DoubleChecker

[The Grand Duchy] Labyrinth of the Primordial Bloom [FINISHED]

[If you are interested in joining a setting like this, check out: roleplayerguild.com/topics/196759-ise…]

@DoubleChecker - Asset Goal: Grand Duchy Nobility F
@Book - Asset Goal: ?
@pkken - Asset Goal: Harvester Asset Mine F
@Red Hood - Asset Goal: ?
@Nakushita - Asset Goal: ?

The simmering tension in the room is a complex symphony of clashing personalities. Severin’s polite, yet deeply unsettling, inquiries weave a thread of dark amusement. Vetreus’s aristocratic jabs and Esther’s witty retorts create a sharp, staccato rhythm. Fei Liu’s quiet observations and movements add a layer of stoic grace, while Griselda’s sudden awakening brings a touch of draconic innocence to the proceedings.

Proctor Valeriana watches the exchanges with the detached patience of a researcher observing volatile chemicals reacting in a beaker. She notes Vetreus’s goading, Esther’s sharp-witted deflection, and Severin’s unnerving familiarity with the necromancer Iberis Odhir. All of it is data.

She is about to answer Esther’s final, pertinent question when a loud, distinct THUD echoes from the other side of the heavy door, followed by a moment of silence.

The door hisses open.

A young woman stands there, a flattened, tragic-looking bagel clutched in her hand and a prominent red mark blooming on her face. She enters with a determined, if slightly dazed, expression, taking a seat without a word and beginning her silent assessment of the room.
The Archmagus raises a single, unimpressed eyebrow. The carefully controlled atmosphere of the briefing has been irrevocably punctured.
Fei Liu, poised by the door, breaks the awkward silence, his resonant voice turning to the newcomer with a question.

Before Penny can answer, Proctor Valeriana seizes control of the room once more. Her voice cuts through the air, sharp and final.
"No, she is not lost," Valeriana states, her gaze fixed on Penny. "This is your final team member. Late, but present. I trust you can handle your own introductions from here."

She then turns her attention back to Esther, addressing her question with brisk efficiency. "To answer your query, Esther: yes. The possibility of encountering agents from the West Empire or zealous members of the Church is non-zero. You are to avoid engagement unless absolutely necessary. Your mission is retrieval and analysis, not international diplomacy or theological debate. Any deviation from this directive will be on your own heads."

Valeriana gives a curt nod, her business clearly concluded. "I have provided you with the necessary tools and parameters. The rest is up to your collective expertise."

She strides towards the door, pausing as she passes Fei Liu. "The transport is a standard enchanted carriage, waiting at the Luminary's West Gate. Do not keep it waiting."

With that, the Proctor exits, the heavy door sliding shut behind her with a definitive hiss, leaving the five of you alone in the sound-proofed room. The air is thick with the lingering scent of ozone, tension, and the faint, sad smell of crushed bagel. The four active Scrying Orbs hum quietly, floating patiently beside their chosen contractors, their silent, black surfaces recording everything.

The floor is yours.

[Otenzel - The East Empire] The Grand Coliseum

The straw room answers with the sound of work.

Don’s straight punches land centerline. The reed core bends, creaks, and takes the shock. Straw coughs out around his knuckles and a pale scuff blooms over the painted heart circle. The stake shivers in the sand but holds. A narrow split spiders along one reed where the wrap is tired. Solid impact that moves the whole frame without toppling it.

Varius steps to a fresh post and drives a gladius thrust home. The blade parts straw in a clean wedge, bites the reed bundle, and pops two binding turns. The dummy jolts, turns a quarter on its stake, and settles with a dry crackle. A shallow puncture sits dead center, just off the painted heart. A couple of faces at the visor slit murmur at the neat placement.

Neco-Arc

“That is how you do it, nya!” The tiny cat throws both thumbs up, all teeth and delight. “Clean hits, clean hearts. Now listen up. One thing you wanna keep in mind. You will not always fire the biggest beam in your pantry, nya. Sometimes you probe first, feel their armor, count their teeth, then you drop the big guns, capisce, nya?” Tiny paws pump the air in a rapid bap-bap-bap.

“Do not worry those pretty heads, jabronis. You always have your basics.” Neco-Arc pads to a third dummy, flexes comically, then scratches once. “Tap.” Scratches again. “Tap.” And a third time, faster. “Tap-tap.” Three quick lines ruffle the straw in a tidy group. “See. Basic attack. Then basic again. Then one more for the road. Same target gets grumpy when you keep knocking. Gets real grumpy when you all knock together, nya.”

