Lev Tahor

[Rickshaw]

The other music choice for this update is this Signum Malum. Try reading through with both and see which you like better.

-:-:-;-:-:-
​

[x] Berserk

Day ???
???

Combat: Round 3

A sick giggling echoes through the stone corridor. The shrill sound of euphoria and panic mixing, deranged, along the walls. The crumpled and broken heap that is Lo-Ruhamah begins to shake with laughter as she slowly, ever so slowly, rises from the ground. Like a puppet slowly being lifted to stand, her broken arm hanging loosely from her side. Her eyes are wide as her smile, they hold the cruelest joy within them. An angry red scratch reaches from her ear to her nose, the slightest glimmer of blood leaking out.

"Oh, you little b-bitch." She chuckles, falling forward a step. "You little stain, did you think someone as filthy, as weak as you stood a chance against a true Maiden? You might play at being one of us, but we all know the truth. Naomi, Miriam, even Father, we all know what you really are." She takes another shaky step, jerky and unnatural. "You're a monster in human skin. Just an amalgamation of unrestrained desire and destruction. The moment you feel power, the moment you have a chance to let go, you can't help but be consumed. That's why we have to save you."

Her two lackeys slowly rise, shaken. The one with auburn hair pulls against the tendrils of darkness, snapping them with a sickening squelch. The stubs slither back into the darkness, and the Creature in the void looks on with interest.

"We have to burn the Taint out of you. We have to stop it from getting any worse, from spreading any further than it already has." The ravenette is right behind the comatose Anna. The blue-haired woman's eyes are wide with fear. She can see, she can hear, and she is helpless to do anything. "You may hate us now, you may think me cruel for what I do," she smiles. "In a way I am. I never knew the beauty of pain until you came along. I guess your filthy Taint has affected me in some way. But I'm not hurting you just for pleasure. I want to heal you. If you are to truly be a Maiden, you must be pure. I will burn the Taint out of you if that's what it requires."

Anna looks at you, horrified. She can't be serious. But no, her working hand slowly caresses against Anna's ghostly cheeks. "I hurt you because I care, Anna." She whispers seductively into her ear. "Remember that."

Her hand strokes back towards her sapphire hair, before she yanks it back. The battered and bruised girl has her head ripped backward, and she looks into her captor's eyes. You have no idea what she sees, but her frozen body begins to shake.

You stand there, useless. The voice that once called you to fight and protect is silent. Your heart feels like ice as you watch the girl whose mind you shared be treated like… like… like a toy. Something in you screams to move, to stop this from happening to her. Something chivalrous and heroic and romantic.

What if I just left her here?

Your feet, already shaking with dread, suddenly still. Was that...? Did you think that?

I don't really know her, the thought continues, and all three of them are busy with her. If I left right now, they wouldn't even notice. I could escape. It's not wrong to retreat when I'm going to lose. It's three against one, and I have some eldritch monster in me. There's no chance I'll win.

That isn't true at all. They're unsuspecting, the leader's injured, and the other two are still recovering, if you jumped in now you still have a chance!

A chance for what? The traitorous thought argues. I jump in there, I can maybe take one out before the other two get me with that lethal spell. And I have no idea what Magic they're capable of. I should leave before this gets any worse.

You… no. You can't. You shouldn't. You can't leave her behind, you can't. Not when she needs you. You… you can't.

This isn't about her, is it?

You can't leave her behind. You can't.

She left me behind, right? She doesn't have regrets, her life is fine without me. And I turned out okay, I guess. Anna can take it. She'll be fine. She'll understand, just like I understand her choice.

You can't. You don't. You don't understand. You can't leave her behind. That's why you need to get home. That's why you need to help Anna. You can't leave her behind. You can't.

E V E N I F Y O U D I E ?

You can't. You won't. Even then. You can't let that happen to anyone. You can't leave them behind. Even if it only hurts you. Even if it kills you. You can't.

W H A T A B O U T Y O U R S O U L ?

The darkness shifts. You feel it gaze at you with something… wrong. Something… angry.

H eiS M iNe, T Ain T. Be G O nE.​

W O U L D Y O U C U R S E Y O U R O W N S O U L F O R S U C H P O W E R ?

You can't leave her behind. You can't. You'd give up anything, even your soul. You'd damn yourself to Hell before then.

F oo L! d O nO t-​

T H E N Y O U R D E S I R E S H A L L B E F U L F I L L E D

Your Seal begins to burn. No, it does not burn, it is ablaze. What was once a perpetual brand actively spits flame. Beneath its surface, the Angelic Creature writhes. It does not try to escape the flame but seeks it out. Every point where the fire bursts it seeks, attempting to plug the breach. For a moment, it seems like it might succeed...

Berserk (1d100): 45
[SUCCESS]

And then you break. The Angel screams an otherworldly cry, withdrawing deeper into your body. Your Seal shatters upon your skin, like a thousand blisters breaking apart. From them pours a viscous white liquid, pooling to the floor. As it drains you feel… fuzzy. Your mind dulls as the pain is slowly replaced by a dull roar. Like a lion calling for its mate.

That roar builds. It's irritating. It echoes in your skull and resounds until it hurts. It builds until you can feel the pressure peak, a hammer constantly crashing against the bounds of your mind. Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop!

Your throat aches, you taste blood in your mouth. Are you screaming? You open your eyes. It hurts. The world hurts to look at. It's angry and red and it roars at you. You hate it, hate how it mocks you.

"What the hell is that?" A shrill voice calls from amidst the screams. You look up to see them, three horrific creatures covered in eyes and scales. Every eye sits in a mouth, opening and closing every so often. Sometimes the mouths swallow and the eye disappears, only to reappear after it blinks. They are vaguely human in shape, with two lower and upper appendages, but their sickly torsos stand upon stilts, and a great mass of tentacles sits where the wrist should be. One of them, the tallest, has its tendrils coming from her elbow.

Between the three of them is a little girl with blue hair and a green dress, staring at you with wonder and horror. When you look at her, the screaming dulls. You know she is like you. She is the cure to your hate.

The tallest monster moves to stand between you and her, bringing back that damning roar. "B-begone, Demon!" It shouts from every mouth. "You are not w-welcome in this H-Holy P-Place!"

"Where did that guy go?" Another asks, one with reddish scales. "He was right there!"

"Do you think that thing killed him?" The third asks, afraid.

The first shakes its onyx body. "T-Taints are monsters made from desire. Th-the man was with Anna, remember? It was almost like they were in sync. And when we tried to remove her Taint…"

"You mean he's…!"

You scream. You can't stand all this noise. You have to stop it, you have to end it. The mouths, they're screaming. This is their fault. You have to silence them. You have to destroy them.

"He's agitated!"

"Lo-Ru, I'm scared!"

"It'll be okay, Deb, I won't let some ugly stain lay a finger on-"

You dash towards the one closest to you, the smallest of the three. It screams, every eye-mouth wide with terror. You hate that sound, the grating of iron and carbon. You can't stand it. You just want the world to shut up, just shut up shut up shut up shut up shut the fuck up!

Grab (1d100): 74
[SUCCESS]

You grab the monster by the throat, silencing one of the many voices screaming across its body. It's not enough, it keeps screaming. You can feel it, even if you can't hear the voice with your ears it's still in your head and it burns your skull with a fiery echo. You can't just stop them you have to stop them so you use your other hand to grab the other part of her throat and you pull.

Pull (1d100): 51
[SUCCESS]

There is a sickening squelch as the voices which once screamed constantly were suddenly silenced. Your fingers are wet and sticky when you let go of her neck, the two pieces dropping to the floor like heavy sacks. The oblong head of the monster slowly rolls from its body towards the foot of its ebony sibling. It bends down, slowly, and picks it up with one set of tentacles.

"Deborah?" It asks with an empty voice. It brings its other mass, much wilder, alongside it. "Deb?"

"Oh, god," The crimson monster screeches, bile and pus leaking from its many mouths and eyes. "What the fuck? It just…. Oh, god, Debbie..."

"Pris, tell me I'm dreaming. Tell me this is all just a bad dream, that this is just a nightmare."

"I," It's tentacles writhe as you raise yourself from the monster's corpse. "Fuck, you BASTARD!"

The crimson one dashes towards you, tendrils pointed like a thousand needles at your heart. Its screams are angry, hideous, infuriating. You hate it, you hate it.

Stop Her (1d100): 84
[SUCCESS]

You duck, it missteps. You swing, it's dead. Just like that. You pull your arm out of its chest and it collapses to the floor. Bile pools around the corpse. You feel wet and sticky.

The onyx creature collapses to the floor, like a puppet cut loose from her strings. She limply clutches onto the oblong shape between her arms "Deborah, Deborah, Deborah," she chants as she continues to scream from all her mouths.

Those aren't screams, they're tears.

You step towards her and the screams stop. The world, your head, it goes deathly silent. The silence echoes in your head, hurting just as much as the noise.

"I'm sorry." The monster pleads, speaking only from one mouth. "I swear, I'll change." Her voice cracks. "I-I'll be a good girl. I won't hurt people anymore, I won't call anyone bad names, I'll be nice to Anna, I'll be the perfect Maiden, I'll do anything you want, just…" You can hear, in your head, the sobbing that her mouth holds back. "...just please, stop this." She curls downwards, into herself. "Please, stop."

-:-:-;-:-:-​

Asmodeus, the True Face of the Tainted

[x] Berserk
-[] Feast
-[] Kill

[] Stop Berserking Y O U C A N N O T S T O P D E S I R E


Anna, the Last Hope for the Soul

[] Break down

[] Pray

[] Reason

[] Fight

[] Wait

 

[Rickshaw]

Hidden Text is Hidden because the characters aren't actively perceiving it. So far, four different creatures have spoken using it. If you pay attention to the way their speech is presented, you could easily pick them apart from each other.

