Fragment of conversation with Amalia Brant on 14 Bloom of the year 1469
The Highfather cult?... Lucy, tell me honestly - are you trying to interrogate me and make a case for inquisitors out of vengeance for not getting many sweets of late? Oh, don't make such a face - I'm just jesting. But, if I recall correctly, you are aware that I am not a theologian, right?...
Guess it can't be helped, then. Fair, fair enough: I'll try to tell what I know in a manner closer to those fancy-schmancy encyclopedias you fuss over. Just, please, don't lob at me your boots if I don't provide scientifically-tested theories, unopinionated statements, and whatnot. Good? Good, I still have some time while the stew is cooking.
Ahem, so... First thing first: you need to know the basics of the Highfather's cult mythos, and I must do my best not to forget you were asking about the church and not just its belief. And as the name of the faith suggests, you might have figured out already that the entirety of it revolves around a single entity referred to as Allfather or Highfather. According to this faith, Highfather embodies order and existence as concepts that emerged from the universal chaos. Yes - you heard that right: according to the equally-named cult, everything that exists is but a tiny grain of Highfather themself. And by everything, I mean literally: sun, skies, clouds, you, me, trees, animals, and even the dirt we walk on each day and those pesky pebbles that sometimes end up in our boots - everything is a part of the Highfather's plan and hence a part of him.
Now, the mentioned plan of Highfather is the second root principle of the faith and the center point of its mythology. It is believed that after Allfather became an idea on itself and thus separated from the universal chaos, he has lain down the path for himself as a concept, which is, by working with and around the unpredictability of primordial chaos, to crystalize an orderly, self-sufficient, and, brutally speaking, perfect architectonics. And to achieve this, he had to use the only building material he had at his disposal: himself. So, he laid the foundations of existence by using his divine power of organizing the elemental misrule. But then, when the concepts of time, space, and matter were made real, he figured out that the template of the newly-created world needs more than just one omnipotent being to function and develop further. And so, the deity conducted the first fission, kindling twelve first beings aside of himself with his divine flame and gifting them free will.
Those twelve entities were given many titles, but the Highfather Orthodoxes prefer to address them as "primordials." Born from the blaze of the ultimate deity, they are believed to be the embodiment of the Allfather's facets. I want to mention Vrod, Folesene, Stalhot, Liggodon, and Ongelor from all of them for the reason you would soon grasp. Along with the rest of their siblings, they took part in further constructing their progenitor's plan, to the latter's joy. They followed their father's example and gave life to semi-deities, continuing a chain of kindling that resulted in the young world getting populated by animals, birds, fish, and mortals, all blessed with thoughts and emotions. All the primordials and demiurges fulfilled their roles and duties within the complex frame of the And, for the time being, the Allfather's plan was coming up perfectly.
But as it often happens in the legends like this one, the harmony was not to last. It is believed that love for their creator drove those five mentioned primordials to overstep the boundaries of their roles in the world's architecture. They saw to adorn their father's creation by themselves, with this ambition leading them to break the taboo on shaping the cosmic chaos which was still raging around the grand design. They say that the path to ruin is paved with the best intentions, which is precisely what happened: having to shape the chaotic aethers, the void's eternal madness that dwelled in it corrupted the daring primordials one by one. It seduced them into introducing the original sins to the once perfect creation of their father. These original sins were mockeries of the facets bestowed upon the primordials by the Highfather: Vrod's ardor turned into fury, Folesene's sensuousness turned into indulgence, Stalholt's industriousness and prudence morphed into greed and hubris, Ligoddon's patience became apathy, and Ongelor's craftiness degraded to insidiousness.
Driven by their new twisted natures, they discarded the original goal of cheering their creator with the fruits of their ambitions, opting to spread the latest concepts in the creation. And this is how the plan got corrupt. Their siblings and father did intervene, restraining the maddened primordials, but it was too late: the creation had been stained with the first sins, which further fused and mingled into each other, branching out new sins and corrupting the once-pristine cosmic design.
Various teachings and schools of thought within the Allfather's dogma start to vary here: some state that the deity was furious at his offsprings while others state he was sorrowed but still not out of love for his creations, even after what they did and what they became. The former narratives suggest that the wayward primordials fought their siblings and creator, while the latter say that due to being sparklings of their progenitor's divine flame, the deity effortlessly subdued his creations. Both views conclude that all the five disobedient lesser gods are locked away on the five outer moons, with Baudur and Sophrona moons set as their wardens.
But what next, you might ask? The church says that Highfather could not eradicate the sins from the plan without damaging it, so he decided on mending them by a counterweight via creating first humans, granting them the tiny sparks of his flame, and bestowing the desire for righteousness. From here on, the church of Highfather seems it their ultimate goal to spread their view of virtues across all the lands and seas, neutralizing the poison left by the primordials and thus undoing their malaise, making their pardon in the eyes of their father possible. In short: harmony and forgiveness through repentance and uniformity.
Yes, I know it sounds a bit botched but recalling all the mythos of the Alfather's cult is something unliftable even for such chatterboxes like myself. So sorry for condensing it this hard. But anyway, besides mythology, a church is also an organization of people. This cult, most likely, originated as a branch of some sun-worshipping early religions of Yrslanders, considering the canonical Highfather's descriptions and attributes. The sun that drives away night's chaos is, perhaps, the best allegory to Highfather, so the celestial motif is dominant in the iconography. Sun cults are pretty widespread, though: both Yrslanders and Eucadian landers are known for having pantheons where the central deity is associated with the sun. However, neither of the mentioned saw the rise akin to the cult we're talking about.
Faith multiplies with the number of believers and landers that migrated to Pheotor settled in the most fertile and hospitable part of it, making the population boom unavoidable. And then, there was Saint Aethlig and the Pentarchy. Ever since the creation of the Holy Pherinian empire, faith has always been the primary source of power for the Westlanders. They had their share of kings, queens, emperors, dukes, and other nobles. Still, they have always been and remain subordinated to the patriarchs, bishops, and cardinals, having only some power over the civic population. As you can assume, there were a few periods of conflicts where the civic nobility attempted to take the reign and liberate themselves from the yoke of the clergy. The sum of these attempts is all of the Eastern Kingdoms. Once, they were parts of the Pherinian empire, but after its fall, they became independent states with hereditary monarchies linked to the five founding houses as the most popular source of legitimacy.
But while losing its grasp on some territories, the Highfather's teaching - and I separate the idea from the church - spread to other regions and even races. Somewhat modified versions of the Highfather religion (mostly changed to include the said or all the sapient races as Highfather's chosen) are present among Alvizians, Gvuroths, and even Bhiroths. Of course, they are not canonically recognized by the Olfadirian Patriarchy, but the lack of political approval is hardly a barrier to the religion that focuses on familial love, justice, and redemption - something that unites all of the races living under the Pheotorian dome. It is kind of embarrassing how much better these ideas are received by Alvizians and Roths, who have competing native religions and yet don't recognize the faith in Highfather as heresy at the same time as Westlanders would merrily butcher you for the slightest deviation from their dogma.
So, yea - these are the basics. Speaking of, I am now feeling like a dummy for not mentioning the role of the Olfadirian Patriarch on the political affairs of the Olfadir... Wait, do you sense this? It smells like... Goodnes! I forgot about the stew!
[x] "The talents I was given brought me and others up to this point through rather bleak situations. In my book, this outweighs the associated inconveniences."
[X]Check in with the old spirit in the derelict church while bringing Mia on a walk. She might be happy to know that at least our mistake with the childs corrupted spirit was not in vain. It might assuage your guilt some.
What the threademark says: the second story in this very same universe and at approximately the same point in time.
The purpose of it is for me to recall how to write smaller (under 4k words, at least) updates, to familiarize people with the worldbuilding from a new angle, and to experiment with the whole "chronicling" mechanic.
And don't worry: it is a side project to which I'll be returning when the main story (this thread) is in its voting phases or I'm otherwise unable to drop an update just yet. Also, it would most likely be completed before Lucicfina's journey reaches the fifth chapter. In fact, while the voting goes there, I'm drafting the next update here already.