Combat Notation for Neco-Arc's triple attack:
Action 1: Basic Attack - Strength B (5) + Natural Weapons C (4)
Action 2: Basic Attack - +1 (combo)
Action 3: Basic Attack - +1 (combo)
Total = 11 Base Effectiveness. In addition, different characters attacking the same target bump the Base Effectivness even further. If Don and Varius had attacked the same dummy, both of them could have granted an extra +1 (team-up) each, to the maximum of 13 Base Effectiveness. (Team-ups are limited to +1 for each character joining the assault)

The cat leans back like a tiny professor. “Block is a friend. Dodge is a cousin. Sometimes you hug the friend, sometimes you dance with the cousin, sometimes you do neither and let them whiff so you style on the return. But today the clock is hungry.”

From the corridor a crier’s voice rings bright. “Novice league. To the queue. First bout forms now.”

The drum picks up. The air cools as a draft draws toward the tunnel. Sand whispers underfoot. Lanterns gutter once as a gate chain clanks somewhere ahead.

Neco-Arc’s ears perk. “Alright alright alright. Hands chalked. Drinks sipped. Buns in, fangs out. Follow the coach to staging, nya.”
The little silhouette hops toward the mouth of the passage and pauses, letting the light from the far end paint a thin gold edge on the stone. The arena itself waits beyond, but not yet. Only the thrum of the crowd leaks through, steady as surf.

[The Grand Duchy] Labyrinth of the Primordial Bloom [FINISHED]

Severin Vaust

​

Titles
[Monster], [Undead], [Monster - Mundane], [Monster - Evolved], [Necromancer] - [#2d7d38]
Noteworthy Perks: [Evolved] - gain the title evolved. Something about your physiology or aura identifies to others you are of a higher species than your peers. Gain a +1 to social exchanges with others of your racial tree.
[Menace] - An aura of fear emanates from the creature at all times that makes lower grade creatures take a -1 effectiveness on attacks against monster or monster allies.
Noteworthy Perks: Resilient C (28) [Aging/Fatigue and Exhaustion/Suffocation/Surprised]

Asset Goal: Duchy Nobility F

Upon the mention of 'Iberis Odhir', and further on her being labelled a necromancer by the skeleton, Vaust slowly turned his head towards Fei Liu, peering into the empty sockets of his skull. There was a gleam of something behind the Doctor's hazel eyes. And, moving one of his hands close to his ear, glove index touching his tragus, he was silent for a beat. "Ah yes, Iberis Odhir. Quite curious how she decided to deal with the Cultists of Lord Hasufer. I'm sure you will be quite the asset during this delicate matter, considering your master. I will be counting on your protection."

His black orbs drifted from the skeletal figure to the draconian, sensing both the human and draconic esse in him from a simple glance, without the need of any whispers. His eyes slide, downward, catching the sight of the nubile creature with shimmering scales on top of his lap. ‘A draconian with a dragon as a pet… or perhaps a slave?’ He wondered, leaving that particular question unasked. “How do you find the Duchy in comparison to the western lands, Heir of the Draedora? Some of your own gods merge and combine with the one’s from this nation. Perhaps the mixture of both will hold the ultimate clue of what we search for… unless it is pure Fae.”

At the end of his sentence, his attention next focused on the Fae among them, wielding a harp, fingers plucking on its string. His lips widened infinitesimally. “Observant. We will likely need sharp eyes in this place we will delve into. And, of course, protection is never enough even more if…”

His attention went back to the Proctor Valeriana. “... if we are dealing with primeval force. Creature who can draw the prana from sources no modern mage can begin to imagine are quite… difficult to deal with.” Despite the gravity of his words, Severin looked unbothered. With one hand sliding into the side-pocket of his over coat, he produced a handkerchief. Soon enough, the piece of cloth found itself on top of the reliquary orb, being used to polish it.

“But that is just a speculation. The religious often tends to be a tad superstitious, as I’ve come to know.” With a single movement, the handkerchief was back into his pocket and the same hand reached over the table, grabbing the lacquered box and bringing it closer to himself. Without ceremony, he unlocked the box, seeing the shiny, black orbs within it. And, upon touching one of them, it gravitated towards him, floating right at his side.

