Fantasy ┌ spellsword ┘ Ardynport

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Dungeon Guild HQ entrance, Ardynport
DATE—07/03 | Early Summer
TIME—1401

Quick Response: Drunken Assault​

That heroic, self-sacrificing nature of Leonel was not always a boon for the man. He would find himself unable to finish his sentence. Not for any profound reason, just that it was difficult to continue speaking when a fist was rammed so directly into your jaw.

That is to say Albrack ignored the girls entirely. Some type of sexism, perhaps. More so, his masculine ego was challenge and hitting a woman simply wouldn't make him feel better. Decking one of the guys present most definitely would. Leonel was simply the first to do so between himself and Markus. Not that the others weren't due their own reactions, merely that this man had just empowered himself far beyond their means and had a hair trigger.

His speed could easily match Ayn on her best day, though that wasn't surprising. He several levels above her. What would burn her out was tolerable to him. Over time, too, her body would grow accustomed to the use of that power and it would no longer be such a calamity to harness it. However, this man in particular had another key advantage. His Unleash was not so brief that it could only last for one action. This would be his new power level for the next two minutes. As fast as Ayn on Calamity on Burnout and even a little stronger.

Leonel had no real hope of reacting to that type of speed in the same way he would have no real hope of parrying Ayn had she attacked him with her full ferocity. First a strike to the jaw to shut him up, then another to the gut that felt more like a cannonball to the intestines than a bar fight. His Bulwark Stars had no effective use here. He was the one taking the brunt of the damage and even if not the ceiling for force for that punch was well beyond his Spell to completely mitigate. At best, it was preventing some internal bleeding, but that didn't make hurt less or prevent it from knocking the wind out of him.

In just a second and a blindingly quick attack, the group learned immediately that this drunkard was an actual liability. Not a dog with no bite.

November Witch Haze- Carolyn ERode

​

 

[ERode]

Apparently, there was a lot going on with the guy who approached them.

That, of course, all went over Ayn’s head.

She didn’t pick up that he was three years their senior when it came to delving, nor that there were so many complicated rules and policies around the distribution of Spellswords by the Guild. She may have been sympathetic to the plight he was in if she knew, but his first impression was a horrible one: drunk during the day, ranting and raving, and ignoring his actual party member. Sure, Symphony did the same thing as him, but she wasn’t human to begin with.

Annoying that she didn’t apologize for bumping into Ayn either, but manners apparently weren’t something that she was taught. And that spot of annoyance was heightened by Leonel stepping in, his hangover making him even more stupid than he already was. What caused things to boil over, of course, was what this ‘Albrack’ did in response.

It was a blow with enough force to shatter a jaw and empty a mouth of all its teeth. The follow-up strike could have broken the ribs and pushed them into the organs beneath. Though she certainly couldn’t replicate that level of calamitous strength, Ayn had seen masters of the Surpassing Strike School do more with less. She knew what she could do. She knew too how fragile a human body was when not armored with ki, magic, or prayer. You could die if you tripped and fell. You could die from a shallow cut in the wrong location. And an Unleashed strike that you were too hungover, too stupid, to brace for? That stupid paladin’s jaw was practically jutting out for that!

“Leo!”

Ayn rushed by his side, lifting up his head to inspect his wounds. It wasn’t nearly as catastrophic as she had imagined, but with the force that the drunkard struck with, bits of skin and flesh had nevertheless been shorn off by Albrack’s knuckles, and she’d be surprised if Leonel hadn’t bit off a piece of his tongue when he was interrupted mid-rant by the sucker punch. Still, if his jaw wasn’t pulverized, then maybe his liver hadn’t been ruptured either? She couldn’t tell through his clothes, but she could tell that whatever damage he had taken had been far more severe in those two punches than whatever he had dealt with in that room with the mossmen.

She hoped Markus would do something to fix Leonel up. Because Ayn? Ayn had no God. She only had herself.

A sickly anger roiled within her stomach. Too inexperienced to truly be competitive, too young to give a shit. “You stupid! Fat! Balding! Drunk! Idiot!” Each word punctuated by a finger point before she sprung to her feet, righteous fury and adolescent indignation combining together in a molten rage that burst out of her mouth. “Actual children do better controlling themselves than your dumb head! Like, wow, how about you reflect on yourself! Big strong man like you, getting mad over a bounty from the fifth floor? What’s next, you’re gonna push babies into puddles and steal the milk from their mothers’ teat?”

Ayn pretend-puked, gagging in sheer vitriolic disgust. He was a grown-ass adult, with actual dungeoneering experience, and this was how he acted?

“Bet you’re the type to lord all your power over your partymates and treat them like shit, when they’re the ones that got you as far as you currently are. What a waste!”

Internally, she braced for the incoming blow, but externally?

Ayn snarled.

“Apologize now. To the lady behind you, and then to this dumb pervert.”

 

[Carolyn]

HELENI​

<I know who paves where I stand,> Heleni said. The language she employed was liturgical in character. Outside of the dyed-in-the-wool worshipers, it sounded like nonsense. <My youth makes my tongue wag too often. My master often told me this. It’s why I appreciate your discretion, Markus, and why I picked you to teach me over the other lad. But my conscience is my own. What’s right, what’s wrong, I decide for myself under the light of our lord.>

She next positioned herself opposite the drunken Albrack as he ranted on. The table was in between them. With her guide staring the man head on, Leonel stepping up to get decked, and Ayn rushing to help Leonel, there were precious few seconds for Heleni to hook her fingers on the outside table. The aim of her trajectory was Albrack without hitting other people in the way. She had no intent to get billed more by the guild.

Although the drunk was looking elsewhere, Heleni knew her own Unleash spell would sober him up. It was far weaker, less faster than his. Hence the table that she flipped over with precisely the right amount to distract him. Using her own petite size, she bent low and followed the arc of the table.

She knew her chances of walking out on her two feet was low. This was a terrible match to take. All the signs of danger were there. The man could punch the table aside, or kick it, or dodge; even inebriated, he needed only a single solid hit to get past her Unleash. Still she felt the table limited his choices—crossed out factors, funneled him, opened an opportunity to at least get a hit in. And if that was possible, Heleni would take it furiously.

Below the table in the air, she slid low to the ground with all power located in her right foot. Regardless of where Albrack went or how he struck, she aimed to discharge on his legs, getting rid of his speed and stopping his rampage from hurting anymore of her teammates.

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Dungeon Guild HQ entrance, Ardynport
DATE—07/03 | Early Summer
TIME—1403

Markus ⚜ Stonehart​

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

TAGS November Witch Haze- Carolyn ERode

Time seemed to slow.

All of this was occurring quickly. Of course it was, the pace of their fighting was often fast, but this moment stood out in particular. Not only did the Paladin have to wait for a precise moment, the events unfolding around him reminded him of his own youth. How quickly his team reacted in heated moments like this took him back to his days of glory. In that chapter of his life, allowing the words from Albrack to slide off his back would nearly broke a tenent of his oath. Words demanded action. Not only that, it was tied to hot-blooded nature of youth. It was unfortunately common across the board to get stirred up by the slurred words of a sloppy drunk.

He had hoped, obviously in vain, that this group wouldn't be the same. Some from the church were tempered, though rarely. Heleni seemed the type, but alas, she also thrust herself into battle. A similar type of hollow hope existed in Ayn; he had hoped her time in taverns would have bettered her behavior around a liquored up idiot, but again, alas, here she was mouthing off. He had no such hopes for Leonel. He had proven to victimize himself at every point possible, even if he should have been in a position not to care.

The sole exception was Symphony. The doll, in her handheld fixation, seemed to will her own safety into existence itself. Perhaps Albrack was just so drunk he didn't notice, but her act of ignoring him worked flawlessly. She was able to simply go around quietly, passing by the Quarterling partner that had tried to talk some sense into him. She treated Albrack, in that way, no different than she did the vines in the Dungeon.

Markus wasn't sure if he should be disturbed or relieved. In either case, his mind was still running through the dozens of fights he got himself into. Times when he couldn't let something slide, times when people made a snide remark about the Church or some off-color joke regarding Espel. As man of glory and pride, Markus simply couldn't let that slide. He fought a lot until his reputation grew such that anyone with common sense wouldn't challenge him and those that would often had better sense than to offend the church regardless. The man had spent a lot of time in this specific situation.