By fate or choice, you are now in the vast plains, also known as Blugd-Tur. Vicious, verdant, and mysterious, these lands are famous for their dangerous fauna, half as dangerous flora, rustic traditions of the hardy locals, and a whole plethora of unexplainable phenomena. And if that wasn't...
After barely opening your eyes to the sunlight, you checked the surrounding souls' readings as if this idea pressed onto you even in your sleep. Through the post-dreamy haze, you set your senses free: Amalia's signature by the entrance to the shed; Ren, Sephie, and Hjorn were in the yard together; Isaac's spark giving out its presence in the corner of the "boy's" half of the "hotel barn," and most importantly, Karl's reading was just outside the other side of the shelter along with Jory. From as much as you could perceive, Karl's soul no longer felt containing the chaotic aethers, with muffled sounds of him conversing with Jory confirming that he was, more or less, back to normal. Apparently, you've done it - with some luck and even more dedication, you've bailed one group member and averted a possible crisis in your little pack.
This simple realization heralded the wave of relief that washed upon you: against odds and failures along the way, you really did it. Unable to repress the happiness that came with the sense of easement, you nabbed Amalia's pillow from her bedding, pressed it onto your chest, and merrily flopped back into your sleeping roll, listening to the ambient sounds and savoring this liberating feeling for just a few more minutes. After all, this feeling of proof that your nature and associated powers can be beneficial felt incredibly reassuring, as if you passed one of the exams Rosaline used to subject you to. Peculiarly, this association made you feel... older? Perhaps, perhaps...
But as much as it felt good to luxuriate after a single (even if significant) success, there were still plenty of chores, tasks, and issues that required your attention. You still felt uneasy about what happened between you and Rene. Perhaps, given the perceptiveness of the latter, a polite visit and a justification of your earlier choice would assuage the feeling of guilt, at the very least. From other matters, Sephie's "armoring-up" project made you consider the possibility of getting some protection for yourself, too. Given that there is some mysterious group that tries to hunt you down and the frequency of you encountering rather lethal entities is more akin to a trend, having an extra layer of protection does not sound out-of-place. Besides, Ren mentioned that Hjorn enjoys challenges and sees your possible armoring as such, meaning it would only be polite to oblige your magnanimous host with what he delights in, right? And aside from these endeavors, after what seems like making peace with your arcane nature, you felt this itch to return to practicing Thaumaturgy. Something inside of you called for delving deeper into it, tempting you with the possibilities should you just continue exploring. Is this what Karl meant under the call of the arcane aspect?
Seeking to avoid procrastination, you forced yourself to release Amalia's pillow and crawl out of the bedding at once. Yet, while you were fixing your sleeping corner, a recollection from yesterday popped up in your mind - the part where Ren asked Seph to help the sleepy you to the bed. The notion of being pampered by your de-facto caretakers (and now there are two of them!) hung an embarrassed smile on your face: you're not that infantile as to need this sort of babysitting, are you? But along with embarrassment, the experience filled you with warmth: you could not deny how being aware of the degree of others' care for you filled you with unadulterated happiness.
The signs of this happiness materialized via your jolly hip-bump with Amalia and a subsequent news&gossip sharing spree over a bowl of meaty stew, which then progressed into Amalia-powered wings grooming session. As she was reducing you to the state of a big drooly pet, you caught glimpses of Seph clad in her new armor, watched over by Ren and Hjorn. Adorned in the dark - almost purple - mahogany-colored set with intricate plating shapes enveloped in a sturdy leather framework, Sephie looked drastically different from the regular appearance you got used to. In fact, the masterfully-crafted layers of armor made her look imposing and reminded you of just how large daevas are as species. Albeit the streamlined angles and shapes of her new rig even visually corresponded with her grace and agility, by the expression on her face, you could assume she was feeling somewhat confused by the novelty of the experience, almost like being tossed into unfamiliar waters. Hjorn and Ren, however, seemed like having fun while inquiring about how well it fits and shooting tips on how to move in the freshly-minted set; you could even sense hints of pride for the result in their voices.
Shortly, Amalia's deft hands moved to your hair; she always seemed to love making it, and you always loved the results, especially braids. Although your enjoyment of the procedure was interrupted by another observation: still dressed in a long-unwashed shirt and not shaved for over two weeks, Karl disengaged from an exchange with Jory and recently-joined Isaac. The uncharacteristically unkempt appearance of the mage contrasted with the liveliness of his motions and micro gestures, which implied his recovery from the affliction. When your stares have met, the pyromancer's usual mask of impassiveness slinked for a heartbeat, exposing his grimace of surprise and mild embarrassment to you for the first time. The event on its own suggested that he had a reason to recoil from your presence and that this reaction had everything to do with the exchange you had during his "active treatment" procedure. Still, he recomposed himself swiftly and gave you a semi-acknowledging and semi-grateful nod. But even then, if there was something you were sure about, you would no longer be able to see him for the facade of a person behind which he hid all this time. This promised a degree of unavoidable uncertainty in the future.
Fortunately, Amalia's presence offered you an easy way to disengage from the awkward situation when she poked you with the question of whether everything was alright. And in truth, aside from more global issues, it was for once. So, you returned her a confirmation supplied with a loose thankful squeeze for her time caring for you. And with that, you let the noon flow leisurely, having a bite on some minced wyrm meat flatbread wraps and hanging some more with the group's indefatigable logistician to at least somehow repay for her troubles with you.
But slacking off, despite the temptation, wasn't on your "to-do" list; after all, it felt improper slothing when everyone seemed to be busy, and it wasn't like that itch to get back to practicing thaumaturgy gone anywhere. So, while Sephie and Ren were engaged in instructions and practice on how to optimally move around armored, how to decide whether to take or avoid a hit, and the basics of efficient defensive angling, you occupied the opposite side of the yard to practice spellcasting in relative peace.
It was quite a while since the last time you practiced thaumaturgy seriously, and returning to it felt almost like opening a chest with old clothes and accessories: they - the spells in this case - were witnesses of the times that felt simpler. But while you were distracted from pursuing your arguably primary talent by the need to deliver Karl from his affliction, you still theorized a lot on the principles of magic, not forgetting to train the arcane weaving even if of another aspect. Due to this synergy, you ended up with a whole plethora of theories and ideas on how to shape your thaumaturgic talent. Some of them "fermented" over a long time like fine wine, while others were fresh and fleeting like sparks shooting from a bonfire. As an example of the former, there was an idea of mastering the more controlled and aimed bursts of thaumaturgic forces akin to the areal aspects nullification blast that saved your life in a fortress to the north from Beilford. While you became quite apt with conjuring and manipulating the luminescent matter, the prospect of mastering its polar opposite - the dynamic power of light - tantalized you greatly. And as for the newer ideas, you've yearned to test a hypothesis if it's possible to use the conjured light orbs as energy reservoirs for subsequent shaping, which would theoretically increase the volumes of operatable arcane force compared to the straightforward projection from the body.
Without wasting much time, you acted upon these and other meticulously-crafted case study plans, pursuing the realization of the studying goals. And, for a short amount of time, the clarity of vision and quality of concepts made you believe that you were on a cusp of a breakthrough. Alas, your body and the practical side of spellcasting with it were behind your mind. There was one case where you nearly caused a luminescence explosion by oversaturating one orb with mana. In addition, when it came to mechanical peculiarities of spell weaving and shaping, your frame felt like refusing to cooperate on some instinctive level. Perhaps the temptation to slack a little after yesterday's exertions wasn't such a poor idea. But it wasn't just the inadequacy of your shape that thwarted reaching the desired results: the creeping sense of being watched grew irrepressible exactly when you fumbled yet another attempt to perform a condensed burst of a light ray. Karl was there, leaning with his back against the shed's wall and puffing smoke from his trusty pipe when you looked around.
"Oh. Please, don't mind my presence," he said after seeing your puzzled face, "Just thought it would only be polite to come and thank you for your involvement with my case. Interrupting your training wasn't the purpose but rather a deviation from the plan."
"I got myself distracted, either way, so no harm was done," You replied, slightly confused by the man's uncharacteristic urge to hang out, "Do you feel any better?"
