ERode

The Wayfarer's Guild

_{@Rune_Alchemist@Aerandir@Guilty Spark}

"Thank you."

Qantz-Farron slipped the flask into the folds of his dark coat in one smooth motion, nodding once towards Nyrien. His hands stayed in his pockets as he took in the thoughts of his colleagues, letting their words and beliefs seep into his mind. The line that Finn drew was too long for his liking; the degrees of separation from customer to dealer to producer was long and uncertain. Would dealers continue their work, when they’ve lost contact with their producer? Sera’s words had some weight to it though. Unpreparedness and overconfidence lead to unseemly demises, whether above or below the surface. The work she wished to prepare though…Qantz-Farron gazed towards the shuttered windows, the ones that lead out to the training fields. Fields for combat training, but no qualifications of intellect or skill.

The Watch had professionals but lacked individual power.

The Guild had amateurs but held plentiful might.

It was in these liminal spaces, where skill and experience did not outweigh power and recklessness, that adventurers existed, bringing forth sub-optimal solutions using a motley collection of capabilities. Like puzzle pieces forcefully pushed through incorrect places. Like snakes contorting into tunnels meant for worms. He listened to Sera and Finn spar a little more. The archer was finally getting his footing, conversation-wise. That was good.

Qantz-Farron took a breath and spoke.

“When the situation calls for flight, creatures make one of two decisions. They can escape back to their group, finding protection in anonymity, or they can escape away from their group, seeking to divert the predator from the collective.” The black-eyed man pulled out a pale hand, extending two slim fingers. “Roaches, when flushed out, will scurry to their homes, to their group. Our friends in the sewers will do the same. If they are alone, they will seek the group. If they are together, we let one go. So long as we manage their fear, they will not blind themselves with it.”

With his other hand, Qantz-Farron pulled out the flask again.

“As for finding our first, we have this. A unique concoction, a taste foreign to the sewers, and the producers who’ve brewed it. If the dead are pleased, it will lead to the individual. If the forebearers are pleased, it will lead to the hideout.”

He brought both hands into his pockets once more, smiling his mirthless smile.

“Leave the Watch to their tedium of investigation and interview. Our work does not rely on words.”

The Epic of Beginnings - Fragments of a weathered scroll

^{@Pyromania99@Rune_Alchemist}

Two dead men and an injured girl with ears as long as Augusta’s. Isidore gazed over their weapons, their fine clothing, then to the destitute appearance of the child, before narrowing his eyes. Assumptions came easily, and though he guarded himself against it, there was still a pit in his stomach that burned. Even when he was young, stupid, and thoughtless, he hated this shit, and now that he was an old man in a young man’s body? Isidore’s heart pounded hard, and his blood ran hot.

But that was only on the inside. From the outside, his posture did not change, and he did not approach.

The dark-haired man thrust his sword into the snow and turned his palms so they faced the child. “You’re injured. Tell us what happened, and we’ll heal you.” He gestured briefly at the ragged state of his clothing, the bloodied boar skin that Augusta held, their general lack of possessions. “We’re not with those men.”

His gaze left the bruised waif, then scanned his surroundings slowly, methodically.

“Are there more of you?”

Cacophony Concord

Some quick shopping and selling later, and Raime made 300 rishi off the thirty herbs he sold. It turned out that the herbs he picked during his quick stint of gathering three in-game days ago weren’t actually all that valuable. They went for 10 rishi a pop, and while such an exchange rate may be enough for a street urchin to make a living, it certainly wasn’t enough to fuel the violent obsessions of an Immortal adventurer. An unknown number of indistinct consumables with vaguely uncertain effects was easy enough to pick up in the area, however. Though the Keystone Plaza itself was largely bereft of vendors, surrounding areas had plenty of merchants plying simple gears and good for the monster slayers that so often congregate here.

No one else was particularly interested in shopping though, not with a large-scale battle on the horizon. Though Ames appeared ambivalent, Klein had glorious plans of power-farming while Amulak was looking at the possibility of his top-pick clan being straight-up wiped out within just a week, and with that, the party of five strode off northwards, into the Thunderstruck Grove once more. Some of them were stronger than before, while others were simply better-equipped, but they all had one goal as they stepped into the confounding mists of these godless lands.

Kill shit and get swole.

