Interesting title. Don't think it's a reference to the Shirley Horn song, but we can always turn to Hobbes: "
man's an adventurer's life in a state of nature is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short."
"Just what is its purpose?" Hunger murmured, staring at the impossible edifice before them. From this vantage point his eye pierced shadow and cloud, perceiving a small encampment in the valley below that seemed half bazaar, half staging grounds. It was perched atop the only path that lead to or from the Temple at this angle, though the map indicated that the Temple's primary entrance was far around to the valley's other side. Though he couldn't make out details, the outpost seemed fairly teeming with adventurers and magi, tamed or summoned monsters touted openly in the streets.
Given the power on display, I can see how it might have ended poorly, but this description makes me wish we'd tried to interact with them! At a bare minimum it'd have given us another option for the Wreath. Summoned monsters: how? Do they have some systematic means of interacting with Astral Rifts to pacify the beasts? Comparisons could be made to a high-octane game of Pokemon (though I'd contend Pokemon's worldbuilding is pretty fucking terrifying already, if you don't shy away from the implications), or maybe it's all running on mercenary contracts with Astral Lords. Could we have parlayed Versch's monster-luring function into creating fodder for them, winning allies? Who knows? Not us, because we keep not interacting with people.
Jon Snow knows more than Hunger! If I didn't trust Letrizia I'd be concerned at her control of our access to information.
"Having second thoughts?" Gisena asked teasingly, nudging him in the arm.
"Always," he replied flatly. "But if you have doubts, there's no need to fish for agreement with me. Speak plainly."
"So direct," she gasped. "How could I possibly match you in fishing? In that field I can only curtsy in appreciation of the Lord Hunger, who so expertly sates his namesake condition!"
That was a lot of things, but not an answer. Hunger shouldn't have chosen that appellation if he wasn't willing to tolerate some amount of Gisena taking the piss. 'Only infrequently annoying' is a charitable gloss on the Allrian Affliction!
"Very droll," he scoffed, but smiled slightly. "If you've nothing to add, we'll circle around to the main entrance and attack the problem in the morning. I feel there's great danger in this place, but great potential too... if we can see it through without substantial losses, I'm confident we'll overmatch the blue swordsman when we meet next."
Gisena nodded. "As I'm hopelessly out-Ranked, I'll defer to your supernal judgement!"
It's framed facetiously, but maybe this is her actual reasoning? She lacks a crucial tool for navigating the Voyaging Realm, her fate essentially tied to Versch or Hunger's senses barring things like the map. The map continues to be suspicious, for the record. How does one chart an ever-changing route? There's one obvious answer: something in the Temple's linked to and updating it.
"Actually," Letrizia chimed in, eager to contribute on matters related to her hobby, "While Miss Gisena may not be able to use her Rank proactively, as a magically potent being it's likely she still has one! A sort of 'defensive Rank' that protects her to an extent from hostile actions by those with Pressure. Most magical beings have some form of astral shadow, and great magicians will have a stronger one, though not to the extent of one who actively develops their Rank."
Logical, this is a common feature of many settings. The Manton Limit, Primacy, etc. You have to have some reason telekinetics don't walk around giving their enemies aneurysms in any sense but the metaphorical.
"That matches my own theorizing!" Gisena exclaimed. "I am pretty great, after all."
"Only pretty great?" He raised an eyebrow. "That's positively self-effacing coming from you."
"I'm glad you noticed! Humility is one of my greatest traits."
Sweet Accursed, she's starting to make puns, I
like puns. Is this the Grace of a Sorceress, surpassing the fourth wall to cultivate audience appeal? But more cynically, humility is an advantageous trait in Hunger's presence with the Doom of Tyranny, so she's likely emphasizing that aspect of herself. Advising, never asserting. I should have seen this earlier; if she can work for Jotarun, she can work for anyone.
"Anyway," he indicated the valley ahead. "There's an encampment of adventurers in the upcoming terrain. Letrizia, we'll circle around to the main entrance of the Temple. With a bounty on Verschlengorge's head and my own Curse-related limits, any sort of confrontation could go poorly, especially if they turn out to be stronger than us. Perhaps I'll meet a smaller contingent in the Temple itself and we can gather information that way."
