Psyker Landshark

The Wayfarer's Guild

let's fucking gooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Cacophony Concord

“From Soft? What’s that?” were Patches’s final words, before Amulak ran away, Raime over his shoulder and the sled trailing behind. He was running out of appendages at this point, but thankfully, his staff could be carried with one hand. A psychic shiver shot through his mind as he ran, indications that his Seeker Chains had finally been broken free of, but he wouldn’t be around to see the effects of that. Amulak could only continue to run through the narrow tunnels, until he reached an intersection once more. Skidding to a stop on the moss-slick stone, the mage had a moment to listen.

The winds continued to wail, and sounds of violence bounced through tunnels in every which way to create a warped cacophony, but it didn’t seem as if any of those hungering ghosts had managed to follow him. Amulak, based off his memory then, had a couple of different paths to take.

The path to the right lead to a pond. Though shallow enough to tread in most portions, at the very center, there would be a thirty meter swim in pitch darkness. Monsters often wouldn’t emerge in the area, but on the off-chance they did, a fight in water would absolutely cripple a mage like Amulak.

The path to the left would spiral downwards, making it a longer detour, and one that had a higher chance of encountering monsters as well. Flaming skulls make this corridor their home, but the highest-tier speedruns of the Blasphemed Tunnels prefer this route: so long as you dodge the fireballs, you were good. With two bodies to tow though? Might be a bit more of a struggle for a newbie mage.

Hmm...now this was a conundrum. Burdened down by two bodies as he was, neither option that was available to him was particularly appealing to Amulak. A small chance of certain death, or a higher chance of having to engage while slowed down and alone?

...Actually, why the hell was he still lugging the extra around? Keeping it plus the sled in his grasp was crazy. Screw it, he’d even do Patches a favor if the big lug survived. Releasing his grasp on Patches’s friend’s corpse and the sled, Amulak quickly used his staff to draw an arrow in the direction he was heading off in next to where he’d set the sled down before making to the left, trusting that he had enough left in the tank to make it through the flaming skull tunnel.

Discarding what was essentially a free meal inside a tunnel system infested by ghostly monsters may not have been the best of ideas, at least for the corpse’s own survival, but perhaps it was what Amulak had to do to get what he wanted. So he continued on, Raime’s cold, heavy body still around his shoulders as the path began to decline and curve. Soon, the light-giving moss that had lit up the previous areas disappeared, and instead, a dim, red hue lit up the steadily-warming tunnel. Amulak began to sweat under his robes, the air itself hot and dry enough that it was almost painful. Did an Immortal body need food and water, or were such desires merely a mental state?

He could not dwell on such considerations for long, as the path he traversed upon was soon lined with human skulls.
As one, they ignited, dry teeth clacking together in raucous cheer. Four of them hovered upwards, clusters of fireballs gathered up in their mouths, while three others shot forth, homing comets intent on shattering Amulak’s ribs and legs. In the distance, the mage could see more human skulls, dormant but undoubtedly dangerous once activated. What choice did he have though?
It was time to run the gauntlet, you fucking casual.

Amulak burst into motion, Raime’s corpse tucked over his shoulder with one hand while the other gripped his staff. This was fine. He’d seen faster projectiles to dodge before. Fucking Touhou 26. If he could clear that, he could clear this.
As he ran, he chanted, precasting a Mana Shield to cover himself for the first hit. As much as he thought he could dodge, something would inevitably get through. If more than one of those skulls got too uncomfortably close to him, Seeker Chains would handle that problem. Hopefully, he had enough mana and good enough reflexes to make it to the end before completely running out of juice and healing potions.

Touhou 26 was indeed bullshit, even though ZUN’s art remained the same level of quality it’s always been, but a bullet hell, built upon massive patterns of energy pellets, was a completely different beast from a squad of flaming skulls intent on focusing all their fire at Amulak. The first couple moments were easy enough for the mage to dance around, the charging skulls missing their attacks as they shot past the decently mobile mage. He may have been encumbered by a dead body, but his pro gamer reactions had been dulled only by his body, rather than his mind, and with a superhuman set of limbs at his command? Amulak was untouchable.
But only up to a certain point.

