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Equipment and Accessories
Under normal circumstances, a player has seven equipment slots (Helmet/Armor/Arm Equipment/Main Hand/Off Hand/Leg Equipment/Shoes) and four accessory slots. These items can be destroyed if their durability is exceeded beyond a certain point, but otherwise, even the most common equipment will not break so easily. The rarity of craftable and buyable equipment is: Common > Uncommon > Rare > Exquisite > Heroic > Masterwork.

Consumables
Consumables come in the same rarities as equipment and accessories, but in general, their efficacy is much less impressive, serving as single-use effects that can be replicated with the skills of a job. They are broken into three categories: offensive, defensive, and supportive, though within those categories, there may still be fluctuations in pricing depending on the specific effect. Consumables often only have a single effect. In most cases, a pack full of consumables is no replacement for another party member.

Anomalous Rewards
Anomalous Rewards are given to the MVP of a battle against an Anomaly. These equipments or accessories are soul-bound and wholly unique, possessing abilities that mimic the Anomaly they were birthed from as well as stat boosts that function based off percentage rather than static numbers. More powerful abilities decrease the stats that these rewards give, but the tradeoff is usually for the better. The quality of the reward coincides with the ranking of the Anomaly, but except for Superior Anomalies, only singular rewards are given.


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Attributes
On every level up, players gain 8 attribute points, where they can disrupt as they please among their stats. In general, 10 in one stat is equal to the capabilities of a normal human man. The majority of denizens in the world of Gala possess superhuman capabilities due to this distinction.

When calculating one's attributes, one adds all static modifiers from equipment and accessories, before adding in all percentage modifiers from one's Nuclei or jobs and rounding down the result afterwards.


Resource Regeneration
The natural regeneration of one's Resources (HP/SP/MP) scales with one's END.

HP recovers out of combat, at a pace of 1% of your END per second.

MP recovers out of combat, at a pace of 50% of your END per second.

SP recovers in combat when you don't use SP-consuming actives, at a pace of 100% of your END per round.

Passive skills can modify one's ability to recover HP and MP in combat, while SP recovers quickly enough that it normally fills up to full after a battle has concluded.

Experience Gain
Experience is gained solely through ending lives. When one hits the maximum level of a job (50 for low-rank, 200 for high-rank), any additional EXP they gain is stored separately at half the amount they would get normally. This banked EXP is used when obtaining a new job, and will not be lost if an old job is removed.

Items and skills exist which influence EXP gain either negatively or positively.

Skills
There are two different types of skills that exist: actives and passives, both which are obtained through leveling up in your current job. Different classes obtain different amounts of skills, but for most low-rank jobs, they can be broken down into either martial or magical classes.

Low-Rank Martial classes grant three passives, gained at LVL 1, LVL 25, and LVL 50, as well as five actives, gained at LVL 1, LVL 10, LVL 20, LVL 30, and LVL 40.

Low-Rank Magical classes grant three passives, gained at LVL 1, LVL 25, and LVL 50, as well as seven actives, gained at LVL 1, LVL 6, LVL 12, LVL 18, LVL 24, LVL 30, and LVL 36.

Low-Rank Hybrid classes grant three passives, gained at LVL 1, LVL 25, and LVL 50, as well as five actives, gained at LVL 1, LVL 10, LVL 20, LVL 30, LVL 40, and LVL 50.

Low-Rank Craft classes grant five passives, gained at LVL 1, LVL 10, LVL 20, LVL 30, LVL 40, and LVL 50.

During every level up, there is a chance for an existing passive to be improved, increasing its LVL and its benefits. Per level up of a low-rank job, there's a 5% chance of a passive being leveled up. Per level up of a high-rank job, there's a 10% chance of a passive being leveled up. Certain circumstances may increase these chances.

Certain classes may possess capstone actives too, but it varies from class to class.

