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In Cacophony Concord → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
Past the Pearl Bloom River, which fed into the Greater Lotus Lake where an ecosystem of hardened kappa warriors were found, laid one of the many mountain ranges that jutted out across the lands of Horogi: the Zan-Chi Spine. A long, spindly ridgeline that stretched for hundreds of kilometers from west to east, the mountain range was frustratingly vertical but surprisingly low, with the lowest points only 700 or so meters above the ground. Hard granite surfaces and crumbling gravel slopes made it difficult traversal for caravans, but the sheer lack of any vegetation meant that one only had to worry about phantasmal monstrosities here. With the right talismans in stock and an appetite for altitude, the Zan-Chi Spine was still preferrable to cross compared to making a detour around the range instead, and for Immortals? With their superhuman prowess and litany of techniques?

It was even fun…though the definition of fun depending, once more, on one’s appetite for altitude.

Arion was a beast of a machine, an all-terrain monstrosity that defied all interactions with the physical world. So long as the incline wasn’t completely vertical, so long as there was something for its monstrous tires to bite into, the black beast could climb it, and could do so at its maximum speed of almost 300 kilometers per hour. As Weishaupt wormed itself into Leif’s spine and a more intimate connection was formed between the shaman and the necromancer, black flames spewed out from Arion and sent both rider and passenger up at such speeds that Amulak could only enjoy the RTS view for two seconds before the connection was cut out. While Leif left them in the dust and Ames enjoyed the sensation of having all his organs pressed against his back, the remaining party members resolved themselves to climbing the old-fashioned way.

…

It took all of ten seconds of nauseating ascent before Arion shot up over the ridgeline as if the mountain itself was just a ramp. No vegetation and no physical monsters meant that even the phantasms that surged towards Leif and Ames were simply run through, the two Immortals cresting the top of the mountain almost before either of them knew what was going on. Then, they were airborne, a whole one thousand meters up in the air. Horogi stretched out before them, the black smoke of archaic train systems, the flashing light of some adventurer’s magic, the distant black masses of the Tato-Ie army. It was beautiful, it was terrible, but most importantly…they were falling. Arion’s wheels turned, its muzzles jetting out flames, but without ground to bite, it was just a hunk of metal carried by its own momentum, helpless to do anything when the very planet pulled against it.

The first impact slammed the front wheel against the slope, shooting a nightmarish blow right into the groins of both riders. Arion and passengers both somersaulted, before the second impact drove them sideways down a gravel slope, hundreds of small rocks churning up onto them. A lone tree, withered and ancient, the only one of its kind on the merciless mountain, was snapped in half when they struck it, and the Nuclei and Immortals were airborne once more, this time with the splintered remains of a once-noble tree stuck in their flesh and armor. With a final definitive thump, Arion landed upright at the base of the mountain, its saddle sending a spine-tingling shock up Leif and Ames’s tailbones. The two of them were a mess, undoubtedly, bludgeoned and bloodied by their downhill adventures, but Arion itself was, as expected of a Nuclei, unharmed.

And without heed for any emotional distress on the part of either of its riders, the black beast roared and sped off again.
Some time later, the rest of the party would descend the Zan-Chi Spine without incident.

…

It took a while for Leif to clear the smell of blood out of his nose, but once he did, he began his search. Taking a circular route through the verdant plains past the Zan-Chi Spine, the Wolfpack Shaman periodically shifted his face into that of a wolf’s. Silk trails of deepening crimson appeared before his eyes, drawing him down paths unseen by others. Less than a minute had elapsed since he surmounted the mountain, and even though both himself and Ames had taken no small amount of damage on the decline, the two of them were healing up swimmingly. In a couple more minutes, they would be at full HP again, with the only signs of their injuries marked by superficial scratches.

But that, in and of itself, presented a problem, when the trail that Lief followed ended up bringing him not towards a party of injured players, but rather to a wounded monster. The natural regenerative capabilities of Immortals meant that any injury, no matter how grievous, would generally be recovered within the span of less than an hour. And considering the open plains that Leif was now riding through, the sheer noise that his mechanical steed generated, there was no way that he could stealthily approach anyone.

His nose proved to be suboptimal for the task at hand, while his Nuclei provided incredible speed but no stealth. There had to be additional strategies put into place then, if they were to spot roving bands of supplier-adventurers through this spindly mountain range and the adjacent plains.
In Qualia: Mission Sub Rosa → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay
@Jumbus@Yankee@Medili@banjoanjo@Click This
“Then afford me a meal,” Jeanne replied, indifferent once again as she addressed the Abya Yalan with a Brit’s surname. She gestured towards her surroundings with a rolling of her wrist. “I’ve yet to eat and yet to sit. A brunch would make your interrogation worthwhile.”

It was simply a matter then, of deciding on a locale, hailing a taxi, and ‘enjoying’ the ride there. Whether this was the Fire Witch’s natural mind, one of audacious selfishness, or if she was internally displeased by what had occurred, lashing out in all these small ways, was hard to tell still, but undoubtedly, it would be an awkward trip towards whatever their destination would be.
In Symphony of Espers → 2 yrs ago Forum: Casual Roleplay

@BrokenPromise

Of all the vehicles that had driven up to face the concrete barrier, there was one that stood out: a second-hand bicycle with a large bell and no light, the chosen steed of the Frost Maiden. Deciding to come to the party transformed this time around, Klava checked her reflection in Moya-no-Yume, ensuring that nothing was off, that none of the burn scars from her last run in with Sofron was still there. It looked good though. Perfectly clear and soothingly soft, with the charming plumpness of youth that all young ladies had. Ah, if only her Leitmotif persisted in her human form too, then maybe she wouldn’t have to spend so much on her skin routine.

Well, she could also cut down on her love for food, but where’s the fun in that?

Billy Black and the Mavericks all look suitably monstrous though, something that kept the freelancer on edge but only on edge. There was no point in stressing over what their enemies looked like, after all. The group that was actually invading was going to be freelancers and Maverick espers, so it was very much just a matter of ‘attack things that aren’t espers. And friendly faces were all around too! There was Fable, the surprisingly spunky but also 100% precocious kiddo, already putting on his approximation of a ‘serious professional face, and there was ol’ (well, no, it was pretty likely that Protector was actually younger than her) Pro, a hulk in a coffin of metal, bristling with restrained threat. Apollo must be somewhere as well, though she hadn’t caught a glimpse of his dime-bouncing butt yet.

As she began her own stretches in preparation for vampire-asskicking, Klava asked the decisive question: “So, Billy, there gonna be on-site catering after this? That mansion looks like it could host a whole party, if ya catch my drift.”
In Naming an RP → 2 yrs ago Forum: Roleplaying Discussion
You could also just edit the title of the RP whenever you want. Might cause some smol confusion though.
In Qualia: Mission Sub Rosa → 2 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 → 2 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 → 2 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 → 2 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 → 2 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 → 2 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?”
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