King Cosmos

Gaia Frontier (5e)

Sasha Rivello

Name: Sasha Rivello
Race: Human (Variant)
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Appearance:


Level: 0
Proficiency: 1
Health: 4
Stats:
Strength - 17
Dexterity - 10
Constitution - 16
Intelligence - 8
Wisdom - 10
Charisma - 13

Proficient Skills: Athletics (+4), Insight (+1), Persuasion (+2)
Proficient Tools: None
Traits:
Racial – None
Background – Watcher's Eye: Your experience in enforcing the law, and dealing with lawbreakers, gives you a feel for local laws and criminals. You can easily find the local outpost of the watch or a similar organization, and just as easily pick out the dens of criminal activity in a community, although you're more likely to be welcome in the former locations rather than the latter.
Languages – Common, Dwarvish, Elvish, Orc

Abilities:
Tavern Brawler - Accustomed to rough-and-tumble fighting using whatever weapons happen to be at hand, you gain the following benefits:
 Increase your Strength or Constitution score by 1, to a maximum of 20.
 You are proficient with improvised weapons.
 Your unarmed strikes use a d4 for damage.
 When you hit a creature with an unarmed strike or an improvised weapon on your turn, you can use a bonus action to attempt to grapple the target. A grapple check is a Strength (Athletics) check contested by the target's Strength (Athletics) or Dexterity (Acrobatics) check.

Inventory:
Guards Uniform
Horn
Manacles
10 gp

Background: Sasha was born in the city of Andor, a large and wealthy place, but she was not raised there. Her father, Callum, was a soldier in the King’s army while her mother Sophia worked in a bakery; while still young, barely three years old, her father was injured during a battle, a wounded shoulder that left him with limited use of his right arm, and was forced into an early retirement. With the loss of one source of income money became a concern for the family and it soon became apparent that either Callum would need to find another source of work soon, a tough ask for a cripple with little skills outside of being a solider, or they would need to leave the city and find a place to live that wouldn’t be as expensive.

Around this time there was talk of an expedition to form a new township in an as yet sparsely settled region within the kingdom’s borders; it was not a new frontier or a grand expedition, just the settlement of a small town intended to act as a potential rest stop for travelling merchants on their way between the larger cities, but they were looking for volunteers and were willing to offer incentives to anyone with useful skills. As a baker Sasha’s mother was readily accepted and a former solider, even wounded as he was, was a welcome addition as well. The couple were hesitant about travelling with a young child but the expedition’s offer to essentially pay to relocate and house them was too enticing to pass up.

Sasha spent most of her life living in this newly settled town and barely remembers the time she spent in the city as a child. She was the only child in the township for a few years, but since her father was mostly homebound she was rarely lonely and had a strong bond with her father as a result. More children came in time, either born in the fledgling settlement or as part of relocating families, but Sasha was always the eldest child by a few years.

As the years went by Sasha’s family became a fixture of the small settlement, her mother running the small bakery and her father, now mostly recovered though his arm would never be the same, serving as chief of the tiny town militia as the only member with any real experience. Sasha meanwhile had essentially become “big sister” to the half dozen or so smaller children who resided in the town with her. She was mostly responsible, in her mind, for keeping an eye on them and keeping them out of trouble, a responsibility she took to with gusto but which was not always met with success.

She still spent much time with her father, given that his role was still mostly advisory and the militia itself had little more to do than keep the peace in a town that still wasn’t on most maps. In their time together he mostly told her stories he himself had heard as a child, stories of heroes and stories of great deeds; the same sort of story that any child growing up would hear. Mixed in with these were stories of his time in the city guard which, while mostly uneventful, did contain the odd good tale and his eyes always took on a wistful look when he told them.

These stories all resonated with Sasha, because it was her father who was telling them and because they all sounded so exciting. Like many children must have when hearing those same stories she wanted to become like the heroes in them, to have those adventures and see the things they saw, do the things they did. One day, after one of her favourite stories she asked her father to teach her how to fight. He didn’t even hesitate to refuse her, because she was too young and because no daughter of his would get herself killed living the same kind of life he had.