"Why, yes, indeed. Back in my youthful years, I wasn't an icon of restraint, but even then, I've never felt as sick and intoxicated at the same time, even during my most "daring" binges. So, once again, you have my thanks." Perhaps out of politeness rather than self-care, he extinguished whatever he smoked from the pipe. "But enough about me: it seems like you've got back to your primary aspect, isn't it? For a moment, I was worried you'd abandon it for other pursuits."
There was something off about him: the uncommon mentioning of his rowdy youth and this seemingly obsessive interest in thaumaturgy; in your thaumaturgy, no less! "Indeed - with no pressing matters inbound, getting back on the older track is now affordable. But don't count it as prying; you seem to have a particular vestment in thaumaturgy. I reckon you have known other practitioners from before?"
"The "knew" verb would be somewhat overblown, dear Lucifina. But yes - I've had a brush against thaumaturgy in the past. An encounter that left me with a lot of mess and even more questions. Some of them remain among those few motivators that prompt me to still wake up in the mornings." Even though his reply was still dodgy, you can't remember him approaching this close to disclosing information about himself. There was also a faint, lopsided grin on his face, which you perceived as tricky or even playfully challenging - something you had never noticed about Karl.
"Even though my inspection of your soul's condition during yesterday's "procedure" did not unearth that many insights regarding your person. Still, my recommendation for you would be considering if these sought-for answers can be gained from where you expect them, or even if those questions are the ones worth raising at all." You tried to sound most polite. "This facet of your being was the one afflicted by the chaotic curse, so it might be reasonable to patch it out before any possible relapses could happen." After adding this up, you pulled a charming, if a bit formal, smile.
Hearing your lukewarm reply, Karl's faint grin turned into a rather playful smile, which might have signaled the vetting of some theory he had on his mind. "Oh? But I've already begun to harvest some clues." Saying that, he lowered his shoulders theatrically before straightening up once again. "Nevertheless, I can't avoid but notice that you have changed, Lucifina. Changed in a more... refined way, should I add. Once - or if - we would get back to Kirhol, debating with lady Rosaline on your progress would be an utter delight. But until then, if only you still deem me qualified to offer you any advice or tutelage in spell weaving, I'll be glad to get back to our prior arrangement."
"Sure," you answered even though you no longer felt that sure internally, "And please, do take care of yourself."
The mage gave you a polite parting nod and proceeded to seclude himself away from your eyes. But as he left you, the sticky feeling of uncertainty remained. Something inside of you pushed for a conclusion that you might have never really known this man, and the facade of his to which you got accustomed to is gone along with the void infestation.
____________________
If today's less than stellar magic-bending performance wasn't enough of a motive to not extend the practice session, the exchange with Karl sucked out any remaining motivation to sharpen the thaumaturgic techniques. Hence, you spent some hours over a good read until Hjorn and Ren stopped bossing poor armor-clad Seph and chasing her around half the property's yard. Funny enough, this moment came when the sun began its pivot towards the horizon, filling a slice of the sky with gentle golden hues. Lured from hiding by a prospect to voice your request, you found the "elder" trio by the smithy.
In stark contrast to their earlier dispositions, Hjorn was sitting at the edge of the furnace, weakly dangling his sole "real" leg, while Ren stood by the wooden column supporting the canopy, leaning on it with his weight arms crossed on the chest. Unlike the roths, Sephie's frame brimmed with energy: the playful shifting of weight by rocking on her feet, inklings of restrained twirls, and the overall body language hinting at her desire to run, roll, jump, and, maybe, even somersault. But what was even a more obvious giveaway: she could not hide an excited smile and shimmer of juvenile-ish enthusiasm in her eyes. Perhaps, not that much of a surprise for those aware of her easily excitable nature, especially if it's about physicality.
"Seems like you're getting the hang of it well." Ulren shot a comment while watching the daeva, barely restraining herself to a single spot, "The weight center with the feeling of dimensions would take some time to develop, but, in a week or two of usage, you'd likely feel it like your second skin. Just keep in mind that being armored does not mean you're invulnerable, so don't forget about avoiding blows altogether where possible. You'd be safer for it and will also prolong the service span of the gear that way."
"Aye, what Ren said," Hjorn picked the torch of the conversation, "When it comes to designing armor, the balancing act looks like drawing a triangle with the parameters of coverage, weight, and density being its sides. The longer - and hence better - are these sides, the higher is the cost in terms of construction complexity and materials replaceability. And, humbleness aside, your new panoply might as well be one of the seven most complex ones I made in a lifetime."
"And caused me to forge horseshoes and arrowheads for the locals in your stead while you had your fun," Ulren injected a bit caustically but not exactly maliciously.
"Oi, you've made the joints and the helmet! At least have the decency to take pride in your share of the art!" To this Hjorn's comment, Ren exhausted a single silly grumble, which the smith hasn't even noticed over getting back to the topic: "But anyway, pauldrons, hip shields, and knee joints can be easily replaced with side material substitutes without dwarfing the general quality, which can't be said about the chest plate: the thing is compositive of the crucible steel carcass and remolded manticore bone filling, wrapped with the beast's leather. So, unless you have an even bigger stash of 'em manticore chunks, the know-how, and a top-notch workshop around, changing the breastplate for any lower-grade replacement would basically half the set's defense and utility."
Although it seemed like Seph did hear the boys' instructions, she was too busy fiddling with the set's auxiliaries and the helmet. Perhaps she could not find what to say, or maybe she was just that excited.
"Say, is this thing on the back of the helm made for me to conveniently hide hair?" She broke the spell of silence that was starting to get awkward.
"Yes," Ren answered dryly.
"And I can open and close the helmet fragmentally?"
"Yes." Ren dubbed in the same manner. "There are also hasps on the sides and back to keep the thing shut and in place during all your acrobatics."
Sephie said nothing aside from emitting a hushed yet melodic squee from under the lid and mask of the now-closed helmet. You weren't an armorsmithing expert or even an armor wearer (for now at least) to assess the masterwork with any level of competence, but even visually, Sephie looked fantastic in it: imposing, streamlined, elegant, and of exotic color. It was as if the boys produced these armaments as a continuation and reinforcement of Seph's traits. Perhaps there was now a little bit of that weird feeling others call envy in the corner of your heart.
"So, I take it you're satisfied with the result?" Hjorn summarized snidely.
"As if you can't see it for yourself~" Seph answered in her teasing manner after unlocking the helmet and lifting the lid "mask." Yet, her face changed immediately after the snarky reply that she made, "But seriously: it's fantastic. I thought it would be something heavy and cumbersome at first and quite possibly a waste of your efforts, but I could not have been any more wrong by Maat's starry grace."
Sephorah's reply simultaneously put a half-smug and half-content grin on Hjorn and Ren in perfect synchronicity as they refrained from further comments.
"But with this," Seph's face changed to a bit more complex: a mixture of well-hidden embarrassment and something else, "There must be a way I can thank you for it. That is some formidable effort and talent you've put for someone you barely know - this armor might be worth a little fortune, and it feels like taking advantage of you should I not give anything in return."
Ren and Hjorn exchanged glances before staring back at shy Sephie, with the latter answering: "Nah, beat it! Ren's friends are my friends, and I be damned if I'd let him down. Especially not after he bailed our bums from under Strasford, that is!"
Ren's face changed for a couple of seconds from hearing the reference. He looked as if he had caught a punch in his guts for this short moment. He recovered from it before Hjorn took notice, though.
"You folks have seen what havoc is happening around Tevon-Talab, so it is more than enough to have you around in these times, not even mentioning bringing me a treat of a chance to make an art piece instead of the routine hodgepodge, so I call that fair."
"Sing, if you may," Ren perked up suddenly, "whatever you feel like."
Hjorn turned his head towards Ren, wondering but not voicing the question; Seph did it in the smith's stead: "You want me to sing? Like, now?"
"Yes, why not? It's something you have a talent for, and, if you haven't figured it out, the only "real" form of payment that we seek from you is staying safe and supporting the group."
"Oh?" Evidently, Sephie was expecting anything but this, judging by her eyes, "Oh! Alright then, just give me a moment to think of something..."
