A bloodied tome is grasped between the palm of your equally bloodied hands. Your ribs hurts...
Hitman Quest Mk. II
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OP
A bloodied tome is grasped between the palm of your equally bloodied hands. Your ribs hurts, your heart is on fire and there's a dead body in front of you with a knife sticking out of his neck and it's you who did that.
You are Mary Claire Evans and you are unofficially screwed. Perhaps - you thought as you struggle to keep the contents of your dinner within rather than out - the whole madness you are in is something preordained.
Perhaps the gun currently within inches to your temple held by a man old enough to be your grandfather is also one of those preordained things.
"It would be in the best interest of everyone standing that you do not move, young lady."
Honestly, you'd rather. Damn the eventual bullet that would blow your brains out.
But to your better judgement, you didn't and in doing so, ruminate on a single question.
'How did I get to this scenario?'
Welcome readers, to Hitman Quest Mk. II, the soft-reboot to Hitman Quest where you will play as Mary Claire Evans in her journey to live long enough to not die on the job of being a hitman.
As with before, there is a disclaimer:
You are Mary Claire Evans and you are unofficially screwed. Perhaps - you thought as you struggle to keep the contents of your dinner within rather than out - the whole madness you are in is something preordained.
Perhaps the gun currently within inches to your temple held by a man old enough to be your grandfather is also one of those preordained things.
"It would be in the best interest of everyone standing that you do not move, young lady."
Honestly, you'd rather. Damn the eventual bullet that would blow your brains out.
But to your better judgement, you didn't and in doing so, ruminate on a single question.
'How did I get to this scenario?'
Welcome readers, to Hitman Quest Mk. II, the soft-reboot to Hitman Quest where you will play as Mary Claire Evans in her journey to live long enough to not die on the job of being a hitman.
As with before, there is a disclaimer:
- This is probably still not an Original Quest. The main inspiration of this Quest was and still is John Wick but well... I decided to worldbuild everything from scratch afterwards, creating an unified lore as I mix settings after settings after one another. But there's enough things that I would consider this something... Original.
- Despite being a reboot after refinements one after another, the core disclaimer remains - if modified. Once we get past the Tutorial, if Mary Claire Evans dies, the quest ends.
- That said, I am going to go out and say it outright. I am not going to throw challenges that are unsurvivable. Good plans and judgements matters more than the roll of the dices. I will not demand a perfect play from you lads, only good ones.
- I am not the most attentive of persons, even after two years of running Quests. If I make a mistake, point them out.
- Lastly, enjoy yourselves and be excellent to one another~ Without further ado, let's begin.
Mechanics Screen
Basic Overview
Skill List
Tagged Skills
People have affinities - an affectation - towards certain actions. These affinities - within the boundaries of the Quest - manifests as Tagged Skills. When Skills are tagged, rate of their advancements increases and actions taken with such skills becomes smoother and fail states are less punishing.
While most Tagged Skills are tied to a person's own affinities, certain Tagged Skills are bestowed via items or other factors that can be lost.
Traits
Traits, in the aptest definition, are particularly defining characteristics people have. In Hitman Quest, Traits are the je ne sais quoi that makes a person themselves, providing advantages and disadvantages that come into play within the Quest, in both the narrative and mechanics.
Traits themselves aren't permanent. People change, sometimes temporarily, sometimes irrevocably. When those changes occur, the traits can become modified, replaced, or eliminated.
Feats
In Hitman Quest, one plays fast and slightly loose in terms of what can be done within the boundaries of 'what is humanly possible'. When certain things done starts to strain that boundary, those things can be considered 'Feats'.
Feats can be freely invoked whenever possible. As Questers, you are allowed to plan in ways to invoke any Feats that MC-chan (or other PoV characters, if we cross that bridge) has within reason. As the simplest example, ｢Arcane Arithmetic｣ can be invoked within combat to narratively give Mary Claire complete recall of her weaponries' ammo count, giving a sort of pseudo-FPS HUD in her mind's eye. She is not yet able to invoke ｢Arcane Arithmetic｣ to know how much ammunition her enemies hold and give herself capability to exploit openings and lulls within a firefight. Simply put, coordinate with yours truly and we'll see how things go.
- Dices will be rolled in d20s.
- Degrees of Success/Failure goes as follows
- Tie: 0 Point Difference
- Narrow S/F: 1-2 Point Difference
- Normal S/F: 3-5 Point Difference
- Enhanced S/F: 6-8 Point Difference
- Great S/F: 9+ Point Difference
- Rolling natural 1s and 20s nets the qualifier 'Botches' and 'Criticals', which narratively alters the result, regardless of Successes and Failures.
- There are 7 Tiers of Skill Mastery, represented in 6 Pip (⦾/⦿) Points. The Mastery Tiers goes as follows and grants the following bonii:
- Untrained (⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾): Skills are rolled with a -5 penalty to dice rolls
- Beginner (⦿⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾): Skills are rolled without penalties or advantages.
- Trained (⦿⦿⦾⦾⦾⦾): Gain the first Feat relating to this Skill.
- Experienced (⦿⦿⦿⦾⦾⦾): Gain the first Reroll relating to this Skill.
- Veteran (⦿⦿⦿⦿⦾⦾): Gain a modifier of +3 to dice rolls.
- Elite (⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦾): Gain a second Feat relating to this Skill.
- Master (⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿⦿): Gain the second Reroll and the third Feat relating to this Skill.
- Unless a related Feat interacts with them, rerolls automatically take the new dice rolled.
Skill List
- Combat Skills
- Combat Utility Skills
- Misc. Utility Skills
- Diplomacy
- Subterfuge
- Stewardship
- Learning
Tagged Skills
People have affinities - an affectation - towards certain actions. These affinities - within the boundaries of the Quest - manifests as Tagged Skills. When Skills are tagged, rate of their advancements increases and actions taken with such skills becomes smoother and fail states are less punishing.
While most Tagged Skills are tied to a person's own affinities, certain Tagged Skills are bestowed via items or other factors that can be lost.
Traits
Traits, in the aptest definition, are particularly defining characteristics people have. In Hitman Quest, Traits are the je ne sais quoi that makes a person themselves, providing advantages and disadvantages that come into play within the Quest, in both the narrative and mechanics.
Traits themselves aren't permanent. People change, sometimes temporarily, sometimes irrevocably. When those changes occur, the traits can become modified, replaced, or eliminated.
Feats
In Hitman Quest, one plays fast and slightly loose in terms of what can be done within the boundaries of 'what is humanly possible'. When certain things done starts to strain that boundary, those things can be considered 'Feats'.
Feats can be freely invoked whenever possible. As Questers, you are allowed to plan in ways to invoke any Feats that MC-chan (or other PoV characters, if we cross that bridge) has within reason. As the simplest example, ｢Arcane Arithmetic｣ can be invoked within combat to narratively give Mary Claire complete recall of her weaponries' ammo count, giving a sort of pseudo-FPS HUD in her mind's eye. She is not yet able to invoke ｢Arcane Arithmetic｣ to know how much ammunition her enemies hold and give herself capability to exploit openings and lulls within a firefight. Simply put, coordinate with yours truly and we'll see how things go.
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Mary Claire Evans
(Still WIP, Please Wait Warmly)
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The Main Character. A hapless nerd thrown face-first to the Underworld. Fortunately, she is fortuitously prepared for this.
Age: 19
Status: Alive -
A Stable Upbringing: For the lack of better words, you have been blessed with a relatively quiet and nice life and fond memories of such have made you a well-adjusted and sensible individual. Cherish it. Less likely to gain bad Traits.
Shrewd Treasurer: Your time as treasurers - in home and schools - has been something that left you with the knowledge and instinct to know if the price is right. In situations where appraisals and haggling becomes important, automatically gain a better deal.
The Filled Grain: Humility is what makes man as angels. Some would consider your humility to be the act of ingrate supplicants. Others… do not. ???.
For Another's Aid: Within yourself, you find the urge to help people in need. Perhaps it isn't truly altruistic but you care not. Gain +1 to your dice rolls when assisting others. Refusing someone in need. You cannot turn someone in need of help with ease.
Nauseatic Stress Release: In the crucible of the first combat you lived to see the aftermath of, you broke down. After combat or traumatic events, roll a d20-5, results under 10 results in stress-vomiting.
Lores of The Underworld: After a fateful meeting over cold tea, you find yourself entranced with knowledge most terrible and dangerous. The worst haunts you even now, but you know. Unlocks Knowledge (Underworld Histories) Skill. Tags Knowledge (Underworld Histories) Skill. Automatically Succeeds recalling common details pertaining to the Underworld.
Unblooded, Untested: Through faults not entirely of your own, and though you have a passable grasp of the fundamentals, you will need to pass the trials by fire to be able to even master the fundamentals. Until three melee combat occurs, all Melee Combat Skills are capped at Beginner.
A Refined Soul: An intervention left what might have been the mark of cruel elegance to not be so. Only the former is mitigated, it seems. When dealing with characters who values culturedness, raise their disposition. When dealing with characters who does not value such, lower their disposition. -
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Battlefield Awareness: ⦿⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾
Melee Combat
Generalist Style: ⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾Devastator Style: ⦿⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾Rout Style: ⦿⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾Ranged Combat
Small Arms: ⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾Assault Firearms: ⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾Precision Firearms: ⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾Exotic Firearms: ⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾Physicality: ⦿⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾ -
First Aid: ⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾
Field Repairs: ⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾
Jury Rigging: ⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾
Operate (Vehicle): ⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾
Tactics: ⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾
Willpower: ⦿⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾ - Hacking: ⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾
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Persuasion: ⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾
Mannerism: ⦿⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾
Intimidation: ⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾ -
Investigation: ⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾
Stealth: ⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾ -
A Counting Eye: ⦿⦿⦾⦾⦾⦾
Captain of the Ship: ⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾ -
Knowledge (Underworld Histories): ⦿⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾
Intelligence: ⦿⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾
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Battlefield Awareness: ⦿⦾⦾⦾⦾⦾
- A Counting Eye Feat: ｢｢Arcane Arithmetics｣ -> You have become accustomed to counting numbers that you do not need anything so basic as pen and paper.
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- Ledger of the Underworld - Seventh Volume (Quality III): A decade ago, blood covered the grounds in the dark corners of the world to have the contents of these pages secreted away. Now, the proverbially bloody book is within your grasp. Gain +1 towards discerning low-level personages within the Underworld. Tag A Counting Eye skill. Gain +3 to all accounting actions. ???