I like how he just
tells Letrizia that they won't be hailing the camp. This... may not have been the wisest decision. Like, the other adventurers are
all there. Why? That decision wasn't made without reason; how dangerous is the main entrance? I don't care how hypothetically hostile they might have been, I'm more worried about the Temple.
He'd reaped a formidable bounty of strength from the monsters they'd slaughtered on the way here, and acquired a few new tricks as well. Still, he preferred to hold them in reserve for now. Physically he was the mightiest he'd been since arriving in this world, but something told him the Temple was deadlier. Anyone who could survive a prolonged venture inside would more than pose a threat to him, let alone his companions.
Ah, Schrödinger's upgrades. Talking about physical might and new tricks in general terms applies to all of our builds.
"Okay," Letrizia said, "Going by the map that'll take half a day more, but we've made good time so far. Verschlengorge has been a bit more responsive, I think your ghostfire actually is healing him a little bit!"
"Time burns," as Baenlixnaire would say. But we took the fastest route, so this isn't too much of a waste. The lost information, missing the opportunity to draw on the institutional expertise of adventurers, is far more concerning. The Temple's valuable enough to generate a town as an incidental effect of its exploitation. The only silver lining is that if there's some ultimate treasure to be obtained, a keystone that if looted could set the whole edifice to crumbling, they haven't found it yet.
"Good," he nodded, and settled in for the journey.
The Temple was situated in an enormous plain, its porcelain claws towering to mountainous heights, but around that central expanse the terrain varied mightily. There was thick, mist-suffused woodland more jungle than forest, rocky outcroppings and unadorned grasslands, even stretches of arid waste bare of vegetation or fauna. On Verschlengorge's shoulders they traveled comfortably above it all, and could enjoy the meandering scope of their far-ranging voyage in relative ease.
Hm, Gisena pointed out spatial distortions later. It's likely they're what is responsible for the varied terrain. The Voyaging Realm is vast and contains multitudes, but so far it seems like each zone's large enough to be self-sustaining and contain civilizations of its own. This bucks the trend; is the Temple some nexus of distortion, perhaps even a structure built by the Foremost themselves? We may find out the hard way.
Would that I'd had a giant robot when running from the Tyrant. And some means of hiding it...
Would that we'd talked to people who could answer our questions!
Hours passed. He brooded productively for a time. Night fell.
Brooding is so passé, I prefer the term 'motivational meditation'.
Gisena came to sit beside him, luxuriantly stretching slender legs and toes in the cool air of evening. In the pale glow of the moon she seemed ethereal, languid and inescapable, and his peaceful reverie was thoroughly interrupted. He eyed her blearily, resentful of the distraction.
Every time I see legs or feet brought up in the text, some knee-jerk reflex narrows my eyes.
"Cheer up! It's a pleasant evening. Your cloak thinks so too."
I'd say not to unnecessarily anthropomorphize the Evening Sky, but our panoply's part of us.
"...Are we really going to talk about the weather?"
Weathering Gisena's company is difficult, but in this case there are insights on offer.
She pointed upwards. "It's a clear, cloudless night! You can perfectly see the moon."
He followed the direction of her hand to witness the bright orb of the moon clutched precisely within the Temple's spires, mantis-thin fingertips grasping and ready to pluck.
He grunted. "Either we're viewing it at the perfect time and angle for things to align, or..."
"The temple is manipulating space and time," Gisena finished cheerfully. "The moon, poor thing, always appears to be in its clutches! It can't be that the spires are moving, or it'd look different from other angles."
Well, shit. Now we know how the Temple got its name, though assuming the sight we're seeing is an illusion, the eponymous False Moon, may be unwarranted optimism. If it's an ancient ruin, at least it's... probably not
about to eat the moon? What would that even do, apart from irrevocably screw up the tides for whatever parts of the Realm rely on this satellite? Who would build something like this? I'm curious about the place, but not enough that I'd vote for visiting in hindsight, risking another Mardukth Incident.
He shook his head. "The more I look at this place, the less happy I am about entering it."
