Hellgate Hotel: A Quest of Friendship and Demons

picklepikkl · Mar 21, 2025

Dawn and reality break together.

Space twists; trembles; tears. A tiny hole appears in the air and rapidly doubles in size, twice, thrice, five times, ten times. Around it the grass begins to wither, and the stones begin to crumble, and the very color begins to leach out of the sky, and only then do the first demons appear. They pour out of the gate by their dozens, then by their hundreds: monstrous figures of billowing smoke, solid only in their jagged teeth and sickle claws, capable only of destruction in this foreign realm. And then, after them, the first of their greater brethren begins to emerge, a chaotic swirl of color gaining clarity and shape by the second.

Across the open field, a smaller twist in space, and a man appears. He is still for a brief moment, and then with a gesture and a shouted word, his magic pours forth to seal that which should not be open. The portal's expansion slows and then stops entirely; the greater demon, only half-formed, struggles, freezes, and then rapidly withdraws; the flood of lesser demons slows and becomes a mere trickle.

Leaving only the few thousand already on this side for Anathon Grier to deal with. And he can feel the portal testing its restraints: left to itself, it will reopen.

He cannot do this alone.

With another incantation and an expression of will that leaves him gasping, he expands space surrounding the horde, forcing them to cross hundreds of new yards to reach any target. But there is no time to recover; with this bought minute, he focuses his mind and sends messages across the world, to spirit mage after spirit mage, asking, imploring, begging for help. The first responds Yes, and he tears open a spatial rift suitable for intercontinental travel as his pulse beats loud in his head. He reaches in, clasps the hero by their wrist, and pulls them through.

Sweat beads across his skin and his hand has already begun to tremble. He ignores it. As his ally rushes to battle, Grier layers another seal on the Hellgate and then tears the world open again to draw forth another hero. There is no question of doing enough; only the question of how much time he can buy before he can do no more. His fate is sealed.

Forgive me, Miella.

Orolin is a world of magic and mystery, where geomantic engines power the neon lights of shining glass-and-chrome cities, where heroes channel the surging power of their own spirits to perform wondrous deeds. It is a world beset by danger and intrigue and war, as worlds so often are.

And now it is being invaded by the demons who dwell amongst the stars. This is not a minor incursion, such as has happened before. It is not a single demon or a small pack of them, not even a little easily-contained portal. A Hellgate of unfathomable scope -- an occult passageway leading to dozens or hundreds of inter-linked demonic other-worlds -- has appeared right outside the resort town of Vindar, on the coast of the world's farthest-flung and most poorly-explored continent.

Had the Hellgate been left unsealed, even for so long as an hour, it might have worked evil untold. It might, perhaps, have ripped the very world asunder. But it had not existed for more than a few instants before it was discovered by the legendary magus Anathon Grier, the foremost master of spatial magic in the history of mankind.

Grier placed countless sealing-spells and wards upon the Hellgate. They would not last forever -- would not even last a few weeks -- but they would last long enough, he hoped. The demonic portal would open slowly, in bits and pieces, not all at once.

Then he sent his thoughts outward to great heroes, the mightiest spirit-mages of Orolin. He begged them to offer up their aid, to drop everything, to come fight the demons and save the world. And if they assented, as many did, he tore open a passage in the aether and brought them straight to Vindar.

Over and over he did this, until his spirit could no longer take the strain of it, and he died.

You are one of those heroes. You stand now far from home, far from everything you thought you cared about, in a fantastically-luxurious seaside resort somewhere near the back end of nowhere. You are surrounded by living legends. And soon enough, Grier's sealing-spells will begin to crumble, and the demon-realms will begin to press into the world.

You will be ready to fight, when that happens. You must be.

Welcome to the Hellgate Hotel.

What sort of hero has answered Grier's call? First, a question of mundane identity:

[][GENDER] Write-in

And the second issue to be decided today: with what magic does your own spirit overflow?

[][MAGIC] Ancestral Scion
Ancestral scions can conjure forth spiritual entities that appear to be the ghosts or phantoms of their own genetic predecessors. These ancestor-ghosts can fight on behalf of the mages who summon them, and -- sometimes -- offer up their own skills and knowledge. As a scion grows in power, their ghosts will display more coherence-of-personality and more capacity for independent action. Scholars are divided as to whether these entities are genuinely the spiritual remnants of deceased humans, or merely psychic projections of the summoner's imagination; scions themselves tend to have strong feelings on this issue. All known ancestral scions come from a few famous lineages, which manifest this form of magic with great regularity; the most noteworthy of these is the royal line of Gavis.

[][MAGIC] Beast Soul Adept
Some mages find that their empowered spirit takes the form of an "inner beast" of some kind -- a true spiritual self that is animalistic, or monstrous, and that can be partly unleashed into the world through the expenditure of power. This is one of the very most common and widespread kinds of spirit magic, although it can take many different forms, since an "inner beast" can be practically anything. It is also, usually, one of the most straightforwardly physical kinds of magic. Beast Soul Adepts can temporarily give themselves features of their totemic identities: claws, fangs, wings, whatever is appropriate. They can often employ the senses, or the instincts, or the unusual abilities, of their beasts. At the heights of their ability, they can fully transform into bestial shape.

[][MAGIC] Body Savant
Body savants' magic focuses on control and manipulation of their own physical forms. At a basic level, most mages of this kind are effortlessly healthy and fit, and resist most nonmagical diseases. Those who choose to hone this power develop an intuitive familiarity with the thousand intricate interconnected systems of their own bodies -- a familiarity usually supplemented by intensive, long-term study -- to better understand their limitations, and then push those limitations as far as possible. Body savants are ever surefooted and poised, capable of delivering precise and shattering blows with their bare hands and feet, and can control their adrenaline and serotonin levels to modulate their instinctual reactions or keep themselves awake and on their feet far longer than normal. Masters of this discipline can reshape their body on the macro-level: creating backup organs, coaxing spikes of bone to serve as armor or weapons, and even healing from mortal wounds.

[][MAGIC] Echo Caller
Echo Callers make for excellent scholars and researchers in arcane fields, for their power allows them to perceive magical phenomena directly -- synesthetically "seeing" the flows and patterns of the aetheric forces -- like no one else can. They are most famous, however, for their ability to make their own magic conform to the patterns that they "see." Which is to say; during the brief moments when the residue of a spell or magical effect lingers in the world, an echo mime can often cast that same spell or create that same effect, regardless of its origins.

[][MAGIC] Mnemonist
Many mages of many kinds possess at least some small measure of psychometry: the ability to sense echoes-of-the-past that are strongly connected to a particular person, place, or item. Those who choose to focus on this power can often learn to experience and interpret these echoes with greater clarity. Although perceptible ambient memories are rare, and generally appear only in connection with moments of great emotion or spectacular amounts of magic, a master mnemonist can go searching for a particular event or moment of the past -- experiencing it through multiple perspectives, and even turning themself into an amplifier to transmit their understanding directly to others. Mnemonism is not a particularly combat-oriented kind of magic, but mnemonists who do take up arms learn to capitalize on their ability to gather valuable information about their enemies' capabilities and weaknesses.

[][MAGIC] Purifier
Purifiers wield the magic of the purging flame, which they generally perceive as burning eternally inside their heart, waiting to be unleashed on the world. Purifiers are known for their skill with the obvious combative applications of fire, but the purging flame is also capable of much subtler applications. Applied with careful skill, it can purge poison from food, or disease from a living body. Applied with very careful skill, it can purge memories -- or even entire aspects of personality -- from the mind of someone who is willing to be so changed. As a rule, this kind of magic manifests among people who have a deep-seated desire to change the world around them.

[][MAGIC] Shadow Dancer
This brand of spirit magic revolves around solidifying, and manipulating, shadows. The most fundamental shadow dancer techniques mostly revolve around the mage turning their own shadow into a capable, empowered ally -- a scout and spy and combat partner, perfectly in synch with its master's thoughts, perfectly silent. Shadow dancers can also manipulate ambient shadows, transforming them into temporary weapons or hiding-places. Shadow dancers are uncommon even by spirit-mage standards, and they tend to be extremely secretive.

[][MAGIC] Silver Knight
A mage of this kind can conjure forth, at will, a suit of armor and a weapon -- uniquely individual in its form, but always gleaming silver -- shaped from pure magic force. It is said that a silver knight's arms and armor are physical manifestations of their very soul. Their weapon can strike with unnatural force, but is practically weightless in their hands, and can be intuitively maneuvered with great skill; their armor is nigh-impervious, but does not hinder their movement at all. Silver knights are found all over the world, and often make lives for themselves as elite soldiers, for many armies prize them above all other kinds of mages.

[][MAGIC] Stormchild
Storm magic is among the most widespread kinds of spirit magic, and for many people, the stormchild is the absolute classic archetype of the magician. Stormchildren can soar through the air like birds, and they can unleash blasts of lightning from their hands. Their skills are, of course, prized by armies -- they make for excellent scouts, and are unmatched as air-artillery -- but as a rule they are free-spirited and rebellious. They often live restless and nomadic lives, although there are a few Nivvean martial sects with traditions of helping stormchildren discipline themselves and channel their power.

[][MAGIC] Stonelaw Enforcer
Though Stonelaw Enforcers are visible on the battlefield for the walls they raise, the terrain they manipulate, and the boulders they hurl, their true power does not rest in mere manipulations of soil and rock. Rather, they wield the conceptual essence of the earth: the principles of weight and mass, of absorption and solidity, are theirs to command. While found all over the world, they are most prized in Morleas, for the tense peaces and wary alliances of that continent are ever in need of those who can help raise fortresses and suppress raiding parties.

Welcome, SV, to a reboot of my first quest. Hellgate Hotel is an online RPG that was run for my friends during COVID lockdown, to give us something to do as a community when we couldn't gather in person. Three and a half years ago, I attempted to adapt it to a quest format; I rapidly realized that I had bitten off way more than I could chew and, sadly, discontinued it. Last year, I ran I Walk In Dreams, a quest that successfully concluded a few months after it began. Now with some actual experience under my belt and a way more stable situation (my job is on solid footing! I got married! I have @mirror_lock, one of the original authors, helping me out!), I am ready to take another swing at it -- I felt that tying the resumed quest to the old character was unreasonable, hence the new thread and fresh start. The character creation votes should look fairly similar to what came before, and the lore drops as well, but there might be differences, and anything in the old thread that is not in this one is not necessarily canon!

Important notes:

Votes will be approval and not by plan unless otherwise specified. I strongly encourage people to approval vote all the options they like!
This quest will be fairly mechanically lightweight but not zero mechanics. The action will revolve around hanging around a hotel with your fellow summoned-from-far-away heroes, getting to know each other, forming political and personal relationships, and sometimes delving into arcane rifts to fight demons. You know, if you have time.
I've got a ton of setting information ready to go, but I will be posting it in digestible chunks, generally after votes close, rather than whacking you all with the Lord of the Rings appendices by way of a hello. That said, if you have specific questions, I am happy to answer.
Character creation should span three votes -- this one, and then two more -- and then we will launch into the start of the quest. That said, because of the importance of spirit magic for establishing the character, I may hold a run-off vote between the leading options of the [MAGIC] task, if there are a couple of strong contenders and no runaway leads.
There will be multiple viable ways to approach this quest's plot, but I feel it important to emphasize that there will be no Golden Path I am laying hints for that gets you the Bonus Secret Best Ending. Different paths will be different.

If you are still with me, thank you very much for your time and attention. Orolin awaits you, hero.

picklepikkl · Mar 23, 2025

[*][MAGIC] Stonelaw Enforcer
[*][GENDER] Female

Tally

Background
Spirit magic is of the spirit, and the spirit you possess is shaped by the life you've lived: your upbringing, experiences, and outlook shape and direct the expression of your powers. In this section you will be voting on the broad strokes of the life you have lived so far, which in turn shapes how your magic manifests.

[][BACKGROUND] The Engineer
While the martial fraternities are the traditional path for talented Nivvean spirit mages with a military bent, they are not the only path. The corporations retain private security forces, of course, but between battlefield fortifications and public works projects, the civil service has plenty of uses for your talents. You have served your empire with distinction in everything from disaster recovery to border defense, and if there is less glory to be had here than elsewhere, you find the patriotic satisfaction adequate compensation. You specialize in terrain control, raising strongpoints for your allies and baffles for your foes with speed and precision.

[][BACKGROUND] The Windfall
Being a spirit mage is strong insulation against outright poverty per se, but in the mercantile cities of the Republican Entente, it's not as much of a negotiating asset as one might think. After a few fruitless efforts to pull yourself up by your bootstraps, however, fate intervened - in the form of a collapsing dike outside the poor quarter in which you dwelt. Without thinking twice, you threw every ounce of strength you possessed into holding the structure together while the quarter was evacuated and aid was dispatched. In the short time since, you have been lauded as a hero and have been offered training to hone your strong natural talent.
Note: Your youth means that you are less polished a combatant than other options: you have not yet developed a specialized fighting style or unique expressions of your spirit magic. However, this means your potential for growth during the quest is larger and more possible to actively direct than other options.

[][BACKGROUND] The Monster Hunter
You came of age just a little too late to get involved in the last round of Morlean wars. But there are always crises that need the attention of strong spirit mages, and years of funneling spirit mages into the military had left a lot of necessary tasks unaddressed in the meantime. You are a monster hunter, sometimes operating solo and sometimes with a team, protecting your country not from Omonezhan expansion but from the beasts that endanger the roads and small towns. You specialize in the gravitational aspect of your powers, turning the massive size of most monsters against them.

