HRRNGH!— hell away from there…!” — Leonel barked out at the doll in-between pulls and grunts, feeling like he was on the losing end of the tug of war.

Symphony had been appointed leader; the shots were supposed to be called by her— but it was a democracy at the end of the day.

Somewhere in their efforts to haul the doll over to their side, something made his instincts flare. A shrill shriek, like that of an intolerable child’s, whine-crying laps around their mother’s legs, screeching until they lost their voice. It made his skin crawl, had his eyes shooting wide and attentive at the two swamp-green monstrosities blurring, eating up the distance between them in a blink.

Then the rope went taut; two pairs of horns rammed against a wall of solid light. Leonel’s eyes narrowed back into focus, hissing out a composed breath.

He was paid good daric, that Markus.

The situation kept escalating. A thousand different variables bounced around in his head as he cooled down, given a minute of respite to think things through, hearing Markus give out what little information he could share in just one breath, without wasting their precious seconds. Leonel sighed, hung his head and leaned an elbow against the wall of light, not taking in another breath.

He was tunnel-focused, eyes shut, mind racing as he heard the incessant scratching against the barrier like ticking clock-hands portending a nasty omen. And the wounds, the scars from years ago, re-opened and festered.

Felt as if the threads of woven, solid mana he was holding onto were tied to one of his crusaders. And he wouldn't for the life of him let one more soldier fall in battle again. Not in his watch.

Ten seconds had passed. Ten seconds of weighing just how tough he’d tempered his claw to be all these years. Tough enough to handle a bath of orichalcum melting sap? He was about to find out.

“Sister Heleni,” — He pushed off the wall, called out. A mix of urgency and demanding laced in his blunt tone. The stars around the party began to fade. He was focusing on something else, manifesting two glowing orbs of light behind the barrier and positioning them right in front of the treants faces — “Let them gaze upon our Lord’s light.”

“They’re in our way. We’ll cut them down while they’re blinded, then we get Symphony out of there.”

“Stonehart,”— Leonel banged his claw against the barrier, held it there as it basked aglow in ethereal light. He was readying a smite, already angling his claw just above one of the monstrosities, looking to claw it into strips right down the middle, make big enough of a mess to ensure he hit its core — ”You take this barrier down the moment the kid finishes chanting.”

“Unless one of you has a better plan, I want to hear a prayer.”

“I want to hear it now.”

Spoiler: spells casted

Cantrips -
.| Gift of Espel

Lvl 1 -
.| Lionsclaw: Götterdämmerung (Preparing to cast)

 

[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 November Witch

Cecelia's cautious gaze traced Leander as he moved closer, almost like a cat considering whether it would continue to be lax or swat at him for no reason at all. However, she did not. Her head tilted slightly as he began to whisper and she blinked, slowly again. So he wasn't so innocent. Definitely not. No, he was quite impish in actuality it seemed, albeit a curious imp.

Her eyes continued to follow him as he gave them breadth and turned his teasing toward her, though unlike Cole, Cecelia had a developed poker face and was used to stifling her reactions. Her eyes shut slowly as she exhaled calmly. "I am certain I do not know to what you are referring to," She replied nonchalantly, only opening her eyes again when Lumina began to speak.

Looking at the woman's garb, it did give off a certain impression. However, Cecelia wondered what the purpose of a themed apparel was. It was one thing to wear garb that gave one better resistance to what one expected to endure, such as frost magics, but then again the woman was also wearing a skirt making it seem like more of a stylistic choice than practical.

Though Cecelia did take not of what the woman said concerning armor. She glanced down briefly at her own. It wasn't full plate mail, rather designed for a mixture of protection and mobility. Then again, it wasn't as if heavy armor was even completely effective against humans. Bludgeoning weapons were plate's worst enemy.

Cecelia's eyes then turned forward again. They were advising them to leave the dead? It was somewhat surprising to Cecelia. While it made sense to her logically, she expected the team-based spellsword expeditions would be loathe to abandon party members. Though a loss of one was better than a full party, as she pointed out.

'...Perhaps this will not as bloodless as I believed...' She pondered, her eyes turning downward for but a moment.

Cecelia's expression couldn't quite be called downcast because of her mask, but since her face was averse to shifting, every little movement attracted attention. It was ever more surprising when it fully changed, such as Cecelia's face going from stoic and thoughtful to lax and surprised as she stared with slightly widened eyes at whatever the hell Cassius was doing.

 

[The Regal Rper]

Malikron | Amaric Temple, Meeting Point | 9:15 AM

Having been corrected by Ake, Malikron made a mental note to keep the location Ake explained he was from in mind. Could be a good conversation topic after all.

Ake’s explanation of the nature of his magical capabilities certainly caused the elongated pointed ears of the elf to stand slightly in surprise at the mention of having magic that bound one to their ancestors. Certainly wasn't something he expected at all, least of all heard of. Then again it wasn't like he had been aiming to be a wizard back when he had been studying the magical arts, not like he had had the time to pursue such a path anyway.

The demonstration certainly got a whistle of interest from the elf. “Amazing”, when the Giant was finished and had explained why he wouldn't be showing more. It made sense, in the same way he had no intention of changing forms.

“I believe I'll go next then, I am Malikron, once again a pleasure. I came to Ardynport about a year ago and am not originally from these parts, I served a family in the Borosi Empire” his smile dimmed, became nostalgic and wistful, “good people, better than some I knew there” he tacked on. “And here I am after being awarded freedom for my service” not necessarily a lie but he certainly wasn't about to speak the truth. “My magic follows that of a Druid. I can shift into the forms of a few creatures..The one I likely will use most frequently is my rat form. Easy to conceal myself and move through small or hard to reach places- I do believe it will come in fitting use in combat especially. My other two forms are speed and offense based but I won't be showing any of these for it does have its limits on how often I can change. Aside from those I can communicate with fauna, and have a few can trips I know of that work well with my archery.” Nodding towards the bow and sheath of arrows at his back.

Once he was done he allowed the other member of their little group to go next.

Mentions: Sir Les Paul @AzaleaWonderland Shotgunpenguin Megilagor Daddy Dream

Interactions: n/a

 

[ERode]

Ayn felt the effects of Unleash wear off as she released her grip on Leonel’s belt. She had definitely contributed to the tugging; she just limited her own strength because she didn’t want to tear the belt right through his hips. That’d probably be problematic, after all. Her blood cooled as she stepped right up to the boundary of Markus’s Sanctuary of Light, green eyes staring right into the black orbs embedded into the treants’ face. Tough claws and acidic sap. Did that mean their ‘blood’ would also melt steel? She considered asking their guide that, but it didn’t matter all that much to her.

She bent her legs, placed her hands on her swords once more. The blessing of the White Flame had been extinguished by the act of sheathing her blade, but a swordswoman was accustomed to relying only upon cold steel from the start. No sorceries, no trickery, just a singular strike to cleave through the absurdities of the world. What faith did one need, except in the years they’ve placed honing oneself?

