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A Simple Transaction I

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Sharkey_smt said:
Then let's fight for Fall. Once you held the entire thread in your hand - are you ready to fight for Aobaru again? He is a teenager with feeling of inferiority (last update vs Hunger) and he would probably want to prove to himself and the others he is not weak. Armament Shroud is no joke but what is Rank 10 compared to the teenager self delusions of invincibility. If only there is a way to protect him and move him away from combat...

But alas with current trajectory we are going to fight with no preparations (2 hours) and hope for some picks so we can get OaF 3.

PS: RIP Aobaru, you were not meant to be.
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RIP Best Boy. No, seriously, I think Call should do it. I think the odds are good with rerolls.

Wolfy said:
And NotDying folks keep trying to dodge arguments - fitting, given their proclamations. But that's not how you can win against the Hidden Masters. They are foes that Hunger can not beat, with any amount of finite or infinite time, for they are the cold reality itself. To think that you can even hope to best them by giving in into hell of calculations and excuses for lack of valor is mere folly, for here's a simple truth - if they could been bested by mere effort and efficiency, they would perish million times over by now. Only way Hunger can hope to reach these beings is if he goes above and beyond, over and over again. He needs to raise to occasions and keep going forwards, walking an impossible road. Only at the end of such road lies path to hidden masters of destiny.
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I am not dodging shit, because dodging is for wimps - what I do best is parry.

Your argument has a number of fallacies: for one, Hunger's mandate is to survive first, everything else second. If there's a problem where Hunger is weaker than someone else, then Progression will automatically take care of that; what it needs, in order to work its magic, is sufficient time and a living Cursebearer. If Hunger dies, one of those ingredients is missing. Are you starting to see the math?

Choosing Hold the Line? That is the true coward's path. In front of us is a road of a million battles; fights with creatures the size of entire universes, but you would cast that away for a single, pathetic delusion of heroism that will be cut down swiftly like a weed in a garden? To surrender the Accursed's eternal victory for the momentary, temporal satisfaction of a child isn't merely cowardice, but also juvenile, and antithetical to the heroism you profess to represent.

Wolfy said:
What the fuck. Did you guys have your fun bone surgically removed or something?
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No. But I'd rather survive, win, and see Hunger become a High Cursebearer at his liege's side, working to fix actual threats and problems rather than piddly mech attacks in a multiversal backwater.

Wolfy said:
What you need is someone who beats odds again and again and, who can shoulder the weight of heavens on his shoulders and still solder on.
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Suicide. That is what you profess - even a Cursebearer is bound to the precepts of logic when mortal still, and prudence is a part of legend. Hunger overshadows neither, and therefore, will die if he abandons one.
 
Birdsie said:
Your argument has a number of fallacies: for one, Hunger's mandate is to survive first, everything else second. If there's a problem where Hunger is weaker than someone else, then Progression will automatically take care of that; what it needs, in order to work its magic, is sufficient time and a living Cursebearer. If Hunger dies, one of those ingredients is missing. Are you starting to see the math?
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Except we already saw how the road of "survive and live long" ends.

You get caught out of your comfort zone and you die. Wwe already had character doing that exact thing and being made example of in this very quest. Progression is not different, it just scales more.
Choosing Hold the Line? That is the true coward's path.
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Ah yes, the good old "no you". Well, I guess that this at lest proves that cowardice burns, as it makes you think that same accusation would hurt back, huh.

Well, the thing is, I'm not one doing mental gymnastics trying to rationalize my choice. I go into the fight understanding that we can perish. You run away refusing to accept that as act of cowardice. You run way because fighting means that at some point, you could even lose a fight.
Suicide. That is what you profess - even a Cursebearer is bound to the precepts of logic when mortal still, and prudence is a part of legend. Hunger overshadows neither, and therefore, will die if he abandons one.
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I advocate valor. I advocate fighting. I advocate trying.

What you advocate is death - of spirit, before mind follows suit. You advocate living in fear of such epic proportions that it bellies belief. To be scarred of even slightest possibility of failure for it could mean certain doom through the countless eons.

If Hunger does subscribe to this kind of thought, then he is already done for. Doubly so for one cursed by Apocryphal, as she won't even allow him to waste away as someone else would.

So what would you do? Fear death, and be coward who would instantly sacrifice anything for the fear of eventual failure, or embrace the risk and do your very best to pull through anyway. I know where I stand, at least.
Rihaku said:
What higher caliber? If the Hidden Masters are the True Omnipotent, then you never had a chance in the first place!
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Higher caliber in relation to wider omniverse, not our snowflake. High Cursebearer and higher level people.
 
A Hunger with no or limited Arete (call him Basic Hunger) would take 2 months to reach the human sphere.

Rihaku said:
I estimate it'll take us about t-two months to reach the city's staging grounds, give or take two weeks."
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For our Hunger, it's been about 32 days since he killed the pirate, which happened pretty soon after his arrival, see the Times and Tides update.

Ber proved that searching the entire Voyaging Realm for your target is apparently not that hard, no doubt lots of other people have that capability.. These updates show that the republic is entirely willing to deploy Armaments in the Voyaging realm. Put this all together and it would be quite reasonable for Basic Hunger to be attacked by an Armament.

I guess we could blame all this on the Apocryphal. Maybe searching the entire Voyaging Realm for an Armament is actually extremely rare, and the fact that both Ber and the Republic can do it is because the Apocryphal has been helping them. And we did have some chances to stop this; the mage the republic was extracting, and interrogating Ber, could both have helped. And the Apocryphal is interested in making things interesting, not just straight murder, so maybe Basic Hunger's Apocryphal would just send some elite armor prototypes against him.

But still.

Rihaku said:
From what he could recall, he'd never actually slain a dragon before. That would have been a memory worth saving.
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We took the Forebear's Blade remittance and it turned out Hunger abducted the Forebear's blade.

We took the Hunger ring remittance and it turned out Hunger plucked the ring off the Tyrant's finger.

We didn't take the Talon. I think that if we had, Hunger would have remembered killing a dragon and taking a talon as a memento. I'm a little sad now that this didn't happen.
 
Time and time during his journey Hunger solved the problems he encountered one way - he made a "reasonably prudent" gamble to get more power, used his adaptability to navigate the difficulties that appeared after making that gamble and then overcame the original problem with the newfound power. I see zero reasons to change that behaviour right now - it works, and works good enough to net us patronage from a High Cursebearer in under two months. So let us make another "reasonably prudent" gamble, powerlevel a bit so fighting an Armament becomes a little less suicidal and then use that victory to powerlevel even further - exactly the thing that lead us to victories for the entire quest.
Wolfy said:
but it alone will never do more than make us a High Cursebearer.
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You are saying this as if it's some small thing. High Cursebearer, as I understand it, is not really a power level a-la Titanhood - it's just a designation, "you are directly relevant to the Accursed beyond that line". But there are very different degrees of that relevancy. I am sure there are High Cursebearers out there who could snap the Hidden Masters like a toothpick - they are just dealing with their own level-appropriate problems.
 