[][BACKGROUND] The Architect
As a young woman you fought for the League of Chivalry, full of fervor to reclaim the glory of your homeland. But when your enemies proved their own valor and stalled your advance on the battlefield, and rumors of scandals and corruption in church leadership began to be substantiated, you realized how your faith had been exploited for worldly gain; disillusioned, you resigned your commission. In the decades since, you have turned your talents to peaceful purposes: designing and building buildings, especially temples, to nurture your homeland and glorify your gods. You specialize in the movement of immense quantities of earth and stone, able to lift and guide boulders with the ease with which others control bricks.
Note: Your age and experience mean that you have developed your powers more than other options, with an extremely polished fighting style and unique magic. However, your potential for growth is smaller, as you have already followed much of the path available to you.

[][BACKGROUND] The Archaeologist
When people talk about the wealth of the earth, usually that is a poetic way of referring to either bountiful harvests or precious minerals. But in Zareas, the glories of ancient civilizations lie buried, or precariously collapsed, or blocked by rubble. Instead of following well-meant encouragement to the battlefield, you chose the wilderness and mysteries lost to time, and your spirit magic guides you safely and empowers you to reclaim the past from the grasp of the land. You specialize in unusually fine and precise applications of your powers, able to manipulate sand as easily as stones.

Note: All of the backgrounds have all the basic Stonelaw Enforcer powers -- all of them can throw rocks, manipulate the ground, mess with gravity, etc. The four options that have a specialty (i.e. everyone except The Windfall) are just capable of greater feats in their particular field than the non-specialized ones are, and the Architect is even stronger in her specialization than the other three are in theirs due to her significantly greater experience.

Skills
In this quest there are nine skills, which cover noncombat challenges that merit mechanical resolution. The skills are Athletics, Stealth, Endurance, History, Esoterica, Perception, Socialize, Performance, and Deception. The normal range for skills is 1-5; as a spirit mage, your range is 2-6. Your rating in a skill determines how many d10s you roll on a skill challenge of that type; 1-6 are a failure, 7-9 are a success, and 10 is two successes. Most non-opposed challenges will require one success; hard challenges will generally be represented with a penalty to your rating rather than a higher requirement for success. Rolling no successes and at least one 1 constitutes a botch (a failure with further negative complications), and rolling at least 3 successes more than you need (i.e. generally 4 successes) will constitute a crit (a success with additional positive consequences).

Rather than have a complicated plan vote where you draw up legal skill arrays, I have just generated a number of skill arrays for you to vote on. All skill arrays have 1 skill at each of 2 and 6, 2 skills at each of 3 and 5, and 3 skills at 4. Write-ins are accepted here!

Esoterica is used for random bits of metaphysical theory or weird nonsense related to magical things in the world. I promise it is not the Solve The Metaplot skill, it is a grab-bag of curiosities. For the purposes of pun lovers, I suppose I should mention that geomancy, which refers not to what Stonelaw Adepts do but to the understanding and use of leylines, falls under this skill.
Socialize is used for creating a favorable impression in one-on-one or small-group interactions. Performance is for performances either artistic (e.g. music or writing a poem) or rhetorical (e.g. speechifying to crowds or writing an essay).
If you have questions about other skills, tag me.

[][SKILLS] The Scout
Athletics 4, Stealth 5, Endurance 5, History 4, Esoterica 3, Perception 6, Socialize 3, Performance 2, Deception 4

[][SKILLS] The Scholar
Athletics 4, Stealth 2, Endurance 4, History 5, Esoterica 6, Perception 3, Socialize 4, Performance 5, Deception 3

[][SKILLS] The Savvy
Athletics 4, Stealth 3, Endurance 3, History 5, Esoterica 2, Perception 4, Socialize 6, Performance 4, Deception 5

[][SKILLS] The Sportswoman
Athletics 6, Stealth 4, Endurance 5, History 2, Esoterica 3, Perception 5, Socialize 4, Performance 4, Deception 3

[][SKILLS] The Explorer
Athletics 5, Stealth 4, Endurance 4, History 4, Esoterica 5, Perception 6, Socialize 3, Performance 2, Deception 3
(Contributed by @Randino Treviani)

[][SKILLS] The Leader
Athletics 4, Stealth 2, Endurance 4, History 3, Esoterica 4, Perception 5, Socialize 5, Performance 6, Deception 3
(Contributed by @AlexScribler)

[][SKILLS] Write-in
To be valid, a write-in must have 1 skill at each of 2 and 6, 2 skills at each of 3 and 5, and 3 skills at 4. I will add valid write-ins to this post for ease of reference.

Please make sure to vote by task and not plans -- while I agree that certain backgrounds suggest certain skills, they are not required. For example, if The Archaeologist were to win with a skill array low on History and Esoterica, this is perfectly valid: you would just lean more towards treasure hunter than the academic sort of archaeologist, clearing the way for scholars to come after you.

picklepikkl · Mar 24, 2025

[*][BACKGROUND] The Windfall
[*][SKILLS] The Scholar

Tally

You are a young and brilliant hero from one of the cities comprising the Republican Entente (or, as a forthcoming supplement about Morlean-specific history and lore will explain now that this is your background, its successor the Latterleague). You saved a lot of lives, and that act was your ticket out of the difficult life you'd been living until that point. And now you're doing heroism again, so that's obviously going to be twice as good, right?

Anyway, now that you've dealt with the big mechanical issues, we have some bookkeeping to address before we're ready to go. First of all, your name.

[][NAME] Write-in

Onomastically, you should feel free to be creative. Morleas is a very large and diverse continent and basically any name origin has a plausible story for how you wound up where you did. However, given your specific background, feel free to mine historically mercantile seafaring cultures for inspiration, plus here are some examples dotted from around the continent:

Rocío de Moncada (Vespalonia)
Lucia Helena (Vespalonia, personal name)
Pilpyas (Omonezh, personal name)
Enyasthe (Omonezh, personal name)
Galinar Fulgen (Gavis)
Verina Juven (Gavis)
Paxton Isaias (Fatharol)
Tamaline Nemeth (Fatharol)
Goran Mironov (Borlion)
Rushenna Celanova (Borlion)
Demetrios Harpakrides (Drovos)
Cinara Iseides (Drovos)
Sabine Brochard (Lorania)
Marina Caulet (Lorania)
Vanessa Croes (Caruva)
Yuisa Mahase (Caruva)

Oh, one last thing: remember how I got hype and dropped some lore about demons and astrology? I thought it would be nifty if you guys voted on what sign you were born under, and thus what astrological doom you have. Purely for fun and flavor, of course. I can't see why it would come up.

[] [ZODIAC] Python, the Serpent
Born in Springdawn: "You will be consumed"

[] [ZODIAC] Vexilla, the Banner
Born in Highspring: "You will be conquered"

[] [ZODIAC] Furmica, the Ant
Born in Deepspring: "You will labor fruitlessly"

[] [ZODIAC] Raster, the Harrow
Born in Summerdawn: "You will be torn apart"

[] [ZODIAC] Saltatrix, the Dancer
Born in Highsummer: "What you love will leave you"

[] [ZODIAC] Pardus, the Panther
Born in Deepsummer: "What you fear will follow you"

[] [ZODIAC] Eisoptra, the Mirror
Born in Falldawn: "You will be hateful unto yourself"

[] [ZODIAC] Meles, the Badger
Born in Highfall: "You will know great strife"

[] [ZODIAC] Cursor, the Runner
Born in Deepfall: "You will never know rest"

[] [ZODIAC] Gladio, the Sword
Born in Winterdawn: "You will wound what you love"

[] [ZODIAC] Gemma, the Jewel
Born in Highwinter: "Your treasure will bring you no joy"

[] [ZODIAC] Crategus, the Hawthorn-Tree
Born in Deepwinter: "You will be imprisoned"

[] [ZODIAC] Lamparus, the Lantern-Bearer
Born on Lamptide: "All that you perceive will be hateful to you"

picklepikkl · Mar 29, 2025

[*][NAME] Maria Francisca Teixeira Carvalho e Lima Mão de Ferro Santa Rita Bandeira de Mello Borges
[*][ZODIAC] Lamparus, the Lantern-Bearer

Tally

You were six years old when you learned to be ashamed of your name.

When you were very young, you and your mother lived with your grandmother in Vespalonia. You remember her very hazily, more as a bundle of impressions than as anything like her face or the sound of her voice: a sense of security, of calm strength, of warm love. But one winter a fever came through the village and many caught it. You caught it, but you got better. Your oma didn't. So, shortly after your sixth birthday, when your uncle's ship came like it did every spring, you and your mother were on it as it sailed back to its home port of Osvoor. At the dock, he greeted his sister with a careful embrace, but you he scooped up and twirled around and slipped a piece of candy like you hadn't gotten at Lamptide because everyone was in mourning for your grandmother, and you felt safe again.

Your uncle explained in Caruvan (which had been the special language you spoke with your grandmother, and now was going to be what you spoke with everyone) that you were invited for dinner later, but he thought the two of you should settle in first. You were apparently going to be staying in an apartment he owned but did not live in. That sounded fine to you; you weren't sure why he paused while talking about it, or one of his sailors smirked behind him when he said it. Once you arrived and everyone else had left, your mother went straight to bed to rest, but you were eager to explore your new home. So you trooped down the exterior stairs and went to look around. Quickly, you ran into other kids, playing with a ball and some carved bits of wood in an alley. You'd never seen that game before, but it didn't look that complicated.

"Hi!" you said to them. "Can I play? My mãe and I just got here, and I don't know anyone."

The boy closest to you eyed you speculatively, but smiled and nodded. "Sure," he said. "I'm Cas, and this is my brother Coen, and those are Anouk and Ros and Lina. What's your name?"

You took a deep breath. Your mother had practiced it with you. You were going to say it right, just like she liked. "Maria Francisca Teixeira Carvalho e Lima Mão de Ferro Santa Rita Bandeira de Mello Borges!" you chanted.

The kids stared at you. They looked confused. You were confused, too. And then, after the silence had stretched out, Cas burst out laughing, and that seemed to be the signal for the others to laugh too. Your stomach sank. What was happening?

"Oh!" he gasped. "That's... that's great. That's the nobbiest name I've ever heard. Real nobs aren't half that nobby. You're all right, new girl. But what is it, for real?"

You stared at him. His smile faded as he looked back at you. And then, after the silence had stretched out, you burst into tears and ran away.

You were eight years old when you realized there was something wrong with your mother.

It hadn't been obvious back home (as you still thought of Vespalonia). Your oma knew her daughter and understood, and must have made sure that things that would be problems wouldn't intrude, and it was a place your mother knew. Or maybe your mother had just gotten worse with time. Whatever the reason: here in Osvoor, she was having a lot more trouble. You remembered, when you were little, the days your mother would declare that bad people were coming for her and the two of you had to hide, and you'd go through the big house and find some secret place to wedge yourselves in and then be very quiet until your grandmother found you and gently coaxed your mother out. It had seemed like a fun game, like something she was doing to make dreary days more exciting.

It didn't feel like that anymore. Now, it frightened you too, whenever it happened, and it seemed to be happening more often, and there was no more oma to come get you. You needed to do the coaxing, now. You realized pretty quickly that there weren't bad people who had followed you from Vespalonia to Osvoor: the enemies were in her mind, which was much worse because that meant you couldn't hide from them or get your uncle to file a complaint in the courts or drop bricks on their heads. Your uncle's house was nearly twenty minutes' walk away, and he was usually not there because he was at sea on one of his ships a lot, and your aunt and cousins were not really reassuring presences, so it was just you to keep her safe. So a part of your mind was always on guard, from then on, watching for the moments when your mothers' enemies approached, and then doing what you could to drive them away, whether that be fortifying your apartment or going through soothing rituals with her. The easiest way to do this was to get her to talk about your father, which always calmed her down and made her feel safe. Only, you hated that, because all of it was lies.

Well. Lies was an exaggeration. But it wasn't true. You could tell, because the stories changed, and your mother seemed not to realize when they had changed. He was a spirit mage -- no, he was an explorer in Zareas -- no, he was a soldier fighting necromancers -- no, fighting the Chevaliers -- no, fighting Omonezh. Sometimes, on very bad days, details would change over the course of a story. Only one thing was constant: he was always a Vespalonian nobleman of exalted lineage. Hence your name, to carry the honor of your distinguished ancestry.

It made you want to scream. But that would just frighten and upset her, and you couldn't bear to do that, so you just smiled and asked for another story.

You were eleven years old when your uncle died and everything became horrible very quickly.

You got the news one morning: one of his sailors stopped you in the street, on your way to school. An unusually active golathon, outside its normal waters for the season. Another ship that had been sailing in convoy with them managed to escape to carry the news. The two of you went and told your mother. She seemed dazed; she cried. Later that week, your aunt sent a servant to request your presence at the house. Not both you and your mother: just you.

Dressed in black, she explained that the death of her husband and the loss of that voyage's cargo had put things on difficult financial footing. That, in order to maintain the business long enough for it to recover, she needed to cut costs, and that the apartment you had been inhabiting for half your life was an extremely nice one in an expensive part of town that her husband never should have purchased in the first place. Anger and hurt, well-worn with time, suffused her voice at that last part, very unlike her previous fragile but steady calm; you put that reaction together with some things that kids whispered about and the realization made you flush red. She mistook your embarrassment for upset and continued speaking, but now in the manner that one does with a child. (You were a child.) (You hadn't been a child in three years.)

