To Battle's Close
Soon, he promised mentally, addressing the imprisoned Ring, willing his own to act as conduit. He did not know if the Rings could actually speak to one another, did not know if it was merely a futile gesture, but sought to offer whatever hope he could: the strength, perhaps, to resist for one day more, to deny its exploiters whatever power it could, here in this final hour. One way or another, your suffering ends soon.
He hadn't expect an answer of any kind, so Hunger startled when the Imprisoned Ring replied: first a trickle, then a steady stream, and finally a torrent of numinous power, transgressing space and time, raw potential like a livid thunderbolt flowing into the blood-red jewel of his own Ring. Crimson flared and blazed, a star risen from earth, such fearsome majesty that he staggered to contain it, the power of the jewel threatening to overcome and unbalance the Ring as a whole.
Gisena sheltered the girls as he forced down its catastrophic might, compressing that all-piercing radiance until it was safely contained. Now the jewel glittered with translucent fire: final remnant of the Imprisoned Ring's defiance, all its hope and joy of life, all its remaining will to resist, given over to him.
The Call of the False Moon faded from his mind, and he knew instinctively that it had faded from every other. This was the final sally of the Imprisoned Ring, one last desperate act of trust when all else had failed.
Hunger closed his eyes, frowning.
"You're our only hope."
How many times had they told him that in the campaign against the Tyrant? That he was it, that there was no other, that if he shirked his duty, or faltered, or failed, then it simply
would not be done - only misery everlasting for the peoples of the world, clawing feebly at the yoke as it tightened and tightened.
It seemed he was not free of such duties. Perhaps would never be free. People fell into the patterns of their lives because of what they were good at. This was what he'd done all his life; was it such a surprise to have duty thrust upon him once more? Moreover, for something he intended to do anyway.
Even so, fuck these so-called interesting times.
He understood the sorrow of the Imprisoned Ring, the depths it must have been driven to, not only to ask a rival for aid, but to beg, and to invest everything in that begging. He understood its shattered pride, the egregious disgrace of its situation, the sheer hollowing agony of its every moment.
For that reason he did not resent the Ring for casting this burden upon him. The power it had gifted him would make its salvation easier. But he would freely resent the universe, and the Apocryphal Curse that guided it, until the end of his days.
No, he shook his head. Until he overcame them both. That was the promise of Progression, after all. Live, and grow strong. So long as he took care of the former, it would ensure the latter.
Live, and rescue the Ring, and grow strong.
He rose from his seated position. "There's no way they didn't notice that. Tomorrow morning may be too late."
Lucky that Aeira had gotten them the intelligence she had. He could only hope his present strength was enough to deal with the Immortals of the Temple. The Imprisoned Ring had given him little choice.
Gisena laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Hey. This isn't your responsibility, no matter how it may make you feel. You can still walk away. Always."
He smiled bitterly. "That may be the smart thing to do. And likely the wise thing as well. But only one of us here is a genius. Find me when your meditations are complete."
So saying, he leapt off Verschlengorge, making for the Temple directly.
The gift of the Imprisoned Ring had tremendously augmented his own Chief Dominion. Blood rushed and thundered in his ears, an ocean of awareness that stretched for miles: vein and capillary, pulse and heartbeat were naked to him, from the birds in the air to the beasts of the earth, and all the humanity of the Encampment in-between. It was a deluge, too much to process, and he hurriedly tamped it down, focusing the power as it solidified, directing it into his immediate vicinity alone. A greater concentration of power was more suitable to his purposes.
He accelerated, world a watercolor blur. There was the Temple.
In through the gates, then quickly across the grasslands, up over the mountains and into the Middle Ring. Edeldross-infused, he pushed forward, faster than he'd gone before, the accumulated power of recent days like thunderheads gathering in his wake. Outriders tried feebly to intercept. Those who could not keep up were ignored, the others slaughtered. The Inner Temple loomed, dome of matte blue like still deep waters, a globe stripped bare of land.
A man strode out to meet him, a solid brick wall of muscle, his face creased and cragged, hair streaked with gray. He wore a uniform of gray and black, a marshal's baton strapped to his side, eyes like coals flecked with bronze.
Hunger flared his Ring and felt the man's blood quail before him, even as the greater portion stood strong. Even with all his newfound powers, this would not be an easy fight.
He stopped, addressing the man directly. "Care to live more than a thousand years?"
The man chortled, a low, bleak rumble. "Hah! Ask me again in seven centuries."
No urgency. Unfortunate. "You people must have known this day was coming."
"Confident, aren't you?" The man frowned, eyes darting to Hunger's finger. "Maybe that's justified, you've got a Ring all to yourself. Some might say it's greedy to go looking for more."
"Are you going to pretend ignorance of what's inflicted on your own?"
"A Ring is not a person," the man shook his head, frown deepening. "Seems you've forgotten that, or maybe never knew it in the first place. Fail to master it and it will master you."
"Perhaps," Hunger shrugged. "But that doesn't justify what your society has done. Let your Ring rest at last. Turn it over voluntarily, or help me secure it, and I can empower you and yours with my own."
Again the man shook his head. "Sorry, kid. I've got a family that depends on that thing to live. Putting everyone's lives into only your hands? That's not happening."
And so Hunger struck, the power of his Ring pressing down upon his foe, blue of true reality outlining his Blade as it descended with cataclysmic force. The marshal reacted quickly, interposing his baton, but could not resist the power of Hunger's cut, and lost half his hand before he twitched out of the way. A spike of fired Edeldross adjusted the vector of his charge, stifling the marshal's evasion. The Forebear's Blade pierced through his foe's shoulder even as the man howled, plunging his free hand through Hunger's guts.
