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[img]https://i.postimg.cc/DyH88WMW/Kid-s-Hat-Final.png[/img]

[color=8258fa]Level:[/color] 7 (41 -> 51 -> 57/70)
[color=8258fa]Location:[/color] Edge of the Blue - Carcass Isle - Where All Things Must Come
[color=8258fa]Word Count:[/color] 1564 (+6 EXP)

[color=8258fa]Hat/s:[/color] Default, Brewing
[b]Stress:[/b] 25 -> 50
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For Hat Kid, mortal time trials were nothing particularly new; even failing, dying, and retrying them was strangely familiar, in the sense and to the extent that it could reasonably be. In this case, however, she bore the weight of permanent failure and its promised consequence on her mind, knowing not only that she wouldn’t be entirely at fault should they fail, but how many she stood to be at fault for—that she wasn’t solely responsible for herself this time—as the final seconds of the outgoing challenge ticked away to zero. Their miraculous buzzer beater finish, it seemed, was enough to constitute not just a successful challenge completion, but a “new record” for completion time. [s][i][color=8258fa]It must have sucked to be the last guys who tried.[/color][/i][/s] After such a close-cut, stressful ordeal, a called for moment of rest was very much in order.

Even with the tendency to occasionally idle, she wasn’t typically one for mid-mission breaks, or more specifically catnaps. Minutes before a major boss fight seemed as good a time and excuse as any to make an exception. Tucking her arms and leaning back against a kelp-lined incline with her hat pulled down over her eyes, she managed to get as comfortable as she could expect to, given her surroundings, just enough to blissfully tune out for a minute or two. Nadia sprawled out on the kelp bed next to her some moments later, having come back looking prettier and more elegant than before. The child put together how when she peeled an eye open to check after being roused from semi-consciousness by the feral contentedly stirring in her sleep. She couldn’t resist her childish urge to pet Fortune on the back of the head and gently scratch behind her ears, or help but softly cat-smile as she purred and curled up in response. For perhaps the first time since they set sail, she, too, felt momentarily content.

In that moment of contentment when she ceased petting Nadia to resume her own rest, she opened her other eye to gaze curiously at a single unclaimed Spirit she noticed where there once lay a pile, the round of claims and calls having mostly concluded by then. She popped up from sitting and strolled over to inspect it, taking it in hand after a cursory inspection for a closer look, wondering what about this Spirit in particular caused her typically eager cohorts to skip over it. Nothing about the figure represented within struck her as inherently unappealing by appearances. Was there any chance they simply forgot about it against those they wanted? Maybe they just had their fill with change left over? Or did they assume by their hat that Hat Kid, specifically, would be interested in it and left it over as a gift, despite previously foregoing Spirits for the most part? Either way, it was hers now; no takesies backsies! The question now was, what to do with it?

Her instinct thus far was to simply itemize Spirits she got a hold of, but those mostly came from enemy mobs. This, as far as she knew, could have been a more notable (thus powerful/useful) figure, and to simply destroy them—or to attempt fashioning a hat or outfit from them—may prove little more than wasteful. Spirits, as far as she could tell, weren’t renewable resources, after all. The prospect of fusion she still found to be similarly unappealing, from a standpoint of practicality and vanity alike, for she wasn’t within her knowledge or means to control, stabilize, or otherwise revert the process or its results—not independently, anyway. She couldn’t quite stomach the possibility of her appearance altering in ways she didn’t approve of without her say so, or changes to her personality regardless. Even less did she care to rely on anyone to fix that for her, provided their cooperation or agreement from an affecting Spirit. Lastly, the Spirit (and its departed owner) were wholly unfamiliar to her, in character and capability. It wouldn’t make sense to blindly, boldly overcommit to that.

That left only one other option…

Recalling the little Spirit seminar the Master of Masters conducted for them (who, come to think of it, was curiously more educated on the matter than any who shared his predicament), she made her first attempt at… “binding” it to herself, which she remembered involved entreating them somehow.

[color=8258fa]“...”[/color]

She whispered to the Spirit of the Black Mage, offering them a chance to make themselves useful by showing what they can do. They would still be more or less themselves, albeit manifest in a limited capacity, she assured. Rather than absorbing or rendering them into a tool, the proposal was, as said, [color=8258fa]“really the best I can do.”[/color] For that, she apologized, not being a fan of compromise herself. Regardless, her offer to the Spirit was made.

