Fantasy ┌ spellsword ┘ Amaric Temple

[Merciless Medic]

LOCATION—Stairway to
2nd Floor, Amaric Temple
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—0955

Cole Forrest​

Lvl. 1 | Warlock
Status: Shocked, Contemplative
Spell Slots
Lvl. 1 2/2
Pact 1/1

TAGS EmperorsChosen Prizzy Kriyze Sir Les Paul November Witch

The emotional shift from Leander was not even noticed until he spoke. The sudden sarcasm gave Cole whiplash. He stood up, staring bewildered at Leander, having thought he was just a happy-go-lucky golden labrador.

However, upon looking around, not only did he find Cassius and Neha were gone, but looking back at the Trading Post, he saw people wearing armor. Some looked like veterans too. Leander’s sarcasm actually helped wake him up from his earlier infatuation with Lumina, which helped that she had embarrassed him with his advances, and he was going to be petty about that.

What he saw did destroy Lumina’s earlier points, and he found himself questioning her advice more and more. He sighed, scratching the back of his head. “Daaamn, didn’t know you even had it in ya.” His tone was more congratulatory even if reserved, as if praising Leander for speaking out in such a way. It was clear that he respected Leander more for that, even if the sarcasm nearly sounded childish.

“Well, now that I think about it… I’m seeing some veterans wear armor.” He glared and set his hands at his hips as he stared at Lumina with a disapproving glare. “If you’re gonna make a sweeping statement, maybe don’t include your own personal preferences or experiences with the experiences of the many, travel guide. That’s how you kill someone with information that doesn’t fit everyone. If a big muscular guy doesn’t have good enough speed and agility, he’ll need plate armor and it will save him more than armor made for someone who’s agile or no armor whatsoever. Do you even know anything about armor? Hell, I’ve heard experiences differ on these floors, so we can’t rely on one person’s account.” He huffed, crossing his arms and standing a bit closer to Leander.

“But uhh…” He then looked at Leander. “Maybe the two dipped? Like, Lumina’s here, so why would Neha stay? I can’t comment on that monk guy though, maybe he wants to stay in the Trading Post and become a merchant instead of going with us.” The thought did sound a little funny, but he had to keep his smile hidden.

 

[November Witch]

Lumina Wynntress

~{A Scholar's Mindset}~​

Status: Excited
Location: Amaric Temple - 1st Floor - Trading Post
Mention(s): Sir Les Paul Merciless Medic Meredith EmperorsChosen Prizzy Kriyze

Lumina stood there, arms crossed, waiting for questions. And come they did. She was thankful the group wasn’t so eager as to not have questions. It was a sign that they were using their heads. A question about what was to come. While every level had things that were likely to appear, there were always surprises, outliers, and odd phenomena that occurred no matter how deep or shallow. The question was a good one, and while her answer may not be satisfactory, it was part of how she felt it was beneficial to approach the dungeon.

“One thing you all will need to understand is that the dungeon is, first and foremost, unpredictable. While certain depths and areas can be more likely to house certain threats, you will encounter plenty you never expected to. For this first delve, I will hold back details about the specific threats you’re likely to face. I want to see how you all approach the unknown. It’s how you should approach the dungeon as a whole.”

She would explain, as Cole reached out to the icy flowers on the ground. The flame under them, relying on nothing but the spell with nothing to catch, would go out in only a few moments, leaving just the icy bouquet which was definitely cold. Cold and dry enough to stick to his hand for a moment as it froze the moisture on his fingers and stuck to him. But after about a second, the heat from his skin melted that ice, and it was no longer stuck to him. Lumina’s gaze turned to the next person to speak up. Leander. She smiled at his remark.

“I didn’t expect you’d be the one to notice. You seemed the most eager to get going just moments ago.”

Another test passed. Even when eager, and excited to explore the unknown, they still asked questions and kept an eye on their surroundings. Cole spoke up once more, and Lumina simply smiled brighter than before. In fact, her icy eyes shone, like sunlight reflecting through a bright blue glacier. Cole’s sudden change up was unexpected, but his words made her scholarly side proud.

“That’s it! While somewhat flawed, this is how you should approach most advice given to you. Don’t always take everything as 100% truth, even if the one telling you has more experience or knowledge in a specific area. This is not to say don’t listen to them but really be critical and think about what you are told. Too often are things exaggerated or tainted too much by bias or opinion. It’s a fine line to walk, between too much trust in others, and too much confidence in your own thoughts. So, if your party member says something you aren’t sure of, or even me, please discuss further with them. Don’t be afraid to question me, as I’m happy to explain myself if need be. Everything can be a learning experience.”

While some of his logic seemed obvious enough to not need stating, or flawed in some way, he was still questioning her, and not just sitting there, absorbing everything she said. While it could be good, it was better to be critical and ask questions in order to avoid bad advice. It was how she’d gotten so far in her studies. Questioning what she was told and thinking critically. Outside the box, so to say. So seeing others exhibit this rare trait was always a treat. She was also surprised Cole was the one questioning her. If anything, he seemed like he’d be the one to listen and absorb everything she said. While drooling and staring, of course. It seemed today was full of surprises.

“Normally, I would suggest we wait here for them, but it would be a good chance to familiarize yourselves with the training post. So, let’s go look for them, shall we?”

 

[Haze-]

LOCATION— Amaric Temple (5th Floor)
DATE— Early Summer
TIME— 1124

⚜ Leonel Blackmane ⚜​

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

TAGS ERode Sir Les Paul November Witch Carolyn

The day was won, though there was no fanfare flourishing in the air. Not a peal from a single trumpet. There was only bitterness, and a taste of damp dirt from the lingering spores in his tongue. The victory, to him, felt hollow.

Even the warm feeling of that black dagger etched over his face growing didn’t feel quite earned.

He was sat closest next to Symphony after the fact, further away from the group huddled around the campfire. Ensconced, with his back against a wall, one knee held up to his chest, a hand holding a whetstone crossing over it as he absentmindedly ran his claw against it. Hadn’t looked up once, simply busied himself watching the razor-edge at the tip of his fingers latched and grinded along the grit of the whetstone, unhitching sharply and slanting at an angle once it reached the end. Then repeated, stolidly, without a hurry. It was like watching a noblewoman obsessively file her nails; even if it wasn’t an uncommon thing to see a Lion Knight do maintenance on their claws.

It was a robotic habit of his, something to get his mind off things.

The ‘treasure’ and cores he’d looted— whatever hadn’t been charred useless from the white flames— was sitting there in a pile by his side, and even if he looked like he was purposefully keeping himself out of the conversation, he was hanging on every word from Markus. Hadn’t spoken a word in rebuttal simply because there was no rebuttal at all. Their performance was all over the place.

Leonel just kept quiet, sharpened his claw, musing over if he would’ve stuck out his neck and really been the shield he’d big talked himself out to be for them if things had gone south back there.

If Markus hadn’t been there to erect a barrier, and if Heleni didn't have the ability to blind the immature treants— what could Leonel have done to protect the party?

“…” — He was only drawing blank after blank, beating himself over it.

The grinding of his claw against the whetstone only stopped once Markus addressed him. Again, there was no rebuttal from him, only a sharp pause before he spat out the same words he’d yell at the top of his lungs at his instructor when he was a child, tripping over his own feet in training — “I will be sharper next time.” — The only thing a blade could promise. He didn’t have the nerve to explain or rationalize what he'd done or why, knowing it’d been more selfish than righteous.

Something to atone, punitive, a thousand self-inflicted lashes and flayings— to find some twisted theodicy in the pain he felt. At the heat of the moment, it wasn’t — ‘This is the only thing I can do for her.’— No, it was more akin to — ‘I should be the one to suffer, not her.’

All vainglory, thinking punishment alone would be enough to set his wrongs right.

“Sharper…”— He sighed, muttering the words back at himself almost mockingly, setting the whetstone down and throwing his head back into the pale-blue walls. Leonel was beginning to understand it. A sad old drunk playing martyr couldn’t reach his brother dearest, wouldn’t fulfill his oaths. He had to move on, be something else. Something stronger.

Something he couldn’t really envision just yet.

All he knew is that he wasn’t defeated, no matter how bitter the win felt. That alone was enough to keep him from feeling fully dejected — “I’ve no use for my portion of the bounty, my current gear is still holding up, so far. Don’t have anything essential to grab in mind besides a shield…Unless you have any suggestions.” — He started, finally looking back at the group once the topic of what to do with their loot was brought up. Leonel glanced to his side, gestured a chin over at their orichalcum doll — ”I could fork over part of my earnings so that Symphony gets herself a serviceable weapon for the next delve. Something decent, something that won’t break on its first swing.”

“Call it a ’team investment.’”

 

[ERode]

​

Ayn coughed into Leonel’s face when he crouched beside her, doing some entirely unnecessary magical-religion shit. It had been an attempt to tell him to leave her alone and finish the job first, but, alas, pollen prevented that.

She settled for glaring at him (at least she thought it was him) through tear-blinded eyes instead. What, did he think she didn’t know? That this backlash was entirely a surprise for her? That this was the first time she’s ever used this? If she could roll her eyes, she would. Ayn settled for rolling around instead, trying to gradually feel out if any of her tendons had snapped in the process.

…kinda hard to tell that as well, when she couldn’t feel anything in her body!

---

By the time the group had limped their way into a resting spot, Ayn had regained sensation in her own body. The healing potion worked well enough to take the edge off her pain, and through her own personal diagnosis, she figured that nothing had broken or torn in a way that she hadn’t dealt with before. The Gingerscale was also surprisingly tasty! She ran her tongue over her teeth, then sucked through the gaps, before finally spitting the bloody globule off to the side. If she stayed still enough and engaged in some deep breathing, she could practically meditate away the pain!

But instead, Ayn swung her legs out to the side, took a deep breath, and then went through her usual stretches, contorting her body and occasionally letting out squeals or winces. In the end, no matter its cause, overworked muscles were overworked muscles: rest and recovery didn’t just come from lying as still as a corpse. And physical ailments perhaps kept her mind just distracted enough that she didn’t get too mad over what Markus was insinuating too.

“Yeah?” Ayn said, her voice still a bit ragged from all the pollen-infused phlegm she had hacked up over the course of the last few minutes. “That’s what I used it for? Didn’t you literally say that Symphony would’ve been torn up by those things? So that means basically everyone else would’ve been as well. And they moved super-fast too. Faster than Leo, for sure. Heck, you didn’t do a thing for all the stuff that happened before those treants and I totally remember that guy…uh, Whitefang something? That didn’t like you because you didn’t teach. So obviously if you did act, it meant that things were going wrong in a way that was actually bad.”

