ERode

The Wayfarer's Guild

Might wanna be careful about collabing. Remember that Guilty Spark's likely to be posting on Wednesday.

Cacophony Concord

With the few minutes he had before the others logged in, Raime’s attempts at spying didn’t gain him any new information but did give him a general clue as to the opinion of the players around the Keystone. The general opinion seemed to be split between two factors: whether to support the pre-battle efforts only, or to participate in the main battle itself as well. The Tato-Ie’s call for mercenaries to protect their home city seemed unattractive for most players; though it offered good pay for potentially little work, no one was particularly interested in doing guard work. After all, if you’re just standing there, you’re not earning EXP. And if it turns out that the Ryoku-Jo were set on invading after all, the battle would be brutal, tougher than what any player low-leveled enough to be unaffiliated with any clan could hope to really survive. There was the Flamebringer Princess to fear, sure, but for large-scale conflicts, the Ryoku-Jo clan also held the loyalty of the wide-spread annihilation specialist, the Hero of Hell.

Compared to those two, as well as the main force of steampunk samurai Riens that the Ryoku-Ko trained, it was a much better prospect to work as escorts for merchant caravans headed to the Mora-Sho or Tato-Ie city-states instead. Perhaps bandits and monsters may pop up, but such encounters were more in the vein of what newcomer Immortals were accustomed to. It was even more lucrative to join the Mora-Sho as mercenaries, leeching EXP from a theater and fulfilling requirements for classes without really risking the chance of getting absolutely BTFO’d by Superiors. Many were doubting, really, that the Tato-Ie clan planned to go with a full-on invasion, despite what they claimed. It was more likely a show of strength, to convince with the promise of more military force that it would be better for the Mora-Sho clan to become vassals, rather than for the city-state to be seized by force.

Or well, maybe that was just the thoughts of an opinionated Immortal that Raime had eavesdropped on.

Ames’s quest for the location of the Blooming Springs was much more straightforward, answers gained just by asking a stranger a random question. Despite being along the Pearl Bloom River, the Springs was a proper geothermal spring atop of a hill that the river below snaked around. Though it had once been treated as a pilgrimage site, there was a small village around it now, and the spring was its main attraction: for the low, low price of 800 rishi, you could enjoy an open-air bath in mineral-rich waters that would do anything from improve your skin to give you better luck with your love life. Seemed like a popular spot for couples, and they rented out robes for those more shy about bathing outdoors in the nude. Though you could walk and kill monsters along the way, rickshaw drivers could take you along properly paved roads too, delivering you to the onsen town in just ten minutes…so long as you paid a fee, of course.

As for what the group would do though…well, some more conversation and information-gathering may give them a more unified goal. If not, there was always the trusty option of splitting up to pursue individual desires once more.
_{@Shovel@Searat@Psyker Landshark@OwO@Yankee}

---

It was sorta funny that Ari was better at dodging her friends than dodging death. Though Ames had caught a glimpse of her, all it took was a few steps back into the crowds of Immortals, and then a burst of speed, to disappear from the red-headed warrior’s sight. Maybe there would be a future where she could party happily with her online friends…but maybe, considering her current achievements, that would only be possible in VR Minecraft. And only Raime would really play such a boomer game when Cacophony Concord was an option.

Before Ari could tunnel too far into her thoughts, however, she realized that someone was standing in front of her.

A tall woman with flowing, purple hair and a pale complexion beamed down on her. Her white swallowtail suit, an anachronism in the pseudo-Asian nation of Horogi, was embroidered with silver threads, depicting motifs of the moon and swallows, and her bold eyebrows framed her hawk-like red eyes. One hand was placed on her hip, while the other held a business card out for Ari to take. “You’re the sewer diver, aren’tcha?” she asked, a bright smile on her face. “Zhi-Toren Dani, on-field contributor to Cacophony Concord Connect, Horogi division. I’m sure you’ve heard of us before. Let’s have a chat, eh? Over…hm, pancakes and tea?”
_@Greengoat

---

Nyu-Taro’s neutrality was founded in the fact that all five clans had influence and power here and kept each other in check for the sake of ensuring that there was no unbalanced distribution of Immortals. As such, it was a simple task for Lugh to find the recruiting offices of each clan. They were all lined up, conveniently enough, just a couple blocks west of the Keystone plaza, with plenty of posters and Rien workers advertising the benefits that came with joining any respective clan. The Ryoku-Jo, with their recent victory in the Rinkan Annihilation Tournament, of course advertised themselves as the strongest clan in Horogi, backed up by foreign powers and wielding the hammer of progress, but others weren’t far off either. Certainly, conflicts between the clans and their city-states could get intensely violent at times, but here…it almost felt like Clubs Day in university, where people tried to pull in new members with the promise of incentives or exultations of past achievements.