-:-:-;-:-:-​

[x]Pray, or be Devoured

Day ???
???

The hulking Demon towers over the raven-haired woman, empty sockets glaring directly into her soul. Its form heaves with every wretched breath, steam billowing from its face. Claws curl and extend in agitated cycles. Along its chest, directly over its black heart, is the scorched outline of the letter T. Its gothic script is raw, skin loosely hangs from its edge. Any Magic which it held before has been lost. The Seal has been broken, and the monster within has emerged, ready to feast.

It leans closer to the terrified creature below it, coming to a stop mere inches from her hunched form. She does not respond, except to clutch tighter the hair of the woman in her arms. What is left of her, anyway.

"Please," she whispers, hollow. This woman who stood so defiantly over you but a moment ago now reduced to this demure thing. A part of you feels vindicated, watching your tormentor finally receive a taste of her own medicine. That same part of you which led during the fight, pushing for victory above all else. To the point of willingly using a lethal spell against a fellow Maiden.

You don't know how to feel about this new side of yourself.

She used it first.

You shut out the little voice. It only makes your sinking gut feel heavier.

The Demon reaches an arm towards Lo-Ru's tunic, talons gently clasping around the fabric. Not so gently do they tear it away. Deborah's remains are flung from her hands at the force, rolling some distance away. A shredded cloth falls atop it, covering the open-mouthed look of terror etched upon her face.

The ravenette is forced to the ground. She attempts to cover herself with her broken arm. "No, stop! Stay away from me!" She shuffles back, but the Demon grabs her by the legs. She kicks and screams, but it forces her still.

"They had no chastity, no devotion. No purity at all." You hear Father's warning echo in your mind as you watch the Awakened Taint grope at the helpless woman. "That emptiness consumed them until all that was left was a lingering lust, for power and pleasure. They and everyone they lay with is cursed with the Taint."

You strain against the Curse afflicting you. You can't let that happen. Lo-Ru might be a sadistic bitch, but you refuse to let the Tainted devour another Soul. Not again.

Again?

A wave of force crashes against your mind. If you weren't frozen still, you would have collapsed to the floor from the pain. What the- there, beyond the Barrier. The wall you'd built was weakened, somehow. The song from yesterday had disappeared, but that didn't explain how flimsy it was now. Memories, unbidden, rush through its cracks to the forefront of your thoughts. They replay the same sequence, over and over.

Red flames, flickering along a dark wall. Blue hair, jerking back and forth rhythmically. Numbness flooding your body. A hand, reaching towards you. A face, crying as it looks you in the eyes. Red flames, flickering along a dark wall. Again and again.

The flood of recollection refuses to subside, forcing you to relive that single moment of time in repeat. You can't stop the deluge, you can't shore up your mental defenses right now, not if you want to stop it from repeating before your eyes.

The Demon pulls harshly on your tormentor's leg, putting her directly at the Beast's feet. With a swift motion, it shreds the cloth to nothing. Shit, you still can't move. No, no no no, why can't you move? Your fingers barely twitch when you demand they open. Your body can only shake when you cry for it to stand. There is nothing you can do to stop the monster that has replaced Den.

Den?

The gears in your head click together and begin to whir. That's it! You two, you did that thing before this, where your minds acted in sync. If… if it's what you think it was, then you might know a prayer that could stop him.

Technically, you're not supposed to know this spell, especially as a Tainted. It only works under very specific conditions, conditions which you're not supposed to have met, nor be able to fulfill. Yet, if you and Den were able to merge as you did before, there was a chance. A slim possibility.

The Taint lowers itself onto Lo-Ru, who is screaming through her tears. She struggles against the much heavier creature, but it is useless. You don't have the time to consider anything else. Your lips quiver as you draw a shaky breath. Shaping your mouth had never been so difficult, nor had the words felt so heavy before now.

"Beloved, set me as a Seal upon your Heart,
as a Seal upon your arm,
for my Love is strong as Death,
our Bond is fierce as the grave.
Its flashes are flashes of cleansing Fire,
the very flame of Purity.
Many waters cannot quench Love,
neither can floods drown it.
Burning hotter than Lust
More fulfilling than Desire
Our Entwined Souls shall overcome Impurity."

You feel your Seal burn. It roils on your skin, glowing a brilliant white. The Creature within it shifts, excitedly coiling about like a child in water. The burning spreads, slowly expanding across your chest. It hurts, but it is a good hurt. Like that of removing a bandage from a festering wound to better treat it.

The pain finally stops when it reaches your arm. The burning sensation shifts from your chest towards a single spot on your left shoulder, concentrating into a shape you cannot discern. Down your arm crawl geometric lines and patterns of Pure light, extending directly to your fingertips. Your body spasms once before releasing, and you feel control flood back into you.

You don't waste a single second. Without prompt, without reason, you understand what you need to do. Despite never reaching this stage with the spell, you begin the next step.

Namely by scrambling to your feet and leaping onto the Taint's back.

The beast roars, angry its meal has been interrupted. Lo-Ru, still crying, looks up to you in confusion.

"Go, get out of here!" You scream, wrapping your not-glowing arm around the Demon's neck. "Run, you idiot!"

She snaps out of her daze, scrambling backward. She grabs the robe she discarded amidst your first beating and wraps it around herself.

You're tossed around the monster's back as it tries to shake you off, though you refuse to fall. This thing wanted to steal Den's body and curse another with the Taint? Fuck that, you're a Holy Maiden. You are not letting that happen.

You reach your enchanted hand onto its face, and it screeches. It recoils backward, nearly tossing you off. You keep your grip, just barely, and continue to press the Magic into it. It thrashes about, bucks under you, and tries to reach you with its claws. It misses the first few times, but eventually, it scratches your back. You hiss in pain and grit your teeth. You can't let go, not yet. The Magic has yet to fully take effect.

It stumbles into a wall, cracking it. Both of you realize what it means a moment before it turns its back to the stonework and careens into it. You hop off of it just in time, landing in a nearby corridor. The path ahead is pitch black, and you sense there's something in the shadows. Just as you turn to leave the narrow hall, the Taint blocks your exit with its hulking figure. It stares at you with empty sockets, baring dozens of spiked teeth at you as it slowly lumbers towards you.

Qu iCK gi r L,in toT h es HAd oW!​

You look back, into the inky blackness. There's something there, you can feel it, and any other time that would terrify you. Right now? You're already moving, dashing headfirst into the emptiness. Something grabs your arms and torso as you enter, something cold and thin that wraps all around you, pulling you to safety.

Something else grabs your legs, and for a moment everything breaks.

Here merges with there. The darkness is so bright it hurts your eyes. Your skin feels clammy, even as a hot, dry air blows against it. Every tendril that drags upon your upper body whispers as it touches you, concerns and comforts in a tongue you don't understand. Only the tone makes sense to you, and as you are dragged through the shadows they slowly speak more frantically in your ear. Something is not right, even within this twisted realm. The thing grabbing your legs pulls itself higher.

The shadows spit you out in an empty corridor. You collapse under an immense weight, turning to see Den's Taint over you. It looks at you, first angry and then confused when it sees your face. For just a moment it pauses. You, on the other hand, do not.

You slam your left arm forwards, palm contacting the raw skin where the Seal used to be. The patterns along your skin lift, shifting and multiplying in a pattern you can't discern. It's barely a second of chaotic movement before it locks in place and starts to shine intensely. Something akin to recognition crosses the Taint's face before the Entwined Spell flashes, engulfing the corridor in bright white light.

-:-:-;-:-:-​

Welcome to the Labyrinth. Also known as Tartarus, the Midnight Channel, or Mementos: an ever-changing dungeon just beneath the facade of reality. Rest assured, Asmodeus has been dealt with for now, but you can't relax just yet. Time to escape to the real world.

-:-:-;-:-:-​

Choose a Perspective
[] Anna
[] Den

You appeared at a crossroads, where to now?
[] Choose a cardinal direction
-[] Any specific plan for navigating the maze? (Write-in, add to whatever direction you choose)

 

[Rickshaw]

[x] Anna
[x] North

Day ???
???

Pat. Pat. Pat. Stop. Shuffle. Pat. Pat. Pat. Shift. Pat. Pat.

Footsteps softly echo along the cool stone of the corridor. They cycle through a rough pattern: some steps forward, readjust, some steps more. An almost consistent rhythm that was off just enough to drive one mad. You feel you can be forgiven that small measure of error, however, as Den was not an easy man to carry.

You take a few more shaky strides down the strange hall before you feel the heavier and taller man sliding off. Instead of fixing his position, you help him gently fall to the floor. With a small thud he impacts the stony ground, followed by a thump as you collapse beside his comatose form. You breathe deep, not exhausted, just tired.

When did you first get here, you wonder? It's been at least a few hours since you first got swallowed by the shadows and sent here, but you aren't really sure how many. Time… it feels weird in here. You lose track of it too easily, and even when you count the seconds there's a voice nagging that you're off.

It doesn't help that you don't recognize your surroundings. You're somewhat certain you're still in the tunneled corridors beneath the Synagogue, but you've never been this deep. The oddly twisted layout of the first seven floors was hard enough for you to navigate even with the familiar landmarks, and this level had none of those. There were none of the silver insets of the fifth floor, the wide tapestries of the second, or the gaudy carpets of the third. Where the other floors had oil lamps to light the way, this one had shards of pale-green crystal jutting from the walls, illuminating your path with a cold glow. It had the same general design in common: wide enough for five to comfortably walk side-by-side, ceilings just tall enough that you could reach them if you jumped, twisting pathways that logically should have crossed themselves but somehow didn't, and the cold, grey stone that never cracked and never seamed.

Besides, of course, when a Maiden accidentally launched a powerful spell into it.