Ok, maybe she was getting a bit mad after all! Deep breaths, Ayn, deep breaths.

“That’s a lotta words, but basically what I’m saying is that…you said any tricks, so I used my biggest trick, because I didn’t know how strong they were! Like, I definitely didn’t know they were actually that weak!”

She’d have folded her arms in that moment and huffed dramatically about it, but Ayn had the feeling that her arms might get stuck in that position if she did. She settled for rolling her head from side to side instead, thankful that her neck muscles were fundamentally still in good enough shape. It was nice to get things off her chest anyhow; she was entirely confident she won that argument. And hey, at least Markus didn’t spend nearly as much time making an obvious point as he did dressing down Symphony.

When the topic of spending money came up, of course, Ayn had plenty to say as well.

First and foremost…

“How about a better pair of boots for you, Leo? So you don’t get pulled like, twenty meters away from us without even being able to give a shout next time.” After all, if it could happen once, it could happen again, and it definitely wasn’t the fault of the shield in that case. “And if you’re gonna get into the habit of throwing away your weapons, I’m sure a javelin or a handaxe would be way better.”

She swivelled over to Symphony afterwards, this time flashing a grin. Strong but kinda clueless? That brought to mind a very particular archetype, didn’t it? “And as for your weapon…well, something heavy, blunt, and small would work out for you, right? You get something to bonk people with, and we have something to tie to your strings for when we want to do the long-range bonking too!”

Oh, but there was that other thing too. What was it again…the egg comes before the chicken?

“Well, no need to settle on anything like that first. Didn’t you say that prices change all the time at the Trading Post, Markus? Can’t decide on those things before we know exactly what we’re on about, right?

 

[Carolyn]

HELENI​

Like puppets without a string, the mossmen collapsed when the core’s full attention turned elsewhere. Heleni unsheathed her sword and sat near an unburned archer. As Markus went on with his instructions, she nodded along and pulled out her dagger to skin the creature. There was time to catch her breath and recoup financially. She went around collecting anything valuable from the corpses. Even a crusader had to eat at the end of the day.

The lecture later at the small fire wasn’t too bad. It was more direction than bluster. She was well acquainted with the latter in her orphanage. What Markus said had truth to it. The opening move from her to expend her Unleash was done on impulse as was some of her targeting.

“Better wit, eh?” she said, a faint smile by her lips. It was better than the grin she wore during the battle. It reflected the image of a nun had she been garbed in adventuring gear that was grimy after a fierce battle. “I’ll try to think more.”

Then a thought did cross her mind. The part where her faith had manifested. And the part where the guide moulded it. “Say, Markus, have you ever communicated directly with Espel before? Like, you know, talked to them. Not exactly part of the usual experience for us.”

Heleni tuned out the haggle for boots and other lesser topics.

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (5th floor)
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—1126

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

Short Rest!​

Leonel, Heleni, Ayn, and Symphony all regain one Lvl. 1 Spell Slot.

Ayn is still considered Moderately Injured.

No one is tired or hungry. Especially not Symphony.

That could have went worse. He had some pupils explode upon critique, some break down, some even cry. This group, if anything, was just despondent with a touch of petulance. Hell, none of them even took a swing at him. Most of them were alive, if you counted whatever animated Symphony.

There might be hope for them after all.

Still, there was more work in front of him to keep them on the right path. He had to earn the Guide part of his title and do exactly that: guide them.

Given she was perhaps the most energetic of all those to respond, Ayn was the first he felt inclined to provide some form of rebuttal for. He was neither harsh nor overly stern, more matter-of-fact, bordering on slightly condescending. "I did not mock or ridicule your choice to use your ability, did I?" he said, plainly. It was true, she spoke as if he had said she should not have used such a technique, but such words never left his mouth. "I told you that I forbade its use," he added, making his exact meaning clear, more so really reiterating what he felt important.

"You seem to have an issue with keeping words straight. Kaelic never claimed I did not teach at all. It is the priority of my lessons he does not agree with," Markus explained, "there is something he—alongside many members of the church—believes I should teach you early as a fundamental part of training. I believe it is done in vainglory and you should prioritize learning to survive in the Dungeon first."

"And, as for my intervention, well... if Espel can provide you lot a miracle, it would be a great insult for me to abstain. You know it not, but Leonel and Heleni do: Espel graced us this morn and in his light you were gifted white fire," Markus told her, his speech returning to the somewhat flowery vernacular of the church, but it was a truth that at least half his companions could not deny.

"Which, leads me to answer a question..." Markus continued, shifting his attention over to Heleni while the topic was still somewhat fresh.

"Yes. I have spoken to our Lord Espel. As has Leonel. When a Paladin gives their Oath, Espel will personally confirm if it is accepted. As a Crusader, your relationship with Espel is much more indirect. If you choose not to take an oath, your abilities will fairly different. You may never gain the right to smite in the name of Espel, but you will likely gain more diverse Spells as gifts. Some Crusaders can even learn abilities from priests. Paladins are always gifted their abilities. In any case, I have spoken to Espel on a handful of other ocassions... even now, when you received your miracle, I prayed for Leonel to be healed. Our Lord obliged. Leonel can confirm," Markus told her, being somewhat excited and more positive about sharing the details of their holy order. It was an interesting dynamic. Priests could learn various blessings and rites, almost like a mage, but all based on the skill and dedication of the priest. Paladins could not do so, but in turn often had greater, unique blessings of their own. Crusaders were a type of middle ground. Often blessed, but without an Oath that directly tied them to Espel. They could learn abilities like a Priest, but not use the greatest of them like a Paladin. It meant that Crusaders were not strictly inferior Paladins. They had a place, a purpose, and value.

Markus finally shifted over to Leonel. Those pale blue eyes of his just trying to make sense of his fellow Paladin. He couldn't help but have some type of sympathy for how pathetic Leonel looked at times.

"You should not be so quick to throw away your coin. First, you owe me for the shield. I'll take installments. Secondly, Ayn brought up many a good point, but she only scratched the surface. I may carry the potions and equipment, but all of you will be expected to chip in for them. Beyond that, you haven't even considered special items. Aside from polish for that armor of yours, you could purchase magic scrolls for single-use spells if you truly have so much excess. If all else fails, you could place your Daric into bonds at the Guild to accrue interest. That, or pay a heft tithe to the church, but our dues are high enough as is..." Markus suggested, throwing out plenty of points and ideas for Leonel to consider. It was frustrating, admittedly, to see Leonel be so defeated, but such was unfortunately understandable.

Symphony said little and Markus had little to say back to her. "Whatever weapon you choose, I would also suggest a small knife. Something the size of your hand. Not necessarily for combat, but a blade is always worth having on you. You never know when you need to cut something," he told her, possibly providing the most bland and basic advice he feasibly could.

"But, yes, you will be at the whim of the Trading Post. A suggestion, though, would be to avoid buying armor or weapons at the Trading Post. There is a certain premium you will pay for the convenience of the service in the Dungeon. A rule of thumb is that raw resources and necessities are often cheaper, but goods, services, and niceties tend to be more expensive," Markus informed them, again just providing generally useful information. Such would be expected from a veteran of the Dungeon. It was literally his job.

"If none of you are keen on playing the market in the Trading Post, your best bet is to just cash out the goods the caravan merchants will accept. They'll draw a up a contract based on the current value, then you'll have to take that contract to the Guild Headquarters to exchange it for Daric. What most new groups do is split the Daric instead of the goods to avoid the annoying arithmetic, but it does mean we'll have to pick a time to meet at the Guild. They won't cash a contract without all the names signed," Markus told them, providing them a simpler alternative to the process of cashing out their goods. He suggested they discuss how to divvy it up, it seemed they elected not to listen to him. Now it seemed like he had to hold their hand.

"It should go without saying, but always make sure your name is on the contract," he added, making sure they clearly heard this as he elevated his voice to emphasize the importance. He had seen too many cons in his day.

 

[November Witch]

Symphony

~{Indefinite Excursions}~​

Status: Inquisitive & Anxious
Location: Amaric Temple - 5th floor
Interaction(s): Sir Les Paul ERode Haze- Carolyn

Symphony was too in her own world to even comprehend the things being said behind her now. That fleeting feeling of the past, something she held desperately onto for as long as possible. But like petrichor, it was bound to fade with the slightest of breezes. While it seemed like a long time to the doll, it was likely only 20 or 30 seconds until she tuned back into the conversation. Something about Markus taking installments for a shield. Likely the one he lended to Leonel. Like earlier, Symphony enjoyed the thought of a shield. It would make her worry less about her condition and if she can handle taking a hit. But at the same time, she would have to lug around a large shield. It wouldn’t hurt to try though, right? She could always sell it if she didn’t like it. Or maybe she could get one for free from some poor soul who didn’t have a use for it anymore.

Turning back to the group when Markus addressed her, she gave a nod, her face as neutral and emotionless as usual. “Then I shall buy a knife, and something else.” She said quite matter-of-factly. She looked down at her right hand, with those words still echoing in the back of her mind. A gash upon its surface only served to remind her why she was here. To fix things like that upon her body. To restore it, her mind, and her memories. Nothing else mattered.

Of course it did. Lots of things mattered. But Symphony just couldn’t figure out what. She couldn’t remember.

She dropped her arm, looked at the battered, but mostly healed party at this point, taking in the sight, then looked to Markus. “I assume we’re heading back up after you all finish resting?” She would pause for enough time for a response, but add onto it, possibly cutting someone off. “Can I come down with another group then? I would like the opportunity to make more daric.”

Symphony, being a construct, had no use for rest or downtime. Well, she did. She just didn’t remember. Physically though, she didn’t need anything like that. The faster she could make daric, the faster she could buy Orichalcum, the faster she could find someone to repair her. Besides, what would she even do during the day or overnight? Walk around town maybe. But when she got bored of that? She’d probably just sit upon the top of the temple again, waiting for morning and dungeoneers to come once again. There was no other task on her mind besides finding or buying Orichalcum.

She did wonder what her cut of the Daric would be, and how much the weapons would cost she would need, but that was only a secondary worry. Right now, she just wanted an answer from Markus.

