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In Qualia: Mission Sub Rosa → 4 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
@Zombehs
More echoes reverberated through the ocean, only to be blocked by the stagnant ‘wall’ of water that surrounded the island. Soon, Shou found himself in total darkness, only the faint suggestion of far-off Formulae pointing him to where the surface was. The electric buzz that persisted in irritating his mind was prevalent this deep in the ocean as well, and all around him was devoid of the vibrant ocean life that he was accustomed to.

His sword, a streamlined design meant for underwater combat, cut through his surroundings easily and glided without much effort for the first couple of inches. The deeper it went, however, the harder it became for Shou to push it further. Rather than a matter of some sort of Formulized effect causing the weapon itself to slow, it felt more as if the blade was caught in a vice that grew stronger and stronger as it got deeper and deeper. Shou, of course, was still an Egoist. At this distance, he could still force himself deeper, could even survive the force that was currently clamping down on his sword.

But this was certainly no way for him to swim, and this was certainly no way for him to breathe. Shou had, after all, dove deep before, had felt the water weigh down on him more and more as his flesh squeezed together and his bones began to creak. Even without being able to see the machinery that changed the laws of this world, he could understand the source of the stagnancy.

The water was under a uniform, crushing pressure, one that made it more akin to a solid than a liquid, all without affecting its temperature in any fashion.

@Silverpaw
The Clocktower, located on the northern end of Bermuda’s Inner Circle, was a sight to enjoy at a distance and a wonder to marvel at up close. Rivaling the grand clockwork constructions of Britain’s famed towers, the red brick tower rose easily 100 meters into the sky, ending with a gold-hued balcony that exposed the massive bell suspended on top, as well as a pointed cap from which steam gently escaped. Surrounding the Clocktower itself was a small garden and fountain, benches placed in all four cardinal directions to create what the designers may have intended to be a popular date spot. Only time would tell if that would be the case in the future, but there were certainly a few students out and about, marvelling at the Clocktower and taking pictures.

After all, its exterior, at the very least, looked to have been made only of non-Formulized material. That, in and of itself, was a bit of a novelty for a structure so large.

Access to the inner workings of the Clocktower was easy enough. If Kiran wished to, he could climb up the spiraling set of stairs 100 meters to the very top of the tower, all while enjoying the near-impractical amounts of gears and chains, pendulums and ball-bearings that made up the internal machinery of the clock. It was inefficient and overly complicated, but for Polymaths who didn’t make physical exercise part of their daily routine, it was something to distract their minds with while they ascended the tower in order to take in the gorgeous view of the island.

There was, of course, a door leading to the basement of the Clocktower as well, and any Polymath with even a pedestrian understanding of non-Formulized architectural design would know that such a tower would require a suitably deep foundation in order to maintain stability during poor weather.

That was a lot of occupied space then, beneath the Clocktower.

And that door, of course, was locked.

@Jumbus@Yankee@Medili@banjoanjo@Click This
“Innocence.”

The corner of Jeanne’s mouth twitched up, twisting into a mix between a snarl and a smile, as if the very word had no value to her. Sin and punishment were the domains of clergy and monarchies, institutions sated with the status quo, mortals willing to whittle away their lives for meager stagnancy. It was not a matter of innocence or guilt, of some cobbled-together mechanism meant to dissuade a Polymath from pursuing their irregular ambitions. It was simply a matter of truths.

As Ryuuko removed the leather mitts, the Frenchwoman cast her gaze over the other three that had volunteered to play as jailers, before pulling her own leather gloves, black as coal, over her hands. Cold eyes settled on Inti. She favoured the primitive child’s warm smile with the faintest of her own. “Nothing there was valuable to me. So I set it aflame to smoke out the monster inside. Unfortunate,” she shrugged, “that I was ill-equipped for an encounter with an Egoist.”

She rested her hands over her navel, gaze sweeping over the volunteers once more. Judging, dissecting, categorizing, calculating. They were in some ways adequate, in other ways inadequate, but in all ways useful.

“I will not dissuade any of you from defending my case, but the malformed beliefs of those possessed by a subnormal intellect hold no bearing over my actions. However…” her smile warmed by a degree, a crack in a severe façade, “Mademoiselle Higashiakemi, are you to accompany me to my bedchambers for these three days?”

