What's the vote tally looking like?
 
@Aabcehmu Add me to the signature list please. I mostly lurk so it should be the .05 Arete one.

Wait, do I have to messege that dude to get the PSA signature to count?

@Rihaku did you see my PSA acceptance to advertise this quest as my signature for 0.05 arete? if so am i on the PSA list thing or do i need to message the dude above in the quoted messes
 
Well, if this isn't a blast form the past, I swore never to return, but the power of Rihaku compels me, truly is there no escape?

Thanks again Orm for reaching out to me, to think I almost let old grievances stop me from taking another crack at a simple transaction.

Not much to contribute here, votes mostly settled, but I did have a question for Rihaku if he's in a generous mood.

The plain text of Rune King states that it applies the effects of to shatter heaven to all magics you learn from this point on, which strongly implies that it does not effect magics learned or purchased before it's selection.

Given that Cut Through was purchased this update, if we take Rune King now, would it apply to Cut Through? Or has our window already passed do to the hateful nature of the Dice?
 
The plain text of Rune King states that it applies the effects of to shatter heaven to all magics you learn from this point on, which strongly implies that it does not effect magics learned or purchased before it's selection.

Yeah we haven't really learned anything from it yet, just acquired the system, so I dunno. If it applies to it though I would swap in a heartbeat.
 
Well, another reaction post to take advantage of the Arete bonus. I'm going to regret not sitting on these aren't I?

Thunder of Blood Reaction Post (1208#Words)

After dinner concluded (the soup was delicious), Hunger stalked over to the Armament, Ring brimming with light. Slowly he ran his hand against the monstrosity's right shoulder-face, which in power-conserving mode slept ceaselessly through night and day. Verschlengorge's main head flicked open an eye, staring down with benevolent menace. It had a certain facility for making the most threatening expressions feel protective.

Letrizia is good at soup. It's a fun little callback to how Hunger asked for soup at the beginning of the day.

Verschlengorge does "scary protective" pretty well apparently. I wonder if each individual Armament has its own personality? Did Letrizia luck out getting one of the good ones? It's interesting that the Armament based around the Affliction of the Decimator would have a protective personality, given what that curse does. But on the other hand, the Decimator is the curse with the most built-in mitigation, perhaps out of a desire to avoid that curse's effect moreso then others? Or perhaps having gone many eons seeing its pilots waste away has made big V protective of them...

"He's not a dog, you know!" Letrizia came around his side, hands folded behind her. Her hair had, oddly, reverted to its natural shade. "You don't need to pet him to make him work!"

Interesting that Letrizia thinks you need to pet dogs to make them work. You should, but you by no means need to.

Also Letrizia using her original hair color could indicate she's feeling more comfortable around Hunger and Gisena, like she doesn't need to put up a front of professionalism. Not that white hair is very professional in the real world, but Letrizia had a rough childhood and can be forgiven for quirks.

"Is that what dogs are to you? Just workers?"

"Huh?" She turned to face him, eyes wide. "Aren't they used in low-technology worlds to detect contraband?"

"On Earth we kept them as pets. On my second world as well. Hmph. I say 'we,' but I don't think I ever had one. Civilization, human society did."

"Ah. I think most people these days use synthoids or virtual pets. Natural-born pets can't compete with their cuteness! Plus, it's less cruel than keeping natural organisms in a human-optimized environment. No need to forcibly neuter them in order to control the population."

Interesting. Domesticated animals are already pretty well optimized for human environments due to artificial selection. But non-biological pets would be more convenient, lacking many of the requirements and... byproducts of living creatures. I could easily see a shift more towards synthetic pets taking place, but I would think there would be holdouts who just really like their dogs or cats or whatever. Maybe Letrizia was just never exposed to such people? Her childhood keeps coming up again...

"...Are you looking down on my barbaric ways?"

"Well, you're a product of your times. I suppose it's forgivable."

"Or perhaps, somewhere along the line your civilization lost its way. Speaking of which, I'm trying to fix Verschlengorge's navigational system. You said it's Foremost technology, so it should be in its biologicals, correct?"

Fun being had here at the expense of morality arguments. Also the Foremost did the biotech - were the Armaments wholly biological before humans came along and started modifying them?

"Probably..." She leaned forward sternly. "Though I'm beginning to wonder if it's simply a function of his Rank. You're naturally able to navigate the Voyaging Realm yourself."

"May be. Still, four heads are better than one."

He began to circulate the equivalent of blood throughout the dizzyingly complex edifice beneath the Armament's skin. The head beneath his palm grunted discontentedly, shifting in its sleep.

Navigating the Voyaging Realm is a function of Rank as far as I can tell, but the Armaments still have specialized organs for the purpose. Maybe the Armaments can only use rank in specific ways corresponding to specific parts they have? Perhaps like our rank is channeled through our artifacts, an Armament's rank is channeled through their mechanisms.

Ereadhihr. The Elder Implement. Though it had existed for eons of war, there was not so much as a scar or imperfection within the fantastically dense bio-circuitry of the Armament's body. Physical wounds existed, but what had healed had done so perfectly. Still, in some grimly intangible way he felt the weight of those eons as he communed with the creature, a legacy of savagery a billion times repeated, vigor and sheer heedless fury, the all-consuming urge to devour. So deep was the catalogue of its experiences that they'd been imprinted on its spiritual marrow, its very essence.

The Armament was no human veteran, whom war ground down to make hard and hollow. It was a being axiomatically designed for its purpose, and looked forward to battle and consumption with the invincible eagerness of deep instinct. To wade into chaos alongside its operator was its mission and inexhaustible purpose.

It could comprehend human minds, even feel compassion for their weakness and frailty, but that did not change the fundamental structure of its mind. A man could comprehend a beast, even feel pity for its misguided antics, without adopting the beast's values. So too with the Armament and its mortal operators. It was loyal to its pilot, and to its bonded Cursebearer, but understood that their minds were fundamentally alien to it.

It that sense it was not so different from the Forebear's Blade, or, presumably, even the synthoid pets Letrizia had commented upon. A tool created to fulfill a goal. He wondered what it was like, to enter the world with such unshakeable purpose.

This passage does an excellent job of explaining the Armament's thought process and relationship with humans. A being with unity of purpose is not to be underestimated!

The Armament's blood sang with amusement. It shifted its currents and eddies, directing circulation to a specific lobe within its primary head. Was that the navigational system he sought? He found that the structure of the lobe was oddly self-evident, as if its three-dimensional shape were itself a glyph in some instinctual Cursebearer language. It was a focusing organ for the application of Astral Rank towards spatial perception and manipulation. Not simply a tool for traversing the Voyaging Realm, but for positioning in spacetime as a whole.

He saw, too, that while the power of Blood could restore some functionality to the organ, there were hard limits to the work he could do without a much higher Rank. Technique alone was insufficient.

Verschlengorge find the silly humans amusing I guess. And here we find the spacetime navigation organ, which appears to by a glyph in whatever language the Accursed uses. Something he developed, much like the Praxis and perhaps intertwined with it, or the native language of his homeworld (might be Old Realm if the Odyssial speculation is correct).

"The power of the Ring can repair some of it, but many capabilities remain locked," he said, frowning. "Still, we should be able to get around faster now. I'm curious how your technicians repair these organs. They seem to be well beyond the limits of human technology."

Letrizia shrugged. "I think they use serums harvested from high-level Astral Beasts. For best efficiency, they have to be specially processed with Foremost artifacts. Verschlengorge can regenerate from eating enemies as well, but his effective Rank's too low to use that function right now."

So Astral beast fluids are the main component is Armament repair serums. Perhaps a reason why the Astrals are always trying to off the Armaments - they're natural predators of the Astral denizens. Also V just straight up eats them, but that may be more related to the Decimator's Affliction then a standard armament trait - the Decimator's Affliction is often described as devouring and temporarily putting it off is called "Hunger Sated."

....Interesting coincidence there. The guy named Hunger ended up with the curse related to devouring.

He frowned. "Why is it that physical wounds can reduce its Rank at all? Typically you would need specialized attacks to do something like that. I could lose half my body and my Pressure would remain unaffected."

"Your guess is as good as mine! When he's at full strength, most injuries don't weaken his Pressure by much. But if you hurt him enough, I think he begins ablating Rank to preserve his fundamental structure. Unlike you, the Armament's not a complete person by itself. It was designed with a pilot in mind. Its astral shadow only exists because of its physical body, but it may be that high-grade Foremost technology can't exist in the physical world without some degree of support from Pressure. Kind of like how a black hole can't exist below a certain level of mass density. Since the two are co-dependent, it may have to sacrifice one side to shore up the other if catastrophic damage is taken."