 

[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 head turned softly, to Cole, then Leander, then back. She was silent and her expression neutral as her eyes moved to Lumina.

The first thing she took note of was Leander's puppy-like demeanor had vanished. He wasn't standoffish. Perhaps a bit prickly, however he wasn't the cheeky bubbliness he was before, seemingly taking issued with some of Lumina's remarks. Cole surprisingly followed suit with criticism, and even more surprising was Lumina's response.

Cecelia was a follower. She had spent most of her life abiding to the motivations of others; a good little soldier who followed orders. She was additionally quite pragmatic. So, Lumina's responses didn't sit right with her.

Cole had posed an excellent question, asking for intelligence on what they should expect. Lumina's response was that she would withhold information to see how they would respond and should generally treat expeditions into the labyrinth as unpredictable. Cecelia didn't find that to be a suitable reason to refrain from information. Whenever she took a mission, she spent immense amount of time gather information and studying the best way to approach the task at hand. The fact that they would often have to venture in more or less blind was not an excuse to be averse to information when it was actually available.

The second statement was just as perplexing. They were to question everything that they were told. Thinking critically was one thing. Of course one should do that, however likewise, one didn't know what they didn't know. Guide's existed as they had more experience and knowledge regarding expeditions into the labyrinth. They had a greater foundation for knowledge, and to think critically required not only logic, but knowledge as well. A guide or veteran would not be correct in every circumstance, but certainly their information should be, for the most part, refined and curated. If they were to question and argue everything, then what even was the point of a Guide? What could they trust? Nothing, apparently. A discussion was fine and dandy here. What of when things go awry? There is nary time to have a debate when in a fight or decisions must be made within a split second.

However, unlike the other two, Cecelia didn't voice her thoughts. Her expression didn't give them away either. It was the same as usual, her cold eyes glancing back to Leander and Cole, as if waiting to see if they would take their guide up on their advice and continue to question her thoughts before she took steps forward.

"...She was so easy to find before..." Cecelia murmured, skipping past the previous topics. It was a wonder how someone with such a striking appearance like Neha could vanish. There was Cassius, as well, but he at least could blend into a crowd better.

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (1st Floor)
DATE—Early Summer, 07/02
TIME—0957

Leander 🗲 Cromwell​

Lvl. 1 | Mage-Storm Sorcerer
Status Excited
Spell Slots
Lvl.1 3/3
Metamagic
1/1

TAGS Meredith Prizzy Kriyze Merciless Medic EmperorsChosen November Witch

What Lumina would soon learn was that Leander listened. Perhaps, a little too well. What his body lacked in agility, his mind was more than nimble enough for. Much like his magic, his thoughts flowed through that brain of his like electricity. Jumping from point to point almost instantly, filling the gaps between his synapses but more so creating ideas where once there was none. Lumina was a mystery at one point, but the more Leander learned, the more he filled out his mental image of her. It was growing rapidly and hardly flattering.

He could see it all from beginning to end. The entire interaction like a frozen bolt in his mind and every spark that flowed through it merely another verbal exchange between party members.

Lumina walked them through the Trading Post, inquiring if anyone had questions.

Leander asked why wear her garb; to him, it made little sense for the environment.​

A valid question. He, a mage as well, might have had something to learn.

Lumina provided pathetic answers, claiming herself a scholar. That she did not wish to be a Dungeoneer.​

That answer was illogical. The reasoning poor.

Lumina was in fact a Dungeoneer and dressing like a scholar in a Dungeon was a poor decision.​

When pressed, she wrote it off as some lesson of trust and critical thinking.

That answer was illogical. It still gave Lumina a distinctive disadvantage in the Dungeon.​

Leander had been dissecting her rationale from all sides, looking at all outcomes. Lest she had a spell that magically enhanced her armor or prevented damage–which was possible–then she put herself a pure disadvantage. If her endurance was so low that leathers or mail were too much for her, then even as a scholar, that would be something to improve upon. If she was withholding her magical capabilities, then she was diverting actual, viable answer in favor of the illogical one she provided. It was worse than that, really.

She dissolved the trust that existed within a student-mentor relationship. If her first lesson, effectively, was trust nothing you say or hear, then what was there to learn? There needed to be some line. Of course, blind trust would always be problematic, but if they couldn't get a straight answer from someone more experienced regarding something as simple as armor, then what exactly could they expect from her? Nothing of value, not now.

Dungeoneering could be pretty lucrative. Surely, she was doing this solely for the income. If she could make more at the Ballard Houses, Leander was pretty sure she would.

This assurance struck him quick—and hard. Lumina, Cole, and Cecelia wouldn't even get to finish their responses before Leander had a red-tinted glare at Lumina, now scrutinizing her every word and move. With the young sorcerer, it was not that looks could kill, but they most definitely sling some silent insults.

"I'm sure she's just hiding with the Mage armor," Leander replied, specifically to Cecelia given her commentary. Unlike Cecelia, Leander didn't question how either of the two could so easily disappear into a crowd. Neha was small in frame with a dark color palette. Cassius could likely translate some of his martial skills into sleight of hand or deception, all depending on his preferences. No one within their group was particularly skilled at tracking, either, so it wasn't as if the two had bypassed some wardens.

Leander was just as quick to change his tune, both mood and objectives, as he was to deduce such a harsh opinion of Lumina.

He had no problems darting off in front of the group back to the Trading Post at a far quicker pace, only to stop once he neared the threshold of the barricades that made up the entrance.

"Coooh-oole, Ce-seel-yaaah, hurry up. I want to see what the craftsmen seeell," he shouted, completely ignoring the party beside him that side-eyed him once he raised his tone.

He didn't wait.

Leander was off in the Trading Post, at the Northeast section where most of the skilled crafters and artisans either peddled their wares or had a shopkeep of sorts do so. At the exact moment, Leander was looking over a stall that had various staves, wands, and scepters on display. He preferred his spear, of course, but there was value in having an actual magical weapon. Wands, for example, often helped with high levels of control for Wizards with a whole slew of specialized components for them. A skilled Wizard with a wand could make a firebolt whiz through the air like a guided firework. Staves were better with channeling large sums of magic for big Spells. Leander had to practice Lightning Bolt with a staff thousands of times to get where he was now. Even still, many Spells could only be cast at their lowest level with a Staff as a conduit.

Scepters where what he truly had his eye on. While scepters were definitely a middle ground in terms of size, they performed a whole separate purpose. Scepters were common to help with a specific type of magic. An element, or a school, so on and so forth. Scepters were common for both Sorcerers like himself and Warlocks like Cole. A Lightning Scepter would undoubtedly provide benefits to Leander, but scepters were not exclusive to the use of World Magic. Warlocks that lacked control over their Spells might find some amount of control or restraint with the use of an appropriate scepter. Leander of course was not considering Cole, but instead looking at the limited selection of scepters in front of him. The Myriad Arcana would have more, and unfortunately, there was not a lighting-based scepter in front of him. Which made sense, his school of magic was one of the less common ones.

"It's like a carnival... come in with your loot from the games and turn it in for goodies..." Leander mused.

 

[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

"Ughh. Listen I am not your game. Besides you're not my type, I prefer people who know when to shut up, can handle the cold of the north, and are optionally female. You don't fulfill even one of those three requirements." Ake responded coldly, so cold even the blizzards back home in the north were warmer than his tone of voice right now.
"I might not last five minutes against him in a fight? That might be true, as I haven't been a fighter for long, I don't have as much experience as him, that might be true. But at least I have the balls and guts to try, and not have to resort to petty attempts at orchestrating a fight. Besides, if I was gonna die in a fight against him it would be an honor. As the only honorable deaths in my area are out of old age, during a fight, or during childbirth." Ake voiced his opinion, he knew he wasn't the greatest fighter, after all most of his life he was just a lumberjack at his village, only in the past few years had he trained as a fighter, and most of his opponents were wild animals, and sometimes gramps when he felt well enough. Ake knew when he wasn't gonna match his opponent's strength but that didn't mean he wasn't willing to fight. To abandon a fight is to dishonor his ancestors. but this wasn't a place or time for a fight, they were just about to go into the dungeon, and he still was a bit green in terms of fighting other people. However, Ake did see that even the man the bugbear says Ake wouldn't be able to win against has a strained relationship with the bugbear.

When Lucas came out with a strong man beside him, Ake looked at the two of them, then at Griffith. Finally slamming his closed in fist hand against his own chest where his heart is. A small gesture from his homeland of respect to another, used to respect ones by their strength much rather then their personality. Ake could sense that Griffith was strong even without Lucas'es introduction, his ancestor's blood was literally boiling at the sight of the man, ready to fight him just for the thrill of it.
"So in simple words. Don't get too cocky, and don't overly rely on our seals. I can get behind that. Cockiness leads to recklessness, and over-reliance leads to bad foundations. Bad foundations lead to death most of the time." Ake said as he released his hand from its area of respect before adding. "I can work with that. If someone as strong as you says it then it must be true."

 

[The Regal Rper]

Malikron | Amaric Temple,

Overhearing the conversation between Dr. Cal and Lucas did give plenty of insight into the relationship between his guide and the man marked for a gruesome death, perhaps Lucas would be the key to ensuring a future engagement with the man that needed to die.

It was observing the help around him though that made Malikron take a step back, a real one from his early intense emotions, and really analyze his situation, especially as Griffith entered the room and his presence became immediately known. To which Malik only offered the man a respectful, ingrained bow on reflex both to dismiss his shift to alertness when he had first senses the man stepping in.

In a way it was a humble reminder that despite his Patron given gifts, he was far from a powerful Spellsword himself. Had things been different perhaps he could have learned to attain the same level of power as this man, but as it was now, he has to figure out the reason his Lord, wanted this man dead. He had helped his father in alchemy work as a youth before being taken away…perhaps he could use the limited knowledge of that to inject himself into the conversation more eloquently.

It was specifically thinking over Dr. Cal’s comment on Lucas business management that garnered the delayed little laugh that came from the Elf’s throat and was accompanied with a warm if not nostalgic smile. The comment reminded him really of his dad, something he had said once years ago about how important it was to take care of one's materials and ingredients as an alchemist with delicate attention.

“My father certainly would have agreed with your statement, sir. He dealt in alchemist work also you see. Always talked about these things when I helped him in youth.” Malikron politely explained, speaking up for the first time, and erasing all the aggression or even cautionary alertness that had been smoldering within him this entire exchange and new introductory.