Excellent. I have no further questions.” He said, content that he wouldn’t need to hold the Scrying Orb. Stepping behind the chair he had been assigned to, he waited for the others.

[The Grand Duchy] Labyrinth of the Primordial Bloom [FINISHED]

[If you are interested in joining a setting like this, check out: roleplayerguild.com/topics/196759-ise…]

The room, already cool, seems to drop another few degrees as Severin Vaust speaks. The subtle, unnerving pressure of his [Menace] is a physical thing, a psychic weight that presses on the very air. Proctor Valeriana, however, remains impassive, her expression unchanged, as if she were evaluating a mildly interesting but ultimately harmless weather phenomenon. She is, after all, an Archmagus of the Luminary, and dealing with powerful, strange entities is part of her purview.

When Fei Liu, the polished skeleton, introduces himself, Valeriana gives a single, sharp nod. The concept of a powerful necromancer sending a familiar in their stead is not unusual for the Luminary; it is a practical, if somewhat detached, application of magical resources.

Vetreus’s gruff interjection and casual disdain for Fei Liu earn a fractional narrowing of the Proctor’s eyes. Nobility from the West Empire is always a complicated factor, and his abrasive nature is duly noted.

Then comes Esther’s soft harp music, a gentle counter-melody to the tension in the room. Her pointed defense of Fei Liu and her sharp, insightful questions cut through the posturing. Valeriana’s gaze shifts to Esther, a flicker of genuine interest in her eyes. This one is observant.

Proctor Valeriana allows the introductions to conclude, letting the silence settle for a moment after Esther’s final words. She addresses each point with cold, efficient precision.

First, she looks directly at Severin. "To answer your question, Doctor Vaust," she says, her tone clinical, "the Church's assessment is, as expected, rooted in folklore. They speak of a 'primordial guardian,' a powerful Fae spirit from an age before the Ascendant Mage. They believe it is in pain. We, however, operate on evidence, not belief. Your job is to find out what it truly is."

Her gaze then sweeps from Vetreus to Fei Liu. "Your personal histories and allegiances are your own concern," she states flatly, a clear dismissal of the brewing conflict. "The Luminary has contracted each of you for your specific, documented skills. We expect you to function as a cohesive unit. Failure to do so will result in the termination of the contract and, consequently, your payment."

Finally, she turns her full attention to Esther, a hint of a smirk on her lips. "An astute observation, Esther. You are correct on both counts."

With a precise gesture, she taps the lacquered box. "This contains four synchronized Scrying Orbs. They will record everything you see and hear, as well as basic atmospheric and magical energy readings. This data will be transmitted back to us in real-time. It is your primary method of 'data retrieval.'"

She then gestures to the silver-etched walls. "And yes, the warding is substantial. The nature of the Verdant Heart is a highly sensitive matter. The West Empire has shown interest in the region, and the Church would prefer we did not meddle. This conversation, and the data you retrieve, is for the Luminary's archives only. Discretion is paramount."

She clasps her hands behind her back, her posture radiating finality. "Your transport to the edge of the rainforest is arranged. You will depart within the hour. Are there any final, pertinent questions regarding the mission parameters?"

[The Grand Duchy] Labyrinth of the Primordial Bloom [FINISHED]

Severin Vaust

​

Titles
[Monster], [Undead], [Monster - Mundane], [Monster - Evolved], [Necromancer] - [#2d7d38]
Noteworthy Perks: [Evolved] - gain the title evolved. Something about your physiology or aura identifies to others you are of a higher species than your peers. Gain a +1 to social exchanges with others of your racial tree.
[Menace] - An aura of fear emanates from the creature at all times that makes lower grade creatures take a -1 effectiveness on attacks against monster or monster allies.
Noteworthy Perks: Resilient C (28) [Aging/Fatigue and Exhaustion/Suffocation/Surprised]

Asset Goal: Duchy Nobility F

It had been a long slumber, too many aeons to count on. Yet, even the deepest of sleeps eventually need to come to an end. Plucked from his millennia rest, ⚐︎⬧︎⬧︎♋︎■︎♏︎⧫︎♒︎ had awakened. And, as soon as he opened his eyes, the whispers of the dead came singing into his ear, an always useful melody. “Ah, the transient beings have found something of interest, have they? Very well, I shall pay them a visit and see if whatever they have found is worth my time.”