I don't think Hunger and the Armaments are so different as they think. Hunger was reduced to a burned-out wreck when the Forebear's Blade was shattered. I think Accretion users merely have their Rank invested in their Artifacts rather then their bodies. Hunger can continue using his Pressure even if his body is being destroyed because the source of his Pressure is his artifacts, while an Armament derives its Rank from the mechanisms within its body, and as such is more vulnerable to losing them.

If this is the case, Hunger is pretty lucky that a lot of his power is invested in the Ring of Power, which is indestructible thanks to the Accursed.

Actually - the Evening Sky dissipates all the time and Hunger is fine. Is it because the Evening sky is designed to dissipate, as part of its function? Or maybe my speculation about artifacts is off base.

"How knowledgeable for a mere hobbyist."

"Hehe. It's important to be informed of things like this when you're entrusting your life to the device."

"How serious. You need a vacation."

"Hm? Not planning to head into the Temple tomorrow?"

We finally figured out that we need to take a break. Also we physically couldn't go back in immediately because of our injury.

The Moonslavers are going to be pretty surprised when Hunger comes back with Cut Through and Surgecraft. Those are both pretty big upgrades and our massive Omakestorm means Hunger's jumped up in power faster then he ever has before. Might catch them off guard if they planned around his observed growth rate.

"I can't, not in this state. I'll need a few days to integrate my new powers and see if I can fix my liver. This latest enemy gave me a lot of 'digest.' "

"You and Verschlengorge really are two peas in a pod. This swordsman seems to have made an impression on you. You don't usually talk about your foes."

He did make an impression. It was probably the hardest fight so far in this quest, our closest brush with death, and it came via a guy that Hunger could respect and identify with. Hunger even made a huge breakthrough in his swordsmanship shortly afterwards, inspired partly by Vanreir.

"His name was Vanreir Amarlt. I had the sense he was fighting to protect someone dear to him. Most of the outriders carry more mercenary objectives."

"Amarlt?! Huh, to think some of them landed around here."

"Hm?"

"They used to be a big deal in the Republic. The Republic makes a fuss about not recognizing noble titles, but they're an oligarchy whose upper ranks are still filled with the high nobility. The Amarlt family used to command Procyon, the Plenary Armament, but fell from power a few centuries ago. Procyon's actually stationed here in the Voyaging Realm right now!" She went quiet, perhaps remembering that the pilot - likely a friend - could well have betrayed her.

If we'd picked the Plenary Brand, would we have landed next to this Armament instead? Would be really funny if we'd brought Catherine Amrlt, we have ownership of the Armament and the return of its ancestral pilot. I like the way things have turned out better though, Letrizia is great.

He coughed. "No match for you, I take it."

"Of course not! ...So, why've you decided you need a vacation?"

Best way to cheer Zea up: trigger her tsun.

"I'd like to see the sights now that we're here," he deadpanned. "We're planning to overthrow their civilization, that doesn't mean we can't enjoy ourselves in the vicinity. And now that your Armament's spatial organ is fixed, we can do just that. Anything in particular you'd like to do?"

"It'd be nice if we could recruit some mages... dangerous, though. I'd love to see some of the more exotic parts of the Voyaging Realm! The farmlands we passed through on our way here were beautiful, but a bit plain."

You heard the girl, Zea wants mages! And exotic locals, but we're covering the mages this trip. We can go to weird places later, after the Temple.

"How does that work, exactly? I'm surprised your civilization hasn't made a concerted effort to extract every mage they can from this place, especially if you don't have native magicians."

"Ah, well... it was tried. The Voyaging Realm will tolerate some level of exploitation, but industrial-scale extraction of magics leads it to act out in increasingly apocalyptic ways... these days we're mostly limited to those mages that find their way to our City, and even then half the magics only work inside the Realm itself. There are unsanctioned efforts to extract more, the Republic especially deploys strike teams for that purpose, but the casualty rates are horrific. It's frequently a death sentence even if you succeed."

The Voyaging Realm appears to be alive in some way. Able to take actions if it encounters something it doesn't like. A thing to keep in mind.

Also we could have run into one of those republic kill-teams. Would have been interesting to see what kind of mage they were escorting, but Besieged Colony has been great so far.

Generally in this quest, I've found there's been very few options I've actually disliked. Other then not being a fan of Uttermost still even with Cut Through, I've found almost every option we could've taken to be compelling, even if I wish we had explored some things (Soul Evocation in particular) more deeply. I'm still pretty happy with what we've done so far, although I still want more magic systems.

"Let's hope you aren't doomed for bringing two such mages outside the Realm, then. Gisena's findross is self-contained, so she should be alright. As for me..."

"You shouldn't even qualify, Lord Hunger! You only have an unusually high Astral Rank, which the Foremost themselves were theorized to exhibit in select individuals. That's hardly magecraft. And, while you're able to efficiently channel that Rank through your artifacts in unusually reliable ways, in principle that's no different from an Armament's Shroud-derived unique abilities."

Hah! Even Letrizia is saying we're not a real mage! I do consider Accretion a magic system, but she's not wrong that we're not very mage-coded. Let's fix that.

"Why do I feel vaguely insulted? And just 'Hunger' is fine, Letrizia, we've talked about this."

"Hey, the path of magecraft is not for everyone! Wouldn't it interfere with your teamwork alongside Miss Gisena?"

"Just you wait. And here I was going to teach you magic once I'd acquired some."

"W-who'd want to learn magic from you? I'd much prefer Miss Gisena as a teacher."

"Good, that's one thing taken care of. We set out first thing in the morning."

"Hmph. I'll become the best sorcerous apprentice ever! That'll show you!"

"Yes, show me up. We could use the firepower."

Vote Letrizia Element Upgrade so she can show Hunger her incredible power! And then vote 7-Arete element for us so that she's still not better then us! It's important for character reasons!

Also a little sad that we didn't take Slice Fate so that Zea could become Gisena's apprentice in truth. It was an unfortunate casualty of Arete politics - we could have taken Cut Through an update later, but few wanted to risk delaying such a milestone after they'd worked so hard for it.

It's alright though, even if we aren't making Zea a Sorceress we can make her a really good Surgecrafter! Right guys?

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I already did analysis posts on the vote options for this chapter, which are in the fanwork index apparently. As such I will not do so here.
 
I... don't know who to check up on. This is the hardest decision I've ever had to make in this thread.

Gisena musings:
We owe her a princess carry, or five. Only issue being I think we might be a spooky wraith right now. I'm not exactly sure what she was imagining, but a specter-prince ghosting her through town is almost certainly not the aesthetic she was hoping for.

In her favor would also be immediate access to the fat wads of cash we are about to have spilling out of our ethereal pockets. If she wants guns, armor, new stationary.... well, actually, she could probably just charm these backwater rebels into giving her the stuff. But on the off chance she doesn't want to put in all that effort, our pocket money would certainly help.

Checking up with our #1 girl also makes sure @LordOfMurder doesn't... end me. I'm already walking on thin ice from when I speculated about merely introducing another sorceress. I've learned my lesson in that regard! We're keeping things firmly hunger-waifu-daughteru from now on, yessir.

Letrizia musings:
But, I do feel compelled to wonder what checking in on Letrizia could bring. She had been hard at... work? Spying on a bunch of mischievous no good.... uhh... regular school children? I couldn't find a quote but I believe instead of spying, she is actually "undercover", perhaps masquerading as one of those pesky transfer students. Hmm I can see it now.

She'll be in the middle of class, fooling them all, diligently attending classes like a regular girl, when Hunger strikes. He'll slowly phase through the chalkboard behind a nervous young teacher. He's stuttering and asking for names in an all too familiar way, giving off the tell-tale vibes of a substitute teacher. Class had only just begun, and he's putting up a desperate bid to get anyones attention for roll-call.

What had been a ruckus, the apex of adolescents who had for over a decade blithely followed the every whim of their teachers, had finally with age and experience realized that there was no vengeance this poor sod could enact upon them. Realization that in a scant few months they would be released upon the world, and that no manner of hell-raising could impair their escape should they bay in lock-step with one another.

This insatiable, unstoppable, chorus ceased with all the abruptness of a popped balloon. Every eye fell seemingly upon the young teacher. He could feel it - Pressure unlike any he had ever felt before. Somehow he had done it, he had quelled the beast, and now their ire was upon him. He breathed in. He realized he hadn't been, felt then, the sweat trickle down his brow. It was too much! He hadn't signed up for this, he had to, had to -

His eyes fell to the floor, he buried them deep into the earth like the cheap caricature of an ostrich. he couldn't help it! Their eyes bored into him with the unwavering wide-eyed fear of - ....... fear?

Tentatively he peaked back towards the class. On every face - every one of them - was etched some bizarre conglomerate of terror and wonder, wide eyes giving evocation of both. It was only there - in the back corner - that there was any dissimilarity in his charges. In the very nook of the room, at a seat with a high, wide window sat a young woman. Her hand was firmly planted over her face.

