Fantasy ┌ spellsword ┘ Amaric Temple

[November Witch]

Symphony


Status: Eager & Confused
Location: Amaric Temple - 2ndfloor
Interaction(s): Sir Les Paul ERode Haze- Carolyn

Symphony’s mind wasn’t just on the wispy memories and inexplicable feelings she was experiencing. But she also wondered about Heleni's words. Was she really? Not the ‘cute as a button’ part. It didn’t much bother her how others perceived her. But the ‘too used to being rough on yourself’ part. Well her physical body could handle simple things like falling a few feet onto her butt. Hmm, maybe rough had a different definition to Heleni or people in general. What Heleni seemed to be insisting on was practicing being more gentle. Maybe she could try it at some point. But in her mind, a dungeon wasn’t the place to start being gentle at.

“I won’t.”

Symphony replied as the other girl who had yet to say her name, seemed worried about Symphony. Specifically about her getting left behind or lost. It was odd. Now this girl was worrying. Was Symphony really doing things to cause the two women to worry? She didn’t want to make them worry. Perhaps she could find a way to prove herself. Then maybe the girls could spend more time worrying about their own safety over hers. She thought it was unnecessary for Leonel to need to change his position for her sake. There was nothing to worry about, as she was fine. But she didn’t argue as he took up the rear.

“I think she wants you to guard me from getting lost.”

Symphony chimed in. It seemed more like Ayn wanted Leonel to make sure Symphony didn’t get left behind or walk too slowly. But that was just the doll’s guess. However, as Markus started to speak about the dungeon more in depth, it again felt like she’d heard this somewhere before. Glimpses of a dungeon came to her, but it wasn’t this one. The memories were fleeting and sparse. But perhaps that’s why it all felt familiar. She had been in one before. Hmm… Did this mean she would have muscle memory when it came to traps? Well, she’d have to find out. Or, preferably not, but if it came down to it… Symphony didn’t mind being used as an example by Markus, and gave no reaction to it. She was half absorbing what Markus said, and half thinking about what else she could be familiar with as they passed through the trading portion of the outpost. Only to see it. What she had set out looking for. What she did all the stupid signing up and jumping through hoops for. Someone was there, offering Orichalcum. She wandered a few steps away from the group, getting a good look at the raw chunk of metal. But she knew it wasn’t enough to fully fix her. In fact, it was just a small chunk. Plus, she had nothing to give for it. So she rejoined the group after a few moments, equal parts dejected and relieved. Saddened that it was right there in front of her and she couldn’t get her hands on it. But happy to know it really was here. She’d just have to find it.

Symphony’s step would quicken without her realizing. It seemed that her body, excited by the sight of the ore she’d been looking for, was now eager to venture forth and find it within the dungeon. By the time they reached the bottom of the second set of stairs she was shoulder to shoulder with Markus in the front. Though as everyone stopped seeing the monsters before them, Symphony didn’t hesitate. She didn’t stop, and there was no break in her stride. She went to walk past them without paying them a second thought. The writhing mass of vines to her right seemed content with the rat. But as Symphony went to pass them as she neared and got the closest to them as she passed by, one would lash out, and wrap around her right arm. Then a second, and a third around her right leg. But Symphony didn’t seem bothered at all. She just kept walking as if nothing happened. The vines became taught, then shook in their efforts to hold on, then eventually they were ripped as Symphony got far enough away, exceeding their length. She’d stop and turn around, wondering why the group hadn’t followed, and wait there for them to catch up as she pulled off the dead vines wrapped around her arm and leg.

 

[ERode]

“And what might I be guarding us from…? The wind…?”

“Huh?” Ayn snapped back. “It’s ladies first for a reason. What, do you walk on the right side of the road when you’re with a woman as well?”

Not that she actually knew why people did any of that, of course. She just read it in books or watched it in person. Leonel didn’t need to know that though. The girl continued on, as Markus addressed her directly. Dungeon etiquette, now that wasn’t something that they covered in the books. With the next delve being a two-nighter, she’d definitely have to let the boss know that she’d be officially quitting then. Probably won’t be able to sleep in the stables for free after that. Or get to stick around in the Virgin Merrow without ordering anything to drink.

Hm, she may actually miss that place, huh?

Ayn folded her arms, physical chewing on a stray strand of hair as she mentally chewed over everything else that their Guide told them about. So Symphony (the doll girl whose name Ayn definitely didn’t know until right this moment where Markus called her out) probably wasn’t actually a fleshy human, but what did that even mean if she could still die and all? And if Floor 6 or 7 was super dangerous already, did her brother actually go missing somewhere past the 40th Floor or more? And while magic had always interested her, for what child wouldn’t be excited over stuff like flying and throwing fireballs and brainwashing populations, it still felt like a weird kind of diversion for her.

“I mean, if I had a backup plan for when I get disarmed, wouldn’t that just make me more likely to get disarmed?” The martial artist left that question in the air as the Trading Post was reached and the tour continued…but honestly, all Ayn marked down in her head was the location of the Dungeon Guild tent. Being too stingy or concerned with your money was the work of a merchant, not of a warrior, after all. Money flowed most freely to those who let it flow freely.

Oh, but that piece of ore…

She caught the princess-doll’s eye as Symphony returned from the group. “Yeah, that’s cool, isn’t it? Can’t believe they’d have raw Orichalum just out in the open like that! Usually people’d take it and immediately forge it into armor and weapons!”

Father had an Orichalum greataxe, after all. He had been able to cleave ships before, but after that had been gifted to him for his military service, he had been able to cleave the tides. If Zeal had continued upon his own path of mastery, then in another ten years, Father would have had his greataxe reforged into a two-handed greatsword, for his son to inherit.

It was nice to reminiscence.

Especially because Symphony basically just completely ignored Ayn’s words and beelined for the front of the group, apparently extra-motivated to start delving after seeing that obscene price tag. What could a girl do, alas?

Probably just follow after, really.

Symphony cleared the path through the vines, and Ayn followed immediately afterwards, slipping past the writhing stumps that were torn away by the doll’s carefree jaunt. One blade slipped out of its scabbard, a quick draw thrust to slice through vine and into the large rat’s throat, before she skipped away from the blood spray. Making it to the other side, Ayn gestured towards Markus, holding a length of vine to clean her sword with.

“For living vines, are they something we’re supposed to uproot? Set on fire? Or is it like a harvesting sort of thing, where we just, uh…give it a haircut?”

 

[Haze-]

LOCATION— Amaric Temple (Summit)
DATE— Early Summer
TIME— 0945 - Morning

⚜ Leonel Blackmane ⚜​

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

TAGS ERode Sir Les Paul November Witch Carolyn

“On the…right side of the road…?” — Leo froze with a puzzled frown on his face as Ayn barked back, head almost lolling to one side like a dog. About as confused as Ayn pretended not to be when it came down to the etiquettes of a gentleman. He was a farmhand, turned soldier, then man of cloth and sword. He hadn’t a clue of what the couth of a polished man was, didn’t care to learn the suave, politesse of someone so refined either. It was something he had missed over the countless menial lessons, table etiquette and proper reading, that his father’s lackeys had so dearly tried to beat him over the head with to prepare him for the political side of things.

He’d never been with a woman at all, actually.

Leonel scoffed, trying to play it off as if the gesture had been directed at Markus when he turned to jest at his question. In reality, he just found it funny that Ayn had nailed him right on the head. ‘A drunkard yapping at all the ladies without bedding them.’ Funny how he fit all those labels, technicalities sake — “I’ll be sure to pose more thought-provoking questions next time.”— Leonel heckled back, crossed his arms and hung his head to listen to Markus’ explanation, shooting a cursory glance at Symphony the moment she caught a stray mid-spiel.

‘Not so thin-boned, then, hm…?’ — He mused, still lost in train of thought. Scrunching up his nose, feeling the eyepatch shift from the motion, thinking about his mark. From what Markus explained, it sounded like a binary thing above anything else. The dungeon was its own microcosm, ecosystems locked away behind hurdles and doors, each trickier and heavier than the last— struggle and reward. The dungeon delvers were only there as tertiary agents to raze the land clean off its goods. Same as miners plunged their picks into the strip, or a hunter tracked its prey.

The more experienced miner, with better lungs and stronger arms, gets to strip the cave a depth lower than the rest, in return, they get a bigger salary. Likewise, a knowledgeable hunter gets to know where the big game is, and how to take them down.

In that case, what does an elite Dungeon Delver get? How far does a snake such as Leowulf make it? Floor 30? 40? 50? 100?

How wide did Leonel’s mark have to grow before he caught up? How many liters did he have to bleed—?

“…?”— He was caught out of reverie, only when he had to force himself to a halt not to bump into Symphony and Ayn — “Orichalcum…?”— Not even realizing that they’d made it into the trading post. Leonel chest heaved, stilling out a breath through his nostrils as he glanced sheepishly at the rare metal, and the wonder in the doll’s eyes.

‘So this is where you spend your days, brother?’ — A world of trade. Opportunity. Struggle — ‘How fitting.’ — His claw curled to a fist at his side, brow furrowing.