They weren't going to turn you out into the streets. You were family. But you would be living in a different place (and by now you knew Osvoor well enough to know that it was a poorer neighborhood), above a laundry business that a friend of hers owned. Your mother could work there on her good days, and between that and your aunt's friend doing her a favor, room and board would be covered. "I think it will be good for her," she explained. "The mind turns easier to strange fancies when idle, after all."

You didn't know what to say. You didn't know if you could say anything. You didn't know if this was a negotiation or an adult telling a child how it was going to be. But as you walked back to the apartment that soon would no longer be your home, you swore to yourself that you would make sure your mother was taken care of, whatever it took.

You were thirteen years old when you came into your power.

Your growth spurt had arrived like a lightning-bolt. You were already taller and broader-shouldered than most grown women, with no sign of stopping. Unfortunately, that meant that when you punched a swaggering older boy in front of his friends for asking if your mother was a prostitute, it wasn't a cute act of meaningless defiance that could be laughed off from a position of invulnerability. It was a real blow; it was a challenge.

But when you were backed into an alley by him and his friends, through your anger and fear you felt something else, like a new sense, and in desperation you pulled on it and they staggered as if they were suddenly carrying heavy cargoes on their backs. "Stonelaw," one gasped out. "Piet, maybe we should..."

The boy you had punched did not wait to hear his friend's suggestion. Instead, he gathered himself up, squared his shoulders, and ran at you, fury in his face. So you did what came naturally, and pulled in a different way, and a broken corner of discarded masonry shot through the air and caught him on his shins, and he stumbled, but looked like he was gathering himself to come at you again, and his friends had recovered, and-

"Enough!" an older man's accented voice rang out. "Quite enough." You recognized him: an elderly Drovonian shopkeeper nearby, walking slowly with the assistance of a cane.

"Meneer," one of the boys said. "You didn't see it. This... girl, she-"

"I saw enough," he snapped back. "Would have come down sooner, but I can only go so fast, hmm? Marinus, the other day your mother was in my shop and said you wanted to join the council guard -- you think they will favor a ruffian who needs three friends to fight a girl?" Well, you'd heard some stories, an insane part of your mind commented, but you kept your lips clamped firmly shut, and after a few more pointed comments and loud bemoaning of the unmannerly state of today's youth from the Drovonian, the boys left, shooting dark looks over their shoulders at you. You were going to have to step carefully for a season or two.

"Now," the gentleman said. "You're the washerwoman's girl, aren't you. What's your name, then?"

You took a deep breath. "Maria Francisca, meneer," you replied firmly. His eyebrows lifted, but he didn't comment.

"Maria Francisca," he repeated. "I am Gian Cenci. You're a Stonelaw Enforcer, or are my eyes going too?"

You hesitated, not sure how honest to be. "I... I am not sure. I've never been able to do anything like that before, but..." you concentrated, and pulled on that new feeling in a slightly different way that felt right, and the uneven dirt under his feet smoothed out. He stamped at it with his cane, and then smiled at you.

"Maria Francisca," he said. "Would you like work? I have had my store here for forty years, selling paper and pens and books, but the neighborhood has gotten rougher and my hearing and legs aren't what they used to be. I worry about thieves and vandals in the night, and fire, and someone who can weigh them down and turn the ground against them would be very useful. I cannot pay much, but I can feed you and give you more to take home."

You paused. This sounded too good to be true -- you could come after your mother slept and sleep while she was working. But there was one thing you wanted to check... "If I'm careful with them, can I read the books?"

You were seventeen years old when you became a hero.

You were walking out of the city to practice with your powers as you often did on days your mother was feeling well, taking a path by one of the dikes. You were practicing sensing through them, exploring the limits of your range and the sensitivity of detection, when you felt something wrong. A deep crack where there shouldn't be one, hidden from sight; greater pressure on one section of wall than normal; strain cascading in all directions. With a frisson of horror, you realized what was going to happen, and looked back at everything that was in the path of the waters. If you ran, could you get your mother and get out? Warn people along the way?

Then you felt another soundless groan of stresses in the material, and before you could think again you reached out with your power and took hold of the damaged section. "THE DIKE IS FAILING," you bellowed with the full force of your capacious lungs. "EVACUATE AND GET HELP." And you didn't spare any attention to see if anyone heeded your words, because you could feel the weight of the water and the trembling of the stones and you sank your entire mind into the task at hand. Quickly, it grew to hurt. The stone was shifting less under the strain, but only because you had taken that strain upon your own spirit. Hundreds of tons of water, mercilessly pressuring you. Crushing you. Suffocating you. You were one woman, holding back the full force of the sea. How long would you have to keep this up?

You dug your heels in. Your will was like iron -- no, like steel -- no, none of those, it was like your will and it was not going to break. You would hold out for this second, and then in the next second you would hold out for that second, and so on. You had learned about proof by induction from meneer Cenci's books. You might still fail, but it wasn't going to be because you gave up. Stone would shatter before your resolve did.

Interminable seconds crawled by. You had no idea how many. So many. It hurt, and it hurt, and it wasn't going to stop hurting, but you were getting used to it, and with the free ability to think you reflected on the fact that you were standing right in the failure zone. Would drowning hurt more than this? Or would the weight of the water falling upon your body and not just your mind crush you like a matchstick before you could notice? You hoped someone had gotten your mother out of the way. You hoped someone would take care of her. You hoped-

The weight lifted.

You opened your eyes and dizzily began to topple over. Had the water broken through? You scrabbled with your powers, only to be interrupted by a voice. "Easy!" a man said, and you noticed after a moment that someone appeared to be holding you up. You managed to remember how to turn your head and focus. There was a blond man in a magnificent purple robe smiling at you. "Easy. You're safe. Everything's fine. There was a partial evacuation, but now things are under control. You saved a lot of lives; I don't think I've ever seen such endurance from someone so young."

"The... the water?" you croaked out, presently challenged for coherence. He seemed to understand what you meant, though.

"There's a team of other Stonelaws shoring things up. They erected temporary walls, to isolate the water pressuring the failing section, and then I opened a portal to the middle of the ocean to get rid of it while repairs could be made."

You blinked. "Opened... portal?"

He smiled more broadly. "Anathon Grier at your service, miss. The town council sent a leyline message to me; I grabbed a few people and came right over. And you are?"

You are going to turn twenty years old in less than a week, and everything is going great.

In the wake of the dike failure that didn't happen, a lot of problems in your life got speedily resolved. After you had pulled yourself together, you and Anathon Grier talked, and the combination of your post-crisis shakes and the presence of a sympathetic ear meant that years of accumulated struggle poured out of you over coffee and pastries, and before he portaled back to Fatharol or Zareas or maybe the moon he had some words with people. It's amazing what doors will be opened in the name of gratitude, especially when the pride of Morleas himself is turning the doorknobs for you.

Now you're in Caruva City, studying at the university there. It's not Anathon's university -- he's the Chancellor of the Academy of High Magic, in Fatharol -- but what with the efforts at fostering good relations within the Latterleague and the general respect everyone has for him, if he suggests that a school find a scholarship for someone it doesn't matter that he isn't in charge of that decision. You're registered as Maria Francisca Teixeira, because that name at least comes from your grandfather. There is another Stonelaw Enforcer among the faculty who has been helping smooth out your self-taught irregularities, just as the university itself is smoothing out the unevenness in your education. You're in a small student apartment, but your mother has her own place: airier, close to a garden full of the Vespalonian flowers that will grow here, and with a small number of screened servants who understand her difficulties and will be gentle with her. You made sure of it.

(You're not sad to be gone from Osvoor. There's... too much history there. But before you left, the shrine priests offered to initiate you in the local mystery as a reward for your act of service; you now know the secret name of Saint Heinrich to be the Saint of Impassioned Challenge. The saint of Caruva City is someone else, but there are a lot more shrines here than normal because of how metropolitan it is, and sometimes you go to Saint Heinrich's to reflect on things and contemplate a small sliver of transcendence.)

So it comes as a great surprise to you when a voice suddenly speaks in your mind. Demon portal... Zareas. Need... need help.

You recognize that voice -- it's Anathon Grier, but more importantly it's the voice of a man holding back a flood by will alone. You don't hesitate; you can't. I'll help, you think as loudly as you can, shoved back on the same imperceptible axis along which the voice came. There is no acknowledgement in words, but a moment later, a hole in the world irises open in your apartment. Heat and sunlight pour through it, as do the sounds of battle. You pause for only a second, and then walk into it. You fly through the interstices of existence. You hurtle pell-mell down occult pathways outside of space and time. And you arrive, gasping, in a grassy field.

The scene before you is chaos. The Hellgate is like a wound in the world, more disturbing by far than any of Anathon's portals. Vast hordes of demons, all smoke and claws and glowing baneful eyes, surround the portal; they're attacking everything in sight. There are other people there, fighting the demons, but Anathon Grier is glowing like a beacon, magic radiating off of him like metal glowing in forgefire.

You rush to clear the landing area, your mind whirling as you struggle to make sense of the battle. You have gone on some monster hunts so that you could learn to use your powers in real combat under supervision, but this is an order of magnitude more chaotic. Two orders of magnitude.

But there are demons, and that is simple enough. You reach out and layer suppressive gravity onto the fiends -- despite their insubstantial appearance, they seem to falter under it, so it's affecting something -- and begin to throw rocks around. You manage to get a few in a row, and smile in triumph.

Your smile fades as you see what looks like a ward diagram floating over the Hellgate seem to burst, in a coruscating shower of light that leaves you briefly dizzied. And as it does, you see Grier fall to his knees. You can see his face -- his eyes are bloodshot, and he looks pale. His lips move, and his gaze unfocuses, and he begins to fall. You rush to catch him, catch him like he caught you, but you're too far and too late, and you hear your cry of denial echoed from other throats across the field, others seeing what you are.

His seals shattered before his resolve did.

Your eyes brim with furious helplessness, but you wipe it away and huddle behind a hastily-raised earthen barricade to take brief stock of the situation. None of the other -- many, now that you look -- seals and wards on the Hellgate look like they're failing, but you lack the senses to tell directly. There are still hundreds upon hundreds of the lesser demons flooding the area; they need to be stopped. And underneath the Hellgate itself, a hulking armed and armored figure etches itself upon the world with actinic radiance. It smashes its shield and spear together and bellows, and the lesser demons nearest-by rally to its side, and you can see their forms begin to twist and warp, taking on new definition.

You see others rushing to meet each threat: some trying to contain the horde, and some closing in on the new foe.

[] Focus on cutting down the minor demons en masse before they can join the new threat or escape the field.
This will give Maria Francisca a minor specialty fighting masses of foes.

[] Concentrate on the new threat before it can stabilize and work its evils.
This will give Maria Francisca a minor specialty fighting single foes.

Whatever you vote for, Maria Francisca will still have the basics of each. This is a minor specialty, not "can only meaningfully contribute ever again in the aspect you vote for now." Also, whatever you vote for, you're going to win. Grier knew his stuff: you have a lot of backup right now, all concentrated on the same battlefield. So don't try to worry about the strategic concerns in play: this is a tutorial fight, and the relevant questions are "what do you want to see" and "what do you want Maria Franscisca to get better at doing."
This took longer than expected because work was kinda nightmarish this week and also the update insisted on being pretty chonky. I guess we'll see if this length becomes my new normal -- for the sake of update speed, I hope not.

picklepikkl · Apr 2, 2025

[*] Focus on cutting down the minor demons en masse before they can join the new threat or escape the field.

Tally

After a moment of hesitation, you sprint outward, away from the Hellgate, to help establish a perimeter. The lesser demons might be individually weak, but there's a small army of them teeming in every direction, against fewer than twenty spirit mage defenders that you can see and sense -- at least one of whom is already quitting the field for some reason? You can't see a reason why a coward would have answered the call in the first place, so you send a fleeting prayer that they know what they are doing and turn to the masses. Around the field, you see other spirit mages moving to cut down the lesser hordes, while the rest close in on the Hellgate and the... champion? who seems to be rallying demons underneath it.

You square your shoulders, hurl stones at two demons that were getting too close for comfort, and layer gravity on a group that is massing up. As if taking that as a stinging goad, they charge at you, slowed but not stopped. Your heart hammers, but, confident that you've got time, you take a deep breath. This isn't a use of your powers you've practiced, but you know the theory, and the soil here is rockier than you are used to. Expanding your senses, you take magical hold of the earth and stone, not allowing yourself to be rushed. You've never done anything like this before; if you screw this up, you probably get torn apart and die.

Anathon Grier believed you could matter here.

You shout, focusing your will to a sharp point, and the stone mirrors it obediently. Spikes erupt from the ground, jutting out angled against the oncoming horde, and the demonic charge breaks as if against a phalanx of spearmen. You allow yourself a grin of satisfaction, which fades as you notice a few larger demons struggling free, still intent on murdering you and too spread out to catch in one gravity field. You're going to need to cover yourself and pick them off one by-

Your train of thought is interrupted by a figure dashing up and jumping into your spike field seemingly without fear. Blazingly fast, they dance over the rocks and up to the demons, falling upon each in turn in a flurry of fists and feet. One or two manage to strike back before being discorporated, but the claws and fangs seem to glance off their skin. Finally, the demons are all gone, and you get a good look at the one who came to help you. He's even taller than you, maybe ten or fifteen years older, and garbed in a loose robe that leaves his powerfully-built upper body mostly exposed. You raise a hand to wave before second-guessing yourself, flushing, and trying to turn it into a simple gesture of acknowledgement. He smiles and raises a thumb back to you, then dashes off, presumably to pick off more demons.

