Chapter I.III - "Death or Glory"
Listlessly, Seram rose and stumbled over to the corpses of the fallen warriors. They were adorned in plate mail, carefully articulated and in some places intricately chiffoned. The agonized expressions on their faces made for grisly contrast with their fallen armaments. A mirror-polished pauldron, unstained by blood, caught the sun, glimmering in the corner of Seram's eye. The beauty of this world was undiminished, save where it had been touched by slaughter.
If the ornamentation and quality of their armor is anything to go by, they weren't just a random group of warriors - though since heavy armor is typically expensive (barring industrialization and magic), as much could be inferred before. Still, beautifying weaponry is usually something only nobles bother with, in this case likely a minor one, otherwise there wouldn't have been so few guards. Or maybe this is a case of a stupid mistake spiraling into something they weren't prepared for.
Where was the logic in this place? The shining armor of civilization, their flower of chivalry, cut down by a single predator like lambs led to slaughter. Were these warriors merely naive, or had they truly been so desperate as to take a fight against impossible odds?
Perhaps a bit of both. They clearly weren't suicidal, but they must have underestimated the skill and senses of orcs if they couldn't deal with even a single weak specimen, so they were probably an inexperienced bunch when it comes to non-human opponents. And it's possible running away was never an option in the first place, whether because they were too 'honorable' for retreat or because the orcs would have just chased them down.
Seram wiped the sweat from his brow. Best not to sympathize overmuch with the dead. Down that path lead nothing but self-recrimination. Had he been a boy, he might have tried to bury them, make a spectacle of the gesture to assuage his guilt. But the Seram of today saw through the gesture, and thus it was of no use to him. Acknowledging his guilt, he put it aside.
The corpses held weapons, armor, rations and information that he could use. He set about to extracting them.
An impressive amount of disassociation from our MC we see here. A consequence of his former lifestyle? A quirk of character? Even if he doesn't think of himself as part of human society anymore, consciously deciding to set his feelings aside is no easy feat.
Still, I'm glad for the brutal efficiency he exhibits here, as now's not the best time to fall apart.
Among the small myriad of metal plates and weapons he collected was a bag holding a parchment missive. Sealed with crimson wax and tied up with silk, it explained the warriors' mission with grim succinctness. Orcs spotted on the horizon. At least five, possibly as many as ten. The human garrison of twenty warriors was all but doomed. The people of their village would serve as meat and mead to the itinerant orcs unless drastic measures were attempted. Would the Lady Henrietta please take her personal guard around for a flanking maneuver to catch their outriders.
So she was a noble in fact, if a stupid/ignorant one. On another note, who spotted the orcs? They must have been quite the badass, if they could discover the greenskins without getting hunted down and killed in the process. Or maybe they're just
that unsubtle?
Seram wondered which of the corpses was the Lady Henrietta. It was no business of his. He had hardly survived one encounter with an orc weakling and had no intention of meeting their shock troops on the battlefield today. Still, the situation gnawed at him, a stomach-curdling unease... Perhaps it might be necessary to intervene, rescue the villagers. He hardly had any choice, if his suspicions were correct - with no understanding of the local geography and only the limited rations he had found on these corpses, avoiding the orcs merely postponed a nearly inevitable death by thirst or starvation.
Yes, Seram nodded to himself. It was in his own self-interest to help the villagers. With the Curse-Brand upon him he could hardly expect any gratitude, but he needed them alive if he was to learn about this world. It was, strategically, the only move to make.
Hurray for rationalizing good deeds as enlightened selfishness! I hope we don't become a tsundere at this rate, because our only realistic options for a waifu with the Brand are other tsundere, which while hilarious to watch wouldn't be too great for Seram's mental health.
He stood and surveyed the scene. There was little time for dawdling. If he was to reach the village before the orcs slew them all, he needed to move immediately.
But first, there was science to be done. His life, and the lives of the villagers, might well depend on it.
'I'll go save them all!.. but first I'll do some science. Just in case.'
Oh Seram. Never change.
With his HP so low, the first priority was armor. If he diminished the energy within both an incoming weapon and his armor itself, it ought be possible to reach multiplicative gains in defensive efficiency. It would be difficult to move in such armor, but a hundredfold further reduction of already diminished impact energy would be well worth it. And if that worked, perhaps multiple layers of armor could each be forced into diffusing energy, leading to effective physical invulnerability...
Unfortunately, even that first and simplest of experiments yielded surprising results. If he diminished an incoming weapon and diminished a piece of armor, damage to the armor was effectively identical to diminishing either one of the weapon or the armor.
...What?