Even within the nation of mages, creating a false identity had been rather of a child’s play to a creature such as him (Alternate Identity D + Disguise D) and, for the moment, he hid his actual name to take on the mask of Severin Vaust. And so he walked, unafraid and unbothered amidst the capital of the Grand Duchy, Aslan, cane clicking against the intricate sidewalk that, every so often, glimmered with mana from the magic circuits that permeated the city.

“How curious what they have created thus far.” He murmured to something, with the condescension of an adult measuring a toddler's toy, as he saw the magical creations that existed in Aslan for the very first time.

Soon enough, he would find himself within the briefing room, sitting comfortable in one of the chairs at the table. With his slender legs crossing in a figure four, one of the necromancer’s hand caressed his mustache, while the other held the cane-like catalyst. Every so often, the reliquary orb at the crown of his cane would pulse in a low, dark green. Whoever stood at least 10ft from him would find a certain discomfort: drops of temperature, needles pricking at the back of the neck and general weariness (Menace affects all characters bellow Character Grade B).

Before his eyes could wander towards his would-be companions, they locked onto Proctor Valeriana as soon as she walked into the chamber. He quite didn’t like her lack of etiquette for introductions, but said nothing, the only cue of it being one of the corners of his mouth scrunching slightly. ‘So many years, and they haven’t learned the bare minimum of basics. No wonder kin hunts and kill them.’ He thought to himself.

“Seems like the usual data retrieval from some arcane phenomenon still not quite identified.” He concluded from what the woman had just said, fingers slipping from his mustache to his chin, while his expression turned pensive. “What would this ‘wounded entity’ be according to The Church? Some sort of lesser divinity? A demon? A wayward spirit?” He asked, without a single flinch of his face (leveraging Religion C).

“Oh, but where are my manners?” A wide smile opened on his lips, uncrossing his legs and standing up from the chair he sat on. A thump echoed throughout the chamber as his cane hit against the polished marble floor. “I’m Doctor Severin Vaust, a scholar of both the arcane and religion. It is a pleasure to make everyone’s acquaintance.” He lied, it wasn’t a pleasure. Not yet, at least.

[The Grand Duchy] Labyrinth of the Primordial Bloom [FINISHED]

[If you are interested in joining a setting like this, check out: roleplayerguild.com/topics/196759-ise…]

The air within the Ethereal Luminary's designated contractor briefing room is sterile and still, a stark contrast to the vibrant magical energy that hums through the rest of the academy. The walls are polished white marble, etched with faint, silver runes that dampen sound and prevent magical eavesdropping. A single, large obsidian table dominates the center of the room, its surface reflecting the cool, enchanted light from the ceiling like a dark, placid lake.

You arrived a few minutes ago, taking a seat at the imposing table. You are not alone. Several other individuals, presumably the other specialists hired for this contract, are seated around the table with you. They are a varied group, each carrying themselves with an air of quiet competence, but their specific appearances and skills remain a mystery for now. A palpable silence hangs in the room, the kind that exists between professionals sizing each other up before a difficult job.

The heavy door to the room slides open with a near-silent hiss, and a stern-faced woman in the deep blue robes of a Luminary Archmagus strides in. Her name is Proctor Valeriana. She doesn't waste time on pleasantries.

"You are the specialists we have selected," she announces, her voice crisp and authoritative as she places a lacquered wooden box on the table. "The task is simple in description, yet perilous in execution. We require you to investigate a phenomenon in the eastern rainforests known as the 'Verdant Heart.' You will enter it, proceed to its epicenter, analyze the source of the disturbance, and retrieve whatever data and material samples you can."

She pauses, a faint, dismissive smile touching her lips. "The Church believes a 'wounded entity' is at its core, a conclusion based on faith and divination. We require a more... empirical conclusion."

She gestures broadly to the assembled group at the table. "Your team has been chosen for your unique and varied skills. We expect you to succeed where others would fail. Your payment will be rendered upon the successful delivery of your findings."

Her gaze sweeps across each of you, sharp and analytical. The room is silent, waiting. This is the moment to speak, to ask questions, to introduce yourself to your new "colleagues," or to simply remain silent and observe.

What do you do?