...What?

"Ahem"

....There was a noise. Behind him. Every eye - they hadn't been towards him, no, it was through him. Their gazes drilled into what could only - should only be the board behind him.

"AHEM"

Louder now. He dare not move, he dare not - could not think. The weight, the pressure, the expectation threatened to overwhelm him. Then - weight given mass and fear given corporeality - he felt it so much as he saw it. Bright, shining, ethereal blue fingers draped over his unresponsive shoulder. His knees buckled, he locked firmly into place, feeling what could only be blood stain his nails.

Something primal made his head slowly pivot. Something that lurked in all humanity, that insatiable thirst for knowledge, that ever burning curiosity that drove them forward. And so often led to their demise.

Behind him towered an aberration. A being as blue and ephemeral as the rays of the moon dancing across the ocean, shrouded in the very stars that hung above the night sky. It looked at him then - with one ghastly, inhuman bulb. One focal point from which all of creation was surely weighed, measured, and judged.

Without ever moving it's mouth a clear, commanding dissonance in the imitation of human speech coursed across the campus.

"I'm here to pick up my daughter."

"DAD!"

-------------

Well, thats a thing. I still have more Letrizia points I think... where was I...

Ah yes, okay. The other benefit of visiting Letrizia is that, while we might embarrass her in front of her new friends, we may also have the opportunity to learn about Surgecraft from her. Seeing her pining for magic, we might open up the ability to work on her blood on the way back home to the Temple.

Uhh, I swear I had more but I think this has run its course!

ohgodi'msorrypleasedon'tbemadlordmurder

[X] Check up on Letrizia
[X] Forebear's Blade - Ruinous Valor (3 picks)
-[X] Zweihander
 
Last edited:
Reaction for the 20% Arete buff pot, word count once I libreoffice. (Edit: 1223 Words)

Praedhir, tool, insult for those unfamilar with the foremost language, also apt given how we get off-brand praxis out of this update.

Letrizia had decided she was going on a self-proclaimed 'undercover' mission to investigate colony's magic, while Gisena was happily examining each and every technological advancement Human Civilization had made since the Renaissance. While they did so, he studied the blade.
The word the got dropped in "mission to investigate colony's magic". Given Gisena's technical research, I wonder what the time to founding Aperture Science is now? It can't possibly be long now. Which just leaves us studying the blade. I looked up the meme this is referencing, at the very least the Forebear's blade probably isn't a katana otherwise that would be a lot more cringeworthy.


The power of his ring hampered low-stakes training while enormously amplifying improvements made in actual conflict, so naturally he asked the soldiers if there was any mercenary work available.
Which is pretty friendly to the way Surgecrafting works I suppose, we could get something decent without even needing [To Shatter Heaven]. Also, here's my obligatory reminder on what does and does not count for Hunger to develop with the ring.


forums.sufficientvelocity.com

A Simple Transaction I Original

Current vote count? Hm... an interesting thought. Hunger rewards genuine endeavor, after all, and not just battle! As well it should. Hm...? The real question is, who is Best Girl? There may certainly be more of that down the line. And offscreen interactions, of course. Word count is...

Hm... an interesting thought. Hunger rewards genuine endeavor, after all, and not just battle!


forums.sufficientvelocity.com

A Simple Transaction I Original

A quest about a simple transaction and the consequences that follow.

You can advance through genuine endeavor as well. For example, making speeches to real crowds with real stakes, or working on research where the outcome is personally important and you have something to lose.


"Well yeah, we've got Rotspawn coming in every day of the year. It's not totally out of control, but we've been losing ground week by week."
The problems of being stuck with military surplus hardware unless/until someone with a truly ridiculous surgecraft element and skill graduates from school I suppose.


The man looked warily at his sword and cloak. "If you're some sort of... sword-based wizard, we could probably use your help."
We were kind of one before. We deserve the title a lot more once this update is over and done with.


"I'm not cheap," Hunger warned, "And I don't work well with others. Don't expect me to integrate into your command structure."
Getting the Doom of the Tyrant stuff taken care of up front, as Rihaku said, Lord Hunger is actually a very intelligent person in spite of his recklessness caused by our voting patterns.

"That's all acceptable," the officer said, "We just care that Rotspawns are destroyed. If you're willing and able to deal with the Rotbeast itself, that would be even more ideal. We can pay in goods and services, or precious metals at a 20% discount."
Fabulous! They evidently know how to work with wandering adventurers/monster hunters.

He tapped a device on his wrist and small leaflet printed from the VTOL's side cabin. "Here, these are the rates we pay to all wandering mercenaries.
They have leaflets... nice. We should get leaflets once we're holding territory too.


On the back you'll find a map of the region. We're here, at the border, and the Rotbeast's invasion is alongside this other border, here, with enemy territory beyond. This mountain-range shaped area is the actual Rotbeast."
Mountain Range shaped area is the actual Rotbeast? How incredibly Exalted or Rihakuverse. I can almost see the military history esque arrows and funny colors on the map.

"Fine. I just need to bring back proof of my kills?"


"That's right. Scalps for ordinary spawn, while Elite and Primary Spawn have cores made of golden crystal. Those are a bit easier to transport."
Golden Cores? Are we dealing with a degenerate form of Xianxia cultivators turned into disease monsters?

"Sounds simple enough."


The contested border was well to the opposite side of Sovereignty land, a semi-mountainous region of rocky hills that sloped downwards into an immense swampy forest. It was from that direction that the Rotspawn invasion occurred, a steady flow of weaker beasts intermittently disrupted by the emergence of an Elite. Elixir troops had access to decades-old Imperial surplus, but it was all decommissioned gear, meant to be sold to civilian organizations. They could maintain what they'd purchased, manufacturing munitions to a limited extent, but outright replacement of high-grade gear like Armor Prototypes was beyond them.
Yeah in the long run they'll need some massive Surgecrafting bullshit to change things or they're doomed to be swept under the muck, sink into the trash, etc.

The front line was a series of heavily fortified trenches 'manned' by automated turrets and anchored by mid-sized Armor Prototypes.
Probably not rank 6+ unfortunately for them.

From Letrizia's earlier remarks, Hunger had gathered that unmanned autonomous craft like bomber drones were adequate for weaker foes, but severely underperformed against peer-level enemies due to a lack of Astral Rank. Though their weapons encampments were more than capable of raking the valley with plasma fire, any group of Elite Rotspawn risked breaching the lines with their focused Pressure.


For the most part, the Rotspawn were a ragged and motley lot, corpse-grey limbs twisted and disfigured by the necrotic force of their progenitor, each beast an unnerving medley of animal parts. Their jerky movements and eerie relentlessness made for a disquieting aura.
I'm suddenly getting Diablo and Warcraft III vibes off these creatures. Like the Abominations with cleavers and meat hooks.

With the average Rotspawn weaker than Verschlengorge's usual attackers, Hunger was unconcerned by their numbers and took the time to experiment with his sword technique. He mimicked Amarlt's thrusting stance, attempting to capture the intangible purity of that unadorned thrust, but while his strength was more than sufficient to slay Rotspawn in this manner, no special insights came to him in the doing.
Vanreir really left an impression on you didn't he? Also since Lord Hunger barely needs to pay attention to enemies this weak... *Curbstomp song starts playing*


It was clear that there were horizons of swordplay far beyond his meagre achievements, and while Amarlt had possessed the soul-based magic of the Outriders, Hunger had the Forebear's Blade, which ought well be capable of surpassing anything the Outrider had done.
Division, cutting infinity with the Blade of Want, yes you are entirely right Lord Hunger. The problem is what it takes to attain Royalty. So long as you still have your attachments you're going to fall short, not matter what you attain here.

An enormous crustacean-like creature thundered abruptly out of the forest, its shell the deep blue of the far ocean, claws rending wood and steel with the schlick of scissors through paper-mache. Between its beady sapphire eyes was a jewel of brilliant gold, the only spot of aberration against a carapace fully blue.
Attack the giant enemy crab's weak point for MASSIVE DAMAGE.

Hunger leapt to its left flank, plunging his blade into that carapace, which folded like a punctured egg before him. With lightning speed it skittered and turned, but he was faster still, darting around to its other flank, dragging his blade to split it widthwise like an oyster.
No, no, you've got to flip it TURNWAYS.

The power of Ruin tore branching seams out from the clean line of that wound, shell shriveling and flaking away all along its thorax.
Or not LOL.


The creature reared back as if to bellow, but he sprang towards its front, leaping onto the clacking claw-arm to strike directly at its core. As the jewel shattered the creature swiftly went inert, a golden mist like faerie dust spilling from the gem.
I wonder what the deal is with that mist? Could it be the rot or does it have some kind of significance to Surgecrafting?