The touchsight of his Remittance was far more precise than vision at judging such things - he checked and re-checked, but could find no mistake.
Seram sat down. How could that possibly be the case? It didn't make any sense. And yet empirical reality was staring him in the face, mocking his efforts to bring order out of the incomprehensible.
There were many possible explanations. Perhaps the physics of this universe were different from his own, divergent at a fundamental level. They may only have happened to result in a world that resembled his own by means of homologous evolution.
Perhaps his Remittance didn't operate on anything that even resembled physics. Perhaps it was a purely conceptual effect that would actively contravene attempts to cheat it, because it required that stricture of definition to maintain any power at all. Perhaps-
On the surface of it, it
does look nonsensical, but that's only if we decide that the power operates on discrete objects, rather than the abstract concept of 'force', as it postulated in the description. So even if it travels from object to object, it still stays the 'same' force, only capable of being changed once.
This makes me think of a cool trick we should be able to do with our power right now:
sound manipulation. Nothing sophisticated yet, but even primitive amplification should hit the sensitive orcs quite hard, especially if we manage to construct a physical amplifier. Enhanced senses are not always an advantage, bitches. And this way we even learn the best kind of stealth there is - Malfean Stealth, instead of puttering around with disguises.
Also, if that's how it works, it means that repeated applications of force each count as a separate target for Amplitude (in case it wasn't obvious)... so that ridiculous skill from One Piece where they repeatedly stomp the ground to speed up? It might become possible if we're quick enough. Or maybe we could even jump in air if we carry objects to jump off from? We possess perfect awareness of our surroundings, after all, so these things might be doable with some additional Dexterity.
But there was no use to speculating, and no way to move beyond speculation without comprehensive data. Data he did not have time to collect. He would forestall the physical experiments until the villagers' safety was secured. A hundredfold reduction of incoming force would have to suffice. At the very least his scavenged armor would protect him from unarmed blows, and he wouldn't have to waste time or focus suffusing both enemy attacks and his own armor with his power.
Not a bad result from a single experiment, even if a failed one, as combat is quite focus-intensive. Hopefully we'll have time for detailed tests later, instead of having to rush about solving all their problems like a headless chicken.
Seram collected a shield and mace from the bodies, tied Lady Henrietta's coin pouch and missive to his belt, and stuffed their rations into a pack that he hoisted onto his shoulders. It was awkward and almost painful to walk around in ill-fitting plate, but with the power of his Remittance he managed to traverse the hills. Stopping by the orcish corpse, he acquired the outrunner's sickle, using it to hack off the orc's primary hand. Its head, a mass of contused flesh, was unfortunately in no state to be used as proof.
Just wait until we start collecting orc hands as trophies and acquire the Title of Hand Hunter.
Seram began a shuffling, clanking journey to the village under Orcish assault. The sun was high, raining down shafts of stained-glass illumination through the intermittent cloud, but he felt surprisingly cool despite the layers of armor. This world appeared an idyll out of far-flung dream, but no less merciful than Earth to the unprepared. Admire the Rose, but don't forget the thorns.
Oh, this is just bullshit. If not sweating in medieval armor isn't proof of magic, then I don't know what is. Good thing we have Amplitude, or we stood a real chance of dying from exhaustion.
Steadily he humped it over the rolling hills, greenery sprawling before him in an unending expanse. The smoke on the horizon grew in quantity and intensity until at last he found himself cresting a hill to overlook a village in flames.
Sorry we're a bit late? But we had some science to do, so no bad feelings, alright?
Seram hooked his mace onto the in-built loop on his armor and hefted the pouch of coins. Each coin was solidly stamped and machined, likely some alloy of gold, and even ridged to prevent currency shaving. That spoke of a dedicated infrastructure, possibly even a mint. Sadly, the prevalence of such standardization meant the coins might be useless as currency after they fulfilled the purpose he had in mind. With a proper pitching stance and full use of his Remittance, Seram could unleash a shotgun-blast of hurled coins accurate to at least twenty feet. Most flesh and organ wounds had hardly slowed the orc Seram had fought, but this was perforation of a different magnitude.
Three possibilities: they use magic in place of technology, they use it to
enhance technological production, or they're that advanced despite the presence of magic. The uniform nature of the coins might also suggest a centralized government for the current region.
Now let's see if throwing money at the problem is an adequate solution for our troubles.
He took a steadying breath and did his best not to think about all the ways this could go horribly wrong. There was a knot of tension coiling up from his intestines all the way to the top of his spine. There was a keening anxiousness that blotted away rational thought. He wondered if all soldiers felt like this in the hours before battle, when the unimportant fell away and the soul was bared naked before the immensity of the mortal condition. Everything that was Seram law could end, could come to its full and final stop, less than an hour from now.