You catch your breath and continue your circuit, doing likewise. Where demons are bunched, you repeat your gravity field and spike combination, and where you can find isolated ones you pick them off with stones. One manages to dodge and rush you, but you draw a slab of stone from the ground to protect yourself, and while it scrabbles uselessly you crush it.

[Savage Attack (Lesser Demon)
Strength: 2
Tags: Basic
Attack with fangs and claws.]

[Battle rolls:
Heroes: 3
Demon Horde: 3
No advantage for either side]

The nightmarish intensity of the battle never goes away, but it fades, in a way: becoming less sharp, almost routine. In between your engagements, you catch sight of the other spirit mages fighting the horde as you circle the field, in isolated flashes of action:

-A young woman dressed only in pajamas, lace trim fluttering in the breeze as she runs from a pack. You fight to get close enough to help, but your aid proves unnecessary: her shadow, stretched out in the morning sun, suddenly compresses and emerges from the ground behind her pursuers. The woman now turns to face them herself, and with a gesture of her hand, a circle of flickering dark flames springs up to trap the demons, which her shadow proceeds to tear through with weapons you cannot make out.

-An older man, dressed all in black and reaping small clumps of demons with a scythe. The speed with which his weapon snaps to and fro belies its size: either he is uncommonly strong and fast or his weapon is uncommonly light. But then his head jerks up and he pulls away from the demons, sprinting to the edge of the field; you follow the line of his run and see a very large wagon, with some terrified-looking cartiers, a yoke of oddly-muzzled oxen, and some large cargo you cannot make out. Then the black-clad man slows and makes a gesture, and the cargo gets up: the carcass of a tremendous ox, atavistic semi-monstrous kin to the harnessed animals below it, in that unnerving intermediate state after being skinned but before being further broken down. He gestures again and its exposed musculature surges into motion, wood splintering and ground shaking as the corpse charges from the wagons and into an enormous mob of demons.

-Another big man, this one built softer and rounder than the one who had come to your aid and looking ridiculously out of place in what seems for all the world to be a chef's jacket and pants. That incongruity only heightens as he extends what used to be his left arm and is currently a twenty-foot-long tentacle that seems like it belongs on some terrible sea monster, encircling a crowd of demons and crushing them like a child might a handful of twigs. A few escape his grasp and leap for him, and his right hand flashes out in terrible long claws, and that's all for them.

-A figure in emblazoned plate armor, cutting a furious swathe through a group of demons you'd hindered. Every two-handed swing of their sword describes a flashing arc that leaves the fighter in a new solid stance and position and, seemingly as a byproduct of its graceful motion, slashes through one or two or half a dozen foes. There's something on their back, though... wait, are they carrying a baby? Sure enough, after one strike that leaves them facing away from you, you see a small child firmly attached in a sling. As if conjured by your astonishment, a small cluster of fresh demons converges on them from behind while they are finishing off a different pack; you cry out a warning too late to be heeded, but a ghostly figure seems to step out of the fighter, sword bisecting the demons with serpentine speed and shield raising to cover the spirit mage from being flanked again. Seeing the specter, the baby claps with glee.

-A long-haired woman, the hem of her dress twirling to meet her braid as she spins to project concentrated bursts of something from her fingertips, inky-black blasts that tear through the fiends one by one. Demons gather up to mob her, but she makes a complicated gesture with both hands, a wave of that blackness emanates from her in all directions, and when it passes through the demons there is nothing left. Her hands assume a different position; she seems to pause there for a moment before returning to her previous stance and running off for more demons.

And then... and then there are no demons. No more little clouds of murderous malevolence. The larger figure under the Hellgate is gone now, too, with no sign of more demons appearing, despite the watchful glares of the newly-victorious and panting spirit mages clustering where it had stood. One of those distant figures stoops down briefly as you watch, and the others raise their heads to look up at the wards on the Hellgate, a check which you echo nervously. But Anathon's sealing-spells seem to be holding. All in all, the battle lasted maybe half an hour.

[Battle rolls:
Heroes: 4
Greater demon: 3
One degree of advantage!]

In the aftermath, a small crowd of people appear on the battlefield, like timid woodland creatures emerging from their hidey-holes after predators have moved on. Most of them are liveried servants of the Dolphin Hotel. They offer you a bed, and food, and comfort, and you go with them, unresisting. You're a bit shaken. You suspect everyone is shaken.

As you leave, you see a woman approach Anathon Grier's body, lower herself to the ground, and cradle it in her arms. You avert your gaze; you recognize her.

Little road-carts take you and the others (save the one who instead chooses to soar through the air) up a road, past the town of Vindar proper, and to the sprawling grounds of the Dolphin Hotel. You get off the cart under a vine-wrapped porte-cochère, feeling somewhat unmoored. The surreality of the experience does not fade as you enter the hotel itself: its handsome furniture and elegant decorations make for a stark contrast with the battlefield you were just on.

"Miss?" You jolt out of your reverie and turn, looking down to meet the eyes of an overawed-looking man in livery. He bows precisely and deferentially, in the Nivvean mode; a small engraved tag over his breast pocket reads Jᴇʀᴍᴀɪɴᴇ. "If you would care to follow me, I can escort you to your room. Compliments of the hotel; Madame Delfin appreciates that we here, and all of Vindar, owe you a great debt."

You clear your throat, feeling extremely awkward and like all the manners you'd studied for university events were going to be hopelessly inadequate to the task of existing inside this building. "It would be my pleasure to accept," you say, and follow him down a corridor to a geomantic lift, which raises you smoothly and soundlessly to the fourth floor. He leads you to room 418 and hands you a little card. "This keycard will grant you access to your room and to all of the hotel's amenities, with no need for multiple keys," he says, and you are immediately intrigued to know how that works exactly. "Simply press it against one of the receivers where a lock would normally be." You do so, open the door to your room after hearing a little click, and gasp.

This isn't just the nicest bedroom that you've stayed in, this might be the nicest room of any kind that you've seen. Everything is beautiful and ornate without ever crossing the line into tasteless gaudiness. Your eyes are drawn to the windows, which overlook a magnificent garden, and then travel back along the walls, noticing the subtle floral motifs and color choices that echo and suggest the lush beauty outside without competing with it, and you know without seeing that the rooms on the other side of the hallway, facing out to the ocean, will similarly match and complement the views from their own windows. The bed is enormous and looks decadently soft, with more pillows than you can imagine being necessary or even useful, and at the center of the bedside escritoire- You blink. "Is that a 'mantic music box?" You'd read about the newly-invented devices, miniaturized forms of geomantic music cabinets that played recordings, typically in exchange for coins, but never actually seen one.

Jermaine draws himself up proudly. "Yes!" he says. "Every room has one as of this past Highsummer. The guide to the hotel's music collection is in a booklet underneath it: please enjoy it as much as you like." You really want to know how that works, but the fear of breaking the fantastically expensive device dissuades you from thoughts of prying it open to look at its internals -- as does the fatigue accompanying a bone-cracking yawn. You glance at a clock: late morning. It was early evening in Caruva City when you left, so the time difference is... about a quarter of a day? Not terrible, but not insignificant. The sun being wrong probably has enhanced your general levels of disorientation; perhaps the hotel setting will be less overwhelming after you've slept.

Jermaine catches the yawn, not that it's easy to miss. "Is this room to your satisfaction?" he asks. For one insane second you consider saying "no" to see what even more extravagant lengths the hotel will go to in order to correct that, but sense and fatigue prevail and you nod. He smiles, indicating a pull-cord by the door. "If you need anything, this will summon one of the attendants on duty, at any hour," he says, then bows again. "Please, enjoy your stay."

You enter the room and sit down on the bed, pulling off your shoes and grimacing at the aches in your feet, then take the music catalog and begin to browse through it. At some point after noting that there was apparently a new Lady Blaze release that you hadn't heard yet, you pass out.

Some hours later, you rouse yourself, a bit sore and stiff. A small paper has been pushed under the bottom of your door; it is an invitation to a private dinner, addressed to you and the "Heroes of Vindar," a term that makes you simultaneously proud and uncomfortable. You wash yourself in the en-suite bathroom, get dressed again (painfully aware that these are the only clothes you have with you and entirely unsuited to the occasion), and then pass the hour until the event listening to music and seeing if you can sense the geomantic manipulations making it possible, doodling speculative diagrams on a notepad.

Then it's time, and you head down to the Hearthfire Grille after consulting a map of the hotel. There are a collection of small tables spread around the perimeter with chairs, with larger and higher tables inhabiting the center of the room. You take a spot at one of the little ones, looking out at the room. You recognize the other spirit mages who fought at the Hellgate alongside you, both those who fought the horde and those who fought the larger demon. At the appointed time precisely, a stately Nivvean woman walks in.

"Welcome to the Dolphin Hotel," she says. "Thank you, very much, for coming. We are all greatly in your debt. My name is Xiomara Delfin. It would be my honor if you would continue to enjoy the hospitality of my establishment while you are in Vindar -- which, I am informed by those who understand such business better than I, may be some time." Made sense. If the seals broke, they might break again, and it would take time before further support could come by non-portal means. A flash of sadness for Anathon goes through you, but you force it down and listen to her. "I can generally be found at the concierge desk. Please let me or my staff know if there is anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable, or support you in dealing with any further developments of the demonic incursion. I know that many of you must be eager to contact your home cities; I have some limited access to the geomantic messaging network, which I will be happy to make available to you."

"But before I let the staff of the Hearthfire Grille take over to sate your hunger and thirst after a difficult day, please indulge me a moment. The days that come will, undoubtedly, be written into stories. What has happened today already will be written into story. This is a moment for sentiment, and for honor. But the sentiments that matter are yours, and the choice of what to honor belongs to you." Waiters smoothly glide around the room, placing flutes of sparkling wine before each of you. "I would be glad, and grateful," she continues, "if you would each take this moment to offer up a toast. And as your hostess, I will seize the privilege of beginning with my own. To Mr. Grier's heroism -- and yours." She lifts her own glass, and you beat back another flush.

"Now you, sir." She gestures to the man sitting nearest to her, who you don't recognize from the fighting. Is he the one who left? He has a classically Drovonian look to him, you note as he rolls his eyes.

"To these demons leaving us a bounty of treasures, the likes of which cannot be found upon Orolin," his voice booms as he raises his glass, wine sloshing within. His other hand holds... something you can't really make out.

A middle-aged woman standing near him shoots him a steely look as she sets down a small wriggly child to pick up her glass; that and the crest on her clothing let you connect her to the armored Ancestral Scion from the battle. "To valor and victory, no matter the cost." The cadence has the sound of a phrase with well-worn grooves.

Next around the circle is a young man about your height with pronounced cheekbones and startlingly blue eyes. The baby toddles toward him and he gives it a warm smile and little wave before raising his own glass. "To the people we've protected today, who we will continue to protect to the utmost," he says.

The black-clad man from before is next, leaning on a cane topped with a bird skull as he toasts with his other hand. "To Anathon Grier's resolve under pressure."

Next to toast is a beautiful woman with Vespalonian features wearing a rich gown and a beautiful necklace. "To the task ahead of us," she says, "and the raveling thereof."

After her is the man who was in the chef's outfit earlier, now wearing a colorful shirt and linen trousers, his limbs back to normal. "To the hope of more interesting fights than that one!" he says, his voice warm and resonant.

Another young woman speaks next: her elegant dress fits in perfectly with the surroundings, tasteful earrings completing the look, making you painfully aware of your own deficiencies in dress. "To peace and stability," she says gravely. Her shadow, cast on the wall behind her, seems to be turning its head independently of her own movements, and you blink at the change in appearance she has managed to effect.

The well-muscled man who came to your assistance earlier speaks after her, his robe now worn so as to more fully cover up. "To whatever needs to be done, and the doing, one day at a time."

A thin older man with a thick beard and a circlet toasts next. "To our world," he says, in a surprisingly deep voice. "Which we will not surrender."

There's a pause, and then you realize with a spike of adrenaline that it's your turn. You clear your throat and raise your glass. "To Anathon Grier," you say. "Who saved me once, and has saved us all again." You cast a glance at the woman next to Madame Delfin, but she is looking elsewhere.

Beside you is a lanky middle-aged man with greying hair and an expensive-looking tweed jacket, a gash torn in one sleeve. He raises his glass. "To Grier and his brilliance," he says, a little too loudly.

Sitting close to him and apparently patiently waiting to resume an interrupted conversation is the woman you saw fighting the hordes with strange energy. "To the pursuit of truth and virtue: small targets within vast fields of error," she says, raising her glass.

A woman whose slight build makes her look too young to be here raises her glass next. She's wearing some sort of uniform, and on its breast is a patch with a set of symbols you can't decipher. "To heroism, and excellence, and victory."

Next to her is a... you squint... a Nivvean person in a similar but distinct uniform, wearing a similar but distinct patch. "To our strength and valor," they toast.

Finally, the woman seated next to Xiomara Delfin raises her glass a few inches. "To... to Anathon," Miella Leistes says. You only met Anathon Grier's partner once, briefly at a formal university event where he was the guest of honor, but you were struck by the experience of seeing them together. Even when they were across the room from one another, they moved like they were orbiting a common center of gravity. You cannot imagine what she must be feeling, now. She looks somberly around the room. "He gave his life to bring you all here. I won't forget this. If I... can assist you in any way, please, consider me at your service." She takes a deep breath as if to say something more, but after a moment, just shakes her head.

