Complete - Avarice

avarice: prologue

“Will you help me?”

A cold wind seemed to kick up, scattering dry leaves around her heels with a soft patter like an animal’s footsteps. Janet tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as she stared at the cloaked figure, speechless. “Help you… a-avenge your friend?” she repeated once she recovered from the shock. Her fingers tightened on the hem of her skirt. “Me?”

“I have asked others already—with you, that makes seven,” the cloaked figure said. “I cannot face him alone. The assassin calls himself Sin, and hides in the Hylands. As much as I wish to, I cannot rest until he is defeated. As I told the others, I will make the challenge worth your while.”

[ QUEST ACCEPT? ]​

The icon appeared in front of Janet, a simple, blinking text window that told her all she needed to know about the strange interaction. Ah. A—what do they call it?—N-P-C. Now it all made sense. Of course a player wouldn’t crave revenge or attempt to bribe someone like her into murdering someone in cold blood, but figments of a game world? It certainly seemed par for the course. “I—very well, i-if there are others, I suppose I can help. Will you be… coming along?” she asked hesitantly, tapping the checkmark to confirm.

When she looked up, he was gone. Only a whisper reached her ears.

“He cannot know I hunt him, so I cannot show my face—to you, or anyone. Beware Sin. And destroy him.”

@Darko Ljubicic @Cain Darlite @Nikephoros @Iván Carl @Ira @Chaol

AVARICE: START

​

At a little wooden inn at the foot of the mountains, the last bastion of civilization for those who braved the journey to the highest peak, she met them. The quest marker indicated the rustic cabin as the starting point for the party. Well, it can’t be that hard to figure out which one he is, if he’s here, Janet had thought as she pushed the door open, stamping her feet to dust the snow off her boots. I know I heard a man’s voice, so at least I know one thing—

Six men later, Janet quickly gave up any hope of identifying the cloaked figure and just sighed. “Hello, everyone, I’m Janet. It’s a pleasure to meet all of you,” the teenage girl spoke up when given a chance, already dressed in warm winter gear. “I checked everyone’s packs already to make sure we’re well-equipped with rope, rations, torches, and other camping essentials. S-someone should also have the map and compass?” She faltered, realizing she’d lost track of who was who, and looked around. “Ahem. Wh-who was that again?”

Janet considered herself to be a confident person, but surrounded by all these unfamiliar men… well, it made her want to fade into the background a little. “Please, um, bear with me. I’ve never been in such a large quest party, but... I’ll do my best to be helpful to everyone and heal you if you get injured.” She let out her breath. To be honest, Janet was quite relieved there were so many others—it meant that she wouldn’t have to be the one who struck the final blow on the killer they’d been sent to chase. Game or not, the idea made her squeamish. She cleared her throat once everyone seemed ready. “Well, then. If everyone’s prepared…”

The naturamancer opened the door, fresh air immediately filling the little inn and blowing a light dusting of snow across the doorstep. The breeze lifted her long hair and the tassels of her scarf and she bundled her coat around her, glancing over her shoulder. She held the door, inviting the party to begin.

And so the seven sought out Sin...​

 

A regular Ocean's Seven, this lot. How had they all come together? It'd been the siren call of adventure for some, and the promise of reward for others. Whatever the vice, they all wanted a taste of victory... But this more-than-merely-motley menagerie of a crew may not all be after the same thing. And considering the job itself was to find and murder a man?

Definitely a crowd to keep an eye on.

Nevertheless, Nikephoros himself had accepted the job. If only to familiarize himself with possible competition in later days. He had come to the little wooden inn at the base of some mountains, waiting like some cowboy in a western, heeding the call of Destiny. Or, well, Janet in this case.
Why she'd assembled such a large crew was beyond him. Either the mark was just that dangerous, or the girl was just that unsure of things. Considering there was a mixture of veterans and newcomers and mid-levelers alike, it could very well be that she wished a few strong allies to off the weaker ones once the job was finished, so that they ought not have to split any reward.

That was why he had the map and compass.
"Yladian, bonus to navigation, so map and compass are here!" he chimed in when the woman asked who was prepared to lead the expedition. He snatched the map and the compass right up, locking them away in his inventory so that they could not be accessed by any other member. And like that, he'd both secured the distrust of anyone with a modicum of intelligence... but made sure that anybody with notions of killing off the rest of the team couldn't get rid of him. Not without losing the man with the directions.
"It's all in the sharp ears. They always point the way," he joked, an easy chuckle and light smile coming to his face to play the whole thing off as the eagerness of a new adventurer, rather than a cunning ploy to keep himself alive longer. He'd have to use his skills as an actor to fake his intentions the entire time. But that wouldn't necessarily be difficult, considering it had been his entire career before retirement.