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The Main Character. A hapless nerd thrown face-first to the Underworld. Fortunately, she is fortuitously prepared for this.
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Dramatis Personae
Prelude: A Peaceful Start
Before your predicament, you were just a normal American girl. You didn't quite live in a house with a white picket fence in the suburbs. You do live in the Big Apple though. Your parents worked as well paid mid-level managers. You have little want in your life. Well, you could use a little less excitement from your little brother but he was always the more extroverted one between the two of you.
[Trait Gained!]
[A Stable Upbringing: For the lack of better words, you have been blessed with a relatively quiet and nice life and fond memories of such have made you a well-adjusted and sensible individual. Cherish it. Less likely to gain bad Traits.]
But you were - and still is - the smarter one. The nerdy one by a mile long. In particular, you always accounted yourself well in the fields of mathematics. If your little brother has the hands of a baseball pitcher, you have an eye for numbers. Nothing so abstract or 'highbrow' as said brother oft said, but enough for you to perhaps be the distillations of your parent's brains.
You could scarcely think any other elementary schooler whose idea of fun consists of fiddling about in Excels and spreadsheets. This predilection of yours manifested itself in getting you constant nominations on being the treasurer. First in classes. Then at home, being trusted enough by your parents to handle the budget. Then in the student councils. The last is the worst ones. Being the treasurer and manage the budgets of club and entangling yourself in school politics is an experience that is both enlightening and frustrating.
[Trait Gained!]
[Shrewd Treasurer: Your time as treasurers - in home and schools - has been something that left you with the knowledge and instinct to know if the price is right. In situations where appraisals and haggling becomes important, automatically gain a better deal.]
[Feat Gained!]
[｢Arcane Arithmetics｣ -> You have become accustomed to counting numbers that you do not need anything so basic as pen and paper.]
Surprising you, the intersection of effects of being a nerd who controls the purses of the jocks didn't result in bullying. You can think of several reasons. Perhaps it's the fact that you were just that helpful to everyone. You found the time to help just about everyone with your talent. It was somewhat exhausting, of course but you'd never turn away those in need of your help. Within reason of course.
Perhaps it's also the fact that you had a protective little brother who can throw baseballs hard enough to break noses. That might've been the bigger factor.
[Traits Gained!]
[The Filled Grain: Humility is what makes men as angels. Some would consider your humility to be the act of an ingrate supplicant. Others… do not. ???.]
[For Another's Aid: Within yourself, you find the urge to help people in need. Perhaps it isn't truly altruistic in motives but you care not. Everyone benefits, after all. Gain +1 to your dice rolls when assisting others. You cannot turn away someone in need of help without difficulty.]
A nerdy girl like yourself would normally not be able to kill a man at least twice as old as they are but for all that you are a normal nerdy American girl, you borne witness to something exceptional. Though you know it not at the time, you had became witness to a small part of events that changed the world forever more.
As the knickerbocker within you remarked, "Of course the world changing event in New York happened in the subway."
First part/recap is done. The second part will be done with the future me is awake.
[Trait Gained!]
[A Stable Upbringing: For the lack of better words, you have been blessed with a relatively quiet and nice life and fond memories of such have made you a well-adjusted and sensible individual. Cherish it. Less likely to gain bad Traits.]
But you were - and still is - the smarter one. The nerdy one by a mile long. In particular, you always accounted yourself well in the fields of mathematics. If your little brother has the hands of a baseball pitcher, you have an eye for numbers. Nothing so abstract or 'highbrow' as said brother oft said, but enough for you to perhaps be the distillations of your parent's brains.
You could scarcely think any other elementary schooler whose idea of fun consists of fiddling about in Excels and spreadsheets. This predilection of yours manifested itself in getting you constant nominations on being the treasurer. First in classes. Then at home, being trusted enough by your parents to handle the budget. Then in the student councils. The last is the worst ones. Being the treasurer and manage the budgets of club and entangling yourself in school politics is an experience that is both enlightening and frustrating.
[Trait Gained!]
[Shrewd Treasurer: Your time as treasurers - in home and schools - has been something that left you with the knowledge and instinct to know if the price is right. In situations where appraisals and haggling becomes important, automatically gain a better deal.]
[Feat Gained!]
[｢Arcane Arithmetics｣ -> You have become accustomed to counting numbers that you do not need anything so basic as pen and paper.]
Surprising you, the intersection of effects of being a nerd who controls the purses of the jocks didn't result in bullying. You can think of several reasons. Perhaps it's the fact that you were just that helpful to everyone. You found the time to help just about everyone with your talent. It was somewhat exhausting, of course but you'd never turn away those in need of your help. Within reason of course.
Perhaps it's also the fact that you had a protective little brother who can throw baseballs hard enough to break noses. That might've been the bigger factor.
[Traits Gained!]
[The Filled Grain: Humility is what makes men as angels. Some would consider your humility to be the act of an ingrate supplicant. Others… do not. ???.]
[For Another's Aid: Within yourself, you find the urge to help people in need. Perhaps it isn't truly altruistic in motives but you care not. Everyone benefits, after all. Gain +1 to your dice rolls when assisting others. You cannot turn away someone in need of help without difficulty.]
A nerdy girl like yourself would normally not be able to kill a man at least twice as old as they are but for all that you are a normal nerdy American girl, you borne witness to something exceptional. Though you know it not at the time, you had became witness to a small part of events that changed the world forever more.
As the knickerbocker within you remarked, "Of course the world changing event in New York happened in the subway."
First part/recap is done. The second part will be done with the future me is awake.
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Prelude: The View of The Other Side
Perception (1): 15
It was an overcast evening - like any other dime a dozen of such - when it happened. You were just finished with another stuffy council meeting. Perhaps the subtle tension of the meeting half an hour ago - wherein club budgets were discussed - was the reason you noted this one.
Two men stared one another from the opposing ends of the carriages.. You were not the first to notice this. Which was why there were those who exited the carriage, surprisingly without any panic or giving indication that anything untoward would occur. The ways of adulthood had seemed arcane at the time.
(Little did you know, that it was just how the Big Apple works. And now, in a snow and blood covered land across the Atlantic, how the world works.
One should just ignore danger that doesn't concern them, if one knew what's good for them.)
It wasn't long after, as the carriage looks as close to empty - save for the few sitting passengers like yourself - that the mounting tension that could be cut through with a knife literally did.
Battlefield Awareness (0): 17-5 = 12
One moment, both fighters - one wounded Caucasian and one fresh black man - were relaxed. The next, the wounded man has a knife lodged at his right side. Your stomach churned at the sight, as you see rivulets of fresh blood dripping down on the metallic floor.
Yet despite that, the wounded man persevered - the lodged knife wrenched out and wielded - and moved.
Battlefield Awareness (0): 18-5 = 13
Your eyes glazed through the dance of death the two men are locked in. You watched your fair share of action movies, but there's a clear line of difference from those sort of movies to this.
Both are masters of their craft. The black man moved in a stance that is both open and yet closed at the same time, a poisoned chalice of acid that can be partaken or thrown at one's face. The wounded man moves with no wasted movements, the constricting vice of a snake or perhaps the unrelentingly frigid cold bereft of passion is how one can describe this fighting style. Each movement is designed simply to inflict the maximum amount of damage.
Battlefield Awareness (0): 16-5 = 11
And for that, the vice crushed the chalice. You see it coming before you saw it. The black man was trying to win the war of attrition that the wounded man wasn't intending to give. The sudden disarming of knife of the black man gave way to broken momentum that in turn gave way for the repurposed knife of the Caucasian to slide into his opponent's chest.
And he's not done yet.
You gasped as the victor plunged the knife deeper, pushing the black man down on a seat.. And deeper still, until only the hilt remains. He then said something to the man with hushed whispers that you could not hear before he grabbed his own blade, discarded on the floor at some point, and said aloud.
"Consider this a professional courtesy."
Apparently, that was the cue for the train doors to open and for him to leave. And the same goes for the other passengers, rushing out through the other doors. Numb as you were, you stood up…
[For Another's Aid activates!]
...and make your way to the hurt man. You quickly pressed the emergency distress button as you approached, the train seemingly slowing down as it happens. He did not register your presence - his gaze bellied a mixture of emotions too complicated for you to glean on the direction of his departed opponent - until you were but two steps from him. Slowly yet not weakly, he looked up to you.
"...Oh. My, my. Didn't your parents tell you to not approach strangers covered in blood?"
"T-They taught me to help strangers in need."
He looks at you with a lazy gaze. "That can't be all. Out with it." It is impressive how much a bloodied appearance could make the most laidback of words most intimidating.
"...Because I want to."
His face breaks into a smile then. You'd think he considered laughing if doing such would not kill him. He decided to mirthfully snort at you. "So you do." He said it once more, ruefully. "So you do. Well, you wouldn't need to help me, that bast-" He looks at you again, before shrugging. "That bastard ensured that I would be fine, even with this stuck in me."
Willpower (0): 8-5 = 3
Of course, he had meant the knife but the moment your eyes trailed to it.. you couldn't help but notice the blood. The imprint of red imparts itself to your eyes like the black spots one gets when one stares at the sun or lights for too long. The colours around you seems to dull until only stark crimson is all that is highlighted.
And as that happened, a flip is switched and your stomach turned outside out.
You were cognizant enough to cover your mouth with your hand as the contents of your lunch spilled out of you. You were not, however, prepared for the buckling of your legs as numbness simply shut your nerves and makes you fall to the floor on your butt, covered in blood not your own and bile your own.
For his part, the man shook his head, amusement intermixing with concern, at you. "Maybe your parents should have told you to not help blood-soaked strangers if their child is can't handle blood."
"I-I can." You pull yourself up, glaring at the wounded man. More than half a decade now, you must've looked like a pouting kitten. "It's just that…"
"Your first?" He shrugged again, the picture of laidbackness despite everything. "If you keep on living here, it's probably high time you...learn of the things your parents don't quite teach you." Rummaging through his pockets, he handed you three golden coins, slightly bloodied by his touch. "Consider this the repayment of favours. You may want to spend your time looking for a certain pawn shop in East Harlem. Giorno's. Tell the old bastard Cassian sent you." He paused. "I'm Cassian, of course. What's your name kid?"
"Mary." You said as you wipe the bile off of you - half aware that the train is stopping. "Mary Claire Evans."