Perhaps it was experience, perhaps it was apathy, perhaps something else entirely. For all the castigation and the prospects of expulsion, Jeanne remained unfazed.
In Cacophony Concord → 4 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
“Does it look like I’m doing anything else?” the yam-shaped man said in a vaguely mocking tone towards Ames. He regarded the other three in the party with various amounts of indifference, his free hand moving up to stroke his chin. The gunslinger was an odd one, playing with only one arm, but the other two looked like the sort of gamers that Mora-Sho wouldn’t particularly benefit from in the long run…not that he was the type the clan would benefit from either.

Still, wartime was wartime, and work was work.

“Y’all talk big shit for a buncha sub-500s,” he laughed, “But hey, this is a low-enough value war to get started in anyways, so why the hell not? No initiation test or anything, cause y’all are too weak for any main line defense, so let’s see…”
He rummaged through the folds of his patchwork cloak, before pulling out a collection of wooden tablets tied together by a braided rope. Flipping through them quickly, the eccentric of a man pulled out three of them and handed it out to Amulak. “Small beans stuff, honestly, but also low liability if you just claim that you’re bandits or something. Don’t call yourselves Gakui-Re if ya don’t wanna be iced though. Keep the boards with ya; I don’t really care which ones you do, but they’ll track what work you ultimately end up do so, like, yeah.”

He nodded sagely a couple of times.

“Happy hunting. Don’t bitch when you spend more time in respawn than in-game, yeah?”

Klein’s browsing of the clan’s office didn’t reveal as much as he’d have liked. While becoming a member of the Mora-Sho clan did come with some benefits, mainly discounts in clan-affiliated stores and a free pass through the city-state, it appeared that greater benefits only occurred when one became a trusted member of the clan, something that could only be achieved by endorsements through the Rien leaders. Rather than the MMORPG guilds that he was accustomed to, it looked more like a political party that handed out more violent work for its members, and while mentions of specialized necromancy techniques did pop up in places, the term ‘Dead Soldier’ never showed up in any of the posters that the mountainous man looked through.

It appeared that whatever this Job was, it wasn’t something advertised by the Mora-Sho.

After reading through the mission details on each of the wooden boards and engaging in vigorous debate about the pros and cons of each job, ultimately Amulak’s desire for mayhem and brutality was overturned by the near-unanimous decision to attack the supply lines that would connect the main body of the Tato-Ie army back to the city-state they’ve pursued. Weapon durability and the need for potions meant that even fully-stocked item pouches were liable to run out during a campaign, and while Immortals could certainly afford expensive item pouches that bent the rules of space, getting one for every Rien in an army that numbered to the tens of thousands was a bigger problem.

A problem, naturally, solved by Immortals who did supply runs that allowed them to travel light while carrying inordinate amounts of goods.

That was the party’s main target in this situation: creating a PvP ‘blockade’ in key geographical regions between the Tato-Ie army and their city-state in order to intercept any Immortal couriers before they could off-load supplies onto the army itself. While none of the party possessed any Thief skills that would allow them to actually empty the contents of an Immortal’s inventory, 20% of all goods within an inventory, including currency, would drop upon death by another player, which meant a tidy profit even when exempting the commission fee they earned for every supplier party they sent back to the Keystone.

The main issue then, was twofold: how to prepare and how to intercept. With superhuman capabilities came superhuman traversal, after all, and the land that stretched from the Jinto Mountain Range to the Plains of Repentance was vast and varied. What would be the best way then, to track down and take down other gamers?
In The Epic of Beginnings - Fragments of a weathered scroll → 4 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

@Rune_Alchemist


“Deal. Make the change.”

Unhooking the coin pouch from his belt, Isidore tossed it towards her. It wasn’t as if she was subtle about how much extra she was making him pay, but he wasn’t in the habit of haggling with doctors. You don’t piss off your surgeon, after all, and the value of money itself…well, it was unlikely that those 50 silver coins was going to buy him anything that would him with the archdemon issue.

Unless feral beastwomen could be tamed with coinage alone.

Without pause, Isidore dropped his bag to the floor, leaned his halberd beside it, and proceeded to undress. The blood had coagulated around the rags that was his shirt now, and he grimaced, sweat beading down his forward, as he tore them off, reopening bloody gashes and burns. His clothes really were good for nothing other than bandages now, even though his pants at least offered some meager modicum of modesty. For that, his treatment was a bit more careful, pulling it down and stepping out of the pant legs one by one. It may have been cold, but his flesh was still inflamed; exposure to the air only caused more stings of pain to jump all over his body.