“Well,” Ayn didn’t turn to Leonel, but there was still some juvenile levity in her tone. “Here. ‘A prayer.’”

Stupid joke for a moment that was dire enough for Markus himself to start sounding worried, but while bowmen could draw themselves taut, tensing until the moment of release, a martial artist required a certain fluidity in their movements, or their muscles would just slow them down. She felt her life energy flowing through her meridian points, felt the subtle vibrations of the earth through the soles of her shoes, felt the expansion of her lungs and the contraction of her tendons.

And gradually, she could feel it too.

Bubbling within her stomach, the contrasting warmth and chill of anticipation and fear, as the creatures before her clawed at the barrier, gnashed their thorn-teeth, salivated acid. Pressure built within her core, and Ayn?

Ayn just needed to time the unleashing of it.

 

[Carolyn]

HELENI​

Heleni began to sing in a verse that had been beaten into her. It began with familiar words - the appeals to a higher power that any street preacher could muster. But it quickly evolved into an entirely different register. Her throat stained to register a pitch and accent that defied human comprehension. Any academic who attempted to transcribe it would find their pens scribbling jibber-jabber. To record it was to diminish its primordial elegance.

Mages might weave the mana that saturated the dungeon to shape their spells. Her approach was a different phenomenon altogether. She was not so much creating as she was acting as a relay for someone else. In a room full of miracles, another one sprouted from her heart, made its way to her mouth, and leapt away toward any source of light nearby.

Espel was now the sun that hung over the group. They lightly touched the dying fires and blazing barriers to make them glow even more. It was blinding in nature though each of those enveloped in Espel's teachings found the presence comforting.

Heleni didn't look away, couldn't look away. In one day, the bleak training she underwent, each week worse than the last, with nothing but this god, this presence, this hope of a glimmer, was confirmed. It meant something. She was favored. She was chosen to tilt the balance of the fight once more.

 

[Daddy Dream]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple, Meeting point
DATE—Early Summer
TIME— 9:55 AM

Rioka Yorel​

LvL 1 | Spore Druid
Spell Slots
Lvl. 1: 3/3
Pact: 1/1

TAGS Shotgunpenguin | @AzaleaWonderland | The Regal Rper | Megilagor

Having listened to the guide and party members then witnessing Ake demonstrate one of his abilities, Rioka found that eyes now turned to her as they expected her to go next. She gave a gentle smile and addressed everyone with a elegant but simple bow.

"Good morning, my name is Rioka Yorel. I am an wood elf and my class is a druid. I work with Atrataria and specialize in spore majicks." She raised a hand and slowly mushroom spores fluttered from her skin and into the air around them. she then snapped her finger and a small bolt of fire zipped into the air. "I also has a bit of knowledge about fire magic, though it is very limited to this bolt.'

She brought her hand back down and gave a smile once again as she returned to her thoughts. She felt that the group would do well, however, she didn't know what exactly was in store for them moving forward. Her attention turned towards the guide, he looked prepared and seemed to know what he was talking about. She didnt feel as if they were going to be in any grave danger with how he spoke, but danger comes in many forms and she knew better than to fully trust a stranger with her life.

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (5th floor)
DATE—Early Summer, 07/04
TIME—1102

The words that spilled from the mouth of Heleni might have morphed into an unrecognizable language in an impossible voice to those ears unaffiliated with her God, but to Markus and Leonel, it was a familiar comfort. Not that they knew the words of their God, but that it was not foreign and more factually filled with comfort. Her words commanded the light. While it was the power of Espel, it was her will that enacted it. And, her will made each light in that room explode into a vibrant, blinding force. And, there plenty of sources of light given the six floating orbs of Espel both Paladins had conjured earlier.

Had Ayn not been prepared, she too would have been blinded. Luckily, the trio had the timing down. Leonel and Markus were less susceptible to a blinding effect given their nature as Paladins of Espel and Symphony was still turned away. Heleni was, of course, immune to her own effect.

What followed was exactly what was promised. Markus dropped the Sanctuary of Light.

It was no contest. Ayn was by far the faster of the two. She had elected to pour her fate into her speed. A fair decision given the absurd agility these little bastards demonstrated earlier. The blade monk possessed a variation on her Unleash that allowed her to concentrate all two minutes of her enhancement into barely a few seconds. Mana coursed through her veins in that moment more so than any sorcerer at their level. As if a new humor to the body, it flooded every muscle and every tissue within her. Even the furthest, deepest parts her body from ears to her marrow were briefly bathed in the very essence of mana. In doing so, it brought forth strength otherwise impossible.

Mana, the gift of the planet itself, now saturated her cells. Where once chemical messengers and tiny flickers of electricity commanded her muscles was now a new source of both power and will. The very fibers that made her the warrior she was now contracted with a force that even her trained ki could not quite yet replicate. It would be some time before any of them, save Markus, could compare to such a feat.

The blitz was sudden. As soon as the crystalline wall lost its form, Ayn was already through it. Her timing was perfect down to mere fractions of a second. All of her jokes, in that moment, were lost. There was no humor. Only the discipline of a monk. The immature treant had its eyes covered with its hands, unable to otherwise block the source of the light. It barely had the time to lower those hands half an inch before Ayn had leapt over the creature, somersaulting over it, and with all her might and momentum, thrusting her blade into its very core. As if not enough, all of her momentum shifted, continuing her mid-air rotation, and bringing the creature to the hilt of her blade. By the end of her spin, she had cleaved straight upward and through the torso and head of the creature, nearly splitting it entirely in half.

It was dead. She landed with grace, following the flow of what little momentum she had left after her Calamity Burnout and Shifting Crescent combined. This might have been a problem, leaping into the pollen cloud, but Markus had already began purifying it. A task he could have done at any time, apparently, but only now elected to do so. The pollen hung around, still irritating in the same way any pollen would cause hay fever, but it was no longer the noxious cloud of death that it was prior. A saving grace for almost involved.

All of that power was not without consequence. Disciplined though she was and hardened was her body, it was not accustomed to the sheer strength that she was using. With the exception of this very Spell, she had no means yet of having her muscles accommodate the stress that was put on them. Worse, those abilities of hers that did so often enhance her body were done with ki, not mana. This also led to those muscles not being capable of properly processing that intense of energy in such a short time. Ayn was triumphant, true, but every muscle in her body was a blazing pyre that could not be ignored. Her legs, her thighs specifically, had fibers being torn as if she had done a hundred squats with Leonel on her back. Her arms felt like she had swung that sword ten thousand times over with no respite. Her bones and joints took less damage, perhaps because this was her second use of Unleash, but she could feel it now. The lining of her stomach bleeding. That terrible warmth that filled her when this ability was used.