It took her a couple of moments to ponder and clear her throat before a melodic tune with a dash of playfulness resonated through the yard. It was short-ish - just three or maybe four verses, but even with such a compact content payload, it managed to chisel out allusions to a celebration in some faraway idyllic place you have never been to. It was on Kathran - the language neither you nor Hjorn with Ren knew. Still, if you were pressed to guess what it was about, you might've considered it a song rendition of a tiny folk tale, parable, or, alternatively, a seasonal celebration song. But, just like all good things, the song did not linger for long.
Seph made it known that she had finished the canto with a broad smile and minimalistic imitation of a curtsey (which looked pretty... exotic, given she was still clad in a complete set of armor and not an eye-catching dress). It took Ren and Hjorn a moment to process the event, after which the former broke the silence: "Told you she's talented in this!"
"Hmm. Yes, it does sound like it," Hjorn commented while stroking his beard melancholically, "but I still like the north coast fishers' thos more."
"You can't be serious," sincere disbelief was traceable in Ren's voice, "What's so good about 'em thos sounding like rostgnurs' mating calls? Not even half as good as!"
"Oi, that's just my opinion, alright?!"
While the guys were debating musical tastes, you noticed an evanescent detail: Seph's atypically unfeigned expression flashed into existence to the feedback she received. It was uncharacteristically complex for a reaction to such an ordinary situation: there was a veritable surprise mixed with what you could only characterize as faint nostalgia. Peculiarly, her eyes were trained on Ren, but it wasn't a heavy gaze - rather the opposite: she was staring through him into something distant, either in space or time. It was the face of someone suddenly retrieving their old belongings or coming back to an old dwelling after a long absence only to find them in their place and intact. Bittersweet, perhaps, would be the best word you could find to describe it.
"Hey, I want armor too!" you called out suddenly, drawing everyone's attention before Sephie would be lost to an introspection loop and the boys' debate get out of the shores. When the message sunk, Sephie grinned, endeared by your definitely-not-childish plea and the manner of its delivery, Hjorn's eyes gained an enthusiastic shimmer, and Ren unlocked his arms with the "Really, now?" indignant inquiry written all over his face.
"If we're doing a complete rearming, would it be a stretch for me to ask for a new saber or a longsword, please? I have more songs in store, just in case."
While Ren's shoulders sank from a subsequent request, you injected: "Hey, you've just got a masterwork piece, while I had to face all those monstrosities on our way with nothing but a robe dress separating me from all the claws, teeth, blades, and whatever those hideous meat projectiles were!"
"Don't be so greedy, Lu," Seph cooed condescendingly after clicking with her tongue, "You have two named bespoke blades. Meanwhile, I can't even remember to whom the sword I'm using belonged. Won't be surprised if it was taken from the westlander zealots storming Beilford."
"I want an iron sight to the crossbow! Can I have one?!" Amalia abruptly materialized with her request like an ambush predator from the shadows. Is this a skill shared by all the maids? Considering that they are expected to be unassuming, and Ren was looking like on the verge of flipping a table if only one was in front of him, then probably not.
"Fine, fine," Ren grumbled, "Lu, you go with Hjorn so he could kickstart his new pet project. And you, minxes," Ren glared at grinning Sephie and Lia, "You'd have to prove that rearming you won't be a waste of time. You see that target?" he pointed at an improvised "mannequin" clobbered from old wooden planks that saw some beating in the recent days, "I want to see some accuracy. Now, get your projectiles, and I'll give you the drill of the competition. The winner gets the new gear, got it?"
You weren't there to see the "drilling" part as Hjorn, despite your meager protests, swiftly ushered you to the smithy hut. Cluttered with skin patches bearing coal-drawn schematics, old parchment rolls, and various disassembled tidbits of armor parts, the insides of the smithy's workshop were what one could only describe as a state of the creative mess. Or, at least, that's what came to your mind when you witnessed Hjorn's uncanny ability to procure ruler ropes, writing appliances, and other tools from under the messy stalagmites of items. Enthusiastic about the prospect of getting armored, you tried to talk the blacksmith up. Alas, his earlier metaphor of being married to his craft found its confirmation: the only thing he told you were the instructions where to turn and which limbs to lift, with his only question being whether or not he squeezed the ruler too tight around your breasts. What was more outrageous: the sight of your splendid fluffy wings chiseled out only his perplexed look. He did not even ask to touch your silky ivory feathers (preposterous!)
"Sorry if they cause you troubles," you said while lightly ruffling your feathers, low-key drawing his attention to them. In reaction, he only grunted.
"Could you shift them to the sides a little?" Hjorn's request rang from behind you.
But of course, you obliged, hiding a grin and theatrically spreading the wings' elbows to the sides. Although, just a moment after, the smith's massive palms carefully but surely pushed apart your wings at their basement, exposing your back in a manner he'd expected from you in the first place. This instantly wiped out the grin from your face as it wasn't how you imagined someone's captivation by your precious wings. The sound of Hjorn's puzzled sigh only reinforced your disillusionment. Luckily, Ulren's footsteps came in soon, breaking the spell of awkwardness.
"So soon? Did the horned one win?"
"Nay - told them to practice together and then try their best with the targets before I come back to check. In truth, I'll oblige both their requests regardless, but at the very least would have them train for it."
"Look who did not change at all," Hjorn commented, hiding a hint of mischief in his voice, "Just like the old times, eh?"
"Nay," Ren denied, somewhat annoyed, "Too many women in a unit compared to the old times. What's on your side, anyway?"
"One word: challenging" Hjorn's voice switched back to serious.
"The anatomy?"
"This and the general purpose of a set: if she's capable of flight, wouldn't it make sense to design leg protection with amortization? If so, the top weight would have to be decreased. Speaking of the weight, would you mind helping us out, Lucifina?"
"Sure," you turned around to witness bhiroths' meditative faces, "What do you need me to do?"
"Nothing complicated: just try picking up and holding to those pilers in the corner." Hjorns seizable paw pointed at the arms-long pair of smithy pliers leaning against the wall. And, being a good girl that you are, you obliged his request, picking them up with less effort than you expected at first and asking: "So... do you want me to put them somewhere else?"
"No - the opposite. Just hold them for a while."
The reason behind such a weird request eluded you at first, but as the previously not-so-heavy tool began to weigh down, depleting your humble strengths, the truth became clear along with both bhiroths' growing frowns. They were measuring your strength, obviously.
"Should this be enough?" You inquired with a tense voice when the strain of your muscles began to cause mild pain. But, the bhiroth did not reply - just raised their brows to your performance. The situation resolved itself before it became even more embarrassing on your part: your fingers simply failed to clutch to the heavy tools for much longer, and the appliance struck out a loud thump after slinking out of your half-numb palms. Hjorn rubbed his unshaven chin while Ren clenched his jaw with the air of finality on his judgment regarding your dubious brawn. You never pretended not to lean on the gentler side of the physical power scales, but your cheeks still bloomed with all the sunset shades.
"That's not good," Hjorn nailed his verdict coldly, "The chainmail grade might be the absolute ceiling in terms of weight. And only if there were any mythral or its substitutes for spare, which isn't the case."
"Any ideas about the chest piece's design?" Ren steered the smith's trail of thoughts.
"For one, those things on her back are so restrictive that it makes things easier by narrowing the choices: she could only wear a half-shell or a half-cuirass while leaving a portion of the back exposed. And then, seeing how ample her mammaries are relatively her dimensions, only the cuirass design remains a viable choice."
Wait... mammaries? Did he just call your- "So, a collar-stemming cuirass pattern with the rear flap going all the way down to the waist where it gets fixated to the belt?" Ren's comment could not have been any more timely...
"Mhm," Hjorn hummed, "And then, we have to balance out the composition scheme, the auxiliaries, and the coverage while considering whether she'd be able to fly in that at all." After Hjorn's last input, both bhiroths sighed in puzzlement, leaving you in awkward silence, wondering about the meaning of what they just discussed.
"Uhm... I am by no means an expert in armorsmithing or armor at all, but perhaps there's some way I can you to settle on a design?" Your meek offer drew the eyes of both roths up to you.
"Well, yes." Ren replied to your suggestion, "Not sure if Hjorn told you about his favorite "triangle" method through which concepts of armor sets can be balanced, but, in your case, it no longer works as it turns to a square due to flight-worthiness variable added to the mix."