The tunnel grew narrower gradually, and the attacks of the charging skulls and the flame-spewing skulls became more coordinated as they acclimated to his movement patterns. Some would lunge forward, feinting to cause momentary hesitation, while others would bombard the area in front of him to hide the presence of yet more monsters behind the fiery veil. Taking damage was unavoidable, Amulak’s Mana Shield constantly burning away as more and more blows landed. It was like being cooked in a sauna, like being bludgeoned by softballs, and even as his Seeker Chains restrained the skulls that flung themselves at him, that just caused them to switch to ranged attacks, intensifying the sheer number of projectiles that headed his way. They continued to scorch his boneplate, continued to stall his movement, and through it all, Amulak still had to use his own weapons and his own body to ensure that Raime’s corpse wasn’t destroyed in the process of going through this gauntlet.

But the end was near, and for all the attacks he had sustained, Amulak’s rare armor and decent defensive attributes meant that wasn’t dead. The spiraling tunnel grew tighter and tighter, until the skulls themselves couldn’t shoot their flames without being blocked by each other.

And then, the spiral became a vertical drop.

Amulak fell into the darkness, but rather than a bone-crunching impact, he struck slimy, black water instead. Rising out of the muck, water dripping from his dark cloak, he would find himself in a tunnel lit up by indecipherable sigils carved into stone bricks, with only a fraction of his resources remaining. And, merely another fifty meters away, he could see the ever-present mist of the Thunderstruck Grove, seeping down into the end of the Blasphemed Tunnels.

“Haah...haah…” Amulak gasped for breath, his blood pumping in his veins after that ridiculous hell run. Holy shit, how did people pull that off at even lower levels than he was? Being dragged down lugging and protecting a corpse didn’t help, but he wasn’t going to use that as an excuse.

But he’d survived, and now there was a literal light at the end of the tunnel. Rising out of the water, the aspiring necromancer winced deeply to see that he was holding on to life by mere inches, his HP having reached double digit values. Fortunately, this was why he had healing potions. Even if he didn’t need to survive getting hit by the lightning bolt, he still had to get there in the first place. While there wasn’t anything he’d actually read about any last surprises after the gauntlet, that didn’t mean there couldn’t be, considering the unexpected ghosts that had blocked off him and Patches in the first place.
Chugging down both of his potions in quick succession, Amulak braced himself for the final leg of the journey and hauled Raime’s corpse back up, starting to trudge towards the exit of the Blasphemed Tunnels.

Step by step, Amulak drew closer to the end of the Tunnels. The mist grew thicker, the atmosphere electric. Fatigue should have clung to his body, but the pull of the end was too great, and the mage almost felt as if he were floating through. His ears began to ring, drowning out all other sound. The mist was impenetrable.

And then, the mist disappeared parted.

A black tree stood, bark scarred by countless bolts of lightning. Like the hand of a demon god, it burst out from the bedrock of the tunnel, reaching out to claw the clouds out of the sky. And yet, it could no longer grow. A mound of ash had settled around it, and its peak could not yet surpass the crevasse that it was stuck in. Countless rusted spikes were driving into its wretched form, crude in construction and glistening with fossilized resin. Amulak could feel his heart rate increase as he witnessed this deathly tree. Was it fear? Awe? Or merely anticipation? Whatever feelings stirred his heart, he could not deny the gravitas of the Ancient Blackened Tree.

Raime was discarded upon the ashen mounds, and slowly, with the spikes as handholds and footholds, Amulak began to climb, rising to a heaven he would never reach. The black bark was warm underneath his touch, and the rumbling of thunder shook his organs with their depth. Time passed. It must have passed. But the sensations of his body were distant. He reached up, hand over hand, until those hands grasped only air.

At the top of the tree, Amulak looked skywards.

And in that moment, he was filled with light.

Ten thousand volts of sheer, unrestrained power burst into his veins, searing flesh and boiling blood as agony, true agony, branded itself into his very mind. What mercy could a mere charm bring in comparison to the wrath of the heavens? What meager fortitude could he bring to muster against such an earth-shattering might?! His very eyes were marked, marked by the serpent’s afterimage that leapt from the clouds into his body, into his very being! The spreading roots of the nervous system, the might of mind and soul torn away by mere impulse! That was the essence of life, was it not? The taboo knowledge that infected the minds of so many, that drew humans into depravity! What difference was there, between men and monsters? There were none! They were all lightning incarnate, birthed from the first burst of light upon a barren wasteland.

It was neither brain, nor heart, nor mind, nor soul that commanded flesh. It was the nervous system, the gossamer threads that plucked at the mortal shell, granting the motion that the unenlightened defined as ‘life’.

That was the epiphany that struck Amulak and he fell back to the base of the blackened tree, flakes of carbonized skin peeling off to add to the ash there.

From the molting of his body, though, something else crawled out, horrifying yet...endearing.