Inventory
Player inventories must be purchased separately, with different pouches or packs possessing different capacities. They are weightless, and can hold an infinite amount of money. While individual pieces of equipment count for individual inventory slots, consumables can stack, and count for a single slot regardless of the amounts stacked.

Certain skills exist that enable one to steal the content's of someone else's inventory.
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The Keystone Plaza
Though the festivities of the Rinkan Annihilation Tournament had more or less died down by this point and many of the factioned Immortals had gone off to their respective territories once more, the area around Nyu-Taro’s Keystone was as active as always, low-leveled players using it as a meeting point to start up their parties. The day was as pleasant as always, a clean breeze cutting through the warmth of the beating sun, but on the horizon, clouds thick with rain were gathering, slowly sweeping over the northwards forests. It was no deterrent to any who sought a proper adventure though. Once more, wooden boards slathered with calligraphic scripts were nailed upon the side of a building, requesting assistance on a variety of tasks, ranging from simple monster extermination to escort missions that ranged to the furthest corners of Horogi. Now that the party had a better sense of how much money they could get from slaying monsters, it became clear too, that the amount of rishi they could make doing specific jobs definitely outstripped the amount they made from grinding alone, assuming that they didn’t sell the equipment they obtained in the process of monster slaying.

Still, after a couple more minutes passed, Klein remained elusive, and gradually, the group began to fragment once more. Time dilation may turn every minute in real life into three minutes within Cacophony Concord, but human patience ran much thinner. Each pursuing their own desires, they went off, with plans to reconvene later.


The Markets and Exchange
Nyu-Taro’s Keystone may have been the center of the neutral city-state, but its heart was found south, where the public markets were open. Merchants, both Immortals and Rien, squabbled and shouted over each other at the large, while dirty-faced urchins slipped through mass of humanity with varying ease, searching for an easy mark. Paupers, ever present, continued rattling their prayer wheels and hoping for alms, adding to the noise of the crowds. Thankfully, at least, with the craze of the Flamebringer Princess’s victory having ebbed, it was easy enough to distinguish replica weapons from authentic ones: the fakes were on clearance sales now, and so were much of the other memorabilia from the tournament. Painting scrolls of various rankers were going for a heavily discounted 8000 rishi, while plushies, cute and cuddly, went for 12000 rishi, down from the 20000 that was demanded just three days ago. Some were still too stubborn to slash prices in order to clear their stock though: a young, starving sculptor squatted on his log while his tarp tent displayed a to-scale rendition of the Flamebringer Princess herself…though with artistic liberties taken with her proportions.

Coin Exchange Services, of course, were also present, and the one that Ari had been introduced to was owned by the Ryoku-Jo clan. The teller, an ash-skinned woman with dark, orange hair eyed had eyed Ari’s ears when she approached, but had shrugged when the silver proved to be real. The divine protection within Nyu-Taro prevented monsters from doing harm, of course, but the myriad of gods in the land didn’t ever really account for counterfeit coinage or scams. Ari, thankfully, wasn’t a tanuki brat trying to make a quick buck out of leaves, and came out of the exchange 7500 rishi richer. The paper money was smooth to the touch, Ryoku-Jo’s bills in particular depicting the scientific titans of steampunk engineering (which was really just a bunch of old Horogi folks dressed in Alderamin outfits), and slipped into her Item Pouch weightlessly.

Now, freshly equipped with money, any who wished to go shopping simply needed to delve in to the deals.

Shin-Yu Temple
ā€œBrother Dysphoria, so glad to see you!ā€
A bald priest, sweeping the ground outside the temple, smiled at him.

ā€œHow was your sojourn within the Greater Realm?ā€ A tanned priestess, carrying a load of laundry, detoured beside him.

ā€œWe’ve just brewed a new batch of amazake, if you want one?ā€ A young acolyte, smelling of sweet rice, offered him a cup.