Fifteen minutes from now, he could be triumphant or he could be a corpse. The sheer apprehension of it nearly stayed his hand, but he forced himself forward. This was his life now. He'd taken the Accursed's offer. Battle was a part of his life. The threat of death was a part of his life.
Glad to see that Seram is growing and acknowledging the way his life has changed irrevocably after being Cursed. If there's one thing I
really didn't like about Hiding and Training, it's that it would put off this realization for much longer. We'll
have to take risks to advance, sometimes ones that might seem unacceptable to the average guy. We're competing with Chosen Ones here, not some random losers, and I bet
they won't shy away from squeezing that extra bit of potential by running headfirst into danger, cheating bastards with plot armor that they are.
The things we do to avoid regret. Perhaps the mistakes of his past had been too punishing in the end. Perhaps it truly was abnormal to agree to something so inescapable as a cosmic constraint in order to secure power he hadn't needed.
Perhaps it was true that he didn't need such power, but that village did. That village had nothing else. His power was the only thing standing between it and a monstrous demise. Were he never transported here, their deaths would have been all but preordained. Now they had a chance. Because he'd taken up the Curse, they might live.
Owch. Not the best ideal to follow, to be honest. It's a good pep-talk... but we'll inevitably have to do some worse things than slaughtering some minor village in the course of our adventure, so it would be better if Seram found an inner strength to draw from that doesn't rely on having the moral high ground. Oh well, we'll see how things develop.
No, they would live.
It wasn't much. Less than a rounding error in the grand cosmos of the Accursed's unending calculations. That was fine. Seram Law wasn't much either. But at this place and in this moment, he was enough. He would be enough for them.
All creation might rise against you, the Accursed had said. Rise higher that you may strike them down.
Shield in one hand, coinage in the other, Seram Law walked towards death or glory.
Hopefully more of the latter than the former.
---
They were huddled in the Maiden's Hall, trembling, when the Stranger arrived. Like an apparition he stepped from the flames, wreathed in tendrils of shadow. From his merest presence emanated a horror and palpable evil that nearly brought Melas to his knees.
You know, I'm starting to like our Brand. Whatever else we might say about the Curse and however inconvenient it can be, but it has a certain gravitas that would be hard for Seram to work up otherwise. The MC will never go ignored anymore if nothing else.
He had been mercenary, sergeant-at-arms, knight and then - miraculously, finally - surviving veteran of the Punic War. He had served as headsman for twenty years despite the scar tissue that had overrun his knee, and had retired to the post of elder content to have seen all the flavors of unpleasantness this world could offer.
He was a headsman? Interesting former occupation for a village head. I'm assuming he was appointed by someone to his position.
But he could never have imagined the likes of the Stranger. Clad in a horrifying mockery of Lady Henrietta's armor, the man (?) held a blood-encrusted shield on his left forearm and a handful of coins in his right. Rare as it was still they had hoped so desperately that Henrietta would experience her Coalescence on that final desperation expedition...
Hey, did he completely ignore the orc hand we took the extra care to carry with us? How insulting.
And what could the Coalescence be? It was a (disadvantageous) merging with a Spirit in the previous quest, but Rihaku isn't known for being repetitive, so it's probably something wildly different. Maybe there's more to being a noble in this world than having some fancy ancestors? A bloodline ability, perhaps. Or maybe nobles are just more likely to awaken whatever special ability Coalescence grants.
At least we now know the noble wasn't a complete retard, they just had a very slim hope of survival.
The orcs smelled the Stranger, of course. They broke from their amused torment of the surviving militia to surround him, moving with the unity of wolves but each with a tiger's fluid power. Faced with such a force, enough orcs to cut down fifty men, the Stranger did not so much as blink. Instead he entered an unknown and potent stance, left leg raised, right shoulder cocked, all power into the throwing arm, and let fly the coins with a crack of thunder.
Haha. He thinks we used some kind of martial arts to throw the coins so hard? Hmm. That means using body movements to enhance physical power could actually be a thing in this world-
Wait. Don't tell me... we're in a wuxia now?
The lead orc fell with a roar of indignation, his flesh studded a dozen times over with gleaming currency. He broke into a stumbling charge, trailing brackish ribbons of blood, only to meet head-on the unhooked mace of the Stranger.
And Quantified World once again proves its worth. Knowing which of them is the strongest (and thus the leader) is quite useful for disrupting the chain of command and disorganizing the orcs, if they care about such a thing.
