Providence - Formation
New
Birdsie
Sharp Talons Cleave The Worthy
- Location
- Poland
[X] Cerebrospinal Refinement
[X] Distort Cerebrospinal Refinement. Spend 7 Import, focusing on mitigation of the outcomes Dorian would personally consider worst.
[X] Muscular and Osseus Refinement
---
Formation
Cautious, tired, yet sanguine about their victory, nonetheless time moved for Dorian's court.
The Street was unceasing in its ethereal chorus and never was its singing more audible than when its steadfast wayfarers were completely stationary and surrounded by silence. It gave off quiet, tenacious stanzas as if to say that for all of its infinite space, its time on each world was very much finite.
Therefore, it only made the most sense to Viscerally channel this sense of urgency. A more inspired explorer might've felt drawn inland, down the lush river valleys and wetlands, and towards the beating heart of the Caliphate, where the Barakah was so thick and acridly sharp one could almost sense it from across the world: as if the horizon itself were whispering, 'there is always a greater adventure.' But while cities represented opportunity, they were also full of danger and expectations, especially with a lack of information. There was a more surefire safety in obscurity and distance than even concealment and cleverness could ever hope to provide.
Al-Jawhara, therefore, became a sort of residence for their team, an oasis to facilitate rest and further labor. Whether or not Hamid considered this intrusion an odd or concerning matter, nothing of that nature was ever said; the elderly representative continued to treat them with cheerful hospitality.
Dorian made use of this effusive, welcoming hospitality, often lounging and relaxing around the caravanserai, sometimes in the presence of the doctor as he worked on various assembled notes, shaking his head, or using the hammer to repurpose bits of depowered armor into a more coherent suit.
"You never cease to strive, do you, sir?" asked Dorian one afternoon, taking a petite sip of his exquisite, steaming coffee.
This was much better than any coffee he could've procured at home, even with a noble's wealth and his extensive network of contacts. Refreshing, energizing, invigorating, but with a delicate profile that didn't overwhelm. It also helped that with each subsequent sip, Dorian's tastebuds and gustatory cortex refined themselves a little, to allow better appreciation of the experience; a pleasure quite literally transcending the comprehension and palate of a standard mortal, if only by a couple of very small degrees. Even so, these people's coffee brewing was admittedly supernal in itself, honed to a fine art. He'd have to secure some beans before leaving.
"A wonderful world, this is. Very quaint indeed, if overly hot," answered Musorov. He wasn't as satisfied with Providence - or rather, its climate. In an unexpected act of exceptionally arrogant heresy, he'd removed his signature labcoat - even Dorian was disappointed and shocked to see him without it - and tied it around the midriff.
Alas, the doctor's Ebbandry lacked the refinement to distill clean water from this utterly arid atmosphere, so he relied on potable water available from the village well. The one saving grace was Murkworking, which with some creativity and focus allowed him to billow up clouds of sand to soar overhead and shield him from the sun's glare.
The inclination of his mental gradient, the subtle pressure of his superbly reinforced mind, shifted to vexation as he shot Dorian an annoyed glance.
"How are you not melting?"
Dorian smiled enigmatically. Truthfully, he would've struggled to maintain composure even with Viscerality. The effects of the Chill Pill were not oversold.
"You'll find that I handle heat most excellently. I could help you with a couple of modifications."
"Ah." Musorov's face scrunched up for a moment. His distaste for Viscerality, given its association with vampires, was understandable, but Dorian had felt compelled to make the offer anyhow. "Thank you, indeed, sir, but I'll take a rain check on that, at least for today."
There was a moment of silence, as Dorian sipped his coffee once more.
Andrei hummed. "It must be nice - the ability to relax and transform that rest into productivity."
"Are you tempted by Viscerality?"
"A little," the doctor admitted. He stared into his notebook. "I feel it'd affect my productivity overall for the worse, though. Yet another magic in my cap would be a nice addition, for boasting's sake; an impressive addon to a work portfolio. But I have doubts I could maintain a good working pace in such a state; focus spread too thin."
Dorian nodded along, humming.
A bizarre realization to internalize was that a mere fourth of a year ago, he'd been a mortal man on Drethir, a mere crafter of masks, with some allegedly noble mission of overthrowing the Empire. Now, Dorian had explored more worlds than most citizens of the whole multiverse - what a concept, a multiverse! - could ever aspire to, or even dream of. He was stronger than most of them, not to mention immortal, and surrounded by friends, each capable in their own peculiar ways. He wondered if Andrei also felt some emotion akin to this, and in turn, did Japhris and Linneas? Did every wayfarer eventually feel this strange, low thrill; melancholy's cousin?
How vast was the multiverse, this - as Shi Lei had called it - Hierarchy? And how many patrons of the Street were there, truly? What were the ratios? How come there were not more multiversal overgods, ruling over their personal pocket empires after a hundred lifetimes of adventuring and collecting magics? Or was it that there were, but they simply weren't accessible to Dorian's perspective, too far outside, or too well-protected with the walls they'd erected? As Dorian's creativity returned to him over the week, the presence of his friends reknitting those frayed threads of imagination and artistry, he considered all this more and more, frowning increasingly in contemplation.