"I'll remember that, Mary." He looked up and behind you. You did so as well, noticing the EMT personnel who is glancing on who to deal first. You or Cassian. "Get the kid out of here. She's the one who pressed the emergency stop button."
The EMT nodded and led you out. You didn't quite register what he said. Indeed, the next few days seemed like a haze. Your parents scolded you for your recklessness yet commended you for your quick-thinking. Your little brother is more concerned yet in awe. For that matter, so is the school once the news got out. You became a sort of celebrity for doing what you did.
But all you can think of, as the haze lifts and clarity came to you, are the deceptively gold coins and the memory of the fight and the blood.
[Gained 3 Golden Coins]
[Skills Ranked Up!]
[Melee Combat (Devastator Style) is now at Beginner Rank]
[Battlefield Awareness is now at Beginner Rank]
[Willpower is now at Beginner Rank]
[Trait Gained!]
[Nauseatic Stress Release: In the crucible of the first combat you lived to see the aftermath of, you broke down. After combat or traumatic events, roll a d20-4, results under 10 results in stress-vomiting.]
And as you think clearly, you now know of a certain thing. What Cassian had told you was important. Something is different with the world as you know it now. As a now transferred friend you knew once said, 'An adventure may begin as a mere blunder'. Perhaps helping Cassian was that 'blunder', but regardless, you should know.
(As the bloodied tome in your hands suggests, it helped. A life for a life.)
Using the trust given to you, you decided that on a weekend, to make your own private excursion to East Harlem. Under the cover of excusing yourself to go the library, you make your excursion there.
Unfortunately, being a teenage lady alone in a relatively seedy part of town tends to attract trouble.
"Oho, whatcha doing, little miss?" Case in point, a trio of junkies. Or you'd assume from the scattered syringes all around the dilapidated alleyway you had entered - having assumed that it would make your trip to the pawn show closer - and now cornered in. "This ain't no place for a kid."
"Lay off her, Kevin." A larger man, the only one of the three without bloodshot eyes or twitchy countenance, sighed before looking at you. "Turn back, kid. Take a detour if you know what's good for you."
Said 'Kevin' did not listen and instead moved in. "Aww, Marcus, my good dude, where's the fun in that?" Indeed, it isn't. Fun, that is. The only reason you're not fully catatonic is because of what happened in the subway. "Now girl," He closed the distance between the two of you and brandished a knife and all the sudden all the catatonic feeling turned to red flashing lights. "Give me your money and I'll let you go. Scream an-"
Melee Combat - Devastator Style (1): 17
You didn't let him finish. Your instincts finished kicked in and you kicked up. Your form was not perfect but for your first forceful kick, it was practically flawless. You watched as Kevin topple down, hands on his crotch, and trying - and failing - to not scream in pain. You watched as his face - a rictus of pain and spite - contort into a hateful glare as he wordlessly screamed and lunged at you.
Melee Combat - Devastator Style (1): 11 vs Melee Combat - Generalist Style (1): 14
Compared to the proverbial titans you saw but days ago, Kevin's movement is sluggish, sloppy, and all the more weaker than them. But you are not them. You are a ninth grader who are less than even a junkie. Your backwards scramble was sluggish, sloppy, and completely disregarded the piece of brick on your retreat path.
A piece of brick that made you lose your footing and slam your head on the side of a dumpster. Your head hurts and before you could register the wetness on the side of your head, you feel weightless.
It was then that you realized that you have just been manhandled by Kevin, glaring you with the most scornful look etched on his face. "Girl," The voice that came out of his mouth is more than a little wheezed but the chill on his voice is...more than frightening. The adrenaline rush came off you an- "Change of plans, I am going to gut you then tak-"
"Oh, am I intruding on a bad time?" You couldn't crane your neck far enough back to see the owner of the voice but you can feel the age on him. "Oh. I see that you're beating a little girl senseless and trying to take her lunch money. That's… quite pathetic, isn't it?"
"Get lost geezer, if you know what's good for you." The yelling Kevin makes the ringing all the more worse.
"How about no?" You feel the voice getting closer, accompanied by a rhythmic tapping. "Unhand her, and no one needs to be hurt." The voice paused, "Well, anymore, that is."
You feel yourself weightless for a moment as Kevin released his grasp on you. The next moment, gravity reasserted itself and you fall bodily to the ground. Now, you're able to crane your face back - holding the side of your bloodied head - and see the face of your saviour.
A limping man with a cane old enough to be your grandfather came to your rescue. More importantly, a man who exudes the same air as Cassian and his foe.
Kevin does not know of that.
Melee Combat - Rout Style (4): 19+3 = 22 vs Melee Combat - Generalist Style (1): 16
With a crack not unlike that a whip and with the speed of one, the cane is swung at the hooligan, hitting him square in the forehead. A solid hit that glazed and rolled his eyes back on his skull and toppled him senseless on the ground, knocked out cold.
One hit. That was all it took.
The old man glanced imperiously at Kevin's friends. "If you wish to not end up like this one, carry him out of here and leave us."
Marcus nodded hastily - fear and shock clear on his eyes before he bodily lifted his fallen companion. The third and most passive one helped soon after and within several blink of the eyes, the three are out of the alleyway.
You stared at your saviour. "Thank you, sir."
"Do not bother. I am but a concerned citizen, young girl." He continued standing with kind eyes. You realized that the limp must be the only thing preventing him from comforting you directly.
"You do not fight like one."
"Ho?" A glimmer of mirth twinkled in his eyes. "What makes you say that?"
"You fight like…." You try to find the words to describe Cassian and found one. "...like a hitman."
He blinked, the mirth guttered out for a moment before he snorted. "Intriguing. Well, we should be going then. By any chance, did Cassian sent you?"
Your eyes widened. The old man chuckled at that.
"The news travels fast. Cassian is a good friend of mine and if a lass like yourself had helped him." He chuckled lowly, "Signora, you are about to have your worldview shattered."
He was right. As he bandaged your face, he told you the overview of the hidden world of the adults, the Underworld - or however many names it has - and its denizens.
In the span of an hour and a half, he regaled you the tale that he, a retired Hitman, knew of the world he left behind. In particular, he regaled you…
Pick 3
[] ...a tale of the world itself. The deep web of connections one could consider as a parasite or a symbiote - and both views are correct.
[] ...with the stories his kind. The Hitmen, the soldiers and the footmen of the Underworld.
[] ...warmly about Cassian. More importantly, of his mythic and feared opponent, the Baba Yaga.
[] ...with caution about the watchers in the dark. Of the ever-vigilant and bloodthirsty Hounds and their Interpol masters
[] ...with bitter words, the kings and queens of the Underworld. The High Table, the authority most swear fealty to.
[] ...of the closest thing the Underworld has to monastics. The Knights are an eclectic bunch. But ones that work for everyone.
Fact #1: I can't keep promise after two years of running Quests. On the other hand, I did write what amounts to two updates
Fact #2: Rerolling everything makes for good recap, seeing as luck would have it, the rolls vaguely matched the results on the first Quest
Fact #3: Recap or no, I am going to expand the worldbuilding a bit more. Mary Claire in this iteration is a bit more aware of the Underworld due to Giorno, who is a patient lecturer. Keep in mind that he may or may not be biased in what he says.
It was an overcast evening - like any other dime a dozen of such - when it happened. You were just finished with another stuffy council meeting. Perhaps the subtle tension of the meeting half an hour ago - wherein club budgets were discussed - was the reason you noted this one.
Two men stared one another from the opposing ends of the carriages.. You were not the first to notice this. Which was why there were those who exited the carriage, surprisingly without any panic or giving indication that anything untoward would occur. The ways of adulthood had seemed arcane at the time.
(Little did you know, that it was just how the Big Apple works. And now, in a snow and blood covered land across the Atlantic, how the world works.
One should just ignore danger that doesn't concern them, if one knew what's good for them.)
It wasn't long after, as the carriage looks as close to empty - save for the few sitting passengers like yourself - that the mounting tension that could be cut through with a knife literally did.
Battlefield Awareness (0): 17-5 = 12
One moment, both fighters - one wounded Caucasian and one fresh black man - were relaxed. The next, the wounded man has a knife lodged at his right side. Your stomach churned at the sight, as you see rivulets of fresh blood dripping down on the metallic floor.
Yet despite that, the wounded man persevered - the lodged knife wrenched out and wielded - and moved.
Battlefield Awareness (0): 18-5 = 13
Your eyes glazed through the dance of death the two men are locked in. You watched your fair share of action movies, but there's a clear line of difference from those sort of movies to this.
Both are masters of their craft. The black man moved in a stance that is both open and yet closed at the same time, a poisoned chalice of acid that can be partaken or thrown at one's face. The wounded man moves with no wasted movements, the constricting vice of a snake or perhaps the unrelentingly frigid cold bereft of passion is how one can describe this fighting style. Each movement is designed simply to inflict the maximum amount of damage.
Battlefield Awareness (0): 16-5 = 11
And for that, the vice crushed the chalice. You see it coming before you saw it. The black man was trying to win the war of attrition that the wounded man wasn't intending to give. The sudden disarming of knife of the black man gave way to broken momentum that in turn gave way for the repurposed knife of the Caucasian to slide into his opponent's chest.
And he's not done yet.
You gasped as the victor plunged the knife deeper, pushing the black man down on a seat.. And deeper still, until only the hilt remains. He then said something to the man with hushed whispers that you could not hear before he grabbed his own blade, discarded on the floor at some point, and said aloud.
"Consider this a professional courtesy."
Apparently, that was the cue for the train doors to open and for him to leave. And the same goes for the other passengers, rushing out through the other doors. Numb as you were, you stood up…
[For Another's Aid activates!]
...and make your way to the hurt man. You quickly pressed the emergency distress button as you approached, the train seemingly slowing down as it happens. He did not register your presence - his gaze bellied a mixture of emotions too complicated for you to glean on the direction of his departed opponent - until you were but two steps from him. Slowly yet not weakly, he looked up to you.
"...Oh. My, my. Didn't your parents tell you to not approach strangers covered in blood?"
"T-They taught me to help strangers in need."
He looks at you with a lazy gaze. "That can't be all. Out with it." It is impressive how much a bloodied appearance could make the most laidback of words most intimidating.
"...Because I want to."