The smell of iron. Then finally, even she—a monk of great fortitude—could not fully control her body. She violently ejected the blood that had accumulated in her stomach.

Meanwhile, Leonel was also triumphant, just not as quickly as Ayn. He dashed forward with his blade still alight with the white flame from their miracle. That alone was enough to do considerable damage when swiped at the creature, which not only blinded but in a type burning agony from its oversized eyes. Those gnarled orbs of dark sheen had little to no protection from such a light, and being a newborn creature within the dark, it was not grown to handle it. Heleni had made the right call with that. It was possible, perhaps, that should the treant have survived, she may have permanently fried those eyes in their immature state. Or, at least, required it to grow new ones.

Regardless, the immature treant was unlike the mossmen. Much stronger, much more resistant. It would not go down to a simple slash of a flaming sword. Leonel was not a swordsmen, though. No, he was a Paladin. Divine Light was the true weapon of a Paladin. The treant screeched, feeling the slash across its chest from the blade, but only able to make out small blurs in front of it. It tried to retreat, but stumbled. New to this world and new to pain, it had no means of tolerating either. Leonel was able to grasp the treant by the back of its head, the claws of his fist weapon reaching to either side of the swirled horns of the creature, and grip into it, metal biting into wood.

A slash followed by the claw. That was Lionsclaw: Götterdämmerung. More light erupted from his hand, causing the head of the treant to immediately ignite in a divine fire that he, much like Heleni with her initial light, was immune to. The treant could only let out a few deathsqueals as it burned alive in his hand, then fell limp, its limbs unable to scratch or claw at Leonel from behind. A gruesome, but necessary death.

Meanwhile, Symphony had broken free of her bonds with the vines that once held her in place now accounting for little more than additional décor on her metallic form. She was free to now do as she pleased ahead of the group, near the core, which still had not moved its remaining three vines or performed some miraculous attack while she was bound. It perhaps had no defense against a being that its pollen cloud or mossmen could not suffocate.

That did leave the group with a few, but otherwise minimal threats. Calamity Burnout had left Ayn all but a sitting duck for the two remaining mossmen archers. Leonel was nearby with the corpse of the immature treant in hand. Heleni and Markus were still further back, nearer the entrance wall behind where the Paladin had once cast Sanctuary of Light. At the very least, they could breath, so long as they didn't take an arrow to the chest.

November Witch ERode Haze- Carolyn​

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (1st Floor, Trading Post)
DATE—Early Summer, 07/04
TIME—1022

With introductions and a general, albeit limited, explanation of abilities out of the way, the group was able to descend into the Temple. Lucas was fairly informative, though he warned that their next stop would be in the Trading Post. The Trading Post, as he explained, was the real market for Dungeon Delvers. It was divided into two halves with the Western falf—the one they were entering—having various accommodations including the infirmary, food stalls, Dungeon Guild tent, and special staked off, tented areas for each of the major factions, sans the Ballard Trading Company which lost its right to an enclosed tent for some of its more unsavory practices. The East half—the one they would exit to further descend the Dungeon—had a massive trading network including goods, resources, and services all within the Dungeon, operating off a master trade board that set prices which updated hourly.

According to Lucas, someone that knew the market could trade up and more than double their profits if they knew the system. Most people, however, just traded the values they didn't want until they could cash out from the exporting merchants. There was a line in between where it may be worth trading directly for things one wanted or needed, but again, that was all up to the delver. Some couldn't be asked to do basic arithmetic, some loved the system fiercely. Prices in the market were almost ways significantly better than Ardynport or really anywhere. It skipped most of the middlemen merchants, after all.

Not that it would matter right this second. The group had nothing to trade since they hadn't looted anything and Lucas wasn't taking them to the market anyway. Instead, he had a delivery to the Freemasons. A large supply of healing potions and some other odds and ends. Most importantly, he warned them not to just up and enter the tents of the other factions without some type of edict or contract. That, or unless they had other reasons for seeing a Freemason, which he suggested against. It never ended well.

Long before they reached the Trading Post, the group would pass into the innervating atmosphere of the Dungeon. Stories were told of it, but nothing ever quite did it justice. It was like tobacco in the air; an energizing jolt, yet intoxicating like shot of hard cider. Sweet, smooth, and most importantly, something none of the group had an inherent tolerance for. This is what infinite mana felt like, or at least as close to it as possible. This is what made Cantrips indefinite. This is what brought mages to the Dungeon. True though it was that each of the new Spellswords had a Patron, they could still feel the mana surge through them. It wasn't like their innate abilities from their patrons, either. This mana was world mana, it was gift of the planet onto them, it was the backbone of most magic.

Malik knew it well from him time in the Whitestone Consortium. He hadn't mastered any one magic. He spent so time trying to tutor his beloved friends that he had only learned Firebolt as three much weaker component spells, each of which would leave him drained with too many casts. Now, though, mana flowed through him and it felt like he could launch a thousand flares. Roika was much the same. She only knew one spell; the Firebolt that Malik had never mastered, but it was the only spell she knew that didn't rely on her Patron. The power that flowed through her now felt like a blessing in and of itself. Ake felt that same type of sensation, as if he could sling his axe like a yo-yo or hurt a hundred Firebolts. Even a Goliath such as him would be exhausted without mana, but here mana was in abundance.

The sensation was almost intoxicating. It was everything the rumors promised. Unfortunately, the three were all Patron Magic users, so the benefit they gained was somewhat limited. Still, Lucas afforded them a brief moment to acclimate to the sensation before they moved on.

Large stakes acted like tall fences between the different factions. Made sense; tall fences made good neighbors, after all. Lucas took guided them right on through and to the largest tent in the center. Tent wasn't really a good word for what these structures were, honestly. More like canvas houses. Permanent fixtures setup and pretty secure, similar in construction though less colorful than that of a carnival or festival. Impressively large given that they were inside the temple, but the temple itself was absolutely massive to begin with.

A pleasant-looking brunette met Lucas and called him over. This was the first time most of the group would also get to see a [Bag of Holding]. Something Lucas could produce with ease and pull out a large container of glass vials that housed red health potions and a sealed wooden container on top. The whole thing stood just shy of four feet tall and was some awkward rectangular dimensions of nearly two foot by half that. In any case, it all came out of a little brown satchel that seemed to warp space itself as he produced it. The wood stretched and contorted impossibly, yet still produced intact glass and potions.

A massive boon for a merchant. Anyone with a brain could see Lucas was slightly abusing his role as a supporter to help his business.

While Lucas discussed the contract, the three Spellswords had their own encounters within the tent. It wasn't as if they were alone.