You wonder where the girl had learned that prayer. There was no doubt in your mind it was specialized for combat, considering both the effect and the wording. Yet you'd never heard of it before, which was a surprise for you considering just how many spells you'd memorized that you weren't supposed to. Most of them didn't work, of course, but you at least knew they existed and that they would work if the proper conditions were met. You just, you know, didn't meet them.

Stupid Purity Magic.

You put a hand over your breast, gently touching the spot of fabric just over that sensitive, blistered skin of your Seal. The Seal which keeps your Taint locked away, protecting you from its effects. For once in your life, you're grateful to have it. You used to think it was merely a symbol, a brand to mark you as different from the other Maidens.

It carries that same symbolism to you, but now you know it serves a purpose as well. It's not an arbitrary mark that segregates you from the others, it's a barrier against a powerful monster and a warning for those unprepared to deal with it. You're almost certain that if you hadn't been there, Den's- no, his Taint's rampage would not have stopped so easily.

As if cued, the sleeping man leans to one side and begins to slide along the wall, head falling to your shoulder. You offer a pitying smile before shifting him to lay his head in your lap, a position far more comfortable for you than his entire weight against your side. He remains unresponsive through it all, catatonic.

For all intents and purposes, Den is a complete stranger to you. You'd met him once before now, and while you'd hit it off well initially that conversation had quickly soured. You knew a few tidbits about him, but you knew next to nothing about who he really was.

And yet, for a time... During that fight against Lo-Ru, before he turned into a Demon, you shared something. Even before then, when you wanted to scream for help but couldn't, you felt his mind brushing against yours. It doesn't make sense, that sort of thing doesn't just happen. That's not something two completely random people could spontaneously develop.

You take solace in that, even if you are clueless as to Why or How, you have an inkling as to What was going on. You and Den shared a Soul Bond. How you got it or who put it on you, you have no idea, but the spell you used to Seal his Taint would only work if your theory was correct. And considering he's staring at you with open eyes instead of the empty sockets of his Taint, you'd say your guess is on target.

Wait, open eyes?

You blink once. "Hey, Den."

He blinks back, groggy. "Hey." He shifts in your lap, looking around the corridor. "Where are we?"

Shrug. "Somewhere under the Synagogue, I think."

He nods. He starts to stretch his arms up until he runs into your legs, at which point a confused look crosses his face. He pokes at your thigh, before slowly working his way in both directions towards your knee and hip. The exact moment his finger poke against them, recognition crosses his face and he goes crimson.

"I stole your legs last time, so I decided to switch roles." You try your absolute hardest to hide the smirk threatening to cross your face. "I know mine aren't as soft as yours, but it's better than the wall." You can feel the corners of your lip curling up, and you can't stop them.

Luckily, Den refuses to make eye contact with you. "Th-thanks." He says, sitting up. He leans against the wall and stares at the floor. He is thoroughly embarrassed, and your grin is now shit-eating. He sneaks a peek at you out of the corner of his eye, catching it.

"You are so easy to tease." You observe.

He looks away, but even from your angle, you can see the red crawling up his neck. He coughs, and you chuckle a bit. When he looks in your general direction again, you can see the ghost of a smile.

"So, did we win?" he asks.

"Hm?"

"The fight. I don't remember much of it after we stopped that mind-meld thing. Did we win?"

You pause. "Sort of."

"Sort of?"

Should you really tell him what he did? You still have trouble accepting that there's a part of you that enjoyed watching your tormentors suffer. How will he react to knowing what his Taint did, what it tried to do? He blushes when a girl so much as touches him, if he knew the truth…

"Here's the thing…"

-:-:-;-:-:-

How will you break it to Den?

[] Truth
-[] Full, Blunt and Honest
-[] Most, Vague Details

[] Lie
-[] Write in your deception

[] "You're better off not knowing."

 

[Rickshaw]

Late tonight because I was on the final mission of Borderlands: The Pre-Sequel. Tried my hardest to finish it, but it just wrecked me over and over again. Finally gave up around midnight to start writing and I now regret the amount of sleep I sacrificed by prioritizing that game.

-:-:-;-:-:-
​

[x] Truth
-[x] Most, Vague Details

Day ???
???

"We won," you draw it out, debating how to deliver the news. "You lost control of your Taint and it sorta went berserk on them. I was stunned for most of it so I didn't get a good look." Which was true, you weren't able to see very much of the rampage until the end. That didn't mean you couldn't hear what happened, or that what little you saw wasn't terrifying on its own. "But you took down two of them before Lo-Ru ran off."

Den scrunches his brows together. "Lo-Ru?"

"The leader, with black hair. Her name is Lo-Ruhamah." You never thought you'd feel pity for a bitch like her, let alone save her from becoming a Taint. Some part of you laments the irony that could have been had you let such a bigot become the thing she hated. Another is just angry that she'll come out the victim in this story, with you and Den as the horrid Taints that tried to kill her.

You know some side of you that still believes in heroism should be happy that you saved her, counteracting the crueler side, but it just feels empty. You could have saved them, it says, like a spoiled child frustrated that she got a horse instead of a carriage. You don't think there was anything you could have done to save Deborah and Priscilla, but that pessimistic corner of your mind prattles on that there should have been one.

"How'd we end up here, then?" The brunet's question brings you out of your reverie.

"I was trying to get you back to normal." You say, doing your absolute best not to shudder. You'd had your adrenaline crash hours ago, but just thinking about those last moments made your heart pound with anxiety. "I stumbled down a weird corridor, caught you with a spell that resealed your Taint, and then carried you down these halls for the last few hours."

Den seemed alarmed at that. "Hours?" you nod. "Well into evening then." He puts his head in his hands. "Can't believe I missed my own gig."

When he doesn't elaborate, you stand and clear your throat. "Well now that you're up, I don't have to carry you, so we can probably clear through this place a lot faster."

He nods and stands. "Yeah, wherever 'here' is."

"I think it's called the Labyrinth." The two of you head down the corridor, the same way you were walking before, with you in the lead. "It's the tunnel system underneath the Synagogue. It has a bad habit of shifting around every so often to confuse visitors, but generally, it takes you to wherever you want or need to go. The first seven floors are relatively stable, so we can put up decorations and stuff. If you try any deeper, things begin to outright disappear instead of just moving around. To prevent people from disappearing or dying down here, we have a rule not to go deeper than floor seven."

"And where are we?"

You look at one of the crystal lights. "Far deeper than that, I'd guess. The upper floors are lit with oil lamps, and floors six and seven have torches. The glowing rocks are a new development."

He hums. "It's called the Labyrinth, it shifts at random, and people disappear if they go too deep."

"Yep," the 'p' pops in your mouth.

"It wouldn't happen to have been designed by a man named Daedalus, would it?"

You shrug. "Nobody knows who made it. Or much about it at all. It's one of those things that doesn't make sense when you study it, but it's useful, so you sorta just go along with it and ignore the weird bits." You look around the plain hall you're in. "Sadly, it looks like those bits are all we've got to work with."

With that, a silence settles over the conversation. You can tell Den has something to ask you, since you can feel him staring at the back of your head every so often. You have a feeling it's about his Taint going berserk, and you really hope he doesn't pry. You know you promised yourself that you'd tell him what the Tainted really were, but you don't think right now is the best time. Not so soon after it had taken him over. Plus, you could use a little bit of peace and quiet after everything.

You climb a few sets of stairs, and you drop down a similar amount. You run into a dead end and double back to find the path has changed, You pause against a wall only for it to swing away, a hidden door behind which a new trail appears. It's only after a few more hours of wandering and the both of you finally admitting to being helplessly lost that you come across a plain wooden door at the end of a hallway.

"You think this is the way out?" Den asks, for the umpteenth time in the last hour.

You grab the handle and push it open. "Who knows?"

On the other side of the door, you don't find a path leading back to the familiar halls of the Synagogue. Instead, you're in a giant room, larger than the chapel on the first floor. Its ceiling is invisible to your eye, the glow from the crystal not quite reaching it. It's incredibly wide as well, enough that you doubt you could hit the far wall if you threw something at it. And occupying the space in between was… well…

You're pretty sure it's a giant brain.

It's a pale, translucent mass of flesh that fills an entire half of the room, and you notice the floor is cut away from it to fit the rest of its form beneath you. It pulses in a slow rhythm, and you can see veins expand and contract within its structure. Deep within the mass, you can see some sort of light filter through, giving the thing an ethereal glow.

We LcO me, C hi LdR eN.​

"What is that thing?" You take a step forwards, morbidly curious. As you look closer, you can see things like insect legs poking from its form, folding out to prod the air for a moment before collapsing inward to rest. Maybe legs is the wrong word. Antennae, perhaps? Whatever, it's gross and cool at the same time and you can't do much but stand there and wonder what the hell this thing is supposed to be.

"Den, you're seeing this too, right?" You turn around only to find he's no longer following you. You twist your head around and catch him against the far wall. Before him are three black mirrors cut into rectangles, and beneath each one is a pedestal with a silver orb. You move towards him as he examines the center artifact. "What'd you find?" You ask.

He looks at you with something like hope and worry all jumbled together. "I recognize these."

"What are they?" You ask, intrigued.

He looks at the orb, hesitant. "They're windows to other places. A view into another part of the world. But I've never seen controls like these." He seems to struggle over something you can't figure. Finally, he sighs. "I think I can figure it out, but it'll be a while. It might even help us find the way out of here."

"Do we have any other choice?" You say it only half sarcastically.

"Well, we could just keep wandering around. I don't know how long it will take to learn, but if it turns out that just asking for the directions to the exit isn't a part of its system, we'll still have to go out and explore anyways. Or we could just rest here for a while." He looks at the giant brain. "Besides that monstrosity, this place is relatively calm, and it's been a pretty hectic day."

You hum in agreement. Truthfully, you're fine with any of the options, but you know that you should probably choose one soon. Den looks just as tired as you feel, and the sooner you two escape this place, the easier it will be to rest deep and easy.

-:-:-;-:-:-​

What do?

