Fantasy ┌ spellsword ┘ Amaric Temple

[Sir Les Paul]

┌ s

pellswor

d ┘

of

Fantasy

and

Anime

“The world is indeed full of peril and in it there are many dark places."

― J. R. R. Tolkien

Afraid of Quiet - Lydia the Bard

The Amaric Temple

It was honestly difficult to convey just how large the Amaric Temple truly was. Descriptions of the era were often as hyperbolic as the tales of a good Bard, but to claim the temple was more comparable to a fort was more than fair. Even the top of the temple was larger enough for a small church and that was after nearly seven thousand steps to reach it from any one side, save the Northern one that had no steps. Combined with the fact the entire temple was made of a sedentary stone with brilliant red and tan striations that was entirely opposite to the forested area around it, it made the temple feel more divine than any church. Those were still built by mortal hands. Something this massive, this beautiful, this perfect, planted where it was so far from any stone or design like it—it was something that could very easily be seen as only possible via a miracle. Espel nor any other remaining God could even hope to take credit for the Amaric Temple. Nor could they lay claim to it.

It was tradition for first-time Dungeoneers to ascend the Southern stairway regardless of how time-consuming or exhausting it may be. This was not without its merits. If one could not make it up the stairs, they surely could not survive the Dungeon. Not only that, for those with sufficient stamina, the ascent was not entirely unenjoyable. It was easy from a distance for the swirls and striations of the stonework in the Temple to be lost from a distance, but up close and while walking, the patterns were not only more obvious, but more intense. Solid stone that might look an off-tan when blurred together more clearly had swirling, dancing patterns in it of various tans and browns with highlights of deep red and off-white that created unreal patterns. No one step identical to the last. Additionally, the air around the temple was much cooler and less humid than that at the base. Ardynport and its jungle were known for its high humidity and harsh sun. The sun was still harsh, but much of it was mitigated by the temple and a breeze. More so, once one reached the first layer of the temple, there was a large inset of growing greenery that only further highlighted the ascent, but also lessened the humidity and in turn created cooler air. Past the first hundred feet and thousand or so steps, trees even began to grow along the edges of these inset areas of greenery, creating shade along the outer edges of the steps.

It was an interesting experience. Entire ecosystems on the outside of the temple were obvious to those that climbed its stairs. A forewarning of what was to come from the inside.

On this particular spring day atop the Amaric Temple, the topside was bustling. Winter had thawed weeks ago and the frosts had stopped setting in. It welcomed a new planting season for the farmlands to the Northeast and a new delving season for the Dungeoneers. It had became tradition for the newest flock of Dungeon Delvers to wait until the last frost to enter the Dungeon with the Dungeon Guild. There were several reasons for this, but probably none more so than safety in numbers. It was true that the those involved would likely get less spoils, but spoils mattered little to the dead. In numbers and droves, there were simply less dangerous creatures and more help if the need arose. Beyond that, it just made forming parties easier when everyone tried at once.

This led to the very top of the Amaric Temple being full of new adventurers, Dungeon Guides–some freshly promoted, some veterans–and all sorts of stalls with marked down prices of goods ready to make a killing on unprepared Delvers. Their prices were generally scandalously high; this was the only time of year they weren't. They often sold enough goods in bulk to make up for the difference in price.

This is also where the story of our newest group of adventurers begins. Twice-Blessed were becoming more and more common, or at least the appeal of the Amaric Temple was bring more and more in. It was difficult to tell. This year was the first that there were so many that entire Dungeon Parties could be formed from them.

This was the era of the Spellsword.

---

Far-away the sun and the markings that made the celestial calendar from its shadow in the center of the temple roof, Markus awaited his group near the front. There many tents supplied with seats and water, though no food without visiting the market, all set up for the groups to meet up. This was actually a distinct improvement. The Paladin could remember the early days where, if one did not march up the stairs with their own provisions, they would simply be waiting in the hot sun. Compounded annoyance given that few new dungeoneers truly understood the size of the temple and thus time it took to ascend its stairs. One in armor such as himself was often either forced to shed it for some hours or sweat in it before entering the Dungeon. Anyone with some semblance of sense knew the stupidity of the latter.

Due to his experience as a Dungeon Guide, Markus was chosen to lead one of the more unique groups of adventurers. All-Twice Blessed save for a living construct that had already once tried to sneak in. He did not appreciate the defiance nor was he entirely sure if Espel would smile upon such a being, but nonetheless, it was his sworn duty to guide and educate them. He would do exactly that. Such were the new tenants of his oath, even.

Backstory Secret Unlocked!​

Holy Order of Espel faction insight from Leo

He was interested in one of his assigned Dungeoneers in particular. It was rare that Priests, Crusaders, or Paladins of Espel would even consider joining his group. Despite his fame and experience, his name still carried dishonor within the Church. He knew Leonel and the Blackmane family as well, to some extent. He wouldn't have expected someone from that particular line to sully their name with his own. There were other Paladins acting as Dungeon Guides. Leo should have easily been able to request one of the others. Last time another Paladin elected to join his party, it was solely to mock Markus for his curse and leave. He did so hope this wouldn't be another silly, stupid encounter like that.

Little did he know that Leo was just as disgraced as he was. Markus had been so far separated from the church that he didn't pick up on the rumors and stories.

What would come of their first meeting was still a mystery. Surely, Leo had to grown up with stories of Markus. At one point, he was on of the most famed swordsman in the local Order. He let his skills and abilities wither from lack of practice, but at a time, his twin-sword fighting was amongst some of the greatest in Ardynport. Even other Paladins both feared and respected his twinned smite. He was even blessed with the profound ability to conjure the Seven Swords of Espel, something generally only given to Priests to help in combat. Now, all of that was gone and his name forever associated with the Paladin that cannot harm a creature. The Paladin that failed his oaths as he could no longer fight for Espel.

Only time would tell. It was still early morning while Markus was waiting. Plenty of hours of sun and hardly the hottest part of the day. Hopefully, his team would have some modicum of common sense and arrive early. He did wonder who would the first to arrive. Well, not really. He was more concerned about Leonel. Markus knew full-well he had let his swordsmanship slip over the last several years and dueling young-bloods was becoming more and more challenging. Besides that, he was fairly certain the doll that could not tire would be the first to arrive.

Meredith Merciless Medic Prizzy Kriyze Haze- ERode November Witch EmperorsChosen Carolyn @YABABAINA @Mirai-chan @AzaleaWonderland​

 

[November Witch]

Symphony

Status: Mostly neutral, a little annoyed.
Location: Amaric Temple - Top
Interaction(s): Sir Les Paul

What a fickle thing this was. Just a waste of time really. Why did she have to jump through all these hoops? It was just wasting her time, and preventing her from repairing herself. What use was a system like this if it would just disappear in another few hundred or thousand years again? To be at a mortal’s whim and have to follow their rules was simply annoying. Even if it gave her an odd sense of Deja vu. She’d probably done something like this in her hazy past. It wouldn’t surprise the girl. It was all just so hazy and foggy that it was hard to say for sure. At this point, she relied more on Deju vu and vague feelings of familiarity than her memories. But that was just the nature of things. If one of her hazy memories was to be believed, repairing her body would bring them back somewhat. She couldn’t quite recall if everything would come back intact, but even if she just got some of them back, it was better than nothing, right?

A sigh left her lips as she swayed in the breeze. She was hanging by multiple threads from a tree near the base of the temple. She’d been there since the night before. In fact, Symphony would have scaled the temple last night and waited there, but she didn’t need people to think she was trying to sneak in again. She’d already tried once only to be intimidated by a whole group of people and had to turn around and leave. Again, stupid rules and systems put in place by mortals who never thought about how their decisions would affect anyone or anything outside their own small lifespan. Symphony had decided waiting at the base of the temple would be the safest bet. So, she suspended herself from a strong looking tree last night to wait. Why not the ground or branches? Well, she knew what it was like for bugs to crawl into her and set up nests inside, and it wasn’t fun having to clean herself out. It was tedious, time consuming, and could be a chore attempting to remove things like a wasp's nest from inside her chest cavity that had gummed up her magical loom. While most mortals disliked bugs because they were disgusting or freaky, Symphony just didn’t like the inconvenience they caused inside her.

Symphony decided now was a good time, as some adventurers had started to arrive early in the morning and ascend the stairs. She lowered herself to the ground, only to startle a group of passing adventurers and receive weary looks. She didn’t blame them. Apparently, even at this day in age, constructs were incredibly rare. Well, at least ones with an appearance anywhere near hers. The thread used to hang from the tree simply retracted into the joints where she had created it, and she started her trek up the stairs. Her pace wasn’t the fastest, and she climbed at about the speed of an average adventurer; however, it never once wavered or waned, meaning she passed most, if not, all those who had come before her. She’d already seen this climb once before, when she had tried to sneak in some weeks before. So, the view was a little stale for her. But it didn’t matter much to her. Waiting was something much different to her compared to mortals. She could wait days or weeks no problem. So being a little bored upon the walk up was no problem. Neither was waiting when she finally reached the top. Symphony paid little mind to the hustle and bustle of the shops around her. Her small satchel of makeup and paint was all she needed here. Once she found the man she was looking for, she would sit down on the floor nearby. Being so heavy, she had about a 50/50 chance of falling straight through most normal chairs. And people normally got upset with her and asked for payment. So, Symphony was used to standing or just sitting on the floor.

She didn’t say anything to the man and opted to simply sit silently nearby. Though she did speak up after a few moments. She was so still, anyone who saw her might think she was a random doll sitting on the ground, for whatever reason.

“How many more are we waiting for exactly?”

Her voice was gentler than one would expect. She had the kind of voice one could fall asleep to as they read a story.

 

[ERode]

She woke up like she did every morning, gasping like a drowning man as she practically hopped off the pile of straw that she called a bed. If she stayed lying down even a second longer, she’d fall back asleep, and would be late to her morning lessons.

Ayn didn’t have lessons any longer, but the habits remained. She rubbed the bleariness out of her eyes with her shoulders, then scrambled up to the closest well, pulling up a bucket to splash some water into her face. Day had yet to break, but the sky was a mixed hue now, the stars blinking out one by one as turquoise stained indigo. She gazed at the sky for a moment more, before letting in a deep breath.

The patriarch’s voice still echoed in her mind as she went through her morning exercises. A warm-up to start with, getting the blood flowing through her limbs to chase away the night’s chill. Then, transitioning into basic stances, focusing on breath as she slipped from the Horse to the Dragon, dropping into Swallow before switching to Crane. Her grip tightened, even as the weapons she grasped were figments of her imagination. Ki was roused within the meridian points of her body now, a second set of veins glowing luminescent against her pale flesh. Swifter movements, sharper movements. As if carving at the air itself, her half-lidded gaze seeing something in her surroundings that dwelled only within her mind.

A verdant breeze blew through the alleyways of the Virgin Merrow.

Ayn stopped, placing her fingertips against each other in a moment of meditation and repose. The luminescent veins disappeared; only a faint redness and the sweat of physical exertion remained. And, as if to signal the end of her morning routine, her stomach gurgled…which would have indicated that it was time for breakfast, but at this hour, the drunks from the night before (was it before? Ayn never knew) still needed to be kicked out. The kitchen staff wouldn’t be up until another three hours anyhow, and she’d need to check the list about what to buy from the marketplace too.

Which was to say, before she ate, she had to work.