Mentions: Sir Les Paul Shotgunpenguin Megilagor Daddy Dream

Interactions: n/a

 

[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 | The Regal Rper | Megilagor

"While the observation to my beauty is appreciated, I would prefer not having the attention of this bug let alone have him trying to prove himself toward my companion before we even get a chance to enter the dungeon. Would you mind leashing your friend a bit more?"

Rioka gave a soft, yet cold response to the man before the other two started going back and forth amongst themselves about who would win in a fight. She had no need to join in this conversation, as she knew her limitations and knew when to speak up and when not to, yet for some reason she wanted to guide the goliath away herself. She was debating on if she should try to stop Ake from engaging with the bug, but ultimately decided that he seemed to have an understanding of his capabilities as well, and doubted that he would listen to her either way. So instead, she listened, her eyes watching quietly as the situation proceeded all up until their guide introduced a new gent into the mix to give advice.

"Interesting, so even the most common knowledge is heavily solidified down here. Be cautious, be aware, and rely only on your own capabilities and not what the dungeon can provide."

Rioka probably had the translation wrong, but the first two are rules she followed even before she came to this dungeon. The last one seemed pretty obvious but she imagined it would be very difficult to follow. The feeling the dungeon gave her when she walked in would be very intoxicating for a normal mage to encounter. Luckily, she had a patron, and therefore always needed to rely on her own abilities and nothing more.

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (1st Floor, Trading Post)
DATE—Early Summer, 07/04
TIME—1027

What Lucas would soon watch unfold was a series of misunderstandings that would mark the end of their transaction in the Stonemason's Camp. Irony being, it did not originate from Ake refuting the Bugbear or Malikron and his bloodlust for Doctor Alessandro. It came from Roika.

It was an understandable error in cultural ignorance. Roika had no way to know the history of Kal or even that of Bugbears in general, but her word choice flared something within the Goblinoid. The long and dark history of their race involved their enslavement—not unlike herself. Where their history differed is that others races were not so kind to those of Goblin blood. Elves like herself were of high value. Beautiful, often talented, they had a purpose even if it was one as shallow as their skin. Bugbears were far from what one would call beautiful. Even most Demi-Humans at a time would revile them. Their acceptance into the Borosi Empire and the push for tolerance was only a recent thing.

Her notion to 'leash' him brought out an ancestral type of rage.

Kal, for all intents and purposes, intending on approaching Roika and backhanding her for the indignity of her comment. Kal was a force to be reckoned with. He was no Spellsword, but he was a pugilist in his own right. Even Ake or Lucas wouldn't have been able to bridge the gap in time. Luckily, they didn't have to. Cal, the human, was quick enough to trip up the Bugbear and throw him onto the ground, though their sheer size difference had this require a fair amount of force to do so. Kal skid forward, in this case, in the direction of Roika and Ake, due to the momentum.

Griffith was able to step forward, as daunting as ever, and place himself in front of Kal who was steadying himself. Unlike Cal, Griffith did not need some big gesture to force the Bugbear into submission. A single hand and a surge of mana through it gave him enough strength to press Kal back into the ground, overpowering all his limbs trying to fight the force Griffith was placing square on his back.

"You ought te know better. Words are one thing, but you do not attack others in the Dungeon. You follow our rules in here," Griffith said, having knelt down closer to the level of Kal. Griffith had a way of making a threat without actually threatening a consequence. In all reality, Griffith was being fairly lenient with Kal. The new Spellswords might not have known it, but attacking a fellow Dungeoneer often carried a heavy penalty. Depending on the severity, someone might just lose their hand. Justice inside the Dungeon was a cruel thing when one was so low that the Guild couldn't help. A hand, an eye, if one was lucky, they might only lose a finger or two. That is, if the people that caught them felt they would learn a lesson.

In the worst of cases, other veteran delvers might just decide to be judge, jury, and executioner right then and there. This was rare and only ever truly accepted when someone had done something particularly egregious. It meant that the man who passed judgement carried a stigma of harming someone inside the dungeon. That was no small thing to carry; it made all but your most trusted fellows wary of you. It also meant anyone missing a few digits or a hand was immediately suspect. Dungeoneers didn't just give up the career so easily.

Griffith stood up, though his mood had soured.

"More advice," he told them, though it was far from friendly. No, this was more of a warning in disguise.

"No one is so pretty that their sins are just forgiven. Watch your words," he told Roika, emphasizing those last three words most of all. Even the most socially awkward individual in the world could not misconstrue this as any type of compliment. Even if her ignorance was understandable, it was borderline stupidity to use the phrasing of leashing someone in a society where slavery was all too real.

"No one said anything about fighting to the death," Griffith said, transitioning from Roika immediately to Ake. He pointed out a clear issue with what the Goliath had brought up. He was the only one talking of honor. He was the only one speaking of some grandiose fight. "Speak of an honorable death when can you stand on the corpses of your best friends and wish they could hold up just one more pint," Griffith told him, cutting right to the chase and pointing out the naivety that he spoke with.

"An', don' you dare come at about your culture. I have met your kind. Quick to pick a fight because you think there is some pride to be found in loss," Griffith said, almost accusatory at this point, "Cal wouldn't kill you, just humiliate you. What will kill you is the Dungeon and I promise you there is no honor in becoming rat shit."

All this unfolding while Lucas and Malikron were still close to the podium where they had conducted the exchange. In all reality, Doctor Alessandro had little-to-no interest in the Spellsword. Lucas was one thing, but Malik came across as a rude little pup trying to worm his way into a conversation that he had no place in. Why would the doctor care? Malikron did nothing for him. He wasn't even an apprentice apothecary to Lucas. Just another Spellsword to be sucked in and chewed up by the Dungeon. The doctor had impossibly high standards and the crude attempt Malik made to start a dialogue simply failed to catch his interest.

The reaction from Kal was just the catalyst to end this now-unwanted conversation.

"I believe it best you.. make your way to the other floors," Alessandro suggested, a brief stall in his word choice as he tried to be delicate in the matter. In truth, Alessandro didn't want to hurt the working relationship with Lucas, but the group had overstayed its welcome for the moment. Fault could be found on both sides as Kal was clearly out of line, but that didn't matter. This was not a courtroom and these people were not children. Who started what and when didn't matter; the situation needed de-escalated all the same. "I would sugges', dear Ducovo, you drag them out before the big one tries to argue with Griffith," Alessandro added, providing another one of his condescending yet valid pieces of advice.

Shotgunpenguin Daddy Dream The Regal Rper Megilagor

​

 

[Haze-]

LOCATION— Amaric Temple (5th Floor)
DATE— Early Summer
TIME— 1126

⚜ Leonel Blackmane ⚜​

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

TAGS ERode Sir Les Paul November Witch Carolyn

Leonel shifted to sit with his legs crossed, slouching in on himself, drawing a sigh out as he felt the cooling refreshment of the dungeon’s ambient mana slowly spreading through him. It wasn’t a relieved, wasn’t a resigned, exasperated air either. It was the smell of dew after the storm, the sore, unresponsive muscles rewarded from excruciating manual labor, near slave work— respite from a job done poorly. As if the dungeon itself were mocking his efforts, sparing him a pat on the back, a thumbs-up.

But it was respite nonetheless.

There were many things to go over, many important things, but the one topic he hung on was Ayn’s jeering. His head craned over his shoulder, turned to her with a blank, expressionless look plastered over his face. It was an awkward, suspended air for a while before he decided to spit out one single word — “Hatchet,” — He replied — “You throw hatchets. You don’t throw handaxes. Besides, I already have a spear, I’m not wasting coin on that……” — What was she stupid or something?

He moved on from the topic with the swiftness and grace of a bag of bricks plummeting from the skies, without letting her get a word back in, not a single rebuttal about how— when you really put some thought into it— a hatchet really was just an undersized handaxe; Ayn would’ve been talking to a wall if she tried. His eyes dropped on Markus and Heleni, brows half-furrowed in thought — “I figured the words were not meant to be heard solely by me… What Stonehart says is true, Espel was present, if for a moment. The white flames on your armaments and the warding stars were divine intervention. I have only heard His voice once, the night I took my oaths— only felt His guidance thus far in the blessings He bestowed unto me. To think I’d hear Him again so soon, and during a miracle of all things…”

— There was a brief moment of pause. Rather, a full stop as he seemed to trail and wander off in his thoughts.

Bringing a hand up to his chin, his one good eye pacing around somewhere, falling on the unwinding corridor and freezing there, all with that unreadable expression of his. No way of telling what emotion was bouncing around in his brain— if it was gratitude, relief, or a sour feeling of unworthiness. He sat there, absorbed, only broken out of his musings when Markus addressed him again.

One pale-blue eye snapped back to glance at the other paladin. Leonel shifted again, leaned further into the wall. There was only silence from him as he chewed on the words, empty air stretched taut. It wasn’t in jest like he’d done with Ayn either. No, the pause was sharp, oppressive, heavy, thoughtful— his own acknowledgement that he wasn’t yet thinking like a proper Dungeoneer just yet.

He knew how to kill men and some beasts, both as mercenary and as crusader, out there beyond the pale walls of the dungeon, barely even needed a sword get the deed done, but he still hadn’t the faintest idea on how to kill monsters. He would have to learn fast if he wanted to catch up with Leowulf — “I’ll save my coin then, see myself to anything useful I can grab for us. I’m…not so sure about playing the market, however. I don’t think I’d have the merchant-brain for it.” — He, at least, had the brains to recognize the fact.

“As for the shield,” — Leonel reached back to bring the rental shield in front of him, eyeing the worn, blemished face of the metal like it were speaking to him. Still curious on which poor bastard the thing had failed to protect in order for it to fall into his hands now. It certainly had done its best to protect him — “Well, it did save my life. How much do I owe you for these…premium dungeon guide services?”— That, or maybe he was just spinning a tale. Maybe, Markus had simply bought the shield cheap off another delver’s hands.

At Symphony’s eagerness to plunge back into the dungeon, Leonel could only sigh — “I suggest we focus on resting and making sure the spoils are distributed before anything else. You do have to cool down too, don’t you? Even if it is faster for you to recover than it is for us…”

 

[Merciless Medic]

LOCATION—Stairway to
2nd Floor, Amaric Temple
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—0959

Cole Forrest​

Lvl. 1 | Warlock
Status: Annoyed, Frustrated
Spell Slots
Lvl. 1 2/2
Pact 1/1

TAGS EmperorsChosen Prizzy Kriyze Sir Les Paul November Witch

Cole was starting to worry about this girl. She was made as a guide, wasn't she? No wait... A guide-in-training? Junior guide?