Other than his soft smile and bald head, the man was largely unimpressive. Junk tier heavy armor with junk tier weapon; a ranseur which appeared rusted and knackered from years of use, as though he had picked it up from the graveyard of some long-forgotten battlefield. The tattered condition of the oxidized chain coat her wore, the beaten and battered greaves and gauntlets that covered stained gambeson... the dented sallet which seemed to be missing any sort of visor, and had a heavy crater in one side from where it had once been dealt a fatal blow. His arm and garment appeared ramshackle and hand me down, or else scrounged up from the dead, which could only mean one thing: He had joined the game recently, and had not yet bothered to even purchase better gear, or else had not yet played long enough to afford any. There was nothing particularly impressive about the man, except for the confidence he wore in spite of these things.

 

Hmm... How mysterious. A cloaked figure asking for help against an assassin named Sin? Where there was an assassin, there would be an assassination, a murder, a death. It seemed to Iván like another perfect opportunity to gain some ground with his personal quest regarding the otherworldly being he had encountered down in the Spire. Could he be Sin? Perhaps not. But maybe Sin could lead him to the being. The fact that the figure who had asked for his help couldn't show him his or her face was icing on the mystery cake. Iván didn't hesitate. He accepted the quest as fast as he could. I'm on my way.

Once again, Iván crossed paths with @Janet Reilly. He had met her before, on a quest regarding some lord's family heirloom. He wondered if Portia Ahrens would be in this group, too, smirking under his cloak. How was he always running into the same people? Destiny? Hopefully not. Bradwynne would probably stare daggers at him again if they were all here. Luckily, as he looked around him, there was no trace of the same people he had gone down the Spire with. It was for the better. They wouldn't understand him, what happened down there, the enlightenment he had received during their dangerous expedition. This one seemed much tamer in comparison. Or maybe it was just the air around Janet.

Iván browsed his pack, checking if he had what the lone female in the group had told them. So far, so good. He didn't have the map or the compass, however. Apparently, the Yladian had them. Iván gave him a good look, noted what he could as his gaze fell from his head to his toes, and should the Yladian notice him, he would give him a nod, seemingly to agree with the notion. It was probably for the best. He wasn't really on the same page as everyone else. They were all going to help the cloaked figure. That was most probable. Iván, on the other hand, was going to track down the assassin, the one named Sin, and get some information from him. That was his priority. The others can then have him for all he cared.

He was the last to get up, allowing everyone else to go before him. Once again, he would take the rear. It was his thing. It was too late to change now.

 

A job was a job and a quest was a quest, but it appeared as of late that nothing was as it seemed. Bandit King housed eldritch monstrosities in his basement, Aristocracy was drowning in douchebags who’d rather sabotage each other than make the plan work, and now, here the seven of them were, a motley crew of adventurers tasked with killing a single assassin hiding out in the Hylands. One girl, three boys, and three men, the vast majority of them newbie adventurers. He peered at all the pretty faces in the group, wondering which of them were here for a quick fuck and which of them were here for an actual adventure, before lingering on the bald elf.

Wow, that was certainly a breath of fresh hair in a world of haired people. Though Cain had no intention of ever cutting his own luscious, midnight locks (that would have been pure hell to maintain in the real world), he was certainly amused at the aberrant fashion statement of the tall elf. Ah, and it had been quite some time since his last adventure, hadn’t it? Shouldering his heavy pack, a wholly unnecessary ordeal considering the ethereal storage units that immortal adventurers were blessed with, the Flagbearer of Miracles tied his waist length hair into a quick ponytail, added a mauve scarf to his elegant swallowtail suit, and stretched out his limbs with a sigh.

“No need to be so nervous, my lady,” the muse said, smiling naturally at @Janet Reilly, “Little can go wrong when we have a group as multi-talented as this. And I’m certain that even if danger were to befall this stalwart crew, there will be enough gentlemen amongst us that peril will not befall you personally.”

Man, he missed this shit.

“Ah, but where are my manners? I’m Cain Darlite, Flagbearer of Miracles, Double Blessed of Idna and Iedi, the Sin Purger. With these very hands, I have dismantled the notorious PK Guild, the Convicted Saviors, and was the one that slew the Northern Wolf, Bandit King Erasmus with words alone. Though I cannot vouch for the might of our companions, know that my songcraft has made heroes out of mortals. No matter the might of this ‘Sin’, they will certainly find themselves outmatched against the greatness of our entourage.”