However, recreation was one side of the coin. The other was diligent labor.
As soon as Dorian felt ready to work, the first action he took was to strike a deal with the village's carpenter, a mutually beneficial arrangement: in return for an apportionment of the carpenter's dowels, sheets, and blocks, Dorian crafted the man a specifically attuned mask to ease his work, skyrocketing productivity. This in itself acted as an advertisement, and Dorian was soon selling all sorts of masks like sweet carnival hotcakes, acting not only as training but also a swift source of lordly - if not truly exaltable, at least not yet - wealth.
He went a step beyond this simple tactic of sales and revenues, however. This village didn't have enough wealth to offer to truly afford his rates. Therefore, after some thinking, Dorian figured out a profitable way forward and expanded his clientele to include those who couldn't afford his products as well. Among other things, he crafted scrying masks for the village children on the condition they all be returned at week's end. He shattered those masks and then hammered the assorted pieces into his own anemically weak scrying mask, elevating its facetime modestly, and then created other masks for the children to wield after he'd left.
As time went on, his actions - and those of his companions - formed a veil of Barakah, the benedictions of prosperity their presence was creating, revitalizing the village's economy. As caravans visited, the traders were shocked to see the flourishing of the humble village. He wondered if word would spread soon, and this place might become of more interest to those in power. There were a couple of villagers who considered their residence and actions an affront as a result, as well, but Dorian's diplomatic skills managed to defuse any violence, if not exactly quell the dissatisfaction itself. Their sentiments were understandable; change was scary sometimes.
After work, each evening, Dorian would meditate on himself and seek to craft himself into something anatomically superior. A slow Visceral modification, one step after the other. His musculature swelled, a parallel strength and endurance, what would've once been almost imponderable strength attained within a week.
However, Dorian's most ambitious foray was into the foundational stuff that made the human mind.
With increasing Visceral focus and precision, he added to and modified sections of nervous tissue and even to his brain, sometimes limiting himself to literally a couple of cells at a time, making careful adaptations often in multiple scans, each one slightly elevating the substrate, and checking for errors on previous runs.
The first symptom of his evolution was that Dorian's reflexes started to rise to absurd levels, sharpening like a fine razor; what once would've been incomprehensibly fast, such as a bullet advancing towards him from a gun's barrel, was now dull and slow. Conversations started to bore him, the space between each word its own half-minute, and so Dorian carefully calibrated his ability to feel boredom and gradually uplifted his emotional control. All in a specific manner that wouldn't trigger any Visceral safeguards.
This all, still, he deemed insufficient. There was so much more room for exploitation, so much he'd not done.
Even if he decided to directly challenge the Empire of Drethir, was that Empire also not ceaselessly expanding its territories? Gaining facetime for the masks of its soldiers, more esoteric support from its nobles? Was the Emperor, too, not accumulating power, within the Imperial Visage that was the crown of that entire corrupt edifice?
He needed to outpace them, even if this was terrifying.
But Dorian Croft was not a coward.
To attain strength, he needed to act boldly. Strength begat strength, as their adventures proved: once a breakthrough was achieved, stratospheric growth was assured. The area he most wished to improve, the one in which he felt, if not sorely lacking, then most interested in - was the domain of intellect.
He'd considered the idea once - of using distortion on himself, to cure the mind of its ailments. He'd been a novice of distortion then, not quite accustomed to its vagaries. But the contamination that came out of the strange Icarelian anti-Tower carried its own risks. It needed to be wielded with surgical precision, to avoid a fate worse than death.
So, donning the Icarelian's Mask, interchangingwith the Crimson King, Dorian modified the folds of his encephalon with meticulous attention to each part, double and triple-checking each individual modification in case it required an immediate reversion. A full cerebral distortion might as well have meant death by any reasonable definition, but as long as only a couple of individual cells were affected adversely, he could simply burn them out and heal them, returned to a safe baseline. He consulted the doctor on which sections of the brain handled what functions, and while the doctor wasn't entirely certain about Dorian's tolerance for such dangerous procedures, he cooperated anyway.
And soon, almost as if Dorian were incrementally ascending a ladder leading into an attic of mental dimensions hitherto unexplored, like an assembled tower about to finally reach that zone above and beyond the atmosphere, he'd fire one final wave of distortion into his cerebellum to activate the underlying power.
What had Dorian attained, and what was the cost?
---
Here are the fruits of your distortion. Make the vote by plan.
Costs. Must choose at least one.
[ ] Hamartia - A hero's soul, a hero's charge, a hero's doom. Whether distortion caused this because of some tendency within your psyche, a strange quirk of physiology, or a consequence of the metaphysical law of the world you find yourself on, is - and probably shall remain - uncertain.
*From now on, one of the seven deadly sins serves as your fatal flaw.