Lugh may have only been an adventurer proper for fifty or so hours, but his dedication and the amount of rishi he had spent on the temple had endeared him greatly to the workers at the shrine. After all, while others may have spent more money, there was still something endearing about seeing a new Immortal work so tirelessly to strike down the endless little evils surrounding the city-state, doubly so when they worked as tirelessly as himself. By now, other Immortals would have already formed efficient, well-rounded parties, or obtained Nuclei that made their solo journeys easier, but Lugh continued to return, bloodied and battered, to purchase more talismans and go fight the good fight once more. There was something cool about that sort of person, really, and hey, compared to the abuse he withstood, what was the cost of a little kindness towards him?

The temple’s talisman store, which was really just an open window upon which a multitude of talismans were strung up and displayed, soon came into view. Origami creatures, from cranes to snakes, decorated the desk of a pudgy, middle-aged man. His name was Taka-Ryu, a face that Lugh became quite familiar with from his back-and-forth trips between Shin-Yu Temple and Pearl Bloom River, and he grinned when he saw the sullen warrior.

ā€œPeace be with you, brother, and may the winds bring new changes! Shall I prepare the usual for you today?ā€

Orc’s Smithing
The uncreatively-named Orc’s Smithing had seen better days, ever since Oni Smithworks stole seventy percent of its common customers. Who could blame them though? Between a muscular babe of an oni and some craggy ol’ greenskin, only adventurers with deviant tastes would pick his store. To those Immortals in the starting city, it’s not like they had enough skill to understand the small differences in the two blacksmith’s crafts, after all. Once more, Tordo Bigarms, an orc with a jutting lower jaw and a receding hairline was harder at work with polishing up old wares than producing new ones.

So it took him a bit, to realize that someone was actually asking him a question about his work, rather than just directions to his competitor’s forge.

Blinking slowly, the orc turned to face Klein, stuffing his oiled rag to the front pocket of his apron. He was shorter than Klein, but more thickly built, and after some deliberation, he nodded. ā€œWhatcha searchin’ for, son? I can see ye got some battle experience on you n some money burning too. Any perticular benefits ye want for yer axe?ā€

5'6 | 97 lbs

Name: Otis Tan Arillo
Age: 16
Race: Strigidae Beastkin
Nationality: Silvan

Personality
Otis is a studious young man, one who studies hard out of a love of discovery. The world he lived in was once so small, and now, it has expanded infinitely, brilliantly. Thoughtful but reckless, he puts theory to the test as often as possible, and has a skeptic’s mind when it comes to accepting any particular piece of knowledge. After all, what could one truly say about the cause of lightning, when thunderbirds actually do exist? A myriad of truths exist, and Otis wishes to pursue them all, weaving a tapestry of information into his mind that comprises of natural logic and supernatural wisdom. Science is an art, in and of itself, and even the most minute details can hold in them secrets yet uncovered.

It is that obsession with detail though, that makes Otis a bit insufferable at times. When he asks questions, it’s in a barrage. When he works on something, he’s a perfectionist. When he studies, he doesn’t discard any detail. Intuition and instinct, to Otis, is only guessing, and guessing brings forth unpredictability that can otherwise be controlled for. And if there’s one thing that he doesn’t like, it’s the inconsistency where there shouldn’t be any. If someone promises something, he expects them to fulfill their promise. If someone has done something once, he expects them to be able to do it again. That harshness is doubled onto himself. Though failure is alright, Otis does not ever want to let that stand. He’s not insane. He’s just stubborn and prideful, a child beneath that veneer of maturity.

Otis also gets weirdly competitive over video games. Perhaps because programming ā€˜should’ be more consistent than reality.