The eloquent muse bowed once more, before marching off, just a couple steps behind the vanguard. He too had brought a compass and a map, if only because it made sense to double up on important adventuring essentials, but there was no real need to share information such as that yet. If everything went according to plan, the bald elf would never lose the map and compass, and if nothing went according to plan, then it’ll be a pleasant surprise for the rest of them if he whipped out a new map and compass after the loss of the first set.

Cain’s dark eyes turned skywards, at the gathering clouds, the snow-capped peaks of the Hylands. They couldn’t feel it now, down below, but he could still catch it. The howling of the winds, the dropping of temperature. Looked like even chasing off the White Winged Storm Dancer wasn’t enough to convince the Hylands to calm down with its crazy weather, huh?

The curse was back in full force as he remarked airily, “Welp, this will be a fun field trip!”

 

The Magnificent Seven. As Ira looked around at the crowded kataluma with distaste, his sour disposition in obvious contrast to the more bizarre figures such as the purple-haired womanizer, he couldn't help but dread that this mission was doomed to failure. Apparently his compatriots, the only patrons of this mountain cabin, were as follows: a man who looked like he belonged in a L'Oréal commercial; some bald elf who Ira is certain to throw to wolves whenever he got the chance (Ira had an image to maintain!); some sort of reclusive hermit who has this 'tall, dark, quiet, and scary' persona going on; a boy who wouldn't be out of place in a Victorian vampire pulp fiction piece; some uptight guy with the longest pole up his unmentionables; and a woman. Ira didn't even hide his ogling at the last one as he came up, hips swaying.

"Why, hello there," his words were as suave as usual, Greek accent giving a touch of seductive honey in his bowl of sickeningly sweet charms. He flicked his wrist and a rose peeked out of his sleeve, which he carefully withdrew, the stem smooth without a single thorn, and offered it to Janet. "My name is Irini Barlos, but you may call me Ira," he purred. "Unfortunately, I came not prepared. I had lost my favorite teddy bear, you see. Fortunately, I have found a replacement here: would you sleep with me instead?"

That sentence would've seemed innocuous enough if not for his provocative wink. And then, without pause, he swung himself over to Cain and made sure to wriggle his waist just enough for the other man to catch a glimpse of his gorgeous bod. He came uncomfortably close, eyes locked onto Cain's own. He moved, ready to wrap his hands around Cain's arms, but stopped short. "Please, agapi mou, may I take your hands onto my own? My friends back at home would be thrilled to hear that I have touched an angel on my journey," he said breathlessly. "Eimai trellos gia sena."


And then, taking a single look around the room, he gave a breathless sigh. "None of these commoners have the luscious beauty you flaunt, agapi mou. You are Prometheus, who is lighting the fires of my heart! I do not need a golden apple to know that you are the fairest of them all and even Zeus' thunderbolts would not leave me as paralyzed and thunderstruck as the mere sight of you leaves me!"

He gasped for breath. If one would think that he was finished, then they were quite wrong as he continued, with as much passion as before: "Your presence makes me wish to recite Catullus' most explicit poems and your words leave me breathless as if Hermes had descended upon Mount Olympus to steal it away; for your beauty, compared to Aphrodite, is beyond anything the Gods could conjure. From the mythology of my home, the religion of my ancestors...had they seen you, Persephone would've paled in comparison and Hades would've taken you to his underworld throne instead! Legends and fables would've been made of you. Se latrevo."

The words were rapid-fire and he could feel his lungs dying as he poured his heart (and dick) into every word. And, with his lovely proposal to Cain finished, he turned back to Janet like a revolving door. "And you, my princess. Once this quest is finished, I am sure our paths will cross again—in the dark, at the comforts of my lodgings. Now!" There was an abrupt change in his mood. "So, what're we here for again? I remember hearing about some sort of assassination and adventure but the visages of these two impressions of Galatea were too much for my heart to bear and for my mind to stay level. Who here is our leader? I would like to have a word..." he licked his lips.

@Cain Darlite @Janet Reilly

 

Colorful. That was a word to describe the people gathered.
Fucked. That was the word to describe their futures, if this was what everyone had to work with.
Nikephoros caught Ivan's subtle nod of the head and returned it with a nod of his own. Just recognition? Some sort of signal? He didn't have time to analyze it before Cain Darlite made a flowery introduction. An odd sort, but not necessarily a bad one. Though the elven man was confused by Cain's amusement, not realizing it was due to the bald head his avatar sported. Cain might've been even more amused to realize that Nike's face and bald features were actually his own... not just a character model chosen for the game.
But such truths were not yet revealed, and as far as the elf could tell, Cain merely found the weak new player's quips a moment ago an amusement.