It was in that moment that Melas understood exactly what had been visited upon their hamlet, for no man possessed such speed and strength as the Stranger could marshal on a whim. With the flying detritus of the orc's brain matter barely settling into the ground, the Stranger leaned back against the stone of the Maiden's Hall, the picture of casual effrontery.
Seram is probably doing his best not to run away at this moment, not being a cool and confident evil warrior. Talk about a bad first impression, eh? That will color all our interactions with them from now on. Might still be better than them realizing the truth.
The remaining orcs charged forward with explosive ferocity, but a wayward gesture by his shield arm caused one orc - impossibly - to overbalance, nearly falling flat onto the cobblestones before catching itself with a feat of preternatural balance. But having twisted its limbs to arrest its fall, the orc had no means to avoid the thrown mace sailing at its chest, an iron meteor that even Melas' gaze could hardly track until it had spread the orc's insides across the Hall. He had fought the orcs for twenty years and lived, and still had never witnessed such speed in the hands of a mortal man.
Hmm. Do these people not consider those with supernatural abilities mortal anymore? I'm starting to have a bad feeling about all this.
The Stranger had already turned, hefting a bloodied sickle in place of the mace, and with a single imperious gesture the three surviving orcs slowed visibly, each forced into a different pace. One-by-one they arrived in sequence, such that the next orc arrived just as the Stranger cut down its predecessor. The first was sheared clean in two by the Stranger's thrown shield. Against the second he brought down the sickle in a whiplash arc just as he released the mysterious oppression slowing that orc, causing it to run headlong into the face-splitting stroke. With his final weapon now lodged solidly in the creature's splintered skull, the Stranger kicked the beast away to confront his only remaining opponent.
This could have gone
so much worse, to be honest. The entire combat scenario relies on Seram keeping a cool head and perfectly controlling his every application of Amplitude.
There was no artistry here, Melas realized. No finesse, no back-and-forth dance of countervailing forces, the deathly dance at which the greenskins were so adroit. This was sheer and simple power, the torsion-pistons of the Stranger's arms releasing force at speeds even an orc would be hard-pressed to elude.
This was no battle. Melas had performed enough beheadings in his life to know: this was an execution.
Because we'd suck majorly at actually doing battle instead of executing structured plans, but that's neither here nor there.
The final orc displayed well the fierce adaptability of its kind. Having witnessed the fate of its comrades, it intercepted the Stranger's blow in a miracle of timing that could only be called Orcish. But as it tried to snap the arm it had captured, it found that neither steel nor flesh would yield to its strength. Instead the Stranger clamped a hand around the Orc's own arm and, having trapped his foe, smashed his own helmeted head into the orc's at thunderbolt speed. Once, twice, four times the Stranger struck, until even the plate bone of the Orcish skull split down the middle, until the final orc fell limp and lifeless to the ground, its unseeing eyes staring upward at the village statue of the Maiden.
he must look like some sort of invincible monster that dismantles other monsters with casual easy. They don't know how limited his HP is, nor how reliant Seram is on having weapons available. All they see is an unstoppable force easily defeating the orcs that had been
playing with them. Truthfully, it's not too bad as far first impressions go, so hurray for the Brand?
Now who's the Maiden, I wonder? A deity? A heroic figure? If even a small village has a statue of her, then she must be important indeed.
The Stranger regarded his victims for a slow moment, and Melas mustered his nerve. He was the elder, the bastion of all the village. If the Duty was anyone's, it was his, and the Implicate Duty which tethered him to all the villagers held no low expectations of him. His militia had died fulfilling their Duty. Old man that he was, he could do nothing less.
Bad feelings intensify. I don't like the way he capitalizes (Implicate) Duty. It could be some cultural thing, but... the way he says
tethered...
Suffice to say, I'm really thankful that the Accursed has made us immune to mental manipulation if it is so widespread here.
Slowly, cautiously, he walked over to the Stranger. For all his power, the aura of fearsomeness that emanated from him like a storm, the Stranger was a humanoid of slight and slender build. Melas himself, hunched with age, was a good half-handspan taller. Even so he bent further, accommodating the Stranger so that they were at eye level.
'I thought you'd be taller.'
"My lord," he began, but the Stranger cut him off.
"I come in peace," a voice intoned from the armor, and Melas felt a chill of raw terror dart through his body. "Take me to your leader."