And as if reading their intent, the mists parted with their own answer to the party’s bloodlust. Five oni, paler-skinned than the ones that Ames and Magpie encountered, were crouched over a bus-sized phantasmal bull, tearing into the dead creature hungrily. Wounds, wounds that would have been fatal on a normal human being, could clearly be seen on the burly monsters, but they kept eating regardless, cracking ribs and slurping up organs ravenously.

None of them seemed to have any weapons nearby, and the party had the advantage of surprise…

…but maybe it was time for another dance-off?
_{@Shovel@Searat@Psyker Landshark@OwO@Yankee}

---

“Don’t worry,” Zhi-Toren laughed, taking Ari by the wrist. “Your escapades aren’t exactly well-known, and that’s why I’m here!” With that, the woman pulled Ari off into the side-streets of Nyu-Taro, her grip gentle yet inescapable. The two crossed through various little shops and restaurants, the density of individuals on the road thinning out as they travelled further and further into the more residential-esque areas of the city-state, before they finally stopped in front of one particular shop.

In bold, Western-style font, a sign read ‘Estelle Café’, featuring a steel-and-glass storefront that looked like a modern anachronism beside the more traditional storefronts around it. The building was three stories tall, enough so to stand above the neighbouring buildings as well, and the doorman, dressed in what looked to be a mascot cow, made a vaguely friendly, vaguely disgusting ‘moo’ as they energetically opened the door. The interior of Estelle Café was similarly anachronistic, brightly lit with popped plants, framed paintings of various desserts, and multi-colored floor tiles that clicked satisfyingly when you stepped over them.

“Two milk teas and your fruit parfait pancake tower,” the suited woman called out to the cashier. “With sugar on the side! Extra tapioca too!”

“Haiyo!” was the energetic response.

Zhi-Toren brought Ari up to the third floor of the building, where the windows shed unobstructed light and the tables were wholly empty. She sat down at one of the tables, elbows leaning against the clouded-glass surface, and said, “Anyhow, surprised you don't know anything about CCC, but hey, no biggie. We're a wiki, really. Gather up info in-game. Sell what's important and publish what's not, both online and in-game. Pretty profitable, really. But that's a lot about me, and I'm really rather interested in you. You’ve been heading into the sewers, Ari. You’ve also been dying in the sewers. Brought yourself a friend the second time, and they died too. Why is that?”
_@Greengoat

---

A Rien (at least, they dressed like a Rien) stood behind the counter of the San-Li recruitment office. Like many others, there was no door for Lugh to pull, push, or slide open, and it was immediately obvious what the clan had to offer. Stunning vistas of rivers and waterfalls, glorious karsts shrouded in cloud, and port cities extending towards a shimmering ocean, the natural beauty of the San-Li clan’s territory made it look almost like a vacation dream spot. Of course, natural beauty was present in the wall-scrolls of the individuals present as well. Depicted in minimalist silhouettes were individuals known as ‘The Art’, ‘Ancestral Kensei’, and ‘Honored One’, the Superiors known collectively as the Three Peaks of the San-Li. Of course, Lugh wouldn’t have any real inkling of a clue as to who they were, but certainly, it seemed as if they were prominent individuals to show up as advertisement in the recruiting offices. The Ryoku-Jo and the Tato-Ie did something similar, after all, and if nothing else, the Flamebringer Princess had been instantly recognizable to Lugh as he passed by.

The Mora-Sho had been the outlier then, seeming to advertise their ruling family instead of any powerful Immortals in their ranks.

As Lugh approached, the Rien straightened her back and put on a smile. “Welcome to the San-Li clan registration office,” she said, pulling a strand of hair away from her glasses. “Do you have any questions, or would you like to register immediately, sir? The current situation has caused some transportation issues recently, but we’ll still be able to arrange for transport to the closest San-Li-affiliated station within the hour.”

It was almost unnervingly modern, the way she spoke. But perhaps this was just put in here to simplify the process for players? After all, while Lugh was the only Immortal here present at the moment, there were still at least a hundred other Immortals milling about in the area.
_{@Cu Chulainn}

The Wayfarer's Guild

_{@Rune_Alchemist@Aerandir@Guilty Spark}

So Finn could infuse elemental energy into matter, but couldn’t understand basic instructions, and Sera remained evasive about her capabilities regardless of the call for openness. If nothing else, it was good that the archer had recovered his wits. With ten years of experience…perhaps that would make him related to the short people of the west, rather than a pureblood human being. Or maybe those ten years he counted as adventure, when he spent it with a group of more experienced adventurers. Finn did not appear as if time had altered him much from his adolescence, really.