Backstory
The Strigidae clan had been, on paper, one of the clans in Fabula Silva that should have had more political influence and military power than they did. After all, they took their namesake from owls, creatures capable of silent flight and nighttime operations, with the customary physical might that all avians possessed. In theory, they should have had the advantages of both the Zagara and the Aquilus, and the ancient tales of their forebearers did indeed point to such might. The reality though, was that they had neither. Somewhere along the way, the Strigidae lost their wings and their talons; only their brilliant eyes and neck flexibility remained. No one knew why, but no one remembered when the Strigidae clan last possessed wings either. All that they were now was another minor vassal clan to the Aquilus, their nocturnal habits making them good sentries at when the moon rose, one stuck between the realms of day and night.

It was there that Otis Tan Arillo was born, the child of nest guard and a weaver. Curiosity had always been the core behind his actions, something that had both endeared him to his parents as well as caused them plenty of headaches. He had loved to sit beside his mother as she worked her craft, and he had loved poking his head to places that had been expressly declared as off-limits for fledglings such as himself too. Something more existed in the world, something that no one around him had answers to, beyond vague allusions to myths and tradition. In a forest that was always changing and always growing, the fact that no one could bring any certainty to why things were had always bothered Otis, and that continued to poke and prod at him. Perhaps if he had stayed in his clan, that irritation would have been buried eventually by the more immediate demands of life.

But he didn’t. On a humid day, a traveller from another world passed through the Arboreal Valley. A botanist, studying the foreign flora of the lush valley, trying to make it through the language barrier of the beastkins through gesticulations and approximations of speech. They were a silly, weak individual, dressed in boring, mass-produced clothing that denoted neither lineage nor profession, but Otis was drawn to them by the certainty and excitement in their voice, by their desire to explore everything the same way that they did. And, perhaps too, by how they could cast forward bolts of lightning without an inkling of magical ability. He stuck with the researcher for as long as they were in that particular section of the woods, and once they left, Otis went the other way, squawking at his parents until he wore them out through sheer stubbornness and they came up with a compromise.

He would get his rudimentary education in Maxillius Arcture, as well as the requisite vaccinations for otherworld travel, and only transfer over to Silver Gate Academy after he became of age.

So that’s exactly what Otis did.

Isidore stared at Augusta for a long couple of seconds, before continuing to follow Octavia. He hadn’t been democratic in his past life, but there were only implicit understandings between himself and this group of strangers. Best to let this go.

The architecture changed as they strode down the stairs. It was curious, that this building was constructed atop something older, something fouler. Not just a place for foul experimentation, but perhaps a place for archaeologists to delve into the mysteries of the past too? It smelled of a bad movie, really, the sort that the young uns in his business would simultaneously deride and eat up. As the surroundings worsened and worsened, shadows lengthening and the stench of the ghettos seeping into Isidore, the man began to consider. Black slabs that ate the soul, which transformed into flowers birthed of tar. Emancipated monstrosities, wandering empty corridors and hallways. A warden of titanic proportions, stalking the aboveground.

Once again, curiosity and ambition got the better of one’s common sense, hm?

Black vines crawled over old stone, wretched creatures turned into fertilizer from which the tar flowers grew. The lighting conditions were practically non-existent at this point, and the stench strengthened too, every cell of the dungeon empty. A disgusting place, a proper oubliette, a place that even he feared. And at the very end, where the demonic dog awaited them like a guide to the bowels of hell, stood a door, wrenched open by masses of vines. The occult circle engraved upon its surface had its own implications, as did the runes inscribed upon them as well. A different script from the ones that adorned the black stone slabs. A different meaning.

In the suffocating silence, Isidore spoke up.

ā€œThey were studying something. It got out.ā€

He picked up Octavia’s chain, looping it twice around his hand. He forced the tension out of his shoulders, and felt again for that energy within his own body. Once, he had formed a connection with another soul, and became more grounded for it. Now, he envisioned it coalescing on his eyes, drawing more light into it, as vestigial as it was. And, whether or not his eyesight improved from it, Isidore strode boldly forwards. It didn’t matter, after all.

He had walked to certain death once, the waves burning his lungs from inside out.

But this? This was just another alleyway back home.