[] Mess with the artifact
-[] Hit the mirrors
-[] Spin the balls
-[] Yell at it (Write-ins of what to yell appreciated)

[] Examine the giant Mother Brain
-[] Poke it
-[] Talk to it
-[] Watch it
-[] Have Den play it a Song

[] Go back to exploring

[] Rest

 

[Rickshaw]

Day late due to filming and editing a short film before the Sunday night deadline. Those things are incredibly fun to make, but man are they time-consuming.

-:-:-;-:-:-​

[x] Mess with the artifact
-[x] Turn them around on the pedestals. Maybe the controls are touch-based?
-[x] Take hold of one and try to think hard about someplace.
-[x] Ask the Brain if maybe it could activate them for you? It's so big, it must be better at thinking!

[x]Examine the giant Brain
-[x]Talk to it

Day 87 Or is it?
Midday

Poke

…

Poke poke

…

Poke poke poke poke poke poke poke

"I don't think that's doing anything."

"Shush! I am doing science!"

…

Poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke

An explosive sigh from Den. It seems he does not appreciate proper Maiden procedures for dealing with spontaneously appearing objects within the Labyrinth. You shake your head. The poor man, so well traveled and studied, yet so ignorant of correct methods of study of anomalous structures. It's not his fault, you're certain. He simply never had someone like yourself to instruct him in the proper forms of scientific evaluation. As such, it is to your goal, nay, your duty, to show him the true path to Enlightenment.

"Okay, here, just let me try." Den steps beside you, interrupting another series of investigative pokes. He stares at the pedestal for a moment, looking all the while like a child who's just discovered one of the most valuable tomes of an ancient culture. Which is to say, completely baffled as to what the actual hell he's looking at.

"Pedestal" was a somewhat misleading word. It would be more accurate to call it a miniature monolith. And if that name seemed self-contradicting, it reflected just how confusing the thing itself was. A solid stone column, maybe the width of a handprint, cut diagonally at its top about waist-height. From its highest edge to the point it met the floor were inscribed glyphs. Thousands of them, all arranged into perfect rows and columns. So perfect, in fact, that you couldn't tell whether to read them horizontally or vertically. And yet, the writing looked familiar. Not only the symbols, but you felt like you'd seen the same "handwriting" elsewhere.

The Purification Chamber you realize. The script was the same. Well, probably not the exact same, but they're similar enough for you to recognize it as the Old Tongue. You look at the other two stone pillars and, sure enough, they're completely covered in the ancient language. You can't be certain from a first glance, but you think they have different writings on them than this one. If Father Absalom were to someday visit this place, he'd have a field day studying them.

Inset to the slanted edge at the top of the miniature monolith is a silver sphere, engraved patterns twisting all around its surface. In its center is a glowing green hole, yet when you go to poke it no light reaches your hand. Den slaps it away, frowning. Along the ring of the hole is a single phrase, repeated thrice:

כִּשׁוּף לֵב טָהוֹר
​

For some reason, these glyphs feel heavy in your heart. Have you seen them before? You don't think so. Then why do you feel like they're important?

tHe Ya r E th EaN sWEr ToE ve R y tH iNg​

Den takes a deep breath and places a hand on the orb. For a moment he rotates the orb around, but all it does is spin without effect. He sighs. "You think the giant brain knows anything?"

"Well, it is a lot bigger than us, so..." You give it a thoughtful look. "It's gotta know something." You get up and walk towards it without a hint of worry.

Holy shit this thing is terrifying.

You observe the translucent creature, with its many antennae twitching in the air. One reaches towards you, almost touching your face, and you stare at it completely unfazed.

Don't touch me don't touch me don't touch me oh god don't touch me

You definitely don't give a sigh of relief as it folds back into itself. You also don't nearly vomit when the antennae begin to dig into the flesh of the brain and burrow inside. Not at all.

"H-hey, Mister Brain?" You confidently pry.

CaL LmeA StaR Oth​

The enormous mass pulses to the same heartbeat it always has, utterly silent.

"D-Do you have any idea how to work the weird magic mirrors?"

O fCo uRs E​

Its translucent skin remains as pale as always, even the light deep within does not shift.

"Um, h-hello?" You try again.

OFf erY o Urw iLL​

Nothing. The thing does not respond if it can hear you at all. You sigh, looking back to Den and shaking your head. He shrugs.

"Well, at least we can rule that out," he consoles, continuing to spin the sphere.

You step up beside him. "Can I try something?" You say, an idea forming in your mind.

"If you go on another poking session-"

You roll your eyes. "Not this time." You place your hand on the orb and close your eyes. Your mind drifts to Father for a moment. Has he ever seen any of this? Does he know about what really lies underneath the Synagogue? You have a feeling he knows a little but has he roamed its impossible halls and discovered its secrets? Has he spoken to the great mind behind you and gleaned its wisdom? Has he stood in this very same spot as you, uncovered the words embedded in these pillars? You doubt it. But you know he would love this place if he did.

You wonder, will he ever get to see it?

"Hey," Den nudges you with an elbow. "Look at the screens." You open your eyes. For a moment, you're too stunned to say anything.

There in the mirror sits Father Absalom, writing something on his desk. The angle feels familiar, and you realize it's coming from the seat you were in when you visited him yesterday. It's hard to believe that was only a day ago. So much has happened since then.

There is no sound to accompany the visuals, but even so, you can see that Father is in the middle of a conversation. As it goes on, he grows increasingly frustrated. You have no idea what he could be talking about to make him so angry, but whatever it is must have been serious. Father looks up suddenly, before standing and shouting. He waves his arms frantically, as though screaming. When he pauses, his face slowly begins to pale with horror, before he raises an arm filled with Spiritual Magic.

It's not quick enough. A yellow bolt slams into him, forcing him back against the wall. He bounces off and collapses to the floor. You watch for another minute, uncertain to what you just saw. During all that time, you and Den are silent as you wait for Father to stand up again.

He never does.

"What were you thinking of, just now?" Den quietly asks. "Right before this started."

"I was thinking of Father Absalom, how much he'd love this place." You reply, honestly. "I wondered if he'd ever get the chance to see this place, and then you told me you saw something."

Den, to his credit, hides his shock until you connect the dots. Your stomach is heavy with dread.

"So, what, can this thing show you the future?"

You shrug. You don't feel like responding with more than that right now.

Den sighs, "Well, anything else you want to do here?"

-:-:-;-:-:-

What the man said.

[] Mess with the artifact
-[] Think of a different person and question about them
-[] Let Den try

[] Examine the giant Brain
-[] Watch it
-[] Have Den play a song

[] Go back to exploring

[] Sulk/Rest

 

[Rickshaw]

Eh, two days with as many agreeing votes. Not ideal, but I'll pump out a chapter anyways.

-:-:-;-:-:-​

[x] Mess with the artifact
-[x] Think of the Brain. Can you communicate that way, perhaps?
-[x] Think of this place. What is it for? How did it come to be?
-[x] Think of a way out.

Day ((INTEGER_OVERFLOW_ERROR))The End? Or the Beginning?
???

You're shaking, even as you turn back to the strange orb. You're quite upset, to say the least. A little in denial, as well. It's understandable, considering you just saw a vision of Father's death. Den claimed it showed you other parts of the world, and you'd like to believe it just revealed the future too. A much more comforting thought than it being the present, that is.

You think it was your intent which showed that. You wanted to see if he would ever find this place, and it showed you his death. That… really made no sense. If it couldn't find what it was looking for, shouldn't it have just stopped instead of showing you something completely different without warning?

What if I asked for a way out, and it showed me something different? you wonder. If you'd asked it for directions out and it instead showed you a path to your death? The idea terrifies you. It also significantly decreases your trust in the anomalous monolith. How it interprets your questions into the mirrors, you're unsure, but you'd rather figure it out with something innocuous than mess it up on something so important as your escape.

A thought clicks in your mind, and you grin. Should be simple enough, you think. You once again close your eyes and focus, though this time not on Father Absalom. Rather, you focus on the Brain in the center of the room. What is it doing here? Can it sense you in the room? You think it can if the way its appendages reacted to you is any indication. Could you communicate with it through this, or is it a dumb creature despite its size? You have no idea, but you intend to find out, and that is enough for this device to work its magic.

You open your eyes, staring at the black mirror. The previous image of the High Priest's office shifts into one of this room, though without the giant Brain. Actually, from the way the room is angled, the mirror is probably showing the space from the Brain's perspective. On the far right side of the room are two people, a man with dark-brown hair in torn up pants and a stained shirt standing next to a shorter woman with blue hair and a torn-up white robe covered in bloodstains.

You look down at yourself, only just noticing that you're still in your ruined clothes. You look like death itself, ragged and falling apart. You hear Den shuffling beside you, probably going through his own revelation of his looks. He'd lost his jacket when his Taint went berserk, as well as his scarf. Somehow, he'd kept hold of the absolutely massive book latched to his hip, and the instrument on his back, albeit the strap seemed on the verge of breaking.

You blamed that particular bit of nonsense on Magic. It did that, sometimes.

The image in the mirror starts to shift, moving in reverse at a ridiculous pace. You two are in the vision one moment and gone the next. As the history of this room plays out, you see just how isolated this place is. There is a long time where nobody enters the room, and you can only tell time is passing because the strange feelers continue to move in and out of the frame. It must be an hour or so of this accelerated time before people can be seen. At first, it's only a few elderly people, coming in to use the artifact and then leaving. Slowly, more and more people appear, younger and in greater numbers. Almost all of them wear something resembling the Synagogue's Priestly garb. Those who don't are gone far too fast for you to identify the specifics of their outfit.

The vision begins to slow until it stops with the room empty. You notice that, at this point, there is no artifact in the room. It also doesn't look like a room - the walls and floors are fleshy, with veins running along the floors mid-pulse. Surrounding the brain is a milky liquid, filling the gap between it and the edge of the floor. It plays forwards once again, at a normal pace.