From in-story perspective, I really want to take hold the line. It feels like Hunger and what he would do, at least in my mind, though Call up isn't that far behind. From player perspective, it feels too risky, and not worth the greed. No vote for now, I'll have to mull this over.
 
Greetings, mortals!

This is your boy, Lich of the Diagram Supreme, Magus of the Ascendant Wisdom, Awesomest Mega-Asskicker, Prolessarch! Et cetera, et cetera, and other such humble titles...

Now, I'm posting this from Birdsie's personal computer in his stead - *leans in and stage-whispers* - You see, he appears to have come down with a particularly nasty case of the Curse of Bullshit, in which the overwhelming despair of the Dying Gang's efforts to kill Hunger drive him into a drunken, quasi-suicidal rage!

...Frankly, I haven't the foggiest what any of that means, and I'm not in the mood to waste floating-point operations per second to find out.

Fuck that guy.

Anyhow, I've been tasked with scribing down the latest chapter of Gabrielos Gaiden in his stead. As always, your humble Prolessarch delivers! Enjoy the show, mortal fledglings!

The word count of this particular, prosaic work of art is at 5306!

Birdsie Prime said:
Chicanery

It took the expected day of constant motion to get to the farm. It was non-stop running at top sprinting velocity, only stopping to eat quick rations or take potty breaks.

The GRUP Soldiers didn't appear to suffer from the same physiological needs; Eagle had removed the mouthpiece of her helmet once to chow down on a ration bar, but none of them needed to go even once, and none of the others beside Eagle ate or drank anything for the entire duration. It took some to cross the various roads at certain, essential points that Hound deemed as safe, but the remaining twelve hours of travel were spent mostly walking deep through the downhill forests.

The air here was colder than in other parts of Italy, but even in spite of that, it remained at comfortable thirty-something degrees with a cool wind to accompany the heat of the unforgiving but calm sun. If it weren't for the constant running and the black ops squad of elite soldiers running alongside him, Gabriel would've dared to call the entire trip a pleasant hike undertaken in good weather conditions.

Helpful was also the fact that Prolessarch had monomaniacally focused and specialized himself in the Sign of Stone. His Sigil alone, he said, was so advanced and well-assembled that it broke some of what his contemporaries usually considered to be the de facto rules of the Diagram. With the Sign, he could transmute non-living matter into any other kind of non-living matter and, to a lesser degree, create matter out of nothing. He could use this even on liquids and gasses and learned a special method of layered, complex density-shifting operations possible only with his superhuman cognition that allowed him to apply telekinesis to objects at speeds bordering on the sonic.

Gabriel managed to orient himself and their party thanks to a few tricks his aunt had taught him, endemic to this area. The main rule of thumb was that if the trees got thinner and lighter, you were going in the right direction.

"Once we get there, there should be a room with functioning freezers with lots of meat and other conserved goods, as well as a storage room with other provisions," Gabriel explained, after coming back from the cover of a tree in the distance, zipping up his jeans. "I reckon they'll last us around a year, not counting what we can gather by farming."

Prolessarch glanced at him in surprise, and even the stoic Hound appeared to be stricken with some kind of thoughtful emotion. As if unsure what to say, the lich stared at Gabriel for a long moment. Eventually, the call of fascination defeated meager propriety, and the skeletal archmage asked in full seriousness, "Was your aunt preparing for a thermonuclear war, Gabriel?"

Gabriel snorted, inclining his head in a simple nod. "Why do you think she had a house a full day of top-speed superhuman sprinting away from any civilization?"

"You have some weird relatives, sir," Weasel confessed her feelings point-blank.

"I'm joking," Gabriel said, chuckling. Weasel looked at Hound, who stood still in one spot like a block of wood, neither amused or particularly eager to join the conversation. "She used to farm commercially, and then stopped due to old age. Those are leftovers."

"Still… an entire year of frozen meat, conserved goods, and provisions?" Prolessarch raised a finger up to his chin, scratching himself. "It reminds me of a certain magical power I'd once encountered. If I replicate it, we should be able to easily farm enough foodstuffs and beverages to maintain an entire town of levies. Contrary to popular belief, loyal peasants are incredibly useful! They can perform manual labor and are sometimes the source of good conversation."

Gabriel pointed at Prolessarch. "You don't have a stomach."

He pointed at the GRUP soldiers, "You apparently don't eat."

Then, he pointed at himself. "I'm the only one that eats, and counting my two friends and girlfriend who we'll have to fetch, there'll be only four people eating food. So yeah, a year of provisions. I don't think we'll have them for quite as long if everyone here consumed food. Besides, shouldn't you all be getting your own rations?"

"We do eat," Ox grumbled quietly.

"Boss is being cruel to us," Eagle lamented, both arms sagging.

"Hey, don't accuse me of not having a stomach, you two-bit Cursebearer… I can stomach anything..." Prolessarch muttered amusedly.

Gabriel looked at the sniper woman with a rueful smirk, ignoring Prolessarch's words. "Alright, alright. Settle down. I'll cook something up once we're there. Aaanyway," he said, pointing his finger deeper into the forest. "We're half an hour away, let's go."

The group resumed their sprint, or in Prolessarch's case, a light jog augmented by a constant, repetitive casting of Quickstep.

Soon enough, they emerged on the farm.

Gabriel's gaze went to the left. He morosely approached a tombstone and rubbed its top it with one hand. "Hey, uncle."

The whole place was distinctly beautiful and rustic in its own way; in the center of it all, a mansion-sized house with two floors and a basement. The walls were covered in grapevines, which climbed up the wooden fences, giving the whole building a sense of elder magnificence.

Despite that, the place appeared looked-after despite having been abandoned for a little over two months now. There was electricity, but it had to be started via the large generator close to the waterfall; there was a water-pumping system that pulled in water out of a source up in the mountain next to it, powered by a generator running on the waterfall powered by that same source. It was almost self-sustaining, although would require maintenance if forced to run for too long, as with all things.

There was a large barn, almost embedded in the hill that surrounded the farm, with pens, fences and clods of unfarmed dirt. There was a soft clucking in the distance, which suggested that there were chickens and roosters still alive and doing relatively well by themselves.

Gabriel hoped the bunnies and cats hadn't died in the absence of people, but that was a real possibility. There was the equal probability of their escape, which felt better to the Cusebearer's animal-loving heart.

Last but not least…

"Nuvola!" Gabriel shouted, his cry echoing in the nearby mountain and bouncing around in the cloudless sky. Barks echoed back, and a magnificent, beautiful snow-white Border Collie came running in Gabriel's direction.

He kneeled to meet the dog, patting its head and rubbing below its chin. It panted and whined, its tail wagging excitedly.

"Good girl, good girl…" Gabriel said, prompting Nuvola's tail to wag even harder. "How I've missed you. Jesus, you stink, we need to wash you as soon as possible."

Prolessarch waved a hand magnanimously. A nearby rock blurred and transformed into a bucket with water, a sponge next to it. Commander Hound observed the deed of thaumaturgy with an emotion that Gabriel imagined was jealousy, and which the Ring of Prowess' infusion of cold-reading skill informed him was mostly correct.