She persisted however, for years she persisted, and for years he refused. And for years she attempted to train herself in secret anyway, spying on and copying the physical exercises she saw her father leading the militia in, the same ones he had gone through as a recruit, because heroes needed to be strong. Even thought they were difficult at first she persisted, because she was determined, and over time they became easier as her physical condition improved.

When her father eventually caught her, as was inevitable, she had advanced to the point of trying to copy the sword exercises she had seen with a stick in the space behind their small home. She had found it incredibly difficult at first, trying to mimic their movements, and she was sure she was doing it wrong but she couldn’t ask for any help because her father would only say no and then make her stop and the other guards would just tell her father. The ‘weapon’ felt unnatural in her hands and she couldn’t get it to move the way she wanted. At one point the stick became unbalanced and nearly swung back and hit her in the head and she flung it to the ground in a fit of frustration.

Sasha looked up then and saw her father staring at her. She didn’t breathe for long seconds then, awaiting his reaction, waiting for the anger or the disappointment. Instead she saw only the strangest expression on his face, almost like tiredness and resignation; maybe even a little familiarity. To her surprise he told her to pick up the stick again and began correcting her stance and posture.

The next half year was spent trying to undo the self-taught technique that Sasha had been working on and to teach her the proper way to use a weapon. Having to knock down the foundation she had pieced together and then build it up again stronger. Whatever reluctance Callum had had about teaching Sasha to fight was apparently gone; even though he still didn’t seem happy about it he apparently took the point of view that if she was going to try to learn anyway he might as well teach her right. He even began to include her in the training sessions he held for the militia. She was training alongside men ranging from a few years older than her to those twice her age, she was outclassed in terms of strength, size and experience but she couldn’t be happier to finally have her father teach her.

To everyone’s surprise, Sasha seemed to have an aptitude for bare knuckle fighting; hardly a suitable talent for a young lady or someone protecting the peace to have and not the kind of combat that Callum should be encouraging his daughter to use, but there was no doubt that Sasha knew how to throw a mean punch. Meanwhile most weapons still seemed to elude her; despite the months of practice Sasha could never quite get the feel for the sword even as she did steadily improve. The spear, if anything was even worse and she struggled to even hold the point steady. Axes were far too heavy for her as well and she didn’t even attempt to use a bow. Her training continued for two more years and Sasha became a competent brawler if nothing else in that time.

When Sasha was fifteen word spread to their little town of an expedition to establish a new town right on the edges of Gaia. The expedition was already underway and the beginning of the town had already been established, but they were still looking for people to move out to the frontier to help the town grow and prosper. Sasha wanted to go, but her father easily forbade her from doing so; allowing her to train with the militia was one thing but allowing his only daughter to chase adventure at the edge of the kingdom was another. Sasha was not to be deterred however and she kept trying to persuade her father to change his mind; it took two years before he conceded, finally admitting that she was both old enough to make her own choices and strong enough to defend herself. Callum gave her his blessing and even wrote for her a recommendation letter for her to give to the captain of whatever guard the settlement had that would hopefully help her get a job to start a new life.

When the time came for Sasha to leave she found it was harder for her to let go than she thought it would be. Her little slice of the world was all she knew, its residents the only people she remembered, but while beginning a new life in a nameless town on the fringes of civilisation was not exactly the adventure she had always dreamed of it was still something she wanted to do. The next time a trader wagon passed through town heading in that direction Sasha bartered for travel and left her home behind to pursue a life in what was now known as Frontier Town.

Another year has passed since then, most of which Sasha had spent in the employ of the town militia which is both larger and stricter than the one back home. Her methods are somewhat unorthodox for her commanders liking and she sometimes causes more trouble than she solves, but she is nonetheless popular with and trusted by the residents of Frontier town, at least those outside of Underhaven, and she has made a comfortable life for herself.

Gaia Frontier (5e)

It took a bit longer than expected, but here's my character.