The glasses hang in the air for a moment, and then Madame Delfin lowers hers and drinks, prompting the rest of the room to follow suit. She nods solemnly. "Once more, I thank you all. I will be at the concierge desk if you require me." She bows and sweeps out as the waitstaff descend upon you and your summoned compatriots. You immediately forget the name of everything you've ever eaten; thankfully, some of them are carrying dishes of finger foods on small plates, and you angle for those instead.

The man who toasted after her snorts, getting to his feet and following Xiomara Delfin. "I'm going to go get this place's workshop into better shape," he announces to nobody in particular as he leaves. As your gaze follows him, you notice Miella drifting out a side door, her glass of sparkling wine still full and untasted. As the door closes behind her, the greying man who toasted Grier seemingly makes a decision and cuts across the room, exiting the same way as her.

You have a plate of delicious food in one hand and a glass of sparkling wine in the other, and you are in a room with a dozen people Anathon Grier saw fit to bring here to save the world. Who are you going to go talk to?

[] The woman who brought the baby with her has marched over to the bearded man with the circlet. Judging by their body language, it is a tense conversation.

[] The young man who waved to the baby is now crouched down and earnestly conversing with it, joined by the man who helped you and the man previously in the chef's jacket.

[] The two uniformed people appear to have refilled their drinks and gone to a dark corner to chat.

[] The three women in dresses have formed a cluster, the two older ones speaking energetically while the younger one sips her drink and listens.

[] Go after Miella and the man in the torn jacket.

[] Seek out the workshop and the man who went there.

[] Flee to the concierge desk and talk to Xiomara Delfin.

Upon reflection, you notice that the necromancer is missing from the room.
[] Call public attention to the fact that the black-clad man is missing.
[] You can sense someone striding purposefully away. Go after the black-clad man discreetly.

As a result of writing this chapter I have sped up my plans for you learning everyone's name just so scenes like this are less of a pain. Speaking of which, it's true that by voting the way you did, you didn't get to see the big demon for yourself, as some pointed out; however, to balance that out, you got to see more of the other heroes fighting than you would have otherwise, which hopefully is fair compensation.

picklepikkl · Apr 5, 2025

[*] The young man who waved to the baby is now crouched down and earnestly conversing with it, joined by the man who helped you and the man previously in the chef's jacket.

Tally

You approach the cluster of three men and a baby. You'd seen some of them in the fighting, and even if you think you would have been fine, one did come to help you out, and it would be gracious to thank him. "Hello," you say at a polite distance. "Do you mind if I join you?"

"Not at all!" the man in the colorful shirt booms, and you approach. Up close he's actually shorter than you are, but he's built wide, and the layer of fat rounding him out doesn't hide the powerful frame underneath. "I am Kiliona, as in Kiliona Saluni." He pauses, seemingly expectantly, but when you don't react he shakes his head and heaves a beleaguered sigh. "I see I have my work cut out for me here. My new friends are Steadman," the man in the robes gives you another thumbs-up, "and Remy." Remy, listening to something from the child, gives you a distracted wave without looking at you. "And this fine little fellow has just finished explaining that his name is Etienne and his mama plays the harp. And you? Every other Stonelaw Enforcer who fights demons by my side lets me use their personal name." He grins at you.

You find yourself grinning back at him; you didn't think much of his toast, but his charm is infectious. "I'm Maria Francisca," you say, privately thanking the saints that he wants to be informal, saving you a difficult decision.

"Ah!" Kiliona says. "Vespalonian?"

You are about to waggle your hand when you remember you have a plate of food in it, so you settle for half-shaking your head while placing the food on one of the high tables nearby. "Half. Lived there as a small child, but I've been Caruvan since. I was studying at the university in the capital when... well, when."

He strokes his chin. "That explains what I hear in your accent." You think your Nivvean accent is fine, actually, but he continues. "I am technically Nivvean, but I spend all my time at sea. Our friends here are Zarean adventurers." Remy nods in confirmation while picking up Etienne, straightening to his full height and holding the child in a comfortable rest position with practiced ease. "And you, Etienne?" Kiliona asks, in that light tone people use when speaking to children. "What are you?"

"Three!" the tousle-headed toddler chirps. You had been taking the opportunity provided by Kiliona's expansive introductions to sip from your glass, and you choke at that. Kiliona belly-laughs, Steadman snickers, and Remy smiles expansively. He has pronounced dimples, which paired with the cheekbones is honestly unfair. Etienne giggles, then turns away shyly and whispers something to Remy, who nods to the three of you and carries his charge over to a hovering staff member nearby.

"'Adventurer' might be overstating the case a bit," Steadman speaks for the first time, his voice a warm baritone. "Remy, certainly, but I am a simple wanderer, not even an explorer."

"Do the two of you know each other, then?" you ask, curious.

"Mostly by reputation, but our paths have crossed once or twice," Steadman replies. "Good thing too. Things were a mite awkward this afternoon when I wasn't on the guest list."

You and Kiliona both cock your heads at that. "Guest list?" he asks.

"Well, Miella knew through their bond how many people Anathon summoned, didn't she? Thirteen. Fourteen come trooping back from the Hellgate, and that's not the same number at all, so I'm honest and say that I didn't come through a portal, I just saw a dirty great hole in the sky a few miles off and ran like... well, we usually say 'like there were demons behind me' but it was the exact opposite this time, wasn't it? And I'm a Body Savant, so I can run bloody fast when I'm of a mind to. But Remy was there to vouch that I'd fought at the battle and that he knew me, and they knew Remy from all the heroing he does, so that was that and Madame Delfin herself apologized for the questioning and invited me to stay."

Well, that answers a few questions you had and raises a few more. You mentally flag "through their bond" for later. "Oh," you say instead. "So... everyone else who got summoned knew Anathon? But you didn't?"

Kiliona nods, but Steadman shakes his head. "I'm sorry to say I never met him, and I'm sorrier that I won't get to. He seems like a man who filled his life with good work. How did you meet him?"

You're saved from having to answer that by Remy's return with a plate and sans child. A soft string concerto begins playing from a discreet cabinet, and you can see Etienne on the floor playing with a pair of eating sticks, miming an instrument with one and drawing the other across as a bow, in time with the music. "There," he says. "Sweet child, but I'm famished, and I need my hands for eating." He begins to stab at his food with a fork. "Anyone know what happened to the beef? Zarean Blue was on the night's menu outside the Grille, but the staff was evasive about why there wasn't any."

"I'm surprised you didn't recognize it," Kiliona answers with a laugh. "The steer was diverted from the kitchens to the battlefield. It was hard to miss! Seven feet at the shoulder! Nearly fifteen long! A prize specimen of the breed. Shame it isn't here for our dinner, but I'm not sorry it was there against the demons. I suppose the necromancer had to leave his own monstrosities behind and make do with what he could find here."

The boisterous man's words cast a sharp light on what the necromancer might be doing now; you had noticed that he wasn't in the room, having slipped out at some point when you weren't looking. If he had snuck away to obtain materials... you stare at your food, appetite dulled and stomach twisting as you consider. But the moment passes as Remy responds. "Ah," he says. "I didn't see, no. My attention was quite occupied. The demon we fought..." He shakes his head. "It was mighty, but also... it was strange."

"Strange?" you say, interest piqued despite your concerns. "How so?"

He purses his lips thoughtfully, gaze unfocused. "How should I describe it... Well. It spent the entire battle declaiming poetry. All the while we fought, it -- he, I suppose -- was boasting of his name, Agamach, of the deeds he had done and the foes he had felled. I didn't recognize any of the names, but that's not so strange. But whenever one of the lesser demons approached... he would chant about someone else, a member of his warband, describing the deeds that warrior had done, their lineage, their weapons... and the demon would change. From its elemental and unformed appearance, it would instead take on the shape and arms of a monstrous person, much like Agamach himself. But they all seemed identical, before he spoke. I've seen herdsmen identify beasts that seem to the untrained eye completely alike, but this wasn't like that. It was like..."

"Like a potter shaping slabs of clay upon the wheel?" Steadman asks. Kiliona frowns, but Remy nods.

"Yes, exactly. Like he was picking what to make of them. And then when we finally felled him, his own form seemed to dissolve. All that was left was an object, like a small cylinder of tempered frosted glass. Professor Kalgrave took charge of it and brought it to Master Harpakrides, who called it a 'demon core' and was extremely eager to study it."

"You mentioned names," you interject. "Do you remember any of them? I have read a great deal of history from all over Orolin, and I have a good memory."

Remy taps his fingers on the back of a chair. "Braega, Hrothwyn, Kaelric and Thalric... those were used like personal names. Sarnath, Solvarn, Galmara, and Barathor were places, I think. And some of the weapons were given names, too, as they took shape: the Maw of the Moon, Blackthorn's Bite, Skyshard. Anything? Those might not be quite right, I was rather busy at the time."

[History check, rating 5. Result: Critical success.]

You think for a minute, and then shake your head. "Definitely nothing like that in anything I've read. Whatever those names are, they're not from recorded history."

"You're sure?" Kiliona says. You nod emphatically; there's a lot here you feel out of your depth in, but your knowledge of what you've read isn't one of those things.

"Well, the stars lie above and beyond the world," Steadman says. "Perhaps they shine on other worlds, where these people and places are found? Or perhaps these are deeds done in star-lands."

"Or they might lie in unrecorded history, or in the mysteries of the ancient Zareans," Remy says. "But I am glad to not simply have been ignorant. Thank you." He gives you a warm smile and raises his glass to you, and you can feel yourself flushing. The question of where to continue from there is mooted by the return of Etienne's mother from the conversation that had occupied her, her interlocutor departing the room in the background.

"Thank you for watching my son," she says, sketching an abbreviated Morlean bow to Remy. "Achieving terms with the Grand Duke was a very high priority. Cooperation in the heat of battle is one thing, but for any extended coexistence to be possible we need an actual truce in effect." Your train of thought comes to a juddering halt as you connect the grandfatherly man in the circlet to the pictures you'd seen on Omonezhan coins. If that was Grand Duke Pilpyas, then that implied this was...

"Ah, then you are Lady Durand?" Remy replies while Steadman makes a silent 'O' of realization. "I thought as much -- there aren't many Ancestral Scions you could have been, and fewer who would have engaged with the Grand Duke so."

She nods brusquely. "I have that honor. Pray pardon my rudeness, but I should collect my son." She calls out to the rambunctious toddler, her voice taking on a motherly lightness very different from the clipped matter-of-factness of a few moments ago. "Etienne! C'mere, we're going to see the nice hotel lady and then go back to our rooms!"

"Mama!" comes an answering shriek, as Etienne launches himself at her. She scoops him up and hoists him easily, beaming at him.

"Can you say thank you and goodbye to the spirit mages? And the servants who put on the music cabinet for you?"

"'nk you bye!" he says, waving in a semicircle before flopping into his mother's shoulder. Apparently playing music was very tiring -- but if he and his mother came here from Lorania, they've had an even longer day than you, so you're honestly impressed he has been as good-tempered as he has.

Lady Durand pats his back lightly. "I am going to go see Madame Delfin and ask her to post the terms of the truce somewhere. I am not sure about where, though -- the Dolphin Hotel still has other guests, and I don't want to either alarm them or encourage them to poke their noses into our business. Perhaps she can cordon off an area? But that relies on the other guests not being nosy."

Kiliona looks like he's about to speak, but you have an idea and jump in. "The staff member who checked me in told me that the keycards unlocked things all around the hotel based on what people are allowed to access, so it unlocks both facility rooms and bedrooms. Perhaps the hotel could set a lock on one of their small meeting rooms by the entrance, just for those here for the Hellgate? And we could set up a bulletin board, like we had in the student lounge in the university. So anything anyone learns or wishes everyone else in the crisis to know can go there, like your truce."

Lady Durand turns to face you, and you almost flinch under her grey regard, but she nods thoughtfully. "That is a good idea. I will propose it to Madame Delfin. And who should I say it came from, miss...?"

No getting out of this one. "Maria Francisca Teixeira, my lady."

"Teixeira. I'll remember that. Perhaps this meeting room could have a list of all of us here, so that names are not an issue... I'll discuss it. I need to ask her to allow me to hire some of her servants during their off-hours anyway, to watch Etienne." She nods again. "Well fought today, all. Let us continue to conduct ourselves so."

After she leaves, the conversation meanders on lighter topics for a short while, but then begins to founder. Remy is the first to beg off, saying that now that he's eaten he direly needs to rest, and upon him saying so you find yourself feeling similarly. After you say your goodnights, as you leave you hear Kiliona invite Steadman back to his room for another drink, and Steadman accepting after a pause.

On your way out you pass by the cluster of women, still deep in conversation. The Vespalonian-looking one gives you an unreadable look as you go -- perhaps she heard you give your name? That will be an awkward discussion, one you're in no hurry to have. You eschew the lift, climbing the stairs to the fourth floor, and soon after arriving to your room you are asleep.

No vote here for pacing reasons. Next update will pick up the next morning and hopefully come out tomorrow, day after at the latest.

