//A6 - Somewhere in the Adventurer's District

For a first foray into the Abyss, Sebi and Sumiye felt rather proud of themselves. They weren't dead -foremost on their minds- and they got a taste of the danger latent within. Neither quite felt like adventurers yet, but having gone through the ordeal they certainly felt like they'd earned some sort of stripes, however faint. After ascending back to the edge of Oratorio, their trio of colorful friends and one Ananta in tow and similarly intact, Sebi inquired about shelter with Allen. She and Sumiye were, of course, still homeless in the city, and she'd only agreed to venture with the fellow fox on the condition that she get more than just a scare out of it -whether she said so vocally or not. Wherever it was that Allen, Gam, and Millie themselves were staying, Sebi would follow. Tired and somewhat shaken, she couldn't muster the will to complain, even if it was a shack they led her to.

Come morning, Sebi awoke to her first sunrise in Oratorio and stretched the aches from her body. Youthful as she was outwardly, Sebi was still nearing forty, and no amount of pretty smiling could save her from being plainly tired. Leaving Sumiye to enjoy some additional rest, Sebi waited in whatever fashion and in whichever place for at least one of the other adventurers in her party to awake as well. She had no shortage of questions, and little intention of simply playing one of two mages to the group of five indefinitely. She needed to know what this all meant, and where it would go.

The next -or any number of them, really- to awaken or preempt Sebi were met with a sauntering woman and her light smile. She sat herself nearby, greeted, and wasted little time.

"The three of you... How much experience do you have, anyways, with adventuring?" she asked to whoever would lend her an ear. "While yesterday was... exhilarating, I still find myself a tad aimless I must admit. I'd not come to Oratorio for adventuring, per se, though I do not shirk it. What is it you're all seeking? Riches? Fame? To test yourselves, maybe?" she asked with a sly expression.

@ERode

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It was a good night sleep for Cantor. No dreams. An overall pleasant sleep in an unfamiliar environment. Perhaps that is why he was the latter of the two. He exchanges a few pleasant lines with his roommate, an older face of the Ordo. 3 years older than him. Brother Othello. He has a lovely beard and a kind complexion. But a man with few words. The morning was to be taken care of in the mesh hall, where members shared communal meals together. Today, they have beet soup. Not all partake in the morning meal, though, as some followed a different scripture, which required a different time for breakfast. Or they might not have a morning meal altogether. This would then be followed by a small prayer where various acolyte gathers around and pray.

All of this was finished before 8.

Cantor now waits at his table, waiting for Sister Laina to grab him as instructed. Around him, others start to perform their daily routine. Most do embalming with various substances. However, some particularly well-gifted use magic of some sort to mask the damage done to their bodies. They were not as skilled as he imagined a mage to be. But then he remembered that Ordo Benevolence is a church that is being robbed by the landlord. Which is precisely the reason why he wants to do some exploration. The plan is to travel around the Adventuring Circle to take note of the prices of equipment and, more importantly, how to make money fast.

He asked his Head Priest to be here. It would be a shame if his on-paper "sole reason" being here got burned down because of overdue rent.

In some ways, the desire had haunted the gravekeep as he had slumbered. The reason for his journey to the central city, the city with the Abyss at its heart, had been one easily enough thought through when he had not yet been there, but now that he was there, he could not deny that some part of the soul yearned for that Abyss. Some part wanted to see what was there, what others had left behind, what others had searched for and failed to find, searched for and failed to bring, or had simply…failed to come back. The hole there shifted eternally, broken eternally, and yet some slight portion of the gravekeep’s soul yearned to see the whole of that place.

Some part of the soul wanted to go there, some part that would not be satisfied by the tales of others. He wanted to go out, in any case, and the reason for such could be easily thought through and reasoned through by simple methods. The gravekeep wanted to get away from the heat of the mausoleum, the heat of the fires that seemed to permeate any and all. He had kept true to his word, though, true enough that he had not allowed the embers to touch his tome, true enough that he would leave some of his faithful at the mausoleum to pay for a place to sleep, to eat, should the other methods fail. Three men he left behind to work those fires, to perhaps speak to others should they find time to breathe, to perhaps convert some few others. It was a slight hope, and one that carried the risks inherent in those of one faith speaking to those of another, yet was a hope nonetheless.

