Wouldn't it be higher for the Grail Realization?
It is not just that Emir is persuasive, he knows just what he needs to do to gain the trust of a person after he meets them even briefly. It isn't as simple as saying a couple of words, like Contessa can, but it is still quite strong.
Also, Lores in general are a Tinker effect. By studying them, even sometimes seemingly normal books, you gain more and more power - that's a classic tinker model, though physical resources are replaced by knowledge here...
Wouldn't it be higher for the Grail Realization?
It is not just that Emir is persuasive, he knows just what he needs to do to gain the trust of a person after he meets them even briefly. It isn't as simple as saying a couple of words, like Contessa can, but it is still quite strong.
Also, Lores in general are a Tinker effect. By studying them, even sometimes seemingly normal books, you gain more and more power - that's a classic tinker model, though physical resources are replaced by knowledge here...
Wouldn't it be higher for the Grail Realization?
It is not just that Emir is persuasive, he knows just what he needs to do to gain the trust of a person after he meets them even briefly. It isn't as simple as saying a couple of words, like Contessa can, but it is still quite strong.
Also, Lores in general are a Tinker effect. By studying them, even sometimes seemingly normal books, you gain more and more power - that's a classic tinker model, though physical resources are replaced by knowledge here...
You have to understand the PRT model is for combat. That means something like talking better is always going to be lower on the ranking because it does nearly nothing in combat.
You have to understand the PRT model is for combat. That means something like talking better is always going to be lower on the ranking because it does nearly nothing in combat.
However, PRT model is overly afraid of Masters who affect humans. Talking better also does wonders in combat, because with time and preparation you have more allies, maybe even an army.
Just look at Tattletale. She has a very high Thinker rating, even though her power is not really suited for direct combat.
Here's a rough idea of what you'd look like to the PRT
Brute: 4 (Tough and with a mild regen effect)
Master/Tinker: 7 (Can create powerful beings with time and resources)
Trump: 8 (Can create new power effects)
Thinker: 1 (Sees through Stranger effects)
Master: 1 (Very persuasive)
Stranger: 1 (Hard to notice)
You have to understand the PRT model is for combat. That means something like talking better is always going to be lower on the ranking because it does nearly nothing in combat.
…. That's fair. I feel like there ought to be a note that we can scale over time with interaction, and get a surprising amount of information out of a very few interactions. Like, we know that Licit has a drug problem, simply because that's the way to minionizing him. That probably warrants a thinker rating on its own.
However, PRT model is overly afraid of Masters who affect humans. Talking better also does wonders in combat, because with time and preparation you have more allies, maybe even an army.
Just look at Tattletale. She has a very high Thinker rating, even though her power is not really suited for direct combat.
Thing is you aren't Tattletale, she can pull random information out of thin air that is workable. You need actual time to put things to work and at the end of the day you have to lean on your other abilities if you want actual proper Master powers beyond your spirits.
…. That's fair. I feel like there ought to be a note that we can scale over time with interaction, and get a surprising amount of information out of a very few interactions. Like, we know that Licit has a drug problem, simply because that's the way to minionizing him. That probably warrants a thinker rating on its own.
That's fair, to be honest this wasn't an in-depth portfolio of Emir. That sort of thing would have many more notes and other tidbits but that is a full file and not a simple rating.
Yeah, Master/Trump primary makes sense for an occultist like us. In some ways we fill a similar niche as Teacher with how we can empower allies through influences/rites, and our monster summoning has already brought down one hero.
The fact that our abilities can theoretically be learned by anyone (barring our bloodline traits) is the thing that would really catch them out of left field.
Can you imagine Tattletale with a max Lantern influence?
[X] Plan: Gotta catch em all, RotT over Letter -[X] On work and the people you preach to.
--[X] You'll end a few minutes early, nobody will know of course (Gain an extra action)
-[X] On furthering the cause.
--[X] Assist somebody else in their task
---[X] Sol is collecting more scraps of information and Lore for the cult, why not stop by and help him out?