“Don’t be getting lost now.”— He told Symphony, sighing as they began to move again. There was no use in thinking how long it’d take to catch up, not if he hadn’t even taken the first step down into the depths yet.

“Do ranchers learn water spells hoping that their stables catch fire?” — He asked Ayn rhetorically, knowing full well that an emergency measure didn’t work however she thought they did — “He means it as in— what’s your extension if something took those two blades? — I believe. Your fists? Your magic? A hidden weapon? It’s not about knowing that you’ll be disarmed and being prepared for it…it’s about not being caught disarmed at all, no matter what they take.” — Leonel chimed in, bringing up his claw and forming a fickle wisp of fire between the fingers to show in example. It was his instinct as the prior leader of a team kicking in. He just had to go and run his mouth, give his piece. As unwise or obvious as the ‘correction’ may have been.

It was when the writhing of vines and the squealing of a rat sounded off that those tongues of fire in his hands warmed up to a full-fledged fire ball. He raised a brow as Markus’ glare fell upon the tangled mess of green-roots and rat, posing the question at them as if he were throwing them a bone.

Uproot? Set on fire? Leo did all of the above (haircuts aside), digging the ball of flame into the vine and breaking it against his palm, then twisting to grab on and tear it out of the wall. Giving the squirming, charred mess in his claw a final deadly squeeze for good measure before flicking the thing to the ground.

“I assume these ‘mossmen’ are a rarity on the first floors only because of how much of an easy picking these vines are, all the way up here at the entrance…”— He was, again, muttering for the sake of muttering, practically answering himself.

Doing the equivalent to menial weather talk. For dungeon delvers, that is.

 

[Meredith]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple Summit
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—0933

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 Dungeon Guide was not made to wait for long.

The first to arrive was their young sorcerer, but not by a significant margin. He announced his presence immediately and excitedly, although for a moment Neha assumed he was simply a passer-by. It wasn’t uncommon for those unfamiliar with Ardynport’s beastfolk¹ population to be intrigued by her. Lips pursing in mild annoyance, she glanced at him from her position on the ground, but as he came to a stop in front of her the bat realized he was in fact one of her dungeoneers.

It made sense that the first of a group that arrived early would be excited, but his enthusiasm bore down on her with a force that rivaled the gale winds over the sea. It was a wellspring of genuine interest that she had little want to stifle (as if one woman could stop a flood!), but one that took a long moment to process, his words blurring into each other as he asked questions without any sense of pause.

Glancing back down, Neha wiggled her knife to free it from the long groove she had only halfway finished, stowing the blade in its holster and wrapping the string of the unfinished talisman about its handle. This took a few short seconds, and the silence was pointed, but she pushed herself off the ground as soon as the action was finished. Obviously, performatively appraising Leander–looking him fully up and down before finally meeting his eyes–she grinned, sharp teeth glinting white under the blazing sun.

“Ah… yes, I can fly, and my clothes are made to accommodate that.” Her head tilted, almost like that of a curious animal, but her attention snapped instead to the next to approach the group: Cecilia Blake, the mason. She certainly looked the part, and her words gave the same impression of her upbringing that Neha had expected–though those of her order were not always so polite. A finger raised as if in objection, her smile widening before it disappeared with her words–

“I believe you’re on my list…” The bat glanced at the clipboard balancing precariously on top of her bag, but she did not grab it to look. “...yes, the scout. It’s good to meet you both for the first time, hopefully of many–”

Her voice faded as the monk joined the group with his greetings, but this was not to say that Cassius’ interjection was unwelcome. The less she had to say before everyone was present, the less she would have to repeat, and Neha preferred it that way. He also started off their introductions–

–and the fourth was not far behind him.

The way that Cole moved into the conversation between Cassius and Leander gave her pause, but she disregarded this as a nervous response. Part of her job as a Dungeon Guide was to keep tabs on potential conflict within the party, and her very first impressions told her that Cassius and Cole may have some early spats (if for no other reason because they both wore their confidence on their sleeves), but that she’d have to keep a keen eye on Cecelia’s interactions with her peers. The girl had hardly looked at Leander, which was a concern only second to the chiding that Cole engaged in on her behalf. While it wasn’t necessarily unfriendly, she loathed to see a party already picking at each other before even darkening the door of the dungeon.

“Rare indeed.” Her voice was firm, but not angry or spiteful, charged or self-protected. It was simply an acknowledgement that Cole had spoken before she took her turn. She surveyed the group, hands on hips, before she continued. The eye contact she forced was piercing–not unfriendly, exactly, but obviously critical. “Not to interrupt your introductions–you've all arrived delightfully early– but if you’ve any questions before we arrive at the temple gates, it would be prompt to ask them while we take a few minutes to chat.”

^1.“Beastfolk” is a (typically derogatory) term for demihumans that is not endorsed by the Dungeoneer’s Guild and most other respectable institutions in Ardynport, but has some place in the common vernacular, particularly among demihumans. It is much more commonly used in the rural provinces to the North.

 

[Sir Les Paul]

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

Leander 🗲 Cromwell​

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

TAGS Meredith Prizzy Kriyze Merciless Medic EmperorsChosen

In quick succession, Leander had quite a few things to reply to. Luckily, one stood above the rest if only because he extended his hand to do so.

He grinned at the introduction from Cassius. Something struck him as slightly off, but only in the faintest of ways. The noble spent his youth surrounded by two-faced politicians trying to garner favor for one brother or the other. There was always the faintest of paranoia within him. The thing was, Cassius was good. Slick, sly, charismatic. If there was some alternate agenda, Leander couldn't pick it up. That odd, tickling feeling that might even just be paranoia was wrote off as just that. A little anxiety in meeting new people. Other Spellswords, at that.

The grin he had was of genuine excitement. It took him but a second to quell his initial concern and genuinely embrace the greeting from Cassius in full. His hand met that of the Monk for a brief exchange. Cassius could probably tell a lot from his hand. He had spent some time at sea, it was defined from his training with the weapons, but ultimately, nothing like his own. It was soft. Softer than that of the average soldier or farmhand. Enough so that it was likely quite obvious that the spear Leander carried wasn't actually his primary weapon. Of course, what the monk drew from that brief exchange would be entirely up to him and how much he cared to soak in.

Once he withdrew his hand, he let out an excited exhale from his nose, as if withholding a snort or controlling a chuckle.

"I did forget to introduce myself, didn't I?" he replied, a rhetorical question if ever one was heard.

He didn't answer Cole. Not yet.

"The name is Leander Cromwell. I spent a few years as the Whitestone Consortium* before I decided to come here," he told them, following his introduction with the briefest of background.

He then balanced his spear on the edge of his foot, up his thigh, and between his forearm and bicep so that he could free his hand. His management of the spear didn't seem novice at all, in fact, quite the opposite. He was fairly graceful with it, keeping its head away from anyone nearby despite the goal of freeing his hand. All for the explicit purpose of showing off, of course. Mana spiked in the air. While the amount wasn't impressive, the immediate intensity of it was. That was the nature of lightning magic, though. Leander conjured a small bolt of electricity, arcing it from his right hand to his left. An absolute waste of mana if not for the fact they were about to go into the Dungeon. A point of note given that affinity was also known for being quite demanding.

This act conveyed both a fair amount about his magic and himself. He took great pride in it and didn't find the demonstration wasteful. That little spark was more intense than one might expect from a cantrip, but it was short-lived. Much like the very spark in his eyes that lit up the moment he debuted his own magical talent. If it seemed like the life force of their scout would just fade away, Leander seemed like his came to life the moment mana stirred within him. Of note, too, Neha might sense an odd familiarity in the young man. The source of his magic, or at least his affinity, flowed in his blood, and it wasn't that far distant from the creatures of the planes she connected to.

"Storm Sorcerer extraordinaire. I came to grow my magic," he added, offering up his role and ambition all in one short quip.

The confidence then deflated once his display of magic faded.

"And... I am sorry if my questions were out of line," he admitted, only now addressing the comment Cole made. Somewhat ashamed, only recognizing how abrupt he was in retrospect.

"I also don't know what else to ask," he added, "I'm just excited for the ambient mana of the Dungeon."

*The Whitestone Consortium is a magical college in the Borosi Empire to the South. It's fairly well-known, so there's a good chance most characters have at least heard of it in passing.

 

[Carolyn]

HELENI​

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

Accumulating to the dungeon, Heleni brought out a notebook and pen from her satchel. So much was being transferred that memory alone was a faulty instrument to rely upon. She wrote down the pertinent information while navigating the surroundings. Her handwriting was basic and swift. Much of her mind was still focused on what was ahead of her.

“Worry not on my account, Mr. Stonehart. My teacher was clear on the frontiers of heresy.” Heleni was sensitive to the divide between devotion to Espel and the practice of magic. You could never be careless since a wrong step would enrage the god who vouchsafed them his light. “I’ll find the balance for a Twice-Blessed.”

As for the trading post, the portion between the east and west reminded her of a lesser Dungeon Square in physical description. The latter had demarcations for different companies and warnings about who to affiliate with as well.

“You’d be surprised how many options there are outside of the sword, Ayn,” Heleni chimed after turning her attention toward the yellow and green pair. She put away her notebook to see with undivided eyes. “It’s good to be aware of them just in case. And if you’re thinking that far, Leonel, I dare say you’d be a good party leader in due course.”