…

It was work that had kept her busy during the long winter months. Ardynport hadn’t exactly been a miserable place to stay the winter, but it had been hard in a different sense. Living alone, living with hardly any money, living with no prospect of even being able to enter the Dungeon until the following spring? Ayn suspected that it had been pity that she had gotten to ‘rent’ a stables stall at the Virgin Merrow, had been given a job that paid just enough to keep her fed. Her work ethic was what let her keep the job afterwards though: waking up early in a profession where most others stayed up late allowed the girl to occupy her own niche. It was for the better anyways. She had no patience for drunks who couldn’t afford a room but could afford two buckets of mead. And even for the ones who did, could they not vomit all the floor before they did? Who did they think was going to be stuck cleaning it? It was morning crew work, not busty and lusty waitress work.

Easier to distract herself with anger towards bad patrons than it was to handle anger at herself and her own lack of preparations. And chores were easy to get into the rhythm of anyways. By the time the snow began to melt, Ayn was unphased by anything she handled, and everything she did, she handled with grace, precision, and speed.

The work of this morning, indeed, went like every other morning. She had woken up, gone through her morning routine, then stepped into the Virgin Merrow to haul the drunkards out. Tables and chairs were wiped clean and tucked away, before she splashed water over the tavern floor and mopped away the stickiness of alcohol and apple sauce. Last night’s dishes and mugs were dropped into the washbasin before she drew up all her willpower, took in a deep breath, and plunged into the outhouse to do what must be done.

It was done, and the rest was easy enough compared to that. Going down the list of groceries to replenish the stock, checking up on the firewood, washing the dishes, and finally sneaking some cheese and fruit out of the larder for her own breakfast. Just regular routine stuff. Just the usual morning activities.

As Ayn sat on the stool of the quiet alehouse, watching the sun rise over the frosted glass windows, she realized that at last, she was feeling it again. Anticipation crawled up her arms, a thrumming beat bouncing against her ribcage.

Fall, winter, and now, spring.

The Amaric Temple awaited her.

…

Honestly, the other girl had her beat in every aspect to such a degree that Ayn couldn’t even claim herself as ‘unique’ in that direction. Her jet-black hair glistened in the sunlight atop the temple, while her golden eyes had a clear, glass-like allure to them. Her clothes were all dainty, noble-like type, and her complexion could only be described as almost supernaturally flawless. Despite the warm weather and the long climb up the stairs, there was not a single drop of sweat to be seen on her figure, and the raven-haired girl was even shorter and more diminutive than Ayn!

Compared to that doll-like girl, Ayn herself had worked up a sweat again, wore the rough sort of travelling clothes that were also just her only set of clothes, had hair the color of (but not glossiness of) seaweed that stuck out in every direction due to having only hard well water to wash with, and even her swords were commonplace, despite functionally being what would earn her place as a Delver! Certainly, she felt more than just a smidge of envy towards the younger (?) girl, who no doubt came from money and must have thought the Temple in its entirety was a more fitting seat for her than the cheap wooden stools and boxes lying about, and that smidge of envy certainly amplified when even the girl’s voice sounded like that of a songstress or a poet, but Ayn was able to bite down on her immediate reaction.

Why?

Because now, with two young girls present in a place where even one seemed to be a rarity, their old-man-looking-man of a Guide looked just a bit more suspect. Markus Stonehart looked to be the ruggedly-handsome type, but the mean squint he had and just the general scruffiness that surrounded him made him look like a washed-up has-been that probably had to quit being a Delver because no one would take him on into their party. Plenty of men in the Virgin Merrow had that same look to them, the fatigue and the worry causing them to age at twice the speed they usually would, while a craven hunger dwelled too.

You’d think that a Guide for a party of two young women would be an older woman, no? You’d think that something like that would be a reasonable thing to do, for the Dungeon. The drawing she received of Markus certainly made him look younger and more upstanding than he currently did.

Oh, but what was the point of overthinking it? Even if Markus was a pervert, she could just find another Guide, probably!

Oh, but she should ask too, just in case!

“Oh, is this party going to be all girls? Except for you, of course.”

 

[Haze-]

LOCATION— Amaric Temple
DATE— Early Summer
TIME— ? ? : ? ? - Morning

⚜ Leonel ⚜​

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

TAGS ERode Sir Les Paul November Witch

The sun came beating down on his shoulders, filling the jagged openings on the armor with a searing warmth he’d only felt back in the manor, honing the blade day and night. Hot, going hotter. Heat from his own damp breath blowing back into his face. Heat from the surrounding torch-light, airing down his clothes. Heat from the sun itself coming down on the open courtyard they used to train in.
Prison-pent in a hellish, heated forge since a child, unlike the rest of the adventurers around him. Already losing their wear and dropping it on the steps like the exhaustion of the climb had taken ahold of their arms, their minds.

Leo wasn’t one to particularly swelter over the dog days. He wasn’t particularly stupid either. No, the only reason he was still climbing up those steps— full-set of black armor and furred caped billowing in the hot wind, sweating and roasting inside of it like a bloated pig hung up over the pyre — was to punish himself. Just as he’s been punishing himself for two long years now.

It started in the dew of little things. Pushing past precaution and admonishment to harm himself on the merc odd jobs he’d been doing around town to earn his coin, through inward jeers and sheer mockery, hissing furiously at himself knowing he’d spend it all on cheap ale the next week over. Then it grew to a downpour of things, nonsense exertions.

Forcing himself to stand straight after training, not allowing himself a rest even when his body ached with exhaustion, gloating and sneering over his own fatigue. Going hungry for weeks on end, living on leftover bits and spending his bulk of coin on drink, over some inner compulsion, waging a hunger strike on himself.

Courting pain, suffering, on a mad whim. Same way most of the helpless whelps he’d be surrounded by at the alehouse courted for pleasure.

A thousand voices in his head telling him that bastards like himself deserved enduring. He was a slave, once again— only, he was the one whipping himself into motion this time. Ball and chain, feedback looping. Moving through the day craving to be drunk out of his mind the next, earn his little rest in the stupor. Then move again.

But,

It wasn’t hatred in himself for failing that got him to where he was, not now. The stars had guided him there; and that was all the push he needed to keep going up those steps.

Leowulf fled across the dark entrails of the dungeon, and Leonel would follow. It was as simple as that.

If he wanted to catch the bastard, he would have to change.

Did ‘change’ mean starting up those steps completely sober? Technicalities sake, yes; but that would be an accomplishment for his future self. He needed to be piss-drunk at some point for the shit he’d be put through inside the dungeons, that much he assumed— hence why a water hide bloated with ale was one of the many things he’d brought in his bag.

“…?” — Leo stopped, freezing a boot uncomfortably on the stoop of the next step, struck by sudden dizziness. Passing, like a damp fog rising in the early morning, across his eyes. He blinked, shook his blonde mane, shutting his eyes and taking a long breath, hands already moving up to shed the armor.

He was cooking alive inside it. Dropping dead from a heatstroke wasn’t the best first day on the job, didn’t look presentable enough for first impressions.

For now, he’d allow himself to rest.

Change, too, started in the dew of little things.

. . .

“Not quite.” — A tall shadow loomed behind Ayn; just in time.

He arrived with a plain white shirt slit open at the throat (another allowance of rest), chainmail and a black breastplate dangling at his side from a limp arm like he were dragging up a corpse. Head swaying down, drawing in a hissed breath, he tortured himself once more, slid back into the armor.

A toneless voice, too dead sounding for a young man, but lacking the stern cadence of an old timer. Taller than, broader than, with a clawed hand resting at his hip. A long, draping mess of blonde hair cowlicked by sweat, hiding everything but the one weary eye peeking through— seeming to have lived decades long before the man that wore the gaze.

Lion Knights were tailor made to be menacing off presence alone. A fact he was all too familiar with.

So, pulling all of his might, Leonel tried to fix his perpetual glare. Just this once.

“Is this all of us?” — He asked, turning quick glances from one black-haired girl to the other. Only pausing to burn their faces into his memory. Finally, bringing his Lion Claw up to his chest, Leo nodded, curtly as he could.

“Leonel.”— Was the one thing that came out of his mouth, before his looming presence stripped down to silence. The stillness in his face not even twitching for a second — “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

He was either a knight, a lifeless toy soldier going through the motions— or his curtness was thrown in mockery. Either way, there was no change in his tone or approach that signaled any which option.

Then came the moment he’d been dreading since he took that first step. He turned to Markus, dread already filling his eyes as the memories of the church came flooding in. His mouth opened as if to speak, only shallow breath coming out before the words finally pulled through.

“It’s an honor to finally meet face to face, Stonehart.”— He felt like a shameless dog, showing his face to a true and blue paladin — “The years have been kind on you, I hope…”

Shameless, as he couldn’t quite shake off the notion that he’d picked him as a guide in particular for his curse. He was the only one Leo knew he could put his trust in, from all the stories he’s heard— the curse only gave him some extra assurance in his decision.

If a rotten bastard the likes of Leowulf could reach such a high status in the Dungeon Guild, who knows how many rotten apples and rats surrounded the business.

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (Summit)
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—0932

Markus ⚜ Stonehart​

Lvl. 5 | Supporter-Paladin
Status Leery, focused
Spell Slots
Lvl. 1 6/6
Lvl. 2 3/3
Lvl. 3 1/1

TAGS Haze- ERode November Witch

Mana was the lifeblood of the world. True though it was that the holy light of Espel was warm and comforting in a serene, graceful way that the mana of the world could never be, even a Paladin of Espel that had once basked in the coveted light of their God could not deny the importance and more so ever presence of mana. Markus had gone to great efforts to hone his magical aptitude following his curse. Many Paladins, Priests, and Crusaders never ventured down that road, so save a rare few with a natural talent, there were few that knew both the light of Espel and the value of magic. Few that weren't Twice-Blessed, at least.

Markus was Twice-Blessed. He was classically trained, albeit not thoroughly. He could sense mana and its flow. It meant he could sense Symphony.

What an odd one that was. She was the second construct he had ever encountered, but far more human than the first. She lacked the lifelike mannerisms of a simple girl. He wondered if that was intentional. A type of camouflage to help her hide in plain site. Or, would have it have been a greater effort for her to replicate the tiny shifts in movement, twitches of muscles, and tremors of the flesh that came with a beating heart?

So long as she didn't say a word, neither would he. The last construct he met was less human and more asshole. His hard eyes could easily be misinterpreted as a glare for the brief minute he stared at her. He wondered, too, if she knew how easily most Twice-Blessed could see and feel her. Excluding her, this entire group would be comprised of them. Their inclination for magic led them to an intuition that could feel the mana coursing through her. There would be no real hiding from them if that was what she expected.

Markus, the wonderer, would have continued down this path of thoughts. His next thought being that of if Espel would ever give her his grace.

"Three," was his short, simple answer to the question Symphony had asked. His voice was as gruff as one would expect, but at least not as low or graveled as it could have been.

She interrupted his thought.

Perhaps for the best, though, as Ayn followed her question with another. It seemed his peaceful silence was coming to an end. The calm before the storm, if anything.

Leonel appeared and answered her question for him. However, he in turn asked a question that - if asked just a moments prior - would have been answered. What a bother. Regardless of that mishap, this was the exchange that Markus was most concerned for. Not that he would let it show. His stoic features and dark brown beard kept his face statuesque, hiding any semblance of concern lest one of those around him were capable of seeing his very soul shift and he simply didn't know it. Truth be told, there was a sense of dread and anticipation that came from the presence of Leonel. Not that Markus was intimidated, but more that should the worst come to pass, it would in fact be a waste of time and a task. The Guild was clear that if any member refused to enter, the group would be reassigned a new member or members and try again another day.