Ayn was about to get backhanded. Bitchslapped like she was a paid whore in the Ballard District. Heleni saved her by turning the table into a projectile. However, she was about to put herself into an even more dangerous position.

By the way mana flowed through him, Markus could tell that his Unleash was doubling his power. This was something most of them would eventually pick up in seeing other Spellswords use it, but it meant that for the moment, he could factor in the relative capabilities of each. Even Heleni would sweep or strike him, there was nothing to stop Albrack from simply stomping her into the ground. His toughness and might would be that he could take the hit and just break Heleni in return.

This was the moment that something truly needed to be done.

Compared to Albrack, the Unleash that Markus used was like an eruption. Of course, the Unleash the drunkard used was akin to an explosion when compared to the others, save Ayn with Calamity Burnout. Unleash scaled tremendously with power and levels, it seemed. An unfortunate fate for the living Doll who was without it.

Albrack did not get to dodge the table. He did not get to punch or parry it. Albrack was held in place by Markus who with the help of his Unleash was able to bridge the gap faster than most of their eyes could literally track. Markus had grabbed the hand Albrack had at his side, lowered once he gestured with the opposite hand to slap Ayn, and twisted it behind his back. His other hand simply pushed and supported the skull of the man, keeping it slightly forward.

This meant the table busted that very skull, a fact that would soon be evident by how there was a tiny trickle of blood from the impact that coated the left half of his face in the crimson nectar.

"It is a common misconception that I cannot fight," Markus said aloud. Plain and bold, though neutral enough to not be a direct threat.

By this time, a handful of people were trickling out of the front of the Headquarters and dozens of eyes peeped to watch the exchange through the various windows of the building.

"If we're all using Unleash, nothing is preventing me from restraining you until yours run out." A simple, but powerful truth. Half-truth, at least.

A sudden wave of cold sobriety hit Albrack. The pain from his forehead, the fact he was so easily overpowered, and the reality he couldn't use his Unleash again. Even if he had the spells and skills to fight, fighting three other Spellswords wasn't exactly a wise decision despite the difference in their levels. Actually, it was downright stupid. Albrack was no mage and didn't possess any abilities meant for taking on multiple targets nearly as strong as he was in base. Without some powerful magic, the power of numbers outweighed the power of levels here.

"I get it... I'm sorry. I'll go..." Albrack responded, his tone dulled, his energy lost, his will broken. He was still drunk and stumbling, worse after Markus had initially let him go, but he managed to never hit the ground despite his obvious head injury. It seemed the old stories about bullies backing down once challenged was true. The man shifted from haughty braggard to pathetic coward real quick. Not that his apology sounded sincere anyway. It was the type of sorry that came from a man that had made the same mistake a million times over and would a million times again. Without weight and entirely pointless.

"No..."

Albrack was confused. He turned back to look at Markus. What more would he ask of him?

"You will redeem yourself. Once your Unleash ends, you will take one strike from each woman without Unleash and two from Leonel with his," Markus demanded. Then he grinned. "Or, just one from me now with my Unleash."

Getting hit wasn't the problem. Albrack turned back to see all the prying eyes. There was the slight realization that he would likely be penalized by the Guild for his actions. This wasn't the first time. However, the Guild handled things privately. Markus was making this a public display. That was the point. Albrack knew full well that letting this party beat-up on him before scurrying away like a puppy with its tail-tucked would be worse for his reputation than his rampant alcoholism. Yet, he didn't have much of a choice. He knew he had no hope of running away or overpowering Markus as he was. During the brief period he was restrained, his hands were essentially steel stockades.

"Fine," Albrack said, defeated and ashamed. At least he was drunk enough to dull the pain.

"Good," Markus replied, "Symphony will go last." The devil was in the details.

Another minute and a half would pass and the party would get their turn to help the man with righteous redemption.

 

[November Witch]

Symphony

~{Reasoning}~​

Status: Confused
Location: Ardynport - Guild HQ
Interaction(s): Sir Les Paul ERode Haze- Carolyn

Symphony was caught off guard by Leonel’s words to her. Due to her mannerisms, her state and her appearance, she wasn’t exactly used to others wishing her good luck. So, she was thankful for what he said, but she didn’t say anything, just gave a look that seemed to have a hint of appreciation behind it. Plus, it was definitely a nice change of pace compared to the night she’d had.

She’d decided to walk around the man because he was in her way, and simply being annoying, hoping the group would follow as she focused on the task at hand. But it was clear that wouldn’t be happening when she heard a fist collide with something, and Leonel abruptly stopped speaking. She turned to see him on the floor, Ayn by his side, and Heleni flipping a table towards him. She immediately dropped her partially made dress to the floor and took a few steps towards the man from behind, ready to wrap her arms around him and hold him in place. Before she got the opportunity to take more than a handful of steps, Markus beat her to it, completely shutting the whole situation down. With that over, she turned to pick up her work from the floor. Now slightly dusty. She started to pick off some debris that stuck to it, like part of a leaf and a clump of dirt. But it wasn’t terribly dirty. She could still work with this. It would just need cleaning before it would be wearable.

She walked back up to the group as Markus spoke, and it just confused her more. They all were going to hit him? But he’d only hurt Leo. Why did Symphony need to get involved? Last time she moved a human five feet, she was almost executed. So assaulting one made her a little more than weary. She didn’t get hurt herself, and wasn’t pointless violence frowned upon by not just humans, but everyone?

“Why?” She started, but realized she didn’t specify her question, and Markus would likely take it towards his comment about her going last. As she spoke, her hands continued their task dutifully. “Why should I hit him? Isn’t pointless violence bad?”

 

[Haze-]

LOCATION— Dungeon Guild HQ entrance
DATE— 07/03 | Early Summer
TIME— 1403

⚜ Leonel Blackmane ⚜​

Level 2 | Guardian-Paladin
Status: Hungover, satisfied?
Spell Slots
Lv. 1 1/3
Frenzy
1/7

TAGS ERode Sir Les Paul November Witch Carolyn

It was instant, too quick for him to feel it at first, or even realize that he’d been knocked flat on his ass in front of everyone. He didn’t manage to spit out the last vowel of his sentence, a mouthful of knuckle made sure that never happened, then the back of his head banged on the floor.

He was seeing stars.

A plain, bright white panel of nothingness stood before his eyes, dotted with miniscule, multi-colored floating fractals, bobbing and twisting in place. He heard a distant and faint voice ringing in his ears. Had he finally earned his place in the light alongside his Lord? Was that an angel calling out his name? — “Leo!”

“Mmrn…” — He grumbled, cut his eyes at the swordswoman as she cupped his bloody, sorry face. Of course it wasn’t an angel. It was a demon straight from the hells, more like.

He’d blinked out of conscious for a moment, now Ayn was there checking on him with a frown, as if he were a child getting scolded by his mother after falling and scraping his knee. It was a mixed bag of emotions handed to him, didn’t know what to do with them. He wanted to thank her, but he also wanted to die inside.

A dilemma, to be sure.

Leonel hissed like a vampire flashed with sunlight, tensing up and clenching his forehead, when she let go of him and the back of his head touched the floor again. He did a quick assessment while Ayn busied herself with cussing the drunkard out, sliding a clawed hand beneath his shirt to feel out his upper section, checking for the feeling of a rib snapped out of place. All he got to feel was the sharp, jabbing throb of pain at his sides. Signs of a big black-and-blue bruise already forming. He ran his other hand across his jaw, on the numb side of his face where he’d taken the hit, already feeling like it was swelling up.

His ego had taken the most damage. They were punches thrown with no technique, just drunken rage and the boost from unleash. A skilled hand would’ve knocked Leonel’s lights out in one clean hit, Albrack on the other hand, was likely no martial artist.

The situation escalated, tables where thrown, and just as he thought, as he had hoped, the old man had to step up to snap the tension in half. The curse of the leviathan never mentioned anything about beating the daylights out of drunk spellswords.

Leonel pushed himself up with an elbow, groaning, a line of blood running from the corners of his mouth, either from tearing into his cheeks with his own teeth from the force of the punch, or from busted gums shedding those same teeth. He sighed, a stalled silence coming from him as he only gawked at the other radiant paladin with weary eyes.

