Henna

Stone Arsenal, Market District, Meteo Town

In the days since Silver had left Meteo on pilgrimage, Henna hadn't expected much to change in her routine of stockpiling Terrorstone-based equipment and restocking the store. Even the one-sided brawl outside Voinete Mansion didn't really amount to anything as far as her every-day life was concerned.

But as if word of his absence becoming public knowledge was a spark against almnen root oil-coated charcoal, chaos erupted across the former-city in spurts of violence and flame. People were dragged from their homes and thrown to the street while greedy thugs pawed over the interior for anything even vaguely valuable that remained after the Siege, as though the incident never ceased. And if they were both quiet as well as lucky, those citizens would be left alone as a cherished heirloom or two was carried off in the trespasser's sub-spatial storage.

Henna herself was not exempt to this harassment. As a shop owner, especially as a purveyor of arms and armour, Stone Arsenal presented a lucrative little treasure box that this 'Darkest Dreamers Alliance' smacked their lips and salivated over the thought of cracking open in order to feast on the warm entrails within.

For days with nary a chance for rest cut off from the rest of her Guild, save for a brief encounter with the Assassin Olrica while she was carrying a message to the Pioneers' Alliance, they had come to her door. With steel and spell they attempted to claim the shop and it's contents for themselves, managing to steal a few bits and pieces from the forge area, including an anvil before being driven off and the remainder moved indoors. At first, Henna could count on the support of the Town Guard to dissuade these brazen thieves, but their patrols became less and less frequent until ceasing altogether forcing her to barricade herself inside.

From the chatter she'd overheard between the brash louts, they'd been ambushed and cut down for their adherence to the rule of the Empire's law in service of its citizenry, dying dogs' deaths in some forsaken alleyway during the pursuance of their duties. The attacks rose in frequency, and the small wounds she acquired in each altercation won were accumulating. Scratches, cuts, bruises and tender skin from magical fire.

In spite of it all, the pain, the fatigue and disgust at the ongoing anarchy, Henna came to realise that she felt oddly invigorated. Like a runner's high extended in perpetuity. Scrapping with the nearly endless waves of looters, using whatever weapon she could, Henna was enjoying herself immensely for reasons that eluded her understanding.

So when the impact of something heavy against the barricaded front door jostles the building, wood creaking and a jug long-emptied of water leaping from the countertop, Henna finds herself smiling as she reaches for a sword and buckler shield. The Lonnet's blanechblett she'd been learning how to use from Silver is simply too cumbersome in the cramped room, particularly for a woman of her stature, and the use of a shield too valuable an option to ignore under the circumstances.

The heavy crates blocking the door scrape a little across the floor, accompanied by grunts of effort and a round of complaints.

"Just bust it down with your sword for godsakes!"

"Man, fuck off, there's like a hundred kilos of metal on the other side, it ain't gonna do shit!"

"Whatever, just get the door open already, the boss is getting really pissed off we've not taken this place yet."

"Then stop bitching at me and help push!"

Making a rough guess as to where the two men are, Henna casually walks over, takes a deep breath and whilst biting on her lip, rams the tip of her sword through the thin crack opened between the thick door and its frame. The resistance is close to nil, and ends with the gurgling of a man's presumably pierced throat. Tugging it out, ignoring the cries of shock and outrage, she inspects the blade for damage before shoving the crates piled up on the floor back into place, the door slamming shut.

"Less competent than the last group," Henna mutters to herself contemplatively, "Are they running out of lunnies to throw at me?"

Her speculation is answered by the renewed bashing of the door, as well as the sudden noise of crunching wood echoing from the back entrance. It would appear that they don't want for motivation, she muses to herself, wishing that she had the Architect proficiency necessary to make her home into an impenetrable Fortress.

Retreating to the bottom of the staircase, Henna readies herself for another bout of combat. Abruptly, however, the cacophony dies out. Frowning, she waits for a moment, suspicious about their actions. Quickly coming to a resolution, Henna treads over to the wall by the front door to eavesdrop on a heated argument.

"-at do you mean, 'Leave'?!" a disbelieving voice utters, "Why?"

"Orders from the very top - everyone's to gather in Tridor Plaza," the calm tone of a second man explains, "The Town Guard have all been killed off, and they want to kick over Truthseekers' sandcastle once and for all next."

"But, everyone? That's overkill," a third voice complains.

"Nah, word is that they've picked up an alliance because of a quest from Town Hall," the messenger raises his voice a little for the benefit of those present, "It's a PVP war event!"