"Yep. The thing would be yours to wear, so you might have a firmer grasp of which risks you wish to mitigate at the cost of what downsides."
"Oh," you grinned faintly to the notion of being offered a choice. "You already have some ideas on your mind, I take it? If so, then please bear with me, as you might find my comprehension of all things armament quite lacking."
"Eh, we've dealt with one utter tyro just before you, so don't fuss about it. But regarding your options, here's something that unites all of them: you might not be able to wear anything remotely heavy, meaning that the set would be more of a precautious measure than the integral element of your fighting tactics and style. You do understand the difference, do you?"
"It sounds like by precautiousness, you mean the armor would serve the purpose of mitigating the blows already missed while I'd still have to avoid them at all costs instead of considering taking some of them onto the armor deliberately."
"Correct. And now, for the options at hand. The first one would be an even coverage of all the main zones with the orthodox approach to the density distribution. In this case, your chest would be protected with a multi-layered leather cuirass featuring a wide-ringed chain flake. Sabatons, legplates, and vambraces can be fashioned similarly, offering decent protection from stabs and strikes for its weight. The downside is, I'm not sure how easy it would be for you to take off with all the extra mass or if you'd be able to fly at all with how strong you currently are."
"And the other options?"
"So, the other one is somewhat similar to the one I mentioned bar two significant downscales: there won't be a ringmail layer, and the pauldrons with some other minor auxiliaries will have to go. The protection capability would be lower, but the thing would be way lighter, hardly obstructing your movements and flight while still offering balanced zonal coverage. So, it would have a well-rounded performance overall aside from being ineffective against heavy or piercing hits."
"Is there a way to retain mobility and proper defense?"
"Yes, indeed. Basically, only your torso and legs would be well-protected in the same manner as in the first case, but the most we'd be able to cover your hands with would be wristguards. This might be a good option if you prefer to stay away from melee skirmishes and not risk getting your hands cut off. Otherwise, it might get pretty risky without any other ways to protect yourself. A proper shield might mitigate it to a certain degree, but I'm not sure how good you are with them."
After his last remark, he hurriedly followed up: "And one more thing: if you would find it beneficial, we might think of something to absorb the shock to your feet whenever you land and whatnot. Just in case."
"Why, thank you~" you answered with a charming smile, "that's quite thoughtful of you." To this, Hjorn shrugged his massive shoulders, obviously expecting your decision.
[] "I'd like you to proceed with the..."
-[] "first design. If working up some muscles is the price for staying conveniently safe, then so be it."
-[] "second design. It sounds the most well-rounded option, even though it may not work as a universal solution in all situations."
-[] "third design. It might be the best one despite the flaws as all this time I had to face the dangers without any non-magical protection to speak of. So, leaving hands uncovered is still better than being universally underarmored or encumbered."
Hearing your reply, Ulren gave off a weak nod while Hjorn's face morphed into a rare smirk which could only be translated as an acknowledgment of a challenge accepted.
____________________
The night was warm and gentle, with a faint lukewarm breeze enswathing the sleeping town with a comfortable sense of freshness from time to time. But, unlike the previous nights when you were pulled out from the cozy bedroll by necessity, your volition prompted you to look through Limbus once more. You did take Mia with you, just in case, but, like any self-respecting feline whose whims were ignored by the circumstances, she boycotted your unrequested care and barely left the safety of her choker amulet bound.
But even though, for once, you did not have a pressing matter, you did not venture into the night aimlessly: there were still grains of regret after the last exchange with Rene. You still felt guilty and in need to at least relay that your mishandling of the corrupted child's spirit exorcism wasn't in vain as it allowed you to save Karl. Surely it would not mend the scratch on your heart left by this event, but at least there was some sense of closure to attain. And so, after an eventless (if a bit nervous) promenade towards the ruined bell tower, you clenched your hands in fists and wordlessly prayed to whatever powers may be for the old shaman's spirit to not hold a grudge against you.
Seeking the last-moment reassurance, you cast your eyes at Ren and Sephie. They, per now-established tradition, accompanied you outside the group's shelter and were engaged in a lively discussion. Well, it was more of Sephie, still clad in her fancy new armor set (probably to get used to it faster), telling Ren about Munnite Justicars - the Kathorian analogs of knights, soldiers, monster hunters, and guardsmen combined. With the eyes glittering with elation, she relayed to the bhiroth of those exotic warriors' gear, traditions, and the cultural impact, furnishing up the monologue with the recollection of how one of her siblings dreamt of becoming one and how they would've reacted to seeing her in the fancy new armaments. Ulren, despite already spending uncharacteristically much time with Sephie today, apparently allowed himself to get captivated with her stories, voraciously absorbing everything she had to relay and inquiring for even more. This wasn't the encouragement you yearned for, but the sight of your two closest companions getting on progressively well did brush your heart with a sense of peace.
Past a brief bout of thoughts gathering, you closed your eyes and exhaled before slinking into neither vision trance and seeking contact with the old resident spirit. You sensed their presence but, behind all the strange lights of Limbus, did not see its shade. On some instinctive level, you could attest that Rene also felt your presence and was, mayhaps, even more puzzled about how to proceed with it than you. Not willing to beat around the bush, you weaved a string of thoughts: We've saved our friend from the void overtake. The experience with the contaminated child helped to save another life. It may not amount to anything, and you may not care, but I am sorry for how this "exchange" played out. So, please, forgive me if you can.
Since your last visit to this ruin of an ancient tower, its Limbus projection changed only a little: the upside-down rainfall behind its "windows" disappeared, the furniture and appliances inside gained some extra glow and definition, making the visage more realistic. In this phantasmic abode, the spirit of Rene moved a little after receiving your missive. A couple of moments passed as if the old ghost likely considered how to react to your uninvited visit. Then, their shape rose up from the dirt and ancient cobbles, taking the form nested in a projection of a chair. In your absence, Rene's shade followed the changes that befell their abode, and, for the first time, you could make out a male's figure from the old soul's glowing silhouette. So it was "he," after all.
Happens. Can't save everyone. The short response took you longer to ponder on it than to decipher. How did you do that? A follow-up reached you shortly, bringing your wandering mind back to the here and now. Also, you could bet that even Rene's "spirit language" became more coherent. Is this what happens with spirits whose memories get reactivated?
Thaumaturgy, or just magical ordination. I can banish voidspawns in addition to mingling with other spirits. The reply took a bit longer to weave.
Fascinating... You indeed aren't a common lander.
This remark actually stung you. You were sure that Rene did not intend to pinch you like that, but he did what he did. Inordinary? Can you tell me more about these irregularities from witnessing my soul?
The shaman's shade twitched a little, suggesting that the unawareness of your own nature caught him by surprise. You can even make out a tilt of his ghostly head. Can try, the spirit replied while lifting off from the glowing phantom of a chair, dispersing its shimmer into a cloud, and slowly circling around you for about a minute before reforming from where he took off.
Strange. Was the first feedback message Rene sent you while his shade assumed the pose with one leg put on top of the other and his ghostly hand supporting what should've been his chin, still staring at you. Three inmost tones, harmonious but different. A kernel with a suture but unbent and without a fracture. The flow is young, and the bound only half-filled. Very strange.
You quickly recalled Bartholomew Dalgaard's take on your soul of how there is a peculiar suture on it, which still remained a mystery even with the new testimony. The three tones? The only "trinity" related to you that your mind excavated from its depths were those three versions of yourself that recurred in your dreams. But even then, a connection of those delusions to your soul felt somewhat far-fetched. What you did feel like more or less piecing together was the spirit's line about the bounds to the young spring: it could hardly be anything aside from Rene characterizing your arcane potential as only half-realized! If his estimation was correct, it could mean that your species are about as magically-gifted as Roths or maybe even more! And should the theory of the diminishing relationship between the age of origin and the arcane threshold of various races be applied, it might mean that old blood flows in the veins of your kind. If you have kin, that is.
So, you haven't encountered anyone like me before? You summarized.