As for the application themselves, however, it seemed to be a relatively simple process. You would file the paperwork necessary to join the clan as a low-ranking member, and from there own a sigil that marked you as a member of that clan. With that sigil, one could travel to any village, town, or city affiliated with the clan in question, and be treated in accordance to your rank, as well as gain access to employment specific to those regions. There would be reparations made if an Immortal wished to leave a clan though, with the reparations growing greater and greater depending on the rank that you were within the clan. Improving your standing within the clan could be done fairly steadily, of course, just by doing quests and participating in clan-level conflicts. Joining guilds becomes a clan-specific affair, however, and for those who are still not certain about whether they wanted to stick with the clan or not, it was always possible to simply refuse an improvement in their ranks.

Recognition from the clan heads, as well as the upper-level Riens who do the administrative and real political work of running the city-state and vassal states, however, is a different aspect altogether. Though Immortals are able to gain fame and wealth through combat or production, the nature of ‘ranking up’ is automated or delegated to lesser officials. Only exceptional cases, such as the Superiors, would actively be in contact with the clan head and their family. Thankfully, for those who wish to become Samurai, the recognition of lesser houses are often enough. It’s rare that Immortals with the class of ‘Samurai’ hold vows of devotion to specific Rien nobility, after all.

Interestingly enough, the system of ‘ranks’ and ‘reparations’ does not exist for the Gakui-Re Clan. Whether it’s due to the freedom they espouse or to the lack of a proper city-state to call their own, joining and leaving the clan seems to be the simplest, and conversely the most problematic. Without rules established, who knows how traitors would be treated, especially when those you’ve left are just as Immortal as you?

Needless to say, it’s advised to leave one’s clan on amiable terms whenever possible.
_{@Cu Chulainn}

The Wayfarer's Guild

_{@Rune_Alchemist@Aerandir@Guilty Spark}

With such eloquence of speech, perhaps the pale woman wasn’t so far off when she addressed that youth as a boy after all. Still, Finn Reinheart. Even at a glance, one could understand that the youth was a warrior. Fledging and inexperienced in more than one way, but one with a strong enough foundation that there was reason for him to be working for the Wayfarer’s Guild. Qantz-Farron drew in another lungful of smoke-infused air, and let it out. Undoubtedly, Finn was the physically strongest within this group.

But Sera could still wrap him around her finger.

And now, her gaze had turned to match his own, biting words eliciting a smirk to meet her grin. “Qantz-Farron Jinterrez Yusentein,” he replied, dipping his head and taking a step back in the mockery of a bow. “Disregard the last two, and address me by the first two.” He straightened up, but remained where he was, by the window. “I meant my words as observations only, but to construe that as a threat, hm...you are an interesting one, aren't you?”

Qantz-Farron turned towards the warrior then, his smile fading, expression without warmth.

“And Finn, it’s a pleasure.”

The Devil Hunter Agency

_[@TheWindel]

Shika closed their eyes briefly, pulling their senses ten kilometers away to the dummy they had left at the shop. Was everything going smoothly? Yes, yes it was. Shop closed, doors locked, accounting done, and everyone in bed. They'll swap tomorrow morning, after this whole debacle was dealt with. Suppose that was that then.

"Well, I'll take the shrine then. And, mm, Envoy, you're coming with! What can you do anyways? Other than be arm candy?" Shika said, hooking their arm around the eyepatch-wearing devil and dragging them off. The bartender looked powerful enough, if such violations of space could be done on a whim, and they gladly strode through, into the barren, quiet shrine. A breath later, and Shika maneuvered them to the large tree beside the shrine. Ropes laden with talismans were strung around it, and there was a fence surrounding the presumably holy tree too, but Shika simply hopped through it, motioning for the Envoy to do the same. They pulled out their smartphone soon after, placing their free hand against their cheek while shooting a wink at the camera.

A flash later, and Shika's first selfie of a soon-to-be-altered tree was taken, and they motioned for the Envoy to join in after they took a couple more.

"C'mon, gotta do it for posterity!"

The Wayfarer's Guild

_{@Rune_Alchemist@Aerandir@Guilty Spark}

The Handler was late.

Leaning against the wall beside the shuttered window, a pale-skinned man drew a shard of flint out from the pockets of his coat. He held it between his index and middle fingers, before striking it with a heavily scratched ring around his thumbs. Sparks, bits of light in an otherwise dim room, scattered and fell into the bowl of a polished tobacco pipe. A mixture of foreign herbs and leaves, dried and shred, smouldered upon contact with the sparks. They glowed red as he breathed it in, then turned gray as he released a faintly nutty smoke out. The man’s black eyes gazed at the other two in the room, not focusing particularly on either one. He felt the itch in his scars, but did not respond to their cries of revenge or retreat, and instead, remained where he was. Arms folded, flint in his pockets once more, a mahogany pipe cradled before his lips, his vision growing hazier as smoke filled the room and found no easy escape.