Wait... He swore she was introduced as someone to shadow Neha... If that were the case, then Lumina really wasn't someone to look to for information. He huffed, his train of thought following Leander's for the most part, albeit slowly. Slow enough for Cecelia to comment on where Neha went and for Leander to respond.

"Question everything? You do realize that's a quick street to misunderstandings and arguments, right? You're saying we can't trust you as a guide? What if you say something true, but we question it and it gets us killed because we're too busy worrying about the information you gave us? You have become the most dangerous trap in this dungeon, single-handedly; the epitome of the boy who cried wolf." He spat, glaring at her as his tail hairs stiffened. "Even if this place is unpredictable, that doesn't mean you should hold back information regarding what could be found down there. We might see it tomorrow, when you're not here - preferably. Some knowledge is better than none."

He huffed, noticing Leander had left already and was calling them. He glared at her. "I don't care if you're a guide-in-training or a supposed mentor. If you're going to make yourself impossible for us to trust and rely on, then why the fuck are you here?" He gave her one last scathing look before turning and running off to catch up to Leander.

He was still frustrated when he found Leander looking over magical weapons, but the hard lines of his annoyance had faded. He sighed, looking things over. He had a dagger as his focus, but it wouldn't hurt to get something else. "Hey, Leander. You know how these mage weapons work, right? Which would you recommend for me?" Honestly, he would rather trust the mercurial puppy-dog of a mage than a pretty witch.

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (1st Floor)
DATE—Early Summer, 07/02
TIME—1001

Leander 🗲 Cromwell​

Lvl. 1 | Mage-Storm Sorcerer
Status Excited
Spell Slots
Lvl.1 3/3
Metamagic
1/1

TAGS Meredith Prizzy Kriyze Merciless Medic EmperorsChosen November Witch

"Hmmmm..." Leander hummed, verbalizing his contemplation over the question. It was easy for him to think about his own magic. Lightning and Storm, it was quite one note and he was intimately familiar with it. He hadn't even touched the actual elements of wind or water. If not for his early accomplishments, one could argue that his linear nature as a sorcerer was somewhat of a failing.

Cole would get to witness, if only briefly, the slight eccentricities of his fellow mage. Those bright eyes of his did not move quite as fluid as one would expect. They were fast, jarring even, darting from item to item with a direct, piercing gaze. It was comparable to how a drunkards eyes were sluggish and could not travel far without stuttering, except here there was no stuttering. It was just fast, immediate bounces. More so, while Leander did lean over the item displays with a child-like amusement, when he stood tall and erect, he had a habit of resting his right hand on his hip while his left carried his weapon. Somewhat militant, somewhat refined, nothing like the country bumpkins found locally.

"For your Patron Spells, either a staff or a scepter," Leander finally said, though he quickly segued into his rational, "though, you only need a staff if your Patron gifts you with a Spell you can't cast without a conduit. Until then, it would be a waste of money. Scepters are built to help with a specific type of Spell or element. Find one that suits you and the reading I've done says it can help you restrict or control the Spells you normally can't. I've never figured out why that would matter, but I also never cared to figure it out."

"Althooooough..." Leander said, shifting gears again in what was becoming his trademark conversational style. "If you wanted to practice your own magic, I'd say a wand. Practice wands are cheap; so cheap that they're practically disposable, so even if you mess up a spell and it fizzles your wand, you won't be heart-broken. It could help you learn some other basic spells, unless you're forbidden from such," Leander explained, going against the grain of the Patron Magic. It was an option, after all. What it did mean was that Leander didn't really suggest any one weapon, instead he just explained them all.

"Oh, and," he continued, not missing a beat in the conversation. This time, the young sorcerer finally turned to Cole, reviewing the man instead of the merchandise. Those red eyes of his certainly were something. Bright like forged metal, a lighter hue than any blood, and saturated with different shades that gave them a depth like a gem. Seeing them in a human was an oddity. They something one might expect from an Elf, or at least some odd type of Demi-Human. Maybe some less humanoid species. A human with them was rare. But, then again, a human with the energy of Leander was rare. Cole was the wolf, but he might as well have been the sheep being herded here.

"You should probably apologize to Lumina," he suggested, but true to his nature, was quick to back up why he would suggest this. He raised his free hand, lifting it form his waist, and gently gesturing Cole to halt, as if requesting a moment to explain. "It is not that I don't agree with you. I actually do," Leander told him, hoping some amount of agreement might diffuse any tension his suggestion could have created. "It is that when words become as harsh as yours were, they tend to cause friction. If we want things to go smoothly, there is no point in addressing something we can't fix. For all her explanation, she never once addressed why wear white in a Dungeon where it will surely be stained. The answer is likely she has some magical means of removing stains or just that she has none. Either way, it serves no purpose pressuring the woman over the color of her clothing," Leander explained, in full, trying to provide the Demi-Human a broken down and digestible version of his rationale.

"My father," Leander went on, trying keep reins of the conversation and this time doing so with a somewhat dastardly approach. It was human nature to allow someone to continue speaking when they referenced someone of importance and to any young man, a father was often an important figure, "gave me a piece of advice that I think applies here. When it comes to women, if you want a happy life, always say the third thing that comes to mind. The first one will most undoubtedly assure a fight, the second one will most assuredly cause them doubt. But, the third one will tell them all you need to say in the way they want to hear it."

 

[ERode]

​

“Yeah, yeah,” Ayn said, rolling her eyes. “Forbade use, except for when it’d save someone’s life, which is basically when I’d be using it anyways, so what’s the big deal?”

It wasn’t a big deal indeed. It felt like Markus was talking just because he liked talking (and because he certainly couldn’t do any fighting), so Ayn herself was fine with letting him continue to yap about Espel and his faith and all that. One True Light and all that jazz. She’d probably have been able to cut that vine in half even without the fire swords; they’d just never know for sure.

The bit about the whole deal with Daric conversion was something that Ayn spent a bit more effort to listen to though. Prayer and supplication might grant the occasional immolation of your weapons, but it was coin that kept you alive in all the rest of the cases. A place to sleep, food to eat, and the occasional bundle of herbs or bottle of medicine to keep you living. That being said…she couldn’t resist, after all!

“Mm, hard to consider special items when we don’t even know what regular items are priced at. Or how much any of these are worth. So yeah, let’s break it all down into Daric and split it evenly!” No risk of someone getting a bad split of the loot while none of them knew what anything was really worth. Oh, but Leonel? She snapped her fingers at him, entirely ignoring the stonewall that he had become in an effort to win this particular discussion. Adopting his same grave, depressed tone, she mirrored, “Javelin. You throw javelins. You don’t throw spears. Besides, I don’t want to hear anything about what’s appropriate or inappropriate to throw from someone who threw a longsword.”

What was he, stupid or something?

“Anyways, Markus, was curious about the thing that Symp just brought up too. Does the Guild expect us to stick with the guide-group we were assigned? Or are we free to do delving work on the side, inbetween uh, official dives? Like, you know…” She gestured vaguely into the air. “It’s not like we’re expected to stick together forever, right?”

 

[Carolyn]

HELENI​

The crackle of the open-air fire continued amidst the rumble of voices. Heleni stirred it with a long stick and added more wood. With each gentle toss, she was building up the resolve to ask the uncomfortable. Traces of rough wood were at her fingertips when she uttered, “Why didn’t you request that our Lord heal your injuries too, Markus?”

Heleni exhaled to the tension that was surely there now. But her eyes held an inquisitive resolve that caught Markus in absolute focus. The man himself had confessed that crusaders had their use—an equal one to that of paladins. Here was the time to inhabit it fully.

“Kaelic mentioned something to that effect about you,” she said. “And that you were a stain to the Church for it. Yet I can’t square the view with Espel taking a personal interest in you to such an extent that they’d heal the defrocked Leo.”

Of course she had known of the younger paladin’s scandal. There was a lesson taught in failure to students there. A noise was heard from Heleni’s neck. The click of a metallic icon. It confirmed her as the only person in good standing with the Church compared to everyone there.

“A report will have to be made when we return. I wish it to be thorough. I hope you understand, Markus.”

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (5th floor)
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—1129

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

Of all the points made in this last round of discussion, Heleni was the one that earned the attention of Markus. Of course, Symphony and by extension Ayn had good questions, but the look Markus gave to Heleni was more quizzical than anything. By her tone and delivery, she gave the impression that there was issue with a report being given to the church. More so, she had asked why he had not asked Espel to heal his wounds, but he was not wounded. All in all, this lead him to believe that Heleni did not actually understand the relationship he or Leonel had with the Church at all. She clearly did not understand the nature of his role, either.

Explanations were in order, even if limited. Of course, he would answer the questions in due order, to be fair.

His eyebrows raised to Heleni, his left hand raised to cross his face and rub his right temple before trailing down to his beard before shaking his head. There was still quite a bit to inform them of and as much as he wanted to jump the gun and deal with Heleni, the information he would provide Ayn and Symphony would technically be of more use. He rolled his head over, hanging it as if on a lamppost.

"Ardynport is a city of trade and commerce. There is no harm in asking for prices or trying to haggle. The only nobility here is coin," Markus told them, plainly, more so suggesting that the only way to solve their problem was simply to learn. "A decent weapon will run you a hundred Daric, give or take. A good one is double that. Once you start getting into custom orders or masterwork, you could be talking hundreds or thousands. I know of delvers that have traded a stack of gold for their weapon," Markus explained, putting into perspective what the actual fiscal cost of these things were; and, more so, just how expensive they could be at the top end.

His eyes darted over to Leonel quickly. "That is a full-metal shield of the Holy Order. You'd normally pay something like three hundred Daric for it. I'll sell it to you for two-twenty and allow installments," Markus said, his tone shifting entirely to that of a prude businessmen. It was a decent deal, and the quality in craftsmanship of items from the Holy Order was well beyond what some petty blacksmith could pull off. It was probably worth it, even if a bit steep.