Three people enter the cranial cavity - which at this point in history it looks much more like one - all on edge. The one on the left is a red-haired woman in a dress you recognize as belonging to royalty. It's not as pretentious and impractical as those described in the romance novels which Sister Naomi keeps finding in your floormates' beds. It's designed very similarly to your tunic, with just a few fancy flow-ey bits and embroidered gold that make it look expensive. The man on the right is vastly different, black hair and farmer's clothes and armed with an emerald sword. Despite looking very well out of his depth, he seems the most alert of the three.

The man leading them, you realize, is not a man at all. You've heard of him in history books and horror stories, but you'd never thought you'd ever get to see him. That flaming red mane of hair, cascading down his back like a thick cloak, the black skin with the faintest tint of green, red eyes against black sclera and slit like a cat's. That combined with his enormous figure would have been enough on its own, but then you saw the sword on his back, arguably more famous than he was. A wicked instrument of death, roughly carved from crystalized Brimstone and stained red with blood. Even through the mirror, you felt uneasy looking at that thing. It did not belong here. It was unholy, blasphemous, alien. It was Eden's Gate, the infamous blade of Nome the Demon King.

As the other two cautiously examine the room, Nome strides towards the Brain with confidence. He says something to the others, and they join him. They debate something for a moment, with the farmhand flailing his sword towards the creature before the princess - at least, you assume she's a princess - stays his hand. She says something to him, and he tears himself away from her, angry. Nome continues to stare down the mass with an unreadable expression. As his companions argue and yell at each other, Nome bends down onto one knee, putting a hand into the fluid surrounding the brain. When nothing happens, he starts to stir it around, absently looking around the room. He says something that causes the other two to stop fighting, and the three share a look.

The vision suddenly twists and distorts, shaking and dimming.

IwAs meA nT To Die, tHeN.​

The angry text overlaps the screen, for only a second, then it is gone, replaced by the vision. The fleshy room begins to wither and die, hardening into stone. The liquid turns the color of fire, and Nome continues to wear that chiseled expression.

NOME s HouL dh avE Con su MedM y SOUL.​

The Demon King's companion's stare at their leader horrified. They scream and shout at him, but he ignores their pleas. Something crosses his face, some emotion that momentarily escapes his control before he schools it back into submission. A flicker of feeling you remember seeing over and over again on Lo-Ru's features: cruel pleasure at the suffering of another.

buT iW a s Sa Ved.​

The farmer dashes forward, without warning, emerald sword flashing. Just as suddenly, Nome is standing, deflecting the slash with his own blade. The two cross swords and you immediately correct an earlier assumption. Whatever his clothing, that man is no farmer. He moves with a grace and fluidity that you've not even seen the Temple Guards display. His blade is unerringly accurate, every strike lethal to a normal man were it to land. Even when he "misses," a small flash of green can be seen pushing against the Demon King. His sword is not his only weapon, either. His hands and feet are tools to upset the King's balance and rhythm.

Nome is no pushover, either. Where he lacks the quickness of his opponent, he makes up in pure power and stamina. Every swing of his blade leaves a trail of hellfire in the air, and the force of his blows are enough to push the young man back a few feet every time he blocks or deflects one. The few times Nome fails to stop a strike from his opponent, he takes the blows with little more than a flinch, using it as an opportunity to strike at an extended opponent.

The fight seems even for the first half a minute, but it quickly begins to move in Nome's favor after his first successful strike. It's little more than a scratch against the swordsman's cheek, but he begins to falter. His attacks become sloppy, and Nome easily deflects them. The man looks more and more distracted, as though his mind were fading.

The princess, for her part, begins to cast some sort of spell. You're surprised to recognize it as Spiritual Magic, at least considering the length of the chant. The swordsman seems to recover from his fugue, but it's too late. He's on the back foot, and he can't regain his momentum. Come on! You find yourself cheering the guy on. You're pretty sure he's been dead a couple of centuries, but your eyes are still glued to the mirror, hoping and praying he comes out victorious.

Spoiler: he doesn't. At some point, their positions reversed and the swordsman finds his back to the Brain. The princess begins to shout something, and the swordsman cuts her off. Nome doesn't give him any time to finish his speech and cuts him down. His corpse collapses beside the pool, which has at this point turned crimson. The princess screams, collapsing to her knees. Nome stows his sword and grabs the princess by the throat. She chokes, unable to get out a single word. You know this is where she died. Whenever this was, this was her last moment of life.

Then, inexplicably, her eyes glow golden.

She grabs Nome's arm, moving her lips to a chant you're certain she can't actually be speaking. Not with how tight the Demon King is gripping her. At his feet, you see the swordsman weakly reach a hand towards his boot. The moment his finger makes contact, Nome jerks his head towards him, surprise clearly written upon his face. A thousand glyphs surround the Demon King, spinning in concentric patterns and locking around him. They wrap around his form, glowing brighter and brighter until he fades away, disappearing from reality.

The princess collapses beside the swordsman on the edge of the pool, unmoving.

iT Was TH eir SA cr iFi ce WH ich SA veD Me.​

Feelers extend from the edges of the vision, slowly reaching towards the duo. They gently touch their forms before pulling. The limp corpses drop unceremoniously into the viscous fluid. More feelers grab at them, dragging them into the depths of the slowly draining liquid.

I Am H eR e BecaU se NO me KillE d My B oD Y. I CanN ot LeaV E.​

A few minutes later, the pool falls out of sight of the vision. The room in general looks very close to its present-day counterpart, if a bit rougher. And still lacking the device you were currently operating.

But TH ose T hR ee KE pt My M ind AL ivE.​

The vision fast-forwards. Priests enter the room, freaking out at the sight of the brain. They study it for some time, arguing amongst each other. They bring in a myriad of devices, artifacts you've seen before while cleaning the Collections of the various Libraries in the Synagogue. At one point they set up three pillars like the ones you're using, though without the Old Tongue written on them. The moment they're set down, however, they melt into the floor, and the script begins forming. The Priests begin to freak out, but the vision begins to fast forward before you can see anything more.

This IS ThE Mem oR iaL I Mad eT heM, The Ch osE N, The Ro yaL, ThE UN borN.​

All the other artifacts are removed, and the Priests begin to study the device and room for what must be decades before the numbers begin to dwindle. The vision cuts forward to the present before the mirror darkens completely.

That… that was a lot more than you were expecting. You lift your hand from the orb and hold your head. So, you're in the corpse of this thing? And all that's left of it is that Brain, and its connection to this artifact/memorial? Because Demon King Nome killed it? Wasn't he only a threat to the south? You're almost certain he'd never been recorded coming this far north. Just what the hell was going on here? And why are you getting roped into it?

You know, it's shit like this that explains why you hate Tuesdays.

-:-:-;-:-:-​

Still to do:

[x] Mess with artifact
-[x] Think of escape

Any addendums?

[] Artifact
-[] Let Den try
-[] Write-in

[] Brain
-[] Play it a song
-[] Write-in

[] Go back to exploring

[] Sulk/Rest

[] Write-in

 

[Rickshaw]

[x] Brain
-[x] Play it a song

[x] Artifact
-[x] Let Den try
-[x] Think of escape

Day ???
???

"Okay, I think I'm done for a little bit." You step away from the artifact, still holding your head. "The mirror-thing is all yours, Den."

"There's got to be a better name for this thing." He says, absently fiddling with his sleeve. "Farseer? No, those only show the present. Some sort of Sibyl-thing? No, this isn't that Dick-ish. Maybe a Looking Gla- nope, not going down that rabbit hole."

"Uhhhhhh" you take a step away from the rambling man. Is this how he is normally? You've really only interacted with him in high-stress situations, like fighting or being told he has Soul Cancer. The last few hours have probably been the closest thing to normal human contact you two participated in, and that was mostly filled with silence as you tried to escape an alien labyrinth. Then a giant Brain, a sudden vision of Father's death, and discovery that you're trying to escape a corpse created by the greatest threat to humanity ever.

That's still pretty stressful, you'd say. Now that you think about it, maybe rambling is how he copes? You've seen worse methods. Particularly from Naomi.

And that is why we will never garden again. Ever. You shudder at the memory of Incident Number Two-Hundred and Eighty-Seven. Think happy thoughts. Happy thought, Anna.

"SCRYING!" Den shouts. You jump out of your robes, literally. The force of your movement tears the last thread holding the front clasp together and it flops to the floor. You sigh, leaning down and folding the robe into a small pile.

"What-ing?" You ask, trying to calm your fluttering heart. You momentarily worry about palpitations, but it calms down when the sudden anxiety drops.

Den turns to you, an overly-cheesy grin smacked across his face. "Scrying orbs! They allow users to look into the future, as well as elsewhere in the present. Some tales even have them show their users visions of the past. This thing must be a Scrying machine!" He can't seem to help himself as he charges forward with his theory. "It's said that unlike most precognitive abilities and artifacts, what a Scrying orb shows is absolute truth. Whatever you see when you first look in is what you will see when the event comes to pass. It becomes a fixed point in time, unavoidable and irreversible…" His analysis peters out when he looks back to you. He rubs the back of his head, nervousness once again crossing his features. "Uh, sorry. That was rude of me."

You don't respond at first. Not until his guilty face starts making you feel bad for it. "'S'fine."

He nods, though he still seems pretty awkward. "Um," he starts after a minute. "I'm going to use the Scrying Orb now." He shuffles towards it, laying a hand on it. "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?" He asks, tone sarcastic.