[Otenzel - The East Empire] The Grand Coliseum

Otenzel does not whisper. It gleams. White marble steps rise from the harbor road in patient tiers, and every step glints with salt and sunlight. Bronze victories stand over the boulevard, green with age, spears lifted toward banners that snap in the sea breeze. Vendors sing out over the clop of mule hooves. Steam slips from the mouths of public baths. Mosaic gods watch the crowd from every facade. The war is a rumor here and also a fact. A recruiting placard hangs beside a fresco of Mars. Priests in red hems pass sailors shouldering amphorae. At every city gate and portal arch a Black Orb sits on a plinth, like a polished night captured in stone, and the line keeps moving.

Ahead, the coliseum rules the district like a second sun. Rings within rings of pale stone, hooked with awnings and pennants, it throws a cool shade across the plaza. Trumpets practice a fanfare in short bursts. A chalkboard lists today’s cards in a scribe’s tight hand. Shackled novices shuffle under handler eyes. Free blades swagger for sponsors. The smell is sand, oil, wine, and the iron ghost of old blood.

And here you stand before the arena, the massive marble coliseum, famous for hosting legendary fights that echo through Otenzel. Perhaps you came by your own will. Perhaps you were forced. Either way the truth is one. Blood will be spilled in the coliseum, yours or your opponent’s.

At a distance, something small tilts its head at you. A cat, knee high at most, with a head too big for its body and eyes round as coins. The pupils catch the sun and glitter.

“So, you are the jabronis getting ready to join this hurtbox, nya?” it chirps with a grin that is half cheerful and half conspiracy. A few lower guards glance over, then look away. Not worth the pay.

“Well, you arrive just in time, nya. The novice league is about to begin. But before you even dream of stepping on that sand, I gotta see if you know the basics.” The creature bounces left, then right, tiny paws flicking out a quick one-two that would not trouble a fly and yet somehow feels like a coach’s test. “Follow me. Let’s see what you got.”

You are led inside. The city noise falls away to stone hush and a low drumbeat. The staging halls are a river of bodies, all flowing toward the light of the gates. Neco-Arc hooks a turn into a side chamber.

Training room. Sand floor. Straw dust in the air. Tool racks and practice marks everywhere. A narrow visor slit looks out into the arena’s under-tier, where curious faces cluster.

You have space to breathe and choose.

Training dummies stand in rows, reed cores bound with twine and fresh straw sleeves. A few wear cracked bronze helms.
A weapon rack holds blunted options: gladius, spear, trident and net, cudgel, a dented buckler.
A chalk bowl waits by the door for grip.
A water jar sweats on a stool.
A bell rope hangs beside a small gong with a dent shaped like a fist.
A balance beam crosses a shallow sand pit.
A sealed crate of caltrops lurks under a bench with a wax tag that reads property of the beastmaster, do not touch.
A rope post with painted circles at shoulder, heart, and knee height dares you to test precision.

“First, we start simple,” Neco-Arc says. “You gotta hit the dummy like this.”

The cat becomes a tiny storm. Paws blur. Straw sprays. The reed core creaks. One last pop and the dummy spins a quarter turn on its stake.

Combat Notation for Neco-Arc's attack: Strength B (5) + Natural Weapons C (4) + Fighting Style [Catting Around - Natural Weapons] C (4) = Base Effectiveness = 13 Base Effectiveness.

Neco-Arc lands primly, paws on hips. “There. Now it is your turn.”

Perform on your attacks, trying to make the same notation as I did with Neco-Arc, but considering your character's stats, skills and weapon grades.

From the corridor a marshal’s voice carries. “Novice check-in in five.” The drumbeat picks up a notch.

You can go for raw force and try to crack a core. You can trace those painted circles with needle-precise taps. You can put on a show and make the watchers at the visor slit gasp. You can grab a tool from the rack. You can glide the beam and strike mid-step. You can ring the bell to mark your rhythm. The sand keeps your secrets until you choose.

Neco-Arc’s eyes shine. “Remember. If they parry, you party. And the crowd loves style points, nya.”

[Otenzel - The East Empire] The Grand Coliseum

Otenzel does not whisper. It gleams. White marble steps rise from the harbor road in patient tiers, and every step glints with salt and sunlight. Bronze victories stand over the boulevard, green with age, spears lifted toward banners that snap in the sea breeze. Vendors sing out over the clop of mule hooves. Steam slips from the mouths of public baths. Mosaic gods watch the crowd from every facade. The war is a rumor here and also a fact. A recruiting placard hangs beside a fresco of Mars. Priests in red hems pass sailors shouldering amphorae. At every city gate and portal arch a Black Orb sits on a plinth, like a polished night captured in stone, and the line keeps moving.