5'6 | 97 lbs

Name: Otis Tan Arillo
Age: 16
Race: Strigidae Beastkin
Nationality: Silvan

Personality
Otis is a studious young man, one who studies hard out of a love of discovery. The world he lived in was once so small, and now, it has expanded infinitely, brilliantly. Thoughtful but reckless, he puts theory to the test as often as possible, and has a skeptic’s mind when it comes to accepting any particular piece of knowledge. After all, what could one truly say about the cause of lightning, when thunderbirds actually do exist? A myriad of truths exist, and Otis wishes to pursue them all, weaving a tapestry of information into his mind that comprises of natural logic and supernatural wisdom. Science is an art, in and of itself, and even the most minute details can hold in them secrets yet uncovered.

It is that obsession with detail though, that makes Otis a bit insufferable at times. When he asks questions, it’s in a barrage. When he works on something, he’s a perfectionist. When he studies, he doesn’t discard any detail. Intuition and instinct, to Otis, is only guessing, and guessing brings forth unpredictability that can otherwise be controlled for. And if there’s one thing that he doesn’t like, it’s the inconsistency where there shouldn’t be any. If someone promises something, he expects them to fulfill their promise. If someone has done something once, he expects them to be able to do it again. That harshness is doubled onto himself. Though failure is alright, Otis does not ever want to let that stand. He’s not insane. He’s just stubborn and prideful, a child beneath that veneer of maturity.

Otis also gets weirdly competitive over video games. Perhaps because programming ā€˜should’ be more consistent than reality.

Backstory
The Strigidae clan had been, on paper, one of the clans in Fabula Silva that should have had more political influence and military power than they did. After all, they took their namesake from owls, creatures capable of silent flight and nighttime operations, with the customary physical might that all avians possessed. In theory, they should have had the advantages of both the Zagara and the Aquilus, and the ancient tales of their forebearers did indeed point to such might. The reality though, was that they had neither. Somewhere along the way, the Strigidae lost their wings and their talons; only their brilliant eyes and neck flexibility remained. No one knew why, but no one remembered when the Strigidae clan last possessed wings either. All that they were now was another minor vassal clan to the Aquilus, their nocturnal habits making them good sentries at when the moon rose, one stuck between the realms of day and night.

It was there that Otis Tan Arillo was born, the child of nest guard and a weaver. Curiosity had always been the core behind his actions, something that had both endeared him to his parents as well as caused them plenty of headaches. He had loved to sit beside his mother as she worked her craft, and he had loved poking his head to places that had been expressly declared as off-limits for fledglings such as himself too. Something more existed in the world, something that no one around him had answers to, beyond vague allusions to myths and tradition. In a forest that was always changing and always growing, the fact that no one could bring any certainty to why things were had always bothered Otis, and that continued to poke and prod at him. Perhaps if he had stayed in his clan, that irritation would have been buried eventually by the more immediate demands of life.

But he didn’t. On a humid day, a traveller from another world passed through the Arboreal Valley. A botanist, studying the foreign flora of the lush valley, trying to make it through the language barrier of the beastkins through gesticulations and approximations of speech. They were a silly, weak individual, dressed in boring, mass-produced clothing that denoted neither lineage nor profession, but Otis was drawn to them by the certainty and excitement in their voice, by their desire to explore everything the same way that they did. And, perhaps too, by how they could cast forward bolts of lightning without an inkling of magical ability. He stuck with the researcher for as long as they were in that particular section of the woods, and once they left, Otis went the other way, squawking at his parents until he wore them out through sheer stubbornness and they came up with a compromise.

He would get his rudimentary education in Maxillius Arcture, as well as the requisite vaccinations for otherworld travel, and only transfer over to Silver Gate Academy after he became of age.

So that’s exactly what Otis did.
Probably woulda been one of the things you'd want to express early on. To note, people can normally still access more than three different weapon masteries, right?
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