What she dared not to presume was the material Symphony coveted. Heleni knew steel on an amateurish level. Being outside of that, Orichalcum was rare enough to be fantastical. She didn’t expand on the comments made by others.

The stairs and tunnels that followed were a quiet affair for her. She did lose her place behind Markus to Symphony. It wasn’t a competition so Heleni settled in third. Her other party members were keen enough to dispatch the rat and vines already. Mindful not to step on blood and burnt plant life, Heleni walked over to the other side.

“Please don’t make it a habit of blithely crossing over danger,” she said to Symphony. “I’m sure this dungeon has surprises that can pierce even your tough exterior. I can mend flesh, but I haven’t the faintest clue how to help you if that were to happen.”

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (2nd floor)
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—0947

Markus ⚜ Stonehart​

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

TAGS Haze- ERode November Witch Carolyn

His eye twitched as he watched Symphony waltz down the corridor without a care in the world. That all but confirmed it; she was wildly different than the last construct he met. And, not in a good way.

If left to her own devices, she most assuredly would have gotten herself killed. That wasn't a thought Markus wanted to carry with them as they descended.

Which was an unfortunate turn of events given that the conversations prior to the faux pas were actually quite insightful. Ayn seemed to let her youthful naiveite shine through. She knew of Orichalcum, but apparently didn't know how difficult it was to forge given her belief it was something one would immediately have crafted. He wasn't sure where this thought that being prepared to be disarmed made it more likely, but he suspected it was something drilled into her by some tutor at some point. It would need unlearned. Her question about how to actually deal with the vines was valid. Leonel tried to answer the question posed by Ayn then asked his own. Heleni seemed to say all the right things at all the right times. Too perfect of a pupil. Markus had seen her type break first plenty.

And, the Dungeon did plenty of breaking.

But, Heleni was undeniably correct in her suggestion to Symphony. She could not go on so unaware. Her own disregard for her wellbeing could easily lead to harm or even death for her whole party. This was a problem to nip in the bud immediately. It was the priority to respond to above all else.

"Take not another step," Markus commanded, not quite allowing the full breadth of his frustration to bleed through, but unable to hide it in its entirety.

"Symphony, I won't pretend that I know how you work in the slightest, but I will tell you how you won't within the walls of this Dungeon," he continued, stern and assertive.

His bright eyes narrowed in on her and he stepped forward, side-stepping Heleni and following her avoidance of the blood-stains on the stone floor.

"You are a walking suit of armor. Before you even reach the lowest floors, there are creatures both alone and in number than can tear through plate and mail. If you cannot assess your environment, you will die. If you try to proceed alone, you will die. If you ignore what is dangerous to your party, but not yourself, you will find yourself stuck in a floor you cannot survive alone. Worse, if you get yourself killed, you put your entire party at greater danger being a man down," he explained, his voice as hard and lifeless as the very metal that the doll was made from. Stalwart, immovable, as if his words were simply law written into unyielding stone.

"This is not a request as Heleni so made it. You - and everyone in this party - will pay attention to every single threat in this Dungeon, big or small. There will come a time when Dungeoneers walk briskly through these floors just to get to the lower ones, but even then, you cannot be negligent to your surroundings," he told her - told them, really - as a stark warning, if only because of his emphasize on it. "If anyone cannot handle that requirement, I will gladly take you back topside," he added, punctuating his point with the finality he felt necessary. These early creatures might have been weak, but allowing seeds of complacency to be planted this early would only allow them to grow into weeds of death later.

 

[November Witch]

Symphony

Status: Confused
Location: Amaric Temple - 2ndfloor
Interaction(s): Sir Les Paul Carolyn ERode Haze-

The girl with black hair followed up with Symphony, seemingly seeing her fascination with Orichalcum.

“Or, once upon a time, me.”

She added when the girl listed out all the things it was used to craft apparently. It was interesting to see how the others dealt with the problem as they each crossed the hazard area. The black haired girl simply walked past what was left of the vines and dispatched the rat in one swift, elegant motion. Leonel finished the wriggling nubs off easily, leaving nothing for Marckus or Heleni to do. Speaking of Heleni, she would speak to Symphony as she rejoined them, and Symphony would simply brush off her words for the most part.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about fixing me. I can figure that out myself.”

She told the girl, not bothering to comment on the first part. It was just a vine. It wouldn’t kill her. But then Marckus came upon the group and spoke to her once more. She wondered why his tone was the way it was. She wasn’t moving either way, so why tell her to not move? Wasn’t that the whole point right now? To keep going and get a feeling for the dungeon? Humans were confusing sometimes… Her amber eyes watched him curiously, her expression neutral and showing no changes as he went on, as if he was talking to an inanimate doll. She waited for him to finish talking before responding with a few simple words.

“I know.”

She held his gaze, still as nonchalant as ever.

“I thought rookie dungeoneers would be eager to show off their prowess and fight something. I was just saving it for them. Besides, if someone needs help fighting either of those creatures,”

Her gaze flicked behind Marckus, towards the charred remains of the vine and the still twitching, bleeding out rat.

“then they shouldn’t be down here.”

Her gaze would return to the man who towered over her, her tone of voice also neutral, void of emotion. If anything, there may have been a hint of exasperation. But she understood the purpose of his words. He didn’t know her experience either, so she could forgive him for this. He was simply being careful. She would do the same thing if there was a construct doing this who she didn’t know the age of. But she knew her limits, and she was aware those around her wouldn’t be.

“I understand the purpose of your words, and what you’re trying to convey. So I hope the others take the words to heart at least, because they’re wasted on me. I think I’ve done this before, and I know my limits. If it makes you more comfortable though, I have no problem returning to the surface and finding another group or dungeon.”

Actually, she did have a problem with it. But if this group was going to be a pain to get along with, or constantly be against her, finding another group or dungeon altogether would likely be a better idea. But she hoped it wouldn't come to that. At least this scolding meant their guide was competent. The jury was still out on the others though...

 

[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

It didn't take long for the remnants to arrive. Just as she had found her way quite easy, it seemed Neha served as a beacon for the other members of the party.

A young man was next to arrive, her eyes drawn to him as he clapped. He had short, kempt hair and a pretty face. He spoke familiarly, albeit not so much as Leander. Whereas Leander's energy and speech was akin to a puppy, Cassius's seemed more deliberate. Perhaps she was simply overanalyzing things. A force of habit. Nonetheless, Cecelia gave a polite nod of her head in acknowledgement. "You as well, Ser Cassius."

The introductions were then intruded upon by another demi-human; a wolf seemingly. This one most certainly was not akin to a puppy. He carried a smirk and commented on Neha's rarity, as well as Leander's overly curious nature. Similarly to Cole's sentiment, she didn't see a reason to pay him much mind. She wasn't what one would call a socialite.

Leander introduced himself finally, revealing that he was an alumni of the Whitemouth Consortium and very obviously held an affinity for lightning magics. Her eyes watched the spark with measured interest, though her expression hardly shifted to all but the most observant. He was simply here to grow his magic, a common enough reason, or so Cecelia had gathered.

Their guide didn't seem to take the inquiries poorly however. Cecelia watched her mannerisms perhaps more closely than the others. She was calm, almost nonchalant, however it seemed to belie a level of observation that was likely necessary for a guide. Though, Cecelia felt no need to comment on it, or in general. She mostly stood there, like a wallflower without a wall, her eyes smoothly glancing from person to person as they spoke until Neha invited questions.

While not one to initiate small talk, purposeful conversation she held no reservations with beginning. "A few," She said calmly. "Namely, what should we expect on the lower floors? What manner of threats? What form of traps are typical? I have some experience with discerning them, however I doubt the ones I have seen are very similar to those in the temple," She listed, one after another albeit with brief pauses in between so that her questions sounded less like an avalanche and more of organized inquiries.

The rogue's eyes then turned towards the others of the group. "...And, if I may be so forward, I would know of what you all can do as well," Cecelia added matter of factly. It would do well to know the roles of those within the party so that they could establish a proper composition and strategy for engagements. "...Ser Leander aside, given he has already made his affinity for lightning and a spear known."

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (5th floor)
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—1041

Markus ⚜ Stonehart​

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

TAGS Haze- ERode November Witch Carolyn

Markus had informed the party he had no intention on interfering with the fight. Or, in other words, no intention of helping. While perhaps coming off as rude, this wasn't an uncommon mindset from Dungeon Guides. Some Guides thought it best to lead by example, taking an active part of each fight and taking the leadership role on more directly. This would most closely mimic how parties would later work. However, there were alternate teaching methods that had the Guide watch and assess, assist in indirect ways, or offer verbal leadership. There was no one correct way, though there often was friction between the practitioners of the different methods. Kaelic proved that not so long ago.

He made this distinction more well-known upon entering the Fifth Floor. This was the first level of the Proving Grounds. Up until now, the most dangerous creature the group had ran into was a single overgrown rat that, unlike the first one they encountered, was able to bite through and devour the vines within the walls. At some point, the tables had turned in the cycle of life. Even then, though, the creature was fairly easy to dispatch. The difference between slaughtering it and a normal rat was the difference between a regular swing of the sword and Ayn using Skim the Surface. A little more finesse and the creature met its end.