This update was brought to you by, inter alia, "Passion" by Maestro Chives, "Night on Bald Mountain," and the 2CELLOS cover of "Thunderstruck."

picklepikkl · Tuesday at 12:00 AM

You are surrounded, and so you spin, centering your weight and not letting any of your enemies get a clear shot at your back for too long. You do your best to quell them with a glare, but the looming boys don't back down -- no, they're demons, malevolent unformed clouds only solid in their capacity to do violence -- no, it's your mother's enemies, and you can't make them out but you know that's what they are. You can't fight them, she taught you that, so you run, you run and hide, and what you see rising before you is a big house, you grew up in a big house and have lots of practice hiding there, but no, it's too bright, light pouring from every window. You have never seen such a brilliantly lit house. A lighthouse. It's a lighthouse, alone on an island in a vast black ocean. The ocean menaces you, you know it will crush you if it can, and you focus your will to keep it away from you and everyone, waiting to be rescued, but nobody can save you from the enemy only you can see, and you sink down, down, down into the darkness, but it's not the ocean at all but the night sky, and you are surrounded by stars...

You jolt awake. Early morning light filters in through your window, and you hear birds in the garden below. You sit up, slowly, taking slow controlled breaths to calm yourself. You're no stranger to nightmares -- after the incident with the dike, you had them constantly for weeks -- and are not terribly surprised to be experiencing one in the wake of being torn from your comfortable life to go across the world and fight demons. Unfortunately, being mature and level-headed and reasonable about the perfectly normal reasons you might have unsettling dreams does not actually let you skip the part where you had one and are now unsettled.

You continue your slow breathing, listen to the birds, and let your heart quiet down.

The private bathroom is rapidly becoming your favorite part of your hotel room. It's not that any one aspect of it is novel so much as that every aspect is put together to maximize comfort and ease. Every time you experimentally turn a handle, it's some feature you hadn't considered and nonetheless love. You're going to be so spoiled when you leave here. (When, not if.)

You only have the one set of clothing, but after a word with one of the servants last night, you had put it in a little labeled bag in your room which you then dropped down a discreet chute before you slept, and it had been re-deposited (thoroughly cleaned and folded) through a hatch in your door before you awoke, despite how early that had happened. Accompanying it is a small box with things that had been in your trouser pockets and which the staff thoughtfully removed before washing them. Your pocketknife would have been fine, if in need of oiling and drying, but the geomantic surveying instruments would absolutely not have been fine. Getting dressed makes you think of your mother and the years she spent as a laundress, and wondering what people are going to tell her does a lot to dampen your shower-induced good mood. You're literally halfway across the world from her, and Anathon Grier is dead; even if the Hellgate disappears today, it will be weeks before you can get home, and money is going to be complicated. The hotel is free, but passage might not be, and getting to somewhere you can board an oceangoing vessel will likely cost. A cruise ship, if you are willing to wait? Surely they came to Vindar.

Wait, didn't Madame Delfin mention she had access to the geomantic messaging network and was willing to let people use it? This could solve multiple of your problems: if you can send a message to the university, they can tell your mother you're safe and sort out something with money. Maybe you can convince them this is a valid use of your scholarship monies? An independent study in demon slaying.

...you'll probably have to write up your experiences if they buy that, but in all honesty, there was no way you aren't doing that at some point. Like Madame Delfin mentioned, the opening of the Hellgate was a momentous event, something that posterity was going to care about, and you have to do your duty as a participant in history to record it properly.

It's still a somewhat uncivilized hour, but you head down the stairs anyway. You can only listen to music for so long before getting restless, after all. Unfortunately, the intimidatingly well-pressed woman at the front desk is not Madame Delfin, and your business is absolutely not urgent enough to disturb her this early in the morning, so instead you settle for timidly asking what food options are available and if there was some sort of writing medium and implement you could acquire. She immediately pulls out a beautifully bound notebook and pencil, both of them with tasteful Dolphin Hotel branding, and you accept them, uncomfortably aware of how large your debt to them already is and how quickly it's growing.

She then points you in the direction of a sideboard laden with fresh-baked breads, an incredible variety of cheeses, and leftover meats from dinner, and with a perfectly straight face apologizes for the paltriness of their offerings at this hour. This hotel, you swear.

You quash your hunger pangs very agreeably, and are thinking of going back to your room to write down notes on your time so far while you wait for Madame Delfin, but the staff member asks you if you have yet taken a look at the Heroes' Room, and you make a graceful request for further information not at all resembling "Bwuh?", and...

This hotel, you swear.

Lady Durand had clearly brought your suggestion to Madame Delfin, and Madame Delfin had clearly approved of it, and some staff members had clearly worked hard on it. You suppose the night shift might not have a lot else to do, but still. There's a bulletin board for you all to post notes to one another, yes, and paper and pencils for the leaving of those notes, but there is another bulletin board with what look like news clippings, and along the long wall of the room is a section labeled (sigh) "The Heroes of Vindar", and at a glance you see clippings and citations, the sources for which appear to be helpfully and neatly stacked underneath the long narrow table. Possibly one of the hotel employees is a former research librarian Madame Delfin lured here for reasons unknown who delighted in an opportunity to show off their skills. You hope so, because the alternative is an absolutely criminal waste of potential.

...perhaps you'll check, at some point. The university pays a finder's fee for faculty recommendations, you think.

While the collection of précis had sounded good when Lady Durand mentioned it, you decide to save tackling it for last. First, you look at the news board, which has two items of interest.

...funeral arrangements for the late Anathon Grier, the celebrated magus who was the first to discover the demonic threat, have been stalled by the discovery of a major disturbance in the town graveyard. The town council is investigating the circumstances of this disturbance, but as of yet no one has come forth with any substantiated information.

--The Vindar Chronicle

...meanwhile, continental politics have been rocked not only by the unprecedented demonic incursion but also by the disappearance of the Grand Duke of Omonezh (along with several other continental figures of lesser note), who were summoned to be part of the team of spirit mages assembled to combat the incursion. Speaking from his balcony near sunset yesterday evening, King Galinar pointedly implied that the presence of the Grand Duke, a notorious mind-controller, might portend poorly for the project of world-saving...

--The Herald of Gavis

You wince at the elliptical wording of "disturbance," which suggests so much but says so little, and hope that this is not yet another weight upon Miella. The second item gives you pause -- what was Anathon thinking, bringing him here? But then again, Lady Durand had mentioned some sort of truce, hadn't she? You head over to the other bulletin board, which has just one item.

To all Heroes of Vindar: Be advised that terms have been reached with Grand Duke Pilpyas of Omonezh.

1. He shall not exert any sort of magical influence upon any person without their expressly given consent, having been first apprised of the known and likely effects, save that they are in violation of the second term.

2. No one shall harm, threaten, or restrain his person, nor interfere in any way with his possessions, nor use any sort of deleterious magic upon him, regardless of any political developments between nations up to and expressly including the outbreak of war, save that he is in violation of the first term.

3. These terms to cover the city of Vindar and its environs from now until the third sunrise following the closure of the Hellgate or other mutually agreed-upon sign of the termination of the crisis, deadlocks to be broken by Miella Leistes.

4. Lady Evangeline Durand and Grand Duke Pilpyas shall be fatebound to this common cause.

To those subject to any nation of the Latterleague: upon my authority as General within that alliance and Seneschal of the North, these terms bind you by force of law in accordance with the Treaty of Kelly. To others: I cannot compel you under the law, but I will draw attention to the fact that if you instigate hostilities with him he is permitted to respond in whatever mode he finds appropriate, and strongly advise allowing this truce to stand.

We set our agreement to this on the 25th day of Deepwinter in the 3129th year of the Nivvean Empire.

You think about that for a moment. The first thing to jump out at you is the peculiar wording of the first term; you were expecting something more like "he's not allowed to enthrall anyone," but there's an explicit carveout for people allowing him to do things to them, which suggests that one or both of the signatories here thought that was likely to come up. You're not sure what to make of that. The second thing is that it's strange to make Miella Leistes the judge, but perhaps they felt that as the closest thing anyone was going to get to a representative of Anathon Grier, she was a neutral party who could be trusted to be fair?

...you're still not sure how comfortable you are with having a famed mind-controller here, but if one of his chief military enemies is satisfied with this then that's reassuring? Unless he's already got her, but if so you're all in huge trouble anyway.

Next, you take a deep breath, and move to the bulk of the material. Collections of information about people from all over the world, compiled and presented neatly. You decide that you're just going to skim it at first, read one thing that jumps out at you from each, and then decide what you're going to dive more deeply into from the fourteen entries.

Well. Fifteen. The hotel made a section for Anathon Grier, too, and you can understand why. You'll save that for last, you think.

You can't help but look at your own section first, and the obvious thing is by far the most prominent.

Tragedy narrowly averted in the city of Osvoor! A dike system bordering the Kaillo Bight began crumbling yesterday under the pressure of severe structural defects that experts say would have caused a catastrophic flash flood into the densely populated Bouwerij district, save for the heroic efforts of a local Stonelaw Enforcer, Maria Francisca de Mello Borges, who happened to be passing by. De Mello Borges, 17, sensed the buckling of the dike walls and called for an evacuation, then held them in place entirely by herself until relief arrived, a full twenty minutes later...

--The Caruva Courant

You are not sure how to feel about that being your introduction to the others here. For starters, they got your name wrong, rendering it like a Caruvan name rather than a Vespalonian one. But for another... it just makes you itch. You just let your gaze wander from entry to entry, ready to be done looking at your name in the paper.

The Zarean contingent of the Knights of the Dream has continued to avoid many of the hardships experienced by other units tasked with defending the Empire's Zarean interests. Some members of the sect have attributed their success to the brilliant leadership of their local commander, Candidate-Master Stone Lion; others cite the diplomatic relationship that Grandmaster Lady Red Cloud has cultivated with strategic corporate allies, resulting in a unified front with corporate security forces in Zareas...

--A recent issue of Tales from the Front, a Nivvean military newsletter

A quick glance at the surrounding materials confirms that this Stone Lion is one of the other heroes (damn, now they have you doing it). You know the Knights of the Dream is one of the more traditional fraternities, so it makes sense one of their Masters (or candidates, you're not totally sure how their system works) would use their initiate name rather than their birth name.

Sebastian Kalgrave, currently the provost at the University of Gavis, will be the next Vice-Chancellor of the Academy of High Magic, effective Highsummer 11. Kalgrave is a world-renowned researcher in magical resonance theory, the Academy said in its release, and has more than 25 years of higher education experience. Chancellor Grier said he is thrilled to welcome Kalgrave, who is an Academy alum, back to the institution...

--The Fatharol People's Daily

Remy had mentioned a Professor Kalgrave last night -- this must be him. Could he be the man who had gone to speak to Miella Leistes? He had toasted Anathon Grier's memory, so it's plausible. It was hard enough for you to see Anathon die after what he did for you; it must be harder still losing a friend and colleague of many years.

Though Taranath and her beguilements ultimately represent the greater danger, the Fleshwarper is the more apparent menace, and his reputation extends throughout central Morleas. When his mistress needs someone intimidated, there he hovers at her left shoulder; when she needs something destroyed, he is the fist that smashes it. When Orolin's monsters are too weak for his liking, he assembles monsters of his own, desecrating the dead in body and soul. His blasphemies are plain for all to see, but you may be able to turn that to good. Remind the people in your care what ultimate fate awaits them should they follow the necromancers over the sea, lured by the promise of food and shelter. Horror may caution where simple piety does not.

--An open letter from the Bishop of Whitefort to the clerical leaders of Morleas

You can see other, more neutrally-written discussions of Chavash, so hopefully he won't be too offended that the hotel chose to include this one. He wouldn't take it out on the staff, right? You try to be level-headed about it, but the actual Fleshwarper is here and that's really a very difficult subject to treat with dispassion. Children told scary stories about him. You've told scary stories about him. Anathon must have been worried.

For many of us who have grown up reading historical novels, the idea of a charity school might conjure images of terrifying, waspish teachers intent on upbraiding their bedraggled students at the least hint of misbehavior. Eigen Marika, the senior teacher at the newly built Red Maple Imperial Charity School, is determined to change that image. "I think it's a great privilege to get to work with so many bright young people who might otherwise never get the chance to develop their talents," explained Madame Eigen (who styles her name in the Utani fashion) as she led us on a brief but thorough tour of the building. "Especially with underprivileged students, it's crucial to focus on understanding where your students are and meet them there, rather than expecting them to meet some arbitrarily established standard. It's why I'm so grateful the Empress has allowed us the freedom to design our custom curricula to best suit our students' needs."

--An article in iMage, a Nivvean magazine

Another scholar. You run down the list of possibilities in your head -- two of the women you don't know are probably too young, and one of them seemed like a military sort anyway, and Madame Eigen is certainly not Vespalonian, so this is probably the woman with the braided hair who helped fight the horde? For a schoolteacher, she seems quite powerful. You wonder if she can give you any tips.

Demetrios Harpakrides is, by all accounts, the most skilled and accomplished Forger that the world has seen in a hundred years. Potentates, heroes, and wizards across the globe vie to possess treasures wrought by his hand. He rarely leaves his workshop-home in Batra, preferring to let a network of paid agents bring him the materials and reagents that he needs for his work. He is as temperamental as he is private; his reclusion has not prevented from becoming tangled up in dozens of high-profile love affairs and blood feuds. On numerous occasions, the Drovonian Assembly has tried to install him as the Grand Artificer of Drovos, but he persistently shuns public office of any kind.

--The Morlean Arcane Register

That would be the dark-haired man with negative social graces from last night. And if he's a Forger, he's almost certainly the one who you felt leaving the battle behind. But summoning one to the Hellgate doesn't make sense unless... the demon core, right. Anathon must have known about them and told Master Harpakrides, or Master Harpakrides already knew; he certainly seemed eager to work on it. So... Anathon wanted something made out of the demons? You'll have to check on that at some point.