Meaningless. With the elevated Ring of Blood such wounds were nearly immaterial. He clenched the muscles of his core, trapping the man's arm for an instant, and twisted his blade downwards, carving through shoulder and breast. The marshal grunted, blood seeping from his mouth as he fell to a knee. With a desperate surge of energy he exploded backwards, tearing his shoulder free of the trapped arm, extending the distance between them.
Relentlessly he pressed the attack, pouring blade-winds towards the retreating figure, sharpness like a humming shrike screaming towards him. The marshal twisted, inhaling deeply, accepting a blow to the chest in order to counterattack, a roar of pure stygian force that upturned the earth in its wake. Ripping free his foe's embedded arm, Hunger hurled it at the blast, deflecting enough of the energies that he could weather the remainder with the Evening Sky, though the cloak was torn to bits around him.
This battle was nearing its end. A seal of blood closed around the hole in his torso, while his enemy's wounds bled liberally, a ceaseless arterial spray. Still the marshal rallied, lunging at him, a second Pressure-infused bark ripping through Hunger's remaining blade-winds, driving towards a final confrontation.
But there was no room here for honor, no spirited duel of ideals. Hunger dove to the side, focused shamelessly on evading, simply falling back and giving wide berth to the marshal's dying rampage, his magnificently pointless death-throes. The Jewel of Blood did the rest.
Mighty as the marshal was, greater than Hunger in Astral strength, he was not Vanreir whose body was as a blade. This was a champion among men, with all a mortal's failings. Liter by liter the marshal bled out until not even the iron wall of his Pressure could stand him upright any longer. He fell, eyes blank, his blood and his life expended utterly in service of his nation, and Hunger did not look back.
---
The winner was [X] Guile-Defeating Stance with [X] Combat.
Onwards.
[ ] Cut - The state of disarray and relative confusion induced by the Imprisoned Ring's final surge of volition will not last much longer. While the defenders are still poorly-organized, push for the Treasure At Temple's Heart. With the surge of power gained from the marshal's defeat, bring an end to this at last.
+1 pick below.
*The defenders are scattered and disorganized. Many Immortals and relevant combatants may be at home or otherwise occupied. Free the Ring and finish this.
[ ] Foment Rebellion - These Immortals are likely a tier above even the marshal, in which case Hunger cannot be confident of his odds even against one, much less a group. Attack, but do so in a way that demonstrates your power and the inevitability of your victory. Secure what allies of opportunity you can from the repressed, the downtrodden or the merely resentful.
*Your intelligence reports have revealed the potential cracks in Inner Ring society. It would be a shame not to exploit them and improve your odds of victory in the long run.
*Lose the momentum of your sudden assault and be virtually guaranteed to oppose the full complement of Immortals gathered in their place of power.
*As you have the Guile-Defeating Stance, the chance of your collaborators successfully betraying you is low.
*Prolongs the battle enough for Gisena and Aeira to join you, though this may endanger them.
---
You have 2 picks, or
3 if Cut was chosen, and about
3.2 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]
[ ] 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.
The available domains for Hunger are:
War, Passion
[ ] 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.
[ ] 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.
[ ] Evening Sky - Opalescence -
The soft light of evening before which all attacks falter.
+Protection, improving defensive parameters.
[ ] 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. Requires Opalescence.
[ ] Evening Sky - Pearlescence - 7 Arete -
Woe unto they who would stand against the bearer of Evening, for all the stars in heaven are their enemies, and the moon above as well.
+++Protection, and the protection granted by the Evening Sky now automatically scales to its wearer's power; effectively, the wearer is granted an additional Experience modifier whose output is automatically applied to the Evening Sky. Requires Iridescence.
[ ] Vigor Incarnate -
2 picks, 2 Arete. The glory of Blood triumphant. Let those who would stand against him cower, or be undone. A simple but exceptionally powerful option.
Adds [+++Might, ++Charisma] to the bonuses from Quickening, subject to the usual conditions.
Add your Charisma to your Protection.
[ ] Ennobling - 2 Arete (2 picks)
Ambition's work is conducted atop the shoulders of giants. Raise up one's servants to appropriately towering stature.
The process of comprehensive elevation of all positive attributes of the blood. Applied continuously over a long period, boons may become permanent and expand in scope, enhancing all qualities of the target and their future offspring. Applies up to +++All Stats to the target, Lifespan improves by fourfold. Elevates the target by
.5 Rank to a maximum of 3.5. Does not work on yourself or on species whose native Rank is higher than 4.5.
Effects become permanent after a few weeks focused on a single target, or a few years focused on a small population. Further Advancements may improve both the scale and speed of augmentation. With a thought, the original bestower may retract any boon so given, so long as they possess the Ring of Blood.
[ ] Feat: Shameless - +.25 Rank
(2 picks).
Yields +.325 Rank with Uttermost bonus.
[ ] Forebear's Blade - What Rains May Come. (3 picks)
To strike at him would arouse his disdain. To strike at his loved ones, would arouse his ire. Once per month, transfer wounds caused by the hand of another from an ally to yourself.
Reverse wound penalties, except from those inflicted by your own hand.
Chief Dominion (Blood): You are treated as if benefiting from the highest qualifying wound penalty received this fight, even if said wound is healed.
[ ] The Ring of Power - Arisen Blood (7 Arete, 3 picks)
Blood learns swiftly how best to be spilled.
While at full HP, benefit from the following:
+++++Protection
+++++Agi, Might, Wisdom (Combat)
All Attacks deal double damage, stacking multiplicatively
You are treated as if in a form with corporeal blood, even if you would otherwise not be.
---
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