His face breaks into a smile then. You'd think he considered laughing if doing such would not kill him. He decided to mirthfully snort at you. "So you do." He said it once more, ruefully. "So you do. Well, you wouldn't need to help me, that bast-" He looks at you again, before shrugging. "That bastard ensured that I would be fine, even with this stuck in me."
Willpower (0): 8-5 = 3
Of course, he had meant the knife but the moment your eyes trailed to it.. you couldn't help but notice the blood. The imprint of red imparts itself to your eyes like the black spots one gets when one stares at the sun or lights for too long. The colours around you seems to dull until only stark crimson is all that is highlighted.
And as that happened, a flip is switched and your stomach turned outside out.
You were cognizant enough to cover your mouth with your hand as the contents of your lunch spilled out of you. You were not, however, prepared for the buckling of your legs as numbness simply shut your nerves and makes you fall to the floor on your butt, covered in blood not your own and bile your own.
For his part, the man shook his head, amusement intermixing with concern, at you. "Maybe your parents should have told you to not help blood-soaked strangers if their child is can't handle blood."
"I-I can." You pull yourself up, glaring at the wounded man. More than half a decade now, you must've looked like a pouting kitten. "It's just that…"
"Your first?" He shrugged again, the picture of laidbackness despite everything. "If you keep on living here, it's probably high time you...learn of the things your parents don't quite teach you." Rummaging through his pockets, he handed you three golden coins, slightly bloodied by his touch. "Consider this the repayment of favours. You may want to spend your time looking for a certain pawn shop in East Harlem. Giorno's. Tell the old bastard Cassian sent you." He paused. "I'm Cassian, of course. What's your name kid?"
"Mary." You said as you wipe the bile off of you - half aware that the train is stopping. "Mary Claire Evans."
"I'll remember that, Mary." He looked up and behind you. You did so as well, noticing the EMT personnel who is glancing on who to deal first. You or Cassian. "Get the kid out of here. She's the one who pressed the emergency stop button."
The EMT nodded and led you out. You didn't quite register what he said. Indeed, the next few days seemed like a haze. Your parents scolded you for your recklessness yet commended you for your quick-thinking. Your little brother is more concerned yet in awe. For that matter, so is the school once the news got out. You became a sort of celebrity for doing what you did.
But all you can think of, as the haze lifts and clarity came to you, are the deceptively gold coins and the memory of the fight and the blood.
[Gained 3 Golden Coins]
[Skills Ranked Up!]
[Melee Combat (Devastator Style) is now at Beginner Rank]
[Battlefield Awareness is now at Beginner Rank]
[Willpower is now at Beginner Rank]
[Trait Gained!]
[Nauseatic Stress Release: In the crucible of the first combat you lived to see the aftermath of, you broke down. After combat or traumatic events, roll a d20-4, results under 10 results in stress-vomiting.]
And as you think clearly, you now know of a certain thing. What Cassian had told you was important. Something is different with the world as you know it now. As a now transferred friend you knew once said, 'An adventure may begin as a mere blunder'. Perhaps helping Cassian was that 'blunder', but regardless, you should know.
(As the bloodied tome in your hands suggests, it helped. A life for a life.)
Using the trust given to you, you decided that on a weekend, to make your own private excursion to East Harlem. Under the cover of excusing yourself to go the library, you make your excursion there.
Unfortunately, being a teenage lady alone in a relatively seedy part of town tends to attract trouble.
"Oho, whatcha doing, little miss?" Case in point, a trio of junkies. Or you'd assume from the scattered syringes all around the dilapidated alleyway you had entered - having assumed that it would make your trip to the pawn show closer - and now cornered in. "This ain't no place for a kid."
"Lay off her, Kevin." A larger man, the only one of the three without bloodshot eyes or twitchy countenance, sighed before looking at you. "Turn back, kid. Take a detour if you know what's good for you."
Said 'Kevin' did not listen and instead moved in. "Aww, Marcus, my good dude, where's the fun in that?" Indeed, it isn't. Fun, that is. The only reason you're not fully catatonic is because of what happened in the subway. "Now girl," He closed the distance between the two of you and brandished a knife and all the sudden all the catatonic feeling turned to red flashing lights. "Give me your money and I'll let you go. Scream an-"
Melee Combat - Devastator Style (1): 17
You didn't let him finish. Your instincts finished kicked in and you kicked up. Your form was not perfect but for your first forceful kick, it was practically flawless. You watched as Kevin topple down, hands on his crotch, and trying - and failing - to not scream in pain. You watched as his face - a rictus of pain and spite - contort into a hateful glare as he wordlessly screamed and lunged at you.
Melee Combat - Devastator Style (1): 11 vs Melee Combat - Generalist Style (1): 14
Compared to the proverbial titans you saw but days ago, Kevin's movement is sluggish, sloppy, and all the more weaker than them. But you are not them. You are a ninth grader who are less than even a junkie. Your backwards scramble was sluggish, sloppy, and completely disregarded the piece of brick on your retreat path.
A piece of brick that made you lose your footing and slam your head on the side of a dumpster. Your head hurts and before you could register the wetness on the side of your head, you feel weightless.
It was then that you realized that you have just been manhandled by Kevin, glaring you with the most scornful look etched on his face. "Girl," The voice that came out of his mouth is more than a little wheezed but the chill on his voice is...more than frightening. The adrenaline rush came off you an- "Change of plans, I am going to gut you then tak-"
"Oh, am I intruding on a bad time?" You couldn't crane your neck far enough back to see the owner of the voice but you can feel the age on him. "Oh. I see that you're beating a little girl senseless and trying to take her lunch money. That's… quite pathetic, isn't it?"
"Get lost geezer, if you know what's good for you." The yelling Kevin makes the ringing all the more worse.
"How about no?" You feel the voice getting closer, accompanied by a rhythmic tapping. "Unhand her, and no one needs to be hurt." The voice paused, "Well, anymore, that is."
You feel yourself weightless for a moment as Kevin released his grasp on you. The next moment, gravity reasserted itself and you fall bodily to the ground. Now, you're able to crane your face back - holding the side of your bloodied head - and see the face of your saviour.
A limping man with a cane old enough to be your grandfather came to your rescue. More importantly, a man who exudes the same air as Cassian and his foe.
Kevin does not know of that.
Melee Combat - Rout Style (4): 19+3 = 22 vs Melee Combat - Generalist Style (1): 16
With a crack not unlike that a whip and with the speed of one, the cane is swung at the hooligan, hitting him square in the forehead. A solid hit that glazed and rolled his eyes back on his skull and toppled him senseless on the ground, knocked out cold.
One hit. That was all it took.
The old man glanced imperiously at Kevin's friends. "If you wish to not end up like this one, carry him out of here and leave us."
Marcus nodded hastily - fear and shock clear on his eyes before he bodily lifted his fallen companion. The third and most passive one helped soon after and within several blink of the eyes, the three are out of the alleyway.
You stared at your saviour. "Thank you, sir."
"Do not bother. I am but a concerned citizen, young girl." He continued standing with kind eyes. You realized that the limp must be the only thing preventing him from comforting you directly.
"You do not fight like one."
"Ho?" A glimmer of mirth twinkled in his eyes. "What makes you say that?"
"You fight like…." You try to find the words to describe Cassian and found one. "...like a hitman."
He blinked, the mirth guttered out for a moment before he snorted. "Intriguing. Well, we should be going then. By any chance, did Cassian sent you?"
Your eyes widened. The old man chuckled at that.
"The news travels fast. Cassian is a good friend of mine and if a lass like yourself had helped him." He chuckled lowly, "Signora, you are about to have your worldview shattered."
He was right. As he bandaged your face, he told you the overview of the hidden world of the adults, the Underworld - or however many names it has - and its denizens.
In the span of an hour and a half, he regaled you the tale that he, a retired Hitman, knew of the world he left behind. In particular, he regaled you…
Pick 3
[] ...a tale of the world itself. The deep web of connections one could consider as a parasite or a symbiote - and both views are correct.
[] ...with the stories his kind. The Hitmen, the soldiers and the footmen of the Underworld.
[] ...warmly about Cassian. More importantly, of his mythic and feared opponent, the Baba Yaga.
[] ...with caution about the watchers in the dark. Of the ever-vigilant and bloodthirsty Hounds and their Interpol masters
[] ...with bitter words, the kings and queens of the Underworld. The High Table, the authority most swear fealty to.
[] ...of the closest thing the Underworld has to monastics. The Knights are an eclectic bunch. But ones that work for everyone.
Fact #1: I can't keep promise after two years of running Quests. On the other hand, I did write what amounts to two updates
Fact #2: Rerolling everything makes for good recap, seeing as luck would have it, the rolls vaguely matched the results on the first Quest
Fact #3: Recap or no, I am going to expand the worldbuilding a bit more. Mary Claire in this iteration is a bit more aware of the Underworld due to Giorno, who is a patient lecturer. Keep in mind that he may or may not be biased in what he says.
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Prelude: The First Steps and Dealings
[X] ...with bitter words, the kings and queens of the Underworld. The High Table, the authority most swear fealty to.
[X] ...with the stories his kind. The Hitmen, the soldiers and the footmen of the Underworld.
[X] ...a tale of the world itself. The deep web of connections one could consider as a parasite or a symbiote - and both views are correct.
"Let's start with the simplest of things. Our names." The old man said as you two entered his shop. You half suspected it before but this confirms it. "Oddo Giorno, at your service." The man you are here for. Giorno's - that is to say, the pawn shop - looks surprisingly homely. Wood panelings and warm lights evoke the feel of a place where one talks and sit over than a place to trade. "Yours?"
"Mary Claire Evans." You say with a held wince. By now, the aching of your head starts to become unbearable, even as you daub the wound with a handkerchief Giorno gave you on the way. "Thank you again."
"Thank me later, once I bandaged your head over cups of warm tea," He whirls - despite the limp - to face you. "Now, I should warn you that I am going to be breaking unto you news that you have never known. Things that will keep you up at night even with downplaying of the facts, I am saying this because there are things that could and had broken the minds of young ladies such as yourself." He paused, looking at you with softness and pity. "I do not wish to do so again."
You pause in your tracks, headache and wound forgotten, as you process his words. You are now less sure about your choices but…
Willpower (1): 20
...you steel yourself. With as much resolution your frame can handle, you stare up at Giorno's eyes. "Yes. I want to know."
He blinked, taken slightly aback by your quiet fervor. He smiled warmly - with a touch of grimness - at you then, "Then let us start."