Every discussion of the 311th Nivvean Games must begin with acknowledgement of Black Orchid's extraordinary performance. The Initiates division of the Games is almost always the also-ran, a category of interest primarily to those interested in knowing who to watch in nine years, when the best will be back to compete as Adepts. But this year saw the most dominant showing by any single competitor since Quelar Gehrman over two centuries ago, who went on to found the Cloud Spear Sect. And if his shade was roused by her efforts to break his record (though falling short at "only" fourteen first prizes and an undefeated record in her division's combat tournament), surely it was lulled back to satisfied slumber at the sight of his insignia worn proudly across her back.

--The Kharan Daily Times, Sporting Edition

The 311th Games were last year, and you dimly remember hearing a lot more talk about them than you expected, but you were swamped with your studies at the time and have never been very into athletics. If she's a member of the Cloud Spear Sect, then probably she was the petite woman talking to the other Nivvean, who must have been Stone Lion? But wow, she must be an absolute genius of spirit magic. You completely understand why Anathon summoned her, despite her being about your age or even younger.

Against this ostentatiously luxurious backdrop of crystal chandeliers and Zarean teak furniture on every deck of the Princess of the Waves, the simple furnishings of Scale and Shell may seem drab in comparison. But foodies in the know swear that this fine-dining restaurant is the true gem of the cruise ship. Celebrity chef Kiliona Saluni elevates the dining experience to an interactive and educational conversation, introducing each dish by inviting guests to guess what ingredients were used in its creation, and astounding even the most knowledgeable culinary experts and critics with revelations about what can be achieved with clever and innovative preparations of commonly overlooked meats and vegetables...

--Life & Lifestyle, a Nivvean magazine

...Anathon Grier summoned a celebrity chef to save the world? Well, okay, that's unfair, you've seen this man fight and he was honestly very intimidating (some sort of Beast Soul Adept for a sea monster?), but. He's a celebrity chef on a cruise ship, and that's why he expected you to know who he was? You give yourself a moment to have a fit of giggles.

Congratulations are in order for General Evangeline Durand, 36, and husband Maurice Malet-Durand, 38, who have welcomed their first child, a son named Etienne, on Falldawn 18! The arrival of baby Etienne -- named after his paternal grandfather, the shipping magnate Etienne Malet -- was a surprise to the public, as the House of Durand hadn't formally announced the pregnancy. Nevertheless, the line of Lorania's sole noble family now appears secure for one more generation. The new parents have issued a statement warmly thanking the staff at the Monteil Regional Hospital for their exceptional care and support.

--The Monteil Gazette

This is pretty dry, and you're not sure what to make of it. You suspect that if you were more familiar with Loranian politics, you would understand the subtleties here, but at the moment all you know is that there's more here than you know.

The Royal Museum of Vespalonian Culture and Arts held a grand opening gala for its new wing on 22 Highspring, with the dedication ceremony presided over by Her Royal Highness Adelina Sancia. Crown Princess Adelina held the crowd's rapt attention during her quarter-hour address, speaking briefly on the rich legacy of the Vespalonian provinces and their union under her ancestors. "Every Vespalonian deserves to know the unique history of their people and corte," she said. "It is my great honor to have been invited here to represent my mother and all our family for a subject we hold so dear." During a brief question-and-answer session, she spoke glowingly of the archaeological work done by Professors Gamarra and Palou of the Vespalonian Central University, featured in the new exhibits, but as usual declined to answer questions regarding betrothal rumors.

--The Las Hayas Herald

The crown princess of Vespalonia is here? The crown princess of Vespalonia is HERE? The crown princess of Vespalonia IS HERE AND GAVE YOU AN INDECIPHERABLE LOOK LAST NIGHT? Oh no. Oh no no no. You take back everything you thought about Chavash, you'd take his entire cabal over this. At some point she is going to talk to you and then, well, it was a good run but it's all over after that.

To silence the internal screaming, or at least dampen it, you keep reading.

Twenty-seven young ladies -- including Leucia Serafin, Empress Archelada Serafin's younger daughter -- are to be presented at the 131st Kharan Debutante Ball next month. The ball, an annual benefit event for the Kharan Botanical Gardens, will be held on the evening of Summerdawn 15 at the Vacrese Memorial Plaza, overlooking Jade Lake Garden. The money raised is used to further the Botanical Gardens' efforts to educate and connect people with natural ecosystems...

--The Kharan Daily Times

TWO. TWO PRINCESSES. WHY HAD YOU EVER BEEN WORRIED ABOUT MIND CONTROL OR NECROMANCERS OR CHEEKBONES WHEN THERE WERE TWO PRINCESSES HERE TO WORRY ABOUT INSTEAD.

...actually, upon reflection this second one isn't nearly as bad as the first. For a Morlean, it's easy to gloss "Empress's daughter" as "princess", but that's not really how it works, with their strange rotating head of state. The next Emperor or Empress will be the head of a martial fraternity, not any of the current Empress's daughters. And reading between the lines, it sounds like Leucia isn't likely to inherit the Dazzling Smile Corporation either? She must be the Shadow Dancer you fought alongside, you've accounted for every other woman here.

The Waite family retracts their missing person report and request for information about their son's whereabouts, posted in this paper two weeks ago. "We have heard from Steadman, and he is well and safe and apologizes for the worry and inconvenience he's caused," said Ambrose Waite, Esq. "He also provided detailed notes regarding the cases he was working on when he departed so abruptly, and our firm will be picking up for our clients where he left off."

--The Northwick Examiner

Not much about Steadman. In fact, now that you look closely, that's literally all there is for him -- everyone else has multiple clippings or references, even you (seriously, how did they find your birth announcement, there's spirit magic and there's actual wizardry and you begin to suspect whoever Madame Delfin has working for her falls in the latter category), but Steadman Waite's just got the one. He must really have disappeared; it's a good thing Remy was around to vouch for him. On which subject, you go searching for his section and soon find him.

The days-long standoff between construction workers contracted by Earth Heart Mining and the residents of the town of Auburn Falls was broken yesterday by the arrival of Remy Morris, a traveling Purifier and beloved local icon. "I know, more than most, how deeply you have suffered at the hands of Nivvean corporations," said Morris in an address to his fellow Zareans at the main construction barricade just before sundown. "But you have to understand this doesn't mean everything Nivvean hands touch must be poisonous. How many of your children and grandchildren are you willing to lose to preventable diseases because you won't allow Nivveans to build this hospital? Give me a number. What is the price, in innocent lives, of your pride?"

--The Northdale Journal

At some point, the idealized image of Remy you've been assembling in your head is going to run aground on messy reality and imperfections. Right now, it appears, is not that point. You move on rather than let yourself dawdle in his section; you're nearly done anyway.

Speaking today in Biryukov Square to a crowd of thousands, eight months after inheriting the throne, His Grace Pilpyas declared that the Duchy of Omone was no more. "We never chose to be Omone," he said, flanked by members of High Command, Privy Council advisors, and representatives from the historic Principalities, including ones currently part of other nations. "Omone was foisted on us. We were nibbled away, betrayed, and outright defrauded, forcing us to be less than what we were. Even our name was made to be less than what it once was. No more, I say. For weeks I have been speaking to every general, minister, and noble, and we are fully united in our resolve. Today marks the end of the Duchy of Omone, and the rebirth of the Grand Duchy of Omonezh!"

--The Nation, International Desk

When this speech was given, you had not yet been born. Omonezh has been at peace since you were nine, but it's been an uneasy peace, and the prevailing attitude in Caruva is that the peace will surely end, either when Omonezh resumes its conquering ways or when it becomes vulnerable. You find yourself considering that Pilpyas is, if not an old man, within easy sight of that status, and there is no declared heir in Omonezh, and by all reports it is held together through magically enforced personal loyalty to him. Begrudgingly, you find yourself respecting him: Anathon called him and he came, without any of his support, leaving his nation behind. Does he think the Latterleague is going to attack while he's gone? What's his plan? How bad did he think the Hellgate was, that he came anyway?

Your eyes fall upon the last entry on the board, the last Hero of Vindar, the one who will never see this.

Anathon Grier is a space-twisting magus with a once-in-a-millennium sort of talent. He is possessed of a very rare gift, and he has brought that gift to towering new heights. And yet the sheer staggering power of his magic is somehow less important, and less impressive, than what he has chosen to do with it. He is, perhaps, the first true citizen of the world; he has come closer than anyone to seeing all of Orolin, and to doing everything in the world that there is to be done, and to knowing everyone in the world who is worth knowing. He has made friends with princes and peasants, executives and eremites, across three continents. He has studied with priests of a dozen faiths and with scholars of a hundred schools. He has explored the reaches of southern Zareas, where no one else can reach, and promises that someday he will write of the wonders that he saw there. He travels constantly, and wherever he goes, he finds a way to help people; his contributions have earned him the Caruvan Golden Star, the Medal of Great Chivalry, and the Nivvean Order of Merit, along with countless other honors. And he does all this while serving as the Chancellor of the Academy of High Magic in Kelly.

--Great Mages of the World, Vol. IX

So much. He'd done so much. If you live to be twice his age, will you do that much? Half that much? Sure, he had an unfair advantage, but that clearly wasn't the only reason he was the man he was. But all that's gone, now, so you bow your head and pray to Saint Heinrich that when future generations look back on all this, they will agree that the result was worth the price.

You have some time to go into more detail in your reading. Maria Francisca will spend time learning more about the TWO options with the most votes.
[] Stone Lion
[] Sebastian Kalgrave
[] Chavash
[] Eigen Marika
[] Demetrios Harpakrides
[] Black Orchid
[] Kiliona Saluni
[] Evangeline Durand
[] Adelina Sancia de Vespalonia
[] Leucia Serafin
~~[] Steadman Waite~~ There is no supplementary information available about this person!
[] Remy Morris
[] Pilpyas

Your eyes fall on the reference materials available. They aren't Heroes of Vindar, but there are other people you could learn more about, should you so choose.
[] Xiomara Delfin
[] Miella Leistes

Oh god that was so many words, why did I ever think that a quest revolving around fighting demons alongside a dozen fleshed-out characters was a good idea, but I made it in under my deadline so clearly I will learn nothing from this

From now on, whenever you pass by this room near the entrance of the hotel, you'll automatically duck in and check to see if there are any updates, either from the hotel's little news service or from other heroes.

The roll to see how much you had time to learn about other heroes was done here. Standard success meant two, failure would be one, botch is zero, each threshold success would add one additional but you only got a single success despite rolling six dice. Alas.

At some point tomorrow there will be a new Informational threadmark for Dramatis Personae to collect everything you learn about the other folks in Vindar, which will be kept up-to-date because engaging with the other heroes is one of the narrative pillars of this quest, but right now it's just going to have the stuff from this post.

picklepikkl · Friday at 1:03 PM

[*] Adelina Sancia de Vespalonia
[*] Eigen Marika

Tally

You glance at the clock. You have some time before Madame Delfin is expected to be on-duty, and you would feel uncomfortable about being there exactly when she arrives; it would feel like an implicit rebuke of her, a silent demonstration that she had kept you waiting, and the thought of communicating anything that remotely resembles an attitude that your time was more important than hers makes you quail. So you have some additional time to dig into the Heroes' Room, and you decide to first prioritize the Princess of Vespalonia, about whom you have mostly stopped screaming internally, and secondly Eigen Marika, to better understand why Anathon Grier summoned her. That should eat up approximately the correct amount of time, you think to yourself.

You return to the Princess's section and begin looking through more sources than just the one you had previously surveyed. You immediately find yourself barraged with basic facts about her and her family -- she was born on the 15th of Winterdawn, she's just turned twenty-six, she has two younger sisters and a younger brother -- but more insight than that takes a little longer. The museum speech appears to be somewhat representative: her public appearances are overwhelmingly at events of historical or cultural import, which may just be traditional and sensible things for a future monarch to involve herself in, but given the remarks she's made at these, you get the feeling that this is a real interest for her. She is a Mnemonist, a fact which isn't particularly bandied about but which is public knowledge: reading between the lines, you suspect that Vespalonia would prefer to downplay, well, her ability to read between the lines. Mnemonists may be most known for their psychometry, but they commonly also have a higher-than-usual degree of insight into other people, and can reach better conclusions faster from less data, whether that be on the battlefield or in the royal court.

Wonderful, you think to yourself. Not only does her presence push a personal button of yours, she will be able to tell. "Ah yes, Maria Francisca, was it? From the precise angle your forehead crinkled as you saw me and the pattern of pauses as you introduced yourself, I deduce that you are tremendously uncomfortable with the name your mother, a madwoman, gave you and the lies about your family she fed you before you were old enough to know better, and that you are intimidated by my status as a true noble of Vespalonia, my ability to bring royal power to bear on the questions that have been plaguing you for half your life, and incidentally also my personal beauty. The pleasure is mine."

You shake your head, pushing away the imaginary conversations. This sort of fear is exactly the reason they downplayed her spirit magic, you remind yourself sternly. She can't actually read your every thought off the inside of your skull, even if she's developed her powers in a social direction. You are going to relax and be normal about interacting with her. You repeat that to yourself, and then read on.