He felt pathetic. A common occurrence.

One and a half minutes before he could get his hits in. The more the clock ticked forward, the more he didn’t want to hit the man at all, the more the realized that none of those punches would’ve been earned in fair battle.

Nonetheless, the first of the group to step up to help poor Albrack ‘redeem’ himself, was the lion.

There were no words exchanged, there was only a clear, non-verbal notion thrown around in the air for all onlookers to catch, a simple gesture from the paladin that brought an understanding. Leonel stopped in front of Albrack, unceremoniously bringing two clawed fingers into his mouth, having the steel tips click-clack against his teeth until he finally pulled out a loose, bloody molar, tossed it out unto the floor.

Leonel was either killing the man or putting him in a nice, comfortable wooden chair for the rest of his life.

A burst of mana coursed through him as he Unleashed, then the first hit flew. A straight, perfect shot at the man’s liver, Leo’s whole body twisted into proper form. The second hit came, a sharp hook to the nose, followed through as he swept at the man’s ankles with one leg, using the momentum of the blow, Albrack’s weight leaning back, to turn it into a throw.

He would have kept going, but he was only allowed two hits, sadly.

Leonel squatted beside the drunk man on the floor, lightly knocked twice on his forehead to make sure he was awake. The punches weren’t earned, but they sure felt good — “We’re even.” — Him, beat up and hungover, he, bitched in front of everyone and drunk out of his mind. It was an equal exchange, in Leo’s mind — “Get up. You have two more coming your way.”

After giving the drunkard the Lion Knight’s special treatment, Leonel got up and walked to stand beside Symphony — “Pointless violence is bad. That is why citizens who, say, throw a punch over nothing, are punished in this city, in hopes that they won’t repeat the same mistake again.”

“Our friend here’s likely too drunk to remember the lesson, however…”

 

[ERode]

Well now, how exactly was she supposed to feel about that?

By the time Albrack’s Unleash faded away, Ayn’s own temper had faded with it. Leonel didn’t actually look like he lost all his teeth after all, and his brain hadn’t been scrambled by the punch either, which definitely meant that even if Albrack had become as strong as Ayn was, the guy clearly was a third-rate in terms of fisticuffs. Markus had laid down the law, but the swordswoman herself (and Heleni too, apparently) had been raring for a proper scrap instead. This, on the other hand?

She cast a glance over at the Halfling woman, raising a questioning brow. The woman responded with what could only be considered a mixture of disappointment and acceptance. There was probably a time when Albrack was actually a good party member, huh? Probably raised up as the rising star of his party, getting praise from even their guide and all that.

Hm.

After Leonel got in his punches (kinda embarrassing, really), Ayn stepped up next, giving a backwards glance towards Markus. “Hey,” she called out to their guide, “were you the only Spellsword in your party?”

"Most of the time,” came his response. “Even before becoming a Guide, I had been in a handful."

“Well.” She turned back to Albrack, as if that answered everything. “There you have it. Stop drinking and start training.” That was how it all ended up, really. With time and effort, even a dying star could be rekindled. If one’s heart still beat, then one’s journey to self-mastery was only paused by one’s own inaction.

Not that Ayn really cared if that sad drunk got his act together. She just felt bad for those stuck with his sorry ass, same as how she felt bad about all the sad drunks she had to drag out of the Virgin Merrow every morning. It was a fleeting emotion, the hollowness that remained after the initial burst of annoyance and irritation.

If they were fighting, she’d have aimed for the knee or the throat. If she had been personally hurt, she’d have aimed to enact exact vengeance, striking the same spot she had be struck upon. In the absence of both though, the swordswoman stepped behind Albrack instead, flexed her toes inside her boot, and landed a solid kick to his rump.

Nothing so full of effort and satisfaction as Leonel. Just one at half-force, delivered with a promise.

“If you’re still like this in six months, I’ll kick your ass for real.”

 

[Carolyn]

HELENI​

Heleni felt her Unleash slacken. It was the end of the line for her injection of godly strength. Since the exertion was minor compared to the dungeon, she wasn’t as tired. But there wasn’t the same pep to her step. The violence in her eyes faded as well.

Her punishments came with the intent to cripple physically. What Markus had in mind was more cerebral. Here was another lesson to learn. So she took notes.

She folded her arms in the appearance of faux-innocence. The same girl that had lifted the table and was ready to go pound for pound was in a mercantile mood. After all, Leo claimed his body, Ayn his pride, and now Heleni his purse.

“Since everyone else said their piece, how about I exchange my hit for payment of the damages here by Albrack?” She looked between him and Markus. The table was in the background. "Fair's fair, no?"​

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Dungeon Guild HQ entrance, Ardynport
DATE—07/03 | Early Summer
TIME—1403

Quick Response: "I'll Allow It."​

"Redemption comes in many forms," Markus answered. While outward respond was muted, internally he was quite impressed by the interpretation from Heleni. He doubted her intentions entirely aligned with his own, but he wasn't upset with mercantile spirit. Some less ethical priests of Espel were known for monetizing their services. And, while that was frowned upon, all Heleni did was act within the same vein. Not out of the ordinary.

Story Reward!​

Heleni retrieved the primary coin purse of Albrack. It contained two White Daric and sixty three regular Daric. The pouch is a surprisingly decent dyed blue leather with a drawstring enclosure.

Albrack thus far had been taking the hits surprisingly well. He didn't get to level three for no reason. Drunk though he was, Leonel with his Unleash only had a fourteen Might. Had he kept on his Lion Claw, there might have been real damage, but all things considered, Leonel simply wasn't strong enough to actually hurt him severely. Of course, Markus wasn't going to let him deck the man with a literal weapon. That didn't mean the blow to the liver didn't hurt. No, Albrack probably suffered some internal damage there, but nothing that couldn't be healed. The second strike that turned into a throw, though, that was a type of humiliation in front of a crowd that couldn't be so easily healed.

Ayn only doubled down on the humiliation. Woe to any man that dare court her.

Symphony, as promised, was last.

"Leonel is right. This is not pointless violence," Markus said, raising his voice so that some of the onlookers could hear his next speech. He turned to her, still serious, still as focused as he was in the Dungeon. Albrack was back on his feet, coughing some, but able to hear what came next just as well as anyone.

"My oath is that of redemption. My hope is that this poor sinner will see his shame reflected in the eyes of all those around us and in turn do better," Markus explained, his voice deepening, his cadence slowing, his tone now more preachy, closer to what one would expect of the noble knight on the morn before battle. "It is easy to skirt by in the darkness. To remain a booze-stricken cur in the light of day is a lot harder task, so we act as the sun for sins," he added, still on with the religious rhetoric, but making his actual intent here clear: this wasn't for the sake of actually hurting Albrack. This was public shaming.

"But... redemption is a choice. It also your choice if you wish to assist." The end of his speech, but an important gesture. He would not force her to act.

Markus waltzed closer to Symphony and put his hand on her shoulder, as if to demonstrate some kind of solidarity. In truth, that was a façade as much the rest of the beat down. In a low whisper, he gave Symphony a more real truth: 'The Guild is more likely to be lenient if we retaliate.' He released her shoulder, not that he was ever truly holding her, but more now intended to allow her to do with that information how she saw fit.

Redemption not only came in any forms, it came from many places. The Guild was one of them.

November Witch Haze- Carolyn ERode

​

 

[November Witch]

Symphony

~{Punishment}~​

Status: Confused
Location: Ardynport - Guild HQ
Interaction(s): Sir Les Paul Haze- ERode Carolyn

She listened to what Leonel said, looking up at him… She supposed it made sense. If he was beaten up, it was more of a deterrent from repeating the offense than about violence or payback. That seemed to be a secondary concern. Her gaze was then drawn by Markus as he seemingly preached to the crowd. She didn’t like the theatrical performance he seemed to be putting on with his words as he addressed everyone, but she paid it little attention. Other than her continual sewing, she was simply looking between those talking and listening. Then, the large hand was placed on her shoulder, and somewhat confusing words were spoken. The doll didn’t exactly understand his words. They would be lenient to who? Albrack? Wouldn’t punishment be better left to those in the guild than whatever this party could think up? Well, she supposed dwelling on it would do her no good.

