A Simple Transaction I
- Thread starter Rihaku
- Start date
- Original
Yeah, Letrizia's fun and all, but I think it'd be easy to overstate her attachment to her recently-retained bodyguard relative to House Artriez or the Empire. Most people don't resolve to bring back everyone they've ever lost once they're strong enough to protect them. To avenge the fallen, no matter the cost. That's one of the most admirable things about Hunger; not only does he care, he follows through on the emotion completely.
But that's only logical. After all, it's the nature of a thrust to go too far, to over-penetrate. That's how you make certain of the kill.
Accursed Implement
Rihaku
The Internet
Accursed Implement
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 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.
"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 man looked warily at his sword and cloak. "If you're some sort of... sword-based wizard, we could probably use your help."
"I'm not cheap," Hunger warned, "And I don't work well with others. Don't expect me to integrate into your command structure."
"That's all acceptable," the officer said, "We just care that Rotspawn 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."
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. 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."
"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."
"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.
The front line was a series of heavily fortified trenches 'manned' by automated turrets and anchored by mid-sized Armor Prototypes. 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.
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.
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.
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.
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. The power of Ruin tore branching seams out from the clean line of that wound, shell shriveling and flaking away all along its thorax.
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.
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.
It pressed down upon him, a slightly damp heaviness, a noxious fullness in the lungs. 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. 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.
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?
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?
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.
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.
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.
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. 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. Even as he fell he conjured more blade-winds, intent on pressuring it, furiously burning his well of energy to keep it at bay.
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...
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. 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?
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?
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. 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.
"Win." She'd whispered as he passed her by, her final words on this earth. "Win. That's all that matters."
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.
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. That was its well, the tenor of 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. 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. 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.
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.
Murder, even if it cannot be murdered. That was the essence of his Cut.
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.
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.
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.
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.
---
[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.
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)
---
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]
[ ] 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
[ ] 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.
[ ] 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.
[ ] 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.
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.
--- 2-pick Advancements ---
[ ] Prime - +.3 Astral Rank
--- 3-pick Advancements ---
[ ] 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
[ ] 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.
---
What now to do?
[ ] Check up on Gisena - +Gisena, +?
[ ] Check up on Letrizia - +Letrizia, +?
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 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.
"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 man looked warily at his sword and cloak. "If you're some sort of... sword-based wizard, we could probably use your help."
"I'm not cheap," Hunger warned, "And I don't work well with others. Don't expect me to integrate into your command structure."
"That's all acceptable," the officer said, "We just care that Rotspawn 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."
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. 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."
"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."
"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.
The front line was a series of heavily fortified trenches 'manned' by automated turrets and anchored by mid-sized Armor Prototypes. 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.
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.
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.
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.
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. The power of Ruin tore branching seams out from the clean line of that wound, shell shriveling and flaking away all along its thorax.
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.
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.
It pressed down upon him, a slightly damp heaviness, a noxious fullness in the lungs. 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. 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.
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?
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?
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.
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.
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.
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. 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. Even as he fell he conjured more blade-winds, intent on pressuring it, furiously burning his well of energy to keep it at bay.
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...
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. 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?
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?
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. 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.
"Win." She'd whispered as he passed her by, her final words on this earth. "Win. That's all that matters."
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.
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. That was its well, the tenor of 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. 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. 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.
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.
Murder, even if it cannot be murdered. That was the essence of his Cut.
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.
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.
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.
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.
---
[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.
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)
---
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]
[ ] 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
[ ] 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.
[ ] 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.
[ ] 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.
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.
--- 2-pick Advancements ---
[ ] Prime - +.3 Astral Rank
--- 3-pick Advancements ---
[ ] 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
[ ] 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.
---
What now to do?
[ ] Check up on Gisena - +Gisena, +?
[ ] Check up on Letrizia - +Letrizia, +?
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- Location
- US
So, uh, I think we all got the point from Hunger's thoughts. Let's get our arm back. If we're going the path of swording, let's not hold ourselves back.
[X] Forebear's Blade - Ruinous Valor (3 picks)
-[X] Zweihander
The difference between 2 Arete and 7 Arete equiv are big enough that I think it's worth it.
[X] Upgrade Letrizia's Magic (from 2 Arete-equivalent to 7-Arete equivalent)
Might as well double-down.
[X] Check up on Letrizia
[X] Forebear's Blade - Ruinous Valor (3 picks)
-[X] Zweihander
The difference between 2 Arete and 7 Arete equiv are big enough that I think it's worth it.
[X] Upgrade Letrizia's Magic (from 2 Arete-equivalent to 7-Arete equivalent)
Might as well double-down.
[X] Check up on Letrizia
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Rihaku
The Internet
Don't forget your participation bonus! Btw, you're voting for the permanent one-arm option.
And remember: lack of arms is an excuse.
- Location
- Omniverse #1345
You, uhh, selected the wrong one.
If you want the arm back, it would probably be better to pick an option that gives it back, instead of one forbidding its regrowth by any means.