Shackles of Enlightenment, Weishaupt

Type Guard, First Stage
_{+20% MP, +20% SP}
A thirty-centimeter long centipede-esque creature, with a human eye between its jaws. It lacks a carapace and its segmented body is covered with pale, white skin instead. Each one of its one hundred limbs have three small fingers extending out from it.

Weishaupt’s Status

An extraordinarily weak creature, with only 10 HP and negligible stats other than its impressive AGI. When burrowed inside a Host, however, it becomes untargetable and unkillable, except by its host. When destroyed, this Nuclei can reform around its Master in ten minutes.

The Tree of Knowledge

Active. (Target’s LVL) MP per round. When Weishaupt is burrowed inside a willing host, multiple benefits are conferred.
-Telepathic correspondence and sensory information can be exchanged between Master and Host at a maximum range of 100 meters.
-Any spells that the Master casts can originate from the Host’s location instead.
-The Master can take any of the Host’s Resources as their own.
-By paying double the cost themselves, the Master can activate any of the Host’s skills or spells, except for Nuclei-related ones.
-The Host is immune to any mind-altering status effects.

If the Master ends this ability, Weishaupt will burst out of the Host’s body and return to the Master. If the Host is killed before this can happen, Weishaupt will be destroyed as well.

For a moment, Amulak could only take in shuddering breaths, trying to think through the pain he’d just suffered. After that moment, though, he’d realized what had just happened.

A roar erupted across the grove.

“FUUUUUUUUUCK YEEEEEEES!”

The Wayfarer's Guild

@Aerandir

@Aerandir Sorry to be unhelpful here but I really didn't write much beyond what I needed to make explicit for the backstory. I figured since Vera is from a city-state on the High Road that I'd let the GM define which city that is when/if it became relevant instead of taking on the task of writing a city-state in the middle of the defined part of the setting. Safe to say if your scope shows any of the north half of the High Road, Vera's home will be on it somewhere.

@Epsir

Yeah I basically did this.

The Wayfarer's Guild

Mathias Rugal

Armor

Name: Mathias Rugal

Age: 30

Race: Half-orc

Appearance:
Stands at about 6'5. Has a well-muscled physique, as befitting someone who fights and trains for a living. Has broad shoulders befitting a swordsman, but is leaner than he should be after months on the run.

Equipment:
Half-Plate: A breastplate, helmet, gauntlets, greaves, and a single pauldron. All are worn and blackened, with a ragged cloak thrown over the ensemble in order to protect them from the elements. Any insignias on the armor have long since been scraped off. Despite the wear and tear accumulated, the set of half-plate is still functional and provides substantial protection. Worn leathers are worn underneath, covering that which the plate does not.

Warhammer: Length is fitted for one-handed use. Blunt end on one side, sharp point on the other. Capable of smashing through armor and crushing bone with the blunt surface, and piercing and grappling with the spike. This particular one has the signs of frequent use, but is lovingly cared for.

Falchion: Standard-issue sidearm among the knightly orders of Tyrcliff. A single-edged, curved blade meant for slashing. Given to Mathias upon his ascension as a knight.

Heater Shield: Composed of wood braced and reinforced with iron. The surface of the shield is scuffed and scratched, almost as if there was once a coat-of-arms on it that was scraped off.

Magic: N/A

History:
Once, Mathias Rugal had been more than just a wandering knight-errant, fleeing from false accusations and falser justice. Once, he'd been a proud rider of the Order of the Red Elk. And once, he'd just been nothing more than a noble's bastard desperately looking for any way to advance his lot in life.

Mathias was born in the fortress city of Tyrcliff, located west of the central portions of the High Road. At the dawn of the Age of Dreams, both humans and orcs in the region had been forced to band together in order to simply survive, and centuries later, the population had interbred so much that both pureblooded orcs and humans were practically unheard of as natives of the city. Mathias himself had been nothing more than a noble's natural-born son, whose commoner mother had died in childbirth. With little care for a bastard, Mathias's father had simply handed him off to some of his estate's servants and ordered them to take him in.

The boy grew up with full knowledge of who his father was, as well as the understanding that he'd never be able to take advantage of it as his half-siblings would be able to. Thus, he'd have to find his own way in life.

Tyrcliff's defense was left up to several knightly orders, all of whom recruited from noble and commoner alike. Of course, noble knights often had preferential treatment in terms of being appointed to leadership positions, but there was nothing stopping the smallfolk from attempting to become squired to one of these knights.