And then... and then there was Ira. As if he had been personally challenged by Cain, the younger man set off on an elegant monologue of his own, inviting a tryst first with Janet, and then with Cain, and once more with Janet. The kid clearly liked it Greek. Tuh-dum-tish?

"Didn't Prometheus get chained to a boulder and have his liver pecked out forever by giant vultures?" Nikephoros cut in at the tail end of Ira's speech.
"Hardly the way I'd want to go. But then, I prefer things to be handled cleanly, where-as you appear to like them... Greece-y." He smiled thinly at Ira, hoping to get under the brat's skin. You couldn't let small dogs bark the loudest, or they'd think themselves the leader of the pack... as Ira clearly demonstrated by wanting to speak with whomever was in charge.

 

Ira sneered, his delighted visage twisting into disgust. He scrunched up his nose like he saw something particularly gruesome or horrifying (or both in equal measure considering the fact that he regarded Nikephoros as he did with the grotesque appearance of a blobfish). "Please," he brushed the Yladian away from the distance, repulsed. "Just looking at you makes me wonder who those self-help books were really written for. And believe me, Prometheus' curse would be a joke by the time I'm done with you, Spock."

The reference dripped with scathing venom. His smile was tight-lipped and anyone with a pair of eyes could see he was growing testy and livid with the other man's input. The man, whose name he didn't care to learn, reminded him of his older brothers (albeit quite a bit uglier in retrospect). He gritted his teeth, his nails dug into his palms and drew a few strings of blood. He took a deep breath before he began to spit out the vilest words he could think of.

"Malakas."

His teeth was bared like a wild animal and, right after he finished his mean-spirited curse, he spat at the ground in front of Nikephoros. "Here's a tip for you: Nair isn't supposed to be a hair care product."

And, with a snap of his fingers, he turned away and stomped over to one of the furthest edges of the cabin, grinding the ends of his boots against the floor to wash off the snow and debris. "Ugh, I hate this already," he grumbled, waiting for his anger to simmer down in his little time-out corner. "Tell me when we're leaving," he called out to the rest of the crew.

He began to comb through his hair with his fingers, finding comfort as his hands pulled on a few bright red locks. He imagined that this was how the old man'd feel when he finally got his just desserts for interrupting his lovely romantic declaration. "Jerk," he muttered before he drowned out the world around him, finding peace in grooming himself like a peacock in the presence of an attractive mate.

@Nikephoros

 

“I see!” Janet said to @Nikephoros , impressed at the bald man’s initiative. A Yladian? Majolica was the only other person she knew with the pointed ears; Janet had just assumed it was an aesthetic choice. The rest of the Grand Witch’s appearance was already so bizarre that it hadn’t occurred to the girl to question her physical attributes. She hadn’t realized the elven people were inherently better at navigating, though, or that there was a name for their kind. It made Janet feel a little left out, even if the others in the group were clearly human through and through.

He seems familiar… She’d been quite sure she didn’t know any of the strange men gathered for the expedition, but something about the Yladian’s face reminded her of someone she knew. Back in the real world? Janet was starting to muse on it when @Cain Darlite introduced himself. The moment the man began to speak, Janet felt compelled to stop everything she was doing and just listen. Once he’d finished, she un-froze, finishing tying up her bootlaces. “Oh my!” she said after a moment. “You’re… you’re quite accomplished, aren’t you?” Intimidating as that was, knowing someone like Cain was on their side was an enormous reassurance. Janet allowed herself to give him a little smile as she straightened up. “I hope so! Thank you, Cain.”

Alas, if Janet was expecting to make it out the door feeling confident and good about herself, these dreams were to be shortly dashed to the ground as she met @Ira . She couldn’t help herself—the moment he began to speak, she took two steps back. “Excuse me?” the brunette asked in pure shock, dumbfounded by the aggressive come-on. A blush began to creep up her collar, red and blotchy. “Y-your teddy—I—W-well—" Janet’s voice became alarmingly high-pitched at the last, but to her relief (and puzzlement) the man moved on to Cain instead. She let out her breath, tension releasing from her body. Never have I... Well, now that she knew what to expect, at least she could brace herself next time!