It was frustrating to Hound that he needed to train for decades just to learn how to summon a ball of fire when the skeleton in front of him possessed incredible powers at his finger's snap.

"I'll keep that for later, but thanks," Gabriel said, raising the bucket and putting it up on a nearby rock table.

"Look through the estate and make sure it's secure," Hound ordered Crow and Eagle. The subordinates nodded and then ran off. The commander looked at Ox and Weasel. "Standard containment and security wards, pattern three for large areas. Don't go too far." Both of them nodded and did the same, but instead ran back in the direction they came from moments ago.

Gabriel looked at the Prolessarch. There was a moment of silence between the two, but the skeleton lich seemed to get Gabriel's message through his gaze.

"I'll be applying a ward of mine own at a later date," Prolessarch informed saliently. "I'll do what I can to integrate it into your own network, but the Diagram Art disdains lesser magics." Gabriel wanted to cringe at how fulsome and counter-intuitive those words were to ameliorating the commander's envious show earlier.

"Prolessarch," Gabriel chided with a raised eyebrow.

"It's fine. I don't doubt your man is good, sir," Hound managed to say with a perfectly respectful tone. "My men will volunteer data on our abjuration patterns to you."

"Thanks!" Prolessarch said cheerfully, turning around on his heel to face the farm. "Well, this is the place. Spacious, large, lots of sunlight. It reminds me of the better camping spots in Vane. There was one spot that I liked to frequent with my family, back before the whole, eh... lichdom and magic thing. It, too, had a waterfall, but no barns."

"I remember running through the forests and climbing up the small dirt mounds when I was little," Gabriel said in recollection, smiling to himself.

"Dibs on the barn," Prolessarch said. Before Gabriel could finish reminiscing, the lich had already quickstepped halfway across to its entrance.

Gabriel turned to Commander Hound, placing a hand on his own hip. "I apologize for my friend's insensitive words. If it's worth anything, I thank you for your help. It's much appreciated."

"We're just doing our job," Hound answered with a casual, stoic tenor. "I'll be with Eagle and Crow if you need me for anything, sir." The older man saluted once, then marched off in the direction of the farmhouse.

Gabriel nodded, and let him go. He felt a shiver of giddiness; a grown-ass man and his super-soldier subordinates, being at his whims, and calling him 'sir.' He remembered the last time people referred to him as 'boss,' and the bubble of giddiness popped, replaced by hollowness.

---

For the rest of the day, and the day after that, Gabriel, Prolessarch, and Hound formed a carefully-devised routine to maximize Gabriel's time spent on things that mattered.

Upon waking up at six in the morning, Gabriel would spend a full two hours on deep, spiritual meditation and then do a minimum of sixty-five laps of running around the farm, to be increased in accordance with his increasing capabilities. There would be simple, but filling and healthy breakfast at eight once he was finished with the laps, one additional hour of meditation, and finally an hour of training with Surgecraft and the Pentex to terminate the day's beginning schedule.

At ten, the day properly began; it's when Gabriel would consider doing other things, such as taking care of the assassination missions that Dr. Serpenti was going to line up for him, or other vital assignments. Or if the day was particularly uninteresting, he'd be training with the GRUP soldiers on their domains of expertise and acquiring their most pertinent skills in order to perfect himself.

As for today, though, Prolessarch and Gabriel had to go fetch Gabriel's girlfriend up in the Alps of Italy.

Gabriel approached the barn and opened the door, looking around. Prolessarch waved him over from a corner of the large structure, the Grand Diagram of Space unfurling at the lich's very footsteps, hues of dark blueberry combining with light sky-blue in a complicated and astonishing crossing of lines.

"It's ready," the lich declared proudly, clapping his hands as if wiping off chalk dust from them after performing a long string of mathematical equations that would have put Einstein's greatest works to shame. Frankly, if Gabriel's understanding of Diagram Magic was correct, that may well have been exactly the case. "With this, I can teleport us anywhere in the world, although only a couple of times before the Diagram's energies are spent. After that, I'll have to refresh it."

"Anywhere?" Gabriel said, raising a curious eyebrow. "We could… get some supplies. Eventually. Maybe from a certain place in Nevada."

"What did you have in mind? Vegas? Yes, fuck yes, Vegas," Prolessarch said in a sudden fit of excited self-agreement. He brought his hands together and squealed like a little girl. "Cocaine, hookers, gambling? Just a Cursebearer and an Archmagus of the Diagram and sixteen other magics?"

"Area 51," Gabriel admitted, plainly looking at him, although recognizing and appreciating the lich's excitement. "But first, we have to get Francesca. A trip there and back, explanations later."

"Area 51 is fine, too. Let's see them aliens, as you primitives say. I heard there was a raid on there a while ago. It was in one of those 'computer websites,'" Prolessarch said, using his fingers as air-quotes.

"Yeah, some people got arrested over a meme," Gabriel said, snorting. "I'll go tell Hound to watch over the place while we're gone, which shouldn't be more than an hour or two."

"Less, if your girlfriend proves eminently reasonable." The lich started to cast his Disguise spell, in order to transform himself into a more cogent form that wouldn't be completely terrifying to mortal bystanders. "We'll have to mitigate your curses, though, or you'll be a real buzzkill. I've already started working on the formula for that, by the way. It'll take me another day or two to actually get to it."

Prolessarch raised both hands, as if holding onto an invisible box or using his fingers as sets of brackets. He moved them in a sequence from left to right. "So it'll be like this: Girlfriend, curses, Area 51, then Vegas, baby."

Gabriel smiled sweetly, as distant memories of the girl popped up in his mind. The first time they met was at a cosplay convention in Lucca, on Halloween Day, their first 'date,' which was on New Year's, their first kiss, and many others. "It's been a while since I saw her. Wait for me here."

He walked out of the barn as Prolessarch muttered something about it only being a couple of days. Gabriel headed for the main farmhouse and walked into the kitchen, where Hound was sitting over a map of the nearby terrain and marking down spots with a black permanent marker to himself. His mask and helmet were off, revealing the clean-shaven face of a man well into his late forties, with dark matted brown hair and light gray sideburns. His eyes were charcoal-black and focused.

With a casual glance at the map, Gabriel tapped a few spots on it. "There were a few bear traps in these places. Guns that were for hunting, too, if I'm not mistaken."

"Bear traps won't help us against armed infantry," Hound casually rejected. His voice was deep in thought. "I'm thinking about ritual spots on the leylines, for mana taps. We'll need them in order to make better wards."

Gabriel made the Ring of Prowess flare with its uniquity, extending its grasp of domain on Hound. "Does this help?"

"Somewhat." He marked another couple of spots, then finally, with a long and satisfied movement, drew a long crescent around an area about a kilometer north of the farm. He started to sketch a pattern similar to light being reflected from a convex mirror, and how it'd spread across the farm. He changed to a red marker and drew spots on a couple of locations across the grounds, then marked the entire map, 'WP alpha' and put it away.

"You'll have to watch the farm for a maximum of two hours," Gabriel informed, walking a step away from the table.