Sasha Rivello

Name: Sasha Rivello
Race: Human (Variant)
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Appearance:


Level: 0
Proficiency: 1
Health: 4
Stats:
Strength - 17
Dexterity - 10
Constitution - 16
Intelligence - 8
Wisdom - 10
Charisma - 13

Proficient Skills: Athletics (+4), Insight (+1), Persuasion (+2)
Proficient Tools: None
Traits:
Racial – None
Background – Watcher's Eye: Your experience in enforcing the law, and dealing with lawbreakers, gives you a feel for local laws and criminals. You can easily find the local outpost of the watch or a similar organization, and just as easily pick out the dens of criminal activity in a community, although you're more likely to be welcome in the former locations rather than the latter.
Languages – Common, Dwarvish, Elvish, Orc

Abilities:
Tavern Brawler - Accustomed to rough-and-tumble fighting using whatever weapons happen to be at hand, you gain the following benefits:
 Increase your Strength or Constitution score by 1, to a maximum of 20.
 You are proficient with improvised weapons.
 Your unarmed strikes use a d4 for damage.
 When you hit a creature with an unarmed strike or an improvised weapon on your turn, you can use a bonus action to attempt to grapple the target. A grapple check is a Strength (Athletics) check contested by the target's Strength (Athletics) or Dexterity (Acrobatics) check.

Inventory:
Guards Uniform
Horn
Manacles
10 gp

Background: Sasha was born in the city of Andor, a large and wealthy place, but she was not raised there. Her father, Callum, was a soldier in the King’s army while her mother Sophia worked in a bakery; while still young, barely three years old, her father was injured during a battle, a wounded shoulder that left him with limited use of his right arm, and was forced into an early retirement. With the loss of one source of income money became a concern for the family and it soon became apparent that either Callum would need to find another source of work soon, a tough ask for a cripple with little skills outside of being a solider, or they would need to leave the city and find a place to live that wouldn’t be as expensive.

Around this time there was talk of an expedition to form a new township in an as yet sparsely settled region within the kingdom’s borders; it was not a new frontier or a grand expedition, just the settlement of a small town intended to act as a potential rest stop for travelling merchants on their way between the larger cities, but they were looking for volunteers and were willing to offer incentives to anyone with useful skills. As a baker Sasha’s mother was readily accepted and a former solider, even wounded as he was, was a welcome addition as well. The couple were hesitant about travelling with a young child but the expedition’s offer to essentially pay to relocate and house them was too enticing to pass up.

Sasha spent most of her life living in this newly settled town and barely remembers the time she spent in the city as a child. She was the only child in the township for a few years, but since her father was mostly homebound she was rarely lonely and had a strong bond with her father as a result. More children came in time, either born in the fledgling settlement or as part of relocating families, but Sasha was always the eldest child by a few years.

As the years went by Sasha’s family became a fixture of the small settlement, her mother running the small bakery and her father, now mostly recovered though his arm would never be the same, serving as chief of the tiny town militia as the only member with any real experience. Sasha meanwhile had essentially become “big sister” to the half dozen or so smaller children who resided in the town with her. She was mostly responsible, in her mind, for keeping an eye on them and keeping them out of trouble, a responsibility she took to with gusto but which was not always met with success.

She still spent much time with her father, given that his role was still mostly advisory and the militia itself had little more to do than keep the peace in a town that still wasn’t on most maps. In their time together he mostly told her stories he himself had heard as a child, stories of heroes and stories of great deeds; the same sort of story that any child growing up would hear. Mixed in with these were stories of his time in the city guard which, while mostly uneventful, did contain the odd good tale and his eyes always took on a wistful look when he told them.

These stories all resonated with Sasha, because it was her father who was telling them and because they all sounded so exciting. Like many children must have when hearing those same stories she wanted to become like the heroes in them, to have those adventures and see the things they saw, do the things they did. One day, after one of her favourite stories she asked her father to teach her how to fight. He didn’t even hesitate to refuse her, because she was too young and because no daughter of his would get herself killed living the same kind of life he had.

She persisted however, for years she persisted, and for years he refused. And for years she attempted to train herself in secret anyway, spying on and copying the physical exercises she saw her father leading the militia in, the same ones he had gone through as a recruit, because heroes needed to be strong. Even thought they were difficult at first she persisted, because she was determined, and over time they became easier as her physical condition improved.