At the age of fourteen, Mathias had managed to impress a knight of the Order of the Red Elk enough to be taken on as his squire. Upon beginning his instruction in the art of war, Mathias realized something. He thrived in combat. What had once been merely a way for him to get ahead in life became a genuine calling for him. Five years later, he'd found himself anointed as a Knight of the Red Elk in full, and sought to serve with distinction.

Over the next ten years, Mathias saw frequent combat, as given that Tyrcliff was located off of the High Road, it was surrounded on all sides by hostile wilderness. When not outside the city, however, he chafed. While each of Tyrcliff's orders were united in one purpose outside the city, they fought for political and economic influence inside, each wanting to be above their fellows.

Just eight months before the present day, this all came to a head. The Order of the Red Elk saw itself framed by one of its rivals for plotting to commit a coup against the ruling regime, and every other knight in Tyrcliff turned against the Red Elk, raiding the order's headquarters and putting every member they could find to the sword. Mathias and several of his fellows survived long enough to regroup, banding together and attempting to make an escape from the city.

What remained of the Red Elk were largely massacred in the attempt. By the time that they were desperately riding away from the city gates and towards the High Road, only Mathias and three other knights had survived. But they were pursued, the original instigators of the plot not wanting to leave any loose ends. By the time they reached the High Road, what remained of the Red Elk deliberately split apart, wanting to scatter and confuse their pursuers. For his part, Mathias roamed south, trying to survive as best he could now that he was but a wandering hedge knight. He sought refuge and work with various Guilds along the way, but his pursuers inevitably appeared in town, forcing the orc-blooded knight to flee further and further south. Finally, with no other recourse, Mathias settled on his last resort: seeking asylum with the Wayfarer's Guild.

Guild Ranking: Initiate

Theme

The Wayfarer's Guild

Half-orc knight

Armor

Name: Mathias Rugal

Age: 30

Race: Half-orc

Appearance:
Stands at about 6'5. Has a well-muscled physique, as befitting someone who fights and trains for a living. Has broad shoulders befitting a swordsman, but is leaner than he should be after months on the run.

Equipment:
Half-Plate: A breastplate, helmet, gauntlets, greaves, and a single pauldron. All are worn and blackened, with a ragged cloak thrown over the ensemble in order to protect them from the elements. Any insignias on the armor have long since been scraped off. Despite the wear and tear accumulated, the set of half-plate is still functional and provides substantial protection. Worn leathers are worn underneath, covering that which the plate does not.

Warhammer: Length is fitted for one-handed use. Blunt end on one side, sharp point on the other. Capable of smashing through armor and crushing bone with the blunt surface, and piercing and grappling with the spike. This particular one has the signs of frequent use, but is lovingly cared for.

Falchion: Standard-issue sidearm among the knightly orders of Tyrcliff. A single-edged, curved blade meant for slashing. Given to Mathias upon his ascension as a knight.

Heater Shield: Composed of wood braced and reinforced with iron. The surface of the shield is scuffed and scratched, almost as if there was once a coat-of-arms on it that was scraped off.

Magic: N/A

History:
Once, Mathias Rugal had been more than just a wandering knight-errant, fleeing from false accusations and falser justice. Once, he'd been a proud rider of the Order of the Red Elk. And once, he'd just been nothing more than a noble's bastard desperately looking for any way to advance his lot in life.

Mathias was born in the fortress city of Tyrcliff, located west of the central portions of the High Road. At the dawn of the Age of Dreams, both humans and orcs in the region had been forced to band together in order to simply survive, and centuries later, the population had interbred so much that both pureblooded orcs and humans were practically unheard of as natives of the city. Mathias himself had been nothing more than a noble's natural-born son, whose commoner mother had died in childbirth. With little care for a bastard, Mathias's father had simply handed him off to some of his estate's servants and ordered them to take him in.

The boy grew up with full knowledge of who his father was, as well as the understanding that he'd never be able to take advantage of it as his half-siblings would be able to. Thus, he'd have to find his own way in life.

Tyrcliff's defense was left up to several knightly orders, all of whom recruited from noble and commoner alike. Of course, noble knights often had preferential treatment in terms of being appointed to leadership positions, but there was nothing stopping the smallfolk from attempting to become squired to one of these knights.

At the age of fourteen, Mathias had managed to impress a knight of the Order of the Red Elk enough to be taken on as his squire. Upon beginning his instruction in the art of war, Mathias realized something. He thrived in combat. What had once been merely a way for him to get ahead in life became a genuine calling for him. Five years later, he'd found himself anointed as a Knight of the Red Elk in full, and sought to serve with distinction.