Some ways off, far beyond the brunette helping Lucas, was another man. Black of head and wearing glasses. Malik was urged to give the man attention. Not by any of his own means or knowledge, but because of Kiya-o. That man, that Freemason, whoever he was, was marked for death by the Fae Wolf spirit. The man had made his way over to Lucas and was inspecting the top most container. His name was dropped. A doctor. Doctor Alessandro. Whoever he was, he was complimenting the quality of whatever goods Malik had for him in that top container. Lucas seemed friendly in return. None of that mattered. Malik was hit with a nearly-feral bloodlust against the doctor, only to be reeled by the fact he was insight the Freemason tent and likely wouldn't make it ten steps if he attacked now.

While Malik and Lucas were distracted by their own means, two members of what could only be assumed were the Freemasons approached Ake and Roika. The largest was a near rival for Ake, only an inch or so shorter, which made sense. He was a massive Bugbear. That much didn't make sense. The Freemasons were a collective of effectively locals that had massive influence on Ardynport. Most of them were human, as one would expect, and the few that weren't were either slaves or Demi-Humans. This Bugbear didn't carry himself like any slave, nor did he talk like one.

"Well... aren't you a cute little thing," the Bugbear said, his voice deep and gravelly. It was expected from his kind. What might not have been expected is that he was talking to Ake, not Roika.

His companion was a human male, outfit in what looked like a combination of lighter leather armor with a front plate. The type of thing one might expect for a delver instead of the meatheaded Paladins in full plate. He had a softer look, no immediate scares, brown eyes, and sandy blonde hair. Fairly normal, not unattractive, but nothing outstanding. If he would have came from a long-running family, it might make sense he had such mundane traits.

He approached with the Bugbear, but he stared in disbelief as his companion took his shot at the Goliath. Disbelief, disapproval, disappointment. It all shot across his face when he looked over and of course upward at the Bugbear.

"Kal, leave the fresh meat alone," the man said, his tone full of immediate frustration, "besides, there's an Elf right there. Why pick the Goliath?" he asked incredulously, as if the choice of Ake over Roika was absurd as copper over gold.

"Not my type," Kal responded bluntly, not making it clear on what his type was. Height? Gender? Hair color? Pointy ears? A mystery, at least for now. The human companion looked so fed up already. Defeated, perhaps, or maybe just confused. He could only look over to Ake, then Roika, with apologetic eyes. They could almost hear him internally scream 'sorry for this idiot.'

Shotgunpenguin Daddy Dream The Regal Rper Megilagor

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[November Witch]

Symphony

~{An Unpleasant Surprise}~​

Status: Nervous & Content
Spells: Razor Whip
Location: Amaric Temple - 5th floor
Interaction(s): Sir Les Paul ERode Haze- Carolyn

It was safe to say, Symphony was completely caught off guard by the plant's final act of defiance against her. The seeds and all the vines that pelted her were no issue. It would be the immobility that they caused. The fact she would be a sitting duck for a few moments that worried her. She became even more so when she saw what the plant released. Some sort of creature much faster, and more vocal than the mossmen. She wasn’t sure what they were, but they were certainly a threat. Thankfully, they seemed to ignore her and go for the others behind her. However, hearing what Marckus said behind them made her worry all over again. When she freed her neck, it turned 180 degrees and looked behind her. The immature treants were being held back by a shield for the time being. They didn’t seem focused on her. While Symphony would have liked to give orders, or ask if the group had any ideas, she feared speaking would simply draw their attention towards her.

So, she stayed quiet while the group came up with a plan of their own. As they did so, she slowly managed to pull free using nothing but her strength, watching the plant in case it had yet another trick up its sleeve... Pulling this way and that, pushing, and ripping finally culminated with her freeing herself as the room light up brightly for a moment. But not enough to blind her thankfully. She turned around after, only to see the treants being dispatched, but Ayn seemed to be in a bad way. It was time to finish this. Symphony yanked her right hand, pulling the still flaming razor whip along with it. She caught the end in her left hand. Her right hand grabbed one vine near the base and squeezed it as hard as she could while pulling. She hoped to either squeeze it so hard it snapped or rip it from the core. Either way, with one vine out of the way, she had a better time reaching the center. Her left hand, holding the flaming end of her razor wire reeled back, and she punched as hard as she could. Being this small meant she could reach between the remaining vines, bones, and other things protecting the center of mass. She would plunge this holy fire into the center of the plant’s core.

With that done, she would grab the base of the other two vines and pull yet again. But this time her goal wasn’t to break or destroy the vines. But to pull out the whole plant and slam it onto the ground. Specifically, what was left of one of the burning mossman’s remains…

Her attention would turn to her teammates, and she gave them all a thumbs up. “Good job. It’s good to know you all seem self-sufficient enough not to need me to tell you what to do at every moment in an encounter.” Symphony seemed content with the way the fight was coming to an end. Though she eyed Ayn wearily. She wasn’t an expert on humans or anything, but wasn’t blood supposed to stay in the body?

 

[ERode]

For a moment, Ayn was aflame, the essence of the world pumping through her veins. She could feel every individual fiber in her muscle, could feel every drop of blood in her body, could sense the lightning that raced from her brain to her nerves. That imperceptible delay between ‘sense’, ‘thought’, and ‘action’ had been removed completely, merging into a purity of movement, a mastery beyond mastery. She could reach outwards and grasp upon the peak of martial arts.

It was an enlightenment that disappeared in the blink of an eye.

“Bwurgh-!”

Beside the slain treant, Ayn practically toppled over, her swords clattering upon the ground as her legs gave out before her. She knew the consequences of the Calamity Burnout, and had just managed to crawl onto all fours before she retched out a mouthful of blood and vomit, the mixture steaming as if heated in a pot. Her arms buckled next, the strain upon the joints such that she could no longer support her body weight, and in a movement that seemed almost practiced, the monk swung her body one way and tumbled away from her own blood-puke, only to let out another unrestrained howl of pain as the motion aggravated all the muscle pain she had already gone through. And of course, the pollen got into her nose and eyes next. Even with Markus’s cleansing magic at work, it was enough to irritate her eyes and nose, tears and snot burst out from her facial orifices like a tap at a busy tavern. The coughing was the worst though, each fit of hacking triggering another painful wheeze that only drew in more pollen to cause more coughing, bloody spittle splattering upon vines and roots.

Was it any surprise that Ayn ended up curled in a fetal position, snivelling and sneezing as the pain washed over her? And her only solace, that of a dramatic victory against a treant as a newcomer of an adventurer?

That too didn’t last long, when the second treant collapsed a few feet away from her, and she could see through blurry eyes the form of Leonel, who certainly wasn’t suffering nearly as bad as she was.

Like man!

If it was going to be like that, she should’ve tried to get two in one!

 

[Shotgunpenguin]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (Exterior/Trading Post)
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—9:57/10:22

Lucas Decovo

Level 3 | Alchemist/Supporter
Status: Excited, Happy to see the Doc'
Ki Points 4/4
Spell Slots
Lvl. 1 2/2
Lvl. 2 1/1

TAGS The Regal Rper Daddy Dream Megilagor Sir Les Paul

Lucas listened as the trio introduced both themselves, as well as described what they brought to the table in terms of strengths and magics. He wasn’t familiar with what Ake called the memories of his ancestors giving him access to their magic. He knew of patrons that gave others access to their magics for a price, but in Ake’s case it seemed as if he was drawing his magic from his ancestors themselves. Compared to that, Malikron and Roika’s explanations were a lot easier to understand, with both being based in druidic magic.