*You cannot choose; it is random.
*Welcome Lust and Gluttony, as their respectively passionate and indulgent touch could even prove a benefit, broadening your Visceral capabilities.
*Fear Sloth and Pride, a killer of initiative and a killer through recklessness respectively.
*Then again, it's hard to be more reckless than you already are.
[ ] Execrate - A commitment, a gauntlet thrown. Hatred swells in your breast. Tears that dried last year flow once more like a waterfall or rainstorm. Grief; grief unending. What do you strive for, what do you gather power for, so heedlessly, so recklessly, if not for a purpose greater than yourself? To avenge and to kill.
*Your heart becomes an overflowing sangreal of vengeance, so utterly committed no amount of rational outreach shall see you turned from your mission. Commits Dorian to fighting the Empire of Drethir and avenging his family. Afterward, you'll kill all those who resemble Drethir, until there is no more vengeance left to wreak.
*There are still certain thresholds Dorian won't cross. He'll go to a semi-reasonable extent to avoid involving civilians, innocents, or else causing collateral damage, but otherwise, he'll be fully committed to all sorts of unsavory actions needed to take down the Empire: torture, terrorism, or worse. No cost is too great.
*Potentially apocalyptic and unethical results if taken alongside Hamartia: Wrath. There'll be no more reason to temper and blunt your vengeance.
*Give war a chance.
[ ] Brave One - You are not a coward. Above everything, before all else, not raised to be a coward. You do not shirk duty, do not run from the inevitable, and you always continue to advance. Let this, if nothing else, be true forevermore.
*In a manner comparable to Dreamless, shatters Dorian's ability to properly feel and process the emotions of fear, dread, terror, hesitation, and shock. These things are simply not within him anymore, nor is it within him to feel them. He could face a world-ending monster with the same sanguine clarity as a mundane grocery clerk.
*That said, his judgment and (theoretically logical) understanding of consequences are, thankfully, unaffected. He still retains the same values and comprehends that certain actions may result in a swift death, which is undesirable to his goals. However, he might not place the same emotional import on those things.
*Makes you slightly likelier to martyr yourself for a cause you believe in, and disables your ability to empower Viscerality with fear, among other side effects.
*Blunts all forms of supernatural fear influence, acting as a sort of pseudo-benefit. Next time you see that deathknight, he'll regret ever dying.
*Alongside Hamartia: Pride, this might as well be a quest-ender. You'll see the Moonwolf and very calmly decide, "I am no coward. Bring it, fido."
Of course, if you were truly brave, you'd pick all three costs at once.
Attainments. Choose one for each cost.
[ ] Namelessness - A morass of murky identities and its clear antipode, finally synthesized into one spiraling power greater than its components.
*Grants you the ability to semi-Viscerally absorb masks into yourself. This is a slow, involved process, requiring a thorough understanding of the mask's identity and experiences, a sort of dual-bonded sympathy with its meaning. You cannot do this with masks you don't have some level of deep attachment to, and the length of the absorption scales with the mask's power. Thereafter, you can always manifest some of the mask's abilities, even if wearing another mask, or fully grow it out of your face. They simply become innate abilities, as integral to your biology as your Visceral implants, as integral to your spirit as Kingship.
*This devours the leftover, mostly disarmed Facelessness rooted within you. A considerable mitigation of Dreamless. You'll once more experience dreams.
*You cannot ever again mechanically Fixate or become Faceless, whether for good or ill.
[ ] Gamaliel Coils - The one flaw inherent within the Choice you've made is its fundamental unpredictability. It draws on the subconscious and unendorsed for inspiration, those desires which may be shameful or best avoided to maintain practicality, the deep quagmire of id, rather than ego.
*Essentially, Dorian mutates a set of neural coils across his entire brain, through which, in a process fully independent of standard conscious thought, the 'unabridged template' of his conscious desires and thoughts can briefly, fully, and unconditionally overwrite those that are unconscious, thus bringing about an unfathomable and (literally!) unthinkable totality of self, if only for short bursts at a time. This is extremely mentally tiring to utilize and can result in deleterious conditions if abused too far, but it can be trained very, extremely, slowly.
*Amends one of the foremost drawbacks of the Gamaliel Contamination Protocol: its randomness and lack of control. When acting in totality, you essentially have arbitrary control over the manifestations your distortion creates.
*Allow me to repeat that, in case it wasn't clear: you get arbitrary reality warping.
*You are, however, still constrained by the limited capacity of distortion - which doesn't grow naturally - as well as the fact that excessive distortion can make phenomena wink out of reality, made too illusionary. Nothing can be really done about this, at least not at this juncture.
*Literally translate imagination into reality.
[ ] True Excellence - We oft say, perhaps in jest and perhaps not, that some of us are 'built different.' Yet what of the one who can rebuild himself from scratch, the aphorism of the man who is both marble and sculptor rendered literal? What if 'built differentness' is something one can attain through effort, rather than birthright?