Symphony’s hands stopped moving, and she looked towards the party standing near her. “Please hold this.” She handed off her partially made dress to whomever reached out to take it first, then stepped up to the man. She looked up at him with an expressionless face for a moment, studying his own expression. Her head swiveled back to her party, mainly looking at Markus, as if silently asking ‘I can really do this?’ But it would only be a brief moment. If it was to teach him a lesson, and make him not repeat this mistake, surely she should make this as harsh as possible, right? That’s what the others had said.

So, she brought her left hand back, next to her head, and in the form of a fist, ready to throw it. But she didn’t send it forward. Instead, it seemed she changed her mind. Her arm lowered a bit, her hand came up parallel to her body, and her fingers bent on the knuckles. She would then throw her arm forward, palming Albrack in the sternum with as much force as she could muster.

Afterwards, she’d return to the group like nothing had happened and hold out both hands to her sewing supplies and dress, like a toddler grasping for something out of reach. “You can return it now.”

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Dungeon Guild HQ entrance, Ardynport
DATE—07/03 | Early Summer
TIME—1403

Markus ⚜ Stonehart​

Lvl. 5 | Supporter-Paladin
Status Focused
Spell Slots
Lvl. 1 6/6
Lvl. 2 3/3
Lvl. 3 0/1

TAGS November Witch Haze- Carolyn ERode

A certain reality struck Markus just as hard as Symphony struck Albrack. He drastically underestimated how strong she was. The last Construct he met, while impressive, was still somewhere between a grown man and Symphony and raw strength with that gap now seeming more like a sea than a simple river.

Albrack was dropped immediately, spewed blood, and found himself with difficulties breathing. The disappointed look on the face of the Quarterling shifted directly to concern the moment he dropped. The best she could do was pull out some type of reed, a musical instrument, and begin playing it. The melody was a spell of some sort with her efforts being clear: she was trying heal Albrack.

The problem here came from a deceptive figure of Symphony. Behind her lithe frame was a strength greater than human men that were mountains of muscle, assuming no magical assistance was involved. What Albrack allowed here was himself to be struck square in the chest by a force equal to or greater than the world's strongest strongmen*; a factor only made worse by her hard, unforgiving frame having no flex and her small relative size compacting the force. Blasting that man in the sternum with her entire might was essentially little less than a battering ram.

The group may not know the exact force behind that strike, but the terrifying truth is that pound for pound, it exceeded even what Ayn could do with her Calamity Burnout.

Perhaps, allowing Symphony to strike him was ,in fact, going a bit far.

Perhaps, this crossed the line from redemption and into vengeance.

Perhaps, this final strike was in truth an act of needless violence.

The fact that Leonel now could feel the righteous innervation that came when a Paladin upheld a tenet of their Oath was the most damning piece of information. Markus once rode the high of that feeling, but now it was gone. Espel must have agreed with that assessment.

Still, little to do about it now. It didn't seem Albrack would die and Markus was quite sure if he gave either Ayn or Heleni the slightest invitation to scrutinize, they would do so, and in turn make this whole effort a mockery of what it was intended to be. Whatever God blessed Symphony with that level of strength was lunatic. True to his surname, Markus would give them no discernable doubt to question. Stone was his heart, and his heart was worn on his face.

"Now we can proceed with the actual business we're here for." Just as hard and uncaring as the mask he wore for them. He nodded, gesturing them to follow him to the building.

The crowd moved for them, most were already beginning to disperse anyway. The fun was over, after all.

"Symphony, we're going to have to test your TAME stats. It worked for the last Construct, so I imagine it will work for you," Markus suggested, though sternly. He did actually want to know the limits of her strength. They would need her weight and physical measurements before going through the machine. "I suppose we can test the WILD ones, too," he added, an afterthought given he knew she was already seemingly decent with magic.

Markus was doing his damnedest not to give anyone leeway to question him, wanting to transition from that public scene to their next more private one. They already had too many eyes on them given it was a group of Spellswords being led by a former celebrity Paladin. This wouldn't help their cause. "Have any of you given more specific thought about what you want to spend your Daric on?" he asked, though in truth it was mostly another attempt at changing the topic. If he could have, he would have yanked them into the building through sheer brute force.

All except Symphony, obviously.

 

[ERode]

Ayn's jaw dropped at the sheer impact of Symphony's punch. She hit the poor guy so hard that it almost seemed the world went black and white for a moment there!

But that was about the extent of it. It was clear enough, really, that the doll took more cues from Leonel than she did from Ayn herself, which was certainly a choice. And on the other hand, Heleni had sought financial compensation instead. Was this really a party with three whole ass religious peeps? It was as her father said: men of faith are just men of war who seek a higher purpose. There was nothing inherently more righteous in an act performed with a muttered prayer, than there was with an act performed to fulfill mortal desires.

And in any case, Markus wasn't going to let them go off and care about Albrack anymore.

"I mean, think I might just save up, really. Not like anything I have is broken, and our first trip was too short for me to really get a grasp of what'd be useful. Outside of like, a big fan or a fire pot." She thought about it a bit more. "Got any thoughts on the best kinda first purchase though? Like, would armor be better? We're all Spellswords or, I don't know, magical killer constructs, so like, are spell scrolls actually going to be that useful at the start? Can't afford the powerful ones, and the weak ones can just be learned. By the willing. Which, I mean, I guess there's that too. What are your thoughts on taking lessons and training outside of the Dungeon? Do people even do that in Ardynport?"

 

[Haze-]

LOCATION— Dungeon Guild HQ entrance
DATE— 07/03 | Early Summer
TIME— 1403

⚜ Leonel Blackmane ⚜​

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

TAGS ERode Sir Les Paul November Witch Carolyn

They had all collectively taken his pride, his coin— but they hadn’t yet managed to leave that physical reminder he’d been hoping to scar the man with. Not even Leonel himself had pulled out a yelp from Albrack with two strikes, as much as he had tried to make it sting. It wasn’t a virtuous or righteous thing, to be disappointed that the drunk bastard wouldn’t feel the punishment the morning after. Far from it, it was just plainly selfish and sadistic; his oath of vengeance thinking for him. Even though he could bet his one functioning eyeball that Markus wasn’t putting on the show for the righteousness of it either, they were simply pouring tar and feathers on Albrack and flaunting him around as a man-sized chicken, ramping up the humiliation as far as they could.

He knew Markus shared his feeling, knew he would’ve been just as disappointed if the man left the encounter without a forever-souvenir. The proof of this shared feeling, in Leonel’s heart, was the fact that Markus had put in the effort to convince the 300lbs of walking-talking Orichalcum to step up. The old man could have been a good preacher, an even better con-man.

Leonel sheepishly took the half-made dress as Symphony held out her hand, watched her walk on over to the drunkard. Her hand shoved into the man’s sternum, and as if Leonel had been hit himself, his eye shot wide open at the sight — “By the light…” — Albrack would feel that hit the morning after, and maybe a couple mornings after that one, for sure. If Symphony had pulled out such feats back in his hometown, she would’ve been immediately dragged into the manor to be given her own claw.

Not that she necessarily needed a claw. She was a weapon in her own right.

Leonel couldn’t think of the right quip to tell the doll as she came back for her dress, not without the thought of her slapping his jaw off lingering at the back of his mind, so he simply handed over the dress and sewing kit.

The crowd was dispersing, show was wrapping up. Leonel was busy ogling the metalwork of Symphony’s hands as they walked, her design, tracing the joints and connections between the hollow sheets of Orichalcum, musing over whatever magic held her together. She was a hollow carcass of metal, a hull; probably would be too straining to move around if she was a full-on chunk of orichalcum on the inside.

It had Leonel fascinated; in ways he hadn’t been since his biological mother introduced him to the heat of the forge all those years prior; harkening back to that initial, passing thought he had when he laid eyes on that piece of orichalcum back in the temple.

‘An Orichalcum claw.’

A regular, steel Lion-Claw was already a personalized commission for any run-of-the-mill blacksmith in Ardynport. An Orichalcum one would probably cost him a limb and a few. In other words, if he wanted it — “Hm…” — he would have to make it himself.