The mirror starts to ripple, revealing a woman dressed as a barkeep. She's in her 30s, but her clothes and age belie the natural beauty of her vibrant red hair that frames her regal face. She cleans a table with a dirty washcloth, wiping it against her forehead when she finishes. She stands up and you can tell from her very posture that she must be a Prin-

"Joke, Mirror. That was a joke. Not… not serious." Den sighs as the mirror returns to black. "God, of everything I thought might happen today, quoting Grimhilde was not what I expected." He wipes a hand across his jaw. He looks tired. "Alright. Brainiac, you can communicate to us through this, right? What are you? Do you have a name?"

i Am AstaR ot H. Ia mM Ag iC.​

The visceral text scrawls across the mirror in an instant. Behind it forms a giant mass, like an earthworm or lamprey, standing against the stars. Centipede legs dot its form, grabbing at the air as, well, like a centipede does the ground. It looks a lot like it's walking through the sky, though it curves its body as it moves, giving the impression it slithers like an eel. It fades away with the words, returning the scrying surface to an onyx tone.

"Alright, I'm going to pretend that made sense. What kind of Magic?"

Ma g iC.​

No accompanying image.

"Uugghh, yes but what kind? Divine? Demonic? Spiritual? I doubt it but Harmonic?"

yEs.​

Den gives the Brain with a look. The same kind of look you've seen on Naomi when she's just about ready to punish a Maiden flagrantly breaking a rule in her presence. The kind of look that says "I swear if you test me one more time I will strangle you." That look.

i Am MA gI c Be FoR eI t Is TH oS e. Be Fore I tIs A lteR eD.​

"Altered?" Den raises an eyebrow, "Okay, that's… that's actually very intriguing. Hold on." He walks away from the artifact and moves towards the Brain. He stops just before the break in the floor, staring at the remains of Astaroth. From his back, he pulls out his mandolin and holds it up. You just stand there, unmoving as he plucks his fingers across the strings. This one is a lot more complex than what he originally played for you, mixing finger patterns amidst strums and beats. At times you think you can hear bells and the faintest whisper of strings, but you write it off as a trick of the imagination. As you listen you feel something… melancholy in the melody. The taste of bittersweet memory on your tongue, a sound of some long-forgotten regret. Your heart aches as he plays, and you don't fully understand why.

You have to admit, his music is Magical. Skilled, true, but you've never really felt this moved by a song of the Choir, and they're the most talented musicians in Zak. You're almost certain the way he uses Magic in his music is what makes it so impactful. He's putting his heart into the music, and the Magic puts the music in your heart. To be honest, you're okay with that. It makes the melodies that much more meaningful.

It would seem you aren't the only one to feel that way. You can see the Brain relax, in some way. The pulsing of its veins slows, and the antennae along its length move in smoother, slower circles. Almost in time with the music itself. If you were a little more confident about your knowledge of giant magical brains, you'd guess it was being altered by the… what did he call it? Harmonic Magic?

A flicker on the mirror causes you to avert your gaze. You're surprised by what you see on it. Not the garbled words from before, but something calmer. As though shaped by the Magic affecting it.

You wish to return to the surface, do you not?​

You put your hand on the orb. "Yes," you say, barely a whisper.

Follow the path out of this room. The Labyrinth shall guide you home.​

Den finishes his song, just in time to turn to you and see the mirror's message. "Ah, good to know." He stows away his instrument. "Do you mind if I ask it one last question before we leave?"

You shake your head, stepping back from the orb. His hand replaces yours, and he looks towards the mirror. You think his song might have affected him in some way, as his expression seems distant. Almost lost, you'd guess, and just a little desperate.

The mirror begins to ripple before it suddenly jerks. There's a flash of runes on the screen, dozens that you can't read in time before the Scrying device begins to wildly flicker between images: A skyline far wider than any you've seen; a hulking figure hunched over blue-haired woman; a girl with red hair walking away; a noose; a thousand runes, gripping and wrapping around a man as he screams; a black military uniform; dozens more you don't catch in time to decipher. It flies by before you can process any of it, abruptly stopping on a single image that you faintly recognize. It's Den, lying in an infirmary bed, from the same angle you had sat in when you were watching over him. Except, this infirmary is very different from the one you have. Strange artifacts line the wall behind him, whirring and pumping and sliding around him. What they're for, you have no idea, but you get a sense of foreboding the very next moment when they all simultaneously stop. The image remains for a few seconds before the mirror once again darkens to an inky black.

Your futUre iS bLeA kTr aV e Ler.​

Den looks pale. You have no idea what he asked the Scrying device, but you have a feeling it wasn't good.

Your FA te is SE aleD. Do You S eE k To D efY iT?​

Den doesn't answer. He let's go of the orb, turns, and leaves the room at the fastest walking pace you've ever seen. When you turn back to the mirror, the question remains burned into its surface. Even as you leave to follow Den, it remains with you, scorched into your retinas.

Dammit, Den, what the hell did you do?

-:-:-;-:-:-​

This next vote will affect what you do until you reach the surface. You won't have any alternative paths to go down when you leave: It's a labyrinth, not a maze. There's exactly one path to one destination and it's decided by a friendly eldritch abomination.

-:-:-;-:-:-​

Ask Den about his last question?

[] Yes

[] No


Other Action?

[] Write-In


[x] Interlude
-[] An Empty Escort
-[] A Doomed Dreamer
-[] A Curious Child
-[] The Fickle Father
-[] A Wailing Woman
-[] A Gentle Guard

 

[Rickshaw]

Sorry for the delay, had some work issues that kept me busy these past few days. Hopefully, the contents of this update will make up for the unexpected wait.

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[x] Question Den

Day 2
Evening

It takes you a few twisting turns before you catch sight of your fellow… fellow what? Tainted? That's a little broad a category. Maybe partner-in-crime… actually no that's a little too accurate considering recent events. Lost person? Yeah, that's about right. Your fellow lost person.

God, that sounds so lame.

You have a feeling that He'd agree.

Anyways, Den is visible once again. His pace is still quick, but nowhere near the hurried half-run he'd been keeping. You're able to catch up with him, but his stride is just a tad off yours. You're stuck in a limbo between a slow jog and a rushed walk as you match his pace.

"Den?" You try, to no effect. He's just staring ahead, marching on. "Hey, you doing alright?"

"No," he retorts.

Well, good to know you can still read the obvious signs. "What was that, back there? What did you ask it?" You change to a jog to pull alongside him. "Why did you run?"

"I'd rather not talk about it right now." Now he sounds like an angsty teenager. God, how old is he? You… actually, you have no idea. You assumed he was older than you, but you could be wrong. You're twenty, so if he's younger than you at all he'd still technically be a teen. Oh, gosh, and that would mean you got Soul Bound to an angsty teen and oh, God, what did I do to deserve this torment.

A heavy sigh escapes your lips as he steps to the edge of a gap in the corridor. Looking down, you can see what looks to be an endless black abyss of death. You hear something like the screams of the tormented upon the very edges of your hearing, echoing just enough to be unsettling if you were to pay attention to it.

The brunet hops the gap like it's nothing. You, on the other hand, need a bit of a running start to clear it. Damn him, his angsty attitude, and his long legs.

To be honest, his reaction is likely a glaring hint that he absolutely needs to talk about it. "I'd rather you do. It's obviously bothering you. Won't you feel better if you just let it out?"

"I think I'd feel better if you dropped this." Oh, he's stubborn. Good thing you're known among the Maidens as particularly stubborn. And lazy. And resistant to fire.

…Should it bother you just how often that last one comes up? No, stop rambling. Focus. Den's in a mood. You need to fix him. Focus, goddammit. "No can do. That thing called you a 'Traveler' and claimed that your fate was sealed. Pardon the vulgarity, but that's pretty fucking ominous." Well, the Demon King apparently paying this place a visit once upon a legend also has some terrifying implications, but that's something to worry about later. "What does that even mean?"

He opens his mouth to argue, only to close it a moment later. "I don't know." He says, turning a corner and hitting a dead end. He turns around, throwing his hands in the air. "I don't know, I don't know!" He walks back the way you came, now going down a straight path you're certain wasn't there before. You meet his eyes for just a second before he looks ahead again, focusing on the path ahead of him.

He's lying.

"That doesn't explain why you just up and ran out of the room." You argue.

"It was time to go."

"Oh, that is such bullshit." You're very quickly losing your patience. You grab him by the arm, forcing him to stop. He doesn't look at you, but he also doesn't push you off or blush at the touch. You take that as permission to continue. "You knew exactly what it meant. What did that vision mean?"

"Please, stop it."

"No, I'm not stopping until you give me an answer. Who was the girl with the red hair? What about that scared you so much that you'd rather run than figure it out?"

"Shut up. Not another word."

"What was all that back there? What are you scared of? Tell me, what are you running from?"

"Ophie, just stop trying to fix me!" Den shouts, whirling around at you, earthy orbs glaring at your forehead. He blinks, disarmed.

There's a very pregnant pause as you both process what just happened. "Den?" You ask, very slowly. "Who is Ophie?"

His jaw works in his mouth for a moment, still looking at your forehead. He stays like that for just a moment before he turns away, the whole time never meeting your eyes. "I think I'm done talking for now." He takes a step, only to be held back by something. He checks his arm to find that you're still holding on, knuckles white. "Off." He slaps your hand away and heads off, not quite a run but very close. He's running away again, and this time it's from you.

That hurts you more than you think it should. Yeah, getting blown off like that hurts, but he's a stranger to you, right? Your stomach shouldn't drop as it does. You shouldn't deflate like this when he refuses to let you into his life. You're not actually a part of it, just someone who's been through a few stressful bits with him, right?

You feel like you could have handled that a lot better.

-:-:-;-:-:-​

It's nearly an hour later when you finally spot a hint of an exit. At first glance, it seems just like any corridor, but you recognize the sudden, unnatural shift from light to dark at its end for what it is. The two of you enter the emptiness together, separately. Den remains a dozen or so paces ahead of you, sulking. You're admittedly not much better. After your earlier altercation, neither of you have spoken a word to each other. That yawning pit in your stomach hasn't shrunk in the slightest, either.