However, when it came time for their final member to introduce themselves, Lucas was left waiting as it seemed the mouse eared demi-human had departed. Whether she was never actually a member of the group he was to guide and just a curious mouse, or whether she had gotten cold feet and decided against descending. In the end, it was his job as a guide to guide those present through the dungeon. If she decided to rejoin the group later or return to wherever she had came from, it was entirely her decision. All he could do now was work with what he had and decide how they would proceed when traveling through the dungeon.

Ake would serve as their vanguard and primary striker, both keeping most of the attention on himself and being responsible for facing most threats head on. Malikron could act as either a scout with his rat form, or as an alternative vanguard if his other forms proved to be as effective as his rodent was. However, if they were as limited as he claimed they were, it might have been a better idea to keep him in their backline alongside Roika, both to offer support and to help defend her should she come in harm's way. Of the druid, he would have to wait and see the extent of her magic before he would determine how much of an eye he had to keep on her.

With that formation, Lucas would be able to slot himself into whatever position the group would need once they descended. Whether they needed more offensive capabilities with him alongside Ake, to serving as backline support for the rest of the party, or acting as a forward scout should they come across something suspicious. They could shift around and finalize this formation as they descended, but for now it would serve as their base. Nodding his head, he spoke to the group.

“Okay, I think I have a good grip on how we’ll proceed.”

“My magic is more suited to support and area control, either by turning the terrain treacherous to our foes or advantageous to ourselves. Should that fail, I also carry a plethora of useful concoctions and compounds with me.” Lucas patted the leather bag at his side, its small size contradictory to the sheer amount of items stored within it. It was a wondrous thing, a durable bag with a magic that was coveted by adventurers and merchants alike. A bag of holding. “Additionally, while I doubt I can match Ake in strength, I am confident enough in my abilities in a fight. As such, Ake will act as out forward vanguard should we encounter trouble. Malikron and Roika will act from the back-lines. I will fill in for whatever category we have need of at the moment.”

It was a slight shame that the demi-human wouldn’t be joining them, but there was nothing to be done about it. They would just have to proceed as they were. “If there’s nothing else, we can descend into the dungeon. We just have to make a quick stop at the Trading Post before we descend below the first floor. It hopefully shouldn’t take too long.” While his business at the above ground market had been concluded, he still had obligations to fulfill once they entered the dungeon itself.

---

As the bright and crisp air slowly gave way as he lead the group into the temple, Lucas made sure to give the group a moment to adjust to the new sensation that they would feel once the abundance of mana entered their systems.

It affected different people in different ways, or at least that’s what he was told when he had first felt the sensation. To some it felt as if a weight had been lifted from their shoulders that they never even realized that they were carrying. Others experienced a sort of high, like a rush of smelling salts that instantly blasted away any mental fatigue they may have had. It was an exhilarating sensation, and he could easily remember when he had first experienced it.

According to a woman at least twice his age, armed to the teeth with more daggers than he would have thought necessary, Lucas had looked as if he had just got lucky with a woman for the very first time. He remembered sputtering and going red in the face at her provocative comparison, but couldn’t muster up the nerve to dispute her words. Even after years of delving, he still felt a rush of anticipation whenever the familiar sensation worked its way through his system.

Once the group had gotten accustomed to the sensation entering the dungeon would have brought them, he guided them further through the temple, eventually reaching the trading post. He was quick to point out certain rules and things to observe as they moved past the calls of vendors shouting for attention, of hushed whispering and occasional shouts of a price being too steep. The dungeon market was just as alive as its topside counterpart, with the only difference between the two being the ways of acquisition. There were some who preferred the upper market for the simple fact that coin could easily be exchanged without thought.

But there were also just as many who preferred the lower markets system of trade, a system that ensured a constant flow of products and commerce. A system devised by those who have delved into the dungeon, for those who delve into the dungeon. Lucas considered himself a fan of both systems, as he could see the benefits of each as both a guide and as a merchant.

Eventually, the group would arrive at the tent belonging to the Freemasons. The Freemasons and himself had a cordial business relationship with each other, with him supplying them with an abundance of his own concoctions and creations in exchange for both ingredients, as well as information. Lucas didn’t recognize the brunette that had called him over, but he still made sure to keep a polite smile on his face as they conversed. Soon, the topic came to the status of the shipment, to which Lucas quickly reached into the bag at his hip and produced the wooden box containing a number of healing potions, alongside some more curious concoctions.

Sure, some would probably consider him using his bag of holding this way as unfair or even deplorable. He was essentially abusing a perk of being a guide that many would pay a small fortune to obtain. A bag of holding was not something to take lightly, with their distribution being heavily regulated and monitored due to the sheer value such an item represented. But it wasn’t as if he became a guide solely to obtain such a bag, rather it was just a perk that came from it. He wasn’t a merchant who became a guide to obtain a bag of holding, rather he was a guide with a bag of holding who just so happened to be a merchant.

“You’ll find everything is in order, even the more…. unique requested items.” The order was mostly what he had expected; Large quantities of his healing potions, some anti venoms and toxins, your every day dungeon essentials. However, amongst the potions contained in the box were a few concoctions that one wouldn’t expect to find. As a merchant, Lucas never questioned the contents of his orders, fulfilling them as requested. As an alchemist however, he couldn’t help but wonder who would even want something like what was requested. Something so out of the ordinary, so clearly confusing, that it made him wonder if just this once he should privately ask who requested it.

In the end he decided against it, mostly because if the answer was someone he knew, he didn’t think he’d be professional enough to resist staring at them in public. Fortunately, he quickly found his attention shifting as a bespectacled man who Lucas knew quite well approached him and the brunette. The polite smile on his face shifted slightly, becoming more genuine as he greeted the good doctor with a quick clasp of his shoulder.

“It's good to see you doc’. You always know quality product when you see it.” Lucas was quick to include the doctor in the duo’s conversation, the topic shifting from the terms of the contract between Lucas and the Freemasons to a more casual tone as he asked the man how his own practice was doing.

 

[Megilagor]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (Exterior/Trading Post)
DATE—Early Summer 07/04
TIME— 9:57/10:22

Ake Sigurd​

LvL 1 | Totemic Warrior

Spell Slots
Lvl. 1 2/2

TAGS Daddy Dream , Shotgunpenguin , The Regal Rper

"Good to meet you all." Ake said when everyone dealt with their introductions, though his face was still cold and expressionless as if frozen by the northern winds.
Ake followed Lucas inside the dungeon, he wasn't exactly in need of anything from the traders inside the Trading Post though what do you know maybe the others needed something, but Ake will need to get used to the atmosphere of the place due to probable frequent need of visiting the area, especially since only through this area they would be able to go deeper into the dungeon.