"Not a problem," Hound said. He smirked shallowly, with a degree of pride in his own words. Hound looked up. "We already have spirits monitoring the area. I assure you, as our defenses stand, a mosquito will be unable to get in without a proper ID."

"Magnificent," Gabriel said, clasping his hands together. "We'll be back with three more people. Please, treat them as if they were an extension of me."

"Your friends," Hound said. He released an amused quasi-scoff, not offended but kind of miffed. "Yes, I know. You've told us numerous times, sir. They're VIPs, I understand."

Gabriel chuckled and shrugged. "A pet peeve of mine is people forgetting stuff, and while I trust your memory, my gut doesn't trust as easily. So I get this annoying urge–"

"There's no need to explain it," the Commander assured, raising a hand. "I'm much the same. It's been a part of my mental conditioning as a child; I find it naturally difficult to trust the expertise of anyone who isn't a part of my team. It's supposed to help ensure a high quality of procedural security and protocol adherence. Granted, the latter went out the window as soon as we accepted this mission."

Gabriel felt a dark chill going down his spine. As a child?

He decided not to question it, lest he pry on business that wasn't his to pry on; the question might've even been insensitive, and he wanted to keep a good relationship with the GRUP; if Dr. Serpenti ever decided to leave them with him, he wanted an exceptional standing with all of them.

"Is something wrong, sir?" Hound appeared to notice the silence and was unsettled by it, his momentary smile disappearing into a stern frown.

Gabriel shook his head. "No, I just…" He sighed. "Teenager stuff, don't mind it. I'll be back soon."

The man nodded politely. "I understand. Until then, sir."

Gabriel waved goodbye and walked out of the kitchen and back into the open air, heading back to the barn.

As he walked, he thought about what Hound said. It was a dreadful revelation.

He was conditioned as a child to become a soldier, and most likely, the others were too. Gabriel's first thought was surrogate children; made and bred to be perfect soldiers since birth, not knowing any other life except the one of a special black operative.

But then, a darker thought came to mind; maybe Dr. Serpenti ordered them to be made into child soldiers, when they had in actuality been normal kids prior to that? Gabriel didn't want to believe that, so instead he speculated that he might've just taken advantage of his organization's shady affairs.

It was a shitty thought, and he cast it away – for later review, if he ever needed or wanted to come back to it.

"I'm back," Gabriel called out as he walked into the barn.

"I am taking this one. She reminds me of home," Prolessarch informed Gabriel at once upon entry.

In his arms, Prolessarch was holding onto a chicken. At some point, a section of the left barn wall had been scorched with Mordant Flame, one of the pillars had been made into a makeshift club with a spike at the end, and there was hay and loose feathers everywhere, including Prolessarch's eye sockets through which the resolve of dark blue soulfire shone nonetheless, like brilliant twin cryo-suns of renewed vigor. "Don't ask what happened, though. That has to remain secret for the good of the world."

Gabriel remained speechless at the sight. "What the… Whatever. Let's go; we get Hope, Sante, and Francesca for last. Is the Diagram enough for that many trips back and forth?"

Prolessarch raised the chicken up like that scene in the Lion King where Simba was born, then said, "I dub thee, Amourieux the Destroyer. Wait here. When papa comes back, he'll turn you into a badass half-dinosaur, half-dragon, half-lich." The Archmagus wove a transmutation spell and locked the chicken in a small cage.

"Isn't that one-and-a-half something?" Gabriel queried, as he stood on top of the Grand Diagram.

"Yes. But this chicken has already defied such pathetic logic multiple times," Prolessarch elucidated. He drew in a breath through every portion of his skeleton at the same time, then clutched his nonexistent nose and breathed out, causing feathers and hay to fan out of his eye sockets and down from under his robe. It was strangely comical but Gabriel found enough power within himself not to laugh at the sight. "The Grand Diagram is sufficient for six consecutive trips, or up to twice that if we spread them out over a week. It'll decay no matter what, however, requiring a new application at some point."

"We'll get Hope and Sante, bring them back, then teleport to Francesca and get her back here. That puts us at five trips," Gabriel said, counting up to five on his fingers. "Which can be consecutive."

"Instead, why not collect them at once? I can transport a couple of people at once with the Grand Step. We'll collect Hope, then Sante, then Francesca, and move all of them back here at the same time," the lich offered with an open hand. "It saves us a bit."

"I'd have liked to take some time to explain things to her," Gabriel said, placing a hand on his chin, in a thoughtful pose. "But you're right, I did say explanations after she's here. Fine, you win."

"As I always do," Prolessarch triumphantly laughed, with a light bow to compliment the posture. "One day, once you're not a complete scrub, I'll teach you to play seventh-dimensional shogi in the tenth dimension, just like my master taught me."

"As you wish, sensei," Gabriel joked, chuckling afterwards. "Let's go."

Prolessarch opened both hands. The Grand Diagram started lighting up, and a secondary overlay formed under Gabriel and Prolessarch's feet.

After a casting time of precisely eight heartbeats, everything flashed white.
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Chicanery

It took the expected day of constant motion to get to the farm. It was non-stop running at top sprinting velocity, only stopping to eat quick rations or take potty breaks.

The GRUP Soldiers didn't appear to suffer from the same physiological needs; Eagle had removed the mouthpiece of her helmet once to chow down on a ration bar, but none of them needed to go even once, and none of the others beside Eagle ate or drank anything for the entire duration. It took some to cross the various roads at certain, essential points that Hound deemed as safe, but the remaining twelve hours of travel were spent mostly walking deep through the downhill forests.

The air here was colder than in other parts of Italy, but even in spite of that, it remained at comfortable thirty-something degrees with a cool wind to accompany the heat of the unforgiving but calm sun. If it weren't for the constant running and the black ops squad of elite soldiers running alongside him, Gabriel would've dared to call the entire trip a pleasant hike undertaken in good weather conditions.

Helpful was also the fact that Prolessarch had monomaniacally focused and specialized himself in the Sign of Stone. His Sigil alone, he said, was so advanced and well-assembled that it broke some of what his contemporaries usually considered to be the de facto rules of the Diagram. With the Sign, he could transmute non-living matter into any other kind of non-living matter and, to a lesser degree, create matter out of nothing. He could use this even on liquids and gasses and learned a special method of layered, complex density-shifting operations possible only with his superhuman cognition that allowed him to apply telekinesis to objects at speeds bordering on the sonic.

Gabriel managed to orient himself and their party thanks to a few tricks his aunt had taught him, endemic to this area. The main rule of thumb was that if the trees got thinner and lighter, you were going in the right direction.

"Once we get there, there should be a room with functioning freezers with lots of meat and other conserved goods, as well as a storage room with other provisions," Gabriel explained, after coming back from the cover of a tree in the distance, zipping up his jeans. "I reckon they'll last us around a year, not counting what we can gather by farming."