It didn't start there, of course. You were led to a small room first. A private guest room that has the same homely feel of the front area. It did nothing, however, to mask the air of danger evoked by the lining of weaponries of all kinds. In the stead of paintings or vases or statues are gun displays, gun racks, and on one occasion as a centerpiece, a gleaming chromatic cane, not unlike the one Giorno is holding. In the very same room, you find yourself seated on a comfy sofa chair and served hot tea - with scones, natch. In this very setting, Giorno revealed to you the matter of the Underworld.
"As you must've been aware, young lady, people strive for power. The irrefutable fact that wars and conflicts of all stripes rages prove this point. What you - and many more - are not aware of, is the fact that just so happens… a plurality are in agreement that it doesn't matter how one accumulates this power.
A compact formed what is now known o as the second - darker - layer of society. The Underworld." He paused, nodding to himself at the work he did at bandaging your head. "The world you know is simply that, 'the World'."
A question flashed through your head and you asked "How connected are these layers, Mr. Giorno?"
"Well," He paused once more, sitting down as he ruminates the answer. "In short, about a third of the world's GDP can be linked to the Underworld." Chuckling at your undoubtedly shocked face. "You did ask and indeed, there are certain public papers that would corroborate my words, if you know where to look."
"I-How?"
"Thank our slave drivers," The Italian growled softly. "The oh so generous leaders sitting atop the High Table made your confoundment so."
"The High Table?"
"The self-styled kings and queens of the Underworld. Think…" He paused, "The UN and its Security Council. Vaguely speaking, they are hands-off rulers who nonetheless exact tributes and enforces certain inviolable," There's a mixture of hate and something you don't quite get in equal measure as he said that, "Rules that everyone must follow, lest...chaos occurs.
Though it certainly happened regardless of rules." He said with some measure of mirth.
"What does that mean?"
Giorno looks at you for a short while before shrugging, "You'll see. I'll give you certain pointers on how to figure out if certain news contains traces of the Underworld's dealings. Consider it homework as you want to know what I meant by 'it already happened.'"
You nodded and just like that, he gave you the crash course.
Knowledge [The Underworld] (0): 20 - 5 + 5 (Willpower Critical): 20
And with that course, you take in the lectures of a week in the span of an hour. The tea ran cold - so were the scones - as you constantly prodded and asked questions after questions of the markings - scars, Giorno bluntly said- the Underworld left in the mundane world.
You once thought your affinity lies in the realm of numbers but apparently not. Not even the - thankfully muted - tales of horror were enough to dissuade you. The rise of the Pinkertons, the true extent of the Valentine's Day Massacre - the Month of Blood, the transcontinental tale of the Flying Pussyfoot, the Fall of Roanapur, and many more of these indelible tales would remain in your mind for the years to come.
[Trait Gained!]
[Lores of The Underworld: After a fateful meeting over cold tea, you find yourself entranced with knowledge most terrible and dangerous. The worst haunts you even now, but you know. Unlocks Knowledge (Underworld Histories) Skill. Tags Knowledge (Underworld Histories) Skill. Automatically Succeeds recalling common details pertaining to the Underworld.]
Tagged Skills
People have affinities - an affectation - towards certain actions. These affinities - within the boundaries of the Quest - manifests as Tagged Skills. When Skills are tagged, rate of their advancements increases and actions taken with such skills becomes smoother and fail states are less punishing.
While most Tagged Skills are tied to a person's own affinities, certain Tagged Skills are bestowed via items or other factors that can be lost.
But before such, at the end of an hour - and after changing tea - the topic turned to another matter entirely.
"I don't suppose you know the story of the Flames of Kowloon?"
"I… think I've heard of it." To your recollection, it was an event in the late 60s in which fifty percent of the titular Kowloon City - an enclosed apartment complex six acres in size - burnt down to the ground. "It was the worst fire disaster in Hong Kong's history." Your brows furrowed. "Was it the work of the Underworld?"
"Well, it was my work." Your eyes widen at that. "Well, let me rephrase. It was my crucible as a Hitman. My first real assignment."
"What happened?"
"Everything. It was supposed to be a simple job for me, a young Suit at the time. Take down a Triad boss who broke the High Table's mandate." He sipped his now-hot tea. "Just so happens, on that fateful February of '68, I wasn't the only ones on the job. Some CIA Agents were on the clock, trying to extract a VIP who earned the ire of my mark... who in turn hired his own hitmen, the lot of Savants, who in turn attracted the Hounds and a goddamn battle-maniac Knight."
He snorted with a conflicted grimace. "It was a miracle that only half the city burnt down that day."
"Savants? Suits?" He had given you the basics on the Knights and Hounds, but this was the first time you heard those two terms.
"Well, it's how we divide Hitmen. The groupings, so to speak. In the business, people like me and Cassian are Suits. Proper professionals," In this, unlike his dry wit at explaining the rest of the Underworld, a hint of pride can be heard in his voice. "Our twin conducts, dependability and predictability, are our greatest strengths and weaknesses. The jack of all trades, so to speak."
"So these Savants are masters of one?"
"Correct." He smiled. "Many of those who dwell in the Underworld are often pariahs shunned by polite society. Sometimes, these pariahs concern themselves in the mastery of the most uniques, though not always. Some Savants entered the category despite being practically Suits for certain…" He looks at the cane held in the trophy case. "...distinguishments."
"So, you were...of two worlds?"
"Were, yes. There were others, a hitman within the dismal depths of Roanapur with the luck of the devil, the foresight of a hawk, and the self-awareness of a brick. No idea if he survived The Fall though, he probably did." He shook his head. "But back to Savants as a whole, the twin conducts they held are their specializations and randomness. This randomness is different than unreliability though. But one must remember that treating with them is akin to wishing upon a monkey's paw."
Here, another half an hour passes by and much like before, you digested everything there is to digest.
"Hrm. You are a far more astute student than I thought. Tell me, miss Evans," At some point, Giorno stopped calling you 'little girl'. There's a glimmer of respect visible in his eyes as he said that. "Did my good friend ever gave you anything as recompense?"
"Cassian did, yes." You search your bag and fished out the three golden coins. The Charons, as he had explained to you, are the currency of the Underworld. Their worth is not on the fact that they are made out of actual gold, but in the sanctity of transactions in itself.
"Always a generous one, Bailey was. Should've given you just two but nooo, it had to be three." He chuckled. "Well then miss Evans. I think I have something that might interest you. You said you had an interest in accounting, did you not?"
You nodded, "Very much so...why?"
"Well, allow me a moment." He left the room to an adjoining one, a storage room by the looks of it. A few minutes later he emerged, the cuffs of his blazer lightly dusted as he smiled somewhat triumphantly, holding a book.
Well, calling it a book is akin to calling five hundred dollars 'pocket change'.
The word 'tome' comes to mind as a more apt descriptor. The entire thing must have weighed close to seven pounds. You've never seen any book like this. Granted, the cover being made out of gold - Underworld's brand of understated opulence - didn't help with its weight. But even without it, it is a hefty book.
"This is a Ledger," he said, hefting it with both hands as he passed it to you across the table. The cover was cool to touch with the weight of ages on it. Inscribed in what you can only assume to be silver are the words, '7th Volume - 90-05 - M-L'. "The Underworld believes in paper trails as opposed to electronic ones. Archaic, though it makes anonymity that much easier. A Ledger, in essence, is a transactional accounting of every single thing that has transpired since… well, ever since the Underworld became a thing."
You look at the cover closer. "This contains the records since the nineties until 2005. What does M-L mean?"
"Mid-Low. What you will lay your eyes on will be the costs of everything from the lowliest informant tipping to the flesh trades that occurred throughout the world." Giorno drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "You will not learn everything this book has to offer. Far too many secret languages are embedded within the Ledger…" He trailed off, looking at you with half expectant look.
"But I can learn well enough of those without?"
"And may also get far enough to decipher some of those languages." He paused, stretching his open palm your way. "That'd be one Charon."
[Shrewd Treasurer activates!]
[???? activates!]
"That seems rather cheap, isn't it?"
"Well, a saviour of Cassian is a friend of mine." He said too lightly. You couldn't pin exactly what he truly intends but-
That's good enough, right?
"Deal."
[Lost 1 Charon Coin]
[Miscellaneous Item Gained!]
[｢Ledger of the Underworld - Seventh Volume｣ : A decade ago, blood covered the grounds in the dark corners of the world to have the contents of these pages secreted away. Now, the proverbially bloody book is within your grasp. Gain +1 towards discerning low-level personages within the Underworld. Tag A Counting Eye skill. Gain +3 to all accounting actions. ???]
"Now," He started. "The other things I will offer to you are decidedly less opulent. Consider Cassian's favour repaid in full with this."
You nod. The Underworld takes their oaths seriously. "So it is."
"Now, the wares."
Mary Claire has two Coins. Votes will be counted by blocks.
[] A Holovid. "The Arts of Self-Defense Version 4.7. The latest one in the market and seems like it will be the best fit for you. (Costs 1 Coin. Tags a random Melee Combat Skill. Trains Physicality.)
[] A Card. "The Vuitons is a renowned brand of clothier in the Underworld. This card gives you access to their premium ware - a single suit, tailor made with lifetime warranty." (Costs 1 Coin. Gain Vuiton Suit, Tier III Light Body Armour.)
[] A(nother) Book. "There are languages that you might need to learn to read the Ledger better and beyond. Lingua Tartarus is a book that can help you in such matters." (Costs 1 Coin. Gain Lingua Tartarus - Unlocks Knowledge (Underworld Languages) Skill. Synergizes with the Ledger)
[] A Favour. "A debt repaid with a debt. An old man I may be, but you know the saying, 'fear the old in the job where the young oft dies'." (Costs 2 Coins. Can be called at any time.)
[] A Teaching. "One and a half hour is not enough. There are more things that I can teach you. It might be dangerous however. Retirement does not mean the end of repercussions in this world I live in." (Costs 2 Coins. Oddo Giorno will teach Mary Claire Evans the tricks of the trade. Trains and tags certain skills. ????)
[X] ...with the stories his kind. The Hitmen, the soldiers and the footmen of the Underworld.
[X] ...a tale of the world itself. The deep web of connections one could consider as a parasite or a symbiote - and both views are correct.