She hadn’t quite escaped—still reeling from the first pick-up-line, Janet could barely comprehend the second. “Stop it!” she exclaimed, trying and failing to cut him off mid-spiel. She crossed her stout arms over her chest. “Certainly not, you scoundrel! As for our leader…” The brunette trailed off, eyes drifting across the other men in the room. Three had yet to speak at all. One (@Iván Carl) had his face completely hidden by a strange red mask with no eyes, a sight which Janet found anything but comforting. That must be him, she thought, the cloaked man. He’d said himself that his identity had to remain secret, after all. Did that mean Janet had to keep quiet? “Um… I’m not sure,” she said, looking away from the figure with the hidden face. “Do you think we should elect one?”

The words probably fell on deaf ears, since the redhead and the Yladian seemed to have gotten into an insulting argument. “Um… in any case,” Janet said a little awkwardly, giving up on the idea of anything so organized, “I hardly think we need a set leader. We can settle any debates democratically, don't you agree?” Her eyes slid to the red-masked man and away again. I won’t give away your secret. She took a deep breath. “The seven of us have been gathered to dispatch of someone named Sin, an assassin who killed a close friend of our client.” She hesitated again, the door still open and the skies growing ever more turbulent. Is it going to snow? Trying to find a murderer in a blizzard seemed like a recipe for failure…


OOC: Just waiting for the last couple people to show and introduce themselves before we ship out!

 

Why are the inhabitants of this world obsessed with glory?

What a headache. As he was watching the turn of events unfold, Darko was massaging his right temple with his right hand. As it would turn out, this group was falling apart. Well it should not be a problem for him if he would be working alone after all this mess. This was not a group anymore, just a collection of seven predators that were converging on one prey, competing for the prize. Yes, that should be it. Forging alliances, breaking them, and reforging them again, until betraying them all for the prize. That should be it. However his head was still aching after all the nonsensical babble between a bald Yladian and a red-headed human, with marked contrast between the two, the former calm and blunt, while the latter fiery and argumentative. Sometimes he really wondered why he took this mission. At all.

Previously he had received a mission from a cloaked person to do something for them. He could not really make out the face of the person, so he could not determine whether it is a male or a female. However that person gave him an elimination mission: To eliminate a person by the name of Sin or something. This is a mission that could be finished by a single person, and Darko just sighed. Another person that could not do a job that they could not do themselves. And they just hired six others? Just how strong was this Sin person that they had to warn him, and hire seven people for the job? An encounter and a strong curse was all that was needed for Darko. Mission completed. Now he had to contend with six other people with six different personalities.

As he stared at the other persons who joined the quest to kill a single person, he could not help to feel but sorry for the lone woman who had joined this mission, with all the other persons including himself being male. And looks like she had also prepared a lot of tools for them. Although he did not know what was the use of all that weight when they had inventories; it was beyond him. But well, this was free stuff, so he could not really say anything wrong about it. He then got his gear, and unfortunately it was not sized specifically for him, as he was leaning on his baton most of the time while he was carrying the huge luggage. Finally as he took a seat, he moved to his inventory everything that were not yet needed, and he was satisfied as he lifted the backpack again. As he heard the woman speak about bearing with her as it was her first quest, he just exhaled and said, "Well I could never help you or anyone for that matter if you had placed a huge burden on my shoulders. Fortunately I made some adjustments or else I will be dead before we reach the place."

As the woman then asked who had the compass, a tall and bald - well Darko would not know if he should call him handsome because of lack of hair - Yladian wearing heavy and quite rusted armor snatched away the map and the compass and placed it in his inventory - things which did not escape the eyes of Darko. Well it was fine for him, as true practitioners of black magic should have a map and a compass ready, such that he could cast his long-preparation spells without affecting those which should not be affected. But he was more concerned with why he did that. For survival? Well he would just see up to where he would be led to such a delusion. But he would just play with it for now. Hearing the words of the bald person about having a bonus on navigation since he was a Yladian, he just said, "That is a very outrageous claim you got there, Mr. Clean. I will want you to present a scientific study on how Yladian ears always point the right way. Maybe I will believe you if you do that. But for now, odbijen." And now there were two people swarming towards the woman. One was a tall longhaired man who looked like some circus ringmaster, and another was a fiery-haired adolescent, which from his form, Darko surmised he was somewhat unstable. What the hell. "My, oh my, looks like a love triangle is brewing. Well I should hope you three lovebirds focus on the mission before making out, please?" And as he watched the three as they talk about their affections with the woman, he watched in horror as he heard the adolescent speak words of affection to both the woman and the long-haired man. What a two-timer. Darko facepalmed at that moment. Seriously, was that adolescent fucking with just about everyone under the sun? Fortunately the bald man might be of the same mind as him when he confronted the adolescent.