That meant the tension in the air between Markus and Leonel, or at least what Markus felt in the moment, was a deciding factor in if this would eventually become just another wasted day in his already half-wasted career.

Markus stood, slowly but respectfully, to meet Leonel.

His eyes softened the slightest amount as if a peace offering. Not one the doll was given, but Markus had no real idea how to navigate the social conventions of an artificial being. Leonel was at least human.

A single, dry, second-long, half-snort was all Markus could conjure upon hearing the words that came from Markus.

An honor? A joke.

Kind to him? A daily test of his faith, a dance with darkness, the allure of forfeit.

That Leviathan on the lower floors was his White Whale and he was so, so far from killing it. He had trained a hundred good Dungeoneers and none of them were close to killing one. Of course, even if they did, Markus would still want the one that did this to him.

Regardless, he knew full-well that he shouldn't let the sick joke Leonel unwittingly told tarnish their dynamic so quickly.

Markus inhaled, his nostrils flaring slightly, and finally offering a half-smile if one could call it that. The best he could do for the situation. He extended his arm to Leonel to shake, his palm turned slightly outward, his right hand specific. It was a gesture of good faith rarely seen in the streets or along roads - at least in areas of lesser report - but in the church, it was commonplace.

"One more," Markus said dryly, answering the question Leo had asked. One he had already answered in a roundabout way.

"Either a young crusader or a sea elf," Markus expanded, providing more information, "I'm not which the Guild decided on."

Once their handshake was over, he continued to explain and withdrew his hand from their temporary union.

"Your fourth was supposed to be Mandrafolk Druid, but apparently he was caught in the bed chambers of—"

Markus did not get to finish. He was interrupted by the smarmy, tenor laughter of another Paladin that had entered their tent.

Markus knew precisely who it was. Leonel might have. Or, he could at least take a guess. The Paladin wore the crest of the Whitetalon. Another band of mercenaries much like his own Blackmane and arguably even considered a rival. Each used an alternative fighting style involving a claw, but the Whitetalon focused on agility over strength. Markus knew him more directly. He was two years his junior and once competed with him in various duels. Kaelic Whitetalon. The Paladin that took his place in the Holy Order of Espel.

"How fitting..." he spat, making no effort to hide the venom in his voice.

"Two of the worst stains on the Order in the same party," he continued, his words seething with self-righteous superiority between every gap.

"Really, though, Markus," he shifted, picking up the pace and becoming more pointed in his commentary, "you leading poor Leo is like the blind leading the blind. He'll never make it back to the light of Espel with you, I fear."

 

[November Witch]

Symphony

Status: Mostly neutral, a little annoyed.
Location: Amaric Temple - Top
Interaction(s): Sir Les Paul ERode Haze-

Moments after the doll sat upon the ground, she noticed someone else enter the tent, and glance at her for a moment, before her attention moved to the man. There was something she caught in the other’s gaze. She seemed like she was annoyed. What could that reason be? Symphony had done nothing to her, so it probably had something to do with the temple, right? She thought so. If Symphony had a flesh and blood body, then she probably would have been annoyed at the effort it took just to get to the top. Surely that was the only reason this girl seemed annoyed, right? Well, it wasn’t her place to do or say anything. The man answered her question only to receive another from the newcomer. That was all Symphony needed to know. Now she could count the people as they entered, and would have a rough idea on the time they would set off.

Their guide seemed pretty gruff and weathered. She’d met plenty of humans that seemed this way. In fact, most of them were in similar professions. Mercenary work, armies, dungeon delvers… Well, now they were a part of guilds. The first organization she remembered seeing that revolved around exploring dungeons called those who did work within them delvers… But that was such a long time ago. Where did that random memory come from? She tried to focus on those things surrounding it, but it was all hazy and muddled and made her head start to hurt. She reached up and rubbed her head, only to see the third member enter from behind the girl and answer her question… Which was quite an odd one. What difference did the gender ratio make? Maybe there was a reason for her question. She waited to see if it would be expanded upon, only for the man to continue and introduce himself, Leonel, to the first man here. It seemed like they might know each other or something. This man… she opened the small satchel she had with her. It contained not only her makeup and paint, but a small hand sided journal. Most of the pages were empty, but the first few pages had important things written down on them. Like the ore she was looking for, where to find it, and some areas that might have some blacksmiths who can smith it. She realized that memories were slowly slipping from her some time ago and made a journal for the information she absolutely couldn’t forget. If she forgot the ore she was looking for, and the information on it, well, she really would end up fully losing herself.

But tucked into the pages was the folded paper that she’d received from the guild. What was his name again? Her eyes scanned the paper and the drawn face that matched the one here perfectly. Ah, his name was Markus.

So, Markus and Leonel may have had history together, interesting. Markus answered one of Leonel’s questions. Apparently, there was only one more left. They only had to wait mere seconds though, as their last member barged in. Though he really seemed to know Markus. So, with a blank face, Symphony stood and headed towards the others who stood near the door. Surely this meant they were going to head out soon, right? She should at least be on her feet and at the door then. She would look up at the paladin who’d just entered, and watched him speak to the others in a tone that was… hmm… It felt familiar, the name for it was on the tip of her tongue. What was it called? Perhaps she could remember if she felt that way.

"You leading poor Leo is like the blind leading the blind. He'll never make it back to the light of Espel with you, I fear."

She whispered to herself in the same way he had said it… Hmm, that feeling was something like hate or anger… Oh! Contempt! That was the word she was looking for! Sometimes feelings would jog her memories like this. Sometimes it would only help her remember words or phrases, but sometimes whole scenes would come back. Symphony’s memories were like a tornado. Being sucked up by a slow-moving vortex. Sometimes falling back to earth every now and then for her to re-remember before getting sucked back up for good. There was some leakage, but slowly and surely it was sucking everything up and away. She had good days and bad days.

Her face scrunched up after she said those words and she looked at the newcomer. She didn’t like anyone talking in that tone of voice. It made her feel uncomfortable. Like she’d had some bad experience in the past with someone speaking like this. But she couldn’t recall how or why. But if this was their other member, wasn’t it rude to talk to their guide like this? He just seemed all around rude.

“If he is our other member, can I join a different group? I would hate to have him as a teammate.”

Symphony said dryly to her guide, then turned to face the nameless man.

“He doesn’t seem like he would work well in a team.”

Her arms were crossed as she looked up at him. Her face was mostly neutral, and she believed in what she was saying. She just didn’t exactly remember to be tactful in situations like these.

“I don’t like you.”

 

[ERode]

Leonel needed to burn faces into memory, but Ayn?

She tilted her head to the side, clear confusion showing in her face as she narrowed her eyes. She folded her arms next, head swinging to the other side as she continued to rack her brains as to why this pirate-paladin looked s-

“Wait, I know you!” Ayn snapped her fingers, recognition alight in her eyes. “You’re the one who keeps yapping at the ladies without bedding them!”

Total waste of time, if the late night crew had anything to say about it, but they forgive him every night anyways because apparently men who’re missing an eye and have a mop for hair is attractive. She didn’t get it herself, of course, because Leonel, formerly known as the ‘Dumping Prince’, gave more ‘kicked golden retriever’ energy to Ayn than anything else. And when it came to early morning shifts at the Virgin Merrow, she was often the one that had to do the kicking, rousing the drunk from his sleep only to roll her eyes as the hangover strikes and she has to physically haul him out of the alehouse so she’d be able to get any kind of cleaning done.

Still, by Ayn’s own estimations, he was more or less harmless, so she was fine with Leonel being here, no matter what sort of weird stuff was happening between him and Markus and…

Wow.

The crusader joining them was certainly a character, huh?

In that instant, Ayn understood exactly what the proprietress meant. Some guys were just better off not opening their mouths. The more lady-like girl spoke up about her evident disdain, and the twin-bladed warrior nodded along. Sure, she thought Markus was a pervert and was envious of the lady-like girl’s everything, but she didn’t vocalize it. Who did this guy think he was? Probably some wet-behind-the-ears young master from a noble family that spoiled him rotten who’d get humbled two weeks in, if Ayn knew anything about it.

“No need for that,” Ayn said, hooking her arm around the young lady’s. “Why leave, when we can just kick this jerk out instead? And I don’t know about you, but my eyes are perfectly fine!” So…what? And wait, what’s this about stains? There were always stories about corrupt Espel-worshippers out there. Markus was a squinty-eyed pervert and Leonel was a sexless drunk. If that was the case…

“But wait, before we kick you out for your behavior, what’s the deal with them?”

 

[Carolyn]

HELENI​

Up walked Heleni from the southern steps of Amaric Temple. The spry woman was a study in contrasts. While her beaten gold hair shone pleasantly in the sunlight, she wore a brigandine and had a sword sheathed on her left hip. Her corresponding hand was never too far away from it. A leather satchel was slung across her right shoulder. The buckler attached to the satchel dangled outside. Most dangerous of all were her inquisitive eyes—a calculating shade of gray. Few would carelessly assume she was a harmless pilgrim. But neither could they conclude she was a total knave after hearing her sing:

Money was not what he wanted,
Though by begging used to live;
But he asked and Espel granted
Alms which none but He could give.

‘Lord, remove this grievous blindness;
Let mine eyes behold the day.’
Straight he saw and, won by kindness,
Followed Espel by the way.

Heleni’s utterance of Espel dispelled any control the temple held over her. His presence in her heart conquered Amaric’s steep incline and pagan design. The minds that conjured the temple were done and dusted long ago. Despite the work put into the majestic architecture, their lasting legacy was to be a trap for covetous souls. One to be torn down in time as the nearby dungeon was destroyed.

Upon making it to the top, Heleni was rewarded with the sight of her company. Markus Stonehart was a known quantity. Her guide had been a respected paladin before a terrible affliction crippled him. Despite his bad reputation inside the Order, not helped when he recruited another excommunicated member, she was instructed to join his party. The rest of them were new to her. She would understand each well enough in time.

“Salutations, my friends,” Heleni said, seemingly innocent of the ongoing discord. She waved and came closer. “I’m Heleni, and Heleni means me.” The words didn’t quite translate her ingenuous side because of the aforementioned duality. She paused after reaching Markus and offered a handshake. “And you sir must be Stonehart. My teacher was very kind about your talents as a dungeoneer and guide. I’ll be in your care.”

 

[Haze-]

LOCATION— Amaric Temple
DATE— Early Summer
TIME— 0932 - Morning

⚜ Leonel Blackmane ⚜​

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

TAGS ERode Sir Les Paul November Witch Carolyn

The years had been cruel. That much he could tell.

Leonel stared sheepishly at Markus’ outstretched hand, a second longer than he should’ve. Then another too long.

As if a recently conjured Pilgrim, unknowing of human custom— or simply, one that’d never been offered a friendly hand to shake in a good long while. The fellowship— the togetherness— of something as simple as a handshake was long lost to him. The squeeze on his palm was only a shameful reminder of brotherhood’s he’d let fall to ruin. A reminder too, of something he had to rebuild. From the greyed, ashen remains of bridges long charred, sure.

But he wasn’t against staining his hands black trying to scoop up the crumbling pieces.

And he could gleam from that thin-lipped smile of his that Markus’ was in the process of rebuilding too. Leo returned it in kind, his dour expression loosening as he took Stonehart’s forearm out of soldier's custom in their handshake — “Odd,” — Humming, musing over their fourth member — “It’s not often that the church sends crusaders to the dungeon. We had better callings than competing with the stonemasons…In my time, at the very least.”