That was anticlimactic. He was not Vanreir, but the power of his blade sufficed to dispatch these things with a minimum of fuss. Shaking his head he plunged deeper into the valley, past the plasma-pocked slopes of the grassy hillside and into the territory of the Rotbeast proper. Down into the fetid mist he ran, past the cloying outer perimeter into the heart of the forest, where the ground was soft and putrid but the fog was thick as steel wool.
That sounds extremely unpleasant. Like if Lord Hunger didn't have the level of Astral Rank he did, that fog would soon separate you from your skin literally like it was some kind of acid. Or set you on fire like a World of Darkness mage using Friction Knife.

It pressed down upon him, a slightly damp heaviness, a noxious fullness in the lungs.
Acid fog it is I suppose.


Were he an ordinary man, movement would be impossible under such conditions, but his strength these past weeks had increased by great bounds, and it troubled him little. A pair of crossed slashes dispelled the fog around him, small tempest of wind carving a clearing in the mist.
Borderline Nasu Excalibur level firepower. Not bad at all.


Creatures emerged from that pale soup of fog, half a dozen disjoint monstrosities each bearing a golden jewel upon their brow. Eagerly he set to work.
*Devil May Cry music starts playing*

Their speed was explosive, their movements so erratic as to be unpredictable, but that mattered little against him. The complete Forebear's Blade could channel his techniques with perfect efficiency. The windup and exertion associated with his sevenfold strike were reduced to a minuscule fraction, so much so that he could apply the technique to every flick and lash of the blade.


Each humming blade-wind dispatched from its edge struck now with murderous force, a staggering crescent of sheer devastation that toppled the Rotspawn, power of Ruin tearing them limb from limb. And yet it was not enough. For all his terrifying speed and force, his was still not the equal of even Vanreir's technique, much less the power of the Forebear that lay slumbering within. What was he missing?
Those blade winds... for some reason I keep hearing the sha na na na na from Caddyshack accompanying them.

Hunger frowned. One hand was inadequate to the task of handling the restored Forebear's Blade, though its immense destructive force more than compensated for the slight unwieldiness. As he grew in strength, would his lack of limbs become a progressively greater limitation on his technique?
Hopefully you'll have your other arm back by the time this update is over.


Dozens of Elites fell before a greater monster emerged, the fell wind of its Pressure forcing down his shoulders at its approach. The ground beneath him gave way, muck and grime hollowing out as if pressed by an industrial stamp. He leapt back, launching downward blade-winds to go airborne, but every movement felt stilted and slow in the grip of that Pressure, and he was not able to clear the fog as he would've liked.
Boss time! *Kogami vs Makishima music from Psycho Pass starts playing*


It emerged at last from the mist, a golden-eyed creature whose skin was bleached pale, its face an uncanny mix of sublime and grotesque, fine-angled bones above a tusk-bristling maw that drooled syrupy blood. Three meters tall at the very least, with four powerful arms, each holding a curiously curved halberd-like weapon.
I'm reminded a lot of Nnoitra from Bleach's Resurrección. It even has the energy color right. Nnoitra had gold Ceros.

It was no Tyrant, but this was the greatest disparity of Pressure he'd felt since coming to this Realm. Hunger attacked without hesitation, knowing that the only way out was through, three dozen blade-winds in the blink of an eye sent screaming towards the foe. One arm snapped forth, halberd twirling, each successive arm taking a guard position behind the last. It weathered the storm of his attacks with sullen indifference, though the one projection that got through tore a deep strip of flesh from its cheek.
You're pretty good as Big Boss might say.


No visibility on the ground, and the earth was unsteady. Too difficult to change directions in midair. He parried the thrown halberd that was the thing's counterattack, jolt of the impact sending cruel shivers down his arm, hurling him backwards. All of a sudden the monster blurred, closing distance with furious speed, and scarce had his arm recovered that he was forced to parry fourfold whirling strikes, the creature having casually recovered the copy thrown as it charged.


This was unsustainable. His stance would break or his bones would.
You know Sherlock Holmes's inner monologue fights from the Robert Downey Jr. movies, like the one against Moriarty in a Game of Shadow? That's what I'm thinking of right now. Thankfully we didn't have to tumble off Reichenbach falls to win this fight.

He tumbled to the side, attempting to get within the monster's reach, taking a searing cut to the sternum as he moved. His blood sense gave him a good idea of its future movements, but its overwhelming Pressure prevented much direct influence. He whipsawed his blade as he rolled, firing sword-projections towards the creature's wrists, buying him an instant to move freely.


Sprinting away, he cleared distance, Evening Sky shuddering behind him as it partially absorbed the impact of a thrown halberd, casting him to the ground.
We need something else, or to finally muster up the will to actually invest in the Evening Sky. Seriously.

Even as he fell he conjured more blade-winds, intent on pressuring it, furiously burning his well of energy to keep it at bay.
What a metaphor for our existence and trying to fend off conditions this is.


Some vacation this was. In a way this situation mirrored his fears of the Inner Temple: fodder he could basically ignore, commanded by a guardian that was well above him.


If only he had two arms, blocking would be so much easier. A melee exchange would be more feasible, and in the chaos perhaps he could find an angle, take out its eyes and search for its core...
You don't have to convince me Lord Hunger I'm already voting for Ruinous Valor/Zweihander.

He knew what he had to do. Cut through, even if it could not be cut. But what did that mean here? Scheming and tricks weren't useful against an inhuman enemy, and unlikely to work given its greater Rank. A single, fulsome attack guided by absolute purity of technique, paring away all that was inessential, mind and blade become void, the path of its stroke an inevitability?

That was Vanreir's art, which he'd tried and failed to imitate.
Even Vanreir fell short of true Royalty, there's no shame in that.

At last he could fire no more blade-winds. Exhausted, he fell to a knee, supporting himself with the Forebear's Blade. It would not take long for this supreme Rotspawn to clear away his swarm of projections, and then it would come for their originator. He could not outrun it for long.


The Forebear's Blade had endured untold eons of conflict in its master's hand. Was there some shadow, some imprint of those battles upon its spiritual essence, as there had been for Verschlengorge? He was the Blade and the Blade was him, but even he was not aware of every psychic shadow that swam beneath the waters of his conscious spirit. Desperate as it was, and uncertain, still he had to try. What would the Forebear do?
Seriously? This pedestalizing and memeification of the Forebear is... at least from my perspective anyway kind of annoying. It sets off all my Valeria Trifa and Faust Alberich alarm bells.

Was there some secret? Some trick of the blade? Some hidden technique? Some forbidden art? What did the Forebear draw on, when the hour was dire and death approached like the fall of night?
There simultaneously was and wasn't given what we got this vote? Also, fall of night is apt given the Evening Sky/Forebear's Blade conjunctional advancement.


He remembered, for a moment, the cruelest hour of his life, his victory over the Tyrant.


Catherine with hair of gold had thrown herself before the Tyrant's blade.
Seriously? Hopefully that name would have been different if Catherine was our apprentice because that does not sound mentally healthy for Lord Hunger otherwise.

He remembered the cornflower blue of her eyes, bright with unshed tears, her smile of forgiveness and absolute conviction, spill of her hair like a saintess' halo. He remembered his body moving automatically, exploiting the rare opening the Tyrant had presented him, culmination of ten thousand drills and desperate fighting retreats.
A pity you can't get much out of stuff like that kind of training anymore, or at least fast enough to matter, eh Hunger?

"Win." She'd whispered as he passed her by, her final words on this earth. "Win. That's all that matters."
I wonder what kind of thematic setup will be gone with here? That seems fairly compatible with the willpower boost from Cut Through I suppose.


He remembered the final upward stroke of the Blade as it shattered against the Tyrant's flesh, shards like shrapnel rounds tumbling out and through, the excruciating fire as his soul splintered alongside his weapon. He remembered the final gasping moments as the Tyrant expired at last, body reduced to a slurry of blood and ruin, shell of his murderer standing wide-eyed and broken above him.
Hunger's Power of Ruin must have been really nasty back then.


He would never discard that memory. He would never cut it away in the pursuit of mere strength. That memory was his strength. It was the reason he'd chosen vengeance when the Accursed had offered happiness instead.


Vanreir's path would never be his own. The Forebear's Blade demanded something else. Something heavier. Something crueler. He recalled - the heft, the mountainous solidity of the Blade in hand, the terrible crushing momentum of its falling stroke, the sharp bitter bite of its edge like ice against marrow -


Grief. Fury. Regret. And the indestructible resolve created thereby.
Well, my suspicion of us being a potential past self of the Forebear just jumped several percentage points.

That was its well, the tenor if its strength, wrapped heavy around the limbs like a funeral shroud, such weight and horror that it felt as though he were sinking into the world, sinking down beneath it, tearing through the meager filaments of its foundation to the impossible blue beneath -


Cut. The Cut of the Forebear was not a thing of separation.
How disappointing. All that room for Kill 6 Billion Demons memes and philosophy wasted.