As he stared at the adolescent who was going back to his chair, he then said, "What a bastard. Flirting with men and women at the same time, spitting on the floor of a public place, worthy of a Nobel Prize in bad manners. Or should I say, ignoble prize." He did not understand the single word that the adolescent has spouted, so he did not add it. "I am fine with any person other than that one being our leader. In this case, rash decisions will bring us more harm than good." As he said that, his head ached again. Damn that person. "And I should remind myself to buy some ibuprofen when I log out."

 

Nikephoros remained silent as more and more began to chime in, making public fools of themselves. Apparently the red-headed brat was through with him for now. That was well and good, considering he didn't want to get involved in a pissing contest just yet. At least, not too serious of one. But still there was another that challenged him... another wealthy looking bray.

What was it with this group and that type? He looked Darko over, clearly unimpressed, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tried not to laugh at the boy who called him out on Yladians and their sense of navigation. So the boy wanted proof? Alright, the boy could have proof...

The elven man went silent, sitting on the edge of a table, and began to flip through his UI as others talked among themselves. He found the player guidebook and began to dig through its table of contents, finding the page he wanted. A simple printscreen and private message would solve this but... well... where was the fun in that? The boy had invited a public challenge, so he would provide a public answer!

Opening up a small editing script, he fiddled with the printscreen, adding his own tasteful touches to its content. Then, with a smile, he submitted the message to everyone in the party. A ping on each person's UI would allow them the chance to open up a message containing the answer Darko sought.

It just took me a few moments to dig through the player handbook that's in every UI, in case you have questions or concerns about the game. Apparently you haven't bothered to read up on the game you're playing. I recommend you remedy that as soon as possible. Anyway, here's the proof you wanted. It doesn't get more 'scientific study' than "the rules of the game and how the world was made to work" now does it?

​

Smiling, Nikephoros remained silent, waiting for things to progress.

 

"Hmmm... looks like I was wrong with the assumption that you did not read that." Darko smiled as he received the mail. Well this should be interesting. This should be really an arena where ego should fight against ego, and this time he was defeated. "...Evidence received, Nikephoros, odobrena. Congratulations." He closed the UI. "Well as the navigator had proved himself correct, and I had proved myself to be abysmal in judging people, maybe that should be a proof that I should be removed from the consideration of being the leader." He loathes every idiocy and mistake that he would encounter, but it did not mean that he should turn a blind eye on his own. But at least he learned from it. Just the hard way. He would get back on him next, not only as a revenge for the partial humiliation, it was since he was suspect. Not the adolescent, not the long-haired, not every one else. The fact that he got the map and the compass first without any prior decision was his reason why he was eyeing him that time. He planned on his survival. And so he tried to catch him off-guard with that question, thinking that him being a new person would make him relinquish the map and the compass, thereby relieving him of that opportunity to betray them if things come to worse. But since the lightning question failed, he had to think of another way.

 

Iván watched intently, in complete silence, as the rest of their crew appeared to either bicker or pronounce themselves the best of the bunch. There were the perky boy with the ready resume and the redheaded hormonal child with a woman's name, both of whom Iván made a mental note to keep an eye on just in case they'd prove to be the most troublesome.

In a matter of minutes, seconds even, the Yladian seemed to have found himself at odds with two humans, the aforementioned redheaded woman-man and some elitist guy with a top hat. Whether it was a race issue, Iván didn't care. The Yladian, with his natural skills in navigation, would prove more useful than the latter two. The boy with the red hair and the female name seemed more trouble than he was worth already.

From behind his mask, the illusionist raised an eyebrow at @Janet Reilly. She seemed to have given him some sort of knowing look. Was it a code of some sorts? Maybe. They had, after all, crossed paths before. Then again, Iván had his face covered with the Spire guardian's mask. Could she tell it was him behind the creature's face? He doubted she'd know how he really looked like, but maybe she was able to memorize, somewhat, how he was, how he moved. Maybe not.

This is going to be a long trip... He kept his eyes on @Nikephoros, specifically on the map and compass he had on him. Th Yladian should lead them to where they should, to where Iván needed to be. He wouldn't let any of them cost him his opportunity to meet again the otherworldly being he encountered down in the Spire. He couldn't. He must stay strong. He must stay vigilant. He must stay patient. He must, he must, he must.

He started counting with his fingers, noting how many of them there were. We are too many... He wondered if they were still waiting for someone. They probably were, considering they had yet to move out. All this time together and the others were spending it acting like children. Maybe they were children. It was a game, after all, and women out here could be men out there, children could be grandparents, vice versa.