A Freudian slip, small, though one that he wouldn’t have the time to cover up for as another one would soon follow; his head swiveled at the sound of snapping fingers — “I…” — His mouth hung, staring wide-eyed at the girl. A cold, dreadful shiver crawling down his spine as recognition was started to flare in his mind as well — “Do not recall…’yapping’…at any ladies.”

‘Fucking hell, Leonel…’ — His claw cupped over the eyepatch, cold black steel flattening blonde bangs, head tilting down in shame. Grumbling, taking a moment to scramble his memory, dot her face out from whatever inn or alehouse they’d stumbled upon each other, in one of his many drunken blackouts. Coming out of reverie, of course, with absolutely nothing.

He could only hope he hadn’t embarrassed himself too much in front of her.

“But I do apologize if I have done so…” — He muttered, half-hoping she wouldn’t push it. Half-knowing he would fully deserve it if she did so.

His little reprieve from the shame, came in the form of just another headache. Leonel’s face hardened the moment he caught a glimpse of that white claw swiping the tent curtains aside, his lips stretching across as if it took the aged, grating grind of gears within his face to fully pull a crude grin. Sneering, frowning like a hyena baring teeth— he’d recognize a Whitetalon just off scent alone. Even past their mockery of a Black Lion’s claw, they had airs around them. Pruny, higher-and-mightier than thou.

Leonel hadn’t meet one that didn’t open their mouth to spew venom, squawking his ears off. This one in particular didn’t disappoint.

“Pray tell,” — He crossed his arms, scoffing when the doll-like girl of their bunch spoke plain and clear of their distaste for the paladin. Pausing to glance as the other one joined, having to clench his jaw not to let his amusement get the best of him — “This isn’t the young crusader you mentioned, is he?”

Kaelic’s biting remarks didn’t feel as much as a spear to the heart as all of the other one’s that came before it did. From used to be friends. Even ‘family’. Leo had heard it a thousand times before, and still had no rebuttal, little defense. Mostly because he agreed.

He was a stain. He would take the shame, unflinching, whenever it came.

“I’ve never strayed from the light, Whitetalon.” — But what he wouldn’t allow, is for his faith to be questioned. Not by someone still so wet behind the ears — “I’m no longer part of the church, but that doesn’t mean my sworn servitude to Espel has ended.”

The silence that followed, the glaring tension strung tight in the air, only served to punctuate his words. It remained until another set of hands broke into their tent — “A fifth?” — Leonel threw the words over his shoulder to Markus, too busy glaring at Kaelic with a perpetual frown even as their new member introduced herself.

He sighed, Head swiveling to shoot a glance over at the girl. Heleni was her name, and Heleni meant her; apparently — “Greetings…”

 

[Meredith]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—0930

Neha Djabani​

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

TAGS EmperorsChosen Merciless Medic Prizzy Kriyze Sir Les Paul

The preparation of the temple for the advent of dungeoneers that would flood its higher levels was no small feat, but it was one invisible to the fresh faces that would instead be awed by the sheer size of the dungeon.

The amount of human effort that went into the opening of the dungeon was undeniable. Trunks and barrels stuffed to the brim with goods–both local and imported–had been carried to the summit over the course of the last week. Stalls, temporary and permanent, were constructed far before that. While these were the work of independent entities, the Dungeoneer’s Guild had responsibilities of its own. The tents that sheltered the prospective adventurers from the burning light had to be pitched without pegs to hold them, and the movement of water at such a scale was a monumental task in and of itself. All of this was nearly irrelevant within the experience of traversing the temple’s steps. It was transitory, elevating–

It was the beginning of a new era.

The gathering at the summit was infectiously exciting, but Neha knew enough to be cautious around new dungeoneers. It wasn’t uncommon for adventurers to quit within the first ten floors, and every failed delve was time wasted, opportunities for experience and loot lost. Wipes were fully possible (especially in these early weeks) and the most common reason for them was a lack of ability to cooperate. It was her job to foster that cooperation, and really, to prevent any major harm if possible.

Besides this, she was highly aware that the party she was set to lead were wholly “in the dark”. There was no paladin or worshiper that would consent to cede to her authority, even if they espoused acceptance of her walking into the light. It would not be worth the hit to their reputation. This did not concern her. No–what concerned her was the knowledge that their party composition could paint a target on her group.

Two pact casters, one of which would use their magic in any combat. There was no hiding that, and she wouldn’t ask him to. The monk–Cassius–she expected to act with more tact amongst mixed company, and she had no intention of revealing him if he needn’t call on his patron. Neither of their files gave away much about their lives, but if her own was anything to go by, they weren’t often fully truthful anyway. Cole was local to Ardynport, and the monk professed to hail from a monastery. Pretty standard, but obviously incomplete.

Then the shadow-shifter, the illusionist. A stonemason. Not one of a name she recognized, but a mason nonetheless. They were often highly competitive with the church, but there needn’t be inherent animosity. A good pick to work with pact casters. This was an appointment she was more comfortable with: Cecelia might cause friction on the basis of faction, but her claimed history was likely to be accurate, and Neha had worked with masons before. She expected her to take well to the party.

Leander, at least, was unlikely to be a problem. Unlike pact casters, who tended to have a small graveyard in the closet, sorcerers were often educated from a young age within respectable families. Some sorcerer lineages were well-known, but Leander’s was a mystery to her. This was just as well–legacy could breed a dangerous kind of ego. Still, it fed into Neha’s feeling that she knew even less about this party than she had about any before.

And they were all Twice-Blessed, to boot.

Like most Dungeon Guides, Neha’s preparations had begun before dawn. The soft glow of the morning had quickly given birth to the sun, its body reflected in footpaths carved into the face of the plateau since the emergence of the dungeon. Her work was done over an hour before parties really started to gather, but she had intended to take a break–the bustling activity on the summit was always a sight to see. Neha had spent some time watching the crowd, sitting in the sun in front of the last meeting tent in the row closest to the stairs, but had since resorted to whittling at a talisman to pass the time.

There was little left to do but wait for the arrival of the dungeoneers.

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (Summit)
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—0935

Markus ⚜ Stonehart​

Lvl. 5 | Supporter-Paladin
Status Mildly frustrated, sincere
Spell Slots
Lvl. 1 6/6
Lvl. 2 3/3
Lvl. 3 1/1

TAGS Haze- ERode November Witch Carolyn

"His age belies his looks," Markus responded, spitting his own venom back at Kaelic. "Yet, not his behavior," he added, making no effort to hide his quarrels with the other Paladin in front of his party. He was human, after all. And, though he was a devoted man of Espel, there was an ocean of difference between a Paladin and a Saint.

"Oh, Markus, I must be forced to take that as a compliment. I fear you would freeze and stammer if I dared admit your words wounded me," Kaelic retorted, entirely sarcastic, smirking the most devious of grins throughout the entire exchange. In truth, it was hard for the man to know what he loved more: torturing man whose skill was formerly out of his reach or the delightful banter back and forth that the Church lacked in favor of their so-called tact.

Green eyes, vibrated even in the tent and without many traces of blue or grey to dilute their color. They darted through the tent, slicing through it with their sharpness, and right onto Leonel. "The light and love of Espel glows brightest in the church. Your current company will only prolong your absence from his true light," Kaelic told Leonel, pointedly still insulting the majority of the party around him.

He first looked over to the doll. He did not mention her name. "This one is entirely without the blessing of Espel. I feel no light within its metal form, just magic and poor opinions," he explained, but did not halt. Instead, he shifted over to Ayn right after. "You are heathen, but you at least ask the right questions. What is wrong with the two Paladins in your group? You should ask why your guide once could have handily removed me himself, yet in his current state could not at his best make me budge." Kaelic explained, not answering her question but at the least entertaining it by acknowledging the value it had.

"That is not for me to say, but..."

He finally paid some heed to Heleni. "You are perhaps the most unfortunate of this group. A young, beautiful Crusader placed onto a team destined for failure. You could become a Paladin if you honed your will. You, unlike the Blackmane runt, teem with potential and are a virgin canvas not yet ruined by a streak of black failure and spilled blood," he told her, announcing to the group as if she was the only one present that was even worth the air she breathed.

"I could save you, you know. I am a Guide myself and of rank in the Church. If you wish, I could ask for you to be reassigned to a more appropriate party. Perhaps even my own... I do lead a group entirely from the Church. You would not lack for the light of Espel, good company, or proper healing should you be wounded... I can do far more for you than Stonehart ever could," Kaelic offered, his words honeyed and sweet. Tantalizing like a trap, but not without their honesty. He did not promise anything untrue nor did he fail to mean what he said. Kaelic was earnest in everything he mentioned.

Markus finally interjected, scoffing at the last comment made by Kaelic. Though it was true the fallen Paladin was in a dark place, he remembered the years he stood over Kaelic - indomitable. Kaelic never earned his place over Markus nor had the Paladin ever officially won a duel against him. It honestly shameful, in a way, for Kaelic to be so bold and arrogant when any victory he ever attained was by default.

"Kaelic is indeed skilled and of rank," Markus said, electing to take the high road in this situation. Instead of a dogged battle of dialogue, he intended to settle this fiasco once and for all - before they entered the Dungeon, at least.

"Ayn, Kaelic was probably second only to myself in the Church as a dual-wielder. He even forfeit his talon for a second blade just to compete. You could learn much from him," Markus informed her, being honest in every regard. Somehow, his words didn't carry the arrogance as Kaelic. Instead, they were more matter-of-fact and almost complimentary.

"Heleni, Kaelic does not lie. He is also a Dungeon Guide of well-report and he leads only followers of Espel. If he is sincere with his invitation, I cannot compete with what he offers," Markus admitted, being more direct in the fact that Kaelic just plain had more resources.

"Leonel," Markus said, turning to the man more abruptly and making the same tension-filled eye contact he had upon their greeting, "I would understand if you would prefer a Guide of greater repute. I doubt Kaelic would ever invite you to his party, but I am sure the Church would offer... something.."

Then to Symphony. Markus knew not what to say to her in this context. He could at least respect her identity, but almost any Guide would be weary with her around. Constructs were generally distrusted more than fiend-loving Warlocks or escaped slaves. More so, they weren't a race loved by Espel. The man could only sigh.

"Honestly, you're probably stuck with me," he told her, his face more defeated than when he spoke directly to Leonel or broadly to the party earlier.

Story Choice!​

Leonel | Heleni | Ayn​

► Stay With Markus‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Leave with Kaelic

"But, for the rest of you, I would rather not delve into the Dungeon with those of weak will," he said, turning back to the other four. His tone shifted here. It was no longer venomous or that odd, matter-of-fact sincerity he used to half-compliment Kaelic. Instead, it was more like his original gruff, but not gravely voice. It was serious, it was heavy, it was that of a teacher or a mentor instilling a lesson. "If the drivel of a single Whitetalon is all it takes to make you question your situation, the Dungeon will have far harsher tests with much greater allure. You will only do me and yourself a favor by leaving now," he told them, truthful and sincere. It was of no loss to him, truly, if Kaelic poached some of his dungeoneers. There would always be more.