*Increases - by a considerable albeit not massive amount - the sum of parameters and mental traits which can be said to comprise a person's competence and intellect, without unduly affecting judgment or associations. You'll be wiser as well, but continue to be vulnerable to the ravages of costs such as Hamartia or Execrate.
*You'll become a virtual exemplar, more charismatic and smart, as well as possessing better mental plasticity and the ability to resolve cognitive disparities; able to make peace with impossibilities, while still asymptotically pursuing them with full, unrestrained resolve. An ubermensch of the Nietzschean dream, in fewer words.
*Simply be hard of core. Simply be built different. What matter the costs, if you can firm it?
*There is nothing more. You can argue this is modest, and perhaps it is.
Your blatant mercantilism has earned you a total of 3 Wealth, a mostly abstract measure of your fiscal resources. This is about the overall level of wealth you'd expect from an impoverished caravaneer, sufficient to settle down in a city and live out a comfortable existence for about a week or two without any worries.
What'll be your next move?
[ ] Travel to Caliphate Capital - An exciting land of opportunities awaits! The hub of Misrashan's commerce and politics is far more urbanized and to Dorian's liking, as he's very much possessed of a city boy's sensibilities, but most importantly, this'll afford you the ability to sell masks to higher bidders and make useful contacts.
*You'll encounter all sorts of crazy shit and learn much more about Barakah, its various manifestations, effects, and so on.
*A chance to engage in being a mysterious mask merchant in front of a large populace, and profit from it as well.
*Good Barakah-earning opportunities. This is where those eager, wide-eyed village braves come once they're ready to promote to rowdy cityscape fools. This is also where heroes come, once their village or whatever burned down.
*Generally Visceralists are looked upon with considerable suspicion, and people out here might have ways of detecting that you are one such Visceralist.
[ ] Stay in Al-Jawhara - It's rather nice, and it doesn't seem as if Hamid minds, even if your swift, almost calamitous upheaval of their way of life's shockingly sudden.
However, out here you're also protected by the most powerful guardian: obscurity. Stay out of the spotlight, avoid prominence conscientiously, and grow over time while drinking coffee and chewing dates.
*You technically aren't the king of Al-Jawhara. Technically. In practice, might have a positive result on your Kingship?
*In practice, also, the Caliphate might take issue with this if they somehow become alerted of your activities.
*Or this might actually work out to your advantage? After all, rumors spread, and rumors mean Barakah, and Barakah means glory!
*Get more money.
*Very comfy.
[ ] Adventuring - There is more to Providence than the dullness of civilization and its hubbub, if you find that it tires or bores you. You can venture into the deserts which, according to Hamid's testimony and the Doctor's discoveries, have a strangely big occurrence rate of adventurous and interesting encounters - especially for those carrying over a hundred fates, such as yourself. Such is the nature of Providence, that those who go out seeking adventure, shall inevitably find it, for better or worse.
You can also try to dig around or explore underground: Hamid tells you stories of Sijjin, also known as the Labyrinth, a mysterious cave system running underneath all of Providence, and its crypts containing mystic treasures from past eras. Where it is closer to the surface, Barakah tends to distort and do strange things...
*You'll be able to test your mettle against various monsters, opponents, djinns, and other creatures of the night!
*Lots of opportunities to earn Barakah, as well as locate various artifacts!
*Great team bonding exercise.
*Your earbuds enthusiastically support the idea of adventure. They very enthusiastically do not support the idea of entering the Labyrinth.
[ ] Go South or East - There are nations other than these!
*Go south to Tanumis, if you think the nation of baby-eating lions, petting zoos,and cat maid cafes sounds interesting.
*Or you can sail across the sea. There, you'll find the "nations" of Surirah, to the north, and Thadirayat to the south.
*Both of them are incredibly bad. Notice the quotation marks.
*A brief dossier on both:
Thadirayat - In Thadirayat, the princes and princesses of darkness make their lair: an ecumene of vampires, or 'ghuls.'
Chief among those who hold dominion over the chattel of the fallen empire is Shula al-Majid. She is a decadent creature who seldom leaves her capital, styling herself Calipha of Thadirayat and reigning in a small oasis city amidst her harem of djinn and ifrits. Gluttonous, spiteful and prone to random bloodshed she is far from an ideal ruler... but is still admittedly better than the hellhole of Surirah to the north.
Surirah - Once there was a land of peace and plenty that emerged from the wastes of war and tragedy. For three decades and three years, Emir Harun al-Makir built a paradise in the lands of Surirah around his capital Abu Aizdihar, a utopia built upon the backs of djinn labor. The enslavement of the princes of the air built a better world through their toil and miracles.
Then the chains broke and the debt came due.
Now the lands of Abu Aizdihar are a fractious mass of warlords mortal and immortal, cursed and wracked with fury and storms. There is no peace, only the cruel laughter of thirsting dreaming gods. Famine, pestilence, war, and death all have their place upon this hell on Providence.