An uncanny, almost unnatural sight presented itself to the entire party. Leonel had brought out a diary from the depths of his bag, started scribbling something on it, throwing glances between the filling pages and the doll as Markus was talking — “Well, aside from those installments I owe you…I do believe my blade and spear should hold up for the next delve, so, I'm thinking magic scrolls— the cheap and useful ones, preferably. Though it would mostly be you giving me pointers on where to spend my coin on that front. I don’t know anything about scrolls, as I said.”

“Aside from that…I suppose you can never go wrong with potions.” — He told him, pencil still racing on the pages. — "That old friend of yours— the one with the special discounts— he said he had his own business up and running somewhere in Ardynport, didn’t he? ‘First building once you cross the bridge into Ardynport’… Do you reckon he gives special discounts to acquaintances too?”

 

[Carolyn]

HELENI​

The purse was taken quickly. Heleni examined the coins there. The way she clipped and checked each was professional. Money was an instrument to her. Like swords, it wasn’t something to love or hate, but to use as the situation demanded.

Some slid out to her palm. There was enough there for Albrack to buy some cheap herbs for his pain. The way Symphony hit him had been proper retribution. Heleni was trying to cover for her partner.

But Markus’ words cut her action short. Their business with Albrack was done for the day. Any pretense of worry that she clearly didn’t feel would only make it worse. Instead, she divided the total to account for the repair that her attack had caused on the table.

Moving with Markus, Heleni said, “First I’d clear the air about the wood.” She motioned with her chin. “Who’s the one I need to pay?”

As the others went on, she thought deeper about her own needs. “Potions are good, especially for wounds and poisons,” Heleni agreed with Leonel. “But I’d reckon for the long haul we get a cleric.” She considered what group such a soul might enter. “Though it might be a hard bargain for us.”

“What we can have more of is ranged attacks. One of those mini-crossbows maybe?” She was spitballing ideas. “Either way, we can’t just put all our eggs on Symphony.”​

 

[November Witch]

Symphony

~{A Book of Memories}~​

Status: Content
Location: Ardynport - Guild HQ
Interaction(s): Sir Les Paul Haze- ERode Carolyn

The doll had no idea what she had done. She was assured it wasn’t pointless violence, and that she could hit him, so she did. She seemed to either not notice or not care as the jaws around her dropped. Namely Ayn and Leonel. “Thank you.” She said as Leonel handed her sewing items back to her, and she continued like nothing ever happened. She followed them inside, oblivious to Leonel’s gaze on her, and looked to Markus as he spoke. She didn’t really know what TAME and WILD stats were… but they sounded vaguely familiar… She stopped her sewing, placed those items in her bag. She pulled out what looked to be a binder of old, faded papers. Some had notes scrawled on them, some seemed official, like from a company or government, but no one could get a good look at any of the papers as she looked through them.

While she looked for whatever it was she was looking for, she would wait for the others to speak up before giving her own piece. “Some daggers and a weapon.” She paused for a moment. “Maybe a shield too.” While daggers were weapons, the others could assume she meant a main weapon or something bigger with her vague wording. It was then, she stopped looking through her book of notes and grabbed a faded, slightly wrinkled, piece of paper. So faded, that some words couldn’t even be made out. It was probably near one hundred years old, maybe even more. She held it up to Markus.

“Here.” She offered the piece of paper to him. Upon the page, there wasn’t much that could be made out because of how faded it was. 'Official Guild S-' could be made out at the top of the page. It seemed like it was some sort of guild paper from another time, and probably another city. But the main thing upon it, likely that Symphony was trying to show, were the TAME and WILD stats on the side. The TAME stats could mostly be made out, at least being in the teens. The first three had a one in front of it. But he couldn’t tell if her Might was a 13 or 18 due to the state of the paper. Oddly enough, Endurance was left blank. No evidence of any kind that something was written there. Though her WILD stats were much harder to make out on the paper.

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Dungeon Guild HQ entrance, Ardynport
DATE—07/03 | Early Summer
TIME—1545

First Things First​

It seemed his pressure had paid off. The party had all but moved on from their encounter with Albrack. It was for the better, so was the rationale. There was no benefit to ruminating on it.

There was still plenty to do.

Entering the Headquarters was easy enough, though there was a fairly large crowd trickling in with them; those that had previously exited the building to get a better view of what was going on outside. Even still, there were far more people inside than out; not many actually cared about an altercation between a drunk and a new party. Those nosy onlookers were the minority. The inside of the Dungeon Guild was not necessarily what one might have expected. Upon entering the building, they walked through one pointless antechamber only to find themselves walking into a massive, overly-designed room of what appeared to be three stories including a massive dual-sided spiral staircase that went up.

All of it was pointless. Remnants of the fact this place was originally intended to be a magical academy.

No one was even idly standing in these rooms, they were essentially just passages to the places of real importance. Markus led the group down the hallway to the right, fairly large and impressive in its own right, but ultimately just a hallway. It was nowhere near as ornate as the furnished portions of the Cathedral, but definitely more so than the dojos that Ayn hailed from. Their destination was what in another lifetime might have been a classroom or reception room of some kind that had been converted into a large desk with four windows and four receptionists working at them. The design of the room was similar to that of a bank with a more secured area being hidden behind the counter, out of sight. The wait wasn't long. Markus had them watch close, but it was pretty straight forward. He presented the contract to the receptionist, she verified it and the identification papers of each person present, and within just a few minutes, she returned with their portion of what they had sold off. Symphony might have complained about this step being useless when she made fill out the paperwork after being caught, but it served its purpose. She was paid.

And, they weren't done. Markus had another curiosity and he requested to use the evaluation room. It was permitted, not like it was under any type of guard. Markus wanted to see for himself what the TAME stats on Symphony were. The process itself was fairly quick, free, and most importantly, nearby. A few rooms down the hall was the testing room. The machine that dolt out their STATS was an interesting one. The concept behind it had started out as a way to fairly evaluate livestock, then for slaves, and after some upgrades, worked quite effectively for Dungeoneers. It was a wooden platform elevated off the ground by just a single step, but it was suspended by chains that dangled from its four corners and were counteracted by weights. There was no complex point to this other than to assess the weight of the person going on it. It was then they learned that Symphony was heavier than most Dragonborn, Goliaths, and Orcs.

How the machine measured their other traits was simple, but more magical in nature. While hoisted onto the platform, one touched two brass orbs, a slight jolt was shot through them from left to right, and it would stamp out a sheet of paper with dots to represent the values. Lo and behold, Symphony did in fact have an eighteen for MIGHT, but her endurance just plain didn't register. It didn't write off the edge of the paper, it just never started. Perhaps the machine knew it would never stop.

He didn't reveal this to anyone else without her permission and if anyone else was interested in seeing if their stats had increased, he didn't mind allowing a little extra time to do the same.

Symphony might have been the focus of that first endeavor, but she wouldn't make use of the second. More so, she couldn't. From right to left, Markus took the four in the opposite direction, introducing them to yet another large room. So large, in fact, that it alone rivaled the size of the Virgin Merrow. There was a whole ass tavern inside of this place, complete with a second floor where people hung over the railing and rooms existed for whatever purposes one could dream of. All Markus wanted to do, for the moment, was grab a quick bite to eat. Not only did the tavern serve its normal spirits, it had some of the best, albeit simple, food around, and for far cheaper than anywhere one could find in Ardynport. It suddenly made sense as to why one would come here. One could save multiple Daric daily by eating these meals and even eat better.

Markus made sure it was a quick meal. The tavern served exactly that, various meals that could be effectively eaten on the go. They knew their clientele well, it seemed. They must have made their coin on raw volume, which made sense. The place was comparatively packed, like a tavern at its peak, except it was always at its peak. This was also a quick chance for Markus to square up the bill for the wooden table. He knew full-well how the Guild would handle that. Albrack would owe a sum, he would owe a sum, and Heleni would owe a sum. He paid his, then told Heleni her share was fifty Daric to be paid at the counter when they left.

Simple as that.

Markus had promised to take them to the East half of Ardynport to look at scrolls after, but finally came time for their excursion to the Dungeon Square.