Not in life. Not after. Sorry. Rene finished his inspection of you. While he still "sat" in the ghostly chair, you noticed his mist starting to flicker, suggesting that, while not as weak as a few days before, his energy was diminishing to the point that self-projecting was becoming complicated.
It's fine, you weaved together a comment, you did all you could, and I'm thankful for it. But, if it won't be too much to ask, can you tell me something about that demonic being that murders local hunters? It is crucial, and if we get to know what we are dealing with, it might save lives.
The old ghost tilted his head to the other side before answering. Comes to town from away to hunt. Hunts for own. Hunts in revenge. Is remembered and hunts those who know. Was senior before disappearing. Loved. In many ways. Can't forgive, and neither can the abyss.
Digesting the clues, you spent a few moments in silence, expecting for a follow-up that never came. The shimmer of Rene's shape intensified, pointing out that bothering him for much longer would be counterproductive if not harmful.
Thank you for all these clues, you summed up, is there anything we can do for you in return? You offered while stealing a glimpse of your companions still conversing at a distance from the ruin.
The feedback came in mixed: it wasn't a confident "no," but the only non-rejecting things you managed to mine out of it was something akin to "remember" or "make recall." Whom or what Rene asked you to recollect remained unspecified with his "Later" stopping the exchange at least for this night. Perhaps, you'd have better luck next time.
Before you stood straight and wiped away the shroud of Limbus from your eyes, you gave a polite parting nod to the dissipating shade. Both of your companions noticed your reemergence from the ruin and were starkly surprised by the absence of requests from your fellow ghost; Sephie might have even been mildly disappointed by the lack of action. As for you, the visit was a relief: Rene wasn't holding a grudge against you after all, and there were plenty of clues to harvest. Processing both the hints to your nature and the identity of the manslayer, you had a hard time falling asleep when you got back to the familiar shelter. And, as if the higher powers decided to play a cruel prank on you, the following day offered no venue for rest either: Before noon, Inga - the gvuroth hunter with whom you raided the haunted farmstead earlier - shattered the leisure morning idleness of your pack. Her eyes were shocked and her voice trembling. She explained her appearance bluntly: one of the kherees outer outposts got attacked during the night. When the relief team came in, they found no survivors - just bodies horribly mangled and cut in the most gruesome ways. Out of six members on the nightly shift, they found five corpses.
Aware of your "special talents," she pleaded for your assistance in the investigation, not as a kheree officer but as a terrified person witnessing her extended family getting butchered. To see someone so formidable being so shaken was an argument sufficient to oblige her plea, not even considering that the local militia still had leverage on you. And so, you assembled your team for the coming investigation.
[] Your team (up to three members aside from yourself) -[locked] Ulren (He wasn't joking about not letting you go without him)
-[] Sephorah
-[] Karl
-[] Amalia
-[] Isaac
-[] Jory
Sorry for keeping you waiting for so long: the real world has gone a little bit too bonkers and now makes me wonder if the realm in which Lucy lives is still that dark of a fantasy compared to the times when her journey began. But in any case, don't forget to make to vote in both boxes. The plans for the next art piece have changed and the next piece would be a bit more... worldbuilding. I'll update the character sheets soon and then proceed to the spinoff story update. You do remember about that one, right?
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Attribute rolls ovehaul, next in the pipleine, and some trivia
With all the stuff that's going on in the world, when this story would come to an end I'll be writing an epilogue with the "behind the scenes" section, the latter would likely be the size of a huge update. Seriously: this quest is becoming somewhat autobiographic.
As the title says, I'm changing the rules for attribute checks in order to decrease the influence of the random element. In order to do so, the dice bonus for attributes will use the value 5 as the "equator", meaning Strength at the value of 14 would provide 9 dice bonus while Charisma at 4 would be -1.
In order to balance things out, the difficulties checks table for attributes was altered as well, and now looks like this:
Nonsense
5
Elementary
7
Trivial
9
Very easy
11
Easy
13
Normal
16
Hard
20
Very hard
24
Epic
28
Legendary
32
Godly
36
After playtesting, I can confirm that the average performance of the characters against the non-extremum difficulty tiers remained the same while the number of situations where trained characters flop at simple tasks decreased drastically. The change of rules does not affect the contribution of attributes to natural skills bonuses.
These changes would be the default rules to the spinoff story which I launched a month ago, too.
Now, what's next in the pipeline? I'll try to drop a lore chunk post sometime this weekend and write an update to the spinoff before the end of the ongoing voting period in this thread. The current state of the IRL circumstances would hopefully allow me to pull it off (unless something akin to a supervolcano eruption or alien invasion happens. It's 2020s, after all...)
Regarding art posts: the plans have changed a little, so the next art piece would not be a character art but something related to the worldbuilding and something I probably should've commissioned first. Before it's posted, I'll leave it to your imagination.
@SnowSpartan@Bladesguy You might want to throw your votes for Lucy's armor since there's a hefty chance her art update would include it
That's all for now. I hope you'd enjoy the latest update and stay safe wherever you are.
Oh! And happy easter for those of you who celebrates it!
[x] "I'd like you to proceed with the..." -[x] "third design. It might be the best one despite the flaws as all this time I had to face the dangers without any non-magical protection to speak of. So, leaving hands uncovered is still better than being universally underarmored or encumbered."
[x] "I'd like you to proceed with the..." -[x] "second design. It sounds the most well-rounded option, even though it may not work as a universal solution in all situations."
Fragment of conversation with Karl Norskov on 16 Bloom of the year 1469
Thaumaturgy? Pardon me, but isn't it you who should've been explaining to me instead of the other way around? So that you know, you put me in a disadvantageous situation when I'd have to scramble for something to tell while avoiding sounding like an old theorist fart patronizing a young practitioner. Do you think so? Fair, fair...
Well then, telling you that thaumaturgy is an arcane aspect centered around light, moderation of other magical branches, and the sun would be a waste of time, so why don't we delve into some finer details? For example, have you often used the arcane archetype trees concept or paid attention to the theories explaining their structure? In most of them - if not all - thaumaturgy would be placed near the system's root, but have you wondered why?
That is a curious theory of yours, but that's not the reason. There are two theories, one of which states that the arcane aspects emerged not simultaneously but one after another in all the eons that separate us from the hypothetical moment of the birth of existence. Its sibling theory mirrors this logic and applies it to the known contemporary species, extrapolating the central tendencies of arcane aspects' natural spread among demographics. But let's return to the more "philosophical" sibling for now, shall we?
According to this theory, the theoretical core of existence - the primordial Logos - is the original seed of every matter and process. Perhaps, you remember our old talk about the metaphysics of the core. If you do, it would be easier for you to draw my attempts at describing within your imagination. So, as the core - or the Logos - aged, it began to fill the void around itself, eventually separating its "territory" with the matter & elementals arcane aspects belt. And ever since then, the metaphorical wall of corporality and its functions separated Logos from the original chaos. At this point, the "biological" sibling of the theory finds a correlation between the age of Roths as a race and their unparalleled aptitude for elemental magic.
With the establishment of the "playing field," Logos did not stop there - propelled by the accelerating complexity of the overall architecture of essence, Original life as we know it came into the realm. It is represented by the workings of the life aspects layer — namely, spirit, emotions, reason, and organics. Same as the previous correlation, one can be found here: while not barred from the elementalism gift, many Alvizians are born with the bound to one of the life aspects, or sometimes even two. Coincidentally or not, Alvizians are considered to be the second oldest of the contemporary races.
And finally, we come to the most mysterious part: with how thaumaturgy regulates and interacts with all other aspects, it is safe to assume that it carries out the intermediary or "interfacing" functions of the Logos, noticeably without the gift of metaphysical shaping. The central mystery that haunts the minds of numerous theorists in arcane and philosophers is whether thaumaturgy as an aspect existed way before the elemental belt came to be or is it, perhaps, the most recent product of the Logose's core. The organicists tend to claim the latter, putting in front the fact that only humans - arguably the youngest race - can be born with the gift of thaumaturgy. However, Soltsveig Alvizians - in their traditional alvizian manner - seemed to be poking holes in this theory in the two last decades as their archeologists reportedly uncovered evidence of the precursor races being aware of thaumaturgy and even operated with it. Believe me when I tell you how mightily their possible findings divided the frequently dogmatic academics of Lyf. But that's straying off the point while the gist is, as of now, the intellectuals are debating whether thaumaturgy existed for about as long as Logos itself or is it the most recent product of its metamorphosis.