"Huh! Well, where's our quest then?!"

"Sweet, I'm itching for some action."

"What about the lootbox in front of us though? Are we really leaving it alone?"

"Yeah, fuck that, I want terrorstone equips for WLR."

The messenger clears his throat, "Anyone who refuses to answer the call will be expelled from DDA along with their teams. We won't stick our necks out for you when the SWAT comes to convert your levels into contribution points."

Such a decisive threat obviously doesn't sit well with the recipients. They immediately start cussing him out and making a commotion amongst themselves until the first voice Henna heard emerges strong over the rest, quelling their indignation.

"Shut up! All of you! We of Lone Sword will heed the call, I advise the rest does the same."

"Why the fuck would rush over just like that? They're paying chump change and there's a treasure trove of items here."

"Because we promised to, naturally. Or do you feel no guilt for taking the discounted Miner's Nightmare runs without fulfilling the obligations you agreed to?"

"Of course n-argh!"

Henna twitches as something thumps heavily against the wall she's leaning against.

"Any more freeloaders?"

"Jesus, Nathaniel, how far up your ass is Clover's dick?" someone questions breathlessly, "Can you taste the tip?"

"Think what you will, Lone Sword pays their debts. If Knives of Erebus wants to call that favour in, what reason do I have not to absolve ourselves of it?"

Silence reigns.

"Whatever man, you can't fight all of us anyway. Run along to your sugar daddy if it's that important instead of arguing with sensible folk. Crazy bastard."

"I feel as though I should mention that the daily pay is increasing according to the new risks," the messenger chimes in to defuse the tension, "75% increase per head on average per day of active participation. Do well enough and there's a $1000 bonus in it for teams."

"What the f-"

"Tycoons really do know how to throw money around..."

"Fine," the primary voice of dissent concedes, "Why the hell didn't you lead with that? Now Traxis is down a level back in the cathedral for nothing."

"Must have slipped my mind~" the messenger laughs.

"Dickhead."

Someone gives the front door one last kick, the sound of many feet against the road leading away from her door. From the sounds of it, a pitched battle in the streets is due to break out in the next little while, and though some of the discussion went over Henna's head, she understood that her Guild was in a lot more danger now than it had been.

As much as she wished to rush out and cut down the reinforcements before they reached the muster point, Henna found herself in a conundrum. Leaving Stone Arsenal and everything she'd laboured to create unattended with Meteo as it was and with several days of people trying to steal for themselves as evidence didn't strike her as particularly smart.

Surely, Silver would understand if she were to stay put...?

Biting her lip, she shakes her head, recalling the words of that Lionblood girl. No, she can help. If Truthseekers were to fall, there'd be no-one left to help her. Henna couldn't keep up her vigil indefinitely, sooner or later she'd join the guild in a pyre of unidentifiable corses. So long as both existed, it would be possible to rebuild. Clinging like a coward to material wealth in defiance of the need to survive was not a trap Henna was willing to fall into.

"O Lady Avosol, may this humble smith walk the Path with the endurance to see this through," Henna prays quietly, clutching her sword to her forehead in fervent reverence as she invokes Their names, "O Lord Snartva, may this humble smith walk the Path with the courage to overcome..."

---

 

Medde Olk

Fander Street, West Residential District, Meteo Town

Walking slowly through the gathered crowd of people awaiting a resolution from the meeting inside of Truthseekers' mansion, Medde, now a Level diminished - down to Level 11 - approaches the duo he's become acquainted with during his off-duty hours at the Mole & Field.

"You're back early," Marcus notes, leaning against the perimeter wall of Voinete Mansion's yard, "What gives?"

"...I don't wanna talk about it right now," Medde releases a long-suffering sigh, "But, long story short, we wiped. Hard."

"You don't say?" Marcus's eyebrows shoot up, "On a scale of Anton Perelli's apology video to James Hilton getting caught on camera castrating a dead gigolo, how bad was it?"

Disgusted, Medde recoils, as do the people in earshot, "What."

"The fuck man?" Joccam hisses under his breath, "Where'd that come from?!"

Marcus fakes a cough, "Ok, that sounded a lot funnier in my head."

"Your sense of humour leaves a great deal to be desired," Medde frowns, then shakes his head, "Changing the subject: There's a lot of DDA folks gathering up in Tridor Plaza, from what I've seen and heard. Managed to slip through to get here thanks to someone recognising me, though."