Iván sighed, eyes still on the Yladian. If they would vote for a leader, he would choose Janet, the only person he knew in the group. The rest, he didn't have enough confidence in.

 

Oh my.

My my my my my my my my, myyyyyy.

Cain was prejudiced, perhaps. He always thought himself as a rather flamboyant individual, shameless and elegant at the same time, a man of action who wasn’t afraid to make bold decisions for the sake of the team. But while his own elaborations and declarations were made with some goal in mind, this Irini Barlos was a madman of a whole other species, a flirtatious playboy with the face of a baby and the posture of a prostitute. Was he gay? Or was he European? Maybe he was both, maybe he was neither, but if nothing else, the boy was certainly amusing, a spark of light in this otherwise boring party. In the corner of his eye, the goth kid was already becoming gothier, no doubt someone who saw Black Magic and decided to go full edge. Yup, between goth kid and mask dude, they were definitely in no shortage of painfully serious peeps.

“You may indeed, Rosebearer of Hellas,” Cain replied. Bringing out his left hand, the midnight haired muse bit down on the white gloves covering them, pulling it off in a manner both erotic and effective, before offering it to the red-haired fellow. “I shall permit one kiss, for the eloquence you have offered to me, good sir. Rarely have I found one blessed as greatly by Athena as yourself, for your wordcraft is truly exquisite. But please..."

A more devilish smirk emerged, his dark eyes flickering with a smouldering ember as Cain placed a finger on Irini’s lips, shutting him up for just a moment.

“Likening me to Persephone is akin to likening a lion to a lamb. If Hades were to pull me to his palace of subterranean gems and forsaken souls, he would be lacking the fingers to do so, soon. I’ve made my own legends, independent of any greater god, and intend to continue that trend. Eloquence is meaningless when the praise does not match the individual, after all. Even the fairest rose may have thorns of steel, Irini Barlos, and may find offense in your neglecting to mention them.”

With his own quota met, Cain was about to start the journey, when it became immediately clear that, holy shit, the party was already violently, viciously, vibrantly exploding. Whatever switch Ira had for his super salty childish anger mode, Nike flipped it without any shit given, before the edgy goth kid went all out with his shittalking once more, a non stop screed that Cain drowned out a few seconds in. This was certainly going to be a mess, and after swiping away the inconsequential message that the bald elf had dropped onto everyone else to prove a point, the Flagbearer of Miracles offered a smile and a shrug towards Janet.

“Democracy is a kind idea, but with a group of this, it does seem rather clear that we will be unable to make snap decisions, no?” He began, his tone calm, his countenance of a man who was stating an incredibly obvious thing. “As the only one possessing magic that can revive the dead, and as the one with the most experience out of all the rest, I would be happy to take up the burden of leadership amongst this band of adventurers. If you would be willing to listen to my instructions, of course.”

Indeed, there was nothing but confidence, nothing but the shadow of a great ego within that smile. He would be able to do anything, and he would be able to do it with ease.

 

Imagine a giant, inflated rubber balloon that you could get at Dollar Tree for less than a quarter. It's bright red, the colors stretched out into a thin, pasty coat of orange. Smack dab on the front are boldened words written in a licorice-scented Sharpie© marker: Ira's Ego. This is a physical representation of everything Freud said and this balloon is what Ira's Ego would look like. See how it deflates and inflates? It's struggling to remain afloat, in contrast to the chaotic Id balloon that was probably floating into the atmosphere somewhere without gravity to pull it back down. It's defying the laws of nature because it's not filled with helium; it's filled with oxygen. Oxygen deprived from living people.

The last sentence was a joke. Except not.

And, in the middle of this juggling challenge to balance all the aspects of his morality, instrincts, and realistic persona, Ira has failed to notice that the balloon labelled as Superego had long since flatlined and was currently lying on the floor in a sunken heap. This is unfortunate news in terms of mental health upkeep and psychological fitness. This is unfortunate news in terms of morality and ethical awareness. This is good news in terms of fulfilling the mission at hand and hopefully getting into Janet Reilly and Cain Darlite's pants (or skirt).

As soon as he calmed himself down from his admittedly salty tantrum, he loosened the collar of his shirt and found a place behind Cain. "Sorry about that, handsome," Ira sighed, eyes downcast. To be really honest, he didn't particularly feel sorry for his outburst and failed flirtation (who knew that the man wouldn't enjoy being likened to the beauty of Persephone, but he supposed that he was far more attractive than she and would take offense to the meager gesture) but it would be embarrassing if he didn't explain himself to his possible booty call. Friends with benefits. One-night stand. Amour.