"First thing's first: don't ever actually expect a discount," Markus warned them. This was a fundamental truth of the market. Even when things were discounted or a deal was going on, the crafty merchants normally had a means to make up for it. Or, they were overcharging to begin with. There were several methods, both crude and sly, that they employed to make their profit. The alchemist they met in the dungeon, Lucas, was little different.

It made perfect sense. Most of them made the majority of their profit from Dungeoneers, so they couldn't just consistently give them special treatment. Alchemists actually had it especially tough. Some Delvers thought of healing potions and antidotes as a type of commodity they deserved, but that entitlement only undervalued the work put into the product. At the end of the day, fair compensation was absolutely necessary in virtually all cases. What one considered fair was an entirely different story. Products were only as valuable as people were willing to pay, but the stakes were often high and there were always other delvers to compete with.

Not that the group would run into Lucas' alchemist shop immediately, anyway. His was positioned on the West End of the Dungeon Square where people entered town coming from the Dungeon. Markus was leading his group to the Dungeon Square through the East side over the Whitestone Bridge. His store was positioned to be a convenient stop as one exited town, not so much a convenient stop if one was remaining in town. Not that he had a bad spot, just that every location had its strengths and weaknesses.

Markus guided the group through the entrance of the Dungeon Square. Coming from their direction, the very first stores were actually enchanters. Those that upkept magical items for fees. Some of them could also do basic and complex mending, which was often cheaper than paying a proper blacksmith to repair something. Or, at the very least, they could mend it and a blacksmith could touch it up later. In many cases, these were the first people most Dungeoneers would eventually want to see. Unfortunately, the group was still too green to make much use of them. Beyond those shops and nearer the center of the area was a series of buildings that all shared their frames and exhaust vents, allowing for multiple forges and fires to be running without overheating the streets. The center might have been sweltering, but no one went there unless to heat something. It served the dual purpose of keeping most forging or smithing services in the same area with a single location to visit for the delvers.

"The Circle of Smiths," Markus announced, "compact and competitive. Can't really ask for more."

He was right. Given the area, there was actually a large volume and diversity of goods surrounding them. Shops were somewhat combined with smiths and forgemasters working in some cases close enough they could share tools. Many in fact did, working with informal agreements about timing and work. Most smiths on the East side would never dream of this, but there were plenty of advantages to it here. Sharing water troughs, ventilation, knowing what competitors were working on, being able to make batch orders without risking wasting materials, so on and so forth. Some smiths focused more on Uncommon Gear, that made for magical infusion later, but they nonetheless were part of the community. If one wanted something better, they would be paying much more Daric for a more specialized piece from a store on the East side.

In the area dubbed the Circle of Smiths, there was a cobbled stone path mostly in a large square despite the name that went from store to store and stall to stall, not unlike a massive strip mall, connecting all of these different stores and wares, most of which were combat-oriented and obviously designed for the delver.

Markus began to give his input. "The Dungeon has what I would call a curve to it. In the beginning, you will want better weapons. As Spellswords, you will want to find a way to make use of your natural magical capabilities. Beyond the Tenth Floor and well into the twenties, your armor will matter more and more. I won't say you can enter the Dungeon with a skirt, but so long as your skin is covered and that covering is enchanted appropriately, you will be safe from the dangers there," he informed them, giving them the actual direct answers they were looking for.

Weapons first.

"Make to the twenty-sixth floor and perhaps proper magical weapons will be necessary," he added, looping back around to that curve he described.

"Everyone should have a dagger of some kind, if only for utility. I suggest you all consider not just yourself, but your teammates. A mix of armaments is always a good choice. Shields come in various sizes for different roles, how Ayn uses a sword is different than how Heleni or Leonel use one, and bluntly said, switching to a blunt weapon might at times be better than a blade. Spears or polearms in the Dungeon are rarely useful, same for ranged weapons. They both eat up space and carry weight. I've seen a great many Delvers buy a crossbow to carry on their back only for them to curse it later. If range is your concern, learn a Spell," he continued, rambling off suggestions now with more assertion than he had previously.

"Magic lessons are an option. I can help teach you simple things, like Firebolt, but beyond that, you will want to hire a proper mage tutor. Some Dungeoneers offer this service for a fair fee; you can request them at the HQ. I could also probably teach all of you how to better wield a sword, but for any other weapons, you'll probably need to request a mentor from the Guild," he explained, laying out their options in front of them.

"If it is just potions or antidotes that you want, I'll try to haggle a deal and order them in bulk. A supporter traditionally carries them anyway. I'll give anyone a receipt later. If you want something else, you'll have visit an alchemist in person and see what they keep in shop. Scrolls are a little different. They can provide you power you wouldn't otherwise have, and in fact can save your life. However, they are costly and put off getting better gear. My recommendation would be to split the cost of at least one powerful scroll, like Chain Lightning or Fireball, and give it to someone you trust to use it only in a time of need. I have also seen some parties use Scrolls of Healing instead of potions as they can be cast from a range and work more quickly, but that is personal preference," he told them, trying to cover all his bases. And, there were plenty. The group had asked a lot of good questions and he had a lot of advice to doll out.

GM note: This is where we'll be buying gear. This will probably require discussing with me OOC a bit, but mostly, you're looking at various weapons and armors. Common types are exactly that: common and borderline disposable. Uncommon Items can easily be used for certain magical spells or Infusion Magic. If you're interested in an Enchanted item, there is info in the Unprocessed Lore channel of the Discord. You can choose to RP it out here or just post what you end up purchasing and for what cost (again probably determined OOC, then posted). Scrolls, potions, etc., just discuss it and we'll figure out the tally. If you're interested in specifically what an alchemist may make, I've been using this legacy pathfinder doc as a reference point for a bit: Alchemist​

November Witch Haze- Carolyn ERode

​

 

[November Witch]

Symphony

~{Gearing up}~​

Status: Content
Location: Ardynport - Guild HQ
Interaction(s): Sir Les Paul

Symphony did all that she was told without question, and something about this whole thing seemed vaguely familiar, yet she couldn’t recall it. All the paperwork, the stats, and the machine she stepped onto. There wasn’t much for the doll to say during this. Even after she saw her stats, there wasn’t much to say. She didn’t have a point of reference for the numbers. Were they good? Were they bad? She didn’t know, and the numbers didn’t much matter to her. So, as they moved on, they were quickly removed from the forefront of her thoughts, after she had jotted them down in her notebook.

Her sewing project was put to the side as she continued to add some notes to her notebook as Markus went on. Daggers? Then she would grab a few. Forget crossbows? Got it. Learn spells? Sure, she had nothing but time. Potions? She would take a look, but if she remembered correctly, none of them really worked on her. She would slide her book away as Markus seemed to finish up what he was saying. Replacing the notebook in her hand would be her coin purse, and she would walk up to the so-called “circle of smiths.”

“Can I have 3 common daggers please.” Her eyes wandered over the other weapons and wares at this particular smith’s stall. She was strong, so why not use that to her advantage? Her yellow eyes jumped from blunt weapon to blunt weapon, before settling upon the clanging of a hammer another smith was using. It seemed heavy and solid. “And one of those hammers.” She pointed at the smithing hammer she was looking at.

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Dungeon Guild HQ entrance, Ardynport
DATE—07/03 | Early Summer
TIME—1548

Market Response: Symphony​

"Aye, but yer gonna need to be a bit more specific, miss," responded the dual purpose smith and shop keep.

He approached the wooden counter that was the two-tiered system used for displaying items. It was all kept a pretty good length away from the customer by a wooden wall used as a spacer, but not so much they couldn't been seen - except for by the elderly or near blind. This was a common site seen in higher in street stalls to deter or at least increase the difficulty of theft. His particular stall was two of these counters combined at a thirty degree angle, increasing the footage of his storefront. This was yet another common tactic: a more round or in this case pointed surface had more area to display goods as opposed to a perfectly straight line. Of course, this always had to be within reason as to not eat into street spacing, but it was seen on nearly every stall to some degree in the Circle of Smiths.