Yeah, looking down at himself in all his bloodied, bruised, broken nakedness, Isidore could certainly conclude that he got fucked up. His knee was a dark purple splotch that twitched out at a strange angle, while portions of his chest and abdomen looked like the raw sort of meat one would see at a butcher’s shop. His left hand, swollen and blackened, could hardly exert any strength, stuck in a claw-like position, and as for his groin…

…well, it was certainly more hairless than he remembered. Was this body of his younger than he had imagined? Or had it been the fault of that sanguine lightning that Isidore emerged like this?

Striding into the pool, he said, “I’ll leave it to you…”

He trailed off, giving the lady space to introduce herself.
In The Epic of Beginnings - Fragments of a weathered scroll → 4 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

@Rune_Alchemist


His wounds had swelled by the time he reached Gloomhaven, the rudimentary ‘bandages’ that his carapace formed long having worn away. Every part of his body throbbed, especially his leg, each step shooting another spike of pain up his thigh and into his side. Agony was never localized, and even the cooler temperatures of the Urutha city-state hurt against the patches of his body where skin no longer hid meat. Perhaps the fight had damaged his hearing too; even when the guards first accosted him, then questioned him, their voices were indistinct, muted. Their gestures, at least, were clear enough, and the ring that he showed them, miraculously intact despite all that he had gone through, stopped him from having to fight his way into the city.

Was it so much a surprise though, that a lone adventurer and his dog would return in such a mangled state after venturing into the realm of demons? Or had they believed him to be tougher than that? Strange world, it was. Isidore still found himself unable to grasp where he stood in terms of power, unable to get a reading on the value of his violence. But there were only so many hours in a day, and so little time to accomplish what he needed to before the deadlines were to be met.

So, one step at a time, he trudged his way to the Temple, hardly registering the designs engraved upon the building, the vibrant garden that cast its bioluminescent light upon the stone. An austere setting greeted him, far removed from the warmth and opulence of the churches he had once attended funerals in. No places to sit, but in exchange, a chandelier was raised over a pool, while a similarly plain altar stood at the back. The floor was carpeted. Perhaps it was the tradition to sit on the ground while being sermonized to.

He was not left alone to observe the Temple though, and the voice of another drew his red-tinged gaze.

Ah.

Isidore massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb. The extremes of the world were certainly getting to him. Sheer clothing hugging a lithe but curvy body so tightly that it looked near-transparent. A face so unblemished that in the curious lighting of the church, it glowed with the eerie brilliance of the moon. Limbs so supple, so smooth, that he had to question if he was looking at the fantasy of an artist rather than a living, breathing being. Neither a holy woman nor a doctor, by any of his own understandings. God, was she going to finish the demoness’s job and kill him the rest of the way?

Alright. That’s enough.

Raising his head and placing his hand upon the pouch of coin by his belt, Isidore said, all emotion effaced from his tone, “Not a demon. Just a half-dead man. How much for your services, doctor?”
In Qualia: Mission Sub Rosa → 4 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
With Ryuuko volunteering, it appeared as if this examination would soon be over. Maximilien nodded once, recognizing at a glance the prodigious Egoist who so disdained her own nation, the dragon-girl who had joined Jeanne in her pyromania in the minutes before curfew began. A gazebo had been reduced to cinders, after all. That account was reported only with circumstantial evidence and eyewitness reports, however, and hadn’t been worth bringing up. If accomplices wished to watch each other’s backs though, the wig-wearing youth had no qualms with letting them both burn.

Unfortunately, others seemed more eager to jump into the flames.

Franz Steiner, the Universal Genius, revealed his common origins with every word he spoke. Even as the self-proclaimed Mesmerologist approached with increasingly incendiary language, Maximilien’s expression did not change. His eyes were mirrors, reflecting a learned apathy towards the outcries of buffoons.

Le Bang Kieu, Vietnam’s little prince, was at least somewhat reasonable, despite what Abya Yalan theories of justice had infected his mind. The difference of understandings between nations and cultures remained though, of the difference between the justice served upon Technologists and Egoists, of the insignificant value of an impartial jury when it came to any case that involved a Polymath renowned enough to make it to Bermuda. There was a flash of pity, but no response still. Maximilien could see that the boldness of two empowered further speech from more.