He and the other two, however, made their way to the edge of the Abyss, to the land where men who ventured there gathered. In one occasion, the gravekeep thought that they might find a group to work alongside, yet on another…perhaps a group that would give them a distraction, a pause enough in the treading of monsters there by the clamor of the group. Perhaps, perhaps. He would need to see something or another there.

🎕 Talia of Roses 🎕

//O11 - Deserted Backstreets

The renovations had went well. Rather, as well as they could go for a group with no capital. The room was rearranged to be more suitable as a hideaway. The merry men were all given enough room to sleep. Talia had performed a blessing to guard the room. It was a strange miracle: one of perverse slight of hand and illusion meant to deceive. If someone had approached from the outside, then they simply wouldn't notice the door. It wouldn't be of mind. The inside of the room was coated in the same illusion. Unless someone overturned everything and happened upon the valuables (though they didn't have many), they wouldn't notice the obvious hiding spaces.

All things considered, it was an unfortunate state of affairs. The capital they had wasn't much. She didn't have any plans to call upon Lastor and his goons. Worst of all, Talia smelled like the city. Her past clawed at her. She had to remove every ounce of smell. Back at the bordello, she would ensure that the salt breeze never lingered on her skin. Flowers, tallow, and ash were all used generously--one of the few pleasantries she had. But now there was only the scent of muck and waste, trademarks of the city.

That meant that she needed to find a place to wash. Of course, her men could fend for themselves. She wasn't their mother. But she needed to get the smell of the city off of her. It was a futile effort sure to be replaced the next day, but it was something ingrained into her. A bathhouse or even a well would suffice.

And then there was the deep call that her heart longed for. The thieves lacked the equipment to brave the abyss, nor did they have the skill and aptitude to steal her desires from others. But that would come later. First, a bath.

//A7 - Encounter at the Crossroads
It didn’t take much waiting for Sister Laina to emerge, dressed in common clothing rather than the vestments of the acolytes. A brimmed hat sat firmly upon her head, while her drab-colored tunic and pants, when combined with her already-bony frame, gave the woman a boyish look. She nodded towards Cantor, then set off, expecting him to follow her.

Immediately outside the Ordo Benevolence were buildings abandoned or under reconstruction, planks and boards sealing up what once would have been doors or windows. It was a quiet place though, tucked away against the wall of the Royal Road and distant enough from the open squares or the rowdy taverns that only adventurers who wanted to try a stint at squatting would be. You didn’t approach the Ordo Benevolence without a specific purpose, but looking at the white plumes of smoke that rose in the distance, perhaps it was because of the respectful solitude the Church found itself ensconced in that few cared about the place.

Quietude faded though, as distance was made, and soon enough, others strode upon paths of cobbled stone. It was morning still, too early for outer city merchants to have arrived, too early for anyone but the breadmakers to have stock out, too early for most adventurers to bother shaking off their hangover and roll out of their bed. But it was morning already, and the faithful rose as the Perishing Star fell.

Lethe, indeed, strode towards those grand walls that hid the scar left by the godslayer, and in doing so, felt the presence of kin. It was no particular pull, no significant compulsion, only a split recognition that the taller of the two beardless men who walked upon the same road he did was…

If there were indeed one thousand faces upon the Deity they worshiped, then the two may yet be similar in form.
_{@Thayr@Shovel}

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//A3 - The Plaza at Morning
It had been a bounty, but the bounty was now just a burden, a bloody burden that left a trail of blood in her wake, as assuredly as the blood and viscera that had soaked her own clothes. Elys’s dark clothes had been a practical choice, but that only redeemed her in the eyes of others, not in their noses; her Divine Protection could not make out the details upon the masses that she sensed, but she had heard the sniff of disgust from one of the guards as she stepped out of the cage, carrying her spoils.

It was understandable, of course. She had been a monster slayer, but the monsters she had slain in the past were limited in number. Perhaps it was clearing out a den of goblins. Perhaps it was dealing with a troll by a river. Perhaps it was cutting down a carrot with furry legs. The hunt, the anticipation, had taken time. The draw of the blade, the intensity of combat though? Elys had trained for the intensity of fighting off hordes and waves, but she had never been tested.

Not until last night.

But she survived the night, and now, she could smell the bread that was being baked too, could hear the rasping of coals rousing the forge. Elys, indeed, would now have an opportunity to reap her reward.

There too, was the possibility of reaping what she sowed.

Theo smelled the blood that clung to her, but it was easier to simply spot her due to the flies that her grisly bounty had attracted. From a distance beyond what her own senses, worn down from sleep deprivation and combat fatigue, could alert her to, the Ichor-Blessed of Blood could spy that paradoxical, bipolar woman trudging along.