[center][hider=for Hat Kid]New Striker spiritbound:
[b][url=https://i.imgur.com/S1czsXU.png]Dokomipo Susumipo[/url][/b]
[i]This Striker takes the form of a diminutive Dunesfolk Lalafell Black Mage, who has a short cooldown but can cast only one spell per appearance. While this requires some awareness and management to use, it can pay serious dividends. The spells Dokomipo Susumipo can use are Fire, Thunder Ice, and Ley Lines. Fire deals a burst of damage but takes a lot of the host's mana, and also grants Astral Fire, increasing Fire damage, but also ends Umbral Ice. Thunder deals a DOT that lasts for twenty one seconds. Ice deals low damage but regains the host's mana, and also grants Umbral Ice, increasing Ice mana recovery, but ends Astral Fire. Ley Lines puts down a magic circle that speeds up the Striker's cooldown as long as the host stands inside it.[/i][/hider][/center]

[hr]

For all the tension, anxiety and dread the Seekers were meant to feel (and no doubt still did) on their passage through, Hat Kid actually found the last biome leading into the boss lair to be the most aesthetically and atmospherically pleasant, save for its inhabitants. Considering everything that led up to it, and where it led to, that wasn’t saying much. Even without being subjected to direct hostile engagement (though ever-presently threatened with it), they were surrounded the whole way through the caverns with living (and perhaps half-living) reminders that they were still not welcomed there. Still, there was something about the Stygian, but colorful subterranean biome that registered to the child as comfortably familiar, reminding her distinctly of Subcon Forest. Were it only so easy to forget the problems around and ahead of you, and reminisce more fondly on older problems that you no longer have…

After helping (as she best knew how) to clear away the soil blockage with an explosive vial, the path terminated at yet another putrid shore much like the one they arrived at initially, only calmer. Possessing an open sky despite being underground (maybe under[i]sea[/i]), as was loudly observed, this non-Euclidean space featured a single celestial body prominent amidst the gloomy, foreboding overcast. Her best guess as to what it could be: the faintest indicator/reminder of the Galeem’s presence and agency in this domain; a lingering beacon for the Guardian over which it presided, tasked for life with its unwitting protection. If anything was made certain with what followed, it was that the Lord of Light was [i]most certainly[/i] not watching over [i]it[/i] in kind.

All eyes went to the deathly white alien carcass that lay at the center of everything as it started to writhe before spilling out its still warm (but hardly fresh) inner remains. These dead leavings turned out to contain the singular living being native to the area from the beach to the horizon. Those who knew the signs or were at least conceptually familiar with the process could tell: this wasn’t one creature living within another, but having just begun its life. Tragically, the first thing this wretched infant would ever learn in its life was just how alone it was, and how little its life seemed to matter.

Hat Kid placed a hand to her mouth, equal parts emotionally shocked and physically disgusted, fighting back the urge to get sick. She was far too young to know or care either way, but this was no way for one to learn of the miracle of new life, if one could still call it a “miracle” afterwards. It made for just another among many sights seen throughout their voyage across the Bottomless Sea appallingly ill-suited for such young eyes—or any mind capable of comprehending it for that matter. Neither her relative ignorance of the biological fact of birth nor lacking grasp of the existential implications of being birthed from a long-dead mother to a grim, rotten, uncaring world of nothing availed her not to allay the intense, overwhelming horror inspired in her from having been among the handful unfortunate enough to witness this horrid genesis. This, if anything, served as a crash course on the subject matter, one replete with lessons she already wished she could unlearn.

[center][i]Hat Kid gains 25 Stress.[/i][/center]

Gazing as if to plead to the obscured, nigh-vacant heavens, the ghoulish newborn did as perhaps anyone would in its circumstance, and had begun morbidly weeping. [i]That[/i], she understood. She could only pity the sorry creature, for it was not evil, but sick; a victim. Like them, it was a slave to the whims of an indifferent god, and it boar the additional misfortune of drawing the ‘Guardian card’. it didn’t deserve to die; it [i]had[/i] to. That much would have been true even without its station. To be slain would be the greatest (and only) kindness it could ever know.

Hat Kid’s eyes welled with sympathy that she typically reserved, expressed or even felt for almost none before quickly drying them with mustered resolve. She knew what they had to do, and for this thing, it would come as a favor. Tightening her grip on her Umbrella, she brandished it forth in one hand, and pinched the brim of her Hat with the other, ready to swap them on a second’s notice. She would not, however, be making the first move, as per her standard practice. Instead, she would start by prioritizing defense and evasion, patiently waiting for the Ophan’s first move, then finding an opening…