"Figures as much," Joccam mutters, "Klare's inside finishing up. We're as good as hired already, and since you're here I suppose that means you're wanting in on it?"

"The money DDA is offering isn't all that attractive to me," Medde shrugs placidly, "On the other hand, this Quest I've heard mentioned might make up for the embarrassment I suffered."

"You still broadcasting?" Marcus blinks, suddenly anxious.

"No," Medde assures him, "I logged out in the Cathedral to save the footage and send it off to my editor. My viewers weren't exactly impressed from the backlog of comments I skimmed through, but they got a four-hour adventure out of the deal, and the misery of others is one of the cornerstones of entertainment, so my numbers weren't significantly impacted, for a mercy. Since the team employing me is part of DDA's umbrella they terminated the contract to heed the summons, anyway."

"Oh, right. I just noticed you don't have the Feardrinker legs anymore," Joccam winces, "That's got to sting."

"That too," Medde grunts, "I can't say I regret braving the rainstorm with Hartigan to get them identified. That Appraiser NPC's prices are ludicrous by contrast."

"Where is Hartigan anyway? Haven't seen his team around recently," Marcus muses, folding his arms.

"Left Meteo not long after," Medde recalls, "I think it was just before Wolf Lord's Remains was discovered."

"What a shame," the tired voice of Klare rings out as a crowd of people emerge from the outer gates, "They missed out on a pretty juicy deal."

"Hey," he nods in acknowledgement, "How did it go?"

"To cut a long story short, since I'm gonna have t'explain it all again to everyone in detail," Klare rubs her throat, "The guilds've all agreed to work together on the quest Rambling Rose got. The Pavillion, Master Dragon and Adventurists are bankrolling the upgrades to Truthseekers' infrastructure in exchange for access to the associated benefits, and any mercs that sign on immediately get a discount for the next two months - in-game time, so like a month Real - when using them unless they do something to burn bridges. Rambling Rose on the other hand'll be paying our wages and giving the orders."

"What kind of rates are we looking at?" Joccam asks the pertinent question.

"Depends on what you can do, but they're offering some fat recruitment benefits to anyone who catches their eye and agrees to sign on to Rambling Rose permanently," Klare shrugs, "They're looking to expand pretty heavily, so you can take it up with them directly to sort out your pay and get the quest. Truthseekers are hiring too, but they can't really afford to pay jack shit right now, so who the fuck cares?"

"Something to consider," Marcus muses clapping his hands together as if dusting them off, "Well, let's get the contracts sort-"

"Hey!" a man's hasty voice cries out, drowning the gentle hubbub of conversation, "We've got a lot of people heading down the north end of the street!"

Klare clicks her tongue, clearly aggravated, "Talk about perfect timing."

A loose mob of people headed by three more dignified individuals and their closest subordinates approaches from the opposite end of the street, some fifty metres away. Difficult to properly make out for most, but the Perception scores of many present outside of Voinete Mansion put the range of their eyesight well above the standard human average in Reality when they focused on it. People on the theorycrafting sections of the official forums and private chatrooms were already starting crunch the numbers on how much you'd need to have telescopic vision keen enough to observe celestial bodies.

Perhaps it would even be possible to spy on someone changing from the other end of the continent with unaided sight alone...

Some few didn't say as much publically, but they understood the concept in their hearts as they pursued the 'scientific' truth of the limits of the player character's attributes. Purely for altruistic purposes, of course.

"You'd all best get your contracts squared away with the Rambling Rose Officers quickly," Klare advises seriously, "They won't have come to ask for a cup of dextrose."

---

 

Angelus

Main Lobby, Voinete Mansion, Meteo Town

"How'd it go?" I take the lead on finding out where we stand after the meeting's conclusion, stood side-by-side with Morn, Jupiter and Olrica.

"We've got the help we need," Jade stretches her arms behind her head, ears flicking, "Just need to clean out those DDA fuckos and keep daddy's little cockgoblin under control."

"Didn't come out as cleanly ahead as I'd have liked," Windy sighs, frustrated, "We were negotiating from too heavy a disadvantage to make proper use of the leverage we have, so I had to concede more than we would have if we didn't have a target on our backs and more than 200 Stone Gold in the bank."

"Did you secure the assistance of the Pavillion of Myriad Dao and Adventurists' Architect players at the very least?" Morn asks, arms folded. Both she and Olrica agreed to stay back to avoid Hadrian's ire, even if she would have been able to assist at the negotiating table.