And who knows, maybe you can sort this place out? A nation without a crown - is that not how a story of Kingship begins?
[X] Distort Cerebrospinal Refinement. Spend 7 Import, focusing on mitigation of the outcomes Dorian would personally consider worst.
[X] Muscular and Osseus Refinement
---
Formation
Cautious, tired, yet sanguine about their victory, nonetheless time moved for Dorian's court.
The Street was unceasing in its ethereal chorus and never was its singing more audible than when its steadfast wayfarers were completely stationary and surrounded by silence. It gave off quiet, tenacious stanzas as if to say that for all of its infinite space, its time on each world was very much finite.
Therefore, it only made the most sense to Viscerally channel this sense of urgency. A more inspired explorer might've felt drawn inland, down the lush river valleys and wetlands, and towards the beating heart of the Caliphate, where the Barakah was so thick and acridly sharp one could almost sense it from across the world: as if the horizon itself were whispering, 'there is always a greater adventure.' But while cities represented opportunity, they were also full of danger and expectations, especially with a lack of information. There was a more surefire safety in obscurity and distance than even concealment and cleverness could ever hope to provide.
Al-Jawhara, therefore, became a sort of residence for their team, an oasis to facilitate rest and further labor. Whether or not Hamid considered this intrusion an odd or concerning matter, nothing of that nature was ever said; the elderly representative continued to treat them with cheerful hospitality.
Dorian made use of this effusive, welcoming hospitality, often lounging and relaxing around the caravanserai, sometimes in the presence of the doctor as he worked on various assembled notes, shaking his head, or using the hammer to repurpose bits of depowered armor into a more coherent suit.
"You never cease to strive, do you, sir?" asked Dorian one afternoon, taking a petite sip of his exquisite, steaming coffee.
This was much better than any coffee he could've procured at home, even with a noble's wealth and his extensive network of contacts. Refreshing, energizing, invigorating, but with a delicate profile that didn't overwhelm. It also helped that with each subsequent sip, Dorian's tastebuds and gustatory cortex refined themselves a little, to allow better appreciation of the experience; a pleasure quite literally transcending the comprehension and palate of a standard mortal, if only by a couple of very small degrees. Even so, these people's coffee brewing was admittedly supernal in itself, honed to a fine art. He'd have to secure some beans before leaving.
"A wonderful world, this is. Very quaint indeed, if overly hot," answered Musorov. He wasn't as satisfied with Providence - or rather, its climate. In an unexpected act of exceptionally arrogant heresy, he'd removed his signature labcoat - even Dorian was disappointed and shocked to see him without it - and tied it around the midriff.
Alas, the doctor's Ebbandry lacked the refinement to distill clean water from this utterly arid atmosphere, so he relied on potable water available from the village well. The one saving grace was Murkworking, which with some creativity and focus allowed him to billow up clouds of sand to soar overhead and shield him from the sun's glare.
The inclination of his mental gradient, the subtle pressure of his superbly reinforced mind, shifted to vexation as he shot Dorian an annoyed glance.
"How are you not melting?"
Dorian smiled enigmatically. Truthfully, he would've struggled to maintain composure even with Viscerality. The effects of the Chill Pill were not oversold.
"You'll find that I handle heat most excellently. I could help you with a couple of modifications."
"Ah." Musorov's face scrunched up for a moment. His distaste for Viscerality, given its association with vampires, was understandable, but Dorian had felt compelled to make the offer anyhow. "Thank you, indeed, sir, but I'll take a rain check on that, at least for today."
There was a moment of silence, as Dorian sipped his coffee once more.
Andrei hummed. "It must be nice - the ability to relax and transform that rest into productivity."
"Are you tempted by Viscerality?"
"A little," the doctor admitted. He stared into his notebook. "I feel it'd affect my productivity overall for the worse, though. Yet another magic in my cap would be a nice addition, for boasting's sake; an impressive addon to a work portfolio. But I have doubts I could maintain a good working pace in such a state; focus spread too thin."
Dorian nodded along, humming.
A bizarre realization to internalize was that a mere fourth of a year ago, he'd been a mortal man on Drethir, a mere crafter of masks, with some allegedly noble mission of overthrowing the Empire. Now, Dorian had explored more worlds than most citizens of the whole multiverse - what a concept, a multiverse! - could ever aspire to, or even dream of. He was stronger than most of them, not to mention immortal, and surrounded by friends, each capable in their own peculiar ways. He wondered if Andrei also felt some emotion akin to this, and in turn, did Japhris and Linneas? Did every wayfarer eventually feel this strange, low thrill; melancholy's cousin?
How vast was the multiverse, this - as Shi Lei had called it - Hierarchy? And how many patrons of the Street were there, truly? What were the ratios? How come there were not more multiversal overgods, ruling over their personal pocket empires after a hundred lifetimes of adventuring and collecting magics? Or was it that there were, but they simply weren't accessible to Dorian's perspective, too far outside, or too well-protected with the walls they'd erected? As Dorian's creativity returned to him over the week, the presence of his friends reknitting those frayed threads of imagination and artistry, he considered all this more and more, frowning increasingly in contemplation.