He had not expected this child, nameless as they were, to posit such a question though. The world was wide, it appeared. Wide enough that even after fifty years, there were still those who did not understand the value that an Egoist presented in such scenarios. Maximilien paused briefly, mind moving at lightning speed to determine how genuine of a question it was, before speaking. “For us who remain human, an Egoist will always be our physical superior. Subsequently, they are the most capable when it comes to reacting, surviving, and suppressing any other Major’s attempt at escape.”

The last one to speak, to volunteer, was unremarkable in both reputation and demeanor. Maximilien fancied Nazca with a nod of acknowledgement, before placing his index finger against the platform upon which Jeanne was marooned. Tracing a pathway through the starscape of the Divine Calculus, he turned stone to sand, the construction sinking lower and lower until the bound woman was on the ground once more.

“You have many friends, Du Bordeaux,” he spoke quietly, placing all her gear but the flame-spewing claymore into her leather-encased hands. “Give thanks, for the mercy they’ve shown.”

Perhaps she too had words to exchange with the Head of the Committee of Public Safety, but Maximilien’s gaze was no longer upon her.

“It goes without saying that if another incident involving Jeanne occurs during these next three days, all of you who have volunteered will be held jointly responsible. Otherwise, may God grant insight where men are wont to hide. We shall adjourn again upon the afternoon of the 8th.”

Sensing that nothing else was to happen, the crowd that had gathered dispersed, a few excited at all the extra drama that was tossed in by unexpectedly-involved individual, while others were laughing at the ignorance of outsiders and scoundrels. A cold-blooded murderer defending an habitual arsonist, how novel! If only they hadn’t dragged poor Bang with down with them…that was the real pity there.

Maximilien himself turned to leave too, measured gait leading him to a tower in the western corner of Bermuda’s inner circle.

Now, only those who truly cared about Jeanne remained before the ashes of her work.
Warm waters, crystal-clear and teeming with small fish, enveloped Shou as he dove into ocean that surrounded the artificial island. It was as comforting as any tropical island could be, the sandy beach dissolving into colorful coral. Even the most dangerous of fish were vibrantly colored, a far cry from the deep ocean monstrosities that he was accustomed to encountering in his early years as a sailor. If it was just for the purpose of recreation, this would be a wonderful place for a casual dip into the ocean.

But he was not here for that.

Five hundred meters off the coast of Bermuda, the gradual deepening of the sea floor underneath dropped off into the true ocean, like encountering a continental shelf. At the same time, Shou could feel a faint electric buzz teasing at his nerves, not painful in any manner, but simply…annoying. Enough so that it could dissuade larger aquatic predators, perhaps. The same sort of technology used by high-end fishing vessels to corral profitable species into the waiting nets of others. It must be what enables such a vibrant collection of species near Bermuda’s beaches. If he dug deep enough into the sand, perhaps he would find Steam Core-powered water-quality modulation devices too.

There was no sand here though. There was only the deep dark, the waters blackened by the lack of light.

So he dove. So he saw.

Five hundred meters away from the island of Bermuda proper, with hardly any light at all, it was possible only to make out the barest outline of the mechanical underbelly of the Academic City of Bermuda. How much money had it cost, to create what was essentially an airship the size of a city, equip with massive Steam Cores to perpetually power the Pleizogravitas constructions that kept the entire city buoyant? If Shou had the ability to perceive the Divine Calculus as clearly as his peers, perhaps he too would have become blind. But then, a thought crossed his mind.

What could happen if a single Starsteel Sword was introduced here?

The island wouldn’t even take a minute to sink.

…

More details had to be determined, and with a flaring of his gills, a tightening of his lungs, the Egoist released a burst of sound. At the depths he could dive, echolocation was the preferred sense, the guiding post to sculpt terrain and detect prey.

But the echoes did not reach.

Within the waters beneath the great artificial city, his voice did not even vibrate against the border.

And thus, another realization, one that explained the lack of any anchor to fix this buoyant island in place.

In a 500 meter radius of Bermuda’s coast, the ocean water was dead.
In Cacophony Concord → 4 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
For all the maneuverings and machinations that the party planned on doing in order to not lock themselves into any particular clan too early, in the end, only Amulak offered a concrete plan of action, one that more or less encompassed the disparate yet ambiguous desires of the rest of the party.