Now, if you find what I just said confusing, I might have some food for your thoughts which, in your case, don't require extensive familiarity with theory. With how you seem to naturally conjure, shape, and disperse the luminal barriers and blades, have you ever wondered about the material from which you make them? Oh, I see it from your eyes that you don't know. Well, to be frank, no one knows for sure - not even the Olfadirian thaumaturgists who claim it to be the essence of Highfather. Although, if we swap Highfather for Logos or the Existence's Core, admittedly, it stops sounding so outrageous.
But anyway, this matter you conjure is a unique trait of thaumaturgy. From solid to ethereal, from matter to pure energy, this substance is ludicrously convertible from one state to another. Some call it the "condensed light," the "solar glass," or just "luminite." Its properties are unknown mainly due to the scarcity of scholastic thaumaturgists, but the sun is known to be its source in a way, proving the innate link between thaumaturgy and the celestial body. Another theory states that luminite might be the "rudimentum" - the rawest primal mater, which is the product of the Arcane Core's existence and from which all other forms of essence might have branched out. The fact thaumaturgists seem to be unable to form it into more complex states while still having a degree of control over it confirms the link between the Arcane Core and thaumaturgy, in which they act as a conduit.
And here' comes the most intriguing part, Lucifina, the one which might be of your utmost enthusiasm: as thaumaturgy is native only to humankind, whose low natural arcane threshold does not allow to reach the peak in any of the aspects, the higher workings of thaumaturgy are unknown. Aside from legends of the Highfathers' divine beasts and exaggerated tales about Saint Aethlig, we have no clue what lies at the peak of the thaumaturgy "tower." For all we know, assuming the previous "rudimentum" theory is correct, and thaumaturgy is indeed an intermediary of the Arcane Core, it can be the bending of time and matter, the gift of the unconditional creation, or it may contain the key to understanding the nature of Logos itself. And here you are - the rare entity whose magical saturation already surpasses that of simple humans like myself while still having access to thaumaturgy. Unironically, your efforts to master it might eventually lead to the most significant scientific and philosophical discoveries in written history.
Now, there. I'm not trying to intimidate or flatter you: just stating the obvious. This potential that lies within you is one of the reasons why I agreed to take part in this journey in the first place. The less personal reason, anyway.
Entry excerpt from Lucifina's journal dated 16 Bloom 1469
Lately, I've been musing about races that inhabit this world. Not only because of what Karl told me concerning the distribution of arcane aspects between the denizens of Heim, but also due to the sheer variety of them and my own concerns regarding my belonging.
After Ren, Sephie, and I returned from our visit to Rene's ruined belltower, I had a hard time turning in for the night due to all the thoughts circling on my mind and referred to writing this entry instead. And Amalia, being herself, sniffed out my mood with ease, after which we engaged in a discussion about all the significant species populating the known world. While doing so, she, to my surprise, snatched my journal and began to sketch all the main racial groups. This quickly drew Sephie's attention and transformed into a cozy bedtime gossip party with jokes, birch juice drinking, and illustrating. We always knew that Amalia is a girl of numerous talents, but, until now, we did not suspect that drawing is one of them.
Also, I wasn't expecting Amalia to draw me, too. But thinking of it now, it seems like she did so for me to not feel like a lonely alien in this vast and sometimes scary world. Lia, if, by any chance, you are peeking into my diary and reading this entry, I want to say 'Thank you.' Thank you for being so kind and caring to all of us and myself.
Once again, you found your wings restrained under the wrapping of the faux bag. Itchy, uncomfortable, borderline aching, you might have voiced your displeasure aloud if only the circumstances that brought you out weren't this appalling, and there wasn't one outsider inbound. You could only resign yourself to following Inga's hasty gait for the time being. Speaking of Inga, you could feel the tension building up inside her with each step that brought you closer to the ill-fated outpost. Most likely, she did not witness the scene first-hand and only relied on the news brought to her by others. Oddly, she reminded you of Ulren when he tried his best to hide his emotions. However, she wasn't the only one with a heavy heart: with all four combatants of your group taken for the raid, there was a nagging feeling that coming back to Hjorn's yard might warrant surprises. You weren't paranoid of the assassins that assailed Rosaline's manor taking your other groupies as hostages. Instead, you had this nagging feeling that leaving Jory and Isaac unsupervised might bring troubles. But enough of that: you can hardly afford to be distracted by your gut feelings when there's a chance to shed more light on the series of murders plaguing Tevon.
"Would it make things easier if we had that Elgar fellow of yours with his pooch?" Ulren spoke to Inga, causing her to recoil from what appeared to be a deep contemplation state.
"Why, indeed, and I hope to see him on the spot along with the previous shift's rotation group." Right after saying this, Inga's face employed a pained expression.
"That's not a whole lot of confidence."
"The last time I saw him was yesterday evening. He's still recovering from the lurks' jaws, so it's not like he's actively sent on assignments, which makes his absence this morning confusing." After saying this, Inga endured what seemed to be a little struggle for whether to disclose more or not, eventually following up with: "He seemed concerned for the last two days; maybe even frustrated by something. But even then, he still turned down my offer to listen him out; all he said to me yesterday was him having a pretty darn bad feeling." She sneered sadly and shook her head, "five men dead, and one missing is beyond bad if you'd ask me. If this goes on, by this year's Dawnstar, there won't be any of us left."
To this, Ulren only shook his head slightly and produced a grumpy sigh.
"But, let's not get ahead of ourselves," Inga attempted to derail the conversation, "I see you brought two new people with you today."
"Two? Haven't you met the daeva already?"
Reacting to Ren's notion, Inga looked back at Sephie, who walked by your side somewhat behind the roths. Noticing this confusion, Sephie, clad in her new armor, lifted the visor mask of her helmet, outright gracing Inga with a sassy face. Perhaps, the meeting's somber atmosphere was the only reason that prevented your friend from sticking out her tongue to drive her message further.
"Oh, didn't recognize her at first," Inga tried to grin, but it wasn't looking very convincing, "thought it's someone else from your merc band." You caught Inga's assessing from-bottom-to-top gaze scanning Sephie. "Fancy harness you've got out there," the gvuroth murmured, "what's with the hue, though?"
"The set's made out of the remnants of what they described as a royal manticore." From Sephorah's smugness, you could have seen how she barely resisted mentioning how the beast tried to mess with her bosom but ended up being worn by her.
"Wonder what Hjorn would've made out of a behemoth's pelt," Inga mumbled nearly undistinguishably while briefly focusing on Karl. The latter noticed being investigated but did not comment as Inga made the first move: "We weren't introduced, no?"
"Indeed. While my companions told me about you, it's rude of me not to present myself, still — name's Karl. I'm what you could describe as fire support of this roaming mob."
"Fire... support?" For a moment, Inga looked more confused than low-key nervous, "Like... boiler watcher?"
"When our group's dear logistician doesn't feel like fiddling with flint and tinder, then I indeed am," If only Amalia were around to hear this, she would've probably burst out in laughter or tossed something at Karl (most likely a shoe), "but otherwise I am an elementalist; a pyromancer, if to be pedantic, or a fire bender, primitively speaking."
"Ah... I see," For a long moment, Inga's expression lost some of the undersurface tension as she delved into her musings, "That must be so nifty: scaring off some predators, camping with less regard to the weather, walking into the night without having to carry torches, and just having a heat source whether you need it for cooking or craft. So many possible utilities... It's hard not to be envious."
To this comment of the gvuroth lass, Karl tried to retort with something - he even raised his hand with the index finger pointing upwards to articulate his objection but then reconsidered, settling on a silent headshake with a bemused expression. A part of you wished Lia were here to witness this.