When her father eventually caught her, as was inevitable, she had advanced to the point of trying to copy the sword exercises she had seen with a stick in the space behind their small home. She had found it incredibly difficult at first, trying to mimic their movements, and she was sure she was doing it wrong but she couldn’t ask for any help because her father would only say no and then make her stop and the other guards would just tell her father. The ‘weapon’ felt unnatural in her hands and she couldn’t get it to move the way she wanted. At one point the stick became unbalanced and nearly swung back and hit her in the head and she flung it to the ground in a fit of frustration.

Sasha looked up then and saw her father staring at her. She didn’t breathe for long seconds then, awaiting his reaction, waiting for the anger or the disappointment. Instead she saw only the strangest expression on his face, almost like tiredness and resignation; maybe even a little familiarity. To her surprise he told her to pick up the stick again and began correcting her stance and posture.

The next half year was spent trying to undo the self-taught technique that Sasha had been working on and to teach her the proper way to use a weapon. Having to knock down the foundation she had pieced together and then build it up again stronger. Whatever reluctance Callum had had about teaching Sasha to fight was apparently gone; even though he still didn’t seem happy about it he apparently took the point of view that if she was going to try to learn anyway he might as well teach her right. He even began to include her in the training sessions he held for the militia. She was training alongside men ranging from a few years older than her to those twice her age, she was outclassed in terms of strength, size and experience but she couldn’t be happier to finally have her father teach her.

To everyone’s surprise, Sasha seemed to have an aptitude for bare knuckle fighting; hardly a suitable talent for a young lady or someone protecting the peace to have and not the kind of combat that Callum should be encouraging his daughter to use, but there was no doubt that Sasha knew how to throw a mean punch. Meanwhile most weapons still seemed to elude her; despite the months of practice Sasha could never quite get the feel for the sword even as she did steadily improve. The spear, if anything was even worse and she struggled to even hold the point steady. Axes were far too heavy for her as well and she didn’t even attempt to use a bow. Her training continued for two more years and Sasha became a competent brawler if nothing else in that time.

When Sasha was fifteen word spread to their little town of an expedition to establish a new town right on the edges of Gaia. The expedition was already underway and the beginning of the town had already been established, but they were still looking for people to move out to the frontier to help the town grow and prosper. Sasha wanted to go, but her father easily forbade her from doing so; allowing her to train with the militia was one thing but allowing his only daughter to chase adventure at the edge of the kingdom was another. Sasha was not to be deterred however and she kept trying to persuade her father to change his mind; it took two years before he conceded, finally admitting that she was both old enough to make her own choices and strong enough to defend herself. Callum gave her his blessing and even wrote for her a recommendation letter for her to give to the captain of whatever guard the settlement had that would hopefully help her get a job to start a new life.

When the time came for Sasha to leave she found it was harder for her to let go than she thought it would be. Her little slice of the world was all she knew, its residents the only people she remembered, but while beginning a new life in a nameless town on the fringes of civilisation was not exactly the adventure she had always dreamed of it was still something she wanted to do. The next time a trader wagon passed through town heading in that direction Sasha bartered for travel and left her home behind to pursue a life in what was now known as Frontier Town.

Another year has passed since then, most of which Sasha had spent in the employ of the town militia which is both larger and stricter than the one back home. Her methods are somewhat unorthodox for her commanders liking and she sometimes causes more trouble than she solves, but she is nonetheless popular with and trusted by the residents of Frontier town, at least those outside of Underhaven, and she has made a comfortable life for herself.

Yu-Gi-Oh!: Harmonia United

@Satoshi Kyou I'm still around, just waiting on a reply from the Synchro dorm before I can do anything.

Sanctuary CLOSED

Based on the information on the Artifacts spreadsheet it looks like you're using the word Artifact as just a different way of referring to derivative gear from another series and not in the Ready-Player-One sense where artifacts are unique items with no replications. Is this true?

@Parzivol

I can answer this one at least. We are using 'artefacts' as a catch-all term for items of all rarities; I raised the same query as you when this was in the planning stages.