Its purpose was not so shallow and feeble a task as the mere division of one object from another.


The Forebear used his cut to murder his enemies. That was its purpose.
That sounds like kind of a gray area when it comes to precept 10 of Meti's Sword Manual. "A man who finds pleasure in the result of cutting is the most hateful, crawling creature there is. A man who finds pleasure in the act of cutting is an artisan." Forebear probably not Kill Six Billion Demons Royalty confirmed.

The avalanche force of his Blade bearing down, the pure inevitability of its falling arc - this was not a thing of beauty, nor grace to be admired; not a technique of prowess and certainly no way of life. It was merely, and nothing less than, a thing that took lives.
This at least is compatible with the second precept of the manual I've been talking about.

There was no treachery here, merely Age, merely the hammered-down experience of a billion brutal eons made a single blade of steel and hate. Failure to imitate was only an excuse. Lack of arms was only an excuse. Enemy Pressure was only an excuse. The Forebear had no patience for excuses. Neither did his Blade.
Am I the only person here who gets a sense of forboding off Forebear memes at this point?

Murder, even if it cannot be murdered. That was the essence of his Cut.
Yep. The Forebear for all his power, did not attain Royalty if this is indicative.

Slowly he advanced, a juggernaut building momentum, Blade aloft and pointed at his enemy. The muck beneath sucked and pulled at him, threatening to drive him under, but sheer inertia kept him in-line as the foe stupidly lunged to meet him. Down came the halberds, but he did not bother blocking. They transfixed him, skewering him four ways, but could not stop him, could barely slow his advance as he tore through, himself impaling, torso falling away, streaming contrails of blood as he finally entered range.
Willpower stat enhancement in action? If so this is kind of disturbing.

He struck at last, calling to mind all the wretched moments of his long insurgency war, hate and sorrow weighing him down, giving him heft, heft become force, force become might, and the might of his cut split reality at the seams, smashed through the eye-wall of his enemy's Pressure and into its guts and back and through and beyond and further beyond.
No Even Further Beyond splitting yet though.

He twisted the Blade, an upwards diagonal cut, separating its head and right shoulder from the mass of its body. A downward strike of the pommel, and that body became a morass of flesh and shattered bone. At last his Ring could keep him alive no longer.


The wake of his blade was a cold fathomless blue, like the eyes of the Armament that day at the lake.
What is the blue then? The Bleak Light? Something else?


Praehihr, it'd called him. Accursed Implement. His wraith form stepped free of his corpse, staring at what he had wrought, the blue fading slowly from the plane of this world, leaving scars of mere reality in its wake.


Sparing nothing, he'd charged into his enemy's attack, charged until he could cut through. Perhaps Vanreir had taught him something after all.


Hunger smiled. This was turning out to be a great vacation.
This simultaneously makes me go hell yeah and gives me feelings of forboding.

---

[X] Cut Through, [X] Study the Blade and [X] Hot Springs has won. Overexertion has torn your spirit and its bodily template. Suffer the effects of Punctured Soul with the penalties halved, and the physical penalty halved again due to Quickening. The Hot Springs has cured your Chill of the Grave and Lingering Paralysis conditions.
While the condition sucks, thanks for saving us from ourselves by preselecting Cut Through for us Rihaku.

Choose a participation bonus:


[ ] +1 pick below

[ ] +1 re-roll for major check

[ ] Upgrade Letrizia's Magic (from 2 Arete-equivalent to 7-Arete equivalent)
Leaning towards a Letrezia upgrade for even more downtime synergy.

---

Slaying the Prime Rotspawn has yielded 3 picks, +0.5 Arete. You now have 4.1 Arete.


[ ] Forebear's Blade - Echo of the Forebear - Cloud-shadow of the Forebear's might.

Legendary strength and speed, and the resilience to exert them. Can be taken multiple times. [+Might, +Agility]
Coca Cola as I always say.

[ ] The Ring of Power - Dominion - 2 Arete

A ring of power does not exert influence casually. It has its own will, its own preferences, and if that will should be inseparable from its owner's, its sway thereby shall be greater for it.


Select a domain of influence. While acting within its domain, [Ring of Power] effects are substantially less taxing and more potent; the effects of this can be abstracted as follows: treat the owner's Rank as if it somewhat* higher for related actions. You may select this advancement multiple times, choosing a different domain each time. If multiple domains apply, their bonuses do not compound.


*+0.5 if Low, +.25 if Mid, +.1 if High.


The available domains for Hunger are: War, Passion
Getting started on the ring. Tempting but not enough to make me want to spend given what's coming.

[ ] The King Stands Alone - 7 Arete


The king is unswayed. The king is unbowed. That is why, he is the king.


So long as you wield a sword, then when outnumbered, you may treat conflict as a succession of one-on-one duels against each individual opponent. So long as you wield a sword, cap the effects of Rank higher than yours at 'overwhelming advantage' in any direct contest. You may cut through mental and spiritual attacks. +++Willpower.
A Royal Praxis Sword Technique. Hax but there will always be hax. The question is what hax you enjoy seeing.

[ ] Fierce Quickening - The absurd violence of Blood unleashed. Let all that falls within its dominion be spilled, if it be in service to the Ringbearer. Adds [++Agility, +Wits] to the bonuses from Quickening, subject to the usual conditions. Can be taken up to 3 times.


[ ] Vigor Itself - The primordial might and glory of Blood resplendent. Let all who witness its form tremble, and be subject. Adds [++Might, +Charisma] to the bonuses from Quickening, subject to the usual conditions. Can be taken up to 3 times.
Still the same mystery box.

[ ] Augment Dominion: Blood - The world-wielding will of the Ring.

Treat the wielder's Rank as if it were (.5 Low/.25 Medium/.1 High) higher for purposes of the [Ring of Power] effect applied to the Blood domain, increasing its potency and versatility. Repeatable, but costs 1 more pick each time.
Take this with prime and our healing ability goes up to 4.85, not bad if you're looking to save.

[ ] Evening Sky - Opalescence - The soft light of evening before which all attacks falter.

Improves defensive parameters. [+Protection]


[ ] Evening Sky - Iridescence - 2 Arete - The sharp light of the stars before which all malice is lessened.

+Protection, +Charisma. Expands the range of effects subject to the Evening Sky, allowing it to passively weaken almost all forms of magic. Even Nullity itself can be once withstood before the Sky recedes.
The ever-neglected last third of our panopoly.


[ ] Prime - +.3 Astral Rank
Rank is rank. The always awesome godstat that puts us closer to 7 and possibly healing all our Tyrant wounds at once.



[ ] Forebear's Blade - Ruinous Valor (3 picks)


Where he advanced, so did the tide of entire wars, the shock of his blade like a hurled epicenter, the trail of his passage but wasteland and rubble.


[+++++Strength]

Power of Ruin now scales upwards depending on your Strength.


Choose:

Einhander - You may not regrow or replace your left arm by any means. Substantially reduces the cost and increases the range of special attacks made with the Forebear's Blade. This Advancement grants Might instead of Strength (+Might = +Str, +Con).

Zweihander - Regrow your left arm. Your barehanded strikes now carry the full destructive power of the Forebear's Blade.


If Einhander is taken, unlocks One Arm Fury.

If Zweihander is taken, unlocks Martial Stances: Forebear's Blade
We'd have to be crazy to get Einhander at this point given what Lord Hunger's been saying, the benefits of a second hand for surgecrafting, and all that business.

[ ] Forebear's Blade - Dreadnought's Bearing (7 Arete, 3 picks)


The best defense is the Forebear's bearing.


Requires Undying Echo. Gain +++++++Constitution, +Protection. Gain 50% resistance to the Tired Condition, stacking multiplicatively with other sources of resistance, and 25% resistance to the Exhausted Condition. If you have, or later purchase, the [Iron Curtain] Advancement, you receive its benefits permanently rather than needing to activate them, and may choose to Ignore Exotic Attacks via a Constitution check rather than Deflecting them.


Choose:

Sharp of Eye - Regrow your eye. ++Wits, +Cha. You now have depth perception, making ranged attacks more effective. You may take options that require two eyes; there are surprisingly many.

Rune King - You may not regrow or replace your eye by any means. +Int, +Wisdom, Apply the effects of [To Shatter Heaven] to all magics you learn from now on.


We'll deal with the magic option later. The vote was very close.
Surgecrafting won, Rune King would have the potential to make even a low Arete element truly ridiculous and give us some Exhaustion mitigation. Fortunately or unfortunately, I'm not sure, this isn't winning.


What now to do?


[ ] Check up on Gisena - +Gisena, +?

[ ] Check up on Letrizia - +Letrizia, +?

Do you want a possible Findross or technology mystery box and progress towards a potential Gisena EFB or do you want a possible Surgecrafting mystery box and progress towards Super Juggernaut Undead Chimera?
 