"Let's start with the simplest of things. Our names." The old man said as you two entered his shop. You half suspected it before but this confirms it. "Oddo Giorno, at your service." The man you are here for. Giorno's - that is to say, the pawn shop - looks surprisingly homely. Wood panelings and warm lights evoke the feel of a place where one talks and sit over than a place to trade. "Yours?"
"Mary Claire Evans." You say with a held wince. By now, the aching of your head starts to become unbearable, even as you daub the wound with a handkerchief Giorno gave you on the way. "Thank you again."
"Thank me later, once I bandaged your head over cups of warm tea," He whirls - despite the limp - to face you. "Now, I should warn you that I am going to be breaking unto you news that you have never known. Things that will keep you up at night even with downplaying of the facts, I am saying this because there are things that could and had broken the minds of young ladies such as yourself." He paused, looking at you with softness and pity. "I do not wish to do so again."
You pause in your tracks, headache and wound forgotten, as you process his words. You are now less sure about your choices but…
Willpower (1): 20
...you steel yourself. With as much resolution your frame can handle, you stare up at Giorno's eyes. "Yes. I want to know."
He blinked, taken slightly aback by your quiet fervor. He smiled warmly - with a touch of grimness - at you then, "Then let us start."
It didn't start there, of course. You were led to a small room first. A private guest room that has the same homely feel of the front area. It did nothing, however, to mask the air of danger evoked by the lining of weaponries of all kinds. In the stead of paintings or vases or statues are gun displays, gun racks, and on one occasion as a centerpiece, a gleaming chromatic cane, not unlike the one Giorno is holding. In the very same room, you find yourself seated on a comfy sofa chair and served hot tea - with scones, natch. In this very setting, Giorno revealed to you the matter of the Underworld.
"As you must've been aware, young lady, people strive for power. The irrefutable fact that wars and conflicts of all stripes rages prove this point. What you - and many more - are not aware of, is the fact that just so happens… a plurality are in agreement that it doesn't matter how one accumulates this power.
A compact formed what is now known o as the second - darker - layer of society. The Underworld." He paused, nodding to himself at the work he did at bandaging your head. "The world you know is simply that, 'the World'."
A question flashed through your head and you asked "How connected are these layers, Mr. Giorno?"
"Well," He paused once more, sitting down as he ruminates the answer. "In short, about a third of the world's GDP can be linked to the Underworld." Chuckling at your undoubtedly shocked face. "You did ask and indeed, there are certain public papers that would corroborate my words, if you know where to look."
"I-How?"
"Thank our slave drivers," The Italian growled softly. "The oh so generous leaders sitting atop the High Table made your confoundment so."
"The High Table?"
"The self-styled kings and queens of the Underworld. Think…" He paused, "The UN and its Security Council. Vaguely speaking, they are hands-off rulers who nonetheless exact tributes and enforces certain inviolable," There's a mixture of hate and something you don't quite get in equal measure as he said that, "Rules that everyone must follow, lest...chaos occurs.
Though it certainly happened regardless of rules." He said with some measure of mirth.
"What does that mean?"
Giorno looks at you for a short while before shrugging, "You'll see. I'll give you certain pointers on how to figure out if certain news contains traces of the Underworld's dealings. Consider it homework as you want to know what I meant by 'it already happened.'"
You nodded and just like that, he gave you the crash course.
Knowledge [The Underworld] (0): 20 - 5 + 5 (Willpower Critical): 20
And with that course, you take in the lectures of a week in the span of an hour. The tea ran cold - so were the scones - as you constantly prodded and asked questions after questions of the markings - scars, Giorno bluntly said- the Underworld left in the mundane world.
You once thought your affinity lies in the realm of numbers but apparently not. Not even the - thankfully muted - tales of horror were enough to dissuade you. The rise of the Pinkertons, the true extent of the Valentine's Day Massacre - the Month of Blood, the transcontinental tale of the Flying Pussyfoot, the Fall of Roanapur, and many more of these indelible tales would remain in your mind for the years to come.
[Trait Gained!]
[Lores of The Underworld: After a fateful meeting over cold tea, you find yourself entranced with knowledge most terrible and dangerous. The worst haunts you even now, but you know. Unlocks Knowledge (Underworld Histories) Skill. Tags Knowledge (Underworld Histories) Skill. Automatically Succeeds recalling common details pertaining to the Underworld.]
Tagged Skills
People have affinities - an affectation - towards certain actions. These affinities - within the boundaries of the Quest - manifests as Tagged Skills. When Skills are tagged, rate of their advancements increases and actions taken with such skills becomes smoother and fail states are less punishing.
While most Tagged Skills are tied to a person's own affinities, certain Tagged Skills are bestowed via items or other factors that can be lost.
But before such, at the end of an hour - and after changing tea - the topic turned to another matter entirely.
"I don't suppose you know the story of the Flames of Kowloon?"
"I… think I've heard of it." To your recollection, it was an event in the late 60s in which fifty percent of the titular Kowloon City - an enclosed apartment complex six acres in size - burnt down to the ground. "It was the worst fire disaster in Hong Kong's history." Your brows furrowed. "Was it the work of the Underworld?"
"Well, it was my work." Your eyes widen at that. "Well, let me rephrase. It was my crucible as a Hitman. My first real assignment."
"What happened?"
"Everything. It was supposed to be a simple job for me, a young Suit at the time. Take down a Triad boss who broke the High Table's mandate." He sipped his now-hot tea. "Just so happens, on that fateful February of '68, I wasn't the only ones on the job. Some CIA Agents were on the clock, trying to extract a VIP who earned the ire of my mark... who in turn hired his own hitmen, the lot of Savants, who in turn attracted the Hounds and a goddamn battle-maniac Knight."
He snorted with a conflicted grimace. "It was a miracle that only half the city burnt down that day."
"Savants? Suits?" He had given you the basics on the Knights and Hounds, but this was the first time you heard those two terms.
"Well, it's how we divide Hitmen. The groupings, so to speak. In the business, people like me and Cassian are Suits. Proper professionals," In this, unlike his dry wit at explaining the rest of the Underworld, a hint of pride can be heard in his voice. "Our twin conducts, dependability and predictability, are our greatest strengths and weaknesses. The jack of all trades, so to speak."
"So these Savants are masters of one?"
"Correct." He smiled. "Many of those who dwell in the Underworld are often pariahs shunned by polite society. Sometimes, these pariahs concern themselves in the mastery of the most uniques, though not always. Some Savants entered the category despite being practically Suits for certain…" He looks at the cane held in the trophy case. "...distinguishments."
"So, you were...of two worlds?"
"Were, yes. There were others, a hitman within the dismal depths of Roanapur with the luck of the devil, the foresight of a hawk, and the self-awareness of a brick. No idea if he survived The Fall though, he probably did." He shook his head. "But back to Savants as a whole, the twin conducts they held are their specializations and randomness. This randomness is different than unreliability though. But one must remember that treating with them is akin to wishing upon a monkey's paw."
Here, another half an hour passes by and much like before, you digested everything there is to digest.
"Hrm. You are a far more astute student than I thought. Tell me, miss Evans," At some point, Giorno stopped calling you 'little girl'. There's a glimmer of respect visible in his eyes as he said that. "Did my good friend ever gave you anything as recompense?"
"Cassian did, yes." You search your bag and fished out the three golden coins. The Charons, as he had explained to you, are the currency of the Underworld. Their worth is not on the fact that they are made out of actual gold, but in the sanctity of transactions in itself.
"Always a generous one, Bailey was. Should've given you just two but nooo, it had to be three." He chuckled. "Well then miss Evans. I think I have something that might interest you. You said you had an interest in accounting, did you not?"
You nodded, "Very much so...why?"
"Well, allow me a moment." He left the room to an adjoining one, a storage room by the looks of it. A few minutes later he emerged, the cuffs of his blazer lightly dusted as he smiled somewhat triumphantly, holding a book.
Well, calling it a book is akin to calling five hundred dollars 'pocket change'.
The word 'tome' comes to mind as a more apt descriptor. The entire thing must have weighed close to seven pounds. You've never seen any book like this. Granted, the cover being made out of gold - Underworld's brand of understated opulence - didn't help with its weight. But even without it, it is a hefty book.
"This is a Ledger," he said, hefting it with both hands as he passed it to you across the table. The cover was cool to touch with the weight of ages on it. Inscribed in what you can only assume to be silver are the words, '7th Volume - 90-05 - M-L'. "The Underworld believes in paper trails as opposed to electronic ones. Archaic, though it makes anonymity that much easier. A Ledger, in essence, is a transactional accounting of every single thing that has transpired since… well, ever since the Underworld became a thing."
You look at the cover closer. "This contains the records since the nineties until 2005. What does M-L mean?"
"Mid-Low. What you will lay your eyes on will be the costs of everything from the lowliest informant tipping to the flesh trades that occurred throughout the world." Giorno drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "You will not learn everything this book has to offer. Far too many secret languages are embedded within the Ledger…" He trailed off, looking at you with half expectant look.
"But I can learn well enough of those without?"
"And may also get far enough to decipher some of those languages." He paused, stretching his open palm your way. "That'd be one Charon."
[Shrewd Treasurer activates!]
[???? activates!]
"That seems rather cheap, isn't it?"
"Well, a saviour of Cassian is a friend of mine." He said too lightly. You couldn't pin exactly what he truly intends but-
That's good enough, right?
"Deal."
[Lost 1 Charon Coin]
[Miscellaneous Item Gained!]
[｢Ledger of the Underworld - Seventh Volume｣ : A decade ago, blood covered the grounds in the dark corners of the world to have the contents of these pages secreted away. Now, the proverbially bloody book is within your grasp. Gain +1 towards discerning low-level personages within the Underworld. Tag A Counting Eye skill. Gain +3 to all accounting actions. ???]
"Now," He started. "The other things I will offer to you are decidedly less opulent. Consider Cassian's favour repaid in full with this."
You nod. The Underworld takes their oaths seriously. "So it is."
"Now, the wares."
Mary Claire has two Coins. Votes will be counted by blocks.
[] A Holovid. "The Arts of Self-Defense Version 4.7. The latest one in the market and seems like it will be the best fit for you. (Costs 1 Coin. Tags a random Melee Combat Skill. Trains Physicality.)
[] A Card. "The Vuitons is a renowned brand of clothier in the Underworld. This card gives you access to their premium ware - a single suit, tailor made with lifetime warranty." (Costs 1 Coin. Gain Vuiton Suit, Tier III Light Body Armour.)