Sanctuary CLOSED

It was a bit of an understatement to say that Artorigus was happy with the provided gear for the fourth round of the tournament; after three rounds of being forced to fight using guns and magic and other things he had no interest in the tournament organiser had finally seen fit to equip him with something a little more in his wheelhouse. The decorative samurai-styled armour was a little more restrictive than his usual gear and the katana, although similar in principle to his Okami, was considerably shorter than he was used to. Nonetheless, if everyone was on a level playing field and using the same weapons as him then he was confident he would make it through the next round without issue; it may have been his particular brand of arrogance shining through, but he didn’t think there would be many people in this tournament who could wield this katana and wakizashi better than himself.

****

Arrows. He had forgotten about the arrows.

It probably didn’t come as a surprise to find that most clans preferred not to engage in a messy close range battle, instead preferring the ancient, tried and true tactic of firing mass volleys of arrows at each other. The woefully undersized by comparison Spectres of the Apocalypse had been forced to run, unable to match the larger clans for sheer quantity of firepower.

For the past three hours they had been implementing a constant fighting retreat; run until they opened up some distance between themselves and their pursuers, turn and fire, then run again when they got too close. It wasn’t the kind of battle Artorigus liked to fight but it had kept them alive for now, though that seemed to be about to change as it looked like their pursuers were finally starting to close the gap.

Artorigus covered the clans retreat from the rear while the rest ran to cover, striking down any arrows that he could with his sword; using his Okami’s unique ability had given him plenty of practise at slashing projectiles from the air and although the timing was tighter than he was used to due to the shorter length of his current weapon, on objects as slow moving as these arrows it wasn’t too hard. He couldn’t stop every one however and more than a few managed to slip past him to imperil his fellow Spectres.

A sudden yell from his left caught him by surprise as someone leapt at him from behind a partially destroyed wall; it seemed like some enterprising member from the other clan had managed to rush ahead of the others unseen in an attempt to flank them and was now rushing Artorigus with his sword held high above his head. His loss.

Drawing his wakizashi in one smooth motion Artorigus pivoted towards the charging samurai. With the small dagger in his left hand he deftly deflected the descending sword before following through with a swing of his own, his katana cutting through his opponents arm as easily as it did the air. Now literally disarmed his opponent could only looked shocked as Artorigus brought his sword back around in a horizontal swipe that took the opportunistic samurai’s head from his shoulders.

Seeing that most of the others had already made it to cover Artorigus hurried to follow, vaulting a low wall and landing in a crouch on the other side, suddenly finding himself face-to-face with Ekloria.

“So, what game plan do you think these guys are using? Are they picking us off because we’re weak, or taking us out because we’re strong?”

@Burning Kitty

Sanctuary CLOSED

@Burning Kitty does the clan ship have a name that's different from its class name or our clan name? I'm just going to call it the Glorious Heritage for now and change it later if need be.

I, the Demon King, Will Summon My Own Damned Heroes!

Oberon did not get in Mourningstar’s way this time, letting her fly past him rather than try and block her again. Though he didn’t like the idea of her heading off alone, he sensed that their conversation had come to an end and unless he was willing to physically keep her from leaving or go with her there was little more he could do. Besides, if she was going to be spending time with the other wisps in the cave then she should be fine; she was just trading out one group for another, assuming that the other wisps accepted her. With a sigh he turned away from Mourningstar’s retreating form and began the walk back to the bonfire, grabbing her discarded sack of mana crystals as he did so.

3 Mana Crystals added to inventory.
1 Flame-Touched Mana Crystal added to inventory.

System:Oberon

During the quiet walk something that the wisp had said kept repeating itself in his head, about how if she stayed who she was before she was sure to die; something about that idea made him uneasy, probably because it applied to him just as much as it did to her. “It’s not like the rest of us are doing any better. My old life didn’t exactly prepare me for this kind of situation.”