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Having thought it over again, my previous vote did not mesh as well with earlier decisions.

[X] Augment Dominion: Blood
[X] Prime


[X] Upgrade Letrizia's Magic (from 2 Arete-equivalent to 7-Arete equivalent)
[X] Check up on Gisena


(Do I have to un-vote the earlier one? Can't recall how the tally works here.)
 
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Say, whatever ended up happening to that Oracle and Republic Kill Team, anyway?



Just According To Plan

To approach the Bearer of Curses is to be caught up in the tangle of his own designs. Tyrannical as he is, the risk of him claiming the Ring of Lunacy for himself is far too high. Your family has not toiled this long, sacrificed so much to see your Lady freed from one usurper, just to give her away to another. Poor, sweet Gabrielle. You would have preferred to spend more time in preparation, but the Temple has finally made their move, and so the Fairbright Legacy must respond in turn.

Luckily for you, your foe is still at the lowest stage of his ascendancy - following his clash with the Inner Temple, he will be injured, exhausted. Easy pickings, perhaps, but you've no interest in merely being another one of the puppets pulled to fight him by the whims of fate. You are the one who shapes destiny. And that begins here, where you will find useful allies in your ongoing quest.

The boy, desperate and afraid, raises his rifle - too slowly. The chimera is already in mid-pounce, and there is nothing-

The boy, desperate and afraid, raises his rifle - but you're already there, the force of your kick sending the beast tumbling wildly backwards, digging a furrow in the ground. Behind you- Without looking, you extend your crossbow, and what flies forth is nothing less than a solid bolt of time itself, impacting another of the monstrosities and bringing it to an utter stop in midair. Above- You take a single step to the side, and the titanic blow of the broodmother hits nothing but air and dirt, none of which so much as touches you.

This foe will take some doing. You leap forward, your crossbow folding into its collapsed form as you draw your rapier.

Currents of Time, sure and swift, bring forth that bleak fate that binds all creation!

The True Chimera is a composite existence - it absorbs every power, every technique, every skill, every iota of knowledge within that it consumes. Despite its vast bulk, it moves with the skill of a peerless dancer, a consummate fencer, an unmatched martial artist. Its every motion is sublime perfection - but despite all this, one day, it will die. One day, it will falter, its panalopy of stolen treasures insufficient to surmount the challenge it faces. You reach into the depths of fate, and seize that truth - one day, it will die, and that day is today.

You strike, a quick thrust that is parried-
You strike, a upward slash that is dodged-
You strike, a diagonal swing that is blocked-
You strike-
You strike-
You strike-


Across all possibilities, it is inevitable that this will be so: You will strike true. And with your strike will come death.

Your leap leaches its apex, and with a single perfect motion, your rapier pierces the hide of the broodmother, a delicate jab that should be less than a scratch to such a beast. You land, and your foe turns to dust, and then less than dust, the hand of ruin stretching backwards through the ages to reap an early toll.

The captain, still bravely defending the sealed casket despite his ruined leg, looks up at you with ill-concealed concern - but he is the only one. The younger, less trained operatives - to them you are, at this moment, their savior. Soon, their training will reassert itself, and they will become harder to manipulate. But in this sublime moment, they will listen to anything you say.

Just according to plan.

====

Choose one approach to dealing with your new "allies".

{X} Shining Tomorrow

Introduce yourself as Delphine Fairbright, on a righteous quest to save your Lady from her kidnappers and torturers. Play up the "righteous protector" angle, and request these brave young men's help, in exchange for guiding them safely back out to galactic civilization.

* It's what Gabrielle would have wanted
* The best lies are based largely upon the truth
* 48.54% chance of full success with no complications
* 32.85% chance that they'll assist, but fall to the Cursebearer
* 18.61% chance that they'll see too much and need to be eliminated

{X} Plan Means Keikaku

Use the correct authorization codes to present yourself as an Operative of Zeta Branch, sent here to take command of their strike force by Republic Command. The Devouring Armament, Verschlengorge, is in the nearby vicinity and massively weakened. They are to assist you in either claiming the armament for the Republic, or destroying it in a plausibly deniable fashion.

* The captain is suspicious of you, you'll need to eliminate him to pull this off.
** 99.79% chance of killing him without drawing suspicion.
* 39.87% chance of successfully seizing Verschlengorge, using your prognostication openly to guide the ambush.
** 86.79% chance of killing the Cursebearer if seizure successful.
** 93.21% chance of successfully clearing the Temple once an Armament is secured.
* 67.44% chance of killing the Cursebearer even on unsuccessful seizure of Verschlengorge.
 
The lead valor has looks like a strong signal people are down to spend. So since saving probably isn't happening I'll go with my second choice.

[X] The King Stands Alone - 7 Arete
[X] Prime
[X] +1 Pick Below
[X]Augment Dominion: Blood
[X] Check up on Gisena


I would've thought the update we got Rank stomped by an elite mook would've been a shoe-in for a rank buy honestly.
 
The lead valor has looks like a strong signal people are down to spend. So since saving probably isn't happening I'll go with my second choice.

[X] The King Stands Alone - 7 Arete
[X] Prime
[X] +1 Pick Below
[X]Augment Dominion: Blood
[X] Check up on Gisena


I would've thought the update we got Rank stomped by an elite mook would've been a shoe-in for a rank buy honestly.

I just want to get the arm out of the way honestly. I mean, after this one last mission pick we can finally retire and live happily ever after farm rank with our family.
 
Our sword slashes basically ignore Rank now, so it isn't quite the priority it used to be, but I agree it's good. It's just hard to compete with a whole new school of magic when it comes to the shininess department.
 
Our sword slashes basically ignore Rank now, so it isn't quite the priority it used to be, but I agree it's good. It's just hard to compete with a whole new school of magic when it comes to the shininess department.
My counterargument would be that it's probably tiring to use those and we still have considerable need for the defense and utility provided by Rank.
 
Our sword slashes basically ignore Rank now, so it isn't quite the priority it used to be, but I agree it's good. It's just hard to compete with a whole new school of magic when it comes to the shininess department.
In the update Hunger had to actually move in close and get blapped to first use his super-cut. Do you think it will now apply to his blade winds or is it physically tied to the blade?
 
I just want to get the arm out of the way honestly. I mean, after this one last mission pick we can finally retire and live happily ever after farm rank with our family.

While I see no real reason to get it out of the way when it doesn't do much unless we commit to spending. Even if a lot of people are doing it for the aesthetic, there's going to be a strong drive to 'justify' an otherwise mediocre 3-pick investment by buying stuff to make it more worthwhile. So I don't have much faith in future frugality at this point.

Our sword slashes basically ignore Rank now,

I don't think we particularly ignore Rank right now, merely against this specific opponent our newly increased offense could overcome the stifling effect of this particular rank disparity, Rank still does everything it did previously to us.
 
You still have about 5 hours of 20% bonus Arete!

inb4 the break, *sweats*

Elementary School​

A small riot of colorful hair and the occasional inhuman feature marched through the gates of the Good Waters Academy. Among the crowd of magical and potentially-magical teenagers, a couple shocks of white hair stood out.

Our focus is not on the fit young man in a slightly bleached uniform, but rather on the newest student to attend the prestigious school. Ms. Zia Zeirart looked quite normal next to the more mutated of the locals, and stood out mostly by her slightly hectic search for her classes. Glancing between her notes and the room numbers, she confirmed her destination, and with a deep breath opened the door to her temporary homeroom.

The class was rather small, but still spacious for the mere dozen students scattered in cliques around their desks. Several interested heads turned to watch the new girl enter, and the murmur of conversation picked up as the disguised success made her way in, claiming a seat near the window.

The quaint town of Good Waters wasn't much of an eyecatcher to someone accustomed to an Armament's view of the world, and so she turned her attention from the window to her contemporaries. A motley band of students made more exotic by their access to Surge greeted her. Before she could do more than get a quick head count, an eager face filled her vision.

Grinning from ear-to-ear, the young man invading Zia's personal space practically shouted his greeting.

"Hey, you're new! I'm Mickey!"

He seemed harmless enough. His shirt was untucked and his tie loose, but there wasn't any guile in those simple dark eyes. Leaning back a bit from the cheerful assault, Zia replied while most of the class looked on.

"I'm pleased to meet you Mickey, I'm Zia Zeirart."

She punctuated her greeting with an offered hand, which Mickey shook with tremendous enthusiasm. While trying to shake the poor girl to pieces, he launched into a salvo of questions.

"You talk pretty! Are you from the capital? What's your Element? Your grip isn't bad! Wanna join the Wrestling Club?"

"U-um"

Another student, a young man with a charmingly clear complexion and a spotless uniform came to Zia's assistance from the front row.

"Mickey, you're still shaking her hand."