...there isn't actually all that much else to read, you discover. Oh, there's plenty of material, but the actual level of novel content is low. You suppose that makes sense, upon reflection: she's a major political figure and has been ever since she was born, so obviously what information gets publicized is going to be something her family will try to control. This doesn't always work -- there are enough royal scion scandals in your books to fill an entire class of content -- but it appears that she has cooperated in maintaining a composed public image. The only further things of substance you can find concern two hobbies she has, both very traditional and correct: archery and poetry. For the former, she is apparently good enough that she was invited to participate in a public exhibition event for distinguished guests at the last Nivvean Games, and furthermore acquitted herself quite well. For the latter, for about a decade she has publicly contributed verse to Vespalonian literary publications, on occasions such as celebrations of national holidays and fairly standard themes such as historical events, natural wonders, and patriotic sentiment. You read the examples you can find; you are absolutely not an expert in poetry, especially not in Vespalonian, but they seem genuinely good as far as you can tell.

You move on to Eigen Marika. Madame Eigen is both harder and easier to draw information from than Princess Adelina was: harder, because there is substantially less material, and easier, because the subject has a less-controlled public image and so the material that is here is generally more telling. She's in her fifties, having studied at the Academy of High Magic and then returned to the Empire. She is apparently a Cosmic Essence Sage, and so the Academy must have been very interested indeed to recruit her to their student body: that form of spirit magic is extremely rare outside of Nivveas. You have to imagine they would have tried to bribe her up and down to get her to stay, but she ended up returning to-

Wait, what? She joined the faculty of the Imperial Academy? Not even one of its satellite locations, but the main university at White River? You flip back to the profile you found before, checking the dates. No, this is absolutely the same person, and it's a recent piece, only about five years old. It's not that being the senior instructor of a charity school isn't prestigious in its own way, but you have to imagine by any metric that it's several steps down from being research faculty at the most famed institute of higher learning in the entire world. Puzzled, you continue.

There was a piece done on her when she was appointed to the Harreal Calron Professorship of Essence Studies, and you read through it. It certainly doesn't paint the picture of a woman dissatisfied with the university life. She expresses a love of teaching, yes, and for non-academic pastimes as well (she apparently played chamber music with her colleagues and was the faculty advisor for one of the school's multiple Radiant Abyss Thought-focused student groups), but she also expresses tremendous passion for plumbing odd corners of spirit magic and studying strange and unique manifestations thereof.

Something about that niggles at you, and you go back to the original profile. After frowning at it for a bit, you go digging, and eventually you find what you're looking for: these charity schools are, specifically, schools of spirit magic. Founding them has been one of the Empress's major projects of her reign, and she's invested a lot of money as part of a stated ambition to better understand how spirit magic arises. You'd heard about this project before, but had dismissed it: the Morlean commentators you'd read had declared it obviously a ploy to create a cadre of trained spirit mages specifically grateful and loyal to her rather than to one of the standard Nivvean institutions. Now that there's someone here who apparently left behind the pinnacle of her profession in order to be part of these schools, you're rethinking that dismissive attitude: either Professor Eigen was offered enough money to shame a corporate president or she found something of genuine interest to attract her.

You smile, satisfied. Well, you've learned some more about each of them, enough to get a better sense of them, which may be useful but is at least interesting. And as a nascent scholar yourself, you can't help but feel some affinity for them. Who knows, you mull as you stretch and prepare to go see if now is an appropriate time to bother Madame Delfin, this whole Hellgate thing might not be that b-

There is a noise like a thousand fireworks going off all at once, and you know where it's coming from without checking the sound against your internal map.

You curse to yourself as you tear out of the hotel and begin to run, dodging around alarmed staff and civilians (when did you start thinking of them as civilians?). Absolutely no tempting fate like that ever again.

[Athletics check, rating 4. Result: two successes.]

The Hellgate is in view basically as soon as your sightline is cleared of the hotel's tasteful hedge. It hovers in the air above a field outside Vindar's city limits, just like it did yesterday.

Come to think of it, it's been just about a full day since you were summoned, you ponder as you pump your legs. That feels likely to be significant.

There are a handful of heroes there already when you arrive, who you presume ran faster than you or happened to be closer by, and they're locked in battle against more of the small demons you fought yesterday... but not that many of them. Dozens, not hundreds or thousands. Well, that's a relief. You turn the ground under them into stone skewers as soon as you can, and the other heroes trickle in as well, adding their strength to the battle. There does not appear to be a greater demon under the Hellgate this time, which, again, you're grateful for. The field is clear within ten minutes, and the last pocket is destroyed by a blast of lightning from Stone Lion, soaring overhead. There are town guardsmen at the perimeter who were apparently keeping a watch on things, and while you don't see any corpses you do see some wounds -- but as you look you also see Remy detaching himself from the general mill closer by the Hellgate to go head over and presumably offer healing. Followed by Pilpyas, which surprises you, but you have to assume that the Grand Duke knows what he's doing and that Remy can handle himself. At least there's an official truce now.

"Was that it?" you hear Kiliona's now-familiar voice, apparently asking nobody in particular. The big man is still in his colorful shirt and simple trousers, but with a rose threaded through one of his buttonholes. You're not sure where he got a blooming rose this time of year -- maybe the climate is sufficiently different, here? Or maybe the hotel or Vindar itself has a hothouse somewhere, that wouldn't terribly surprise you. "I confess myself somewhat underwhelmed."

Steadman, nearby, uncrosses his bare arms and cuffs Kiliona. "Don't bring down more bad luck." Kiliona says something in response, but your attention has been diverted by the sight of Eigen Marika and Sebastian Kalgrave approaching the Hellgate more closely, speaking furiously with one another. You drift nearer to them, curious about what they're discussing, especially now that you know more about Professor Eigen.

"...ontological inertia. We don't know the magnitude of the stresses involved," Professor Kalgrave is saying as you reach earshot. "Look, there it is." He points. You follow his finger and squint. It's difficult to make out, amidst the general chaotic roil, but...

"And that's what it looked like yesterday?" Professor Eigen asks, looking at the strange opalescent whirlpool-looking thing in a corner of the Hellgate.

He nods. "There was something like that until the greater demon was killed, and then it went away. But here one is, again after a seal failure but without a greater demon accompanying it." He spreads his hands dramatically. "Happy birthday, Marika. I got you a unique magical phenomenon."

She laughs. "Aw, Sebastian, you shouldn't have." She wags a finger at him. "No, really, you shouldn't have, and if I find out you did I'll be very displeased," she continues, and you realize with a start that they are friends. Then the wind shifts, carrying with it a strange scent and stranger sounds, and you see heads raising among the loosely-gathered heroes in befuddlement.

"...is that fried bread?" you find yourself wondering aloud. "And... carnival music?" You're not sure what else to call the simple, repetitive tune. The professors turn to glance at you not all that far behind them, and you resist the urge to stammer guiltily. There's no reason you can't be curious about the Hellgate too, after all.

"Sure does seem that way," Professor Eigen says, after a pause. "Sebastian, cross-check for magical influences?"

"I can't see any signs of illusion," he replies tersely.

Her hands form another gesture, which up closer and without the pressure of battle you recognize as a mudra, and then she nods. "Nor I." Then she pauses, her gaze shifting. "Wait... do you see that energy current? Not in the rift, below it."

He lowers his eyes and then jumps back like he just saw a snake. "Is... is that the leyline?" he says. "But... geomancy doesn't look like that. Can we confirm?"

"Not my specialty at all, I'm afraid," she says wryly. "We could place a call for one at the hotel? Unless ley communication is disrupted... though that would be confirmation on its own, I suppose."

You are getting a little frustrated that all the answers seem to be in phenomena that only they can perceive (though you suppose it makes sense that spirit mages with such powers would be overrepresented in the field of magical theory), and clear your throat. "As it happens," you say. "I am a geomancer."

Professor Kalgrave turns again, looking at you more directly. "You are?" he asks.

You quail under that gaze and tone. "Well," you hedge, "a student. But I was summoned after classes, so I have these with me." You reach into your trouser pocket and pull out your divination compass and ley barometer.

The man makes a skeptical noise, but Professor Eigen rolls her eyes. "Sebastian, you're being an ass," she says. "Miss -- I'm sorry, I neglected to get your name, what is it?"

"Maria Francisca, Professor," you say politely. You really hope more people avail themselves of the Heroes' Room soon so you can stop having this conversation.

"Madame now, not Professor," she corrects cheerfully, "and all my collaborators call me Marika, which is what you are if you can shed some light on this problem." You look between them, the one with his eyebrows raised and an expectant expression on his face, and the other with a warm smile on her face. Strangely, you find Professor Kalgrave's attitude more comforting: you've seen that look many times before, and it helps you to think about this as just another practical exam in one of your classes.

You take a deep breath and begin to take readings. You fish out your notebook and begin to raise your knee to form a surface to write on, then realize you're being an idiot and with a moment's concentration draw a shelf of stone out of the ground so you can write with one hand and measure with the other. Then you start worrying, because these numbers don't make sense: you walk away and measure again, from a distance, and then stare at the page. It runs counter to everything you've been taught, and you are either about to humiliate yourself or make a breakthrough.

"I..." you say slowly. "I've never seen anything like this. It's like the rift is consuming ley energy. And that's..." you gesture at the environs of the Hellgate, grass blackened, "...that's killing the landscape."

"But we use ley energy and that never happens. Isn't consuming it what geomantic engineering does all the time?" Pr- Marika asks, but you're shaking your head before she finishes.

"No, not the way geomantic engineering does. Ley energy isn't really consumed after we use it, it powers a device or a public utility or defenses and then is reabsorbed by the world. Like blood circulating, carrying nourishment to the body and then returning to the heart where it will be pumped once more. This..." the metaphor your instructor had used to teach you these principles is suddenly seeming horribly apt. "This is a wound. Blood is leaving the body and then it's just gone."

"How quickly?" Professor Kalgrave asks, but your pencil is already dancing as you calculate, and with your other hand you gesture. Clumps of soil tear themselves loose from the earth and fly to you, your samples coming from different distances from the Hellgate. You wait thirty seconds and then another set of samples comes to you. You let out a huffing breath of relief as you examine them and run the numbers.

"Not that quickly," you say. "The drain is less than half of what the hotel uses, and the ley node here isn't small, and that seems to translate to a low rate of, uh, environmental decay. But the rate might increase over time, like a new channel from a lake carving out a bed to flow through."

"Then we need to do something about it," he replies grimly. "I'd like a copy of your observation notes, so that whoever did the work for the Dolphin Hotel can independently verify your conclusions."

Marika nods. "Please, confirm your measurements and get the best estimates you can. Sebastian, I have some hypotheses I want to run by you, based on your familiarity with Anathon..." her voice trails off as she leads Professor Kalgrave even closer to the Hellgate, while you return to the perimeter to check your numbers, watching the land die before your eyes.

A few minutes later, there is a piercing whistle, and your head automatically swivels to face the Hellgate, where Professor Kalgrave is lowering his fingers from his mouth and Marika is cupping her hands around hers. "Can all the heroes please come closer?" she calls. "Thank you." It reminds you of nothing so much as teachers trying to get the attention of a class of unruly students, and you find your lips quirking in a smile, despite everything, as you troop closer.

When everyone is gathered, Professor Kalgrave clears his throat. "The noise that brought us all here earlier was the sound of another one of Anathon's seals failing," he begins without preamble, "as confirmed by Princess Adelina." You spot the beautiful woman standing near the scholars, a bow in her hand and a quiver at her hip. "Upon the failure of the seal, more of the unformed demons, let's call them, were released. But also, separately, a rift opened within the structure of the Hellgate, just like one that opened yesterday as... when Anathon fell. Unlike yesterday, nothing came out, save for some strange smells and noises. But the vital energy of our world is being drawn into it. Our thanks to Maria Francisca for determining this." Heads swivel to you, and you flush a bit, hopefully not noticeable in the bright morning sunlight. "Madame Eigen and I believe that it is possible for people to travel into the rift. Not many: the rift is unstable, and by comparison to other known forms of spatial magic and their relative physical and metaphysical capacities, we estimate a maximum of three spirit mages could enter." He looks around, surveying the crowd. "We propose that three of our number enter this rift and endeavor to find and kill the greater demon we believe is trying to feed on Orolin."

[] Try to be one of the three to go into the rift.

[] Propose that specific people should go or not go.
-[] Write-in: who?

[] Stay quiet, letting the group be assembled without your input.
-[] Consenting if asked.
-[] Refusing if asked.

Note that registering preferences publicly is not a guarantee that those preferences will end up being what happens, but that the people assembled here may have opinions on what you choose to say and do.

Every Hero of Vindar is present save Demetrios Harpakrides.

The Dramatis Personae threadmark has been updated with additional information on various people, as was foretold in prophecy.

Example formatting for the "Proposal" vote, because that's the most confusing one:

[*] Propose that specific people should go or not go.
-[*] Maria Francisca, Elmo - go
-[*] Winnie the Pooh - don't go

This, for example, would be a vote to propose that Maria Francisca and Elmo be two people who go into the rift, and that Winnie the Pooh specifically not be one who goes. Other formats are valid, just make sure it's clear who is being proposed and whether it's a proposal that they go or don't go.

Hellgate Hotel: A Quest of Friendship and Demons

Recent threadmarks

Recent threadmarks

Recent threadmarks

picklepikkl

This isn't even my nerdiest form

picklepikkl

This isn't even my nerdiest form

picklepikkl

This isn't even my nerdiest form

picklepikkl

This isn't even my nerdiest form

picklepikkl

This isn't even my nerdiest form

picklepikkl

This isn't even my nerdiest form

picklepikkl

This isn't even my nerdiest form

picklepikkl

This isn't even my nerdiest form

Recent threadmarks

Recent threadmarks

Recent threadmarks