Markus did assure them that the Dungeon wasn't always this barren, and that made sense. Rat corpses, dead vines, and a few other oddities were left in the wake of other Dungeoneers. This was a busy time, after all. Experienced delvers that knew the way and could handle the creatures could make it to the Proving Grounds in half an hour, give or take, with good stride. It took this group well over an hour to do the same. Not that he made it out to be a problem, just that learning to navigate the labyrinthian halls whilst remaining aware of the lesser threats took some time. He expounded on this with a story of how he knew a young axe-wielding berserker that lost a leg to a rat bite he received on the third floor. Infection, of all things.

The extended time did allow for more conversation. Exchanges of ideas and education on various topics that had been brought up previously.

Orichalcum, for instance. Markus knew of the metal, alongside many others. He even had a whittling knife made of an alloy of the the metal so that he could enhance it while woodworking. Even then, it was an interesting metal that was almost never fully refined, and for good reason. Pure Orichalcum was very hard and brittle, like ceramic dishes. It's pure form was also creamy-white in color with a metallic sheen that created a weird look, as if someone had polished a glazed pot. It was actually much better known for its qualities and shape as an alloy, mixed with copper. In that form, it was known as "Magegold" and had all sorts of uses due to its conduction of mana.

Beyond that, though, Markus didn't know much more. He had no idea how the ore was refined, why it looked so dark, or how it was mixed after being refined. There were a few smiths in Ardynport, particularly jewelers, known for working with Orichalcum. It wasn't a popular metal as it was softer and heavier than many other comparable ones, meaning it only had a niche with magic.

He also finally found time to address the comment Ayn made. He made his stance on the topic pretty clear. If there was force, opponent, skill, or anything similar that would disarm you, it would likely do so whether or not one took the time to train a cantrip or with another piece of equipment. Plain and simple, raw skill could only go so far. It was fine to specialize, but being well-rounded prevented one from becoming a liability on a team when their specialty either wasn't in use or was hampered. He also went as far as explaining that there were magical traps that would disarm and even teleport them if they were triggered, so unless Ayn had a magical means to prevent that, there may be a time where she would have to make due without a sword.

He didn't target Ayn, though. At least, not in the same way he did Symphony. Markus was a wellspring of knowledge and he shared it freely. There was even a brief exchange regarding the church. While he and Leonel hadn't the best experiences with the Holy Order, Heleni had yet to encounter such friction. Markus knew better than to infringe on that innocence. She would either see in time or she would be one of the lucky ones not to see the dark underside of the order. The whole time, though, the man never made his oath clear. He was devout to Espel, but as Leonel would know, devotion came in many - sometimes surprising - forms. What Markus did tell them was that he could not use offensive holy magic nor could he harm another being.

Edit Besides the point of it not pertaining to some of the group, Markus had more practical information to pass on anyway after the church. Ayn had asked how to deal with the vines, but most importantly, essentially if there was anything to harvest. The actual answer was deceiving complex. At the surface level, there really was no point in looting any of the immediate creatures. Even if the rat furs might have been valuable, the sheer number of them made them a madly ineffective use of time. The vines and plant life were slightly different stories. In the first four floors, the plants never lived long enough to grow anything worthwhile. They were teeming with magic, though, so those with some type of spell or druidcraft could easily convert them into something simple if needed, though again, this was normally of lower value.

Markus explained that everything had a value, but above all, their time was precious and they were competing with hundreds of others simultaneously. For something to be worth taking out of the dungeon or processing, like skinning, it had to be unique, or at least rare. Rats numbered in the thousands. Vines were everywhere. But, in the proving grounds, some rats might have unique pelts or a magical affinity. Those might be worth grabbing for a new delver, if they had the skill. Vines often actually had rare flowers or even fruit if left undisturbed, so an herbalist could be of value. Mossmen, aggressive plant humanoids, rarely had anything of value in their corpse, but they were predators with a type of nest that often had treasures of some kind. Essentially, everything they ran into had value of some kind that would increase as they went deeper, and perhaps even be hidden behind some method of processing or a skill. What truly mattered was figuring out when it was worth it to a delver to even bother handling a corpse. Many of the most advanced parties left behind so many resources that scavengers followed them as they descended.

Of course, those questions did somewhat drown out the more basic one Ayn had asked. Markus of course directly answered her question. Vines didn't need to be turned to ash so long as they were separated from their roots. They would inevitably regrow anyway, so trying to burn them down was a waste unless it just so happened to be the easiest way of dealing with them. This was just another one of the many useful purposes of Firebolt. Slash, crush, burn, freeze - it didn't matter. The same applied to the rodents unless they specifically found one they wanted to skin. The Dungeon would be full of all sorts of decisions that would effect both the safety and profit of the party. Experience would help considerably, as would picking up secondary skills such as skinning or botany. They would all be faced with plenty of hard decisions without a clear answer and potentially harsh consequences.

Which is in part why he elected not to engage in the upcoming fight. There was more to it than him being unable to harm creatures. There was a certain learning experience that could only be attained via going into battle without a plan or without defined roles. Markus believed most lessons were learned best firsthand. A leader, in his mind, shouldn't try to avoid the lessons, no matter how harsh they were. Instead, it was best to teach them early, before the stakes were high.

On their way to the fifth floor, the party not only would get to notice the transition from sandstone walls of tan and white to those of blue and grey, but another party. Six total, two injured. They told them they had to retreat from the path South. What they described was a large chamber almost entirely taken by the creeping vines that were only in small patches in the floors above. They might have grown stronger and longer with bigger patches, but nothing like consuming a whole room. Worse was that the vines had already evolved, taking the shape of several mossmen that were hunting rats. Apparently, they would also hunt delvers. Several of the mossmen were clad in armor and wielding weapons. Something that didn't normally occur until the at least the eighth floor.

This wasn't entirely improbable. Only veteran delvers went in over the winter and the south path wasn't the straightest one to the sixth floor. It meant that direction had probably been overlooked for months and this was just the natural consequence of that.

Much like before, Markus stopped the group some ways off from the mouth of the stairway.

"I would say you four have a decision to make," Markus announced.

"I'll give you some insight as to what will likely happen. Those six will go back to the Trading Post and report their encounter. The Guild will then issue a quest either to a more experienced party or on a board to kill those mossmen. However... if you do it beforehand, you are entitle to at least part of that reward," Markus explained, dry but factual as he had been through most of their delve thus far. He stood near the front of the party, looking back now with his eyes that seemed more natural in the odd blue light that illuminated the dungeon from the walls. These floors were in fact much darker than the ones above.

Story Choice!​

Leonel | Heleni | Ayn | Symphony​

► Fight the [Armed] Mossmen‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Avoid the Mossmen for weaker foes

"Those mossmen are probably much stronger than anything else on this floor and I don't doubt some delvers will want the challenge or the reward. Three of you are spellswords and Symphony is comparable. The general of thumb is that a spellsword is worth two regular delvers. A team of six failed, so the question is would a team of eight inexperienced delvers be sufficient? I won't be engaging," he posed, outlining there situation. There was a sense of urgency in that this opportunity may not last long, however, there was also a chance that they might be able to clear it, which would mean high-tailing it out within just an hour of their first delve. Immediately, it seemed, the group was faced with a tough decision.

 

[November Witch]

Symphony

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

Symphony, as they continued to descend, would mostly keep to herself, unless spoken to, to which she would answer. However, due to Marckus’ seeming lack of trust or confidence in her, she would make sure she wasn’t the first one into a fight anymore. If he wanted her to take her time and pay attention to each and every detail, she would. Mostly making sure to watch the areas the others wouldn’t. Those being the ceiling and their flanks, or hallways adjacent to where they were fighting. Not that she didn’t fight, but she made sure to be aware and cautious of the unexpected. When did have to square off against something, she used her physical strength and endurance to pummel it into submission. These creatures were low enough level she could simply rely on her physical prowess, and not have to worry about using her thread.

As they continued further into the labyrinth, they came upon a group of adventurers who gave them some valuable information. It seemed a group of monsters had gotten the best of them. It seemed surprising to her, but even more so that Marckus offered the option of fighting them. Symphony couldn’t care less honestly. She was here to get deeper and find the precious metal of hers. But she was well aware it would take quite some time to get to that depth. Not somewhere they’d get anywhere in the near future. All this to mean that she didn’t care about the details or nuances of the present. Whether they fought them or not didn’t matter to her. It’s not like they would drop anything special enough to trade for Orichalcum anyways.

“Due to the fact that there could be a tie, and that I don’t care what we do, I’ll count myself out.”

The doll spoke up.

“Now with three votes, we won’t end up needing a tiebreaker. What do you three propose?”

 

[ERode]

To all that Markus said about the possibility of dungeon-things, whether physical or magical, disarming her, Ayn ended up just nodding along, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. It was a trained reflex, in the end. Old people didn’t want backtalk, and she doubted that he’d be happy about her just saying that she’d parry it.

Anyways, she’d just carry more swords if it came down to it.