"Ah."

Mickey released her, and rubbed the back of his head, rueful for just a moment.

"Sorry! I get stuck on stuff. It's my Element! DumbGum!"

"Mickey, we'll do introductions when Mister Mendeleev gets in, just let her breathe."

"Ah"

With that, Mickey retreated to his desk at the back of the room. Ms. Zeirart offered the boy in the front a grateful nod. The sobre fellow pushed up his practically opaque glasses and gave her a curt tilt of his own head, before resuming his reading.

The reprieve from Mickey's attention gave Zia a moment to consider her classmates. Mickey was quite accounted for, and she could see the studious nature of the boy in the front, but there was quite the spectrum of students between the two extremes in their small class of twelve.

In the center of the room, with a few complimentary hangers-on, sat Zia's guess at class queen. One of the more fortunate mutants, her rosy skin was complimented by cascading vines of blooming flowers in lieu of hair. Her uniform was mostly orthodox, but for a few spots of color from rogue blossoms here and there. She noticed Zia's inspection, and favored the new girl with an appraising glance with her vivid violet eyes, and a little wave by way of greeting. Pretty, to be sure, but not quite to the blinding standards of the pilot's sorceress friend.

Immediately to the rosy girl's left a young woman sat half-turned in an awkward position so as to watch the two girls interact. Her hair was a distinctly uncomfortable looking brown mass of split ends and tangles, and her uniform was awfully disheveled. She tugged on her collar and fiddled with her tie even as she turned back to her classmate, evidently satisfied with her quick estimation of Zia. Right beside him a boy with the same striking green eyes but far superior grooming leaned over to say something into the flower-girl's ear. Message delivered, he returned to his own desk behind his similar-looking classmate.
Near the back of the class a small huddle of conversation broke up, and first to leave was a tall brunette wearing a long knit scarf, colorful with a variety of patches and patterns along its length. She sat down one row ahead of Zia, and then turned to face the new girl with a warm smile.

"Zia, right? I'm Henrietta."

The handshake was oddly cozy.

"Yes, Zia Zeirart. It's nice to meet you."

"You too."

The other white-haired student in the room took a desk on Zia's left, and propped his feet up with the chair in front of him. He was tall, with bleach-blonde to white hair, and a deep tan. His uniform was strained of color just as his hair was, and he spoke as he leaned back in his chair.

"I'm Vic. You're in my chair, but it's no biggie."

"Zia Zeirart. Is seating assigned?"

"Nah, like I said, no biggie."

He looked back towards the center of the class as he spoke, letting his voice carry.

"So long as you don't get between Rick and Hippolyta, you should be safe."

The rosy girl in the center row frowned at Vic's warning, and the green-eyed boy behind her rolled his eyes. In the far corner, a young man with a moderate acne problem let out a braying laugh.

"Yea! Don't interrupt his beta-orbit! He'd be crushed!"

Rather than focus on the rude blond boy, most of the class turned to the mousey girl sitting quietly in the back. She twitched, seemingly involuntarily, at the poor joke. Looking slightly alarmed, Vic tried to calm things down.

"Uh, good one Marshall, but Mister Mendeleev is gonna be here any minute, you got your homework?"
The brash blond huffed, and oblivious to the classes' relief, started scribbling away on his tablet.
After another lesser tremor, the small girl in the back seemed to relax, and the class did the same. Vic heaved an audible sigh of relief. Across the classroom, everyone closed out their conversation and apps, and prepared for the lecture. Except for Mickey, who passed asleep almost the moment the bell rang. An older man, older than Lord Hunger but less dead or deadly looking, strode into the room, and wordlessly began writing on the board. Zia, a bit alarmed that this might be on a test, hurried to her notetaking.

The diagram which Mendeleev prepared was abstract and seemingly nonsensical. Clearly not mathematics. Wondering if perhaps he was an art teacher outside of homeroom, Zia gave up on reproducing the image herself, and snapped a picture for later. Putting his chalk down calmly, Mendeleev stepped away from the board, and examined his work, before turning back to the class.

"Who can tell me what all imaginary elements have in common, hmm? What, pray tell, is the central design which draws Surgecraft together?"

Peering at the labels to Mendeleev's table, Zia couldn't make any real sense of it. Charm along one axis, with resilience along another, were those the names of students? Wouldn't it be more helpful to record some shorthand to describe their abilities, rather than just writing their names? Had everyone in the class already memorized the particulars of their own talents?

Looking to her classmates for a hint, she was surprised to see them industriously clearing an empty space on the floor, shoving desks to the side, with tablets and notetaking forgotten. Mendeleev seemingly paid them no heed, carrying on a conversation with himself, and some small input from the boy in front. Before she could ask what was going on, Henrietta filled her in.

"Mendeleev is an absolute nutcase, don't worry about him. William keeps him distracted most of the time, his Surge makes the place look like Mendeleev wants it to look, and we swap out Marshall for distraction-duty if William's busy or tired."

Getting up from her own desk, Henrietta swept her scarf around, and around, and around. Quickly, she was practically swaddled in technicolor wool, from head to toe. Vic jumped up with a literally blindingly bright smile, and joined in the explanation.

"So, they're trying to teach us to use this surge stuff, right? But the old guys dont' have it, they don't really know how it works, and it's all different anyway."

Vic's hair began to reflect the overhead lights as brilliantly as his teeth. Were his eyes glowing, too?!

"What we figured out is it's better to just experiment. So we study in the classes that actually grade, and we spar in Mendeleev's!"

To punctuate his statement, he hurled a blast of light at Henrietta. It was brilliant, but not hot. Rather than the exhaustion of a noonday sun, Zia felt energized, if a bit blinded. Henrietta, on the other hand, was shoved back a foot, shoes squeaking on the tile. Other than the movement, she seemed unharmed, wool coiling around her like an animated lamellar suit. Several others in the room complained about the sudden flash of Vic's showboating.

"Sorry guys, just showing the ropes to the new girl."

Another boy stood up and entered the ring of desks. He was a bit heavy, but seemed strong. The sad first efforts at a blond beard dusted his face, and he looked pretty confident as he walked over to Vic.

"Are you sure it's safe to practice this in the classroom?"

Zia's protest fell on deaf ears, stopped up by a heady combination of youth and power. She got up and moved closer to the window, considering the ramifications of overpressure and a fall from this height versus other escape routes.

"It's fine, Sam and William can fix anything between the two of them, and if Mendeleev gets wind of things, Mickey will just gum him up a bit."

Slim consolation given, the big blond bumped fists with Vic, before the two of them squared off in the center of the room.Henrietta moved to the window, where her scarf began to overgrow the rest of the walls and ceiling. Taking after the example of others, Zia picked up her desk and then her feet when the wooly carpet grew across the floor. Once Henrietta was done, all that could be seen of the classroom was a small window to the back of William's desk, where he continued to nod along with Mendeleev's lecture. Noting Zia's curious examination of her knitting, Henrietta explained.

"My element is WoolworkBulwark. It's cozy, but darn tough!"

The mousy brunette, now watching as Vic and the other boy squared off, twitched and threw a dirty look at Henrietta. Henrietta blushed and covered her mouth.

"Sorry Francesca! That one slipped out. You alright?"

After a quiet moment, Francesca nodded and turned her attention back to the two boys squaring off to spar. Vic bounced from foot to foot, arms raised like a boxer, while the other guy was more rigid. Feet planted squarely apart, he made the first move. A step into a punch, but yards away from his target, his fist threw out a gold-sculpted replica of his strike, an afterimage but in bullion. Vic threw out his own reply, a much more substantial blast of illumination, but the light seemed to dim where the metal passed. He resorted to dodging when deflection failed, and threw out another blast of light as the golden fist thunked into the woolen arena behind him.

"Go Davison!" "Get him Vic!" "You guys suck!"

Cheers and jeers flowed freely as the class watched the bout, and Zia had to admit it was neat, if less impressive than what she was accustomed to. Although, they were explicitly holding back to avoid undue damage or injury.

The exchange continued for a short while, but in between blows Davison layered himself in a twenty four karat suit of plate, somehow still mobile despite the likely immense weight. Vic's light offered him no such protection, and while he was going faster than when the fight began, he also seemed bothered by the near-misses from Davison's bombardment. Leaning in as close over a wooly wall as she dared, Letrizia noted the blueness around Vic's extremities and lips, and how he trembled when he stilled. Eventually, Vic surrendered, and was immediately cocooned in a very christmas-sweater offering by Henrietta. He nodded thankfully to the knitter as he sat to watch the next contender for Davison's new title. Noting Zia's attention, Vic explained.

"Davison's got ColdGold. Heavy, but not too hard. It's no good against stronger attacks for him to make armor like that, but he knows I can't really ramp up my BrightMight in here without getting dangerous. So he just freezes me out."