-[X] Cast a Ritual
--[X] The Calling of Influence (Secret Histories)
--[X] The Reflection of the Tapestry (Easiest expedition site with at least 2 Level 5+ books)
--[X] The Attention of the Laws (Lantern)
-[X] On the goal, of rites, rituals, and summoned creatures
--[X] Search the White Plane for summonable creatures
--[X] Search the Desolate Stairways for summonable creatures (X3) -[X] On Charlotte, and her aid (These are actions exclusive to Charlotte)
--[X] She should double down on recruitment
-[X] On Sun Sparks and their leadership (These are actions exclusive to Sun Sparks)
--[X] Prepare a plan for somebody, granting them a single reroll
---[X] Who? (Emir)
-[X] On Good Baldomerian and her brilliance (These are actions exclusive to Baldomerian)
--[X] Cast a Ritual
---[X] The Reflection of the Tapestry (Edge 6 artifact weapon)
The stairs ahead loomed like ancient giants, shifting and groaning under invisible weight. Each step you took was an exercise in willpower, far from the daunting height of the Mansus itself, but challenging in ways you hadn't fully grasped. The pathways were unsteady, swaying as if breathing with their own rhythm, and there was no discernible pattern to their motion.
It wasn't a straight climb—not even close. Instead, you had to wait for one stair to drift close enough to its neighbor, take a breath, and leap into the unknown, trusting that the rules here were softer than the world of waking. Even so, every leap sent your heart pounding in your chest, your mind bracing for a fall that might never come.
Gravity's grip was tenuous here. What should have been a dizzying death-defying jump was, in this place, merely unwise. Perhaps foolish. But then, your nightly wanderings weren't exactly safe pursuits either. Here you were, scouring the folds of your dreams in search of spirits to summon.
With a chuckle, you dismissed the tension, forcing yourself forward. No point in dwelling on the strangeness of the task. There were entities to find, contracts to negotiate, and the night was still young.
As you descended deeper into this shifting maze of stairs, you came upon a sight that nearly took your breath. Below, the entire base of the stairway vanished into an ocean of paint—deep and rippling, its surface slow-moving and thick, like molasses. Cautiously, you bent down, dipping a finger into the viscous sea. It clung to your skin, vibrant and staining, but not dangerous. At least, not yet.
Strange, you thought. And yet, undeniably intriguing. Far in the distance, shapes bobbed along the painted horizon—ships, perhaps, crafted from the same ethereal material. Their outlines were faint but unmistakable, their sails pulling gently at some unseen wind. A wild idea crept into your mind. What if you could get closer? The thought hooked you. No turning back now.
[Building a ship, DC: 80]
[Roll: 28+9(Stewardship)+20(Forge) = 57]
Building a ship would be your next step. A far-fetched notion in the best of times, but here in the Mansus? You were armed not with tools but knowledge, and that was often worth more than any hammer or saw. You scavenged what you could from the crumbling stairway—scraps of wood, bits of broken stone, the fragments of this ever-shifting place.
With careful hands, you bound them together, fashioning not a grand vessel but a simple canoe. It would be enough, you hoped, to take you into the painted waters, close enough to see the phantom ships more clearly.
When your crude craft was finished, you took a stone oar in hand and pushed the makeshift canoe into the thick, sloshing paint. The boat wobbled dangerously as you stepped in, but it floated—barely.
Your heart pounded again as you began to row, each stroke of the oar slow and deliberate, pushing the weight of the craft against the heavy medium. The paint lapped at the sides of the canoe, and for a time, you felt a glimmer of hope. But that hope quickly soured.
Your bare feet brushed wetness at the bottom of the boat. You glanced down and saw paint leaking through the cracks, pooling rapidly around your toes. Panic flared. The boat was sinking—slower than it might in water, but inevitable nonetheless. You redoubled your efforts, paddling hard to turn the canoe back toward shore.
But the paint was unforgiving, dragging at your oar, pulling your vessel under inch by inch. It crept up your ankles, your knees, your waist. The canoe dipped sharply, then capsized altogether.
You plunged into the thick, choking paint, thrashing wildly as it closed over your head. Your lungs screamed for air, but the paint stained your vision, blurring the world into a wash of colors with no direction. You couldn't tell which way was up or down.