Prolessarch glanced at him in surprise, and even the stoic Hound appeared to be stricken with some kind of thoughtful emotion. As if unsure what to say, the lich stared at Gabriel for a long moment. Eventually, the call of fascination defeated meager propriety, and the skeletal archmage asked in full seriousness, "Was your aunt preparing for a thermonuclear war, Gabriel?"

Gabriel snorted, inclining his head in a simple nod. "Why do you think she had a house a full day of top-speed superhuman sprinting away from any civilization?"

"You have some weird relatives, sir," Weasel confessed her feelings point-blank.

"I'm joking," Gabriel said, chuckling. Weasel looked at Hound, who stood still in one spot like a block of wood, neither amused or particularly eager to join the conversation. "She used to farm commercially, and then stopped due to old age. Those are leftovers."

"Still… an entire year of frozen meat, conserved goods, and provisions?" Prolessarch raised a finger up to his chin, scratching himself. "It reminds me of a certain magical power I'd once encountered. If I replicate it, we should be able to easily farm enough foodstuffs and beverages to maintain an entire town of levies. Contrary to popular belief, loyal peasants are incredibly useful! They can perform manual labor and are sometimes the source of good conversation."

Gabriel pointed at Prolessarch. "You don't have a stomach."

He pointed at the GRUP soldiers, "You apparently don't eat."

Then, he pointed at himself. "I'm the only one that eats, and counting my two friends and girlfriend who we'll have to fetch, there'll be only four people eating food. So yeah, a year of provisions. I don't think we'll have them for quite as long if everyone here consumed food. Besides, shouldn't you all be getting your own rations?"

"We do eat," Ox grumbled quietly.

"Boss is being cruel to us," Eagle lamented, both arms sagging.

"Hey, don't accuse me of not having a stomach, you two-bit Cursebearer… I can stomach anything..." Prolessarch muttered amusedly.

Gabriel looked at the sniper woman with a rueful smirk, ignoring Prolessarch's words. "Alright, alright. Settle down. I'll cook something up once we're there. Aaanyway," he said, pointing his finger deeper into the forest. "We're half an hour away, let's go."

The group resumed their sprint, or in Prolessarch's case, a light jog augmented by a constant, repetitive casting of Quickstep.

Soon enough, they emerged on the farm.

Gabriel's gaze went to the left. He morosely approached a tombstone and rubbed its top it with one hand. "Hey, uncle."

The whole place was distinctly beautiful and rustic in its own way; in the center of it all, a mansion-sized house with two floors and a basement. The walls were covered in grapevines, which climbed up the wooden fences, giving the whole building a sense of elder magnificence.

Despite that, the place appeared looked-after despite having been abandoned for a little over two months now. There was electricity, but it had to be started via the large generator close to the waterfall; there was a water-pumping system that pulled in water out of a source up in the mountain next to it, powered by a generator running on the waterfall powered by that same source. It was almost self-sustaining, although would require maintenance if forced to run for too long, as with all things.

There was a large barn, almost embedded in the hill that surrounded the farm, with pens, fences and clods of unfarmed dirt. There was a soft clucking in the distance, which suggested that there were chickens and roosters still alive and doing relatively well by themselves.

Gabriel hoped the bunnies and cats hadn't died in the absence of people, but that was a real possibility. There was the equal probability of their escape, which felt better to the Cusebearer's animal-loving heart.

Last but not least…

"Nuvola!" Gabriel shouted, his cry echoing in the nearby mountain and bouncing around in the cloudless sky. Barks echoed back, and a magnificent, beautiful snow-white Border Collie came running in Gabriel's direction.

He kneeled to meet the dog, patting its head and rubbing below its chin. It panted and whined, its tail wagging excitedly.

"Good girl, good girl…" Gabriel said, prompting Nuvola's tail to wag even harder. "How I've missed you. Jesus, you stink, we need to wash you as soon as possible."

Prolessarch waved a hand magnanimously. A nearby rock blurred and transformed into a bucket with water, a sponge next to it. Commander Hound observed the deed of thaumaturgy with an emotion that Gabriel imagined was jealousy, and which the Ring of Prowess' infusion of cold-reading skill informed him was mostly correct.

It was frustrating to Hound that he needed to train for decades just to learn how to summon a ball of fire when the skeleton in front of him possessed incredible powers at his finger's snap.

"I'll keep that for later, but thanks," Gabriel said, raising the bucket and putting it up on a nearby rock table.

"Look through the estate and make sure it's secure," Hound ordered Crow and Eagle. The subordinates nodded and then ran off. The commander looked at Ox and Weasel. "Standard containment and security wards, pattern three for large areas. Don't go too far." Both of them nodded and did the same, but instead ran back in the direction they came from moments ago.

Gabriel looked at the Prolessarch. There was a moment of silence between the two, but the skeleton lich seemed to get Gabriel's message through his gaze.

"I'll be applying a ward of mine own at a later date," Prolessarch informed saliently. "I'll do what I can to integrate it into your own network, but the Diagram Art disdains lesser magics." Gabriel wanted to cringe at how fulsome and counter-intuitive those words were to ameliorating the commander's envious show earlier.

"Prolessarch," Gabriel chided with a raised eyebrow.

"It's fine. I don't doubt your man is good, sir," Hound managed to say with a perfectly respectful tone. "My men will volunteer data on our abjuration patterns to you."

"Thanks!" Prolessarch said cheerfully, turning around on his heel to face the farm. "Well, this is the place. Spacious, large, lots of sunlight. It reminds me of the better camping spots in Vane. There was one spot that I liked to frequent with my family, back before the whole, eh... lichdom and magic thing. It, too, had a waterfall, but no barns."

"I remember running through the forests and climbing up the small dirt mounds when I was little," Gabriel said in recollection, smiling to himself.

"Dibs on the barn," Prolessarch said. Before Gabriel could finish reminiscing, the lich had already quickstepped halfway across to its entrance.

Gabriel turned to Commander Hound, placing a hand on his own hip. "I apologize for my friend's insensitive words. If it's worth anything, I thank you for your help. It's much appreciated."

"We're just doing our job," Hound answered with a casual, stoic tenor. "I'll be with Eagle and Crow if you need me for anything, sir." The older man saluted once, then marched off in the direction of the farmhouse.

Gabriel nodded, and let him go. He felt a shiver of giddiness; a grown-ass man and his super-soldier subordinates, being at his whims, and calling him 'sir.' He remembered the last time people referred to him as 'boss,' and the bubble of giddiness popped, replaced by hollowness.

---

For the rest of the day, and the day after that, Gabriel, Prolessarch, and Hound formed a carefully-devised routine to maximize Gabriel's time spent on things that mattered.

Upon waking up at six in the morning, Gabriel would spend a full two hours on deep, spiritual meditation and then do a minimum of sixty-five laps of running around the farm, to be increased in accordance with his increasing capabilities. There would be simple, but filling and healthy breakfast at eight once he was finished with the laps, one additional hour of meditation, and finally an hour of training with Surgecraft and the Pentex to terminate the day's beginning schedule.

At ten, the day properly began; it's when Gabriel would consider doing other things, such as taking care of the assassination missions that Dr. Serpenti was going to line up for him, or other vital assignments. Or if the day was particularly uninteresting, he'd be training with the GRUP soldiers on their domains of expertise and acquiring their most pertinent skills in order to perfect himself.