All of this would probably give Ayn much better insight as to the value of items. She worked for a handful of Daric per day, but took in tips. On a slow night, ten Daric was hard to come by, but a faster night could pull in thirty or so. That would make even a basic weapon cost four to ten days of wages and a better one twice that. In short, a weapon suitable for her would take all of three weeks wages which wasn't realistic at all given she needed to eat, so it was closer to a month. All again assuming she worked every single day. What Markus gave her were generalizations of course. If she actually went to a blacksmith, she could probably find faulty or defective weapons for just a few Daric, but those were liable to break upon use. Probably not even worth considering, especially given she had two good swords from her monastery.

His eyes levied back over to Ayn and Symphony, though it was hard to tell if the doll even knew she was being addressed. "There is a class of Delver that is allowed to hop between groups. Not all supporters are Guides and not all Guides are supporters. Supporters do more than just carry the goods, too. They may heal by various means, provide services, perhaps act as an alchemist, so on and so forth. It is much less common for other roles to work in multiple groups, though it is possible. However, and I make this clear to you now, those roles are reserved for those that have proven themselves in the Dungeon. It's normally not permit until a second or third season. It also can become complicated if you end up working for another group, like the Holy Order or the Ballard Company. Generally, parties don't intermingle, and if so, it's normally from a Free Company," he explained, giving them a pretty clear-cut answer. He was sterner with this one, believing full-well that the one-track mind of the Living Doll again thought it deserved some type of special treatment.

Then and only then could he finally address Heleni. Those bright blue orbs he had for eyes fell directly onto her.

"A Paladin takes an Oath. I have explained this, but I will again. Our powers, unlike yours, come from our adherence to the Oath as witnessed by our God. My Oath was one an Oath of Glory. I promised to do great deeds in the name of Espel. I promised I would take on all challenges as tests in their name. I swore I would bring fame to the Order. And, for a while, I did. I was the best swordsman in Ardynport and one of the best in this entire Order. If you find yourself or Leonel to fall short of Ayn in combat, understand I could have humbled her with but one arm and a tiny dagger. Even now, I probably still could, albeit with perhaps a larger blade. Kaelic holds his grudge because he was humbled exactly like that in many a duel within the Cathedral Halls," Markus told her, told them really, regaling in his glory days. In the era where he was more than a mere teacher of new delvers. Arrogant he was, but he did say his Oath was that of glory.

"The problem with glory is that gives way to hubris. I did not just take on challenges in front of me, I sought them out, and in the end, I paid a price. I failed. I fail my party, I failed the Order, I failed our God, and I broke my Oath," Markus told them, a bold admittance. An Oathbreaker was not just a failed Paladin, but one of the ultimate sinners in the eyes of the church. It was no wonder Kaelic called him a stain.

"I survived the endeavor with a curse. Fae Magic that prevents me from harming another living creature. Espel saw it fit to provide me mercy. He allowed me to take another Oath, to start fresh. An Oath of Redemption wherein I cannot even smite a foe. That is my penance for hubris," Markus told them, though really this was directed more at Heleni than anything. She opened up Pandora's proverbial box, so she would get the demons that came with it. Not that Markus was especially hateful, but he did have a flair for the dramatic.

He then stood, patting himself off. Dust from the Dungeon settled.

"Report whatever you want. We'll all be reporting about the miracle anyway. I expect you and Leonel to meet me so we can explain. Let's say... a hand after daybreak on the fourth - at the library," Markus instructed, not really providing much of a window to argue over it. Granted, he was technically the senior Paladin and even if he wasn't in the good graces of the Church, he still had the authority to make such a request. He and Leonel were a type of stain on the Church, in truth, but that didn't mean they were entirely expunged from its hierarchy.

"Alright, let's go. We need to have a contract drawn up to cash out the goods, then collect the bounty in the Dungeon Guide tent," he told them, ready to just walk off. Not that they couldn't continue talking, but that they did need to get a move on.

[Note: Another post will follow separately for interactions. Please hold replies until then.]​

 

[Shotgunpenguin]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (Trading Post/4th Floor)
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—10:27

Lucas Decovo

Level 3 | Alchemist/Supporter
Status: Exasperated
Ki Points 4/4
Spell Slots
Lvl. 1 2/2
Lvl. 2 1/1

TAGS The Regal Rper Daddy Dream Megilagor Sir Les Paul Haze- ERode November Witch Carolyn

“Pff, some ale is a cheap price for advice from someone like you.” Lucas was already planning on inviting his group to a tavern after they had finished their delve and returned topside. It was something he liked to do to both celebrate their first successful descent, as well as give them time to go over their actions. How they could improve, so that any mistakes they made could be avoided on their next attempt. So loosening his coin pouch for one more person wasn’t that much of a bother.

As Griffith spoke, Lucas crossed his arms and nodded along as he pointed out an early pitfall that many found themselves falling into. He couldn’t even refute it when Griffith informed them that Lucas himself wasn’t strong enough to get by with just his own power. While his advice could essentially be boiled down to ‘don’t get in over your head’, it was something that many struggled to live by. The feeling of power, the rush of mana coursing through a person's veins, it was both a powerful and addicting sensation. Feeling like you were all powerful, that nothing could stop you. That you were a god within these stone walls.

Those who allowed their thoughts to be filled with delusions of grandeur soon found that the dungeon cared little for their perceived divinity. A feces covered spear wielded by a goblin, an unseen spike trap shrouded by a hoard of gold, or the razor sharp tusks of a boar. All of these things have brought down these self proclaimed gods.

“Good advice. Seems like I won’t have to worry about you lot getting big heads.” Both Ake and Rioka seemed to be the type to know their own strengths, or at the very least knew enough to take advice when it was given. While Malikron didn’t verbally acknowledge the warning like the others, it was probably a safe bet to assume he thought similarly. Lucas was slightly surprised when he brought up the fact that his father also worked in alchemy, but the fact was not unpleasant. If anything, he was happy that he would have someone in his group that understood and appreciated the work that went into his products.

Before he could reply to his comment however, the slightest bit of movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. A rush of fur and a snarl of the bugbears expression immediately put Lucas on edge, his eyes widening while one hand instinctively clenched into a closed fist. The bugbears human companion tried to halt his advance, although the sheer size difference and density of the two meant that stopping him was more akin to throwing oneself underneath a horse in order to trip it up.

Thankfully, Griffith was quick to act, restraining the bugbear with one hand and a surge of mana. The previous atmosphere was quickly soured as his expression shifted to thinly veiled annoyance. His words struck deep, and as he spoke Lucas couldn’t help the sinking feeling that was slowly welling itself in his gut.

The situation had gone to absolute shit. While the tent would keep prying eyes away from what had just transpired, that wasn’t to say that their little scuffle wouldn’t be noticed. Ears that were honed to pick up even the slightest of mechanisms were equally as capable of picking out the sounds of their scuffle. Already he could imagine the rumor mill spinning its wheel, of hushed whispers and bits and pieces of their altercation being sold for a bag full of coin.

By the day's end, he expected for rumors of their slight scuffle to begin to slowly leak out, although the exact contents would differ. By the time his group would ascend back to the surface, tales would probably be told of how he had threatened to sick his group on those inside due to a disagreement on payment, only to be stopped by the timely intervention of Griffith, who single handedly brought him to his knees. None of which would be true of course, but that wouldn’t stop those who sought to spread such rumors from claiming it as the truth.

Lucas could only breathe a deep sigh at the doctor's thinly veiled suggestion, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger and shaking his head. “Thanks for the suggestion, Doc’.” His tone was a mixture of annoyance, embarrassment, and anger, partially directed towards the bugbear who had attempted to strike one of his group, but also at himself. Having been a part of the dungeon for a considerable amount of time, certain rules had become common sense. No one had to tell him not to start fights in the dungeon as much as someone didn’t need to tell him that murder was illegal topside.

But that was only obvious because of his time spent in the dungeon, having learned its rules. To a fresh faced rookie making their first descent, they wouldn’t know to not start a brawl over heated words. It was a fault on his part, one he would make sure to correct once they left the tent.

“Everyone, I think it’d be for the best if we departed now.” His tone made it obvious that this wasn’t a suggestion, but rather a direct order to the group. Running a hand through his hair, he breathed a deep breath before letting it out and turning his head to face Griffith. “Thanks. Seems like I owe you more than just an ale.”

Lucas quickly ushered the trio out of the tent, pushing them onward through the trading post at a brisk pace. Once a suitable amount of distance was between them and the tent, he sighed and once again ran a hand through his hair. “So, that was shit.” He regarded the group with a slightly tired expression, his previous optimism and excitement having been drained by the recent encounter.

“I’m not going to chastise any of you for what happened. No one knew that the bugbear would get worked up enough to try and take a swing at Roika.” He gave a slight nod to the female elf, before turning his gaze to both her and Ake. “Having said that, what Griffith said was right. There are all types down here, some of which have history that they’d rather not be reminded of. Additionally, while honor and fighting to the death may be part of your culture, fighting between delvers while in the dungeon is strictly prohibited. Had Griffith not stepped in and you two came to blows, you might have been fucked before you even set foot past the first floor.”

While one could argue that Ake and Roika were only acting in self defense, the fact still remained that combat between parties in the dungeon was considered taboo, regardless of who started it or not. It was sometimes unfair and cruel, but it kept most delvers in line and kept the peace. “If you truly believe that you must fight with another delver, you challenge them to a duel. If both sides agree, the duel is bound with contractual magic and those chosen will duel outside of the dungeon.”

Having said his peace to the duo, Lucas then turned his attention to Malikron. “And I apologize for the doctor. He can be rather… difficult to speak to.” Both in regards to his overall personality, and to his sometimes confusing accent. There were times where Lucas would have to make an educated guess at what the doctor was talking about, due to his penchant for stressing certain syllables and muddling the lines between others. “He’s the type to believe in results, and until one proves themselves to be capable, he’s rather dismissive.”

Regardless of the previous encounter, Lucas’s business in the trading post was finished. Which meant that it was time for the group to finally descend. “Right. That was all that I needed from this level, so we can finally begin our descent. Remember the formation we discussed. Shouldn’t have too much trouble on the first few floors so long as we keep our wits about us.” With a final nod of his head, Lucas led the group through the Trading Post once again, while giving the Stonemason tent a wide berth, and eventually came to the stone stairwell that would lead them down to the second floor, to where their delve could finally begin.

The first four floors proved to be of little difficulty for the group. Even just as three, the rats and living vines alone just held no challenge. Especially in the limited quantity that were left following the earlier delvers going down. With his ancestral shout, Ake hadn’t yet met a rat that wouldn’t flee. Similarly, Roika could cause paralysis in them so effectively that any of them could walk up and slit the throat of the rodent. Malik learned his bow was useless in this particular confined environment, but even his weakest Cantrips proved effective.