The news of the everchanging market wasn't something Ake liked, one could not only loose their life in the dungeon but even their money while down here trying to trade up to something, so he swore not to touch that. Unless absolutely needed, he knew he was;'t business savvy so he would leave it anyway to someone he could trust with that.
Ake being a bit dense when it came to magic didn't really feel the world's mana, he had a hard time sensing his patron's mana already so sensing the most natural form of mana that was everywhere and in everything at all times was impossible to him, even though with such quantity and quality even he felt it albeit faintly. Yet even though this faintness he felt invigorated, as if he could sling his axe like a boomerang or one of those ' yo-yo's ' or whatever they were called, or even hurl a hundred firebolts back to back. Even one Goliath such as him needed mana, so the dungeon proved to be a great proving ground for Ake.

The area within the floor which housed the Trading Post was something else. But enough of getting your head lost in the clouds he had a guide to follow, so Ake followed Lucas up to the Freemason tent, knowing he should not enter but being let in by the fact he was with Lucas he entered, but the bag of holding did surprise Ake. Back where he is from he only heard stories of them, sure they had some pouches of storage, but their capacity, durability, and many others left a lot to improve compared to the bag of holding, especially since the pouch of storage didn't alleviate any of the weight of items stored inside of it.

"If I'm little then you are a bear. And you can see what happens to bears who poke the wrong goliath." Ake replied partially as a jest, partially as a threat, bugbears weren't exactly a welcome sight in his village back north, often inviting or creating trouble to his village. As to prove a point Ake pointed to the bear skin which draped his shoulder and back, so the bugbear would piss off.

"You aren't my type either, I prefer them furless, so now please turn around and go back where you came from. " Ake spoke to bugbear Kal, he wasn't exactly pleased with the bugbear's interest in him, especially since even this dense Ake realized the bugbear was 'swinging his shot' at him. Whatever that actually meant, though he knew he preferred to be away from a perverted bugbear. Only then did he see the bugbear friend's look of sorry, utter annoyance at the bugbear, and defeat. If he could not leash his bugbear friend then Ake would gladly take him down a head or two. Though they were in the Freemason's tent, which meant those two at least have dealing with them if they arent a part of them. So straight-up violence here flew out of the proverbial window.

 

[Haze-]

LOCATION— Amaric Temple (5th Floor)
DATE— Early Summer
TIME— 1102

⚜ Leonel Blackmane ⚜​

Level 2 | Guardian-Paladin
Status: Rabid
Spell Slots
Lv. 1 0/3

TAGS ERode Sir Les Paul November Witch Carolyn

White light flashed, flooding into every corner of the room for one eye-searing snapshot. One swipe wasn’t enough to end it cleanly. The beast’s skin was as tough as tree bark; even tougher on the inside; stumbled and ran like a man stripped of all will to fight. Squealed like a doe scared out of its wits.

So the black lion gave chase.

Leonel stood beyond the flash, holding the charred form of the immature treant by the nape. Limp now, its wiry limbs dangling lifelessly as divine flames from the smite still lingered to gnaw away at its roots. He wrangled clawed fingers along the tangle of burnt vines, evened out a squeeze, clamming them hard into a clenched fist until the thing’s head popped loose from its body. It was a grotesque ordeal. Unlike a paladin, almost. But what else was there to be expected from the depths of the dungeon.

In a way, he still felt himself unworthy to stake such casual claim of the light for his oaths. Still felt like a crusader, still a lion knight. Brutal. Full of anger. Not how he envisioned the grandness of the oathsworn; the righteous and holy paladins. The orphans of the church would turn and run from him if they saw him now, gawked at the lightless, muddied gloam of his ‘saintly’ armor. Markus had said it himself, the dungeon was no place for the theatrics of plated armor.

The brilliance of Espel’s light always looked dim when he wore it as a blade, and doubt was still a blight on his mind. He couldn’t be the ideal archetype of the paladin. Not the peerless holy blade of Espel, cutting down evil with one fell, almost gracious swoop. No, not just yet.

The dungeon was no place for hesitation either— he snapped back into the now when the metallic clang of dual blades caught his ear. He whipped his head around, wide eyed, white flame caught on the sheen of flash-sweat on his brow. It was their monk, strewn on the ground next to a pool of their own blood and vomit, rasping and whimpering like every shuddering breath were an agony.

Regret immediately hit him. There was a chance he could’ve dealt with both treants himself if he still had his sword by his side. Maybe Ayn would’ve been up on her feet had he not been a reckless idiot. The moment her eyes locked with his, he was already moving in to cover her, hunkering down, planting a knee and bringing the shield in front of them.

He looked at her over his shoulder, casting a deep frown down at her, feeling th half-purified pollen like it were only dust caught in his throat. The two bowmen would likely send arrows their way if he carried her back to Markus. On the other hand, it’d be him leaving her miserable to choke on her own breath and the pollen if he decided on taking the rest of the mossmen head on.

Once again, unlike a paladin. Leonel clicked his tongue. He had to finish this, and quick, at that.

He reached back to clasp a hand on her shoulder — “O lodestar…—” — muttering a quickened prayed under his breath, starry wisps falling over her. A wash of warmth and enveloping numbness easing the pain spread throughout her body, until there wasn’t a feeling at all. All he could offer was to shoulder her suffering.

It hit him all in one go once he stopped chanting, his eyes near rolling to the back of his skull. Stifling a shout, having to steady himself not to keel over. His legs trembled as he stood, head throbbing as the phantom pains started rippling through. Like lightning had split him clean in twain and he’d been knit back together the moment it was through.

Unlike Ayn, the pain wasn’t real. His limbs still responded, no matter how loud his mind shrieked in agony. His headspace took most of the hit from it. He was seeing stars, could barely even call back to Markus to keep watch of Ayn.

Ears ringing, head pulsing, pupils shrunk, huffing and drooling through his clenched teeth like a rabid dog— Leonel stumbled into a dash, shield ahead of him. Pumping the legs out of raw anger and adrenaline. He lowered, scooped up his still flaming sword on the way and snapped it at the first mossmen he laid eyes on.

One, two slashes. Hacking the first just above the navel, sword getting caught mid-way through the vines before it fully cut through. Swiping the second with his claw crossing over and flashing above the neck.