The smith in this case focused his attention to the most eastward counter which held most of his daggers. Asking for three Common Daggers was only half the picture. There were several lengths of dagger present: 6 inch daggers priced at 30 Daric, 8 inch at 35 Daric, 10 inch at 40 Daric, 12 inch at 45 Daric, and 15 inch priced at 50 (blade length measurements). Not only that, the more common dagger sizes of six, eight, and twelve inches all had more ornate versions priced with an upcharge of 20 Daric; the six inch versions also had even more intricate models with inset gems priced at 80 Daric. A bodice dagger with inset gems was probably targeted at female Delvers - or the men trying to court them. Pointless for any other purpose.

"A light hammer will cost you fifty-five Daric," he told her, "but you'll need ta pick yer daggers." He waved over his collection, suggesting she take a see for herself.

November Witch Earshot: Haze- Carolyn ERode

​

 

[November Witch]

Symphony

~{Which Ones?}~​

Status: Content
Location: Ardynport - Guild HQ
Interaction(s): Sir Les Paul

Symphony’s gaze went back to the daggers for a moment. Her mind was already made up, but the intricate ones caught her eye. But not enough for her to buy them. Maybe after she was all fixed and had money left over. But for now, she saw no need for them. However, the varying lengths there gave her a momentary pause. Which ones would be best? Well, getting a mix would likely be the best course of action, right? Just in case?

A nod was offered to the smith as she placed 160 Daric on the counter. “One six, eight and ten inch.” She’d likely keep one in her bag, one on her for easy access and use, and likely hide the smallest one inside her just in case she was ever to lose her bag and the one on her. Or if she had to sneak a weapon somewhere. Symphony didn’t really think she needed much more than her threads, but the encounter with the vines and seed pod things had made her change her thinking somewhat.

 

[Haze-]

LOCATION— Dungeon Guild HQ entrance
DATE— 07/03 | Early Summer
TIME— 1548

⚜ Leonel Blackmane ⚜​

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

TAGS ERode Sir Les Paul November Witch Carolyn

The clang of hammer against steel rang out, the howl of the bellows fanning the fires, loud and arrhythmic with all the sounds of the combined forges intermingling with each other. The flickering orange glow of the roaring flames casted a play of shadows on the cobblestone path, Leonel looked around, as told. Sheepishly adjusting the weathered straps of his claw, tightening it, before he finally stopped at the threshold of one of the smithies, simply staring at the entrance with a poorly hidden scowl on his face.

It reminded him of home, before he was taken. Of his mother’s forge, its heat, rolling out in waves and breathing down his face, and her braided hair singed at the tips. Of the crooked wooden sign that stood above that same smithy, worn by time and blemished by smoke, and the name that he’d long forgotten carved beneath it.

What was his name back then? Arthur?

Didn’t matter now.

He had many things to mull over; the past wasn’t in his shopping list. He needed to fill in his weaknesses while he still could. He’d gone dull after the injuries, but the options were limitless now that he was here at rock bottom. He could buy himself a mentor’s time, either to learn new magic or to sharpen his senses back to what they were, regain his title as a ‘prodigious’ swordsman.

But, as gifted by his twice-blessed seal as he was, that sort of training would still take time. He wasn’t sure if he’d have it all down by the time their next delve came up.

So, he decided to go for the safest option instead. Markus would haggle for potions, and they could all collectively put their remaining coin into buying one magic scroll after. A sword it was, then.

“Afternoon,”— Leonel stepped up to the counter, knocked on the wood to get the shop-keepers attention.

His eye glazed over the racks of half-finished blades and unshaped steel behind, then he unclasped his scabbard and placed it flat on the counter with a dull thud. He pulled the [Unimpressive Longsword] out, its half-jagged edge glinting under the forge’s light.

It was cheap steel. Worn and dulled by use, but not quite ruined yet. It was getting there — “Looking to buy a longsword. Same proportions as this one, length-wise, just want one with a wider blade than it. A bonus if it can be enchanted later on.”— He crossed his arms, seemingly trailing off as he eyed the many swords on display.

He still remembered the basics. A thicker blade meant more durability, but resulted in more resistance when passing through flesh. A wider blade could cut leagues better, but could break in less swings than a broader one. Either he chose raw strength or slicing capability.

More weight amounted to more power behind the cut, it was about finding the balance.

When it came down to humans, finding that balance was simple. A wide blade with a flat cross section was the usual pick. But what kind of blade would he need when it came down to dealing with monsters?

The boring answer to that question was probably something along the lines of ‘An enchanted one’.

“Could I bother you for some information as well? I want to know if there’s any smiths here in the circle willing to go through the pains of making custom jobs for Lion Knights.”

If they weren’t the most popular mercenary company in Ardynport, then they were close second. He knew that at least one Lion Knight had come to the Circle of Smiths asking the same question.

The Blackmanes had their own personal smiths and blueprints kept in secret. The problem with asking for a smith to make a Lion Claw wasn’t finding one willing to make one, but rather finding one that could make a proper claw instead of a gauntlet with steel nails.

It was more intricate than that. Most smiths would just end up making something more dangerous to his own wrist rather than his enemy.

“Regular steel’s not making the cut anymore, and I’ve a brainchild that’s in dire need of the heat of a forge if I’m to see it through.”

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Dungeon Guild HQ entrance, Ardynport
DATE—07/03 | Early Summer
TIME—1554

Market Response: Symphony $ Leonel​

Leonel had made several mistakes, likely without even realizing it. While these men most definitely were smiths, they were also merchants. The Black Lion was alone without his pride, weakened without the societal connections his family possessed. That armor he wore wouldn't protect him from the type of predators he was surrounded by. If anything, it only made him a bigger target. Worse was that his only significant experience with the exchange of goods was that of ale over a tavern. Even if he was clear with what he wanted and educated in why he wanted it, that knowledge didn't fool these savvy smiths. They dealt with Dungeoneers daily.

Leonel was fresh meat.

The stall Leonel approached did in fact have a display of swords, that was the specialty of this particular smith. Each had their own strengths and displays with overlapping competition in some places, but not all. This was the way of open commerce when the merchants all had the time and ability to converse with each other on how to maximize profits while avoiding stepping on the toes of others. Not a single one of them could spit out the volume Ardynport needed for the Dungeon, so the Circle of Smiths worked together to fuel the exploration. It would also work together to take unwitting delvers for a different kind of ride.

It took a moment for the smith at this particular stall to approach his end. It seemed he was polishing some type of blade, or perhaps sanding the surface. It wasn't clear, but whatever it was, it was important enough to keep Leonel waiting briefly.

He didn't even look at Leonel, at least not in the eye, before he shifted his burly body on his heels to begin shifting swords around on the multi-tiered, black iron rack behind him.

"Aye, I can get y' a meatier blade if that's what yer after," he responded, though he still didn't put his full attention onto Leonel. Instead, he pulled the blade he was after from the racks, ran a half-dirty cloth down it, eyed it for a moment with some meager inspection, then sat it down on the flat tabletop in the center portion of his stall.

It wasn't exactly what Leonel wanted. It was about a half-inch longer and had a considerably longer hilt. Still, it was good quality. Shiny. Sharp. The steel was a deeper grey than his current one. Whether or not it was a suitable fit in terms of size was ultimately up to Leonel. Some swordsman were much more particular about the dimensions and demands of their weaponry. Taking one off the shelf was something one did when they either had less experience or less coin. That, or the type of skill that made up for variances in the nuances of a blade. Not that Leonel in specific had the skill to truly demonstrate those differences.

"Six hun'erd Daric 'll getcha a longsword made a' Mystic Iron imported from the South. It'll take a simple enchantmen' later an' I'll swap the pommel to one with my seal so the eggheads will enchant it," the Smith told him, laying the facts rights out in a matter-of-fact tone. Flat, almost. His eyes finally lifted to meet those of Leonel. A dark, but not dull brown. The man was more muscular than Leonel and even most of the Lion Knights, but such was to be expected from a smith. He had plenty of time to build and tone those muscles given the fact his hair dipped on either size of his forehead, making a shallow V-shape in his hairline. What little of facial hair he had was just beginning to become peppered, more obvious in the sunlight once he approached the center of his stall.

"I cain't say I know much about the Lion Knights," he added, "yer best bet would be to check out Eventide Ironworks in the east side."