However, recreation was one side of the coin. The other was diligent labor.
As soon as Dorian felt ready to work, the first action he took was to strike a deal with the village's carpenter, a mutually beneficial arrangement: in return for an apportionment of the carpenter's dowels, sheets, and blocks, Dorian crafted the man a specifically attuned mask to ease his work, skyrocketing productivity. This in itself acted as an advertisement, and Dorian was soon selling all sorts of masks like sweet carnival hotcakes, acting not only as training but also a swift source of lordly - if not truly exaltable, at least not yet - wealth.
He went a step beyond this simple tactic of sales and revenues, however. This village didn't have enough wealth to offer to truly afford his rates. Therefore, after some thinking, Dorian figured out a profitable way forward and expanded his clientele to include those who couldn't afford his products as well. Among other things, he crafted scrying masks for the village children on the condition they all be returned at week's end. He shattered those masks and then hammered the assorted pieces into his own anemically weak scrying mask, elevating its facetime modestly, and then created other masks for the children to wield after he'd left.
As time went on, his actions - and those of his companions - formed a veil of Barakah, the benedictions of prosperity their presence was creating, revitalizing the village's economy. As caravans visited, the traders were shocked to see the flourishing of the humble village. He wondered if word would spread soon, and this place might become of more interest to those in power. There were a couple of villagers who considered their residence and actions an affront as a result, as well, but Dorian's diplomatic skills managed to defuse any violence, if not exactly quell the dissatisfaction itself. Their sentiments were understandable; change was scary sometimes.
After work, each evening, Dorian would meditate on himself and seek to craft himself into something anatomically superior. A slow Visceral modification, one step after the other. His musculature swelled, a parallel strength and endurance, what would've once been almost imponderable strength attained within a week.
However, Dorian's most ambitious foray was into the foundational stuff that made the human mind.
With increasing Visceral focus and precision, he added to and modified sections of nervous tissue and even to his brain, sometimes limiting himself to literally a couple of cells at a time, making careful adaptations often in multiple scans, each one slightly elevating the substrate, and checking for errors on previous runs.
The first symptom of his evolution was that Dorian's reflexes started to rise to absurd levels, sharpening like a fine razor; what once would've been incomprehensibly fast, such as a bullet advancing towards him from a gun's barrel, was now dull and slow. Conversations started to bore him, the space between each word its own half-minute, and so Dorian carefully calibrated his ability to feel boredom and gradually uplifted his emotional control. All in a specific manner that wouldn't trigger any Visceral safeguards.
This all, still, he deemed insufficient. There was so much more room for exploitation, so much he'd not done.
Even if he decided to directly challenge the Empire of Drethir, was that Empire also not ceaselessly expanding its territories? Gaining facetime for the masks of its soldiers, more esoteric support from its nobles? Was the Emperor, too, not accumulating power, within the Imperial Visage that was the crown of that entire corrupt edifice?
He needed to outpace them, even if this was terrifying.
But Dorian Croft was not a coward.
To attain strength, he needed to act boldly. Strength begat strength, as their adventures proved: once a breakthrough was achieved, stratospheric growth was assured. The area he most wished to improve, the one in which he felt, if not sorely lacking, then most interested in - was the domain of intellect.
He'd considered the idea once - of using distortion on himself, to cure the mind of its ailments. He'd been a novice of distortion then, not quite accustomed to its vagaries. But the contamination that came out of the strange Icarelian anti-Tower carried its own risks. It needed to be wielded with surgical precision, to avoid a fate worse than death.
So, donning the Icarelian's Mask, interchangingwith the Crimson King, Dorian modified the folds of his encephalon with meticulous attention to each part, double and triple-checking each individual modification in case it required an immediate reversion. A full cerebral distortion might as well have meant death by any reasonable definition, but as long as only a couple of individual cells were affected adversely, he could simply burn them out and heal them, returned to a safe baseline. He consulted the doctor on which sections of the brain handled what functions, and while the doctor wasn't entirely certain about Dorian's tolerance for such dangerous procedures, he cooperated anyway.
And soon, almost as if Dorian were incrementally ascending a ladder leading into an attic of mental dimensions hitherto unexplored, like an assembled tower about to finally reach that zone above and beyond the atmosphere, he'd fire one final wave of distortion into his cerebellum to activate the underlying power.
What had Dorian attained, and what was the cost?
---
Here are the fruits of your distortion. Make the vote by plan.
Costs. Must choose at least one.
[ ] Hamartia - A hero's soul, a hero's charge, a hero's doom. Whether distortion caused this because of some tendency within your psyche, a strange quirk of physiology, or a consequence of the metaphysical law of the world you find yourself on, is - and probably shall remain - uncertain.
*From now on, one of the seven deadly sins serves as your fatal flaw.
*You cannot choose; it is random.