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (Summit)
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—0931

Leander 🗲 Cromwell​

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

TAGS Meredith Prizzy Kriyze Merciless Medic EmperorsChosen

Leander had been waiting for this day to come. The passion of youth burned so intensely in his heart that it shone through those carmine eyes. It burned, in fact, nearly as intense as his thighs. He knew full-well that the great stairway of the Amaric Temple would be a challenge and had spent the months of winter preparing, but none of it was enough. Instead, he elected to set out in the wee hours of the morning to make up for his own physique. Leander knew all too well from his days training with his tutors that he lacked the stamina of a true warrior.

There was a double-edged sword to this as his enthusiasm made it difficult to rest, let alone rest early for his early wake, but his overall youthful vigor was enough to make up for the difference.

His early start allowed him to reach the summit without absolutely exhausting himself, but to do so at his leisure. It might have earned him the odd side-eye from time to time, but more than once did Leander elect to walk off the stairway and into the flat greenery that was found on the edge of the temple every thirty feet. He had seen dozens if not hundreds of others pass him up in growing droves as the daylight peaked over the horizon, but only a handful like himself actually cared to take a look at what was on the side of the temple. In some places, there were trees, even. He also found an assortment of mushrooms, nests from birds, and all sorts of insects. More interestingly was that these little ecosystems changed at every level, though gradually.

Midway through his ascent, he found perhaps the most notable surprise. There came a point where flowers and bushes transitioned from the thick forestry one would expect from the undergrowth that surrounded the temple to more tropical plants, including sets of flowers Leander had not seen since his time in Seviloa. Simple flowers, but beautiful nonetheless. Soft, white petals that seemed almost thick as if made of down with a center point of yellow, perhaps orange at its core. When the sun reflected off them, they almost appeared pink. Some more so than others.

He saw this and his heart leapt with joy. He recalled these being planted in rows, groomed and gardened daily by the servants, in the courtyard he practiced in daily when he was home. They had a gentle, sweet smell that lingered, enough that it painted his memories of walking out with his tutors to practice. It was pleasant. It was soft. It was a different time. Reflecting back on it, there was a flicker of melancholy as he thought over the nostalgia. That was also before the death of his father and the contest between his brothers.

It left him with quite a few thoughts, like how did this temple have seasonal flowers from his homeland so far South. And, more so, how many plants were on this temple that shouldn't be there? Were there some from the far North? Or, even some from another continent?

He had no way of knowing. His immediately knowledge on botany simply didn't afford it.

What he did know how to do was an old custom from his homeland. The scent of these flowers was both pleasant and strong enough such that if a wreath was made of them, the wearer would radiate that scent for so long as they wore it and it would generally last for days. Leander spent some of his ample time harvesting these flowers to begin making a wreath for the rest of his ascent up the temple. At the rate he was going, he would have had to avoid lengthy stops and only test when he was winded. This way, at least his last pause would mean something.

He wasn't as winded as expected once he reached the summit, but he most certainly would need to work on it.

Not that he didn't get a whole second wind once the excitement hit him. He saw dungeoneers trading, groups forming, Guides waiting, stalls setup for them, and a few Guild Representatives he recognized. Adrenaline spiked, though not high, at the prospect he would actually be entering the temple. A place with nigh-infinite mana where magic itself not only reigned supreme, but could be pushed to never-before known limits. A truly elated smile shot across his face.

Then he saw her. Neha. It would have been nearly impossible to miss her had he simply been told of her race, but the sketch of her he was provided fit her perfectly. He had met so few demi-humans in the past, but a bat demi-human was especially rare. He couldn't help himself.

He darted over to her, interrupting her whittling, his voice teeming with childlike fervor, "You're so cooooool."

His mouth was half-agape as he continued pouring out questions. "Can you actually fly? Do your wings mess with your clothes?" he spouted, his cadence quick and excitement embarrassingly obvious.

"I've never met a bat demi-human before," he admitted, "but, now that I think about it, you have to be one of the most unique. If you can fly, I bet you have to stay in shape."

He had no shame. His curiosity came across as child-like innocence, which itself might at least be considered a positive over the arrogance it could have been.

 

[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

The day was finally nigh.

This was a momentous occasion for Cecelia, albeit one couldn't see as much from the look on her face. This was not as joyous an event for her as for what she assumed it was for others. Her family provided all the excitement in her stead. For Cecelia, this was just another day; another job. Though, within her did dwell a faint shimmer of eagerness. There were other dungeoneers within the stonemasons and they had taken time to make her privy to tips and advice. It was because of this that Cecelia knew that while human conflict wasn't the main objective within the dungeons, it did occur and especially within the lower levels.

Still, Cecelia nonetheless inwardly hoped that the bloodshed and sabotage she had grown accustomed to would be mostly reserved for whatever manner of creatures that dwell within the temple.

She marched monotonously up the steps as she procured the sketch of her party master from her pack. The woman was a demi-human, obviously, of the bat variety. Likely, the sketch was unnecessary, or so she presumed. Were there really that many of her kind? Demi-humans, certainly, but none Cecelia knew with such features. A fleeting thought wondered what the woman was like. All Cecelia knew was that she wasn't affiliated with the stonemasons, which brought another worry on the subject of conflict.

Certainly, there were other factions. Combat between veterans and rookies was one thing, but she also knew that inter-faction conflict could occur as well. A hint of anxiety welled within her chest. Cecelia was familiar with risk and danger, though she had very little in the way of research here. Not only that, she didn't have any allies, not really. There was her party, but who knew what hand fate would deal to her in that regard. It was at this point she broke from her thoughts to glance back briefly at the trail she took. Beautiful, if only she wasn't otherwise distracted.

As she reached the top of the stares, Cecelia exhaled through her nose. Her head tilted up just slightly to gaze upon the temple, her hood shielding her face from the rays of the sun. Her eyes then turned to scan the surroundings, peering through the crowds and groups of adventurers and merchants alike. Honestly, it likely would have been somewhat problematic locating the woman were it not for her, once again, plain features. Cecelia could see there was another already speaking to her, though she didn't recognize him.

Stowing the sketch in her pack, Cecelia approached them slowly. As she reached them, she gave a polite nod as she uncovered her head. "Madam Djabani," Cecelia spoke, her voice cool and distant, yet cordial. "I believe I am one of your charges. Cecelia Blake," She added, mostly directing the introduction to Neha. Her golden-brown eyes shot to Leander shortly. He looked about her age, presumably another member of the party. That meant they still were expecting a couple more at least in all likelihood. "...The... scout."

 

[November Witch]

Symphony


Status: Surprised & Annoyed.
Spell Slots: 1st lvl: 2
Location: Amaric Temple - Top
Interaction(s): Sir Les Paul ERode Carolyn Haze-

Symphony felt a hand on her left arm, and her head swiveled to see the other girl standing next to her, and somewhat echoing her own words towards the man. Ayn would feel a cool and hard material where she was touching Symphony, like a kind of metal or stone. If she really focused, she would also feel no beat of a heart pumping blood through the limb she held onto. Symphony was surprised someone had jumped in on her side so quickly. Nonetheless, she was grateful, and turned to face the sour tongued Espel devotee. However, she didn’t think the last part was necessary. This girl was only goading him on with this question. Who cares what the deal was with the others? He was the one who barged in and started all of this. Plus, it seemed like she didn’t know him. Would this girl just blindly trust the word of a stranger?

Her thoughts were taken away from this girl as another one showed up. Heleni was her name, and it seemed she was just as oblivious to social settings as Symphony was, if this was evidence of anything. She walked straight in with no care whatsoever. Well, at least not everyone here would jump into the drama happening. Symphony knew the more people in a situation like this, the more dangerous it could become.

Leonel and Marckus still had some words to throw in at this ‘Whitetalon.’ Who, in turn, spoke badly of Symphony. Though she only found it humorous. Poor opinions? She’d like to think her hundreds of thousands of years had wisened her to have opinions that were better than most. Certainly, better than some overzealous, egotistical Espel-following paladin.

“Isn’t your job to help others find Espel, and guide them along that path while being humble and righteous? Instead, here you are putting down someone who doesn’t know them.”

Symphony would tell him in a neutral tone. Though with it coming from her voice, it gave it an almost innocent tinge.

“In that case, let me teach you how to be the bigger person.”

She raised a hand in front of her mouth and cleared her throat. Something she never did, not having lungs and all, but had picked up the body language after spending so much time with people.

“I respectfully disagree and hope you can do your job better in the future.”

With that said, she would turn and take a seat a few feet away on a wooden stool which creaked under her weight. She’d face the group and continue to watch the drama unfold, without being a part of it now. She’d done her part. But if she was just going to be dismissed, there was no reason to try. She sighed. Humans truly were so fickle.

…

The stool then collapsed under her weight, sending her to the floor with a thud everyone could feel through the floor. There was certainly some weight behind that…

 

[Prizzy Kriyze]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—0932

Cassius "Cas" Vanne​

Level 1 | Monk
Ki Points 3/3
Spell Slots
Lvl. 1 2/2
Pact 1/1

TAGS Meredith Sir Les Paul Merciless Medic EmperorsChosen

The last two drops of water from a water skin stained the Amaric temple's top steps as Cas discreetly tossed it into the canopies on the second-last terrace. It mixed in with the sweat dripping from his hair, reflected as tiny drops of gold in the sunlight. He'd swiped the water skin off the belt of an aloof youngster he'd passed a good four thousand steps ago, and it'd come plenty in handy since he'd elected to forget his own. If that happened to mean the youngster wasn't making it to the top, well, he could afford less competition. He sighed to himself. Considering how he'd grown up working tirelessly day and night, it was almost embarrassing he'd break a sweat trekking up the pyramid. His Feathered stance and nigh non-existent packing proved to be his saving, as he now sat at the top of the temple and smiled with brimming enthusiasm at each fatigued soul passing him up into the stalled area.

And the view was beautiful. The city stretched out far below him, merging into the harbor before making way for the sea, spotted with islands, until it met the sun at the horizon. If this view would greet him each day, then the walk would be its own reward. As he stood up a cooling breeze shook his robes and reinvigorated his soul. He could feel the excitement bubbling through his veins, each and every capillary brimming with tingling expectation. Finally some actual market research, he thought to himself, and weaved past a few other dungeoneers on his way to the meeting tents.

He cringed visibly as he slipped past the market stalls. Exorbitant prices, even when demands was so high. Once again he praised himself for not having to rely on the more veteran dungeoneers' scams, and simultaneously understood the lucrative business opportunities he would have after gathering some experience of his own. Through the bustling of merchants and adventurers he saw his team leader already being greeted by what he could only assume was his would-be companions. Didn't look like much for the world, but beggars can't be choosers. Worst case, he could learn from their mistakes.

Neha, their leader, so to speak, was a peculiarly clad, tiny demi-human with wings. Next to her, an annoying youngster with clothing offensive to the senses seemed to gush and inquire about the intricacies of the nature of her species, and last to arrive was another tiny woman with aura so weak that Cas surmised she'd probably fade away into the backdrop if she stayed quiet long enough. All the same, Cas wore his best customer-service smile and appeared alongside the rest of them. He clapped his hands together and greeted them. "Good morning, everyone! Neha and... Cecilia, was it?" His hands gestured out towards them as he spoke. "I'm Cassius, or just Cas if you're feeling like a friend. Happy to make your acquaintance." He turned his face from the two of them and looked to the blue man group reject with the lance, who he hadn't heard introduce himself - at least from where Cas had been standing. He held out a hand in greeting, and kept his spirits high. "And you were?"

 

[ERode]

“Yeah, whatever,” Ayn said, waving off Leonel’s words, “You’ll probably keep doing it anyways, so don’t bother apologizing.”