Over the next ten years, Mathias saw frequent combat, as given that Tyrcliff was located off of the High Road, it was surrounded on all sides by hostile wilderness. When not outside the city, however, he chafed. While each of Tyrcliff's orders were united in one purpose outside the city, they fought for political and economic influence inside, each wanting to be above their fellows.

Just eight months before the present day, this all came to a head. The Order of the Red Elk saw itself framed by one of its rivals for plotting to commit a coup against the ruling regime, and every other knight in Tyrcliff turned against the Red Elk, raiding the order's headquarters and putting every member they could find to the sword. Mathias and several of his fellows survived long enough to regroup, banding together and attempting to make an escape from the city.

What remained of the Red Elk were largely massacred in the attempt. By the time that they were desperately riding away from the city gates and towards the High Road, only Mathias and three other knights had survived. But they were pursued, the original instigators of the plot not wanting to leave any loose ends. By the time they reached the High Road, what remained of the Red Elk deliberately split apart, wanting to scatter and confuse their pursuers. For his part, Mathias roamed south, trying to survive as best he could now that he was but a wandering hedge knight. He sought refuge and work with various Guilds along the way, but his pursuers inevitably appeared in town, forcing the orc-blooded knight to flee further and further south. Finally, with no other recourse, Mathias settled on his last resort: seeking asylum with the Wayfarer's Guild.

Guild Ranking: Initiate

Theme

The Wayfarer's Guild

Could you go over the general power scaling in this RP? How much can an Initiate do? How much can the Avowed do? What sorta feats of magic and might would the top tiers in this world be capable of doing?

In other words, how anime is this shit?

@ERode

To add on to this, are non-casting normies still capable of keeping up with spellbois, or do physical fighters boost themselves with magic in this setting?

The Wayfarer's Guild

@Guilty Spark

Perfectly good with me, then. I do like me some anime fantasy.

The Wayfarer's Guild

@Guilty Spark What's the aesthetic you're going for? Straight up D&D style, or some anime elements? Asking because I know a few people in here (myself included) are big weebs. I'm fine with either, would just like to make sure before I plan anything out.

The Wayfarer's Guild

Big interest. Always a fan of some nice fantasy adventure.

Cacophony Concord

Amulak al Acturus (Stanislaw)
HP:838/950 MP:710/1150 SP: 130/130

Attributes

HP – 800 (+150)
MP – 1100 (+50)
SP – 100 (+30)
STR – 40
AGI – 50
END – 53 (+5)
DEX – 40 (+4)
LUC – 50 (+7)
Classes: Mage

User Experience

Perception: Fantastic
Gore: On
Pain Setting: 15%
Clothing Damage: On
Nudity Censor: Off
Profanity Censor: Off
Combat Action: Manual
Spell Incantations: Manual

Inventory

Funds: 1983.33333 rishi
Items:
Bonerattler’s Staff
Uncommon Weapon
+30 HP, +30 SP, +30 MP
10% chance of Disrupting enemy spellcasting when attacking.

Bulwark Boneplate
Rare Armor
+100 HP
Reduce physical damage taken by 20.
Recover 2 SP for every hit taken.

Shamanic Beads
Common Accessory
+20 MP

Raider’s Wargtag
Common Accessory
+4 DEX, +4 LCK

Thunderstruck Amulet
Uncommon Accessory
+20 HP, +5 END, +3 LUC
Reduce lightning damage taken by 20.

HP potions: 1 uncommon, 2 common

Yeah, no. Amulak could read the tide. If things continued the way they were, they were screwed. Still, he blinked at Patches's impromptu order and plan, observing the transformation for a brief moment.

"Oh...I get it now. You are not Patches like FromSoft game, you are Patches like Frankenstein!" He remarked offhandedly even as he squatted down, Raime's corpse tucked under one of his arms as he slung his staff up to take Patches's designated corpse up in his other arm.

"Patches, you are brave man. I will honor your sacrifice!" Amulak called out, taking full advantage of the opening he'd been given to leg it the fuck out of there, continuing to maintain his Arcane Vortex for as long as he was capable of being in range to feed MP to it. As he fled, he also took the moment to detonate the mine he'd placed next to the rocks that had blocked their path in the first place. If nothing else, it might give Patches an out.

As Amulak doubled back, he wracked his brain for the route he'd memorized as well as the rest of the map, starting to go down an alternate path that had been suggested. Hopefully, this one wouldn't have any surprises, what with the distraction going on elsewhere in the caves.