Every moment stretched into eternity as you fought against the viscous tide, your body growing weaker, your limbs heavier. Finally, when your lungs could take no more, you opened your mouth in a desperate gasp—
[Emir takes one wound; he has five Health remaining]
With a violent jerk, you shot upright in bed, coughing and gasping for breath as though you had truly drowned. Your lungs burned, your body drenched in cold sweat. It took several disoriented moments before you recognized the familiar walls of your room.
You collapsed onto the floor, heaving for air, your chest rising and falling with the remnants of panic. Slowly, gradually, your breathing steadied, but the sensation of drowning still lingered like a specter in your mind.
You stood up, staggering into the kitchen, trying to shake the nightmare's hold on you. In, out. Breathe. You repeated the motion, focusing on the simplicity of it.
A voice from the darkness broke the silence. "Rough night?"
You nearly jumped out of your skin, spinning toward the source of the sound. The kitchen light flicked on, revealing Baldomerian sitting at the table, one of your choir books in her hands. Her posture was relaxed, her smile faintly amused.
"Why are you sitting in the dark reading?" you asked, baffled by her presence in the shadows.
She shrugged lightly, patting the book on her lap. "I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd catch up on some theology. There's something about holding a proper book. It's comforting, nostalgic."
You stared at her for a moment, caught off guard by the normalcy of the conversation, even if there were strange elements, after what you'd just experienced. "I… I'll be heading back to bed," you muttered, gesturing vaguely toward the bedroom door.
"Sleep well," Baldomerian said pleasantly, watching as you retreated from the kitchen.
You left the light on as you went back to bed. Maybe she didn't need it, but it was only polite.
You then lay down, hoping that sleep would come easier this time, though the memory of the painted ocean still clung to you.
You found a sea of paint and have learned firsthand how deadly even paint can be. However, you saw ships sailing that sea with sailors onboard. Now, you just have to figure out how to get to them.
Once again, you found yourself standing in the Mansus, past the Stag Door, venturing deeper into the endless dreamscape in search of answers—or perhaps something else entirely. The painted ocean still lingered at the edges of your mind, a murky memory of suffocation and helplessness.
You could still feel the faint ache in your lungs, a phantom of drowning. Every now and then, when you let your thoughts wander too far, you swore you could taste the bitter tang of paint at the back of your throat.
No, not today. The ocean could wait for another time. Today, your journey would take you upward, toward the endless stairways. You didn't know what you would find—if there was anything at all—but it was worth searching. You moved forward, eager but cautious, your gaze sweeping the twisted, surreal landscape.
The first sign that something was different came when you stumbled upon a shattered staircase, one more broken than any other you had seen before. The stairs in the Mansus were never pristine—always cracked, fractured by time and impossible forces—but this one had been utterly ruined.
Great shards of metal and stone floated in the air, remnants of a violent collision, as though something had been hurled at it with enough force to destroy it entirely. Yet, despite its brokenness, the pieces hung in defiance of logic, swaying gently as if beckoning you to climb.
You hesitated, staring at the jagged metal shards, sharp and glinting in the strange light. A small voice whispered caution, warning you that this path was not meant to be traversed. But if you sought spirits, if you wished to understand the secrets of the Mansus, there was no room for fear. The broken paths often led to the most important discoveries.
Without another thought, you took a deep breath and leapt from your staircase onto the nearest shard.
Pain shot through your body as the sharp edge bit into your feet, warm blood trickling down. You winced, but the sensation wasn't as excruciating as it should have been. Perhaps it was the odd nature of the Mansus dulling the pain, or perhaps your own will had negated most of the damage. Still, your feet bled, and you had a long climb ahead of you.
So you climbed.
[Braving the Shattered Staircase, DC: 80]
[Roll: 97+9(Martial)+5(Blood of the Earth)+30(Heart) = 141]
The ascent was grueling. Each step had to be carefully chosen, balancing your weight on the flatter shards of metal to avoid the jagged edges that would slice you open.