She had headed into the Abyss through the same entrance he had. He had stayed in the same district afterwards. And now, both of them looked to obtain better armaments for the purposes of challenging the Abyss and their fellow godlings.

Destiny entwined them.

But it was his choice whether to follow it, oppose it, or sever it.
_{@SilverPaw@Estylwen}

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//A6 - The Stables of an Unknown Inn
When day broke, Sebi found herself in an empty stall of an inn’s stables, the place smelling of animal musk and manure. Certainly, the sleep had been rough, but her exhaustion when it came to sheer number of monsters that descended upon her within the Abyss had made the sleep deep and heavy. Even now, gravity itself seemed to be pulling her to sit, perhaps, or to lay down once more. And that had just been one night on the First Layer of the Abyss.

Whatever her future plans were, actively participating in adventuring would prove to be problematic.

Her companions though, a good twenty years younger than her, still had the energy of youth to keep them perky in the morning. Stepping outside of the stables, Sebi found Allen, the foxboy, seated on a stump as Millie pulled and brushed the straw out of his hair and tail.

“Good morning Miss Sebi,” Allen said, smiling brightly before letting out a wide yawn.

“Gam’s out to buy bread.” Millie considered the state of her companion’s tail, then smacked the cheap brush clean of straw before offering it to Sebi. “You’ve got a bunch too.”

The Ichor-Blessed of Light, of course, brought whatever pleasant chitchat to a halt with her relatively straightforward maneuvering of the conversation, causing both of the young adventurers to give pause.

“Does that mean, uh, that you’d rather not adventure with us? What about Miss Sumiye? Did she already leave?” Allen’s expression was already souring, prompting the porter to smack him on the head.

“We don’t have more than a week’s worth of experience,” Millie said. “And this one here’s just there to be a hero. For me though, heard that you can start making real money once you get to the Second Layer. A lot more and a lot faster than if you apprenticed and all.”

She paused, briefly.

“Needless to say, you could probably fetch yourself a better party, going by how yesterday went.”
_@Asuras

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//O11 - Communal Wel
Life, after all, couldn’t exist without drinkable water, and the slums were congested with the destitute living, not the decaying dead. Stepping out from the slumlord’s property, it didn’t take too much effort for the Backstreet Queen to locate a communal well in the Outer Layer. It was a shoddy thing, the frame that allowed the bucket to be pulled definitely having seen better days, but it was nevertheless an oasis, a meeting place for the flint-eyed residents of the surrounding quarters to trade gossip, complain about those who weren’t present, and do their laundry. Drinking such well water would probably be fatal, but there was a trough close by where buckets were upended and the clearer surface water could be skimmed to wash one’s face or hands.

Adventurers, of course, were present too. There were plenty of parties who generated less income in the Outer Layer, those who made enough to worry too much about nighttime robberies if they slept in the stables but who didn’t make enough to afford an inn proper in the Adventurer’s District. A strapping young orc lad was hauling up buckets of water for the women of the district, getting calls of appreciation and the occasional slap on the ass as he did so, while his companions huddled about trying to scrub the blood off their clothes. Prostitutes from nearby brothels were in full force as well, cleaning out the crustiness of their bedsheets and sharing slivers of soap with others in the well-community that they recognized. Bare-faced though they were, there were still hints of who they once were before the wear-and-tear of the business got to them.

There was a well, and there were people.

If she had nothing else, Talia could wash up with relative ease. But perhaps there was opportunity here for some ‘missionary’ work?
_@OwO

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"A quaint place for such a bustling city," Cantor comments as Laina introduces him to the history of the surrounding area. Some buildings are vacant, while others are in the process of renovation. They slowly made their way to the grand wall surrounding the supposedly "opening" of the Abyss. From there, they will travel along the wall's perimeter to reach other sections of the Oratorio. The cobbled road was not crowded, but people did seem to give way for a member of the Ordo. More out of respect than actual authorities the acolytes possess. Although some do furrow their brow when they see Cantor's acolyte robe. Anyhow, the pair trailed along the wall. Sister Laina mainly does the speaking, and Cantor does the listening. But every so often, he would point at a building and ask for its purpose. Some are just abandoned. Others are warehouses and taverns. Even one supposedly to be a blacksmithing of sorts. He wondered how the city would look like from above. But alas, they continued their travel.