We could be talking about kittens and puppies, I suspect, and they'd be wondering when we'll start slaughtering cute things. Nothing for it, I guess. We knew what we'd be in for
---
Seram felt like throwing up. Somehow, someway, his plan had actually worked. When first he saw the Orcs he had realized one thing: like the outrunner, their physical attributes were distributed strangely. What the orcs relied on most, what they most favored, was not their strength or speed or toughness of brawn, but rather their skill at arms. Their highest stat, consistently, was Dexterity by a heavy margin. Skill required precision, accuracy, consistency - to which Seram was possibly their worst feasible enemy. For skill at arms was the least viable defense against an object moving at sufficient velocity.
moving at sufficient velocity.
I see what you did there.
Even if we had that advantage, we'd still been quite lucky. if there were more of them, if we were less focused, if they coordinated better... Best to improve our skill so we don't have to rely on luck quite so much from now on.
Cursebearer, you have Leveled Up! Please distribute your Attribute Points.
5 Attribute Points. By default, Seram will put them into one Attribute.
[ ] Strength - One point of Strength yields tenfold results with his power, and Seram will need it long-term if he plans on carrying this armor around. No self-respecting wizard player wants to invest points into physical strength of all things, but it's simply the most practical choice. Grappling, sprinting, throwing - all are dependent, in part or in whole, on strength.
[ ] Dexterity - Improved Hand-Eye Coordination can only mean good things for Seram's survivability. With the dexterity of an average adult male, he might even be able to hit the broad side of a barn. With his strength already amplified a hundredfold, the important thing is force multipliers, and there's no multiplier more important than accuracy and evasion.
[ ] Constitution - What Seram really needs is the endurance to survive exotic means of attack and the fitness to travel for long periods of time. He's already potent enough in direct combat, but improving his Constitution will substantially increase his margin for error in that while also giving him robust survivability and the power to actually travel around. Why take Immortal Sheathe if his Constitution is too abysmal to properly leverage it?
[ ] Wits - Why are you even thinking about this, take Wits! Why did Seram win? Because he was smart enough to, on the fly, spontaneously determine the combination of factors that made victory possible. You don't beat five orcs in melee combat by raising physical stats. Sure, Wits may not correlate perfectly to intelligence, but every bit counts.
[ ] Write-In - You may choose a custom distribution for Seram. Remember, 10 points is the adult average.
Not an easy choice. Any of the physical stats could prove crucial in the near future, while Wits is the instinctive choice of our inner minmaxer. Still, in the end I foresee long treks through the wilderness in our near future if we decide to hunt down orcs, so Constitution it is for me. Anything else can be made up for with Amplitude, but endurance is a finite resource we can never have enough of when we're on our own.
Cursebearer, you have completed the quest <Save the Village>. You may select one reward.
You may currently equip 1 Title.
[ ] Title: The Stranger - Mysterious, wreathed in shadow, the Stranger is a terrifying apparition beyond the force of any mortal man. Enemies are at -5 Wits to strategize against him or determine truths about his nature.
In addition, actions you take are more likely to appear aloof, condescending, or formidable.
The effects of the Stranger require that the character's face be covered. Effects can be strengthened over time.
[ ] Mark: Orcbane - Place a Mark upon any one object you own, infusing it with supernatural potency. Placed on a weapon, Orcbane adds +4 accuracy against Orcs, as it pursues their openings with hungry speed. Placed on a weapon or shield, it adds +2 armor and +2 dodge against the attacks of Orcs. With such a weapon, a man might fight against an Orc as an equal. With such an armor, he might endure their blows long enough to escape. Were those effective benefits to be multiplied tenfold, however...
[ ] Title: A Force Truly Evil - Even went back in time and turned you whack in the prequel... Social skills are beyond the remit of your Progression system, but with this Title you may create and employ the favored adversarial social Skill of the Accursed, Presence: Intimidation.
The second is a pure 'combat' option, while the third is a 'social' one, and the first is something of a mixed bag.
If all we care about is killing elite orcs, then the Mark is the way to go. On its own it isn't so impressive, perhaps, but together with Amplitude it lets us shoot far above the level we'd be capable of otherwise.
If we want to stay and interact with the villagers (later going further towards civilization) or even
intimidate recruit a group of followers, then A Force Truly Evil will be quite helpful. Social Skills are supposed to be quite rare, and even if this one only deals with striking fear into the hearts of others, it can be quite useful if applied correctly.
The Stranger, on the other hand, makes gaining a (comparatively) better reputation easier if we continue our successes and aids us in group fights against orcs, hindering their attempts at making effective tactics.
Personally, I prefer the Mark, as our particular combination of Skills makes assassination of elite mooks one of the most optimal paths to XP atm, but I won't be too sad if the Stranger wins. As long as we don't get it into our head to try to bargain with someone important from our currently very weak position, I'm okay with whatever.