Perhaps that too was a mutation though. A semblance of innocence was a useful guise for predators.

Such a mutation could be seen most clearly within their tardy handler. Shorter than even Finn, with bestial attributes that coaxed complacency despite the cruel capriciousness that felines were well-known for. Qantz-Farron’s eyes traced the movement of the flask, its luminescent contents brilliant in the dim room. The work itself though, was pedestrian. He breathed in the hearty smoke of his pipe once more, before extinguishing the embers and placing a stone cap over the end. He slipped the pipe into the inner pocket of his coat, before taking the offered pin and placing it upon his right wrist cuff.

“The Watch can only stay vigilant for so long,” Qantz-Farron replied. “And dealers from above may only meet them above. My recommendation would be to treat them as roaches, Sera, and flush them out as such. I’m certain you’d appreciate such an adjustment in mentality.”

He extended a pale hand towards Nyrien, palm up.

“The flask, Handler?”

Silver Gate Academy [Accepting New Players]

_{@Sho Minazuki}

"I'm always careful," Otis responded. He may be always willing to pull out his gun and shoot someone, but he always had a rational, logical reason for doing that too. Such as assassins trying to kill royal heirs in broad daylight. The Strigidae paused briefly, before adding. "And I don't look for trouble."

Just that it had a habit of finding him while he looked for answers.

Satisfied that Utsumi had at least physically received his letter to Koyuki, Otis strode off. There was a brief consideration towards the prospect of stalking Utsumi and seeing just how the teacher received and sent out reports to the more supernaturally-inclined individuals of the class, but he disregarded that soon enough. Too much effort for too little gain. Rather, considering the abruptness of the incident...the tawny-haired youth twisted his head around, cycling over his memories of those who were offering demonstrations and lessons at the conference. The Strigidae had consumed his fair share of Japanese media before. He had seen his fair share of Ghibli films before, of which Spirited Away was one. Demons and disappearances, which school would offer the fullest understanding of such matters in Kyoto?

Ah.

The Kyoto Alliance of Occultism probably knew something or the other, wouldn't they? With a direction in mind, Otis walked out into the gentle warmth of the morning light in search of that organization.

The Epic of Beginnings - Fragments of a weathered scroll

^{@Pyromania99@Rune_Alchemist}

Isidore waited for Augusta to speak her piece. He watched Donovan state his own case. He saw Nicholas make his decision. And, just as easy as that, the religious man dropped the subject and parted ways. Nicholas soon followed, preferring the audience of large deer in the pursuit of his own goals. It wasn't amiable; the distrust sowed was easy enough for any to see, but in Isidore's case?

It was acceptable. Empty, parting words were exchanged, but he offered none. Simply kicked snow over the ashes of a dying flame, shook the frost off the boar's hide, and rolled his shoulders. They cricked and cracked nicely, and moments later, he followed in Augusta's path. Donovan would not trust the demons. Isidore would not serve the gods. It was acceptable.

The day passed on in quiet, both humans wrapped up in their own thoughts of what the future would hold as they trudged through the snow-covered plains. Isidore kept his head down and his eyes up, hair whipped by the occasional burst of wind, shoulders hunched against the cold. It wasn't freezing yet though, so he trusted physical exertion itself to keep warm. Traveling at a clipped pace, it was only once they reached the foot of the mountain that the storm really kicked in. Isidore had resolved himself to this though, had not entertained hopes that the storm would have died down by their arrival. Passing the boar's hide to Augusta, he pushed forward to the front and said, "Stay close."

A deep breath of cold air, and he focused his fireblood inwards, winter winds becoming fuel for the furnace. Heat radiated from his body, snow vaporizing moments after contact, and Isidore turned his attention to the flickering light up ahead. "I'll advance. Tell me what you see." The chains remained wrapped around his arm, and he held his sword in a reverse grip in lieu of a scabbard. Another breath stabilized the fire that burned within, and then, steadily, calmly, Isidore climbed the trail towards the smell of meat and smoke.

The Epic of Beginnings - Fragments of a weathered scroll

Oh, quick FYI, Paul, but the deer god's in the forest, not in the village Don's heading towards. In case you had a mix up or something.

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.”