Ahead, the coliseum rules the district like a second sun. Rings within rings of pale stone, hooked with awnings and pennants, it throws a cool shade across the plaza. Trumpets practice a fanfare in short bursts. A chalkboard lists today’s cards in a scribe’s tight hand. Shackled novices shuffle under handler eyes. Free blades swagger for sponsors. The smell is sand, oil, wine, and the iron ghost of old blood.

And here you stand before the arena, the massive marble coliseum, famous for hosting legendary fights that echo through Otenzel. Perhaps you came by your own will. Perhaps you were forced. Either way the truth is one. Blood will be spilled in the coliseum, yours or your opponent’s.

At a distance, something small tilts its head at you. A cat, knee high at most, with a head too big for its body and eyes round as coins. The pupils catch the sun and glitter.

“So, you are the jabronis getting ready to join this hurtbox, nya?” it chirps with a grin that is half cheerful and half conspiracy. A few lower guards glance over, then look away. Not worth the pay.

“Well, you arrive just in time, nya. The novice league is about to begin. But before you even dream of stepping on that sand, I gotta see if you know the basics.” The creature bounces left, then right, tiny paws flicking out a quick one-two that would not trouble a fly and yet somehow feels like a coach’s test. “Follow me. Let’s see what you got.”

You are led inside. The city noise falls away to stone hush and a low drumbeat. The staging halls are a river of bodies, all flowing toward the light of the gates. Neco-Arc hooks a turn into a side chamber.

Training room. Sand floor. Straw dust in the air. Tool racks and practice marks everywhere. A narrow visor slit looks out into the arena’s under-tier, where curious faces cluster.

You have space to breathe and choose.

Training dummies stand in rows, reed cores bound with twine and fresh straw sleeves. A few wear cracked bronze helms.
A weapon rack holds blunted options: gladius, spear, trident and net, cudgel, a dented buckler.
A chalk bowl waits by the door for grip.
A water jar sweats on a stool.
A bell rope hangs beside a small gong with a dent shaped like a fist.
A balance beam crosses a shallow sand pit.
A sealed crate of caltrops lurks under a bench with a wax tag that reads property of the beastmaster, do not touch.
A rope post with painted circles at shoulder, heart, and knee height dares you to test precision.

“First, we start simple,” Neco-Arc says. “You gotta hit the dummy like this.”

The cat becomes a tiny storm. Paws blur. Straw sprays. The reed core creaks. One last pop and the dummy spins a quarter turn on its stake.

Combat Notation for Neco-Arc's attack: Strength B (5) + Natural Weapons C (4) + Fighting Style [Catting Around - Natural Weapons] C (4) = Base Effectiveness = 13 Base Effectiveness.

Neco-Arc lands primly, paws on hips. “There. Now it is your turn.”

Perform on your attacks, trying to make the same notation as I did with Neco-Arc, but considering your character's stats, skills and weapon grades.

From the corridor a marshal’s voice carries. “Novice check-in in five.” The drumbeat picks up a notch.

You can go for raw force and try to crack a core. You can trace those painted circles with needle-precise taps. You can put on a show and make the watchers at the visor slit gasp. You can grab a tool from the rack. You can glide the beam and strike mid-step. You can ring the bell to mark your rhythm. The sand keeps your secrets until you choose.

Neco-Arc’s eyes shine. “Remember. If they parry, you party. And the crowd loves style points, nya.”

[Duchy Wilds] In the Quiet Jungle

Sir Edwin Stormcrest?

​

Titles
[Human - Mundane], [Noble Ryke Baron] B, [Apprentice Lancer], [Power Potential], [Get Looped], [Dark Knight], [Knight in Black], [Dark Horseman] - #0E0101
Noteworthy Skills: [Resilient Surprised], Regeneration F
Asset Goal: Northern Ryke Village [Name Pending] F

Edwin’s icy blue-eyes scanned the chamber, which he now stood as the only victor and perhaps survivor. “Hmph, as if the results were ever in question.” With his confidence not giving a single inch, the dark knight looked as confident as ever.

Still, there were some lingering doubts in his mind.