But menacing as the Temple was, he'd seen nothing disqualifying yet. This was the path they'd chosen, and they would see it through unless circumstances changed substantially.
The only way out is through. We can't afford to waste time, but I do sympathize with the instinct to bail. Regardless of the name he chose, celestial bodies are a little beyond the scope of Hunger's appetite.
Gisena hummed. "I agree! But there's something comforting about it as well. It reminds me of a girl I used to know. So sharp and clear and cold! A dear friend. Probably gone now, and the rest of my home as well. Or will be, soon."
Okay, that fucking hurts. No more than expected, but still painful to see their fate thrown into such sharp relief. Is High Cursebearer Seram sleeping on the job or still grinding up to that level?
"How fatalistic. Your society isn't set up to resist the 'hero' of your world?"
She shook her head, her smile wan and soft. "Nope. They're pretty much doomed. Even if I were there to warn them, it wouldn't help."
Speaking of people sleeping on the job: hey, Maiden, what the fuck? With precognition of that tier, she should've anticipated Jotarun's creation and prepared countermeasures. Instead, she set up the subsequent bearer of that power with constraints on her freedom of expression and as a result the Joanian Empire spent years eagerly awaiting the advent of their destroyer. There's dropping the ball and there's
spiking it.
"I'm sorry. My... friends sacrificed themselves so we could overcome the Tyrant. It was a close thing. Far too close."
C'mon, Hunger, don't be a Bearic and insert an ellipsis before talking about your companions. Your wife died defending you; do her the courtesy of not talking around her existence, however painful and long a shadow her death casts. We still don't know her
name. That's one reason I'm actually voting for the Form, so we can get some glimpse of this woman who meant so much to him. When our hero stands on the brink of oblivion, what thought pulls him back from the precipice?
She laid her head against his shoulder, the feather-touch of her hair trailing against his bare arm. "There are some things we just have to accept, hm? Maybe it won't always be so."
"Hmph. Well said."
I wouldn't have expected the Gisena of AST 1.0 to add that last caveat, and she had far more reason to hope. There was a Cursebearer on-site, tasked with derailing destiny. Thinking optimistically (not very fitting for this conversation), Hunger's been a positive influence on her. Gisena can't be blind to the long-term implications of his growth rate, but if he dies that budding hope will go with it. But so it goes, right? No doubt she'd move on and he would be reduced to another wistful anecdote. Gisena is clever and tenacious and useful, but at the end of the day I still don't like her much.
One day, the power of Progression would allow him to see through his ambition. Bring them all back, and keep them safe once more. But he dared not give voice to that uncertain hope. Even in his heart there was a fragility to it, thin-sketched delicate whisper of a dream, as if exposing it to the real would see it dispersed by a passing breeze.
"Longing seizes people more powerfully than poison and more deeply than illness." A fitting quote for someone about to go dungeon delving. But it's a good pain, and I mean that unironically. If it can drive Hunger ever-onward, to the shining tomorrow, where all things can be made whole? Then he should embrace that ambition, cling to it tightly and feed the dream until it's strong enough to withstand all the world's vicissitudes and can be shouted aloud, in defiance.
Gisena said nothing more, simply squeezing his arm in affirmation, and they carried through the rest of their journey in silence.
As the moon began to descend, the soft blue glow of morning limned the horizon. The Temple's claws ceased their transposition, as if allowing moon and stars to slip free its grasp and slowly tumble into the dawn. The light of the sun was austere and heavy, heat without warmth, illuminating the stark wasteland sea that surrounded the Temple's frontal facing.
A single avenue of shining tile cut through that bare expanse, the Temple's central promenade which featured heavily on the quicksilver map, broad enough to invite a marching army - or to deploy one. Surprisingly there was no activity, human or beast, upon the promenade. It was as thoroughly deserted as the earlier outpost had been bustling.
I wonder if the day/night cycle has any effect on the Temple's internal workings? Is it safer to enter when the moon's slipped its clutches? The boulevard being totally deserted doesn't do much to dispel the impression we're making a huge mistake regardless of the time, though.