Spoiler: spells casted

Cantrips -
.| Burden Bearer

 

[Daddy Dream]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple Trading Post
DATE—Early Summer

Rioka Yorel​

LvL 1 | Spore Druid
Spell Slots
Lvl. 1: 3/3
Pact: 1/1

TAGS Shotgunpenguin | @AzaleaWonderland | The Regal Rper | Megilagor

Rioka listened once again to Lucas as he explained his position in the group and assigned where she was to be when trouble occurred. It worked out well for her, especially since she discovered she is better when she isnt the center of attention. Being able to hinder the opponents is more difficult when they are charging at you. So, as she was being appreciative of her placement, she did not mentally prepare for where they were entering and immediately felt like she walked into a wall of thick mana. Her body felt both invigorated and sluggish, causing her breathing to catch and her body feeling like it was being thrown in a windstorm. But as fast as the feeling came, it vanished just as fast, leaving her feeling more lively than when she entered.

After the group was adjusted to the atmosphere, she followed behind them quietly and looked around the area. The groups all had their desire for privacy and, judging by what Lucas warned them about, the ability to enforce it. There was the occasional glimpse inside the large canvas structures when people were coming and going, but that was it. Enough to leave one curious but not enough to investigate. Her red eyes turned forward when they entered the Freemason abode, once again observing what was going on around them.

Lucas had been called over by a woman who exchanged a few words with him before he pulled out a wooden container, clattering with glass vials. Rioka tilted her head some to try and catch a glimpse of what was being exchanged, but as she was doing so, another gentleman entered their conversation and blocked her sight. Resigning to not prod any further, she turned her attention away and realized she was now standing with Ake. The man was quite a bit larger than her and made her feel as if she was a twig standing near a large oak. He glanced up at him briefly to catch his features since she really didn't take time to look at him before, however two other Freemason members approached them.

Rioka's attention quickly turned to the larger being, a bugbear, that immediately tried to square up to Ake with a few weak words towards his height. She only gave a sigh and allowed her eyes to drift toward the human man in front of her. A relatively mundane man in terms of features seemed to had gone through a series of emotions the moment the bugbear opened his mouth. However, the words that came out of his mouth didn't really seem all too flattering either. Suggesting for the bugbear to turn his attention to her as a more appropriate target didn't quite rub her the right way. She tilted her head curiously before speaking, ignoring the 'not my type' comment from the bug.

"My, you seem to believe that the bug would want to show interest in me over my companion here. Wasn't he the first one to beeline over here for him? It seems he is tired of the smaller bodies wandering around here unable to quelch whatever unsavory desires he had going on in his head." Rioka gave a bit of a sigh, patting the human on the shoulder. "Alas, I do understand jealousy, albeit its quiet questionable in this situation." Her face showed concern, but her eyes flashed with a light of mischief as she pulled her hand back and shook her head.

 

[The Regal Rper]

Malikron | Amaric Temple, Meeting Point | 9:15 AM

With the organization of their descent made, Malikron followed suit next to the smaller Elf as their group entered the depths below, making way for their destination to the Trading Post.

Much like ascent, the descent was filled with much to see. As his first dungeon delving experience Malik took note of all things he saw as they made their way to the intended spot. It was the rules and warnings Lucas offered about the various trading factions as well as the system delvers used to earn some profit here in bartering that had Malikron listening closely. The Freemason's were a sort in particular he wasn't sure if he heard before but the only assumption he could take was they were closely linked to the Stonemasons of Ardynport, which from all he knew of that sort was better not to mess with-- more so as a foreigner.

The surge of mana though, had him covering his mouth to prevent anything unflattering from possibly slipping and then with a shifting gaze replacing it with a feigned yawn. The experience alone spoke of how rumors did not measure up to the experience. At the same time, he was really most glad to have embarrassed himself by producing a sound.

In the background of the exchange of the brunette, that was where Malikron felt the nudge. A pressing touch on his shoulder that sent a jolt through and made his eyes jerk immediately in the direction past the brunette, towards the man in glasses. The doctor, and it hardly mattered to him of Lucas's friendly status. The sight of Doctor Alessandro made his blood boil, his eyes furrow into, his lips turn, there was only practice in maintaining decorum in expression that kept Malikron from truly expressing all the distaste, displeasure, and fury he felt all in that exact moment and made it seem instead as if he were squinting to see the man clearly.

It was only the fact they were in public and Lucas's warning from before that kept him from trying to approach, trying to even greet and introduce himself. There was only a certain level of restraint that stopped immediate impulse control.

Malikron let out a controlled exhale through nostrils. Touched his forehead as if he were beginning to feel a headache because maybe he was.

A glance at the man had the feelings return, so intense too.

Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, he exhaled.

Blood would have to spill, the question was when. When could he do it, how could he do it unnoticed? After they left here what was the likelihood he would see this man again further along the Dungeon path?

He was completely ignorant to the conversation Ake and Roika were having entirely with the bugbear and their human company. He didn't quite care what stranger was hitting on who in his party at the moment. He needed to figure out a way to do this, and so he merely listened in patiently on the casual conversation Lucas was having.

Mentions: Sir Les Paul Shotgunpenguin Megilagor Daddy Dream

Interactions: n/a

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (1st Floor, Trading Post)
DATE—Early Summer, 07/04
TIME—1023

The response from Ake was perhaps not scathing, but it was far from warm. In truth, it wasn't even coarse until the very end when he requested the Bugbear return from whence he came. What the Goliath likely didn't anticipate was that a coarse response of any kind would only entice the Bugbear that much more.

Bugbears were interesting creatures. Some races had scales or feathers, Demi-Humans famously had fur, but none had quite as much as any Bugbear. Still, the hairy humanoid was more human in appearance than Dragonkin or Reptilian races, yet their features of fangs, a broad build, and long ears made them more alien in appearance than even Orcs. It put them on the fringe of what most Human society would accept, which itself put them in an odd position given that Bugbears held their freedom and rights—especially in the South, so the Borosi Empire which Ardynport was now a part of—much more so than other races, including that of elves and demi-humans.

All this to say that they were generally accustomed to adversity. Some even thrived in it.

Kal, for instance, only smirked at the rebuke Ake gave him. He crossed his arms, waiting politely for both Ake and the small female companion to finish. His long, pointed ears tilted back slightly, his sharper teeth shown through his smile, his larger nostrils flared out ever-so slightly, and his eyes did widen just the smallest bit under his thick brown. While he thought of his own response, he lifted his hand to stroke his bearded, favoring his left cheek with his palm as it floated downward, now hovering at the base of his facial hair. Only now might one notice that he did seem to actually keep his hair somewhat trim, especially around his chest, likely to help him fit into armor. Granted, if one had never seen a Bugbear, they may not know just how long and thick their hair could get.

"Well, I prefer them strong and prickly," Kal responded, not taking the initial rejection as immediate failure. "Besides being thrown around, who said I wanted to do the—"

The human man was not about to allow that type of filth to spew from Kal.

"—by the fucking grace of Espel, Kal, no."

"No, no no. No."​

He sighed, pinching his nose in frustration.

"We are here to foster relations between the Factions, not for you pick a fight out of boredom," he explained, exasperated. The human, mundane as he may appear, was a very animated in the sense that his body language and facial expressions aided in voicing his displeasure.