Alas, minor distractions like these failed to lift the uneasy atmosphere of the group and its guide. The road to the destination took you all about two hours in total, aiming South-East - right in the direction of the cursed valley your group came across on the way to Tevon. The involuntarily troubled recollection of that night sent a chill down your spine. To avoid sinking deeper into the memories of the event you wish you could forget, you tried chatting up Inga about local fauna. To your relief, she seemed eager to oblige, presumably keen on jumping on a convenient opportunity to flee from her own concerns, at least temporarily. And so, with Sephie and Ren distancing to have their separate chatter, Karl quietly basking in his melancholy, and you mining knowledge out of Inga, your group eventually made its way towards the Kherees outpost.
The outpost overlooked a crossroad cutting into the spacious meadow, full of sweet grasses and early wildflowers. Like an ambush predator hiding in the bushes, only parts of the fortification, such as the watchtower and fragments of the fence, were visible behind the compact woodland. The surrounding trees were trying on the dresses made of the fresh green, spawned after the winter dormancy and sheltering the building from the outside world. Hence, the landmark looked like anything but the associations with the killing grounds that your mind painted on the way here - No cues of destruction, skirmishes, or arson whatsoever. And, perhaps comforted by the ambient, you might have even felt the tiny yearning to take off the twice-damned leather wrap restraining your wings and let yourself flop onto this fresh, grassy carpet below you.
Yet, it was a poor time to indulge such urges: not only were there strangers nearby, but the sense of sparse chaotic aether trails in the surroundings ruffled you too much for comfort. And it wasn't just the singular pesky trail of entropic sediment - the background fone contained a higher density of void radiation than in the town. It was as if the picket itself and the adjunct outdoors were caught in an invisible fog or stream of entropic energies emanating from somewhere else. Was it the work of the demonic entity? Or was it due to the higher proximity of the spot to that damned valley your group barely escaped? If it was the latter, then could it be that blowouts of the void aether hotbeds can cause a chain reaction, exacerbating corruption of the surrounding chaos-corrupted nodules?
While you pondered this newly-born theory outside the fence, where your guide told your group to wait, Inga returned from the outpost's inner yard, visibly pale as milk. She tried to put on an impenetrable face, but the way she leaned with her back against the wicket the soonest it was closed left you no room for optimism: the scene she must have witnessed just now was, without a doubt, ghastly. No one, including you, managed to scramble for the words appropriate to the situation, seeing a formidable huntress in such a state. It was Inga herself who broke the grim suspense with the words spoken out so quietly one could've taken them for mutter.
"One at the entrance, three in the barrack, and one beyond the fence," she murmured, "the rotation team, Elgar, and Loїс, which came here before us, haven't yet found the sixth hunter."
The gvroth huntress made a loud gulp, closed her eyes for a long moment, and repeated a couple of deep breaths before continuing: "After what we've been through at the lakeshore manor, I'm sure you know what to do now. I informed others of your presence and cooperation." After saying this, she permitted a couple of tiny nods, with you nonverbally replying to her with a more defined one.
________________________
Phase 1 out of 3
Assign characters to the tasks. One character can only investigate one zone during one phase. Each character will make rolls mentioned in the tasks. The higher the scores, the more & better clues would be discovered. If more than one character is assigned to a single site, the highest score will be taken into account, with a chance of getting additional bonuses.
Each character has unique expertise and talents, which may yield extra clues.
More options might open in later phases, depending on the progress made.
[] Talk to someone regarding the series of murders. (Hard CHA check (20) OR Hard persuasion check (24), Luck roll) -[] talk to Inga
--[] Lucy
---[] Disclose the leads on the murderer
---[] Do not disclose the leads on the murderer
--[] Ulren
--[] Sephorah
--[] Karl
-[] talk to Loїс
--[] Lucy
---[] Disclose the leads on the murderer
---[] Do not disclose the leads on the murderer
--[] Ulren
--[] Sephorah
--[] Karl
-[] talk to Elgar
--[] Lucy
---[] Disclose the leads on the murderer
---[] Do not disclose the leads on the murderer
--[] Ulren
--[] Sephorah
--[] Karl
Fragment of conversation with Inga the Kheree huntress on Bloom 17 of the year 1469
Do you want to know what behemoths are? Really? Not that I'm ridiculing you, but getting this deep into Blugd-Tur without being wary of those is... never mind. So, have you encountered baavgurs? ... They are less common on the eastern side of Blugd-Tur, so seeing them around Baathor isn't ordinary, yet neither is it unheard of. Guess, when the dust settles and the recent beast's plague passes, we will have to rediscover and relearn quite some habitats' locations in the valley.
Anyway - back to behemoths: try imagining something resembling a baavgur, but time and a half to two times larger, with three huge claws on each frontal paw, sharp tusks, the ability to move biped, and of absolutely vicious temper. I kid you not: baavgurs, who are generally considered one of the most ferocious beasts in Blugd-Tur, are but moody house cats when we compare them to behemoths. These bastards, unlike most of the big game in the valley, are not rational: even if they are not hungry or protecting their territory, with high odds, they would try to kill anything they see that is smaller than them, which is a lot of things, really. Yes - they are incredibly dumb and don't know what fear is. Idiotic to the point when, during the mating season, males would fight among themselves, frequently with lethal outcomes, mate with a female, and then fight the female - also at times with fatal results - because they forgot what they were doing or whatever else reasons. Perhaps, their stupidity and the lack of self- or kin preservation are the reasons that keep them from overrunning the plains.
But aside from their notorious idiocy, these beasts are true survivalists: they are omnivorous, even if meat is more to their liking. Their stomachs and livers allow them to sustain on the almost wholly rotten carrion without risking poisoning. Floral or animal toxins have negligible effects on them. Neither nigh-arid nor freezing weather seems to do a number on them. And, if this wasn't enough, they have nearly no natural foes aside from themselves, draconids, and a handful of apex predators like chimeras or manticores as they are fairly fast, ferocious, and unwearying. Even the most capable veteran hunters would be disadvantaged should they decide to take on such a beast alone, so we hunt them in groups of seven to twelve pairs of hands. The best course of action for those traveling in fewer numbers or incapable of fighting back would be to hide and wait for the beast to pass. Luckily, the behemoths' senses are somewhat duller than that of landers or roths. Also, coming with the height of about two to three adult landers with the ash-gray to crimson-brown fur colors make locating them before they sense you reasonably simple. But even then, they are a tremendous nuisance to the locals and hence to us whenever a beast gets reported. It's worth noticing, however: their pelts and leather are of an inquisitive quality when used for outfits or armor.
You see, behemoths usually - and I emphasize usually - fall into slumber in midwinter. They become more active late winter or early spring as they need to replenish fat from half a season of hibernation. While unpredictable and dangerous enough when roaming around in search of food, it is in the middle to late springtime when they become genuinely aggressive as it is their mating season. After heeding this nature's call, the survived beasts would proceed back to their territories, fighting the infringers and preparing for the next cycle for males and making a cozy lair for the upcoming litter when females are concerned. Peculiar fact: behemoth males are one of the worst fathers, even among the highly territorial animals. Should they stumble upon behemoth cubs, the odds are, they would eat them, even if they are their own offsprings. Like, male behemoths have only two tasks in their lives: to mate and to survive until the next mating season.
Female behemoths, however, are incredibly protective mothers and would take down anything that approaches their nest with cubs, be it smaller predators, people, or other behemoths. They beget from one to three cubs typically. With every brood, a female behemoth makes a lair in the new location, so one should always be wary even when traversing the known routes, especially during fall when the beasts actively hunt to prepare themselves and, in the case of brood mothers, their cubs for winter. Another peculiar detail: unlike baavgur cubs, who can look cute in their infancy, behemoth cubs are outright repulsive from childhood, reminding degenerative pseudo giants rather than your average mammals. Aside from the hideous looks, their behavior isn't any better, especially concerning their siblings, which is why usually only one cub from the litter would survive until early adulthood.
And, that's about all if you wanted the brief. If only your group didn't have quite a formidable fighter and especially a fire-spitter, to whose magic behemoths can be highly suspective, I would've been worried sick for you as we are about to enter one of the two dangerous seasons as far as these monsters are concerned. But even though your band might be capable of taking down one or two behemoths, I'll stress to you to follow the hunter's first rule and never lose vigilance. Otherwise, it would be a shame if fair folks like yours would end up a dinner for something this brutal yet stupid.