[] A(nother) Book. "There are languages that you might need to learn to read the Ledger better and beyond. Lingua Tartarus is a book that can help you in such matters." (Costs 1 Coin. Gain Lingua Tartarus - Unlocks Knowledge (Underworld Languages) Skill. Synergizes with the Ledger)
[] A Favour. "A debt repaid with a debt. An old man I may be, but you know the saying, 'fear the old in the job where the young oft dies'." (Costs 2 Coins. Can be called at any time.)
[] A Teaching. "One and a half hour is not enough. There are more things that I can teach you. It might be dangerous however. Retirement does not mean the end of repercussions in this world I live in." (Costs 2 Coins. Oddo Giorno will teach Mary Claire Evans the tricks of the trade. Trains and tags certain skills. ????)
Prelude: Apprenticeship Pains
[X] A Teaching. "One and a half hour is not enough. There are more things that I can teach you. It might be dangerous however. Retirement does not mean the end of repercussions in this world I live in." (Costs 2 Coins. Oddo Giorno will teach Mary Claire Evans the tricks of the trade. Trains and tags certain skills. ????)
Two Coins. You slid them across the table and point at Giorno. He nodded.
It was as simple as that, your apprenticeship with the retired hitman started there. He escorted you home, met your parents - your little brother still playing baseball then - and spun a half fictitious tale of your injuries. It's almost frightening how he played the role of a concerned good samaritan to the extent that he did. By the end, however, he managed to convince both your parents to allow you to meet him on a regular basis, half-insinuating that he was a lonely old man in need of company.
And just like that, your daily school commute included trips to Giorno's.
"The first lessons are often the harshest ones." He said, the end of his cane just milimetres away from poking your forehead. It was merely a full day since you met him and now, the grandfather persona is done away with now. Now, the harsh mentor is revealed. "No rose survives without thorns. Now tell me, what did you remember what happened to the poor guido who assailed you?"
"H-He… he was knocked out cold with a single hit of your ca-" You didn't finish. The end of his cane disappeared from your view and you were pulled towards the old man.
You noticed what happened after a few moments of stunned silence. Somehow, he twirled the cane around so the hook dragged you in less than it takes for you to blink. He smiled cruelly, undoubtedly reading your thought process.
"The fighting stance utilized by many hitmen concerns themselves with devastating their peers. Not myself. My mentor," Fondness and regret mingle together there. "Taught me the ways of the few." His eyes harden then, smile still affixed on his face. "Killing is easy, when it comes down to it. Instead of hooking you in, I could have snapped your neck. Or I could have sent you to the same state of unconsciousness as whatshisface had. Or I could do so much more.
"And what I will do, is make you ache in pain without so much as leaving bruises and cuts on your body."
And here, you began the lessons of the Rout.
[Melee Combat (Rout Style) is tagged!]
[Melee Combat (Rout Style) is now at Beginner Level!]
[Codex Entry Unlocked!]
['The Three Fighting Styles' now available.]
Codex
With HQuest having a setting 'original' enough, it'd be a great thing that in the interest of worldbuilding and giving context to you Questers, I - as your perpetually fumbling QM - provide Codexes. Basically, they are 'short' informatics posts designed to… well, deliver info with regards to the Quest.
That said, there are limitations. To protect myself - once more perpetually fumbling - from burnouts and from simply churning them out on the expense of the updates themselves, there are two rules:
The second lesson wasn't painful, though you definitely winced throughout. Giorno spared no details in his crash course to anatomy.
Melee Combat (Rout Style) (1): 12
Willpower (1): 1
You were barely halfway through the explanation on the constriction of bloodflow works in a live scenario when you retched.
And retched. And retched.
"Sorry." You could only repeat that single word as you wipe your mouth, the old man busy mopping his wood panellings free from your bile.
"I may have underestimated just how averse to blood you are. Guess we'll have to make do with something else then."
[Trait Evolves!]
[Nauseatic Stress Release now operates with 1d20-5 roll.]
[Trait Gained!]
[Unblooded, Untested: Through faults not entirely of your own, and though you have a passable grasp of the fundamentals, you will need to pass the trials by fire to be able to even master the fundamentals. Until three melee combat occurs, all Melee Combat Skills are capped at Beginner.
The third, fourth, and fifth lessons were neither painful nor traumatizing.
They were however, exhausting.
The morning mist fogged your glasses as you continue your jog. Absent of capability to learn more on how to fight, your erstwhile mentor decided on this course of action.
'Every morning, you will be jogging, taking your squats and jumping jacks, and keep your body fit as they can be.'
The effects were noticeable. At first, you were out of breath after a single lap around your neighbourhood. Now, two months into the regimen, you were merely out of breath taking a full lap around Central Park. As you chug your water bottle, you sat down on a bench next to a man feeding pigeons.
"Mister Gilliam, how are you this morning?"
"Terrible. As per usual." The acerbic man is indeed disheveled and had you known any less, you'd have imagined him to be the homeless person he looks to be.
'It pays, in blood or money, to be a measured individual. Don't let prejudice blind you in anything. You're not that kind of person but let's test it.'
'Gilliam' is supposedly a vagrant, a broker, a stock trader, a barman, and an airline pilot in one. Supposedly. For now, he is the first and the second. "Could I ask what happened?"
"No. You may not." He slid a breadloaf to you. "How's the old fuck?"
"The usual." The routine is just about the same. In mornings like these, he will try to aggravate you. In some evenings, he'll try to break your composure. You failed the first few times but now… you've gotten good enough. This time though, he's not even bothering.
"Hrm. Not keeling over, then?"
"Not at all."
"Hrm." The two of you sat there, in a companionable lull, feeding the pigeons. "Well, I'm going to fuck off now, the pigeons are yours to feed. Have fun~" With those words, he stood up, and left you alone, the cooing of pigeons and the morning bustle your only companions.
"Have a good day, Mister Gilliam." You crouch down, inspecting the pigeons.
As you expected, each and every single one of them are carrier pigeons. It's tedious work to grab every single one of the messages but it's just that. Tedious. Five minutes passed by before you got all the messages. Ingenious, the Underworld is in its attempt to utterly avoid electronics. In large cities, pigeons are the most perfect couriers. Inconspicuous and innumerable, perfect traits for jobs such as these.
You slip an IOU note to each of them and bill them to Giorno's, before reading the messages, which just so happens is your fifth lesson.
'The homework I mentioned is to see how perceptive you can be in piecing together the madness ongoing right now. What is happening right now will ripple for years to come.'
Knowledge (Underworld Histories) (0): 13 - 5 + 1 (Ledger Bonus) = 7
It's hard. This is your first homework with regards to this matter and for all you acquitted yourself with aplomb at the very start, you fall short of accomplishing the task given.
Short falls are not failures, however.
Casablancan Chaos, the Hague Deadlock, The Day of Blood in Petrograd, the Trans-Siberian Incident hailed as the modern Flying Pussyfoot, and many many more are your reading materials, shifting through what public or grey records available on certain newspaper columns, faux-tabloid magazines, and dark-web news bulletins points to a picture most damning.
The Underworld had been eating itself. Many hailed this to be the 'longest Months of Blood in history' and they were not wrong. Not really. The trail of blood ended in the Patagonian Highlands, just days ago in an earthquake no news source reported. None reported the matter of the streets of Santiago burning either.
You relayed your findings to Giorno, who only smiled knowingly as he patted your head.
"Good work, but not good enough."
[Skills Tagged!]
[Physicality and Mannerism are tagged.]
[Skills Ranked Up!]
[Knowledge (Underworld Histories) is now at Beginner Rank.]
[Mannerism is now at Beginner Rank.]
[Physicality is now at Beginner Rank.]
[Codex Entries unlocked!]
['The Month of Blood - Incomplete' now available.]
Codex Vote
[][CODEX] The Three Fighting Styles
[][CODEX] The Month of Blood - Incomplete
AN: Yes, this is meant to be a simple one. Things will branch out as we go along, however.
"You've changed, sis."
Blunt and to the point. That's your little bro in a nutshell. "Is that so?"
"You got swole, you're reading the old man's books at all times, and..." You can see his eyebrows twitch. "Having tea and scones. You."
None of what your brother is saying is false. Three months in, you began to take in… a lot of Giorno's subtle tics. "So?"
"Disconcerting, for the words 'elegant' and 'refined' to become applicable to my big sister," his voice was dry enough for you to want to roll your eyes but that would be the wrong thing to do. "But here we are. Yet," his face, never quite losing the adorable squish-able aspect after so long, shifted to an expression of concern. "You're starting to change... For the worse.
"You're coming home late. I'm pretty sure my sister would never do something like staying out until midnight, but these days it's what you've been doing." A twinge of guilt hits you then. You had done exactly that at times. "That, and other things that you may have gotten mom and pops the slip, but not me." He smiled, visibly proud of himself. "You see, I took it upon myself to play a little bit of detective."
The brief flash of panic in your eyes must have given him cause to press.
"And imagine my surprise when I saw you've gotten yourself, of all things, a sugar daddy."
Sputters of coughs came out of your faintly crimson face, your eyes couldn't help but twitching. Mister Gilliam is definitely not that… but considering his normal outfit in the evenings - the refined suave stockbroker - people taking the wrong idea is very much in the cards. Scrambling, you sputter your response, "Y-You-"
"And I am not going to tell dad or mom about this." He preempted, to your confusion… and understanding.
"You're going to blackmail me with this?"
"A bit. Call this a preventive measure. You didn't notice me when I snooped and busted your ass so," he shrugs. "This should hopefully become a check to your...change."
"And if I didn't do this, you'll tattle?"
"Yup~" You'd squish his smug face but relented. There is some merit with what your little brother said. Maybe you'd get even more outgoing and outward. Maybe you'd become cruel and never notice it until too late.
You shudder a bit at that. If there's anything you'd rather not get, it's Giorno's capability of cruelty and harshness at a drop of a hat.
[A Stable Upbringing Activates!]
[Negative Trait Gain Ameliorated!]
[Trait Gained!]
[A Refined Soul: An intervention left what might have been the mark of cruel elegance to not be so. Only the former is mitigated, it seems. When dealing with characters who values culturedness, raise their disposition. When dealing with characters who does not value such, lower their disposition.]
In the end, however, after three months of mentoring, your relationship with Giorno came to an abrupt end. What ended it was:
[] A Meeting. One word. Your association with Giorno ended there and the powers-that-be noticed you. You didn't need that kind of notice.