…though she supposed that there was something inside of her that thought the idea of magic that summoned or projected swords was very cool.

Such flights of fancy would have to wait, however, once the fifth floor neared and things became real. A party of six delvers, forced to retreat from an armored cadre of mossmen. A chamber turned into a proper nest, promising a grand challenge for the fledgling party of Twice-Blessed (and Symphony, whom Ayn still really wasn’t certain the identity of, but there hadn’t yet been a good time to ask because it’s kinda awkward to talk to someone who pushed so hard for being a loner). The swordswoman ran her fingers against the grainy sandstone, a pensive look upon her amber eyes. Those small critters were one thing, but armored, intelligent opponents who didn’t even bleed? That was basically the combination that completely invalidated the originating form of the Surpassing Strike School.

No. If this was enough to scare her off, how could she advance deeper still?

The young woman slapped her cheeks firmly, rousing up her fighting spirit, then turned to Markus with a steady glance.

“So, since you’re not engaging, that means that we don’t need to share the rewards with you, right?” Before he could answer, she spun on her heels to face the others. “Let’s do it! We’re not gonna learn whether this is a good party to stay in if all we do is squash small giant rats. And if they have armor and weapons, it’s like, the dead can’t rest while monsters are using their stuff for evil, so that’s twice the reason for us to go at it.”

There was logic too, of course. Symphony had proven herself capable of just walking through the vines, while Leonel and Heleni were both from Espel. Since Leo could set things on fire, surely Heleni could too! And Ayn herself? If she exerted herself, she was confident that she could obliterate two of those mossmen and immediately swing things into their favor.

But swordsmen didn’t need to answer to logic. They simply needed to rise to their expectations.

 

[Haze-]

LOCATION— Amaric Temple (5th Floor)
DATE— Early Summer
TIME— 1041

⚜ Leonel Blackmane ⚜​

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

TAGS ERode Sir Les Paul November Witch Carolyn

Leonel kept quiet as Markus scolded the doll, only giving the exchange a passing glance before he pretended to be minding his own business.

It was like slapping a child on the wrist for swatting a fly. He didn’t see the problem with what she’d done, admittedly. But that was part of the problem in of itself, he figured. Something as tiny and harmless as those same vines she’d walked through could turn into a death sentence down in the lower levels where the monsters went unchecked. A common herring never reconsiders when something ripples the waters, they just tip toward it and bite the hook. In that sense, they were all fish treading angler infested waters.

He took the lesson to heart, even if to whom it was meant to didn’t seem to take much heed to it herself. Symphony seemed tunnel-focused on getting…somewhere. Like it were calling to her. She’d already tried slipping into the dungeon unnoticed searching for it.

Whatever it was, he hoped it wouldn’t be luring enough for her to throw away all caution.

They were five floors in, at the foot of the Proving Grounds. The walls paled a bleached blue and the torchlight seemed to dim to match its hue. He picked with its claw at it, until a chipped bit of wall tore out. Leonel threw them out into the void, crunched them underfoot.

It’d been an hour of descent.

The rats grew in number and size— he’d punted more that he could count on one hand— and the imagery of his veins blackening from a rat bite had him taking his steps carefully. The vines on the other hand had yet to grow into anything bigger than an annoying bump latching onto his boot down the road.

He would be dreaming of rats after this, he imagined.

There had been much talk on the way down. Of Magegold— of rats— and of profit. The thing that caught his ear the most was the talk of orichalcum, as the former son of a blacksmith himself. It was a stretch to picture his mother ever laying a hand on the metal herself,

‘An orichalcum claw…’ — But it wasn’t a bad thing to daydream, was it?

Leo breasted his water hide, tossing down whatever drops remained without bothering to look where they walked, wiping his mouth on a metal sleeve. Now, he had only a hide full of enough liquid poison to fell a man with a poor liver. Funny how that worked. Maybe he could sate his thirst with cheap ale for the remainder of the introductory ‘tour’.

He exited autopilot and stopped in his tracks at the sight of the retreating delvers, a hand hovering over his sheathed blade. Armored mossmen; an entire gang of them,

“Hm.”— This was the part where the vines grew, then.

Leonel watched, with anything but confidence behind the eyes, as Ayn psyched herself up. He folded his arms, clearing his throat and forcing his already drooping stare back on her before he answered— “Fair enough…”— He hung his head, sighed. The dead wouldn’t rest with living vines flinging their mortal belongings around, that much she’d hit the nail on the head on — “I’m in. We would’ve ran into them at some point anyways.”

There were other questions in his head. All unvoiced, of course.

‘Where do they die?’
‘How smart are they?’
‘How coordinated are they?’
‘Do they feel pain?’

“It’ll be a learning experience…” — Neither of those questions were thought-provoking, as he’d promised Markus, sadly.

“Though,” — He shot a glance over his shoulder back at the group — “If we’re doing this, you’re all falling behind me. I’m taking the front.” — His tone was plain, no-nonsense — “I can handle myself being injured just fine, but it’d be a bother if I had to be worrying about my attention being torn from battle if any of you were to slip on a vine.”

“Stand behind me or by my side where I can see and reach you in time. That is all.” — He finally turned to them, raising a brow. Urging for any moans and groans to turn a deaf ear to — “A little team composition wouldn’t hurt, would it?”

 

[Prizzy Kriyze]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—0935

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

Though admittedly Cassius had almost already forgotten she was there, the polite response he received from Cecilia made his superficial smile ever so slightly easier to maintain. At least there was one who came across with proper manners, a skill often forgotten or simply tossed aside by cocky upstarts. Cocky upstarts like the next person in line, who made his entrance into the group with an interjection undoubtedly purposed to interrupt Cas' own conversation. Cole smelled like a wet dog, not in small part due to his heritage and the many steps up the pyramid, Cassius surmised. It didn't bother him much though, crass personalities were a dime a dozen - and if you let something as simple as that put you off from doing business with someone, you were simply not a very good businessman in the first place. Besides, Cas very seldomly got hot under the collar. If anything, his disdain only ever came across as calm and collected. His polite smile remained, and he nodded with acknowledgment towards Cole when he introduced himself.

To his delight, the boy who soon introduced himself as Leander paid the the interjecting beastfolk no mind. In fact - he met Cassius own handshake and offered a short quip that both dismissed Cole's rude interruption and eloquently reestablished focus on himself. A simple but effective rhetorical slap on the wrist while maintaining plausible deniability. Perhaps Cas had been too quick to judge, the boy might even prove entertaining. Though, his hands were soft. An interesting dichotomy, considering Cas' own calloused palms in spite of his otherwise smooth and spotless skin. His spear probably wasn't the main selling-point here. Cassius took a step back to allow the boy space, sensing a demonstration incoming.

The Whitestone Consortium was familiar to him, mostly brought up in loud complaints about gentrification. The boy was twice-blessed, but it did suggest he may come from money as well - a prospect that served to attract Cas' attention. The lightning that jumped from between Leander's hands didn't suffice to make him raise an eyebrow, but he looked on with curiosity still. It would do, especially if he was this adept at such a young age. He even ended his demonstration with an apology for his prior forward attitude, and Cassius nodded with honest appreciation. He would offer the boy another chance at a first impression.

His eyes wandered over to their guide, Neha, as she gave them all a piercing glance. He met them without resistance. He felt a quiet challenge in them, or a feeling perhaps better described as being evaluated. It didn't bother him - in fact, he relished a test of his abilities. Neha didn't really interest him much, since as far as he understood it the necessity of a guide would sooner or later wane, and he wasn't planning on investing in a sinking ship. On the other hand, as he watched her professional disposition, he soon realized that regardless of her permanence as a business partner she was still his first chance at making good impressions with the Dungeon Guild. For the future of that relationship, it'd do him well to accommodate her too.

The first to continue the conversation - to his surprise - was Cecilia. He appreciated her inquiries. Cassius couldn't say the prospect of danger dissuaded him much, but he also figured that his own lack of concern for the beasts and traps below may very well be to his disadvantage. It was good someone among them had already paid mind to that part. For now he'd keep his curiosities to himself - besides, he'd already made some market research regarding the going rates of the loot one could typically find on the first floors. He nodded encouragingly towards her instead, and took a small step forward when she asked them of their own abilities. "Certainly. It'd be unfortunate to get ourselves in danger without understanding our roles. If I may offer a modest demonstration..."

Cassius' breathing changed ever so slightly as the flow of energy throughout his body changed pattern drastically, switching from his feathered form to his barbed form. He leaned over and retrieved a rock from the ground, before holding it out for each of them to see. "I've studied under the Convent of the Crucible on the Island of Caldaren, where I learned how to manipulate spiritual energies to enhance my physique." It laid gently in his grasp before he suddenly clenched his fingers, cracking it into several pieces. Kneading the resulting splinters into dust, he continued speaking. "I may be our closest equivalent to a front line fighter, but my foremost skill is more akin to front line support rather than vanguard. I could see myself distracting the enemy for the more destructive of you to gain an opening." He let the resulting sand run between his fingers back to the floor. "My given role is monk."