"Cal, relations are exactly what I had in mind," the Bugbear replied, straight-faced and blunt as possible.

Cal, the name of the human in this particular situation, could only stare at Kal, the Bugbear, in disbelief.

Finally, he just turned his attention back to Roika and Ake, doing his best (and failing) to hide the frustration on his face.

"I will admit," Cal started, his tone having shifted entirely. The rougher, coarse tone he had taken with Kal had shifted into a higher pitch and a softer tone, "I would have preferred him pay you attention as such would be easier to disregard."

"You are, after all, quite the beautiful elf. It is understandable, agreeable even, to want to approach you," Cal explained, demonstrating an entirely separate side to himself. Honeyed words, flowery language, unclear of if he actually meant what he said or if it was intended to smooth the roughened roads. His brown eyes had to shift up to Ake to give him attention.

"In which I mean no offense, but I am sure you understand my concerns for my partner disrespecting a Goliath such as yo—"

"—Oh no you don't," Kal interrupted, "he wouldn't last five minutes with you in a fight. Don't pretend like you're worried about 'is feelings."

Cal sucked his lips into his mouth, biting his tongue, fighting the urge to spew broiling hot rage at Kal. Their dynamic was clearly strained.

Meanwhile, Lucas was still embroiled in conversation with the Stonemasons. One which Malikron had taken a strong interest in.

Alessandro might have appeared learned, but he did not reflect the expectations one had of doctor. A dark head of hair swooped over to the side with loose curls that bounced when he tipped his head to the side, peering into the top-most box that contained his more exotic requests. The standard potions were easy to investigate. Standard procedure was to seal each layer in a coating of wax, proving it hadn't been opened in shipping. The brunette, surprisingly strong for her meager frame, was lifting each carton up to check this wax seal, ripping it off for later use, then moving on to the next. The doctor was responsible for the rest.

"Ah, I must, my dear Decovo..." he replied, having a particularly thick Borosi accent. Something from the South, the deep South. He emphasized each vowel, specifically Lucas' name, drawing each O with a sluggish fixation.

"Many in your field, they... how to say... cut corners, yes," he went on, "they care too much for gold and not enough for quality. A bad cork, too hot'a wax, too old'a ingredient, an unclean glass. Simply unacceptable for my work." His words carried an almost unfair tone of scrutiny for other alchemists, all things considered. In regards to business, as Lucas had learned, resources like rare herbs were hard to keep fresh in stock. Time and effort were required to clean every vial perfectly and reusing them was nearly essential. Watching wax melt was tedious and dull, easy to burn delicate concoctions, cork was best bought in bulk but it could rot. That on top of the sheer skill it took to create some of his tinctures and essences. Watching a precise heat for a set time, knowing just how much to evaporate off, making sure each ratio was right to dissolve whatever it was he wanted to dissolve. He was no master alchemist, not yet, but his field was one of skill and knowledge. Balancing that with a business was no small feat.

"Your work is impeccable, though... I canno' see even a smudge on the glass or a dimple in your salves. Well worth the Daric," he said, grinning, that tone of his shifting to a more complimentary one. Given what they paid, the attention to detail made sense. Lucas was not yet the biggest alchemist in town, but making a large volume sale like this off the back of a few niche items was well worth the effort. Time-consuming, sure, but a win nonetheless.

"It best be for what you have us pay 'im," the brunette chimed in, shooting a side-eye to the good doctor. Every vial had passed inspection. All that was left was payment. She wasn't hateful, there was a hint of jest in her tone. The shot, if you could call it that, was clearly aimed at the eccentric doctor, not Lucas himself. Once said, she waved someone over from the back. The same relative direction that Kal and Cal had came from him.

Emerged was a man of hair that fell somewhere between a red and a light brown, mostly messy and off to the side, outfit mostly in a dyed leather gear with fur trimming around most of his form. It was not his actual appearance that was concerning, but instead the raw power the man emanated just from being present. He, too, was Twice-Blessed. With him drawing near, the concentration of mana within him due to his seal was immense. Not only did it mean his seal was well-developed, but that he could passively process this much raw mana for no apparent reason. Lucas would know exactly who the man was: Griffith of the Tanning House. Not that Ardynport had noble houses like that, just rich families. No, it was that Griffith was a Stonemason whose family literally owned and operated a tanning house for furs and leather.

He was a powerful Spellsword to say the least. Comparable if not outright greater than someone like Markus. Which then made sense when he would produce the absurdly large bag of Daric that was used to pay Lucas. Griffith held it because no one was going to fuck with Griffith. The new Spellswords likely didn't know enough about delver history to know of Griffith, but Lucas would. Griffith was a swordsman with a magical flame that burned so intensely that it could melt stone and steel as well as burn other lesser magic. There were a thousand rumors about him, like that one could see his breathe even in the summer or that his piss caught fire. There were less truths that circulated around him than there were embellishments, but what was apparent was his capacity for mana. At his level, he was a swordsman that outclassed most mages.

He was the first inside the Stonemason's tent that triggered the innate feeling any Twice-Blessed had around others. Ake, Roika, Lucas, and Malik all knew they were on a team of Spellswords, so there was no reason to act surprised. Griffith was a different story. He was the type of man whose presence could spark the warrior's spirit inside the ancestral memories of Ake or turn the feral instincts of Malik from heated bloodshed into a cowering pup. In the case of Lucas, Griffith was just another transaction. In his early days, he had done some work with the Stonemasons as a psuedo-healer with his potions. He had met Griffith plenty, and while quiet, the man was personable. Human, even. He didn't mind a drink, he just didn't have a lot to say. The type to laugh at a good joke, but never tell one.

The type to immediately make two idiots like Kal and Cal fall quiet.

Shotgunpenguin Daddy Dream The Regal Rper Megilagor

​

 

[Carolyn]

HELENI​

Heleni's light had served as the decisive point of the battle. Without her, the treants would have forced the group to retreat or worse. It was affirmation enough to let someone else claim the final blow against the green tide.

Her concern switched steadily from a bloodshot brawl to damage control. She scanned the battlefield like a hawk. She fixed the strands of hair that fell down to her face while doing so. There, the ragged Leonel and noxious Ayn were on their last legs against the archers.

Heleni prepared to assist them by getting into a running position. Though she was feeling a tinge of exhaustion, her blood ran hot and her legs loose as she burst away from the entrance wall. Each step was a thumping roar.

Closer and closer she went to the archers. Between her and Leonel, she believed the mossmen would target the threat nearest them. Before they could realize it and behind the one-eyed man’s shadow she flanked them.

The arc of Heleni’s following thrust was on the creature that Leonel targeted with his claw. With the tip of her sword pointing forward, she nailed it’s chest and pulled down. Her blade would exit in daring fashion from the pelvis having emasculated the would-be human.