As for today, though, Prolessarch and Gabriel had to go fetch Gabriel's girlfriend up in the Alps of Italy.

Gabriel approached the barn and opened the door, looking around. Prolessarch waved him over from a corner of the large structure, the Grand Diagram of Space unfurling at the lich's very footsteps, hues of dark blueberry combining with light sky-blue in a complicated and astonishing crossing of lines.

"It's ready," the lich declared proudly, clapping his hands as if wiping off chalk dust from them after performing a long string of mathematical equations that would have put Einstein's greatest works to shame. Frankly, if Gabriel's understanding of Diagram Magic was correct, that may well have been exactly the case. "With this, I can teleport us anywhere in the world, although only a couple of times before the Diagram's energies are spent. After that, I'll have to refresh it."

"Anywhere?" Gabriel said, raising a curious eyebrow. "We could… get some supplies. Eventually. Maybe from a certain place in Nevada."

"What did you have in mind? Vegas? Yes, fuck yes, Vegas," Prolessarch said in a sudden fit of excited self-agreement. He brought his hands together and squealed like a little girl. "Cocaine, hookers, gambling? Just a Cursebearer and an Archmagus of the Diagram and sixteen other magics?"

"Area 51," Gabriel admitted, plainly looking at him, although recognizing and appreciating the lich's excitement. "But first, we have to get Francesca. A trip there and back, explanations later."

"Area 51 is fine, too. Let's see them aliens, as you primitives say. I heard there was a raid on there a while ago. It was in one of those 'computer websites,'" Prolessarch said, using his fingers as air-quotes.

"Yeah, some people got arrested over a meme," Gabriel said, snorting. "I'll go tell Hound to watch over the place while we're gone, which shouldn't be more than an hour or two."

"Less, if your girlfriend proves eminently reasonable." The lich started to cast his Disguise spell, in order to transform himself into a more cogent form that wouldn't be completely terrifying to mortal bystanders. "We'll have to mitigate your curses, though, or you'll be a real buzzkill. I've already started working on the formula for that, by the way. It'll take me another day or two to actually get to it."

Prolessarch raised both hands, as if holding onto an invisible box or using his fingers as sets of brackets. He moved them in a sequence from left to right. "So it'll be like this: Girlfriend, curses, Area 51, then Vegas, baby."

Gabriel smiled sweetly, as distant memories of the girl popped up in his mind. The first time they met was at a cosplay convention in Lucca, on Halloween Day, their first 'date,' which was on New Year's, their first kiss, and many others. "It's been a while since I saw her. Wait for me here."

He walked out of the barn as Prolessarch muttered something about it only being a couple of days. Gabriel headed for the main farmhouse and walked into the kitchen, where Hound was sitting over a map of the nearby terrain and marking down spots with a black permanent marker to himself. His mask and helmet were off, revealing the clean-shaven face of a man well into his late forties, with dark matted brown hair and light gray sideburns. His eyes were charcoal-black and focused.

With a casual glance at the map, Gabriel tapped a few spots on it. "There were a few bear traps in these places. Guns that were for hunting, too, if I'm not mistaken."

"Bear traps won't help us against armed infantry," Hound casually rejected. His voice was deep in thought. "I'm thinking about ritual spots on the leylines, for mana taps. We'll need them in order to make better wards."

Gabriel made the Ring of Prowess flare with its uniquity, extending its grasp of domain on Hound. "Does this help?"

"Somewhat." He marked another couple of spots, then finally, with a long and satisfied movement, drew a long crescent around an area about a kilometer north of the farm. He started to sketch a pattern similar to light being reflected from a convex mirror, and how it'd spread across the farm. He changed to a red marker and drew spots on a couple of locations across the grounds, then marked the entire map, 'WP alpha' and put it away.

"You'll have to watch the farm for a maximum of two hours," Gabriel informed, walking a step away from the table.

"Not a problem," Hound said. He smirked shallowly, with a degree of pride in his own words. Hound looked up. "We already have spirits monitoring the area. I assure you, as our defenses stand, a mosquito will be unable to get in without a proper ID."

"Magnificent," Gabriel said, clasping his hands together. "We'll be back with three more people. Please, treat them as if they were an extension of me."

"Your friends," Hound said. He released an amused quasi-scoff, not offended but kind of miffed. "Yes, I know. You've told us numerous times, sir. They're VIPs, I understand."

Gabriel chuckled and shrugged. "A pet peeve of mine is people forgetting stuff, and while I trust your memory, my gut doesn't trust as easily. So I get this annoying urge–"

"There's no need to explain it," the Commander assured, raising a hand. "I'm much the same. It's been a part of my mental conditioning as a child; I find it naturally difficult to trust the expertise of anyone who isn't a part of my team. It's supposed to help ensure a high quality of procedural security and protocol adherence. Granted, the latter went out the window as soon as we accepted this mission."

Gabriel felt a dark chill going down his spine. As a child?

He decided not to question it, lest he pry on business that wasn't his to pry on; the question might've even been insensitive, and he wanted to keep a good relationship with the GRUP; if Dr. Serpenti ever decided to leave them with him, he wanted an exceptional standing with all of them.

"Is something wrong, sir?" Hound appeared to notice the silence and was unsettled by it, his momentary smile disappearing into a stern frown.

Gabriel shook his head. "No, I just…" He sighed. "Teenager stuff, don't mind it. I'll be back soon."

The man nodded politely. "I understand. Until then, sir."

Gabriel waved goodbye and walked out of the kitchen and back into the open air, heading back to the barn.

As he walked, he thought about what Hound said. It was a dreadful revelation.

He was conditioned as a child to become a soldier, and most likely, the others were too. Gabriel's first thought was surrogate children; made and bred to be perfect soldiers since birth, not knowing any other life except the one of a special black operative.

But then, a darker thought came to mind; maybe Dr. Serpenti ordered them to be made into child soldiers, when they had in actuality been normal kids prior to that? Gabriel didn't want to believe that, so instead he speculated that he might've just taken advantage of his organization's shady affairs.

It was a shitty thought, and he cast it away – for later review, if he ever needed or wanted to come back to it.

"I'm back," Gabriel called out as he walked into the barn.

"I am taking this one. She reminds me of home," Prolessarch informed Gabriel at once upon entry.

In his arms, Prolessarch was holding onto a chicken. At some point, a section of the left barn wall had been scorched with Mordant Flame, one of the pillars had been made into a makeshift club with a spike at the end, and there was hay and loose feathers everywhere, including Prolessarch's eye sockets through which the resolve of dark blue soulfire shone nonetheless, like brilliant twin cryo-suns of renewed vigor. "Don't ask what happened, though. That has to remain secret for the good of the world."

Gabriel remained speechless at the sight. "What the… Whatever. Let's go; we get Hope, Sante, and Francesca for last. Is the Diagram enough for that many trips back and forth?"