 

[Merciless Medic]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—0934

Cole Forrest​

Lvl. 1 | Warlock
Status: Concerned, Vigilant
Spell Slots
Lvl. 1 2/2
Pact 1/1

TAGS EmperorsChosen Prizzy Kriyze Sir Les Paul Meredith

Cole wasn’t exactly nervous. He was poking and prodding at the group, seeing their temperaments, who was putting up a mask, who was genuine, who was reclusive. It gave him all that he needed to know. Neha’s tone - as Cole had found it - to be pointed, but it lacked anything else to it. Nonchalant was what he would have gone with, but he didn’t know if she really were nonchalant because she didn’t care or if she was only restraining herself to keep from escalating the situation.

If the latter were the case, he’d better be on his best behavior.

Cole remained silent as everyone else introduced themselves and even spoke of their abilities. Leander was a sorcerer by the looks of it - something to do with the chaotic weather of lightning. He smirked, his eyes narrowing as he studied Leander as he showed off. Whitestone Consortium? He only heard of it in passing, something he wasn’t too well versed on. With how excited Leander was, Cole wasn’t so sure where his morals lied. He acted like a naive kid, but even if he was socially obnoxious, he must be rather intelligent.

Someone he’d have to be careful of.

Then, there was Cecelia. He had overheard Neha calling her a scout. She was quiet, ever watchful. He can feel her gaze on him. He didn’t know if that was out of base curiosity or if she was wary, but he didn’t care. It was when Cecelia asked her questions and wanted to ask how the others' roles were in combat had caused Cole to bristle. It was subtle, but his tail that was minutely wagging earlier had come completely still, and that easy smile became a little harder to maintain. He wasn’t so sure how to speak of this.

At least Cecelia seemed to be morally dubious. She looked like if someone above her in station told her to do something awful, she’d do it.

He huffed, watching Cassius as he said where he came from and what his strengths were. He had never heard of whatever convent Cassius spoke of, but his easy going demeanor was off-putting. He didn’t know why.

Cassius seemed to be one he had to keep a closer eye on, but he can’t neglect his watchful presence from Leander or Cecelia either. When it was his turn, he sighed, pushing off the barrel he was against as he stood a bit more proper, his arms crossed. “My magic is based on shadow after my prayers were heeded.” He didn’t lie, but he wasn’t going to say completely where he got it from. It could’ve been from anything, but it was obvious that his power wasn’t something based on Espel. He continued to speak, making his stance very clear and showcasing a bit of vulnerability to help himself seem less of an asshole. “I am a little more comfortable knowing none of you come from anywhere regarding Espel. I at least can help with more ease of mind, knowing that my attempts to help won’t be lauded as heresy. I have some utilities, but my magic is for offensive purposes mainly.” He wasn’t going to try and ask him to show off, there was no point.

He needed to get that ore first and foremost, and he had to make sure he got to know these people at least. So, his best behavior was required.

He looked back at Neha. “I’m sure it would be wonderful if we could learn what you can do, Neha. As for any questions I may have about the Temple itself, what is the process of getting further down into the temple besides training? I’m already aware of the difficulty curve the lower you go, but I’m more interested in the rare minerals and items I can make a profit on.” Hopefully, she had an answer for that.

 

[Carolyn]

HELENI​

The talking-to that Symphony got was a lot softer than what Heleni expected. Had the crusader endangered herself so recklessly before her teacher, her punishment would’ve been far more physical: there was a certain exclamation mark to pain that made lessons stick. Then again the circumstances of the sentient doll were different compared to her own. The former was a grown woman that could be reasoned—threatened—with sufficient incentives. At least, Markus had the leverage to make it work.

“If we understand each other, all’s well that ends well.”

Heleni ended the incident with a positive note. She wasn’t blind to the possibility of another fight with bigger consequences. While most from her neck of the woods would actually place a good sum on that happening, her baser nature was to counter it. She’d rather bet on her comrades overcoming their worst impulses. Her eye for such judgments hadn’t failed her yet.

The premise behind her hope survived the entrance to the proving grounds.

There was an abrupt change of colors after crossing the threshold: the livid scheme of the fifth floor was leagues apart than the previous beige one. She wondered how the dungeon decided on it, and whether there was a deeper meaning behind the choice. Save combat, it was often better to overthink than underthink the point.

Speaking of which, the injured party and the mossmen that dealt them the near fatal blows. Unexpected and unwelcome so far up than their usual residence. The creatures that stole the armor of the departed caused a caustic reaction in Heleni.

“Certainly it’d be a service to dispatch those monsters quickly,” she said, placing a hand on the pommel of her sword. The reward in and of itself was only a secondary benefit. “I fear another party less aware than us would be caught in their vines before the Guild could send the proper response.”

Heleni next shot the sighing Leo a look, saying: “Best that I keep by your side then for the composition. My buckler is no kite, but I’ll be safer than those without any." She tapped the attached shield with her fingertips. "So two of us in the front with Ayn and Symphony… at the flanks? Or maybe weaving in and out from behind us?”

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (5th floor)
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—1043

Markus ⚜ Stonehart​

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

TAGS Haze- ERode November Witch Carolyn

A younger Markus might have smirked at how quickly the team decided to take on this challenge. Of course, a younger Markus would have been the paladin in the front lines of combat. Even now, he could recall barking back at team leaders or order captains. He was a dual-wielder, after all. Lighter armor, nimble, agile, skilled. He could do a lot of damage, but couldn't receive as much in return. Still, he was confident in his ability to parry, dodge, or simply overwhelm most of his opponents with his own attacks. Being anything but front line was a waste, at least through the lens of his inexperienced eyes.

The situation was now different. Hypocritical as it might have been, the group of four attempting to take on a target - or targets more likely - that six previous delvers failed to eliminate was a concern. For various reasons. The group still had yet to ever engage in team combat within the Dungeon. They had no idea how their peers would operate in the heat of battle. None of them had ever fought a mossman, let alone those of the Dungeon. Even now, their ability to construct a battleplan was faulty. Leonel declaring he should be in the front without considering his allies. He wore no shield. At least Heleni had one, though she was hardly as stout.

Symphony was a being essentially made of metal, so she herself was a living shield - until she wasn't. Ayn was the only one present that, much like Markus in his youth, had no place on the front lines. Irony of irony, however, was that the battle-claw fighting style the Blackmane was known for in fact made them little more than a shorter-range dual-wielder. It effectively made him a bruiser with a higher-risk fighting style. It was the flaw of the Blackmanes, really. It was a force to be reckoned with and a fantastic surprise factor for a duel, but it was a terrible strategy for a Dungeon or team composition.

"Even without fighting, I still have ways of earning my cut," Markus retorted, his voice low but stern. Confident is what he was truly what he was.

"Firstly, you four don't understand composition at all. Not that I blame you; the way you must think and strategize in a Dungeon is unlike anywhere else in the world," Markus explained, still confident, his voice still low and steady, but never gruff or graveled. The general age gap wasn't nearly as large as it might have seen initially, but he still spoke as if he was the aged man in a rocking chair providing wizened, though perhaps unsolicited advice.

"Leonel, the Dungeon is no place for the theatrics of plate armor. Paladins wear it, most often, as it is adorned with the symbols of Espel. We act as the light wherever we go; it is why we often polish our armor and focus on its maintenance more often than mere knights. The layers of plate with mail and a gambeson will restrict your movement and weigh you down. Not only that, without magical reinforcement, they will eventually provide no more protection than the cotton your undergarments are woven from. What I mean to say is that reliance on your armor and resilience will not carry you as far in the Dungeon as they will in the top-side crusades of the Order. If you intend on forcing others to stand behind you, you will need a shield and magic to justify that claim. Otherwise, you're hardly more durable than Ayn," Markus told him, addressing his fellow Paladin first. There was an element of pride and perhaps sacrifice that Leonel carried. The former would need to be washed away if he was to survive. A Blackmane without its claw might sound like sacrilege to their family, but a claw could be worn behind a shield.

"None of you are aware of the abilities of your peers, but that will often be the case in the Dungeon if you do not have a dedicated party. I will not chide you for that; you may eventually be paired with those you don't wish to know your strengths, and more importantly, your weaknesses. With that said, without knowledge, you miss out entirely on the skills of Heleni. She may share if she wishes. Otherwise, as a fighter with both a small shield and sword, she is best-suited as a bridge between the front line and those behind," Markus told them, now being more assertive. He wanted to encourage them to share more about their skills for now, though he couldn't deny secrecy had its value later in their careers. More importantly, he wanted to shine some light on the skills Heleni possessed; they could be of great value here.

"Ayn to flank isn't a terrible decision, but in a group of four where most of your range is dangerously-short, the proposition of creating a flank becomes less reliable. Consider the positioning of the team. If you are in line, are you in front of or behind Heleni? If Leonel is flanked, which is likely due to the greater number of creatures, can you easily defend? Heleni has a buckler, at the least. If you are behind Heleni, can you bridge the gap easily? If you are beside her, can you work in tandem with her while only having half the space? Each scenario has pros and cons that are situationally useful. Without experience in the Dungeon or against your opponents, you cannot know which setup is best. So, you must make the decision for positioning and roles that you find best in general and each person must understand their role," Markus continued, using the fact at least some strategy had been considered with Ayn to his advantage. The gear were turning for the group, but he needed to grease them. The was much to consider than the surface-level thoughts they had expressed.