The towering gates were shut, dark blue steel upon which countless distorted moons were carefully engraved. Here was a sharp ellipsoid, gleaming with purest silver; there an orb covered in diamondoid patterns of blue slate and dusted with cobalt.
They stared down the entrance from a distance. Gisena's emerald eyes observed it piercingly. Immense as the gates were, they were almost tiny against the titanic mass of the Temple. The curve of its central dome was like the skull of the world itself jutting free; a hundred cities could shelter under that ivory sky with abundant space for all.
Green because she's using her Grace-granted perceptions, nice touch. The sheer scale's a bit of a trip, just navigating the interior might require exertions of Rank and physique. Space enough for a hundred cities means a lot of room for stairs, and with its warping of spacetime it could be
even bigger on the inside.
"We could try using Verschlengorge," he noted. "He wouldn't fit inside but he could break down the doors."
"Mm..." Letrizia responded unhappily.
Not directly objecting, that's some charisma Hunger's got. Still, bad idea, the doors might break
us down instead. The Temple seems like that sort of place.
"Or I could cut it open," he continued. The Forebear's Blade could tear through defenses that would stop a lesser artifact.
Cutting through anyway, eh? I'm looking forward to seeing the Forebear's Blade in something closer to top form, once it starts repairing itself.
"No need!" Gisena finally said. "I think it'll let you through. Perhaps only you, but I could carve a path with my Nullity as well. There's an aura around the temple gates. The closest thing it resembles is that of your ring."
Huh, does this mean the other adventurers aren't parked here not because of hazards, but because they just couldn't open the doors? A thin hook to hang my hopes on, but I'll take it.
He glanced at the red-black band on his finger. Either this was spectacular coincidence or something strange was afoot. The ring of power had come from the Tyrant's finger, from a world and a universe entirely separate from this one. What did it mean for magic of its nature to be present here?
The Temple being Hunger-aspected lends credence to theories about it being made to literally
eat the moon. I didn't think a building could be an absolute madman, but hey, here we are... in defiance of sanity and good sense.
Then again, the residents of this world had quantified the magic of Rank which he'd wielded in the previous realm. Perhaps it was not so large a coincidence as it seemed.
He shook his head. There was trepidation, fear of the unknown, fear that for all his preparations and newly bolstered strength he would still be inadequate to the conquest of this place. But there was no room for doubt or hesitation in his mind. The Accursed had granted him the power of Progression, growth unrivaled in this world or any other. He would trust to that power, and to his long years of experience, to see this task through.
This is not a coincidence because nothing is ever a coincidence. I'm happy Accretion won, the mythic feel's great, not to mention the exposition from Letrizia and utility in the Voyaging Realm. I don't
think we'd have ended up elsewhere with Battle Magic or Soul Evocation? It's strange to imagine the quest diverging so radically, the distance between roads not taken. Contemplating counterfactuals won't save us here, though. Time to commit, to follow through, full death or glory. Or, with the Bright Vanquisher, death
and glory. With strange aeons, one need not preclude the other.
This task and every other, until that whisper of a dream became reality.
"Letrizia," he said, "Remember what we talked about. And find a good location to hide and secure Verschlengorge. If I can leave after venturing inside, I'll return every day to check on you if feasible."
"Find something worthwhile," Letrizia replied, "Good luck!"
As he walked forward the gates shuddered and began to open, groaning clench of steel like a monster's exhalation. They moved only briefly, leaving the tiniest hairline crack in that wall of colossal blue, just enough for one human to fit through without touching the steel of the doors.
Yeah, I can't help but suspect leaving won't be as easy? The monster metaphor's ominous, not that the Temple needed the boost to its intimidation. Walking into the maw's fine, but no self-respecting predator's going to relinquish its prey. The moon did escape its grasp with dawn, at least? Might be the only time it's possible; we should try to keep track of the time inside. Lack of windows (can we see any?) and/or temporal distortions might complicate things, but we can give it a shot. In the end, I suppose time will tell whether Hunger's truly the danger. He isn't the one who knocks... but here, he didn't need to.
1617 words lightly sprinkled with tactical musings, because by the Accursed we need all the help we can get.