A few moments into the blackness you spot what looks like a distant oil lamp. Though, it seems oddly placed. It's not set onto a wall like most of the lamps in the Synagogue, rather it's sitting atop a pole in the middle of the hall.

Odd, you think to yourself. That's fairly inconvenient to put into the middle of the corridor, isn't it?

As you and the broody brunet approach it, you realize you're not in a corridor anymore. You exit an alley which is about the same width of one of the Synagogue's tunneled halls, but the lamp itself is set along a wide cobblestone road. It stands in line with a dozen others, all leading towards the gleaming dome atop the Synagogue. DIrectly next to the lamp is a sign with a horse on its hind legs.

"The Marching Mare. "You read. Well, it seems you are some distance from home.

I am so dead. Accessory to the murder of two Maidens, breaking curfew, leaving the Synagogue grounds, ruining your robe and walking in public in only your undergarments? Naomi is sure to kill you.

Admittedly, your underwear passes off as normal clothes to most people with how conservative it is, but still. It doesn't matter what normal people think is indecent exposure, only what your caretaker defines it as. And she is ruthlessly stringent.

Den looks up, seeing the sun just beginning to set below the towering walls of Temple City, and walks into the building without another word. With a sigh, you head down the road towards the Synagogue. However much you want to follow him in, the man made it clear he wants his space. Besides, you're in enough trouble as it is. Maybe if you hurry back and beg hard enough, you'll only get quadruple duty?

Somehow, you doubt your punishment will be so light.

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Interlude: A Doomed Dreamer

Sound. A roar, crashing upon the mind. Ears, vibrating with the noise. It's impossible to move under such incredible pressure. Impossible to think.

Deathly quiet. Mind-numbing emptiness. There is a moment, a single instance where the silence becomes oppressive. Not a voice dare shatter the fragile void, for fear of being singled out. To do so would be to break some unspoken sacrament.

So it is with no surprise that all eyes latch onto the woman who begins to hum a simple melody. She seems to brighten as the world around her fades to muted, dull tones. Her vermillion locks, shaved on her left side, cascade down her shoulder. She sways in a way none can call anything besides hypnotic, her thin form clings to the metal rod she holds and caressing it as her lover. Jade glints from under her bangs, accenting cherry lips which kiss the staff with every word she makes.

"Wrapped myself up in all the tattered pages; A forlorn fable.
Faded lines; my message in a bottle is shattering now and sinking down."

Flanking this woman are two men, both barely distinguishable from their dim surroundings. One stands, playing patterns with each finger against the strings over a simple leather instrument. The other sits behind a sleek black box, rhythmically tapping away at ivory keys. These two men both watch the woman with differing forms of awe: one tinged with pride, another edged with jealousy.

The world seems, for a moment, to stand perfectly still. This moment, this second, this very instant of time seems frozen. All motion ceases, and the proof of Zeno's paradox becomes apparent. Not a soul moves, not even the smallest distance. Sound ceases as the very vibrations of the air seem to still. In this instant, it feels as though there is true stillness.

Just as quickly, it is broken by a subtle motion from the woman. Her hair shines just a little brighter, her head lips curl just a little further up, and she takes a single, impossible breath in the space between instants.

A thousand voices crash against the silence, breaking, trampling, drowning it beneath shout and cheer. Time flows anew, and relief floods the trio as their audience screams their name.

With all the fanfare the crowded concert hall could offer, Ophelia Jacobs leaves the stage with her fellow band-members.

"You did great, Ophie!"

"Yeah, you killed it out there."

"C-can I get your autograph? It's for my kids, they were in the audience tonight. It'll mean so much to them."

"More shows like that and you'll be the biggest star in Hafenport!"

"Fantastic performance, girl."

The young woman rushes past the crew, nodding and smiling and apologizing she can't stay there right now as she scurries towards her room. One of her bandmates, the one on the banjo, opens her door for her and lets her in. He closes it immediately after her, staying outside to stay the coming tide.

She collapses to the floor, shaking. Her shoulders, her hands, her head, she vibrates with nervous energy. Hands rise before her face, unable to steady themselves. Her emerald eyes stare, wide.

"...hiccup."

She stills. Did she just…? She can feel it swelling inside her. Bubbling in her chest, building with pressure until she finally can't hold it back anymore. She closes her mouth to hold it back, but it does nothing. It slips out, unbidden. It's loud, it's raw, it's not very ladylike.

But boy, does her laugh sound like a madwoman.

She clutches her sides, already feeling the soreness settle as she cackles like a crone. Her… her everything feels…

It feels good. It feels a lot better than she thought it would. Like she's finally found a place where she fits.

The door behind her opens. The sound of footsteps slowly overtakes the quieting laughter, until she can feel the presence towering over her hunched position on the floor.

"I can't tell if you're okay or panicking." Says the man, a hint of a smile in his voice. She coughs, letting out another short bout of laughter, before trying to stand herself up. She nearly falls again, stupid heels, but someone grabs her waist first.

She finally gives her intruder a look. Brunet, just a little taller than the average man. The arm under her isn't particularly muscular, but it lifts her to a standing position with ease. His chocolate eyes seem to smile at her just as wide as his mouth, if with a little more mischief in them. His green jacket hangs from his form, his other constant companion. Beside her, of course.

"I feel great, Jakob." She says, almost giggling. "I feel whole, like I finally figured it out."

"And what, pray tell, did you figure out?"

She leans into him, smiling. "Where I belong." She pushes off him, spinning out of his arm. Her arms fly wide as she twists her way to the single couch in the room. "I think this is what I was meant to do, you know? I feel like I was made to sing!"

Jakob joins his girlfriend on the couch, slinging an arm around her. "I'm glad you liked it. Your fans sure seemed to enjoy your little performance."

She shakes her head, getting up from the couch to spin around again. "No, not just like. I loved that. Going up there and just singing my heart out for all of them, it was like magic, Jake." She stops her spinning to give him a great big grin.

"Well, I'm glad you love it," he says, still smiling. "Maybe you can be a singer wherever we end up once we split town."

"I was thinking about that," Her grin doesn't budge an inch as she speaks. "What if we stayed in Hafenport?"

There's a pause. "Ophie, we talked about this," Jakob says, slowly. "We're leaving the Fifth Empire to start over. Together, right?"

"But do we really have to leave?" She asks, looking at him seriously. "People say I have real potential here, I might be able to get a deal, even with the competition…"

"Ophie, we've been planning this for months. We have a car loaded up and tickets to cross the border, you can't just drop this at the last second."

"I know," she sits on a stool near her vanity. "I know we put all this effort in and we had all these plans, but I have a chance here, no-"

"We're going, and that's final." He sits straighter on the couch. He checks a clock on the wall. "And we have to go now if we want to make it in time." He stands from the couch, picking up red and green backpacks from behind it.

"Why are you so eager to leave?" Ophelia asks, head tilted.

Jakob keeps moving towards the door. "So I can start over with you. Do I need another reason?"

She nods. "Kinda. Why do we have to start over? Can't we just… go forward? Together?" She doesn't budge from her seat, even when Jakob reaches the door.

The instrumentalist sighs, holding the doorknob. "Look, we have to go or else that car is leaving without us. Can we talk about this on the drive?"

"No," she says, resolute. "I'm not leaving until you give me an answer. Why are you trying to escape your life here? What scares you so much that you'd rather run than figure it out?"

"It's not like that. Dammit, we need to go now."

"What is the point of all this? What are you scared of? Tell me, what are you running from?"

"Ophie, just stop trying to fix me and get in the car." Jakob whirls on Ophelia, looking her dead in the eyes.

"No." She says, defiant. The two of them hold gazes for a good minute. Jakob is the one to finally break off, eyes darting to the clock.

He drops the backpacks. "Fine, you win." He moves back to the couch. "They're leaving right now, anyway. We'd never catch up."

She frowns. After a moment, she moves to sit on the couch. Not next to her boyfriend, but a foot or so away. "Why do you want to leave so badly, Jakob?" She asks, tone soft.

"You, Ophelia," he never used her full name. It put her off-balance. "You made me want to be somebody different than who I was. And I'll never be that as long as I'm here."

The redhead lays a hand on his arm. "I think if you want to be more than what people say, you'll need more than a scenery change." She offers a smile, unrequited. "You've just got to be you. Show them you are better than they think."

He shakes his head, pushing her hand away. "It's not so simple."

"Of course it is," she says, smiling. "You just have to be you."

-:-:-;-:-:-​

Just have to be me, huh? Look where that got me, Ophie.

You are Den, once known as Jakob Weiseborn, and you lie in your bed, staring at the dirty ceiling. You feel tired. You feel drained. You feel… empty.

You miss her.

You turn over to face the wall, pulling at the warn covers. You have another big day ahead of you. Best you get some sleep before more memories surface.

…

You shift again. Maybe you owe Anna an apology. She didn't deserve you getting so mad at her. She was just trying to figure out what was going on. You couldn't fault her for that, could you?

…

You're now facing the other wall. You think you can, a little bit. You made it pretty clear you didn't want to talk, and she just kept pushing. She really should have seen it coming.

…

Back to the ceiling. Whether she deserved it or not, you should still apologize. Some of that anger was at everything, not just her. You should at least say you're sorry for acting like an angsty teen.

Finally satisfied with that train of thought, you close your eyes to let sleep take you.

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Day 2 Completed
Day 3 Begins

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Who's in charge today?

[] Den

[] Anna


What's on the Morning agenda?

[]Write-in (Player Autonomy: It's almost like free will, except up to authorial interpretation)

 

[Rickshaw]

This update brought to you by Snarky Puppy's "The Curtain"

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[x] Den
[x] Going out in the City proper. It's been three days and you've only been to the Synagogue! And the Catacombs beneath it, but that doesn't count. You need to take your mind off things.