With the necromancer at the helm, the group headed not for the board that everyone else had been congregating towards, but rather for the sector of Nyu-Taro where clan recruitments were established. While the five buildings that dominated the plaza were always ostentatiously designed and filled with interested Immortals, this time around, there was a particularly feverish atmosphere in the air. War was coming, and while the main influx of Immortals to the area were focused either on the Mora-Sho or the Tato-Ie, the sheer traffic meant that other clans had a good chance of snagging passersby. Only the Gakui-Re, perhaps characteristically so, made no special effort to join, but from clockwork contraptions to crystal-vid depictions of swordmasters, both the San-Li and the Ryoku-Jo Riens were working overtime to draw attention to their own clans.

But Immortals were a capricious, war-like bunch, especially the ones that had decided to choose such a volatile country to establish their foundations in, and more than that, those who gravitated towards this particular war were interested in one thing in particular.
Being on the winning side of the conflict.

After all, the Mora-Sho were historically in the shitter, and while the Tato-Ie weren’t a massive player themselves, they were tough enough from clashing with the Ryoku-Jo that they could certainly take the Mora-Sho out. And if they were going to do so…well, there was certainly going to be a lot of natural, financial, and human resources up for grabs in the aftermath. Why not work for a slice of the pie, rather than join a sinking ship of a faction?

That, of course, was not the logic that drew the party to the clan recruitment office of the Mora-Sho clan. Dark timbers constructed the austerely-designed building, and wreaths of spider lilies offered splashes of sanguine vibrance over top it. Standing at the sides of the entrance were two friendly-looking skeletons, moving in accordance to some ancient dance popularized by a spinoff of a game involving modern-day phantom thieves, while what could be spied of the interior of the building had more to do with the past glories of the clan juxtaposed against its present sufferings. Scroll paintings of necromancers raising armies, of warriors who removed themselves from the cycles of life and death, of lives enriched by the knowledge that death was not the end, all painted a tale of a clan that could rise once again in power, the story of an underdog with a counterpunch.

Of course, there was also a sign that read:

“lmao if you’re not mora-sho you’re a fucking pussy. imagine playing on anything other than hard mode”

And holding onto that sign was a familiar face.

Well, not a face, exactly.

Shaped like a yam, with chainmail showing beneath a patchwork cloak from which copious amounts of talismans were nailed, a man with a weathered face, his features mostly hidden by the umbrella-shaped hat he wore, turned one beady eye up at them.

“Sup? Here to start fucking up casuals?”
In Super-powered Killing Game with Randomized Super Powers → 4 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Interest Checks
A set up where the characters are forced to participate in a killing game is very different from a set up where characters know they are going to participate in a killing game. You'll probably also have a higher chance of people just going "ok my power's pretty good...AT ESCAPING THIS GAME SEE YA LOSERS" in the former scenario, especially because randomized powers and no singular author would allow things to go whack fast.
In Super-powered Killing Game with Randomized Super Powers → 4 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Interest Checks
I'll keep an eye on this for now. I'm guessing the idea is that we don't find out about our character's powers until the IC begins?
In 《 H.E.R.O. 2064 》 → 4 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
@Scarifar


It was good Stretch was sent for this work. Lethal and lackadaisical as the old-timer was, he had both a semblance of control with his mutant capabilities and was unlikely to turn people into paste, compared to a couple of her other less-restrained colleagues. She smiled thinly as his expressions revealed just how little he cared for that shot of literal garbage, and propped up her head with her hand as she blew loops of pink fumes through her mask.

“I’ve had the opportunity to dissect and study the livers of a few Slavic gentlemen before,” she replied, her free hand drawing lines through the air. “The human body’s ability to adapt is truly marvelous, and though I’m personally against the notion of converting my outer flesh into something sturdier and scale-like…” She sucked in her gut and gently stroked the base of her ribcage. “…well, even I’m not so shameless as to expose my organs of my own volition. If you’re referring to the taste though? It’s just an experience, Mr. Williams.”

Briefly, she caught the bartender’s eyes and raised two fingers, then closed her hand into a fist before extending her thumb and her pinky. A moment later, two new drinks slid towards them, tall glasses of some red, pulpy drink, with a slice of lime on the rim and lumpy ice cubes click-clacking at the surface. Carmilla took one of herself, pulling her mask down again and gesturing the glass towards Stretch. “Just you today? Or did the dear director send more?”