*Welcome Lust and Gluttony, as their respectively passionate and indulgent touch could even prove a benefit, broadening your Visceral capabilities.
*Fear Sloth and Pride, a killer of initiative and a killer through recklessness respectively.
*Then again, it's hard to be more reckless than you already are.
[ ] Execrate - A commitment, a gauntlet thrown. Hatred swells in your breast. Tears that dried last year flow once more like a waterfall or rainstorm. Grief; grief unending. What do you strive for, what do you gather power for, so heedlessly, so recklessly, if not for a purpose greater than yourself? To avenge and to kill.
*Your heart becomes an overflowing sangreal of vengeance, so utterly committed no amount of rational outreach shall see you turned from your mission. Commits Dorian to fighting the Empire of Drethir and avenging his family. Afterward, you'll kill all those who resemble Drethir, until there is no more vengeance left to wreak.
*There are still certain thresholds Dorian won't cross. He'll go to a semi-reasonable extent to avoid involving civilians, innocents, or else causing collateral damage, but otherwise, he'll be fully committed to all sorts of unsavory actions needed to take down the Empire: torture, terrorism, or worse. No cost is too great.
*Potentially apocalyptic and unethical results if taken alongside Hamartia: Wrath. There'll be no more reason to temper and blunt your vengeance.
*Give war a chance.
[ ] Brave One - You are not a coward. Above everything, before all else, not raised to be a coward. You do not shirk duty, do not run from the inevitable, and you always continue to advance. Let this, if nothing else, be true forevermore.
*In a manner comparable to Dreamless, shatters Dorian's ability to properly feel and process the emotions of fear, dread, terror, hesitation, and shock. These things are simply not within him anymore, nor is it within him to feel them. He could face a world-ending monster with the same sanguine clarity as a mundane grocery clerk.
*That said, his judgment and (theoretically logical) understanding of consequences are, thankfully, unaffected. He still retains the same values and comprehends that certain actions may result in a swift death, which is undesirable to his goals. However, he might not place the same emotional import on those things.
*Makes you slightly likelier to martyr yourself for a cause you believe in, and disables your ability to empower Viscerality with fear, among other side effects.
*Blunts all forms of supernatural fear influence, acting as a sort of pseudo-benefit. Next time you see that deathknight, he'll regret ever dying.
*Alongside Hamartia: Pride, this might as well be a quest-ender. You'll see the Moonwolf and very calmly decide, "I am no coward. Bring it, fido."
Of course, if you were truly brave, you'd pick all three costs at once.
Attainments. Choose one for each cost.
[ ] Namelessness - A morass of murky identities and its clear antipode, finally synthesized into one spiraling power greater than its components.
*Grants you the ability to semi-Viscerally absorb masks into yourself. This is a slow, involved process, requiring a thorough understanding of the mask's identity and experiences, a sort of dual-bonded sympathy with its meaning. You cannot do this with masks you don't have some level of deep attachment to, and the length of the absorption scales with the mask's power. Thereafter, you can always manifest some of the mask's abilities, even if wearing another mask, or fully grow it out of your face. They simply become innate abilities, as integral to your biology as your Visceral implants, as integral to your spirit as Kingship.
*This devours the leftover, mostly disarmed Facelessness rooted within you. A considerable mitigation of Dreamless. You'll once more experience dreams.
*You cannot ever again mechanically Fixate or become Faceless, whether for good or ill.
[ ] Gamaliel Coils - The one flaw inherent within the Choice you've made is its fundamental unpredictability. It draws on the subconscious and unendorsed for inspiration, those desires which may be shameful or best avoided to maintain practicality, the deep quagmire of id, rather than ego.
*Essentially, Dorian mutates a set of neural coils across his entire brain, through which, in a process fully independent of standard conscious thought, the 'unabridged template' of his conscious desires and thoughts can briefly, fully, and unconditionally overwrite those that are unconscious, thus bringing about an unfathomable and (literally!) unthinkable totality of self, if only for short bursts at a time. This is extremely mentally tiring to utilize and can result in deleterious conditions if abused too far, but it can be trained very, extremely, slowly.
*Amends one of the foremost drawbacks of the Gamaliel Contamination Protocol: its randomness and lack of control. When acting in totality, you essentially have arbitrary control over the manifestations your distortion creates.
*Allow me to repeat that, in case it wasn't clear: you get arbitrary reality warping.
*You are, however, still constrained by the limited capacity of distortion - which doesn't grow naturally - as well as the fact that excessive distortion can make phenomena wink out of reality, made too illusionary. Nothing can be really done about this, at least not at this juncture.
*Literally translate imagination into reality.
[ ] True Excellence - We oft say, perhaps in jest and perhaps not, that some of us are 'built different.' Yet what of the one who can rebuild himself from scratch, the aphorism of the man who is both marble and sculptor rendered literal? What if 'built differentness' is something one can attain through effort, rather than birthright?