And then, his ichor tugged at him. Like a soft ping that went off in his head, it was sudden and left as quickly as it came.

He locked eyes with another trio of travelers on the road. Their leader seemed to be a man with cold features. They all carried duffle bags and rucksacks filled to the brim. Adventurers, perhaps? To reassure himself of the pinged sensation, Cantor approached the traveling trio and introduced himself.

"Good day to you. I am Acolyte Cantor of Ordo Benevolence. Would you mind if I ask you some questions?" He extends his hand to their leader.

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Theodore had put the swordswoman so far out of his mind that he was genuinely taken aback to see her. He’d noticed the stench first; the accumulated monster blood and viscera. The buzzing of flies drew him closer, and then there was that sensation of another Ichor Blessed. She’d gained some energy for herself now, and it was a strange thing – it still felt like absence, yet clearly, she had something. It was like staring into a gaping maw, a never-ending hunger driving it to consume any and all who would dare approach. Similar to the Abyss, in a way.

Was that her domain? Greed? Absence? The anti-thesis of being; nonexistence? He wasn’t certain. He wasn’t, but he was attracted and repelled to it in equal measure.

When he finally saw her, all miserable and beaten down, fatigued and unaware, as feeble as a nearly dead prey–
He hissed on an inhale and stopped in his tracks.

The surge of wrath and retributive desire was swift, powerful, and blinding; it was as if a surge of lightning had struck him that very moment.

Theo narrowed his eyes at the woman, bloody fantasies plaguing his mind. He could cut her down now, he could have her at her mercy, he could humiliate her.

How easy it would be, to surround her and beat the rest of her measly life force out of her. How simple, to pass by and run his spear through her, leaving her for dead. Perhaps even tripping her would suffice, and she’d meet her end in an ‘accident’, an unfortunate soul who’d fallen into a ditch and broken her neck after she’d chewed off too large of a chunk of the Abyss than she could handle.

Then, there was a second desire, the inverse of his first one, and nearly as strong.

He was tempted to simply meld into the crowds, disappear, and let this one meeting never come to fruition without her being the wiser. Why would he bother interacting with her at all? Why should he pay her any mind, when she was so downtrodden? Surely, he had already surpassed her?

But no.

That would be running away.

Her first run might have been tough, but who knew how the next ones would go?

He could become villainous enough to murder her in plain sight, but what would he gain? A small amount of Ichor and resources, in exchange for infamy?

Clenching his hands, straightening up, a blaze of fury brightening his crimson irises, he strode up right to her. “Hello, there,” he greeted a beat before reaching for her shoulder. His hold was firm, and he pulled lightly, urging her to turn around. Just in case she still had her reflexes, he was prepared to avoid any potential reflexive attacks on her part.

His followers were right by him, merely watching. Some were cautious, even spooked; the doctor and the child both looking at the blindfolded woman as if she were a fairytale monster manifest. Maris and Ezra were both tense, though they both oozed a particular smugness and sense of superiority. Sana appeared mostly neutral, if somewhat disapproving.

“You found it, didn’t you?” he asked rhetorically. His voice held a clear spark of anger; challenge, even. She couldn’t see him in the physical sense, but he stared right where he expected her eyes to be located underneath the blindfold. “Remember,” he demanded. “Remember who helped you.” He stared her down, studying her tired figure. She might be too out of it to appreciate subtle implications, so he’d spell it out for her. “You know I could have attacked you now as you’d done when you first met me. You know what would happen if I did, don’t you?” Know that I spared you. Know that I was merciful. “Remember that. If you have any honour,” he spat, finding it difficult to believe that she might, “you will find a way to repay me.”

He gave her the chance to respond, if she would, exhausted as she was.

But he did not expect the conversation to be long, if there even would be one. After their second meeting, he’d withdraw into the crowds, and continue with his plans – a shopping trip would be just the thing to clear his head.

Oratorio - The Adventurer's District, //A3
_@SilverPaw

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Her exhaustion had gotten the better of her. She had inherently kept all her remaining attention on the sounds around her, avoiding the masses that moved around her in the city that stirred in the morning - that she had failed to detect one of those masses, crimson-stained, was headed directly for her. It wasn’t until she felt a light touch on her shoulder that she was alerted, and by that time, it was far too late.

She could ‘see’ them. The crimson flame was surrounded by masses that stuck idly by him. Friends? Followers?