Another sip. Pungent and spicy, with a near-caustic burn that ended up numbing her tongue. Sichuan peppercorns? She smiled. Trust places like these to be inspired with their selection.
In Qualia: Mission Sub Rosa → 5 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
EE 87, May 5 | Morning

The night passed, and the morning came.

At 5 AM, the mists receded, leaving naught more but damp residue for the sun to clear away, and with that, whatever mechanism had empowered the Starsteel Formulization with electricity disappeared too. Those who stuck with the rules of the curfew were unaffected by this change, of course, as were those who didn’t care about being caught for breaking the rules of the curfew. It was only for a select few individuals within Bermuda whom this change affected.

Lucretia von Konigsmahne had not slept. After a long day of touring, an eventful evening of partying, and a night of unpacking, she had spent all her time doing nothing but puzzling over the intense glare of the Starsteel Formulization that some uppity Oriental schmuck had designed. Her eyes were red from staring into such agonizing light and her index finger was rubbed raw from the constant precise motions she made to try to maneuver through this dense nebula of Formulized points. Her neck was aching too, and her entire body, as frail as one might expect from a Polymath who spent their time obsessing over the mechanics of their craft, was as stiff as a board. No doubt, the muscle pain involved if she ever left her current position would be nigh-intolerable, but those long-term consequences were not worth considering. No, Lucretia was getting close now, her brain buzzing on fumes as she threaded her Technologism through a forest of needles, gradually unravelled the Gordian Knot. It wouldn’t be in this instant, but it would be soon.

So very soon…until suddenly, the nebula disappeared, replaced by the familiar constellations of malleable stone and iron.

It was as if someone had taken a puzzle that Lucretia had slaved over for the last seven hours and scrambled it up, jammed it back into its box, and took it away. It was clear at that moment, that the challenge wasn’t simply solving the puzzle that Sukoro Jinga had laid out before them. After all, Starsteel Formulizations were, in the context of protecting vaults and valuables, simply a means to delay, to buy time. Any sufficiently intelligent Technologist could eventually crack that puzzle, but hardly any could before an Egoist bank guard smashed their face against the wall. There was no such threat of violence for Lucretia. There was simply the cold, miserable time limit that she had to work against.

Seven hours. No, if she wanted to break curfew, she needed to solve it even faster than that, or there would simply be no point in doing so to begin with.

As her sleep-deprived, sugar-starved mind addled about, the sound of light snoring drew her attention back to the beds. There lay Valeriya, having concluded her own investigations within the first half hour after curfew, now sleeping blissfully without a care in the world. For those with wilder hearts, perhaps this would have sparked some mischief. But surely, Lucretia von Konigsmahne, the Scrap Metal Princess of the Iron Sentinel Empire, was above such emotional outburst?

More hours passed, bringing the clock to saner times.

Franz and Ryuuko would wake to a curious fatigue. Though their accommodations were certainly comfortable enough, the futons fluffy and warm, it felt as if there was something stuck to their lungs. Had they caught a cold last night? Could Egoists even catch something so unassuming as the common cold? Scanning around their rooms revealed the culprit soon enough: overnight, the mist from outside must have gotten in. The tatami, the wood, and the paper screens were all darkened by the sticky, salty damp, and the room smelled as if two bucketloads of seaweed had been steamed inside. Outside their rooms, in the hallway and down in the lobby, were much the same. A couple of their roommates swore at the drenched sight, some cursing that psychotic French bitch in particular, while others decided that some cleaning up was due. A Water Dynamicist cleared out the actual water that had stuck to the walls, globules of fluid being drawn out of fabrics and wood, before he pitched them outside.

Simple work, though he was forced to shrug when the dark stains themselves remained. With elbow grease and cleaning materials, that could likely be removed as well, but, well, which teenager wanted to do chores this early in the morning? Certainly, it wasn’t as if Franz or Ryuuko were going to dry off their own suite, were they?

Whatever their plans were, however, whatever any students’ plans were, it would be interrupted by a voice, crackling over public gramophones placed all around the city.

“Good morning, students of Bermuda Academic City. For those interested in witnessing how those more unrestrained and reckless amongst us will be handled, please make your way to the Central Monument Library. The examination will begin in an hour.”

In the wind, the stench of smoke overflowed.