*Increases - by a considerable albeit not massive amount - the sum of parameters and mental traits which can be said to comprise a person's competence and intellect, without unduly affecting judgment or associations. You'll be wiser as well, but continue to be vulnerable to the ravages of costs such as Hamartia or Execrate.
*You'll become a virtual exemplar, more charismatic and smart, as well as possessing better mental plasticity and the ability to resolve cognitive disparities; able to make peace with impossibilities, while still asymptotically pursuing them with full, unrestrained resolve. An ubermensch of the Nietzschean dream, in fewer words.
*Simply be hard of core. Simply be built different. What matter the costs, if you can firm it?
*There is nothing more. You can argue this is modest, and perhaps it is.
Your blatant mercantilism has earned you a total of 3 Wealth, a mostly abstract measure of your fiscal resources. This is about the overall level of wealth you'd expect from an impoverished caravaneer, sufficient to settle down in a city and live out a comfortable existence for about a week or two without any worries.
What'll be your next move?
[ ] Travel to Caliphate Capital - An exciting land of opportunities awaits! The hub of Misrashan's commerce and politics is far more urbanized and to Dorian's liking, as he's very much possessed of a city boy's sensibilities, but most importantly, this'll afford you the ability to sell masks to higher bidders and make useful contacts.
*You'll encounter all sorts of crazy shit and learn much more about Barakah, its various manifestations, effects, and so on.
*A chance to engage in being a mysterious mask merchant in front of a large populace, and profit from it as well.
*Good Barakah-earning opportunities. This is where those eager, wide-eyed village braves come once they're ready to promote to rowdy cityscape fools. This is also where heroes come, once their village or whatever burned down.
*Generally Visceralists are looked upon with considerable suspicion, and people out here might have ways of detecting that you are one such Visceralist.
[ ] Stay in Al-Jawhara - It's rather nice, and it doesn't seem as if Hamid minds, even if your swift, almost calamitous upheaval of their way of life's shockingly sudden.
However, out here you're also protected by the most powerful guardian: obscurity. Stay out of the spotlight, avoid prominence conscientiously, and grow over time while drinking coffee and chewing dates.
*You technically aren't the king of Al-Jawhara. Technically. In practice, might have a positive result on your Kingship?
*In practice, also, the Caliphate might take issue with this if they somehow become alerted of your activities.
*Or this might actually work out to your advantage? After all, rumors spread, and rumors mean Barakah, and Barakah means glory!
*Get more money.
*Very comfy.
[ ] Adventuring - There is more to Providence than the dullness of civilization and its hubbub, if you find that it tires or bores you. You can venture into the deserts which, according to Hamid's testimony and the Doctor's discoveries, have a strangely big occurrence rate of adventurous and interesting encounters - especially for those carrying over a hundred fates, such as yourself. Such is the nature of Providence, that those who go out seeking adventure, shall inevitably find it, for better or worse.
You can also try to dig around or explore underground: Hamid tells you stories of Sijjin, also known as the Labyrinth, a mysterious cave system running underneath all of Providence, and its crypts containing mystic treasures from past eras. Where it is closer to the surface, Barakah tends to distort and do strange things...
*You'll be able to test your mettle against various monsters, opponents, djinns, and other creatures of the night!
*Lots of opportunities to earn Barakah, as well as locate various artifacts!
*Great team bonding exercise.
*Your earbuds enthusiastically support the idea of adventure. They very enthusiastically do not support the idea of entering the Labyrinth.
[ ] Go South or East - There are nations other than these!
*Go south to Tanumis, if you think the nation of baby-eating lions, petting zoos,
*Or you can sail across the sea. There, you'll find the "nations" of Surirah, to the north, and Thadirayat to the south.
*Both of them are incredibly bad. Notice the quotation marks.
*A brief dossier on both:
Thadirayat - In Thadirayat, the princes and princesses of darkness make their lair: an ecumene of vampires, or 'ghuls.'
Chief among those who hold dominion over the chattel of the fallen empire is Shula al-Majid. She is a decadent creature who seldom leaves her capital, styling herself Calipha of Thadirayat and reigning in a small oasis city amidst her harem of djinn and ifrits. Gluttonous, spiteful and prone to random bloodshed she is far from an ideal ruler... but is still admittedly better than the hellhole of Surirah to the north.
Surirah - Once there was a land of peace and plenty that emerged from the wastes of war and tragedy. For three decades and three years, Emir Harun al-Makir built a paradise in the lands of Surirah around his capital Abu Aizdihar, a utopia built upon the backs of djinn labor. The enslavement of the princes of the air built a better world through their toil and miracles.
Then the chains broke and the debt came due.
Now the lands of Abu Aizdihar are a fractious mass of warlords mortal and immortal, cursed and wracked with fury and storms. There is no peace, only the cruel laughter of thirsting dreaming gods. Famine, pestilence, war, and death all have their place upon this hell on Providence.
And who knows, maybe you can sort this place out? A nation without a crown - is that not how a story of Kingship begins?
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