In his absence the bonfire seemed to have experience a flurry of activity. The corpses that had been strewn about from their earlier battles were mostly gone, one of the lizards was practicing with their poison spit, the rats were grouped together to one side and the green slime he had healed earlier… well, he seemed to have changed considerably. Now sporting a wizard hat-shaped protrusion and a gel flap cape the only thing he was missing was a staff and he would look the part of the classical wizard class, just in slime form. How or why such a change had occurred was a mystery to him, one that Oberon sought to solve by using Magic Analysis on the slime.

Otherwise, as usual, there didn’t seem to be anything of urgent importance for Oberon to do; no-one seemed to be dying at the moment so his healing abilities weren’t required and everyone looked to be getting along perfectly fine with whatever it was they were working on.

Setting down his sack of mana crystals near to the bonfire, as well as the ones he was still holding from earlier, Oberon sat down next to it with his back to the fire pit and considered what he should do. Continue his experiments was the obvious answer, but with an attack from the remainder of the Goblin’s imminent it was important to prioritise and think about what he could accomplish in the time he had to work with that would benefit him and the rest of the group.

He could potentially develop a working version of the Minor Regeneration skill in that time, but with his various Shield spells and Minor Heal it was probably redundant at the moment; though still something he wanted to work on later. Beginning his experiments with the flame-touched mana crystal was potentially more useful if it resulted in a fire-based spell that he could use in the upcoming battle, but given that he would be starting from scratch he likely wouldn’t have enough time to make anything workable.

No, increasing his offensive options was the right way to go about this but he needed another way to do it that he could manage in a short time frame. Given that he now had Mana Shape in a complete form to work with it was probably best that he continue trying to create a version of Mana Orb with piercing properties.

With that decided Oberon wasted no time, quickly forming the spherical shape of a Mana Orb between his hands before attempting to warp its shape using his new Mana Shape ability. He flattened and lengthened the mana, stretching it thin as he had tried to do before, finding the process much easier now that he had a spell to help guide the process. When he had a long and thin bar of mana formed between his hands, thicker in the middle and rounded at each end like a stretched out oval, he attempted to sharpen the end that was not pointed at himself. Once this was complete he let the attempted Mana Arrow fly.

Action Report

Collected Mourningstar's discarded sack of crystals
Returned to bonfire
Used 'Magic Analysis' on Jason
Returned to practicing 'Mana Dart' by combining 'Mana Orb' with 'Mana Shape'

The Hunters Club

Sora Ikeda was adjusting to his situation about as well as good be expected given his circumstances. It wasn’t easy attending this school, for many reasons; a new school, in a new city, in a whole other part of the country far away from a home he never intended on leaving so soon. Yeah, he was doing just fine.

Aside from the fact that he was moving from middle school to high school the classes weren’t too different from those back home; for being a prestigious school he didn’t think things were any different than they would have been had he attended high school back home. Well, that wasn’t entirely true; the class size was larger, as was the school and even the city itself, and everything was new and shiny. A far cry from the ancient and run down school building with out-dated equipment and resources he was used to. He was just a country hick after all, moving from a small town in the middle of nowhere to the big city.

It would be hard for him to pursue any of his hobbies here, if he would even have had time to, and the drabness of the place was already wearing him down.

Not for the first time he wished he had his parents here to support him, though he fully understood that coming with him wasn’t feasible; moving the whole family halfway across the country on short notice wasn’t a burden he wanted to place on them anyway. They had helped him find a small apartment with a landlord who was willing to rent to a minor living by himself and they were paying the rent as well, so he couldn’t complain. He’d had to get a part-time job to pay for groceries and luxuries himself but he had no problem pulling his own weight to help his own situation; he’d have to work extra hard to fit his work responsibilities around his schoolwork and club activities, whatever they were, but he could manage. At least with his bike he shouldn’t have much trouble getting around.

All in all, Himikai Academy was not a place Sora would ever have chosen to attend. Even with its prestigious reputation and claims of scholarly excellence for its students the distance, the location, the sheer difficulty of even attending would have been enough to dissuade him from accepting their offer.

But he had to, when he heard about the ‘Hunters Club’.