Day 3
Morning

Wake up. Stupid dream. Get ready. Need a jacket. Head out. Freeze some. "Hey, Mary." Tired grunt. Go in. Really empty. Clean tables. Receive coffee.

Look at you, two days on the job and you've already got a mind-numbing routine going. That or you're still tired from the rough night. It's only with a concentrated effort of will that you lift the cup of inky elixir to your lips.

…

Wow does that pack a punch. Your head hasn't fully cleared, but your eyelids are wide open. You beat your chest, coughing a bit. This stuff is strong. Is this the same brew as yesterday? It feels -cough- it feels much stronger.

You try not to make a face as you down the rest of it. It's bitter. Bitter and citrus and that makes your mouth feel all sorts of bad. You power through anyway. You need the kick to wake you up so you can finally explore the city.

Thinking on it, it is a little odd that you've been here three days already and not been anywhere besides the Marching Mare and the Temple Synagogue. To be fair, one is your home and place of work, while the other is the literal and figurative center of the city.

Still, you've usually found a few good places to eat after this long in a town. Since you've gotten here you've only really gotten quick meals in the mornings and evenings, and those as part of your working deal here. It's high time you went out there for some good old-fashioned ambling about.

Plus, you really need to find a new jacket. This place is too cold for you to be without one.

With one final swig of the intense brew, you return the cup to the innkeep.

"What's on today's agenda?" Mary asks, eyes studiously scanning a copy of Oscar, King of Zoroaster.

Shrug. "I was thinking of perusing the city a bit. See the sights, find some good food, maybe buy a new jacket. Any suggestions?" You ask, hopeful.

She gives the page a thoughtful look. "Hmmm. City's mostly housing and business, so there's not much to see. Though, I guess the West end is pretty eye-catching. A lot of rich folks there and a good number of them are regular members of the Synagogue. I don't go there much, but I do remember visiting a park just off the main road as a kid." She gives you directions to the spot.

Well, that's disappointing. "Where do you normally go to see sights?"

"I don't, usually. The Mare ties me down. Not complaining, though," she shrugs, a smile crossing her face. "I'm proud of this little place. But to answer the implied question of 'where can I go close by,' I'd say you're limited. The Southern district, where we are, is commercial. There are some fancy shops on the main road, but they're more-or-less places for tourists and traveling merchants. Pretty, generally good stock, but significantly overpriced. You'd be better off exploring the side-streets for a good hole-in-the-wall shop."

"Okay," you interrupt, "thanks for that helpful tidbit. But I was serious, where do you go when you need new clothes or a meal you didn't cook? As someone who actually lives here, what's a place you enjoy?"

She looks at you with a hint of surprise, just a little widening of her eyes that fades as she scrunches her brows in thought. "Your best bet would be this one spot bordering the East segment. A bunch of shops built around a community garden. Looks nice, has a few shops I visit every now and then, including a tailor. The food there isn't bad, but if you head north a block or two there's a bakery and meat market right next to each other. They make these things called 'meat rolls' that are pretty good." She lists the directions off the top of her head. You thank her, then she smirks. "Though I'm offended you'd even consider eating somewhere besides this place."

You scratch your cheek, which feels like it's heating up a bit. You know she's messing with you, that playful gleam in her eyes isn't that subtle. Still, you're… not too good with women anymore. If your first reaction to Mary and then with Anna and then Miriam and then Anna again and now Mary and that's a pattern if you've ever seen one. Where were you going with this?

Ah, right. Women plus unexpected attention equals mushbrain.

"Well, um, you don't really know a city if you don't know its food. And, uh, yours is good and all. Delicious, even. But trying a few other places never hurts?" You're pretty certain that last sentence was supposed to come out as a statement rather than a question. Curse you traitorous tongue.

She shrugs, accepting it and returning to her book. Her smirk doesn't leave, though. "Have fun scouring the city!" She calls as you leave.

You exit the tavern-hotel-place and breathe in the cool morning air. The day is still young, and you're a little better equipped with knowledge on where to go. Should you try and go for one of the places Mary mentioned? Or should you go with your original plan and just walk in a random direction until you find something?

Choices, choices, choices!

-:-:-;-:-:-​

Short update.

You were supposed to just walk somewhere random, but Mary gave you a good opportunity to do some basic info-gathering. Good thing, too, considering you probably would have gotten lost in the maze that is Temple City's backstreets without her directions.

You can still go in a random direction if you choose. Or just take one of Mary's suggestions. Up to yoooouuu~

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​

[] Write-in

 

[Rickshaw]

This update was increasingly delayed by a confluence of factors. These issues will continue to hamper my writing output until Easter is over, but I had to at least get this simple update out. BLARGH.

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[x]Go check out that tailor-shop Mary mentioned / Go find yourself some new clothes

Day 3
Morning

When you finally arrive at the recommended spot, you have to stop for a moment and catch your breath. The walk wasn't necessarily hard, but it was at a small incline the whole way. Plus, you're still a little sore from yesterday. You were fighting and standing and walking almost the entire day without any rest, you're bound to feel a little tired.

How long had you been in those tunnels, though? It felt like it'd been a waking day - you'd have guessed at least ten hours or more. But when you'd entered the Marching Mare, Mary told you the evening had only just started. You'd even had time to change and perform your usual gig. On the outside, it seemed like you'd been wandering for barely three hours. You doubted your sense of time was off, considering that meant your sense of rhythm would also be off and you're pretty sure you've still got that. Mostly.

You shake the thoughts out of your head. Now's not the time for temporal disturbances. Heh. No, stop that. Focus. You're here for a reason. Ostensibly to purchase yourself a new jacket. Truthfully, it's to get a better feel of the town through eavesdropping on random conversations and see what's the latest gossip.

A cool breeze cuts through the fabric of your sweater and gives you a shiver. Also, yeah, the jacket. Maybe do that one first.

The square surrounds a small community garden, just as Mary said. The roads surrounding it, wide enough for two carts to pass side-by-side, take up a majority of the ground space. The garden itself is only the area of a small house, and surprisingly well kept. Hedges fence the area, and you can see grass inside as well as small plots where new crops are growing. Sadly, your study of horticulture is somewhat lacking, so you have no idea what the little buds might be.

Along the outskirts of the encircling streets are a few shops that look to be comfortably busy. A few customers in each one, perusing the various wares inside, sometimes nodding and grabbing an item to purchase, sometimes shaking their head and leaving empty-handed. You spot the tailor's across the way and meander over there, being sure to pick up what pieces of conversation you can from the various people about.

"-rd that there will be a new shipment coming so-"

"-nly so much that one man can do for the City, even if he is the High Prie-"

"-nder if they'd let me work in the Synagogue? I hear they take great care of-"

"-oor things. Body count's rising, you know? If the Church don't find a cure so-"

The chorus of voices cut away as you enter the tailor's shop. It's fairly simple, a few sets of basic clothes like shirts and pants folded onto shelves, jackets and warmer clothes hang off cheap wooden mannequins. There are only two other people in the building, an elderly man rifling through some undershirts and a disheveled girl half your age browsing through pants. Neither of them speaks much, at most grunting their opinion at the cloth in their hands. You stride past them, focused instead on the middle-aged man behind the counter.

"Can I help you?" Sky blue eyes meet yours. They're… quite hard, actually. You feel like they're sizing you up, and not for your dimensions. Do you… know him from somewhere?

No, you've read enough tales to know he's probably just some retired hero or soldier, distrusting of all and hoping to live out the last of his days in peace.

Probably.

You explain your jacket situation, or, lack thereof. The man nods as you give a decent description of your old one, looking a bit pensive as you do. He gets up and motions you to follow as he heads behind a curtain into a back room.

Your first thought upon stepping into the chamber is wow that's a lot of fabric. And really, it is. From floor to ceiling, rolls upon rolls of various fabrics line the walls. Silks, wools, cotton, furs, of various styles and colors, cover every vertical surface. In one corner there are even a few large squares of leather. Dyes sit in another corner, just waiting to be applied. Most of the room is occupied by a massive table, with two or three half-finished projects sitting atop it. Tools that you assume are for sewing and leatherworking cover the space. It almost looks like a carpentry shop, except replace the cabinets with dresses, the chairs with suits, and the wood shavings with strips of fabric.

"Your old jacket sounds like it was a special piece." his tone, while gruff, is professional. "You want something similar, I can craft it out of the material here. Otherwise," he flicks his hand towards a cabinet-thing near the door, "there's some basic coats in there. Cheap, and they'll keep you from freezing while you're out."

You point to the... dresser, that's the word, "You mind?" With a shake of his head as confirmation, you take a peek inside it. It's as he said, cheap coats. Not comfortable material, but it looks sturdy and mostly insulated. Probably wouldn't keep you warm if the temperature dropped too far, but it'd be a great windbreaker and warm enough until winter came.

In comparison to the rest of the room, this stockpile looks positively dull. The bare essentials for living so far north. "How much for these?" you ask.

The figure he gives is pretty average, less than you would have paid for a single night at the Marching Mare without your deal. It might be less than a night under your new deal, but you never actually did the math to figure that out. The number for the custom job seems to be variable, but unless you went out of your way to choose the most expensive options it should average around double the cheap option. You're pretty sure you've got the money to get whatever you want, assuming you haven't been robbed already. A quick check of your wallet reveals that, yes, you're still in possession of all your money.

What do you want to do?

-:-:-;-:-:-​

Cheap or Custom?

[] Cheap

[] Custom (Sub-votes are for what to improve over the base, cheap design)
-[] Comfortable (Mobile Hug)
-[] Warm (Like Drinking a Cup of Hot Cocoa)
-[] Durable (Could Probably Survive Transforming into a Raving-Rage Monster)
-[] Color (Stand Out like a Gaudy Thumb)
-[] Other (Write-in)


What'cha doing? (You know, after the whole 'getting clothes' thing)

[] Write-in