Roika could burn the petty vines with her Firebolt, nothing thus far had survived the great axe of Ake, and Malik had his choice in slaying the creatures. His Wild Shapes would be overkill for a quarry like this.

The real challenge came in a rudimentary lesson that Lucas intended on investing in them: how labyrinthian these early floors were. Without a map or memorizing the layout as he had, it was easy to get lost. Even with guards posted periodically, finding the exit was no small feat. It took well over a half hour of wandering before they found themselves on the right path of the third floor, and that was clearly only by a stroke of luck. They could have wandered for a good few more hours if they continued blindly.

All an important point on the fact they should either draw up their own maps or just commit the paths to memory. Lucas made a point of showing them the prices for Dungeon Maps. Five Hundred Daric Per floor just for the first ten and it doubled after. An exuberant price for convenience. Which is what it boiled down to: convenience. There was no actual need for one of those maps so early.

Nonetheless, the lesson was taught. The Dungeon layout would require no small effort to learn or a stupid fiscal investment to get a jump start on. The value of a Guide was made even more clear.

---

Amaric Temple, 4th floor | 1133​

The fourth floor was the last of the Secured Floors. After it was where the challenge and danger picked up, though it was likely lessened by how late the group was in the Dungeon. Nonetheless, the Fifth Floor also opened up the possibility for Rooms of Surprise. Real treasure, real money. And, of course, a possible challenging encounter. Thus far, Lucas had nothing to team them in terms of encounters and combat.

It was mostly the environmental danger of the Dungeon. And, soon, Dungeon etiquette. The group had seen other parties, but not yet ran into one directly. Reason being, a good majority of them learned of the bounty on the Mossmen and were after it. Lucas hadn’t picked up on that, being so eager to leave after their embarrassing encounter with the Stonemasons that he didn’t check the bounty board.

Still, forces collided.

The Lucas Party would meet another party of Spellswords led by yet another famous face: Markus Stonehart. Encountering a group of Spellswords was fairly obvious. Every Spellsword out there had an innate sense for when they ran into another of their kind. The same way most of them could sense mana, they could sense the concentration of a seal on another. It simply felt different than any other Mage and wasn’t something that could be hidden, at least, not easily.

Symphony would be the only one none-the-wiser, but she possessed an innate sense of mana in general. She perhaps could not differentiate the four she was about to encounter as Twice-Blessed, but she could tell they were of above-average capabilities with magic.

There it was, then, that the groups would cross paths in one of the larger, high-walled chambers of the fourth floor. Markus would know of Lucas. A delver that, at least to a veteran like Markus, was only a step above a greenhorn. Sure, he knew his way around, but he wouldn’t be worth a damn in the lower floors. At least, not in combat. As an alchemist, so long as he had potions–especially potent ones on him–he would always have some value. Lucas was just another entrepreneur in the Dungeon. The old Paladin never believed the man quite had it in him.

The same wasn’t necessarily true the other way around. Markus was a bit of a living legend. Once considered the First Sword of Ardynport, he led the charge in the lower floors for some time. Years had passed and been unkind. Great delvers like Griffith had far surpassed him. Not to mention, the curse on Markus and his fall from grace weren’t exactly secrets, they just weren’t well understood. The man didn’t give everyone an explanation of his situation, not like he just had his Party. Still, walking into him and his battleworn party wasn’t far off encountering Griffith.

Lucas had to wonder whether or not the fates had decided to toy with him today of all days. Their descent had been rather smooth all things considered, although that was to be expected in some parts. The first five floors served to filter out those who lacked the necessary skills to further descend into the dungeon, and from what he’d seen the trio he was guiding weren’t one of them. The only true hitch was the time it took for the group to find the exits to descend further. Paths that were crossed once before, routes previously taken by mistake, all little things that often plagued those new to the dungeon.

It was important for them to be able to get a sense of their surroundings, especially in situations where every wall looked nearly identical, and stand out features were few and far between. Something as simple as marking a wall with a piece of charcoal would be able to turn a confusing crossroads into a trivial matter. But as he led his group down the cold and moss covered halls of the fourth floor, he happened to come face to face with yet another well known name in the dungeons.

Truthfully, Lucas knew very little of Markus, outside of the fact that he was once regarded as the finest spellsword that ever led explorations to the deepest depths of the dungeons. It was simply a matter of neither being in the right place at the right time to exchange anything more than moderate pleasantries as they went their separate ways. Such as the situation they found themselves in right now.

Letting out a low whistle, Lucas planted his quarterstaff down and placed his free hand on his hip, giving the veteran guide and his group a quick once over. It was clear to see that wherever they were coming from, they had seen some form of combat, unlike his own group. “Well, what are the chances? Thought the first few floors seemed rather empty. Reckon it was your group's handiwork?”

A conversation it was, then. Many groups elected to just pass them by, but then most of them had never served in the same group. Lucas had worked under Markus some years ago, back when Lucas was still pretending to be a monk and Markus was learning the ropes of being a Supporter. Not to mention, most of the delvers had drank together at some point. It wasn’t uncommon to host a party when awaiting news about reaching a new floor.

”Some, but it was already thinned when we started a few hours ago,” Markus replied, simple and straight to the point. He wasn’t quite as gruff as he was at times with his own party, but he was several leagues behind the Stonemasons in terms of enthusiasm. It was, in a way, normal.

Markus looked over the group Lucas had with them. Their seals were about as developed, he could tell, as most of his own group. It meant Lucas must have been leading them. Interestingly, all three of them had a source of magic not their own. Patron Magic. Fae. That was an oddity. Fae Patrons often caused friction with each other in the same group.

”Seems you’re a Guide now. The Guild just accepting anyone these days?” Markus asked, though rhetorical. It was just a ribbing for the younger man. ”I seem to recall changing your nappies that time we ran into a basilisk,” Markus added, only thickening the jest at the expense of the alchemist. The slight elevation in his tone and eventual hyperbole made his intent a little more clear, a wise decision on his front given how monotonous he tended to be.

Rather than being irritated at Markus’s jest, Lucas gave a snort and shook his head. “Eh, what can I say? Leave the fighting to those who have an aptitude for it.” He gave a brief jerk of his head to the trio behind him. “And I’ll remember that if I ever find you in my shop. Give you a special discount, for having to put up with your creaking bones way back when.” Lucas made sure to stress the word discount as he spoke, not bothering to pretend that Markus would be paying anything other than full price for his product. It wasn’t out of any dislike for the man, it was just business. The list of people who he sold to at a loss could be counted on the hand of a clumsy wood-cutter, and Markus wasn’t one of them.

Still, despite the ribbing he was receiving, he could at least give a small token to a fellow guide. Reaching into his bag of holding, Lucas rummaged around for a second until he pulled out a small vial filled with a clear red liquid. It was a drought similar to the ones he had delivered to the stonemasons, although this was from his own personal stock. He wasn’t expecting for his group to delve too deeply that one single healing drought would mean much, or at least he hoped not. “Here, you look like you could use one of these.” Tossing the small vial in a lazy underhand throw to the weathered delver, he closed the bag and returned his hand to his hip. “Free of charge this time.”

It was a small task to catch the vial. Lucas may not have made the best monk in his time, but he was dexterous enough. Alchemy required a fair amount of skill with the hands. This would replace the one he had to use on Ayn, if anything. That was his thought. It wasn’t actually the same strength as the one he provided to her, but a gift was a gift. He stared at it in his hand, quickly appraising it as a decent item. Lucas had improved since the last time, and even then he wasn’t too bad.

The Paladin slid the vial into one of the side satchels he carried on his belt, seeing it absorbed in the typical fashion for a [Bag of Holding].

”Could’ve, actually. The taller girl with dark hair downed a whole draft and is still limping,” Markus told him, identifying Ayn as best he could within the party. Heleni wasn’t even five-foot, so he couldn’t call Ayn the short one. There were three women, one of whom was a doll. The Construct, Markus reasoned, wouldn’t make sense to down a healing potion.

”Just took out a fully fledged cluster nest. Premature treants and all,” Markus explained, ”something you’d expect from floor twelve at least, I’d guess. It must’ve gone overlooked for a season or two.”

 

[ERode]

​

“Well, just make things clear, it was self-inflicted.” Ayn chimed, butting in thoughtlessly into the posturing between the two Dungeon Guides. It felt kinda nice, being the tallest girl between the two parties, but on the other hand, it certainly wasn’t something she was accustomed to; almost all of the female employees at the Virgin Merrow had her beat in that category. Regardless, even with a slight limp that was largely masked with a healthy dollop of youthful willpower, the swordswoman stood tall and continued, “So on that technicality, if I had known those treants were so fragile, I could’ve gone through the whole encounter untouched by them!”

Which was perhaps another boast, but considering how she hadn’t expended a single point of Ki during that entire fight, perhaps she could have remained uninjured even if Marcus hadn’t cast that arcane blockade. Wouldn’t have been good for Leonel’s body, but he liked getting injured, so maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal.

“Anyways, I’m Ayn.” Her gaze settled upon Lucas, a flicker of recognition in her gaze, before going all the way up to the goliath youth who was so tall that he probably couldn’t even fully raise his arms up in the place they were at. “Geez you’re a big one though! Must’ve trained lots and eaten lots, right? Let’s spar sometime; the tallest boy against the tallest girl.”

She’d win, of course.

The others in the group weren’t nearly so eye-catching. After all, between the one who carried himself as a monk yet disguised himself nevertheless as a supporter, and the one who stood multiple heads above everyone else, the elven couple wasn’t nearly so outstanding. Both were more on the scrawny side of things though, especially the male, who looked practically gaunt compared to the full-cheeked adventurers he partied with. And with ears so long as theirs…didn’t it get cold super easily? Did wax build up faster, like how people with big nostrils were always picking at it?

Oh, but that elf…hrm…

She tilted her head off to one side, brows furrowing together. Her eyes bounced back and forth between Symphony and female-elf-mage. Long robes would hide doll joints, and her skin looked just as unnaturally pale and unblemished. And they even had the same hair and eye color! Compared to that, the longer ears was just cosmetic.

“Hey, Symphony, she your twin or something?”