A crowd, numbering less than two thousand, had gathered before the smoldering ruins of one of Bermuda’s great libraries. Nothing but a skeleton of stone remained of what had once been a treasure trove of encyclopedias and studies, everything else reduced to ash that stung the ends and tickled the throat. On a raised platform of stone, three meters in height, stood Jeanne Du Bordeaux, the rare Technologist who had a greater reputation of her misdemeanors than her great deeds. Her reinforcing chasses and the now-unpowered handle of her plasma claymore hung from a rack beside her, their Formulizations and intended use inferable by other Technologists in the crowd. The girl herself had her hands bound together and encased in leather gloves, the simplest solution for nullifying a Technologist, while the rest of her outfit clung to her body from a dampness that persisted even through the warm sunlight that shone down overhead now.

Her expression was inscrutable, perhaps disdainful, perhaps apathetic. But her deeds were clear. A library had been burned, after all. And she was standing there, her armaments on display, her skin still blemished by smoke and ash.

A man, no, a youth who was dressed like a man, stood at the forefront, dressed in the finery befitting of a man of the law, his powdered wig radiant in the sunlight. His eyes, dark and deep-set, glanced towards the crowd of his peers and then to his pocketwatch, before he snapped it shut and slipped it into the inner pocket of his suit. Holding a Crystal Amp, a volume-amplifying product of an obscure nation from the Dark Continent, he began to speak.

“There is an oft-heard saying in this era of ours, that madness is at the root of genius. That only those unfettered by convention and law can aspire to become great. But those who believe in such sayings forget themselves. They forget the Folly of Paracelsus. They forget the Tragedy of Binding. They forget the Formation of the Devil’s Heart, the Thunderclouds over Liverpool. They forget that it was not madmen who pulled our world to this Era of Enlightenment, but men of sound logic and reason.” A pause. “We all know that this peace is tenuous still, that fifty years is not enough for any government, any people to forget and forgive what has been lost in the Futile War. The collapse of the Ottoman Empire, just last night, will no doubt see some of our peers leave before the first week of our attendance is up. The curfew, and the Starsteel Formulization that enforces it, will no doubt foment aggression towards one of our own. But these are small things, compared to the wanton destruction of the one commonality shared by all of us.”

A gesture, towards the ruins of the Central Monument Library.

“Knowledge to ashes. Rare texts to cinders. All at the hands of Jeanne Du Bordeaux, a fellow countryman of mine. An act of arson committed during curfew, perhaps one that would have extended to all buildings within this place if she had not been bound by a hitherto unknown individual and restrained at the site of her crime.” Murmurs in the crowds, sharing rumors and stories, encounters and experiences with the infamous Technologist. “And for those who find circumstantial evidence lacking, photographs of her actions have been submitted and published by the Bermuda Triangle…and to my chagrin.” A frown on his brow, as if some amateur publication getting information at the same time that he did was an affront to the examination.

Anyone who had snagged a newspaper from the lobby of their apartments, however, wouldn’t have to flip far to see a black-and-white photograph of Jeanne taken from a high vantage point, as she swung a flamethrower of a sword with a cold expression on her face.

“But, despite this evidence, perhaps there is reason for Du Bordeaux to act in such a manner. The nature of modern trials are such that one is innocent until proven guilty, but considering how everything points towards her guilt, I see it as fair that she be deemed guilty until proven innocent.” He raised his hands, three fingers extended. “Jeanne Du Bordeaux will be placed either under house arrest or under the supervision of one Egoist willing to be held responsible in any circumstance in which their charge acts out, for a period of time lasting three days. After that time, she will return here to defend herself amongst a jury of twenty students. If deemed guilty, she will be expelled from Bermuda Academy City.”

The crowd was getting excited now, at the drama unfolding before them. Risking expulsion on the first day? Insane! Even more insane? That expulsion was even possible for Polymaths whose genius was so brilliant that most other universities would have begged them to come.

“And for those questioning under whose authority I make these proclamations, allow me to introduce myself.” Eyes, sharp as stone. Posture, unyielding as an obelisk. “Appointed to lead the Committee of Public Safety by the Administration of Bermuda, I am Maximilien François Marie Isidore de Robespierre, Polymath and Enforcer. Now, are there any here who wish to volunteer for the supervision of Du Bourdeaux?”

The sun shone hot. No one, yet, raised their hands.
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