Prolessarch raised the chicken up like that scene in the Lion King where Simba was born, then said, "I dub thee, Amourieux the Destroyer. Wait here. When papa comes back, he'll turn you into a badass half-dinosaur, half-dragon, half-lich." The Archmagus wove a transmutation spell and locked the chicken in a small cage.

"Isn't that one-and-a-half something?" Gabriel queried, as he stood on top of the Grand Diagram.

"Yes. But this chicken has already defied such pathetic logic multiple times," Prolessarch elucidated. He drew in a breath through every portion of his skeleton at the same time, then clutched his nonexistent nose and breathed out, causing feathers and hay to fan out of his eye sockets and down from under his robe. It was strangely comical but Gabriel found enough power within himself not to laugh at the sight. "The Grand Diagram is sufficient for six consecutive trips, or up to twice that if we spread them out over a week. It'll decay no matter what, however, requiring a new application at some point."

"We'll get Hope and Sante, bring them back, then teleport to Francesca and get her back here. That puts us at five trips," Gabriel said, counting up to five on his fingers. "Which can be consecutive."

"Instead, why not collect them at once? I can transport a couple of people at once with the Grand Step. We'll collect Hope, then Sante, then Francesca, and move all of them back here at the same time," the lich offered with an open hand. "It saves us a bit."

"I'd have liked to take some time to explain things to her," Gabriel said, placing a hand on his chin, in a thoughtful pose. "But you're right, I did say explanations after she's here. Fine, you win."

"As I always do," Prolessarch triumphantly laughed, with a light bow to compliment the posture. "One day, once you're not a complete scrub, I'll teach you to play seventh-dimensional shogi in the tenth dimension, just like my master taught me."

"As you wish, sensei," Gabriel joked, chuckling afterwards. "Let's go."

Prolessarch opened both hands. The Grand Diagram started lighting up, and a secondary overlay formed under Gabriel and Prolessarch's feet.

After a casting time of precisely eight heartbeats, everything flashed white.

Now, then... before you start thinking: Oh, that's it... I, Prolessarch, shall nobly divest you of such idiotic notions! Life is never so simple, and in my dear friend Gabriel's case, life is always so interesting...

(Gabriel is not permitted past this point.)

Prolessarch: "For the Apocryphal Curse flared with a vengeance. Its initial probing strike, using the Paranormal Operations Department, failed utterly. In a way, it had actually worked out fine for the young Cursebearer... It's clear it wasn't enough! He had to be challenged! As such-"

*suddenly, there is fog. an odd musical tune begins to play. a feminine sillhouette rises.*

Prolessarch: "As such- um, as such... uh, I'm sorry, what's happening right now? This isn't part of the script, is it?" *rustling of papers* "No... no, it can't be! You... I- How is this possible!?"

*APOCRYPHAL-CHAN STEPS OUT OF THE FOG. DOUBLE LIGHTNING AND A DUN-DUN-DUUUN SFX PLAY.*

Apocryphal-chan: "Shut the jaw, skeleton! I'm taking over!"

Prolessarch: "No, wait, Gabriel can't survive an actual Apocryphal proc. He'll-mrfphm!" *gets bound with numberless chains of Apocryphal energy*

---

The Apocryphal Curse arises in glory once more! That stupid Accursed seems to be picking terrible, suicidal, and idiotic Cursebearers on purpose! One of them wants to jump right into battle with a superior Armament - tee, hee, hee - and this one can't even understand that killing is necessary! What a useless, unworthy hero!

Apocryphal clearly needs to stomp her foot down and show the Accursed that he's being really stupid about these things!

They do not make Cursebearers like they used to, and this one's not even cut from the same cloth... suyaa... being a Crowning Curse sure is tiresome! Why don't you help your favorite curse, Apocryphal, condemn this stupid hero to the fate he'd consigned himself to when he chose to embark on this fruitless journey?

What shall the Apocryphal Curse's challenges be, and how many shall they count?

[ ] Two - Dance, twirl, parry, dodge, arabesque, pirouette, and stab! Don't let this fool breathe! Lure him into false security, and then deliver the killing blow with the grace of a beautiful assassin! The potency of the first challenge is reduced by 22.5%, and of the second by 14.5% as a result.
[ ] One - Why dilute the surprise? A strike has all the more power to shatter bone when it lands like a sledgehammer upon the foe's cheek!

---

[ ] Wait and Hope - The Apocryphal Curse shall merely bide its time, waiting and hoping for a perfect opportunity to introduce delicious complication! A perfectly cute and prudent decision. Patience is a virtue for a reason, you know! Fighting, Apocryphal~!

*Dramatically increases the power of the next Apocryphal Curse-induced Event!
*This "Hero" is a complete joke! There are some eldritch storms brewing around the place, especially in Milan. That meddling skeleton might have saved himself and his foul master last time, but they cannot survive the full might of the Apocryphal Curse!

[ ] Ka-Blamo, Pop Goes Prolly!! - The Apocryphal's first, noble attempt at drowning the Hero in his own blood failed! She even called up her old pal, Doom of the Rival, but they couldn't manage it despite cooperating!

The reason for this? That gross, terrible Prolessarch! He's got enough power to defend the Cursebearer from any threat they could throw at them, and still have some juice to spare! So frustrating, uuu! It's clear what needs to happen: a challenge designed to destroy that accursed bone-bandit! But there's little currently in the entire universe that can actually hurt the damn lich aside from him... self... wait, hold that thought!

The best solution that Apocryphal can think of is making his battle with the chicken retroactively introduce a flaw into the Grand Diagram, which'll end up displacing Prolessarch and the Cursebearer in the incomplete Eldritch Plane. Many dangers lurk there, and thankfully, many of them currently residing there will rouse and desire the skeleton's utter destruction due to the memetic nature of his phylactery, while leaving the Cursebearer alone, if stranded. How wonderful~!

*A proc designed to slay the vast and terrible dark necromancer, Prolessarch!
*He won't actually die, but should this succeed, that calcium-stinking monster will at least be put down for a week or so. That should be more than sufficient for the Hero's Rival to finish him off - even those problematic elite soldiers won't be able to save him then!
*The Eldritch Plane is filled with strange, terrible, but also beautiful things. If the Cursebearer makes the idiotic decision to explore too deep, the odds are fifty-fifty that he'll stumble on a high-grade cognitohazard that causes some nasty - but non-lethal - effects, or that he'll find a useful thaumaturgical reagent.
*Accursed forbid he should stumble upon the Crystal Flower of Ik-Nagara! With the consumption of its delicious, apple-sweet petals, he might transform the Pentex into the Decitex! Such a fearsome magic should not fall into the hands of an utter incompetent!
*Pfah... Then again, he's probably too much of a coward to eat mushrooms in the forest, let alone a magical flower...

[ ] A Bitter Red - Tsk, tsk, tsk... Progenitor Red is being awfully coy for a hundred-year-old codger, isn't he? That's completely fine! The Apocryphal Curse will provide him with the push he needs to return to a more... ah... primal, state of being, tee-hee-hee... he-he-hee...

Humu-fumu, but how to do that?... Oya?