Your hands gripped at the fragments, pulling yourself up, your body screaming for you to stop. The farther you climbed, the more treacherous the path became. One wrong move would send you plummeting to your death, skewered on the blades of the staircase below.
But then, a shiver crawled down your spine.
It was the primal fear of death, a sensation so deep and visceral that it momentarily froze your limbs. A warning, loud and insistent, from the deepest parts of your mind, screamed at you to turn back.
Something up ahead was waiting for you—something dark, something final. To continue climbing would mean to die. Every instinct you had was telling you to stop, to turn back now before it was too late.
But you didn't. You couldn't. Not yet.
[Resist the Wolf, DC: 90]
[Roll: 83+9(Martial)+20(Winter) = 112]
You steadied yourself, forcing the fear into the cold recesses of your mind. You couldn't let it rule you here. You couldn't let it overwhelm you. You sealed your emotions away, numbing the trembling in your fingers and quelling the unease in your gut. It wasn't perfect—nowhere near the complete emptiness of the White Plains—but it was enough. You could think clearly again.
With renewed focus, you continued the climb. Your fingers found purchase on the fragments of the ruined staircase, your feet carefully avoiding the sharpest points. It wasn't long before you spotted something—or rather, someone.
A body.
She was young, impaled on one of the larger shards of metal, her blood streaking down the blade in dark smears. Her limbs hung limply, her dress torn and stained with crimson. What was left of her life had been drained from her long ago. A delicate crown of flowers adorned her head, though the petals were matted with blood and dirt, their former beauty marred by her violent end.
You approached cautiously, your calm demeanor preventing you from reacting emotionally to the sight. Still, a part of you wondered who she had been, how she had come to this fate. You reached out, intending to remove her from her impalement, to offer some form of dignity in death.
But before your fingers could touch her, her eyes snapped open.
Your heart seized in your chest.
She hated you.
She HATED you.
SHE HATED YOU.
And so you fell, gasping awake in your bed as your heart hammered in your chest and with your entire body covered in slick sweat. You knew her, you knew her name and how to summon her, and worst of all, you knew her hatred was the only reason you had left there alive.
You have found a young girl with a crown of flowers, lying impaled atop a broken stairway of knives. Her name is Coelle and she hates you. Gain 1 scrap of Winter and Edge Lore.
Well, another level up and a new summon, definitely a profitable turn. And, if I'm reading this right, we still have one more exploration to go after this.
You have found a young girl with a crown of flowers, lying impaled atop a broken stairway of knives. Her name is Coelle and she hates you. Gain 1 scrap of Winter and Edge Lore.
So the old master was a Name of the Wolf-Divided then? From her description, it doesn't seem like she's immediately lethal, but I doubt the state she leaves people in would be any better than death.
But hey! Weren't we just talking about how we needed to get to Winter 3 before Emir's head explodes from all that Loreness? Surely a realization triggered by a Wolf-Name will be very mentally stabilizing. Surely.
No. Really. Hear me out. Young-looking female Name (child/teenager), who is "imprisoned" in the Stairways zone (impaled and cant leave/shackled and cant leave), who claims to "hate" us (typical adopted daughter behavior/typical adopted teenager behavior).
Guys. Dont let the wolf-coloring scare you. Coelle is our Daughter-of-Axes. And i will bend every effort i can spare to gaslight you all into believing this sumonning, befriending and freeing her from her prison.
Because deep down she loves us! The hate is just her way of being passionate about it
Jokes undeniable truths aside, I am so glad right now. And i really do think she is "stuck" in her impalement, and that the methods to free her might be relevant. Names need a reason not to be roaming free after all, or theyd be Players like our Master. So, I look forward to more of our flowergirl!
As always, thank you for the update @Witherbrine26 this was lovely!
No. Really. Hear me out. Young-looking female Name (child/teenager), who is "imprisoned" in the Stairways zone (impaled and cant leave/shackled and cant leave), who claims to "hate" us (typical adopted daughter behavior/typical adopted teenager behavior).
Hm... They are not that similar, besides being young women with great potential for violence, but I'm sure if we summon Coelle and introduce her to Ashley, a beautiful friendship will begin!