 

[November Witch]

Symphony

~{One of Few}~​

Status: Exasperated, then bored.
Location: Amaric Temple - 4th floor
Interaction(s): Sir Les Paul ERode Haze- Carolyn Daddy Dream

Symphony was disappointed, to say the least. That she would have to wait for the same group to be ready before venturing down once more. Her shoulders sagged, as if sighing, but she said nothing. Of course, it was a world shaped by those of flesh and blood. Always had been, and always would be. She would have to abide by their arbitrary rules, even if they just slowed her down. While it normally wouldn’t be a big deal to Symphony, who had all the time in the world, the fact that she was slowly withering away made the situation abnormal. Symphony would turn away from the group again, watching down the hall. Her silhouette moving back and forth across the hall as the flames flickered and moved…

–

Symphony was still in her own little world as the two parties ran into one another. She listened, but didn’t pay much attention to the whole thing. These were just other strangers that she probably wouldn’t really interact with again, so unless spoken to, Symphony would maintain her silence. Her face neutral and emotionless, and her gaze simply moving from person to person as they spoke. That was until Ayn addressed her, and Symphony couldn’t tell if the question was supposed to be rhetorical or not. So, she would answer seriously, looking at Ayn as if she had three heads. The other was clearly not a doll. But if she couldn’t tell…

“No. There are very few of us now.” She answered sincerely. “I can’t remember the last time I saw any of my sisters.” Her eyes traced up and down the figure Ayn had mentioned, but the girl didn’t really seem to be of any interest to Symphony. She was quiet after that, still just waiting and listening to the conversations around her.

 

[Haze-]

LOCATION— Amaric Temple (5th Floor)
DATE— Early Summer
TIME— 1130

⚜ Leonel Blackmane ⚜​

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

TAGS ERode Sir Les Paul November Witch Carolyn Shotgunpenguin The Regal Rper Daddy Dream Megilagor

“You do throw spears, though, that’s the thing.” — He snapped his fingers back at Ayn, mid-conversation, as if he’d been possessed to yap something back at her, plugging his ears and ignoring her completely after the spirit had been exorcised from him. Like two children arguing, each trying to get the last word in.

A longsword, after all, when you really thought about it, was just a very unorthodox and non-aerodynamic spear.

His (fleeting) attention was brought back unto Markus, giving a vague run-down of market prices and the value of coin in the city, as if they were foreigners that’d just landed themselves into Ardynport to fancy the lush vistas of the dungeon.

He slouched, holding his head up on his hand, only half-listening. It was something he should’ve known to heart, something he should be painfully sharp to, as a past mercenary. The price haggling, the true value of things, and how often conmen twisted that base value beyond recognition. But it was one of his many privileges as the adopted son of a noble Lord, he never bothered fighting over the pricing of his equipment. Leonel simply took the first high-ball they threw at him without consideration.

No matter how outrageous the price was.

Even so, the moment Markus placed a price on the shield he’d lent him, Leonel couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at his words. Throwing glances between the used shield and the gruff paladin, making sure the old man was being serious. It was a full-metal shield, seen its fair use, but masterfully crafted. There was nothing special he could glimpse of at a glance, nothing he hadn’t seen before from his late mother’s workshop— that meant the only thing making it worth the three-hundred daric was the mysticism.

It was a ‘Shield of the Holy Order’

“A deal it is, then.”— He gave in. Again, it didn't matter how outrageous the price was.

He wasn’t a true metalworker like his mother, didn’t dabble in shield making or armoursmithing as obsessively as she had, he really only knew his stuff when it came to the quality of weapons. Maybe the shield really was worth that amount of daric.

There was no response from him when Heleni suggested they head to the church to report their miracle, only mustering an approving grunt and a nod the moment Markus set the date of their meeting. It would be one of those days, it seemed. A shameful, bitter day.

Those days were starting to become all too common for him.

---

The walk back was much the same as their initial delve. He would occasionally punt the bravado out of the first dungeon rat that brushed against his boot, swipe his claw at the living vines that were still wriggling, with a touch more spite put behind his arm this time. It was less of an educational experience, if anything.

He stood looming behind the group, a billowing dark cloud, bloated win rain, only glancing sheepishly as they bumped into another group of delvers, cutting lifeless eyes down the road ahead, over their shoulders, and keeping them there. Waiting on them to pass, his brain running on autopilot. The moment he noticed they weren’t moving, Leonel finally shifted his gaze to acknowledge the other group, doing a head count and pinning a simple name and role on each. Something easy to remember without having to go through the trouble of burning their faces into memory. From the tallest head down to the shortest— Warrior, Fighter, Alchemist, Mage.

They would forever be Warrior, Fighter, Alchemist and Mage in his mind if they didn’t give out a set of names any time soon. Names that rolled easy of the tongue, plain, preferably.

He watched the interaction unfold, damn near keeling over the moment Ayn introduced herself by immediately offering a fight to one of the strangers, visibly cringing, considering taking a step back not to be associated with the group.

Alas, it was already too late for that — “Did you damage your eyes too back there? I don’t quite see the resemblance…”— The lion sighed, shooting the other group an almost apologetic look.

“My name is Leonel.”— He stepped forward, brought his claw up and banged it on his breastplate, greeted them with a light bow of his head. A militant, cordial salute directed at potential acquaintances. Nothing else — “I'll pass on the sparring.”

 

[Daddy Dream]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple, Meeting point
DATE—Early Summer

Rioka Yorel​

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

TAGS Sir Les Paul | Shotgunpenguin | @AzaleaWonderland | The Regal Rper | Megilagor | Haze- | November Witch | ERode | Carolyn

Rioka, having not gauged the full weight of her words, took a few steps back when the bug bear advanced then fell on his face. She looked down at him then over at Griffith who was talking sternly to the fallen bug. The feeling was immediate, the one where she knew she shouldn't have said what she said and it was exceptionally wrong of her to do so. She knew her background, and it was driven home further when she was in sight of Griffiths scolding. With a bit of embarrassed elegance, Rioka bowed her head in both acknowledgement to her words and silent apology as well.

When Griffith took his gaze off Rioka, she raised her head once more and bit the side of her tongue firmly to swallow the rest of her embarrassment. She also adverted her gaze off to the side, as she knew not of how she would look at someone in her current mental state. Instead she focused on her listening skills, taking to the conversations happening around her. Ake was getting a scolding right along with her, and once all things were said and done, someone else piped up about the group essentially over staying their welcome. That statement is one that Rioka agreed with, and she so desperately wanted to leave the room.

---

Exiting from the Stonemason tent did not exactly grant Rioka salvation. Ake attempted to rebuke her for her actions and she immediately glared up at him, not wanting to hear a lashing from him when he had no right. She scoffed at the look in his eyes and turned away, looking forward as they began to approach a new party. This one looked more experienced than what they were, and their guides seemed to have history between them as well. As Rioka watched them interact for a brief time, a member of their team spoke up about her condition and the battle in the lower floors.

With a quick once over, Rioka figured she was quite sturdy amongst the group. And with her boasting about her abilities, she accepted what the experienced fighter was saying. That was, until she trained her eyes on Rioka and flitted those orbs between her and another girl of her party, asking if they were twins. Rioka furrowed her bow briefly and looked at the woman she was being compared to. They were both quite beautiful, and both seemed to have the same colored eyes, but Rioka didn't see a resemblance between them. Her eyes then turned back to the other woman and she gave a gentler sign and small smile of politeness.

"I can assure you, I do not have any siblings in this lifetime. Additionally, I do not believe that we resemble each other at all."

Rioka spoke softly before she turned her attention to a mane now identified as Leonel. Rioka gave a bow of greeting and introduced herself as Rioka, also agreeing to his notion to pass on the sparring.

 

[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 , Sir Les Paul , ERode , Haze- , Carolyn , Daddy Dream

Ake simply stood there, even if he and his village hated bugbears, and they would never stoop so low as to mention any leashes or slavery to a bugbear. They might have hated their kind but that did not mean they weren't inherently humanoid, and as any humanoid kind should not have their free will and life restricted by someone unless it is for a grave crime. Ake wanted to intervene but Griffith was simply faster and seeing as Kal was under his command as his superior Ake didn't act, though his blood did boil a little at Griffith mocking the ways of Goliaths, but he knew that this was not the place and definitely not the time to be doing anything, for in his travels he met many people who mocked the ways of Goliaths, if not only because they feared death, but no Goliaths welcomed death as if it was an old friend, for the lands upon which they live is not as forgiving as most of the lands around it, with the north being extremely harsh to anyone even Goliaths if one would be grieving every single person's death out there he might just never stop grieving as Goliaths villages were small enough that everyone knew everyone whatever they wanted to or not as if they were one big family.

Though Ake wanted to fight to spite Griffiths's venomous words towards his kin and culture he chose not to, Ake might not have been too smart but he knew when a fight wasn't worth fighting for. When Lucas ushered them out of there Ake followed, though he looked at Kal one last time straight in the eyes, Ake's eyes while clearly showing he disliked if not hated Kal's kind did show him respect.

"I won't say it wasn't shit. Though I will say I wasn't told about the no fighting in the dungeon rule, but it doesn't change that I was in the wrong. I have to say one thing though, even if me and my whole village hate bugbears to the very core due to our past with a group of them, even then we would not stoop so low as to mention leashes or slavery. We might hate them but we still respect them and their freedom." Ake said calmly, though with how he looked at Roika as he said that last sentence one could tell if Ake had a personal ranking of who he likes or not she fell down at least ten steps down. At Lucas'es mention of actual duels that could happen and how they came to be he noted that down to his memory, as he did not want for another mistake such as that one to happen anytime soon.

"I really hate mazes. Natural mazes like caves or dense forests sure, but this kind of a maze I hate." Ake said as he grew tired mentally from all this maze-solving, even if he probably wasn't the one doing it. It was soon after that, that the group met another group of spellswords, one that Lucas stopped to talk to at that, apparently he knew their guide.

Ake looked carefully at the other group, the guide looked better than theirs in regards to fighting power, well in fact most of his party looked better in that regard though the questioned Symphony as a doll in a dungeon felt weird to him.

Though when Ayn spoke to Ake he felt confused for a second, he looked at Lucas for a bit then remembered the duels and all that, then he looked back down at Ayn.
"Ate mooses and bears, as for training all my life. As for sparring... Sure, but once we come back up and you heal up, don't want anyone blaming previous injuries as a reason for losing the spar." Ake replied to Ayn with an albeit still somewhat cold tone, it was genuine and not mocking in any way. "My name is Ake by the way."