"Oh, I'm definitely okay with having you as our leader. Can't imagine anyone else, really," he licked his lips hungrily, eyeing the man's rear end. "I imagine that you'd have to revive me a bit sooner than expected considering that the kiss you promised me would surely deprive me of my life; happiness and joy are killers and my soul would ascend to the heavens with a simple peck of your lips."

He took a step back to survey the room. "On a more serious note, however, I do promise you the best of my efforts. I, Irini Barlos, Ira...swear my allegiance to you solely, my sweet prince. In this entire quest, you will not find yourself wanting anything more for I will have provided you the nectar of the world and the finest jewels I find. I will protect you as your knight and I will serve you dutifully."

He winked.

 

Janet was prepared to react with dismay and outrage to Darko’s comment about the so-called “love triangle”—wildly inaccurate, since it was only Cain and Ira showering one another with flowery compliments and promises—when a small ping! caught her attention. Nobody had ever sent Janet a message via communication channel before. “What’s that sound?” The brown-haired girl asked aloud. Nobody answered her so she just kept asking. “What’s that beeping? Does anyone hear that?” She already knew they were on a quest, so she shouldn’t be getting a quest alert. She was very sensitive to annoying sounds and indicator lights, she certainly wished whatever it was would stop (which it did after about a minute, left unnoticed.)

“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand that. Are you speaking English?” Janet asked @Darko Ljubicic testily. She was starting to feel huffy and left out. It wasn’t that the teenage girl necessarily craved attention—she just liked control. There was no control over the situation when insults and foreign slang were interchangeably being tossed around. Were there actually racial tensions in this world? It certainly seemed that way, seeing how everyone reacted to the poor Yladian man! There’s still so much I don’t understand about Terrasphere, Janet had to admit to herself, more than a little peeved.

She turned gratefully to @Cain Darlite, whose act of volunteering seemed like the only welcome, constructive input anyone had submitted to the group so far. Besides, how could she say no when it had been phrased so eloquently? His sheer confidence alone surely qualified him for the position. “Wh-why, certainly,” she agreed, blinking a little. Despite herself, Janet felt a little overwhelmed by his speech. He’s right, of course—they aren’t going to get along otherwise. Ordinarily she might have found that a concern, but since the cloaked man (not Janet) had been the one to hand-pick the six of them… Wait, six?

Only six, including Janet. That was annoying—she could have sworn there were supposed to be seven on the Quest for Sin. Well, I can’t abide tardiness. There’s no sense in waiting, especially when the weather looks as threatening as it does. If they twiddled their thumbs any longer, they might find themselves in a truly bad situation. “I’m comfortable with Cain as our leader, he does seem the most experienced,” Janet said firmly, raising her voice over the chatter. She put her hands on her hips, glancing between the men and the mountains. “If everyone is ready, I say we head out. Everyone have their backpacks?” Her gaze slid to the bard—and briefly the masked man as well—for their approval.

OOC: @Chaol is catching up with us later! I've been given the green light to go ahead, meanwhile.

EN ROUTE TO SIN

The party’s goal had been marked already—one of the few boons their client granted them—so the destination itself was no mystery to the six who sought Sin. It should have been an easy journey, weather abiding—the path was straight and not too steep, any snow was only in half-melted patches, and the adventurers should have taken comfort in the knowledge that the mission which united them would test their skill in combat, not in survival. The path had its hidden dangers, however. The constant melt and re-freeze of the lower slopes had washed out sections of the trail and transformed them to solid ice, which provided everything from mere comedic slipping to a potentially lethal fall.

It was the treacherous weather that @Cain Darlite had spotted which turned a simple quest sour. The wind was the first indicator of the storm, a distant howling of freezing air as it coursed through cracks and fissures in the rock. The ominous breeze was cold on the necks and faces of the adventurers as the first bright flakes twirled down from the sky. The distant curtain of shifting gray, the blizzard from afar, moved towards them. Before long they were caught in the outer edges of the storm, visibility rapidly degrading as they pressed on.

The peak, their destination, was growing tantalizingly close. Its silhouette could still be made out despite the weather, one final tall, tapering pyramid for the adventurers to scale. However, an obstacle barred their way. A steep, jagged ravine split the rock between the six and the final ascent to their destination, a long black chasm paved with a gleaming sheet of solid ice on either side. On the map which @Nikephoros held, this stark, icy gorge was marked only as THE BELLY with no other distinguishing features but for the narrow, slippery path which led around it.

And the snowstorm, of course, could only get worse.