- Location
- US
This is probably a sign that I've stayed up for too long. Thanks for the reminder, though.
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I wonder what we should pick?
[X] Forebear's Blade - Ruinous Valor (3 picks)
-[X] Zweihander
And I'll go with:
[X] Upgrade Letrizia's Magic (from 2 Arete-equivalent to 7-Arete equivalent)
[X] Check up on Letrizia
Though I'm tempted to choose an extra pick and get started on acquiring the Ring.
Oh.
[X] Forebear's Blade - Ruinous Valor (3 picks)
-[X] Zweihander
And I'll go with:
[X] Upgrade Letrizia's Magic (from 2 Arete-equivalent to 7-Arete equivalent)
[X] Check up on Letrizia
Though I'm tempted to choose an extra pick and get started on acquiring the Ring.
- Location
- Omniverse #1345
Damn, we can't get Prime and Valor at the same time no matter what we do. Hmmm...
No 4 pick options, so the +1 pick is less valuable.
[X] Forebear's Blade - Ruinous Valor (3 picks)
-[X] Zweihander
[X] Upgrade Letrizia's Magic (from 2 Arete-equivalent to 7-Arete equivalent)
[X] Check up on Letrizia
No 4 pick options, so the +1 pick is less valuable.
[X] Forebear's Blade - Ruinous Valor (3 picks)
-[X] Zweihander
[X] Upgrade Letrizia's Magic (from 2 Arete-equivalent to 7-Arete equivalent)
[X] Check up on Letrizia
Rihaku
The Internet
Don't listen to Bitch Hunger! He is an excuse-spouting weakling!
The King Stands Alone is pretty good. You guys can probably generate enough Arete to take it with Debt.
- Location
- Omniverse #1345
Based on the Letrizia option I'm guessing Surge won, in which case things might get interesting.
Rihaku, did we crit fail the encounter roll or something? 3 picks was not an option! (Neither was cut through, for that matter, though we expressed intent on getting it anyway.)
If you want to tempt us more, you can explain how much willpower helps with our Noble (eventually Imperial) Sword Praxis!
Rihaku, did we crit fail the encounter roll or something? 3 picks was not an option! (Neither was cut through, for that matter, though we expressed intent on getting it anyway.)
If we're spirited we can take it without debt, even. But not without a pick, so... no. It's probably going to show up again.
If you want to tempt us more, you can explain how much willpower helps with our Noble (eventually Imperial) Sword Praxis!
Not picking the +Rank option hurts me a bit, but Hunger complained about lack of arm something like five times since we got the full blade back, so I'll let him have it. Poor guy deserves less maiming injures.
[X] Forebear's Blade - Ruinous Valor (3 picks)
-[X] Zweihander
[X] Upgrade Letrizia's Magic (from 2 Arete-equivalent to 7-Arete equivalent)
[X] Check up on Gisena
[X] Forebear's Blade - Ruinous Valor (3 picks)
-[X] Zweihander
[X] Upgrade Letrizia's Magic (from 2 Arete-equivalent to 7-Arete equivalent)
[X] Check up on Gisena
So we're looking at 5% rank, 5% physical malus, 15% mental, and 20% social, not sure if the timeframe is also halved.
I'm wondering if we should take War and rank here honestly.
- Location
- Omniverse #1345
We could keep putting the arm thing off and instead try to finish the ring sooner, since it allows that.
Except you're going to keep tempting us.
...But seriously, what the hell did we roll? This was not on the table!
I mean, I also want Hunger to have to arms regardless. Arm asymmetry is much less cool than eye asymmetry. (Plus, you know, stances).
The King Stands Alone does look excellent, but I'm wary of starting a voting session with something we're three Arete away from. If I was willing to do that, Rune King would also be tempting.
- Location
- Omniverse #1345
No offense but I will continue to fight to the death to prevent us from taking Rune King.
OctarineShrike
Avatar of Mandos
[X] Forebear's Blade - Ruinous Valor (3 picks)
-[X] Zweihander
[X]Augment Dominion: Blood
[X] +1 Pick Below
[X] Check up on Letrezia
-[X] Zweihander
[X]Augment Dominion: Blood
[X] +1 Pick Below
[X] Check up on Letrezia
- Location
- Earth
[X] Forebear's Blade - Ruinous Valor (3 picks)
-[X] Zweihander
[X] Upgrade Letrizia's Magic (from 2 Arete-equivalent to 7-Arete equivalent)
[X] Check up on Letrizia
TWO ARMS TO EMBRACE AND PROTECC DAUGHTERU
-[X] Zweihander
[X] Upgrade Letrizia's Magic (from 2 Arete-equivalent to 7-Arete equivalent)
[X] Check up on Letrizia
TWO ARMS TO EMBRACE AND PROTECC DAUGHTERU
- Location
- Omniverse #1345
Thinking we can use the augmented ring to speed up the condition healing, or help heal Versch?
Rihaku
The Internet
If you end up not having enough Arete to take it then we'll go with a backup option. It's only one pick so you can take it alongside Ruinous Valor if you really want.
Good.