Another tinge of emotion. Pity this time, as those sweetly-barbed words left the pale woman’s mouth. She was pale like snow, droplets of blood where her irises laid. Tone irreverent and confident; in an age of bodies warped by the well of leylines, one could never be sure if what looked like a child truly was one. But perhaps such disrespect could be expected. This was Arskel, the dead end of the trail others named the High Road, and this was the Wayfarers’ Guild, the last chance for any aspiring adventurer, any wayward criminal, to find employment with their craftless skills. With no Handler here, what were they to do but turn on each other?

Qantz-Farron let out a small, mirthless laugh. His gaze settled on the bladed lady.

“We’re not going to get along, but I pray we get out of each other’s ways,” he said, voice as viscous as a snake’s venom. “You’ve a name, or do you prefer ‘girl’?”

Silver Gate Academy [Accepting New Players]

_{@Sho Minazuki}

Assassination attempt investigation, hrm? Made sense then. And considering the matter of the mask...

"Fine." Otis had suspected as much. It remained a curiosity to him that humans were so eager to segregate themselves from the other sentient races in the world, but perhaps a sense of xenophobia was easier to foster when you only spend time with those similar to one's self. He shrugged off that idea, storing into his mind that Utsumi was lying. That teacher had told them to set up room arrangements for groups of four, without mentioning anything about how those of a more incorporeal slant would not be arriving at their room at all for a sizable portion of the singular week they'd be spending in Kyoto. Even in the absence of any nefarious kidnapping, there was no reason why the training the demons had to undertake meant that they couldn't return to their hotel rooms at night.

Simply put, shit stank bad.

As Ultana offered a suitable distraction for him, Otis drew out a piece of paper and a pencil. He closed his eyes briefly, his exceptional intelligence retrieving the details of that assassin's mask in far greater detail than what his phone's camera could capture, before he drew multiple variations of that same mask from different angles upon the piece of paper. There was a slight pause as the Strigidae's mind raced through any other possible details that seemed unique, but after a while, he stopped and wrote down a simple question instead, before folding the letter in half.

"Utsumi," Otis said, waving the letter towards the man. "If you receive reports, you can send reports. Can you send this to Koyuki?"

Within the letter, the question address to the kitsune was simple: "Where can you buy this, specifically? -Otis"

The Wayfarer's Guild

Well, hopefully Noblebandit gets their CS up by then.

The Wayfarer's Guild

Shadows Cast in the Searing Wastes

Qantz-Farron Jinterrez Yusentein

_{24 y/o | Moriachi Blackblood | Initiate}

At a distance, Qantz-Farron is a tall shadow. Black clothing, black hair, and black eyes, none of which reflect any light. Beneath his pale skin are black veins and black scars, the markings of the peculiar witchcraft that he keeps alive on his body. But other than his face, the rest of his body is rarely shown. As a book has a cover, so does he hide the contents of his own body, and taken at a distance, nothing particular about him stands out. To those with interests in humans, he may be handsome to an extent, 6’4 and well-built, slender but not weak. Closer, however, are those void-like eyes, that gently contemptible sneer. Some swear that he’s a real bastard; others are drawn in by his easy audacity. There is no truth that can be gleaned, however. His forked tongue speaks of the machinations of the city-states, of the developed thoughts of the world-movers easily, but Qantz-Farron does not speak genuinely of his own being.

As a book, he is closed.

Magic

Qantz-Farron is a practitioner of Yusentein Witchcraft, which invokes the power of the dead in exchange for permanently marking the deeds of the dead upon the body of the caster. The spirits of mere mortals, no matter how legendary in life, are not yet sufficient in death to match the might of the divinity of the world, and thus, he still must drink deep from the leylines to recover the masteries of the departed. The scars become substitute for incantations then, similar to the ‘stenciling’ of Primal magics which enable casting speed superior to those reliant on spellbooks and arcane performances, whilst the acquisitions of new magics themselves becomes a much more difficult and painful process.

As of now, Qantz-Farron’s magic can perform two effects:

Incarnation enables him to draw on the strength of the fallen, multiplying his physical capabilities to the superhuman levels most trained warriors easily meet.
Invocation enables him to temporarily manifest the forms of the vanquished for singular actions, whether it be the swipe of spectral claws or the bite of a phantom shark.

Equipment

A lantern, so that when night falls, others know that he's coming.

History

It started with a death.

Theme

The Wayfarer's Guild

If that's the case, then I'd like to paste this in the Character Sheet section. I'll PM you the details of the History afterwards, cause it's convenient to hide this shit.

The Wayfarer's Guild

I mean, if a five word history is unironically acceptable, then I'm fine with that. ;3