Then it came to Symphony. Markus could only give her a deadpan stare. "I don't fully know what you can do or how you fight, unlike the others. You weren't entirely forthcoming with the Guild, from what I gather. You are classified as a battlemage, but that doesn't give me any idea of your positioning or capabilities," he told her, outright admitting the ignorance that came with Symphony. She might have been cooperative, but that didn't necessarily mean she was transparent. A problem that came to peak now when information was paramount to good planning.

 

[EmperorsChosen]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—0931

Cecelia Blake​

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

TAGS Meredith Sir Les Paul Merciless Medic Prizzy Kriyze

Cecelia's analytical gaze rested on Cassius as he held out a rock and offered an explanation with demonstration. Her poker face didn't shift much at all, but she could see the traces of energy course along his body and watched the commute with veiled interest. So, he was an enhancer. He was already aware of his place in the front, which was good. He would be able to give her openings to strike from a flank or blind spot.

Then Cecelia turned her eyes to Cole, who seemed to shift in his mannerisms slightly. Their gaze met, briefly, as he began to offer his own explanation. Unlike Cassius, he didn't offer a demonstration, or explain what his abilities did, just that they were mostly offensive with a lack of a martial component. "I care very little about the nature of one's abilities aligning with Epsel as opposed to it being useful," She replied pointedly. If she had the choice between a member of that cult that was dead weight or a heretic that could pull their own, the choice was already made. Especially if they were trekking within a Dungeon.

Cole gave the nod for Neha to proceed with her own demonstration. Seemingly he wasn't intent on further explaining, causing her to exhale through her nose. "I will not show you everything because most of my spells require physical components that I would rather not waste," She stated plainly. The other aspect was, she didn't feel very comfortable showing them everything either. "As I said before, I am a scout. I can pick locks, disarm some traps, and am likely the best present at stealth."

As if on cue, her hand procured from underneath her cloak and made a gesture over toward the barrel Cole was leaning against. "Minor Illusion."

As she uttered those words, nothing changed with the barrel itself, but there was now a hefty pile of gold sitting atop it. Cecelia's hand returned to rest at her side. "My magic is mostly illusionary in nature. Combatively, I specialize with knives. I will likely rely on you, Ser Cassius, for openings."

 

[Sir Les Paul]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple (Summit)
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—0939

Leander 🗲 Cromwell​

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

TAGS Meredith Prizzy Kriyze Merciless Medic EmperorsChosen

How delightful. Cassius was a practitioner of spiritual energy. A monk, in less words. Leander had encountered very few of them in his travels and none of them gave off the verbose atmosphere that Cassius did. Of course, none of them were Twice-Blessed, either. While minimal, Leander could quite certainly feel the odd change in the flow of energy through Cas. He couldn't identify it or aptly read it as he could mana, but the very thought of a new form of energy empowering the man was exciting. Electrifying, one might say. Like a bolt of lightning shot down his spine at the mere thought of exploring and researching a form of energy he had not yet touched.

Cole was a different story. The audacity of the man to effectively openly admit he was a warlock. Control over the shadows, the avoidance of Espel, praying to likely what was some fiend... Leander wasn't a holy man, but he knew distasteful magic when he saw it. Drawing from dark gifts was a double-edged sword. It painted Cole as someone of questionable values and probably less than admirable discipline. Entirely unlike Cassius, it seemed.

He did at least share some modicum of curiosity towards what Neha could do, but it was unlikely she would share.

Then, of course, came Cecelia. She said scout, but her skillset made it obvious that she meant thief. Still, it didn't mean her magic wasn't valuable. It also didn't paint her as poorly as Cole. Whatever her history, she seemed quite to the point. Illusionary magic was also interesting as few forms of magic could affect the senses so willfully - at least, without contact. There was so much to learn here.

It would be a shame if it was all kept locked up. Leander had no qualms sharing the actual bulk of his magic and perhaps doing so would both be of use and pressure the others into sharing more. Even if it was the shadowy mess Cole was gifted, there was something to be learned from it.

"I can't do much to help a frontline, unfortunately," Leander admitted, trying to weave his way into the conversation as it was.

"I do have one spell that might - Charged Strike. It imbues my lightning magic to a metallic weapon. It is the same affect as if I laid my own hands on the target with Shocking Grasp. It does require a weapon of metal, though, so knives and spears yes, but fists and other magic, no," Leander explained, rattling off two of his spells at once and their relative abilities.

"It's quite unfortunate; I would have loved to see what a Monk could do with my lightning in their hands," he added, shooting a bit of specific banter at Cassius.

"Aside from that, I have the mundane but ever-useful Firebolt. My greater spells are a Lightning Lure, which creates what is essentially a whip of electricity to hit nearby targets. It is slightly stronger and more paralytic than my Witch Bolt, but I can channel that arc of electricity for about a minute. One spell worth ten shocks is worth the slight cost to power," Leander continued, explaining the rest of his well-learned kit. When he said Storm Sorcerer, he meant it. Lightning was involved in all but one of his Spells.

"More notably is my Favored Spell... I spent the better part of four years practicing Lightning Bolt until I could control it enough to cast it as a Cantrip. It isn't as powerful as its true version, but I can cast as easily as breathing, so long as I have mana," he explained, sharing what was likely his most impressive achievement. Lightning Bolt was a level three spell by nature, and one that was well known. Perhaps not as much as Fireball or some others, but a single bolt of Lightning at full strength could kill the average man, elf, dwarf, or Demi-Human, and even then continued to wreak havoc if targets were close enough. Condensing that power down to a Cantrip, even if it was weaker, required a significant feat of control.

Though, in the group, it was likely only Cecelia and Neha would truly appreciate that effort given their magic.

The entire time, he was bubbly and energetic. Animated, but not quite theatrical. Excited, as always, not only to explain his magic, but just to just be discussing it in any capacity. It was truth about the man down to his very soul, something Cassius could somewhat read slightly better than others. Even with the hint of pressure he intended to exert by his over-sharing, there was sincere elation that came from magic. He had the soul of a Wizard through his studies even if he possessed the power of a Sorcerer.

By the end of it, he switched his attention to Cecelia. Up until now, she was the only one to actually discuss a meaningful form of Magic relevant to him. Whatever Cole had, it wasn't something Leander could even hope to recreate. Though, Leander struggled with other forms of magic than his affinity, having taken three or four times as long to learn Firebolt as a regular Wizard would have. Still, she was the most viable source of new spells thus far.

He smiled, kindly.

"Illusions are pretty uncommon. The Consortium treats them like parlor tricks; they're normally taught as part of a trade," Leander commented, thinking himself quite sly in alluding to whatever Cecelia did as a trade. It had to mean something to her even if it only conveyed his suspicions about her apparent role as a scout.

"And, I do wonder what magic you know that requires a reagent," he went on, genuinely curious. But, he didn't press it. No, instead, he removed the flowery wreath he had made early from his neck, approached Cecelia, and offered to don it onto her. A gift, however odd the gesture. In truth, another ploy to see if he could conjure up some early friendship and trust. Perhaps easy to see through or perhaps just painting him the fool. Either way, it wasn't as if he had poor intentions. Just odd priorities.

 

[November Witch]

Symphony

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

Symphony would stand there, incredibly still, save for the occasional blink. There were none of the telltale living motor functions. Her chest didn’t rise and fall. She didn’t sway slightly or switch her stance. She didn’t move weight from one foot to another. She listened as the others spoke. Ayn didn’t say much of note. But there was merit in saying this would be more of a learning experience for them.

Leonel then spoke, and she wasn’t sure he was correct; in saying they would run into them at some point. Surely, they could find another way down and let a quest be put up to take care of them. In Symphony’s opinion, it wasn’t exactly a guarantee they would run into these mossmen at some point. Unless he meant mossmen in general, but that was a given, so she didn’t think he meant it like that. Symphony nodded in acknowledgement as he went on to tell everyone to stay behind him. It was fine by her. But she did wonder how much armor would be able to hold. Normally magic and shields were the best. Armor was only there as a last line of defense for normal people. Or had things changed somewhat? Symphony pushed the thought aside.

As for Heleni, Symphony stayed quiet until she asked about Ayn and Symphony.

“I will support you from behind, and make sure nothing engages you from the rear.”

She said simply, turning her head as Markus spoke up. He went up about team composition, and Symphony felt a tingle of memory in the back of her mind. Something that she could recall only part of. The rest was just out of reach. Though, in the past, Symphony had played the half field. The border between the squishy spellcasters in the back and those more melee focused in the front. Because Symphony could do a little bit of both. Support from afar with her threads and battle up close and personal with anything that slipped past those in the front. Though, being unfamiliar with everyone else’s skills, she didn’t know where exactly they themselves should be placed in a team composition. However, it seemed Markus knew about the others. When he turned to her, Symphony met his gaze as he spoke, then looked down at her right hand.

“I use magically created thread to support and fight.”

She explained, as some began to protrude from her fingers. Between her fingernails and fingers is where the thread came from. She looked back up at Markus.