She’d still be kicking him out in the morning anyways, and will still be hearing about him in the evening. Rowdy alehouses certainly weren’t places to meet men of distinction, after all. It would just be slightly more awkward, now that there was a chance to encounter one of her own (possibly temporary) party members. At least it wouldn’t be as awkward as what Heleni must be feeling. The blonde crusader (the female, not the male) stepped in with a refreshing directness through the brooding drama, shaking hands and being all around positive. Ayn nodded in approval at her attitude, but alas, even the presence of another could not stem the absolute vileness on display here.

As in, apparently there were three male Espel-worshippers here, and all of the guys must have been some kind of pervert! And somehow? The one who looked the most noble and flawless of them all turned out to be the biggest one! Like, wow, Ayn was actually flabbergasted. She was entirely disgusted! It sounded like Kaelic was actually just as old as Markus was, but while Markus at least kept his gaze all leery while his mouth spoke normal ass words, this Kaelic guy was appraising Heleni’s virginity and offering ‘far more’ than Markus could? She’s heard that line way too much at the Virgin Merrow. Dumb old men could never stop yapping about virgins.

“Ewwwwww.”

Honestly, Markus didn’t even need to talk all that much about Kaelic’s whole pros and cons. The ‘Paladin’ was already weird enough for marching into a Guide’s tent to start beef, and now he was poaching a girl half his age? Ayn shook her head rapidly at Markus.

“No way I’m joining that creeper,” she said, turning her nose up at the man. “Like, huh? That’s so weird, zooming in on the first ‘virgin, Espel-worshipping blonde’ who shows up! Seriously, Heleni, guy’s got more red flags than a…porcupine that rolled through a red-dress-selling shop?”

That metaphor kinda fell apart, but thankfully, Symphony breaking a stool (must be shoddily built) would hopefully serve as enough of a distraction from the less-than-stellar end of Ayn’s own rejection.

 

[Haze-]

LOCATION— Amaric Temple (Summit)
DATE— Early Summer
TIME— 0935 - Morning

⚜ Leonel Blackmane ⚜​

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

TAGS ERode Sir Les Paul November Witch Carolyn

“His true light?” — He parroted, the corners of his mouth twitching as if it were some involuntary tic. Struggling to keep themselves on a straight, narrow line. A beat, then two more, followed by a clawed digit tapping mindlessly on one of his armguards— Leo finally cracked a smile, one that wasn’t really a smile whatsoever. Understanding, and restraint, lurking in his sharpened glare.

Out of anything the Whitetalon had spat out, it was him talking about Espel’s blessing, as if they had hogged it up and monopolized for themselves, that had him teetering on the edge of shattering his composure. In a way, he knew Kaelic spoke the truth and had the right of speak it with pride. The light was at its brightest under the church’s sanctity, and that glimmer of Espel’s light only winked on, passed from shoulder to shoulder by those who kept that sanctity as it was.

As it should be.

He couldn’t speak on whether or not Espel shared his blessings equally, or if he picked favorites among his shields and spears, but all he knew is that Espel had turned an eye to his suffering, gave unto him a quest to bear on his own accord. And he’d be damned if some arrogant Whitetalon spat on whatever glint of light he still clung onto.

It was in the tenants of his oath. No matter if his light were dim, even if he had to dwell in the dungeon in poor company, he wouldn’t go crawling back to the church. Leowulf still had many things to answer for — “You didn’t come all this way, stood amidst stains, just looking for prospects, I hope?” — Leonel buffed out a breath through his nostrils, jaw clenched, somehow managing to soften the frown lines carved deep on his brow —“Your methods for recruitment are…questionable, I fear.”

The young paladin had a way with words, that much he’d demonstrated.

He stood statuesque, peering off into the space between Heleni and Kaelic, with a thousand-yard stare, arms still folded at the chest. Clearing his throat at Ayn’s metaphor. Shifting his feet at the tremor, sighing at the sound of the wooden stool giving behind him. Forcing the second-hand embarrassment behind a mask of nonchalance, a rolled shoulder.

It wasn’t until Markus addressed him that Leonel snapped back to life. His immediate response was a curt, thin-lipped smile, head hanging as he couldn’t help but scoff — “I bet they would…” — Something better than this, surely. But not something he’d be so shameless to willingly take. He was beyond the church’s kindness now.

Not even bothering to turn an eye to his guide, Leonel simply turned to take a seat next to the bundle of ‘Magic and poor opinions’, groaning into one of the stools — “May the blessings of the light go with you, Kaelic.” — He raised a black claw to his chest, turning the backhand to show the Black Lion’s brand to Kaelic, burnt in red-hot iron to the clawed gauntlet. It was a simple gesture, a modicum of respect shared between the mercs of Blackmane Manor as a send-off. From a branded Lion Knight to a Whitetalon that had given up its talon, it would’ve been akin to flipping each other off if one of them couldn’t show a brand of their own.

A vagabond lion showing its matted, rugged mane to some talonless raptor. Lord Blackmane would’ve been churning teeth with seething rage at the mere sight, along with the head of house Whitetalon, likely.

 

[Carolyn]

HELENI​

Tags: Sir Les Paul , Haze- , ERode , November Witch .

A confrontation over membership was not what Heleni expected. Neither were the compliments, inelegantly expressed admittedly, from Kaelic. The flaxen paladin verged on bad taste despite his evident prowess. But not everything that he said were falsehoods: Markus’ group save the youngest Ayn was a gloomy one. You didn’t need good eyes to pick up on the moodiness.

The crusader withdrew her hand disappointingly. Upon closer examination, there was a ring in her middle finger that was attached to a disc on her palm. Too bad no one had taken it. A bad show for future friends.

Heleni swayed on one foot and then the next in thought. “I’m flattered you think so highly of me, Kaelic. But my choice has already been made. No offense to your offer, of course. It’s just Stonehart’s imperfections are where I will learn best. Comfort is not a luxury for a crusader.”

Symphony breaking the stool brought Heleni to her aid. She crossed the distance between them in a flash. One step blurred into the next. The doll would feel a powerful grip on her left hand trying to pull her back up. She'd also feel a buzzing sensation in the interim.

“Goodness, are you fine?” Heleni asked. “Flesh or porcelain, a tumble like that is a nasty surprise.”

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (Summit)
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—0942

Markus ⚜ Stonehart​

Lvl. 5 | Supporter-Paladin
Status Mildly frustrated, sincere
Spell Slots
Lvl. 1 6/6
Lvl. 2 3/3
Lvl. 3 1/1

TAGS Haze- ERode November Witch Carolyn

Each member of his party made their response in sequence. Markus was silent. As respectful as he could be in regards to awaiting their answers. Unironically, Kaelic was much the same. Not that the two mirrored each other. Kaelic had a soft smile present the entire time, only tilting his head slightly between each response to acknowledge the person giving it. The slight curl to his eyebrows and lack of any marked emotional response made him quite distance from the situation. Markus, on the other hand, hard harsher, colder features. Half-squinted eyes with his cheeks terse, slightly pressed lips, an occasional mild flare to his nostril. He didn't have a flair for theatrics, but he did wear his frustration his sleeve.

The doll clearly did not understand what it meant to be a Paladin. Had she described a Priest, a Bishop, or even just a deacon, she would have been quite right. Paladins and Crusaders, on the other hand, served considerably different functions. Not a priest could not enter combat, but that Crusaders often fought in the name of Espel and against his enemies; Paladins almost always served in their own way, depending on their oath.

At the very least, what she did think of Espel was mostly positive. Not that Kaelic was helping. Ayn meanwhile had the entirely wrong idea. She interpreted the flowery language of the church to be some lascivious fixation. Perhaps in the taverns and brothels of the ports, that might be true. Within the church, it was commonplace and quite sincere. Given himself and Leonel, two canvases irrevocably marred, comparing Heleni in such a way was apt.

Ayn just needed more time in the chapel and less time in the tavern, but Markus wasn't ready for that discussion yet.

Leonel spat some venom back at Kaelic. Not that the other Paladin seemed to mind. In fact, his old rival only seemed that much more entertained by the display Leonel put on. That soft smile turned larger and smug at the idea of him attempting to recruit from this party. No, Leonel couldn't be more wrong. Kaelic was trying to save them, at least in his own mind. In fact, Leonel would soon find himself with a sour taste left in his mouth. That stinging, acid flavor that one felt under their tongue, as if they had bit too quickly and too deeply into a fresh lemon. It was a relatively new, but known feeling to the Paladin. It was the insight of Espel.

Their god knew all that his worshippers did within the light. This granted certain Paladins of certain oaths subtle boons of knowledge, should their god possess it. Here, the boon was that the spiteful words Leonel gave to Kaelic were unnecessary. With oath of Vengeance against the Church, Leonel could see into the lies of his fellow followers. There were no lies from Kaelic. Apparently, as smarmy of a bastard as he was, he had genuinely good reason to be concerned for those that followed Markus. That was enough to absolve him in the eyes of Espel.

That was enough to tell Leonel that, with his absolution, there was no need to seek vengeance upon him.

Finally, what broke the silence from Kaelic was Heleni, though not in the way any single individual might have expected. Kaelic first scoffed at the girl, then allowed his once bright eyes to sharpen. Not quite a glare, but far from the soft gaze he offered just a moment prior. "You think he will teach you best?" Kaelic questioned, yet again allowing his simple word choice to cut down Markus. While he meant the best for the others, sans the construct, his spite for Markus was true and real.

"He doesn't even teach—"

Kaelic was cut short. Whatever incredulous, insulting comment that he had coming, Markus had finally had enough. He cut him off. "—Enough," Markus proclaimed, that single word carrying enough weight to be felt as a threat.

"The Archbishop has deemed my methods appropriate. You may dislike the order of my lessons, but you will honor the judgement of our betters," Markus interjected, slicing through whatever arrogant point Kaelic was about to make like Ayn through the training mats of her Southern dojo.

Kaelic stared at Markus for a moment, his face first showing a hue of frustration before it transitioned to a more stoic acceptance. He inhaled.

"So be it," Kaelic responded, hardly missing a beat. He didn't let Markus dominate the conversation long. Still, he couldn't stand the thought of another promising group of Twice-Blessed being wasted because of some stupid tradition held by one of Markus' former parties.

"We serve the same God. I shan't let you nor your party die in the Proving Grounds, Kaelic told them, a final offer before he turned his back on them. In truth, a final kindness. Markus may have been his better at a time, but it was the hubris of his party that put Markus in the situation he was now. Kaelic and much of the church felt he was a risk, even if his methods were crudely effective. For too long did Kaelic ride on the curtails of his former claim to being a Sovereign of the Dungeon.

The Paladin had already began walking out. "Only one of us can make that promise," he added, a final shot at Markus.

Markus, however, let him leave. Despite the rage that boiled inside him at the truths Kaelic spilled, they were just that: truths. Even if they didn't paint the full picture for his party, it was honestly best they didn't. As much as Markus wished his past would remain hidden, there was some value in the transparency a man like Kaelic offered. Besides, it kept him humble. If Kaelic was right about anything, it was the danger of hubris.

The first individual that Markus approached once Kaelic had left was Symphony. He didn't have much to say, but he didn't want to leave the stool she was on in that broken state either. It was rude. He knelt down and picked up the pieces. Luckily, a four-legged stool often broke at one of the legs. This made it easy for him to piece back together, then cast Mending with his hands covering the joint to bring back together permanently.