Sora had never heard of Himikai Academy, he had never applied there or even thought about applying to a school anywhere near it. Yet he had been accepted there. Sora was not dumb but he was no genius either; his test scores were hardly anything to brag about on the national rankings. Neither was he particularly athletic; his tiny school barely even had any sports teams and no accolades to boast of. Even if they did he wasn’t a part of any team so why even mention it.

Simply put there was no reason why anyone should know who Sora Ikeda was, let alone see anything special in him. So why had a prestigious academy located in a city miles away from him seen fit to seek him out and offer him what must have been one of the few opening available? More specifically why had an association with an ominous name like the ‘Hunters Club’ taken an interest in him and why did a simple student club have enough clout to request he be accepted?

There was only one thing ‘special’ about Sora and the fact that that might have had something to do with his admission was troubling.

His parents were worried. So was he. How had anyone found out about ‘that’ little titbit of information and why were they interested in it? What did this ‘Hunters Club’ want with him, or should he say people like him? What would happen if he accepted their offer? What would they do to him or his family if he rejected it?

Sora had accepted the invitation to attend this school most because he had felt that he had no choice, but he would be lying if he didn’t also feel a small amount of curiosity. After classes had ended he found himself standing outside of the clubroom, helpfully sign posted by a garish sign, steeling himself for the encounter he had been dreading ever since he had started packing his stuff into boxes.

Opening the door Sora walked into a room with more occupants than he had expected. They all looked like normal students like him and were all either milling around or eating brownies; it wasn’t exactly the atmosphere he had anticipated. It seemed… normal. At the back of the room, seated behind a desk was an older student with a sheaf of papers in front of him; presumably the club president or whatever the term was.

Not in the mood to make friends or exchange pleasantries Sora slipped quietly into the room and took a seat in an empty chair.

Free For All

@MikkishtheLeprechaun I thought you took that?

Free For All

“Yes. Of course.” Alastair pushed away from the wall and began walking away from the source of the noise, back in the direction they had come from, until he reached the nearest intersection. From what he had seen so far the maze was fairly simple in its design, though no less confusing for it; a seemingly endless crosshatching of straight lines with paths that ran on into eternity intersected by perpendicular paths with precise regularity.

It was a bit unfair to call it a maze at all really. There was no trick to it, no dead ends, no confusing loops or bends; just simple scale and a mind numbing regularity and uniformity that made it feel like you were making no progress at all. It the wall you were passing now looked exactly the same as the wall you passed an hour ago, six hours ago, a day ago, who was to say you were making progress at all?

It was enough to drive a person insane, if they were not halfway there already.

The unvarying layout did at least mean that circumventing the cave-in was incredibly simple at least. Simply back track a step, head half a dozen columns to the right and start heading back in the same direction; hopefully they had travelled far enough to the side that the cave-in wouldn’t be an issue and soon they were walking down a completely identical hallway and none the worse for wear.

“Whoever designed this maze was an evil genius. Or a bureaucrat. Such uniformity cannot be the creation of a sound mind.” After a few minutes of walking Alastair chanced to glance down one of the perpendicular paths as he crossed an intersection and spotted the piled rubble and broken slabs of concrete that marked the site of the cave-in. A sparkling amidst the dust and the stones caught his eye and he diverted from his path to approach the rubble.

Large, blue and glowing; it looked like an oversized gemstone, but when he reached down to pick it up it was immediately apparent that it was not a natural material at all. It was warm to the touch, still holding some small amount of energy of some kind which explained why it was glowing; or still glowing as the case might be. Its proximity to the cave-in and the fact that its shape suggested it was once part of something larger did not go unnoticed by Alastair; the idea that this object maybe be dangerous did cross his mind, but then he had never been one to heed danger when his own curiosity was involved.

So engrossed in the object was he that Alastair almost missed the elevator doors standing no more than ten feet away from him, partially obscured by rubble as it was. Luckily he managed to drag his attention away from the blue orb long enough to take in his surroundings, the sleek metal surface of the door standing out from the dull grey concrete.

“Over here! I believe I have found a way out.” Holding the blue enigma up in front of his face, Alastair turned his attention back to the mystery as he waited for Ash to arrive. “And a curiosity.”

@Illiren