Letrizia hummed in thought, considering.

"You say you can't 'ramp up' in here, but elsewhere?"

Vic grinned.

"I can't cut loose in here, but I get him every time in the yard."

Meanwhile, Davison looked pretty bummed to see a slight young student enter the arena. They were fairly nondescript aside from the silver-gray eye color, otherwise looking human normal-if a bit small-assuming they were a boy.

"Cmon Sam! Let me have this one."

Sam, apparently, grinned and shook their head, before adopting a stance not unlike Davison's own. Resigning himself to battle, Davison again struck the first blow, but rather than dodge, Sam projected their own blast of metal. The silver-gray blast was a torrential flow rather than a discrete body-projection like Davison's own, and shot forth like a geyser, impacting the wooly wall separating the observers from the combatants. Once complete, the new feature neatly divided the arena in half. Seeing the poor odds of a projectile contest, Davison rushed in to confront Sam with the added bulk of his armor. His stride could be felt even though the woven floor, and William turned an irritated glare towards the fight as he maintained his elemental jamming.

Sam put an end to the charge quickly. Targeted shots of metal pinned Davison to the floor in between one step and another, and when he came tumbling to the floor his helmet flew free, leaving Sam in a jaunty pose with one foot on the golden helmet, and one finger-gun pointed at Davison's unprotected face. Davison cursed, but accepted a hand getting up and out of his armor.

Vic, warm enough now to emerge from his cocoon, continued his exposition.

"Sam's got WinTin. The metal's flexible, heavy, and shears easily, but they've always got the advantage. It's a real pain. They're second in the whole class."

"Second? Who's first?"

A loud pop echoed across the classroom, as Mickey shot up from sleep, the huge wad of gum half-stuck to his face where he'd blown it unconsciously. The conversation fell off and the formerly uninterested classmates dropped their conversations to line up along the arena walls, angling for a good shot at the action. Mickey literally bounced into the arena, ricocheting off the ceiling and landing right across from Sam, who was already in motion, firing off a blast of WinTin right into Mickey's face. Rather than be knocked back or overwhelmed, Mickey bent backwards impossibly, as if his feet were glued to the floor.

"DumbGum is the top element!?"

Henrietta laughed, but didn't offer an answer as the fight went on.

Seeing the danger in Mickey's sticky strikes, Sam leapt back, but not before Mickey shot back upright, bouncing towards them. Both hands and feet covered in sticky pink DumbGum, Mickey threw his momentum into a tackle, aiming for a quick defeat. Sam, seeing the intercept coming, left a wake of metal in Mickey's path, while firing another stream towards the ceiling to divert themselves to the ground. Mickey slammed into the quietly confident tin statue, and was promptly stuck, hands and feet wrapped around and gummed together. Sam took a bow while Mickey rolled around a bit, and the class offered scattered applause.

"Nah, Mickey's great but he's a goofball."

Vic explained, then pointed toward the mousey girl, who was chatting with the itchy looking young lady while Sam helped extract Mickey from his sticky situation.

"Francesca's number one. She doesn't spar much, and never in here, cause her element is a three-parter. It's way harder to control."

"Three-parter?"

"Yea, like my element is described in two words, hers has three."

"And that makes it stronger, somehow?"

Letrizia sounded slightly irritated. Vic shrugged in reply, and Henrietta filled in.

"We don't really know how this stuff works, but yea it's way stronger. Like another order of magnitude."

"What's her element, then?"

Letrizia's question caught a quiet moment in the room, and Marshall looked up from his tablet game, eyes ablaze with mischief.

"Can't tell you, it's too punny."

With a violent shriek, Francesca turned and marched towards Marshall, white-knuckled fists trembling as she went. The rest of the class dove for cover, and Henrietta's WoolworkBulwark exploded with growth, trying to smother the apocalypse in its cradle. Too late, as Marshall, still bent over in laughter at his own gag, received a light tap on the shoulder from Francesca.

Immediately, the room was caught in a violent whirlwind. Sound and shrapnel filled the air alongside the tattered remnants of their knit safeguards. The window, and much of the west wall was blown out by the passage of Marshall's body, and the sonic boom left glass falling across most of the academy's tower. Zia picked herself up from the rubble, noting a bewildered Mendeleev staring out at his destroyed classroom, with disheveled students working their way out of their woolen crash-cushions.

Mickey, now unstuck and bleeding from a small head wound, laughed.

"That's number one! The unbeatable Francesca, with her MegatonPunGun!"

---

The total detention period was indefinite, to be determined after cleanup. Zia's case was pending review, as a mostly-innocent newcomer, but she was still responsible for aiding in the repair of the classroom. William led the charge, his CleanMien almost as effective at restoring proper order as it was at portraying it.

Francesca had apologized profusely, and was largely accepted. Her less-than-stable element made it intensely difficult to prevent such an event, and Marshall was a known agitator. Nonetheless, she joined in the cleanup efforts alongside the rest of the class, excepting Marshall. His own element, VileStyle, granted him a pseudo-invincibility through his capacity to manipulate narrative, but twisted events toward a trite and ill-thought story, filled with poor gags and immature humor. His potential was vast, securing his place at the academy, but efforts to mitigate the chaos he caused were ongoing.

"Sorry again, new girl, it's usually not this bad."

"It's Zia. And I really don't mind! To be honest, I was hoping for something like this from a magical school!"

The dishevelled brunette grinned at Zia's enthusiasm, and bent to help her move another chunk of masonry towards their wheelbarrow. Zia continued their conversation once their burden was deposited.

"I don't think I got your name..?

"It's Rikki. And before you ask, yea, Rick's my brother."

She indicated the similarly green-eyed young man working closely with Hippolyta, who paid no mind, entirely focused on his partner.

"He's not just love-sick, either. His FairAir is a really strong enhancement to Hippolyta's FlowerPower."

Zia nodded along, even if her face betrayed a little doubt at Rick's motive. Rikki leaned in and lowered her voice.

"The two of them are totally on Mister Mendeleev's shipping chart, though."

The pilot briefly considered the standards for ethics used by separatists out here in the sticks, before returning to her labors. She and Rikki stuck to the lighter work, her because her 'dangerous to use, difficult to control' hypothetical element couldn't be used, and Rikki because her own NettleMetal was too irritating and dangerous to be of any real help.

From outside the glow of Vic's BrightMight dwarfed that of the setting sun, as he worked to haul off the mess that Francesca and Marshall's trail of destruction had left. Sam climbed and lept up the side of the academy as easily as walking, picking out jagged edges of armored glass as they went, armored in a paper thin sheen of victory. Davison and Mickey bickered as they worked to add temporary patches to keep out the elements. Mickey shivered from the chill of the micro-thin sheets they set across empty windows, and Davison kept forgetting their instructions thanks to a bit of DumbGum in his hair.

Between their efforts, the class had the Academy and the grounds patched up in a few hours. Making her farewell excuses, the duchess explained she had a room at the hot springs resort. Jealous but well wishing, her classmates let her go. She made it to the academy entrance without issue, but was stopped by a familiar spectre, with Marshall slung over its ghostly shoulder.

"Hunger! You were hurt?"

"Not badly. The progress was well worth it."

A faint muttering came from the boy slung over his back, and Hunger tossed Marshall down unceremoniously. Marshall grunted at the manhandling, but paid little mind to Zia, instead watching Hunger with anticipation. The ghostly bodyguard seemed to hesitate, then spoke again.

"I'm bound for the resort. Are you hungry?"

Letrizia could already picture the buffet waiting for them. Hopefully Hunger had made enough on his mercenary trip to hire the personal chef in the brochure!

"Of course!"

"Hi Hungry, I'm Hunger."

Marshall's braying laughter followed them as Letrizia stomped off, hoping Gisena was right about being able to dispel a ghost.


~3600 words, and I apologize for nothing.


You better start believing in young adult stories, Letrizia.
You're in one
Edit: fix typo

[X] Upgrade Letrizia's Magic (from 2 Arete-equivalent to 7-Arete equivalent)
[X] Check up on Gisena
[X] Prime
[X] Fierce Quickening
 
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In the update Hunger had to actually move in close and get blapped to first use his super-cut. Do you think it will now apply to his blade winds or is it physically tied to the blade?
Elevate the character's sword techniques by one step along the Infinite Singularity Husk.
The blade-winds definitely count as sword techniques.
I don't think we particularly ignore Rank right now, merely against this opponent our newly increased offense could overcome the stifling effect of this particular rank disparity, Rank still does everything it did previously to us.
Our slashes are currently as above Rank as Rank is against physical interference. So when it comes to attacking with the sword specifically, Rank won't be a problem. Rank does many more things than that of course; but we don't need it offensively. But I'm not even against getting Prime; I just think the Arete is better spent broadening our capabilities with a new school of magic than getting King right now, even if the latter is good.
 
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