"Can you learn new Spells?" Markus asked, only looking over to Symphony once to ask this in the process of fixing the stool. He didn't wait for an answer. They had ground to cover.

Their direction was the doors to the Dungeon. It was out the tent, up through the last market before the door, a guard check that Markus got them through, then finally looming over the massive inset doors with a stairway down to the first floor. There weren't really turns; the stairs, though not as wide as those to the top of the temple, were still wide enough for plenty to walk down and through the massive double-doors.

This descent was arguably far more interesting than the ascent to it summit. The moment those doors were passed and the Dungeoneers could only see the tan, stone walls via the lights of various, equidistance torches that flickered but did not dance as they were not true fire, they also felt the trademark sensation of a Dungeon. The overwhelming presence of mana. Symphony, a construct with no flesh, could even feel the mana-rich air. The air of the dungeon was even more rich and dense with magical energy than the ley line that her true home was by. This sensation, in fact, created an un-scratchable itch what must have felt like a thousand memories. Memories of her home, memories of her history, memories of times she was in other dungeons, memories of the closest thing to a family she knew. This sensation was far from foreign to her. In a way, it was homely.

Regardless, it did not matter the source of one's power. Ayn, the sword wielder with Ki, would even feel the surge that came from this mana-rich air. It was unlike her own spiritual energy, but it was invigorating nonetheless. Comparable the surge she might have had from twice-brewed tea back in her temple (caffeine rush), though while it might have made a heart flutter, it was in a much safer way. Heleni and Leonel would feel these same sensations. It was entirely different than the light of Espel. It did not possess the will or urges that his divine presence did, but it was undeniable nonetheless. Magic was in their hands more so than ever for the first time in their lives. Even Markus did not feel the drain from casting his Mending spell earlier.

This was what it meant to be in the Dungeon. This was the sensation that caught the attention so many. This was why, in part, such an addicting and exciting lifestyle.

"I'm sure you're feeling it now," Markus commented, followed by a quick 'hmph' in amusement. He, too, remembered his first time feeling the mana of the Dungeon. Simpler times. He wasn't even with the party he became famous in, then. He was still green. It might have a blink to Symphony, but it was a lifetime ago to him - it felt.

"I'd love to say you get to used to it, but you kind'a don't. It just gets easier to manage," he explained to them, still guiding them until reaching the very bottom of the stairs. This was the darkest location due to the transition from the stairs to the stone of the first floor.

"Next on the agenda is what we call the Trading Post," he continued, now giving them this information once they reached a full-stop. He waited for the entire group to get to the base floor.

"Remember this order: right, right, left, right. That will always take you from the stairs to the trading post and the reserve will take you back," Markus explained, then lifted his hand to point down the row of torches that illuminated the temple walls, right up until it reached a split where one could go either left or right. These upper floors were quite labyrinthian.

"Once we get there, you'll understand. There's an infirmary and sections for different factions, but it's mostly used to exchange goods. As early Dungeoneers, you'll be trading a lot of you get for basic provisions just to extend your stay. Luckily, I don't think any of you have the specific goal of financial profit, else I'd be breaking your heart here telling you that it'll be a long while before you see your first Ardynian Daric," Markus told them, again, just providing them with the basic information about the Dungeon, but also trying to temper their expectations. He had seen it too many times that Dungeoneers would be frustrated or disappointed at their first delve only to then become complacent or quit. In other words, a liability or a waste of time.

"Any questions before we move on?" he asked, actually quite genuine in his tone. Despite his gruff exterior and sometimes cold tone, there was an actual love of teaching.

 

[November Witch]

Symphony
Status: Surprised & Confused
Location: Amaric Temple - 1st floor
Interaction(s): Sir Les Paul Carolyn ERode Haze-

Symphony wasn’t hurt at all, and simply decided to sit there upon the floor. She was going to return to her thoughts and attempt to push the current bickering to the wayside and tune it out. But, surprisingly, the most recent occupant of the tent, Heleni, approached her quickly and attempted to help Symphony to her feet, only for the doll to not budge. It was at this time, she also felt a vibration in the hand that was being pulled on. There was somesort of metallic object in Heleni’s hand it seems. She was definitely confused. Did she not see what Symphony was? She wouldn’t get hurt from such a small fall. Well, the sentiment was nice, she supposed. Normally people wouldn’t really do anything in this situation. So, it was nice to have a change of pace, and for someone to worry about her, even if it was unwarranted.

“I’m fine. I’m used to it. I’ll just sit here until we leave.”

The girl replied, looking up at Heleni who still held onto her hand. With her free hand, she would set the pieces of the stool to one side of her. Moments later, Marckus approached, only to fix the stool. She would have attempted to fix it herself if she had both hands free. But Heleni had been occupying one of them up until Marckus approached. It seemed he was moving with purpose, so she decided to take Heleni’s help and stand up now.

“Of course.”

She replied to Marckus, and followed everyone out of the tent, to the double doors, and down the stairs. Then the deja vu hit her hard. This all felt familiar. She felt like she’d done this many times before, but her mind told her she hadn’t. She’d been surrounded by people, a shared presence, but her memories held no knowledge of these feelings. It was as if her memories were incorporeal. Mist like. She reached out and as soon as she was able to touch them, they dissipated into nothing but smoke. The mana she felt around her was also familiar. She couldn’t remember where or how she’d felt this much of it, because it too would fade away as soon as she attempted to focus on it. But Marckus was right, when saying how one doesn’t get used to it. Those words were familiar. As if someone had said them in her past, or maybe even Symphony herself.

Symphony looked down at her right open palm for a moment, then closed it.

“This is all so familiar…”

She mumbled. Her voice had a tinge of many emotions within it. Mixed with all kinds, but she was unsure why. For some reason she felt emotionally heavy. As if feeling every emotion at once in a deep way. Though her gaze was far off as she tried to make sense of her emotions and this intense feeling of deja vu. She had mostly tuned out Marckus, though not on purpose. Things were just so odd at the moment, she didn’t realize she was focusing on herself more than her surroundings. Near the back of the group, she was simply on autopilot and followed where the others went. While she caught Marckus’ question, she remained silent. She didn’t have any questions from what she did manage to hear.

 

[ERode]

Ayn kinda had the feeling that maybe she had read Kaelic wrong. For someone who had gotten rejected by basically everyone present, despite having even better looks than Leonel over there, the paladin certainly took everything to stride. He basically let all the insults roll off his shoulder like water, and if Ayn herself wasn't biased against him from his egregiously aggressive entrance, she may have even thought of it as admirable! Especially when he still made it clear that despite his evident disdain for almost all who were present, Kaelic would still offer them a hand if they were in trouble.

Could Ayn say the same if such a hypothetical position was reversed?

"Well," the young woman spoke, placing her hands on her hips, "I don't serve the same God, or any God at all, but I won't let your party die in the Proving Grounds either. Whoever your party is." Looking at Kaelic, then at Markus and Leonel and Heleni, she suspected that even if she didn't know who the Whitetalon was guiding, it wouldn't be very hard to guess. But that was enough of that. There was a dungeon to explore!

And what a dungeon it was.

The last time Ayn felt so jittery and energized was when she accidentally mixed cooking wine with snake wine, and ended up feeling feverishly hyperactive, and according to Markus, this was just going to be a constant thing? The warrior furrowed her brows, then took in a deep breath. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling, to be certain. It was even enjoyable, in a way different from exotic alcohols meant to arouse one's meridians. But it was abnormal too, an altered state of being. She exhaled, then drew in a deeper breath, wrapping up all that sensation before letting it pass through her. The gooseflesh on her forearms disappeared, and her heartbeat settled back to its regular pace. Ah, 'normality'. That was always the best state of things.

"Mm? Symphony, you're gonna be left behind!" Ayn peeked out from around Leonel. "Let the armored guy take the back."

Because sure, she may be cold to the touch and also weirdly hard to the touch, but the big, blond brute was still the one who was the best-armored out of them all. Setting aside the fact that right now, whatever was behind them was probably the safest place within the temple. Markus did bring up a period for questions though, so Ayn herself was happy to chirp in and ask, "So, uh, are we going to be staying here for multiple days then, even if we're just exploring the surface floors? I kinda pay rent for a room in the city...should I stop that? Or can I just come here every morning and leave every evening like a regular shift?"

 

[Merciless Medic]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—0932

Cole Forrest​

Lvl. 1 | Warlock
Status: Annoyed, Easy-Going & Callous
Spell Slots
Lvl. 1 2/2
Pact 1/1

TAGS EmperorsChosen Prizzy Kriyze Sir Les Paul Meredith

Pain. That’s all Cole felt in his legs. His thighs barely wanted to move, his calves felt like lead. Even though his specific subrace of demi-human were good for marching, this was asinine. Honestly, who thought this many stairs was a good idea? Whoever - or whatever - made these steps should get their ankles torn.

With a groan, he finally made it to the top, his eyes becoming blind to the beautiful striations once the lactic acid began to settle more within his muscles. At least the periodic shade and the cooler air helped the ascent, but it didn’t stop Cole’s disdain for this.

“Tradition, my ass…” He grumbled, hissing through his teeth.

When he finally got up to the top step, his shoulders slumped as he stumbled forward. He looked over his clothes and items. He had his satchel slung over his shoulder that had survival equipment inside. His belt had his special dagger. Over his shoulders was a cloak, opened to show his leather armor over padded clothing. A large bear tooth hung from his necklace.

He looked over the horizon. It was a good idea to come up here early so he can rest his legs, periodically massaging and stretching them. Eventually, the morning became more active as merchants opened up their businesses and more dungeoneers scaled the temple. With a huff, he got up, half-heartedly going to whoever he needed to go to. He honestly had no clue, he was told to meet another Demi-Human. He forgot her name. Neha? All he knew was that she was a bat.

He eventually found her, but with three other people it seemed. She had a knife and something she was working on in her hands. An excited mage was getting in her face, asking a myriad of questions about her abilities. A woman in dark clothes and a hood over her features was also hanging around the bat woman. The young man there was introducing himself with what Cole saw was a fake smile. He missed the introductions if there were any, but he did catch Cassius’s name. He sauntered over, wiping away the exhaustion on his expression with an easy smirk, his tail softly swaying and his wolf ears standing tall and proud, his smirk showing off a rather sharp canine. “Ahhh, good to see I’ll have some good company~. Name’s Cole, thank you for asking.” He grinned at Cassius, knowing full well he wasn’t asked but didn’t care, also uncaring if he interrupted Leander’s introduction.

He moved over to Leander, resting against a barrel that was nearby. “Generally, it’s not a good idea to be asking rather personal questions towards strangers in general, but I getcha. Bat Demi-Humans are rather rare…” His gaze fell on Neha, sizing her up, seeing if she was really fit for this whole guiding thing she was supposed to be doing for them.

Because Cecelia felt like she was barely there, he paid her no heed. Instead, he rested himself against the barrel with a lazy posture, feigning comfortability.

 

[Haze-]

LOCATION— Amaric Temple (Summit)
DATE— Early Summer
TIME— 0942 - Morning

⚜ Leonel Blackmane ⚜​

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

TAGS ERode Sir Les Paul November Witch Carolyn

Leonel tipped his head at the feeling, an acid searing loud between his gums, narrowing his eyes as he savored it. Brushing a thumb across his chin, his one eye peering from between the blond mess at Kaelic, with a question glinting inside it, heightened awareness slashing his pupils to a slit. Wordlessly glaring. He looked, he felt, reaching out to see the tipping points of Kaelic’s scale. His heart was light as a feather, Espel’s glow splayed between his chest. Like a true paladin.