"Yeppers," Windy nods, "They'll be working with Jade and Henna to get this place converted to a 1-Star Headquarters to begin with - however that's done. At long fuckin' last. We'll have to wait until this whole mess is under some sort of control before we can do the rest since no merchant NPC is going to survive the trip here with all the materials in tow."

All of a sudden, Jade freezes up, "...Shit."

"What's up?" Jupiter leans down, "Is little Jimmy stuck at the bottom of a well?"

"Fuck off," she flips him off, disgusted, "Heard some shouting. Seems like we've got company out front."

It isn't hard to understand her meaning. Windy quickly retrieves and dons her helmet, marching purposefully to the front doors, "Alright. Ange, Olrica, Morn, with me. The rest of you get to a higher floor and post up at a window overlooking the street, be ready for more assassins to show up. If they're not inside already. I'll see about getting a few people from outside to come back and defend."

I follow her wordlessly, ready to do my part, guard up and ready to react to the appearance of any sudden dangers.

There's already a shouting matching in progress between two of the representatives at the forefront of what I presume to be the forces of the Darkest Dreamers Alliance at their full strength - or near enough. A slim Firm woman with long black hair tied into a pair of pigtails the trail down to her waist, her countenance one of purest self-satisfaction - I believe her to be the leader of Ill Fate, Radiant Springwater. The second is a lizard-headed man who matches the description of the magic swordsman that Windy and Morn encountered when this stupid feud kicked off, Heve Clover, leader of Knives of Erebus. Which leaves the quiet, hairy giant of a man standing just behind them, Jackson Wall of Bone Troupe.

Looks like all three of the leading triumvirate of DDA have shown up to this event.

"Our business isn't with you, but Truthseekers!" Radiant Springwater insists, pointing her spear at the mansion dramatically, "I'll say it again, stand aside and accept the new order of Meteo Town as it rises from that stinking hovel's ashes, or be ground under our heels until not even the dust of your ancestors remains!"

"Villainous thugs such as yourselves are in no position to demand anything!" Hadrian King calls back without a shred of irony, the thickness of his ego's skin truly something to admire, "We will stand up for ourselves and each other to assure our freedom and deny your anarchic tyranny!"

Anarchic...tyranny.

What?

"Someone get this kid a dictionary," I mutter to myself, eliciting a snort of laughter from Olrica and a derisive smirk from Morn. Windy continues to push through the crowd, meanwhile, heading up to the front to join the other leaders present.

I more or less understand the train of thought that led to the contradiction, but it still pains me to hear the English language twisted like that.

"Yeah, that's pretty much on-brand for Hadrian," Olrica snickers, "Watch, he'll be at this for five minutes minimum."

"Why exactly are they humouring him?" I wonder aloud, finding the lack of violent action from DDA so far to be rather out of character.

"Perhaps they are attempting to secure the perimeter," Morn hypothesises, looking to the rooftops of the manors and townhouses lining the street, "For an organisation that is sure to have many ambushers in its ranks, coming out with a show of force for a direct confrontation such as this is unwise."

"Makes sense," Olrica agrees, "I'll grab a few people and go run interference, then."

"Good plan," I concur, evaluating the difference of the numbers on display between our forces, "We look to be outnumbered as it is without being surrounded by archers as well. I also rather expect there to be a few infiltrators present amongst the mercenaries and lower-level members of the guilds, so you should both watch your backs. We still have a bounty on our heads, after all."

"Alright, good luck and don't die, birdbro," Olrica snaps a salute and winks, turning around to skim through the crowd.

"'Birdbro'?" I inwardly cringe at the appellation, finding it somehow uncomfortable. I just hope it doesn't catch on.

"I've heard worse from her," Morn shrugs apathetically, "Come, the grandstanding appears to be coming to an end."

With respect to the reminder, I nod in recognition of her point, "This is going to be as messy as it is asinine. Hopefully, we have what it takes to outlast them until reinforcements arrive, as I'll admit to having little in the way of confidence of predominating over such a clear difference in warm bodies when a war of attrition inevitably emerges."

"As you say," Morn closes her eyes, "However, I shall hold onto my faith in my choices. I daresay that this was an inevitability on its own even without my decision to reconsider my investments. For better or worse, Truthseekers has grown too large in the public eye for it's own good. Someone would eventually find fault and act upon it."

"I suppose being the top of the class academically and the teacher's pet matters little out on the schoolyard," I joke self-deprecatingly as the first shots are fired, "Can't say I was ever fond of bullies..."