Not quite fully grasping what had transpired in that room during that short instant, his gaze would eventually scan enough of the dark, stony floor to reach the dropped pendant. “I wonder…”

Approaching the piece of jewelry, his armored hand swooped at it, easily scooping it off the ground. Holding it between the clawed fingers, he verified both cord and stone, feeling its weight and trying to look through it against the little light that reached the chamber. “... we shall see if this bauble has any value.”

During this examination, he felt the furred little runt press itself against his cool neck. He gave the pup a sideway, a show that, at least for the moment, the baron tolerated its existence. “And that is what happens to fools that down bow properly when meeting real power.” He declared, pointing at the very center of the room.

In the next moment, he turned around and began stepping towards the exit. His strut was heavy as always, not putting even the bare minimum of effort to disguise his presence. If more came? They would just add to the already growing pile of bodies.

However, nothing of the sort was found while he marched through those labyrinthine walls and, eventually, he found the exit of that blasted ruin. Daylight bathed his features.

And, at the distance, he saw her. Was it her? Or perhaps another trick to be played? That he couldn’t say for certain, at least not at that very instant.

He would let out a sharp whistle, the same he used before to call his warhorse and see what happened.

Cooldowns: Enchanted Shield - Grade B 0/4 (Locked 1/3 during Magic Duration)
Edwin - C 1/3

HP: 4/5 - Regeneration F 4/6

[Duchy Wilds] In the Quiet Jungle

Sir Edwin Stormcrest?

​

Pulse and Anxiety

youtube.com/watch?v=aqjE0ne-bdU

Titles
[Human - Mundane], [Noble Ryke Baron] B, [Apprentice Lancer], [Power Potential], [Get Looped], [Dark Knight], [Knight in Black], [Dark Horseman] - #0E0101
Noteworthy Skills: [Resilient Surprised], Regeneration F
Asset Goal: Northern Ryke Village [Name Pending] F

Who was that? Who was this figure, which one of his arms wrapped around it? It felt weird. It felt strange. Like the deathly silence in the forest.

Wrong.

Her eyes are violet, not amethyst.

Wrong.

She was wearing no pendant.

Wrong.

Her hair wasn’t that pale.

Wrong.

The little runt, so new and fresh to life, had reached that conclusion first. And, as Edwin pulled away from her, it was the very first moment that his face had been twisted. His eyebrows were fully furrowed, his lips reversed, while his nostrils flared.

Even with the sudden thunderous sound from outside, his hawkish gaze never left the pretender. Not even when more joined them. “I will rip out your face.” The declaration was done without any mirth, much different from his usual toying self. It was a promise of the uncensored violence about to come.

His left foot was the first to move, hitting the shaft of his fallen lance, making it ping against the ground and propel into the air. With a swift movement of his right hand, the dark knight caught it in mid-air.

Reaching into his back, there was a sound of steel rasping against steel. His shield, that was left securely at his back, was now wielded by his left right. The eyes of the skull embossed on it gleamed ominously against the little light in that place.

And it began glowing, a glow that appeared to suck the light towards it. Soon enough, a shadowy smog oozed from its mouth, enveloping Edwin. The baron could feel the umbral energies being absorbed by his muscles, empowering him. [Action 1]

Next, he thrusted his lance against the doppelgänger, the three-pronged tips searching the underside of her jaw. In tandem, the shadows began forming at his feet: they expanded and expanded, unmistakable sizzling followed them. [Action 2/3]

Actions:
1 - The Patron’s Boon on self (Enchanted Shield) - Magic D + Magic Duration E + Bolster B [STR] - Increase STR effectiveness by 5, duration 3 turns.
2/3 - My Domain - Fighting Style [Lance] C + Blight [Lightning] F + Continuing [Lightning] F + Aura D (1) [Darkness (Necrotic)] + Area D (50ft) + Selective D (Sparing the cub and the Skythorn Blossoms only) + Incapacitating D (1) - Grade C 3 Posts Cooldown - Strength A (6) + Lance B (5) + Fighting Style C (4) + The Patron’s Boon (5) = 20 Base Effectiveness + 1 damage from Blight [Lightning] F if hits + 1 damage from Continuing [Lightning] F if hits + 3 damage from Aura D (1) [Darkness (Necrotic)] upon contact (automatic) + possibility of knocking the targets into kneeling position from Incapacitating D. Damage potential total 25

Cooldowns: Enchanted Shield - Grade B 0/4 (Locked 0/3 during Magic Duration)
Edwin - C 0/3

HP: 4/5 - Regeneration F 3/6