It confirmed a few things. One he already knew from before Kaelic had opened his mouth— that he was a stuck-up prick. Two, that he was some stuck-up prick with good intentions. Pure, but an asshole nonetheless. Leonel had allowed his prejudice as a Lion Knight warp his mind, bring him to the wrong conclusions.

If it wasn’t his poor judgement, his bruised pride would be the one to undo him. He thought he’d set things such as vainglory to the wayside since he started serving Espel as a Paladin — “Likewise…” — All he could do was hang his head in shame as Kaelic would promise to offer them a hand ad hoc in the proving grounds.

Leo sat there, frowning at his own shadow downcasted at the floor. What a paladin he was.

How could some belligerent, pathetic drunk like himself pass on judgement in the church accordingly? He had not a clue in the world. But he wouldn’t doubt the road, uneven and grey as it looked. He’d swore it to Espel himself after all — “Forward, then…” — He rose from the stool, sheepishly trudging along as the rest moved onto the maw of the temple.

Seven minutes of walk followed, and he was with his head down the entire way, counting the steps.

Inside, he felt himself breathing as if it where his first huff of clean, pure air in a world smoldered by fumes. Something about it just felt…right. Like fate had walked him here with every step he took since he was born, led by an invisible string from the very beginning. The second-blessed were meant for the magic of the dungeon, just as he’d heard.

Leonel slid three fingers from under the eyepatch, feeling that blasted black dagger branding his eye like it were finally speaking tongues to him, warmer than never. Passing a hand on the walls, utterly absorbed, then quickly retracting it the moment Ayn reminded him that she was right behind him. Watching him act like a toddler.

He sighed, trying to play it off, shifting away when he rounded him to speak to Symphony — “Hm?”— Eventually turned back to look down at her, puzzled for a couple of seconds before sighing and nodding. Anchoring his feet to let Ayn pass him — “And what might I be guarding us from…? The wind…?” — His voice trailed off with the echoing halls, murmuring to himself while the conversation carried on.

Wondering, did Ayn send him to the back of the formation because she didn’t trust Symphony to be a proper shield? — ’She does look rather thin on the bones…’ — Admittedly. Even if she was made out of metal.

“These ‘Proving Grounds’,” — He started, taking on after Ayn’s question — “What are we to expect from them?”

 

[Carolyn]

HELENI​

Tags: Sir Les Paul , Haze- , ERode , November Witch .

“That’s a lamentable start to things. Wouldn’t be good if he holds a grudge over this,” Heleni said with a rueful flourish. But she wasn’t that perturbed to see Kaelic walk away altogether. His retreat was the waddle of a spurred suitor; and comedy oozed unintentionally out of such men. “I do hope he’ll come around to it.”

Then Heleni looked back at Symphony, for she still had care in her touch. “And you're too used to being rough on yourself, my dear.” She took the initiative to brush dust off Symphony’s black hair. “Falling and sitting on a parched floor shouldn’t happen to someone cute as a button.”

With that said, she followed behind Markus. She was eager enough to be the second in line. The rejuvenating descent only added to it. The dungeon was nearly at hand in all the artificial glow of the torches. Despite the fire, the analogy she reached for her experience was being submerged in an ocean of mana.

The sensation was a double-sided blade of wonder and distrust. The flow of the arcane was primeval—untamed and wild. Only used to the influence of her lord before, she was almost drowning in the sudden change. The talk between Ayn and Leonel only registered as background noise in the meanwhile.

"Feeling it is an understatement," she said as the tour paused. "I'll never get how mages avoid being sick of this stuff."

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (Summit)
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—0944

Markus ⚜ Stonehart​

Lvl. 5 | Supporter-Paladin
Status Neutral, focused
Spell Slots
Lvl. 1 6/6
Lvl. 2 3/3
Lvl. 3 1/1

TAGS Haze- ERode November Witch Carolyn

Markus let his tired eyes fall onto each member of the party as they spoke. Not that he was actually exhausted, but he lacked a certain drive that was more present when Kaelic was antagonizing them. It the same type of distance, being lost in thought, that was present at times in Leonel. Such was the fate of brooding men.

The only reaction within the group that he didn't favor, or more accurately had some distaste for, was actually from Heleni. It seemed she took those grand gestures at face value and thought of Kaelic as a lecher. For that bit, he didn't care much about. It was more the fact that she, a Crusader, didn't see through the ruse. That naivete was something that would have to be hammered out of her in the dungeon like hot steel in a forge. Imperfections like that had a negative effect on lifespan in the lower floors of the Dungeon.

Near the end, only two of the party members seemed to pose any questions. The doll, still a wild card with her ambitions, and Heleni, who focused more so on the magic in the air. Markus did so hope that he wasn't already seeing signs of bothersome habits.

Before continuing forth, Markus let out a low groan, though it wasn't much of pain and more of just a deep, extended "mmm" from a more guttural place. He was thinking over the questions.

He acknowledge Ayn by directly looking at her once he provided an answer. A more respectful way than his tendency to broadly talk to the group. "That... is a good question, Ayn," he told her, though his slight delay did have the potential impart at least a moment of brief concern.

"Different parties have different rules set by their Dungeon Guide. When you move on from the Dungeon Guide system, you'll have a Party Leader that makes these decisions. Sometimes they're elected, sometimes they're set by whatever Faction you join. In our case, we'll be delving into the evening, but I want us out before dark. You will have tomorrow free to make whatever arrangements you want within Ardynport and my goal for the next delve is at least three days and two nights. I want you to plan accordingly. If you present your Dungeon crest to an inn or tavern, most will allow you to reserve a room and pay when you return. It is well understood that most Dungeoneers don't get paid until after their delve, so you'll find a lot of business have began taking that into account," Markus explained, giving the group a more than fair amount of explanation. His were somewhat deceiving in their disinterest; he yet again came across as an excellent educator.

Then back over to Leonel, who received the same treatment. "Another good question, if a bit bland," he said, a half-smile appearing on his lips. A bit of good-natured heckling.

"The first four floors are called the Secured Floors. There are groups around nearly every corner to help if you get overwhelmed. That said, you probably won't. The Dungeon can only make creatures so quickly and the frequency goes down the higher you are. The most common creatures are large rats - a bit tougher than your average sewer rat. There are sometimes bats, toxic spores, and living vines, but they rarely get to mature. After the fourth floor is the Proving Grounds. There are no dedicated guards and only patrols in certain sections. Creatures often get to grow in number and evolve. Rat Packs might have an alpha leading it, vines turn into mossmen, toxic spores become living mushrooms. The lower you go, the more intense it is. To give you an idea, our beloved Doll could have quite easily made it through the first four floors alone and perhaps struggled through the fifth, but I would wager a half-a-year's salary that she would have died on the sixth or seventh floor if she were alone. The spike in danger is both high and unforgiving. What you should expect is to be quickly humbled by large groups of individually unimpressive creatures," told him, though made sure yet again his explanation would provide useful insight to the entire Party. He also happened to call out the doll for her attempt at going it alone. She didn't make it far enough to realize the harsh reality that death was a significant possibility down there.

Markus turned around to start leading them down the halls, guiding them in the order he first explained to them. It was the way to a large chamber used for the Trading Post.

Before that, though, he elected to go over why he had such an emphasis on magic, earlier. "Speaking about you, Symphony, I asked you a question, earlier. The reason for it is that I push anyone who can - specifically Spellswords - to learn any magic they feasibly can from whoever they can. I only know some basics, but the great thing about basics is that no matter what path you walk, a Spellsword can normally learn them. In your case, that Spell I used to fix the stool - Mending - might be useful for you and others to learn. Since normal healing spells and bandages won't help you, supplementing our skill set is our best option," he told her, providing insight to his pointed question earlier.

"This applies to all of you, really. As long as the magic you wield is not heretical to Espel, such shadow magic, our Lord does not mind if we learn it. We can still pursue his teachings through the Church while learning the points of magic," he pointed out, aiming that statement specifically at Leonel and Heleni.

"And, if you are ever disarmed, it can prove quite useful for your freehand to wield a ball of fire," he tacked on, that comment specifically for Ayn and her dual-wielding nature.

With that, the group had made it to the Trading Post. It as a slight surprise in that the Trading Post happened to actually be larger than the settlements on the summit of the temple. In part because there was more surface area as there was no sun dial to avoid, but also because the chamber itself was nearly the site of the summit itself and less ornate. It just afforded plenty of space to fill. outpost itself was divided up pretty clearly, too. The entire East side of it was dedicated to training and the West half - which they entered through - was a lot of housing. There were large tents and some stake barriers between them for the different factions, a large infirmary tent that it seemed some new dungeoneers were already at, and cooking stations near a central fire that had food. The very most South area was the only place with guards or reinforcements. That was the Dungeon Guild tent.

"We'll come back through here on our way out, but there are some points to know. The infirmary is always free, but the food is not. Avoid the Free Company tents unless you are invited, the Church tents will always offer a prayer if you lack a Paladin or Priest to do so before a delve, and unless you have a lover with the Freemasons, it's best to avoid their tent, too. The Ballard Trading Company is no longer allowed a tent and I shouldn't have to explain why," he told them, "but, the Dungeon Guild tent is quite useful. I'll show you later, but they have magical lockboxes with the same storage enchantment as my bags. You can drop off goods in them to extend delves or hold onto items until their value increases at the market. Even people within factions often still use the service, but it's free so long as you are in the Guide program."

With that, he briefly pointed out the different locations he meant and then walked through the trading area. Now this half of the area was interesting. Merchants and peddlers of all kinds, almost all associated with a Faction, buying and selling goods in accordance to their own price ranges and a master board set every hour at an exchange, representing their value compared to an Ardynian Daric. It was genuinely a smaller version of the market in Ardynport. The difference was that the prices were much lower. In fact, they had people selling healing potions and alchemist goods for much lower than topside. Those stalls were genuinely nothing but scams. Beyond that, there were some blacksmiths and tailored, so services were provided, but this was the area of trade. Real coin could be made given the lower prices here and how they could sell topside. Yet, there were some outliers in prices far above what they should be. Higher level healing potions, certain component materials, metals even. One outstanding, yet absurdly priced metal, in fact: Orichalcum.

"The long and short of it here is that the trade is based around need. There is no gold here. The Daric won't actually buy you anything. Only the trade of items based on set values on the board for the hour. I'm not exactly keen on what sets the prices for demand outside the Dungeon, but inside, it is a combination of whatever people are paying the traveling merchants for up against the necessities of delving. Potions, repair tokens, food, so on and so forth. You can make a killing here or you could trade away your whole earnings. When you want to cash out your goods, you will talk to one of the Guild Merchants to cut a deal for their payment of shipping it, then you pick your Darics at the Guild later. Your payment will be based on the exchange rate at the moment your contract is signed," he told them, though for the first time, his explanation was hardly comprehensive. Then again, why would it be? He was a Paladin and clearly this was a complicated, ever-shifting market.

The next of the trading post was to the East. Which made sense, they entered West.

Finally, they were on to the next floor through a seemingly identical set of stairs. There was no change to the environment of the Dungeon. It wasn't until some walking through tunnels that they finally ran into something. Of all things, it was a living vine attempting to strangle a rather large rat, easily larger than some of the small dogs owned by nobles.

"Who wants it?" Markus asked, his eyebrow raised once he turned back to the party of four.