“Hello, there,”

“Last time someone thought to put a hand on me, they lost it in one clean sweep,” Elys growled, hand holding her battered sword twitching. Her chin jerked sharply to his hand. “Remove it.”

“You know I could have attacked you now as you’d done when you first met me. You know what would happen if I did, don’t you?”

That’s when Elys paled under her blindfold. The masses attentive to the crimson flame seemed a touch more ominous in their presence now. How many were there… four, five? Too many to take on with her bare fists. Even too many with her staff, wedged in her other grip around the loot she held.

She couldn’t fight with a broken sword.

He knew that.

And he was furious.

Almost immediately, her heart sunk a little, trepidation pooling in her veins. But she refused to bow her head, staring aloofly at where she assumed the crimson flame’s eyes were.

“Remember that. If you have any honour, you will find a way to repay me.”

“Repay you?!” Elys hissed. There was no way she would do anything of the sort. It was only her in the vision ascending the stairs, no one else. To even consider another Ichor-blessed as a friend, or even in non-hostility, was blasphemy.

“We don’t have that luxury. Surely you, of all people, would know this.” She said, biting down on her tongue before she said anything further. She was at a severe disadvantage. She needed her sword fixed, among a growing list of extreme necessities, in order to survive.

Right now, she could hardly defend herself.

But perhaps it was for the best that she didn’t have her sword, torn as she was about the reality of being an Ichor-blessed. Torn over having to end the others in order to survive.

Abruptly, she turned away. “I wish to be left alone.”

He seemed ready to leave anyway, and as she clenched tighter to the sword in her hand, she could only feel a faint sense of humiliation, having to ask for pardon instead of simply taking her leave.

If he left in peace, she would have to hurry. Sell her loot, and head to the Bladerights.

🎕 Talia of Roses 🎕

//O11 - Communal Well

While it wasn't drinkable, the water was--at the very least--not completely foul. It let her wash away the lingering smell of the city and the oil that clung to her skin, at least.

Of course, Talia hadn't merely come to the well to wash up (though it was a large component). Information was as good as gold. Well, it wasn't--it was about as good as the gold you could make off of it. When it came to information, prostitutes were often a core source. While the workers didn't serve a high class clientele, both rich and poor often had loose lips when it came to alcohol.

So she made conversation with those who would listen.

To the adventurers, she spoke about the labyrinth. She had quite a talent for both showing interest in a conversation and playing dumb. In fact, it was quite difficult to tell whether she was playing dumb or actually airheaded. Her bubbly words would disarm any adventurer. Though, perhaps they just took pity on her.

To the prostitutes, she was much more familiar. She spoke more generally about the happenings around the city and the outskirts. What the prostitutes could have heard. It was friendly small talk that was much less dopey--as if to reassure them that she did not wish to encroach on their clientele.

The walk had not been especially long, by all means it hadn’t, and though the day was relatively early the streets already bore far too many people. He couldn’t tell how many yet would die soon, though the gravekeep supposed such might be due to the people, might be due to the fact that most seemed to be far more interested in dying of unnatural causes than the natural ones. Such mercenary souls weren’t long for the world, and they willingly took up the challenge in exchange for the coin or the thrills. His two faithful kept close, close despite their looks saying that few were interested in stealing what meager things the trio had upon them.

And yet…and yet he felt a tug, an entirely different tug. Something…connecting, together, something else. He’d never felt the concept before, that feeling, and it was altogether different to what he had felt of the dead. What was it? There was no specific point to it, no direction, and he could instead perhaps liken the feeling to…the spider at the center of the web, feeling another pluck against the silk. What…was it? The gravekeep couldn’t tell, though as his eyes scanned over the heads of the crowd in wonder a brief pang thundered against his heart and soul at the sight of another.

They seemed like him in a way not physical, not in stance, not in origin. They seemed like him in a way Lethe could not place. Their feet, booted, covered…walking a path. The image of the path came before the gravekeep in a flash. Were they touched as well? It may well be so. He had not met another before. They approached.

"Good day to you. I am Acolyte Cantor of Ordo Benevolence. Would you mind if I ask you some questions?”

He considered them for a moment, and the question, looking down at the man. He didn’t seem to offer up violence to the gravekeep, not at all, but instead seemed to bear a genuine curiosity. Nevertheless, it would not do to become unguarded. It would not do at all. The ghost of a smile yet played about the corners of the tall man’s mouth as he spoke. “I would not, Cantor of the Ordo Benevolence.”