[] A Gunshot. Or several. Your Mentor protected you with their everything and it was nearly not enough. You still wake up with nightmares of that day.
[] A Fire. Giorno's burnt down for some unfathomable reason. Its owner missing or worse. Gilliam was nowhere to be seen, either. You can't help but feel eyes watching you at times.
Two Coins. You slid them across the table and point at Giorno. He nodded.
It was as simple as that, your apprenticeship with the retired hitman started there. He escorted you home, met your parents - your little brother still playing baseball then - and spun a half fictitious tale of your injuries. It's almost frightening how he played the role of a concerned good samaritan to the extent that he did. By the end, however, he managed to convince both your parents to allow you to meet him on a regular basis, half-insinuating that he was a lonely old man in need of company.
And just like that, your daily school commute included trips to Giorno's.
"The first lessons are often the harshest ones." He said, the end of his cane just milimetres away from poking your forehead. It was merely a full day since you met him and now, the grandfather persona is done away with now. Now, the harsh mentor is revealed. "No rose survives without thorns. Now tell me, what did you remember what happened to the poor guido who assailed you?"
"H-He… he was knocked out cold with a single hit of your ca-" You didn't finish. The end of his cane disappeared from your view and you were pulled towards the old man.
You noticed what happened after a few moments of stunned silence. Somehow, he twirled the cane around so the hook dragged you in less than it takes for you to blink. He smiled cruelly, undoubtedly reading your thought process.
"The fighting stance utilized by many hitmen concerns themselves with devastating their peers. Not myself. My mentor," Fondness and regret mingle together there. "Taught me the ways of the few." His eyes harden then, smile still affixed on his face. "Killing is easy, when it comes down to it. Instead of hooking you in, I could have snapped your neck. Or I could have sent you to the same state of unconsciousness as whatshisface had. Or I could do so much more.
"And what I will do, is make you ache in pain without so much as leaving bruises and cuts on your body."
And here, you began the lessons of the Rout.
[Melee Combat (Rout Style) is tagged!]
[Melee Combat (Rout Style) is now at Beginner Level!]
[Codex Entry Unlocked!]
['The Three Fighting Styles' now available.]
Codex
With HQuest having a setting 'original' enough, it'd be a great thing that in the interest of worldbuilding and giving context to you Questers, I - as your perpetually fumbling QM - provide Codexes. Basically, they are 'short' informatics posts designed to… well, deliver info with regards to the Quest.
That said, there are limitations. To protect myself - once more perpetually fumbling - from burnouts and from simply churning them out on the expense of the updates themselves, there are two rules:
- There will be one - and only one - Codex post per week unless it is extremely pressing that more follow.
- These Codexes reveal themselves with regards to the things that becomes directly relevant to Mary Claire herself - at the QM's discretions. Certainly, there's a plethora of things that she is privy to ICly due to ｢Lores of the Underworld｣, but a lot of things would just lead to vote bloat.
The second lesson wasn't painful, though you definitely winced throughout. Giorno spared no details in his crash course to anatomy.
Melee Combat (Rout Style) (1): 12
Willpower (1): 1
You were barely halfway through the explanation on the constriction of bloodflow works in a live scenario when you retched.
And retched. And retched.
"Sorry." You could only repeat that single word as you wipe your mouth, the old man busy mopping his wood panellings free from your bile.
"I may have underestimated just how averse to blood you are. Guess we'll have to make do with something else then."
[Trait Evolves!]
[Nauseatic Stress Release now operates with 1d20-5 roll.]
[Trait Gained!]
[Unblooded, Untested: Through faults not entirely of your own, and though you have a passable grasp of the fundamentals, you will need to pass the trials by fire to be able to even master the fundamentals. Until three melee combat occurs, all Melee Combat Skills are capped at Beginner.
The third, fourth, and fifth lessons were neither painful nor traumatizing.
They were however, exhausting.
The morning mist fogged your glasses as you continue your jog. Absent of capability to learn more on how to fight, your erstwhile mentor decided on this course of action.
'Every morning, you will be jogging, taking your squats and jumping jacks, and keep your body fit as they can be.'
The effects were noticeable. At first, you were out of breath after a single lap around your neighbourhood. Now, two months into the regimen, you were merely out of breath taking a full lap around Central Park. As you chug your water bottle, you sat down on a bench next to a man feeding pigeons.
"Mister Gilliam, how are you this morning?"
"Terrible. As per usual." The acerbic man is indeed disheveled and had you known any less, you'd have imagined him to be the homeless person he looks to be.
'It pays, in blood or money, to be a measured individual. Don't let prejudice blind you in anything. You're not that kind of person but let's test it.'
'Gilliam' is supposedly a vagrant, a broker, a stock trader, a barman, and an airline pilot in one. Supposedly. For now, he is the first and the second. "Could I ask what happened?"
"No. You may not." He slid a breadloaf to you. "How's the old fuck?"
"The usual." The routine is just about the same. In mornings like these, he will try to aggravate you. In some evenings, he'll try to break your composure. You failed the first few times but now… you've gotten good enough. This time though, he's not even bothering.
"Hrm. Not keeling over, then?"
"Not at all."
"Hrm." The two of you sat there, in a companionable lull, feeding the pigeons. "Well, I'm going to fuck off now, the pigeons are yours to feed. Have fun~" With those words, he stood up, and left you alone, the cooing of pigeons and the morning bustle your only companions.
"Have a good day, Mister Gilliam." You crouch down, inspecting the pigeons.
As you expected, each and every single one of them are carrier pigeons. It's tedious work to grab every single one of the messages but it's just that. Tedious. Five minutes passed by before you got all the messages. Ingenious, the Underworld is in its attempt to utterly avoid electronics. In large cities, pigeons are the most perfect couriers. Inconspicuous and innumerable, perfect traits for jobs such as these.
You slip an IOU note to each of them and bill them to Giorno's, before reading the messages, which just so happens is your fifth lesson.
'The homework I mentioned is to see how perceptive you can be in piecing together the madness ongoing right now. What is happening right now will ripple for years to come.'
Knowledge (Underworld Histories) (0): 13 - 5 + 1 (Ledger Bonus) = 7
It's hard. This is your first homework with regards to this matter and for all you acquitted yourself with aplomb at the very start, you fall short of accomplishing the task given.
Short falls are not failures, however.
Casablancan Chaos, the Hague Deadlock, The Day of Blood in Petrograd, the Trans-Siberian Incident hailed as the modern Flying Pussyfoot, and many many more are your reading materials, shifting through what public or grey records available on certain newspaper columns, faux-tabloid magazines, and dark-web news bulletins points to a picture most damning.
The Underworld had been eating itself. Many hailed this to be the 'longest Months of Blood in history' and they were not wrong. Not really. The trail of blood ended in the Patagonian Highlands, just days ago in an earthquake no news source reported. None reported the matter of the streets of Santiago burning either.
You relayed your findings to Giorno, who only smiled knowingly as he patted your head.
"Good work, but not good enough."
[Skills Tagged!]
[Physicality and Mannerism are tagged.]
[Skills Ranked Up!]
[Knowledge (Underworld Histories) is now at Beginner Rank.]
[Mannerism is now at Beginner Rank.]
[Physicality is now at Beginner Rank.]
[Codex Entries unlocked!]
['The Month of Blood - Incomplete' now available.]
Codex Vote
[][CODEX] The Three Fighting Styles
[][CODEX] The Month of Blood - Incomplete
AN: Yes, this is meant to be a simple one. Things will branch out as we go along, however.
"You've changed, sis."
Blunt and to the point. That's your little bro in a nutshell. "Is that so?"
"You got swole, you're reading the old man's books at all times, and..." You can see his eyebrows twitch. "Having tea and scones. You."
None of what your brother is saying is false. Three months in, you began to take in… a lot of Giorno's subtle tics. "So?"
"Disconcerting, for the words 'elegant' and 'refined' to become applicable to my big sister," his voice was dry enough for you to want to roll your eyes but that would be the wrong thing to do. "But here we are. Yet," his face, never quite losing the adorable squish-able aspect after so long, shifted to an expression of concern. "You're starting to change... For the worse.
"You're coming home late. I'm pretty sure my sister would never do something like staying out until midnight, but these days it's what you've been doing." A twinge of guilt hits you then. You had done exactly that at times. "That, and other things that you may have gotten mom and pops the slip, but not me." He smiled, visibly proud of himself. "You see, I took it upon myself to play a little bit of detective."
The brief flash of panic in your eyes must have given him cause to press.
"And imagine my surprise when I saw you've gotten yourself, of all things, a sugar daddy."
Sputters of coughs came out of your faintly crimson face, your eyes couldn't help but twitching. Mister Gilliam is definitely not that… but considering his normal outfit in the evenings - the refined suave stockbroker - people taking the wrong idea is very much in the cards. Scrambling, you sputter your response, "Y-You-"
"And I am not going to tell dad or mom about this." He preempted, to your confusion… and understanding.
"You're going to blackmail me with this?"
"A bit. Call this a preventive measure. You didn't notice me when I snooped and busted your ass so," he shrugs. "This should hopefully become a check to your...change."
"And if I didn't do this, you'll tattle?"
"Yup~" You'd squish his smug face but relented. There is some merit with what your little brother said. Maybe you'd get even more outgoing and outward. Maybe you'd become cruel and never notice it until too late.
You shudder a bit at that. If there's anything you'd rather not get, it's Giorno's capability of cruelty and harshness at a drop of a hat.
[A Stable Upbringing Activates!]
[Negative Trait Gain Ameliorated!]
[Trait Gained!]
[A Refined Soul: An intervention left what might have been the mark of cruel elegance to not be so. Only the former is mitigated, it seems. When dealing with characters who values culturedness, raise their disposition. When dealing with characters who does not value such, lower their disposition.]
In the end, however, after three months of mentoring, your relationship with Giorno came to an abrupt end. What ended it was:
[] A Meeting. One word. Your association with Giorno ended there and the powers-that-be noticed you. You didn't need that kind of notice.
[] A Gunshot. Or several. Your Mentor protected you with their everything and it was nearly not enough. You still wake up with nightmares of that day.
[] A Fire. Giorno's burnt down for some unfathomable reason. Its owner missing or worse. Gilliam was nowhere to be seen, either. You can't help but feel eyes watching you at times.