---

Symphony, meanwhile, had a much better time. A simple transaction for simple items. Her one-hundred sixty Daric earned her a Light Hammer and three various sized daggers, all of good quality, pre-sharpened, and ready to go. Given Leonel was looking at an item four times that, the dent in her savings was nowhere near his. Granted, he also didn't owe the city a pound of gold, but that was a fact she hadn't even shared yet.

"Aye, missy. If you need any sheathes or straps, I sugges' you walk up North a bit. Alise up there sells leathergoods an' can probably make you some type of holster for that hammer," he suggested, being quite genuine in his intent. Not just for Symphony, but for the synergistic way the Circle of Smiths worked. While some were just waiting to pounce on a big purchase like Leonel, others would work together to increase sales by volume.

Not to mention, rumor was that a black-haired woman gave the guards a scare. He couldn't be sure, but this one had an odd look to her. Best to tread lightly; especially given how easily she held that hammer.

November Witch Haze- Earshot: Carolyn ERode

​

 

[November Witch]

Symphony

~{Not Enough}~​

Status: Disappointed
Location: Ardynport - Guild HQ
Interaction(s): Sir Les Paul

The smith only received a “Hmm.” Of acknowledgement from the doll as he told her about straps or holsters. Perhaps it was something she could make herself too… But her mind was more preoccupied with the hammer. She’d placed all the daggers in her satchel for now. But the hammer bounced up and down in her hand as she tested the weight. Her eyes looked at the hammer for a few moments before returning to study the wares on the table, and at other nearby tables. She supposed it was better than nothing, but still, it wasn’t what she expected. “It isn’t as heavy as I thought. Do you have anything heavier?” She asked, her head tilting to the side slightly. It really felt like nothing in a single hand. She wondered if she should look for one of those big buff guys in heavy armor and ask them where the heaviest weapons were. They would know right? Or maybe this man would know. He made the weapons, so surely he would know where they were.

 

[Carolyn]

HELENI

Heleni set aside fifty daric as told. The fine was altogether a light sentence. She had more than a thousand such coins to dispense with. More brutal to her purse were the equipment she had to buy. The first dive of the group proved to be an amateur one. If it was any indication to go by, they needed better gear to compensate.

Her notes were full of Markus’ recommendations. She had crossed off crossbows as an option. Her position was better served getting close and nasty with the enemy. It spelled out enchantments which the Circle of Smiths seemed ready to provide. There, Heleni walked toward the counter of a store that Markus said specialized in it.

“Excuse me,” she called, “can I get an estimate for any starting maintained enchantments you can put on my gear?”

Her hands slid in the note for what she owned and their measurements: a brigandine, a short sword, a metal buckler, and a 6-inch dagger.

“Or any equivalent items that I buy outright if that’s unrealistic.”​

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Dungeon Guild HQ entrance, Ardynport
DATE—07/03 | Early Summer
TIME—1555

Market Response​

The merchant that had just sold Symphony her light hammer narrowed his eyes for a moment. An incredulous look, perhaps, but only out of his own curiosity. That light hammer he gave her would have been plenty weighty to move metal under the arm of a skilled Smith. In fact, most Smiths watched the weight of their hammer closely. Even a fraction of a pound added up over hundreds of swings. The girl in front of him, while stoic, seemed to carry some small amount of disappointment about her. Did she not realize the weapon, over the course of a Delve, would add up? Sure, she could carry a ten pound maul or a twenty pound war hammer, but without a Bag of Holding, it would undoubtedly wear one down.

"Aye... I carry a few mauls, but nothing larger," he responded. Slowly. Unsure of exactly how to respond to her given the situation.

The mauls, given how top heavy they tended to be, were situated in a stand with their hammer head facing down. What happened next wasn't common. Not for the Circle of Smiths, that was. But, given the oddity of the situation and how Symphony had just seemingly conducted a transaction without a complication, this particular merchant was willing to take the chance. He slid a metal bar from under his table, then lifted the table itself on hinges. This effectively allowed one to enter his stalls; something done only with close supervision and even then normally only for trusted clientele. Symphony just so happened to pique his curiosity.

He gestured over to the wall of eight or ten mauls of various sizes and shapes, some with round heads, some flat, some larger, but all with long handles, intended to be wielded two-handed. Not that one couldn't wield them like a mace, just that wasn't the intended fighting style. The mauls themselves varied in weight from eight to twelve pounds, depending on design, and that only factored in their steel head--not their handle.

"Try'm out, missy. Find one ya like an' I'll sell it to ya for a discount of a hun'erd Daric if ya keep the hammer," he offered, though his feigned niceness only existed to cover his curiosity. Hammers and mauls didn't sell well regardless.

---

A peculiar clerk ran up to meet Heleni. A thin man of average height and round glasses. He took her paper, scanned it over, then handed it back to her. Not much there, but more importantly, it didn't seem like she actually knew much about enchantments to begin with. He, and most Enchanters, were unlike the smiths in the Circle in that they were more forgiving and informative with their trade. Many of those Circle Smiths would pull the wool over your eyes faster than a poacher would snag an Elf. Oh, no, enchanters had more honor than that. Theirs was a valued artisanal trade, after all. They were wizards, but of a different caliber.

Besides, their enchantments needed to be maintained. Any enchanter could upkeep them, so building a rapport was how one kept repeat business.

"Eh, ooo... see, miss, it seems you might need a bit of a consult first," the enchanter responded to her, being as polite and courteous as he could.

Now that he was in the light, his attire was also considerably more refined than that of the smiths. Short though he was, a bleached white shirt pinned together with brass buttons tucked into black pantaloons which themselves were stretched out, being tucked into his varnished leather boots but stretched up by a pair of starkly-contrasted light-tan suspenders. He had a clean, simple look to him. Not quite as sophisticated as the robed mages in Myriad Arcana, but still much cleaner than the strong-armed working men of the circle.

"Only Uncommon Gear can be enchanted; the good stuff, too. Made with something like Mystic Iron or Faewood," he explained, doing his best to avoid sounding condescending. He didn't mean to insult her gear, but there was just no way around it.

"An', even then you need a maker's mark for most enchanters to take it. Professional courtesy n' all," he added.

"I hate to be presumptuous, but I would assume you're a Dungeoneer, yes?" he asked, rhetorical of course. He continued. "If so, you'll likely want single enchantments for some gear and the Dungeon Enchantment for others," he told her, providing input that was both genuinely useful and actually true. More than some could say for other merchants.

"You do know what the Dungeon Enchantment is, right?" he asked, simply. This time, an actual question unlike the one from before. This time, that tinge of sophisticated condescension did seep through. Not that he meant to, but he was a well-educated man in a somewhat niche market. It wasn't an intentional affront, but it could be taken as one nonetheless. There was a reason a shop like his ran more on word of mouth than his own natural charisma.

November Witch Haze- Carolyn ERode

​

 

[November Witch]

Symphony

~{Settling}~​

Status: Disappointed
Location: Ardynport - Guild HQ
Interaction(s): Sir Les Paul

When the table was moved, Symphony walked to the maul stand with no discernible reaction. While that was normal for her, she also wasn’t aware of how uncommon this was to do. The doll reached out with one hand, and one by one, lifted each maul like it was nothing. Because it really was nothing. They were all super light and it disappointed Symphony further. Was this area only for beginners or something? Surely the big muscly adventurers she’d seen here and there that stood upwards of 6’6 used things heavier, right? This place was big enough for some really big races though, maybe she would have to find a stall that served them. Perhaps they would have something heavier.

This smith had mentioned a discount of a hundred daric. Which was alot more expensive than any of the items she’d just bought. A bigger or heavier hammer was likely to be expensive then, and she had to save what she had. So maybe it was good to stop here for now. She had yet to try her smithing hammer after all. After setting down the last maul, she would shake her head. “No thank you. These aren't heavy enough.”

With that, Symphony turned and walked out the same way she came in and would return to the group even if the smith tried to haggle a deal with her. She wasn’t interested. But Symphony did start to place the daggers she’d bought. For the smallest one, she crouched down and pulled down the sock on her left leg. It revealed a crack big enough to fit the small dagger in, but just barely. This was followed by some thread to keep it in place and from rattling around. The biggest one was then taken from her bag and secured around her right hip with more magical thread. For now, it would do until she made a sheath herself. With that now done, she would simply wait there next to Markus for the rest of the group.