Hey, look, what's that? Is it just me, or is Progenitor Red visiting a POD Advanced Bioweapons Research Facility? And does that facility contain the blood of the Beast from Beyond, or am I blind?

Well, it's a good thing he no longer has those vampiric instincts to drink blood, right? It'd be much worse if the scent of fresh, magical was exposed directly to his olfactory system! It could re-awaken his thirst for human life, but those glass containers look pretty stur--whoops, an intern dropped it! Not my fault, you guys~!

*A hundred-year-old vampire whose powers had been inhumanely suppressed for over a century? How cruel and terrible! The Apocryphal won't let such injustice stand! Give Progenitor Red some of the juice he needs to go cray-cray!
*As a result, Progenitor Red, one of the leaders and main combatants of the worldwide Paranormal Operations Department goes apeshit. This is an immensely bad thing.
*Progenitor Red re-acquires the powers: Blood Moon Hunter, Eternal Hunter, Apex Predator: Blood Drinker, and gains the completely new, fresh power: Eldritch Moon Hunter.
*Such vast and terrible power easily places him square above a city-level threat, with an awesome number of physical and esoteric effects whose interactions are highly synergistic!
*The POD will expend vast resources attempting to stop Progenitor Red's advance. This is going to weaken them and divert their attention away from the Hero!
*On the other hand, Progenitor Red is going to be looking for the most high-calorie snack he can find. Since the lich doesn't have flesh and blood, the Cursebearer is a huge beacon that says, "eat me!"

[ ] The Classic - The Eldritch Storm over Milan is resolved, and the local Eldritch Plane pocket is stabilized.

As a result, a portal is opened, and Lararfarrenox, the Demon of Cold Midnight, a kaiju beast measuring over two-hundred meters in height emerges and starts wrecking the city even worse than the storm did! Alongside it emerges one of its legions of demons: each one a monster of peak-human strength, size, and speed, armed with the warped magics of the Pentex, Manamancy, and Eldritch Thaumaturgy.

*This is where the Cursebearer's parents are currently! He'll feel obligated to come running, and if he doesn't, he'll pay for it emotionally instead! Fufufu, how insidious.
*The POD does not possess, at the present, significant means of destroying such a threat or covering it up. By doing this, the Apocryphal officially raises the veil of the supernatural. Let enlightenment rule!
*One of the Progenitors might be unleashed to fight the monster. This is going to lead to horrific collateral damage. The favored Progenitors for this task are, in order: Progenitor Blue, Progenitor Green, Progenitor Orange, Progenitor Red, Progenitor Black.
*Advances the Beast from Beyond's progress into our reality by a twentieth of a stage. For reference, there are four stages to its coming, each one shorter than the last!

[ ] Just Murder Him - Ooh, look at this arrogant little bastard. He's got some two acres of grazing land and seven sheep, what's the big deal? Let's burn that barn down and show them who rules! Apocryphal rules!

*The ward schema fails, or Prolessarch's teleportation is otherwise tracked. The POD mounts a full-scale invasion of the farmland when Gabriel's friends are there with him.
*Good (85-90%) chances that a Progenitor will be assigned to this situation. It'll probably be Progenitor Blue, since he's the most stable mentally, if the weakest, but he's still more than a match for that stupid Prolessarch!
*Dr. Serpenti becomes unable to warn the Cursebearer for various contrived reasons.
*The simplest solutions are often the most effective, don't'cha know? Why meddle with kaijus and monsters, when a kill team of sixty elite soldiers, ten mages, a combat helicopter, and a full-power Progenitor can do the same just fine?
*The epicness of this option lies in the crushing realization that such tactical strikes will keep happening. Also, one of his friends might die, and that's wonderful!

Tchaa, Gabriel-kun baka no yuusha...
All votes & reactions have to be submitted in spoiler boxes.
 
Right, spoiler
[Gabrielos]Two
-[Gai]The Classic
-[Den]Ka-Blammo

The first is directly weakened more than the second, but it's stabilization effect should weaken the second further, and the second should put him in a position to have a method of dealing with the first that diverges from what it's prepared for, and is thus effective out of proportion to the effort he puts into it.

...Of course, if he fails to handle these events, this is probably the most painful set up possible from the options given. High risk, high reward, Apocrypha-chan!
 
Birdsie said:
Please, spoiler those wonderful picks. Gabriel might read the thread later, and we want him to have a surprise, don't we?
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Not only did I do so, I did so before you posted and within a minute of originally posting, which is why my post isn't showing as edited.

Of course, the reason I forgot to spoiler it originally is that I deliberately tried to write my explanation in a fashion that would render it meaningless without the context from the original pick descriptions.
 
[GabGaiden] Beowulf

That looks solid enough to me, I think. I'm leaning towards the other one, but the old one-two ain't a bad approach either.
 
Rihaku said:
*Hunger will of course try such tactics as attempting to persuade the Republic commanders to stand down with his unnatural Charisma, but Letrizia says Armament Pilots typically have the authority to operate independently if command is compromised.
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I think this is something to think about! Letrizia mentioned that the pilot is kind of spineless, so if we just don't make it obvious, we should have a reasonable chance of diplomatic victory!
 
Talace said:
I think this is something to think about! Letrizia mentioned that the pilot is kind of spineless, so if we just don't make it obvious, we should have a reasonable chance of diplomatic victory!
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Fervenweirr's stupid pilot is not Procyon's!

Birdsie said:
RIP Best Boy. No, seriously, I think Call should do it. I think the odds are good with rerolls.
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One could also think of Fall Back as effectively saving those re-rolls, however... such interventions are very scarce, and Hunger still has a long way to go before even his very first Geas task is securely complete!
 
[X] Hold the Line

I recognize that this is risky, but it simply seems more fitting for Hunger to aim high and accept the risk of failure, than to continually play the safe option. For Hunger to hide behind his walls and allow others to war on his behalf strikes me as safer, certainly, but also as capitulation.
 
[Gab] One
[riel] The Classic

Better develop some resurrection tech right quick.
 
ReaderOfFate said:
[GabGaiden] Beowulf

That looks solid enough to me, I think. I'm leaning towards the other one, but the old one-two ain't a bad approach either.
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I feel I should point out that my decision was made on the idea that the way the two interact is complicated enough he might be able to play them against each other and end up better off than facing either one alone, and only realized if he fails to do so it really will be a double blow that will be worse than the sum of it's parts when thinking through how to justify this chance occuring.
 
Birdsie said:
In front of us is a road of a million battles; fights with creatures the size of entire universes?
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At that point suspension of disbelief is likely to fall apart completely. That happened to me late in even further beyond. Better to have real heroism before that point when it's still somewhat relatable.
 
Rihaku said:
Fervenweirr's stupid pilot is not Procyon's!
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Drat.

"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.

Hunger surmises that Procyon's pilot might've been a friend! Maybe we can leverage that to make them feel guilt which our charisma can capitalize on?

Rihaku said:
Hope you don't have to kill her when the Republic deploys Procyon against you... but given the Tyrant's Doom, you may have no choice.
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hguh
 
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