“Normally I would tie it around my party members, and pull them out of danger if they found themselves in trouble. I remember being in the middle between mages and the melee fighters. I kept the mages safe and watched the flank of those in the front. But I can also fight well without thread. I simply worry about getting more damaged than I already am.”

While she looked fine, her clothing hid most of the damage to her. Cracks along her left arm, a chunk missing from her torso, a piece missing from her leg, chips all across her body, even a small opening on her head hid by her hair.

“This was from long ago though. I am willing to be placed wherever you think I would fit best.”

She hoped that brief explanation would help the others better understand her capabilities. If they had a question, she just wanted them to ask. She wasn’t trying to hide anything, she just wasn’t quite socially acclimated. Why go out of her way to tell people? She'd do that if they asked. That’s why her guild application was barebones and didn’t include anything besides the bare minimum.

 

[ERode]

Yeah, Heleni basically pointed out what Ayn had wanted to immediately snap out when Leonel offered up to be at the very front. The guy really didn’t have a shield, after all, and going by what Markus was talking about, it seemed like armor was useless?

Considering the amount of walking they were doing just to get here, perhaps that made some sense. Did that explain how the previous parties got tangled up against the mossmen too? Their helmets limited their sight, so they couldn’t see the vines around them, and their armor weighed them down, exhausting them while simultaneously making them slower to respond to a sudden ambush? Hm…hm!

And if every adventurer down here preferred not to wear armor, that just made the Surpassing Strike School ever greater! Her father would be pleased. She could understand too, that Zeal would have gone even deeper still! Evasive footwork and distance management were the first thing you learned, after all. It wasn’t like those empty-handed styles, where you could afford to get punched all day long in the name of training. With sharp steel, your journey could end in a single misstep.

Thus, Ayn nodded along affirmatively, definitely supporting Markus’s disdain for armor.

Of course, when it came to the question about flanking? Ayn simply shrugged, and physically kicked the answer to those questions down the road. “I mean, you said it yourself. It’s all just based off the situation, and since we’re not in the situation yet…I guess I’ll just trust my intuition when it comes to it!”

Optimistic? Definitely. But there was no room for hesitation in a martial artist’s heart, especially after they had come to a decision.

That being said, in matters of strategy, she definitely had to turn around to face Symphony once more, the implications of what the doll-faced (and doll-bodied) girl was saying gradually beginning to click in her head. She was a battlemage who did stuff with threads, and apparently those threads were strong enough to pull full-sized fighters away from danger. In that case, though…

“Wait, timeout, I gotta say. Markus thinks that armor’s not a problem, but really, it still is, right? We’re all swordsmen here, even if some of us are magical, and usually, swords don’t work against armor. But, I mean, if Symphony is saying that she can pull things around with her strings…”

Ayn knocked her hand against the bluestone walls.

“…what if we just broke down the walls a bit, get a big chunk of rock, wrap it up with Symphony’s strings, and then…”

Her hand grabbed an invisible thread that was attached to an invisible rock, and then swung it like a invisible rope dart, with a motion that would propel the heavy bludgeoning weapon forwards at speeds that would probably kill a knight through his armor.

“…do that instead? We can hit the moss group from further than the range of our swords and force them to come to us, so we can choose the ideal situation to engage them. Or they could stay where they are, and we’ll just keep hitting them with the rock-string-weapon until they get squashed flat!”

Honestly, it sounded genius to her. Praise the smarts of the young!

 

[Prizzy Kriyze]

LOCATION—Amaric Temple
DATE—Early Summer
TIME—0940

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

After his demonstration, Cassius mostly kept back and let the others speak their turn. Cole's own explanation had him unveiling more secrets than he thought he might, and Cassius couldn't help but smile at his ineloquence in circumventing the topic - but he did manage to hold from laughing. When Cole came to an end, he interlocked his fingers and let his eyes wander from Cole to the sun and back. "There is love in all the light touches, they say. If you've issues with Espel, they are open to most who are repentant." Cas spoke with a shrug and a careless tone. He didn't make a show of it and showed no sign of interest in continuing. The church and their beliefs didn't matter much to him at all, but showing a degree of appreciation for their beliefs and tenants was beneficial if you wanted part of their massive, massive pot of gold.

And, he certainly didn't mind if he managed to make the annoying beastfolk a little more nervous at the same time.

With his next breath he assumed his feathered form once more, and turned his head to look to Cecilia who'd just mentioned his name. "I'll be sure to hold them steady in your direction, then." He replied, then did a double take at her, briefly recalling how he'd mentioned that they could just call him Cas if they were feeling friendly, and noting that she had now called him by a longer title than he'd deserve not once, but twice. "And, just Cassius is fine. I've never held a title worthy of any renown." He added, and gave her a warm smile. She did call Leander the same, then again, he was... well, never mind, it was probably nothing.

Leander, too, had made a comment in his direction, and Cas responded with a more genuine smile. "I'm not helpless with a weapon in hand, if you'd like to give it a shot sometime. I'm just not very attached to them. Would a meteor hammer, sword, polearm or some such do?" Without breaking his smile, he held up a hand and added, "I know a lightning trick or two myself, if it ever comes up."

Leander's explanation was long-winded and eventually Cas was only half-listening, but as soon as he started asking follow up questions for Cecilia he woke back up and interjected. "-Well, maybe we're getting a little ahead of ourselves. It's about time that we delved into the dungeon, no? We can continue with the casual small talk if we make it back in one piece."

 

[Haze-]

LOCATION— Amaric Temple (5th Floor)
DATE— Early Summer
TIME— 1044

⚜ Leonel Blackmane ⚜​

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

TAGS ERode Sir Les Paul November Witch Carolyn

Leonel turned his sights on Heleni. An exchange between their eyes, down at the steel face of her buckler; a staredown full of feigned indifference, another full of euphemistic charm. ‘You don’t have a shield, old man.’ — is what he heard her say. Of course, she likely didn’t mean that at all. She was all too nice and cheery for below the belt blows.

“Thank you, Heleni.” — He forced out the words, spat them out like they were red-hot coals sizzling in his tongue. Didn’t have the strength of holding his eyes to hers — “I could use a shield…”

Markus echoed much of the same sentiment as Heleni. His words twisted in his ears. He frowned, hung his head, feeling like a young farmhand being scolded by their parents again.

‘You can’t protect a damn thing, Leonel.’

‘You couldn’t.’

‘You won’t.’

He could practically feel the disembodied voice coiling its filthy hands around him.

Stonehart probably meant all of that, this time. And he wouldn’t blame him for thinking him a reckless, prideful fool. Not at all. He still didn’t forgive himself. He still hadn’t atoned for the lives of his crew. Crimson stains, blurred, dry like shriveled, chipping red scales between his fingers. For one awfully long year now, they’ve been there.

“You’re right…”— He gave up on justifying his position at the front — “All I have are protective blessings and my own willingness as a half-decent human shield. That is all I can offer. I can’t force you to rally behind a reckless fool. I can’t ask you to trust in me to protect you either. That’s nothing but wishful thinking on my part…”

“I would like to take my chances at the front alongside Heleni, still. I’m not too worried about being injured, like I said. Unless you’d rather I hang back and toss firebolts. I wouldn’t mind. I can still provide you with a magic barrier to negate some of the cons of each scenario from that position. You could all focus on the offense while I worry on keeping the defense up for a short while. That’s the only ‘shield’ I can hold up for you all.”— He crossed his arms, something making his jaw tic, chewing on a thought. He shot a quick glance over at Heleni.

“It may not be as reliable as Heleni’s buckler, but it’ll guard you from anything for as long as it’s up.”

“On that note,” — He sighed, moving onto another subject. He’d spoken his mind already. It was up to Markus whether he wanted to see him at the frontlines or taking the rear — “Any chance these mossmen might’ve picked up any unconventional weaponry? The orichalcum blade of the silver-spooned son of a nobleman, taken up to dungeon delving out of feeling adventurous? Anything?”

Another thought-provoking question — “What’s the gear you usually see the Delvers wearing around these upper levels?”

He was a crusader for the entirety of his service to the church. He’d worn the iron of a Black Lion since Lord Blackmane indited him to pledge as a crusader for the holy order. And, as they could clearly see, he still wore black. He never took the oath under the church, only under Espel’s light. There was little status or renown— theatrics— the armor carried. To him, it was a second layer of skin, practically. He’d grown accustomed to the weight.

He wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything in the hands of the mossmen that could cut through the hide of a Blackmane with enough ease to put his father to shame.

Next, his eyes drifted up to watch Ayn’s hand swirl around like she were attempting to lasso an invisible horse, watching her explanation with a complete deadpan. Leonel mimicked her, picking a chunk of wall of between clawed fingers and casting it— watching it roll and bounce as it hit the ground. Once. Twice.

This girl wasn’t being serious, was she?

“That…”— He felt silly for even entertaining her idea — “Could be far too taxing on Symphony, Ayn. It’s a…relatively…sound strategy, but we can’t rely on such things.” — Hard emphasis on relative. He didn’t even know what strategies were sound down here when compared to what worked topside — “Even if it wasn’t taxing, would she even be able to swing anything around with her threads in such a cramped space?”

“Without hitting any of us over the head with it?”