Walking My Reality [OC, Pathfinder, Magical Realm Alt. CYOA]

AirBreather · Oct 1, 2016

Hello QQ!

I'm writing a fic. Woo!

This will be my first time posting (primarily) on QQ. I've got about 500k words on SB, but none of those other works will be continuing in the near future...

The plan:
- Go through Pathfinder adventure paths, modules and assorted hooks as a moderately OP-in-progress original character, changing and evolving the world in the process. (First one is 'Iron Gods'!)
- Write in a mostly 'journal' style, doing scenes when the mood strikes or enough reader queries pile on for exposition.
- Journal-style writing is done in order to cover a large amount of history and time without turning this into a life-long commitment, as well as keeping my own interest up.

- Multi-crossover is eventually hoped for, but it will take a while to get there.

The details:
- MC is an 'uprooted' genius loci, whose nature, power and companions will be heavily evolving during the fic.
- The Magical Realm CYOA is used as the power basis, in a liberally interpreted form. It is most definitely not 'canon.' (My exact modifications are not spelled out in order to give the story more flexibility.)
- The chapters, scenes, snippets and so on will likely be pretty small.

Looking for:
- Feedback on 'journal style.'
- Plot and story holes, internal inconsistences. (Likely tons...

)
- Encouragement & general feedback.

Notes:
- 'Book 1' of the 6 books of 'Iron Gods' is already done. I'll be putting it up, formatting and editing it as soon as this intro page gets posted. Cheers!

Index:

Prologue
- 0 - (Posted 01/10/2016. 2.2k words.)

Creation - Iron Gods 1/6
- 1 - Toilday, Abadius 4th, 4714 AR (Day 1). 01/10/2016; 2.3k.
- 2 - Wealday, Sarenith 18th, 4714 AR (Day 166). 01/10/2016; 2.8k.
- 3 - Oathday, Sarenith 26th, 4714 AR. (Day 174). 01/10/2016; 5k.
- 4 - Moonday, Sarenith 30th, 4714 AR. (Day 178). 01/10/2016; 3.9k.
- 5 - Starday, Erastus 5th, 4714 AR. (Day 183). 07/10/2016; 1.6k.

Rust - Iron Gods 2/6
- 6

~AB

AirBreather · Oct 1, 2016

0 - Prologue

'I think I made a mistake.' I was in denial for the longest time. That was what my thoughts were focused on, as I stared at the the shaking doors in front of me.

'Adamantium,' I mused. 'The finest work of my kingdom's master artisans.' The bluish silver markings were done in an abstract, swirling pattern. The creators had assured me that they signified my mastery over the arcane arts or some nonsense like that. I didn't bother saying out loud that I thought it looked like a whole bunch of fancy coffee swirls. 'I likely didn't have the 'discerning tastes' required for proper appreciation.'

Dust sprayed out from the around the metal frame. This small chamber was the my final redoubt, a domed space of magically treated blank, grey granite. Blank, that is, except for that lovely door. The last piece of adamanitum in this entire pocket universe of mine.

The door continued to boom, its loud echoes filling the stone chamber.

'More correctly,' I thought, staring at the shaking metal, 'this pocket universe of ours.'

Regardless of the size the realm used to be, the total space was barely larger than this small room. Some dozen strides, even all around, and a ceiling I could reach if I stood on my bare tippy toes. Bare, as no fancy slippers adorned my feet, nor clothes my body.

In fact, the only things that still existed in this demiplane - this challenge I failed to rise against - was the stone of this room, the door, myself, and the tiny little space that my horrific adversary resided in.

As if to punctuate my thoughts, a scream of rage and pain passed through the metal and stone. My face twisted into a fierce grin at the sound. I willed some more of my boon-based life energy out of my self - the equivalent of mystical upchucking. My stoic anger bore me through the pain, especially when the screams on the other side doubled in intensity.

'I got in here first, monster,' I thought. 'The very core of our mystic realm. The last spot that remains after everything else disappeared. Infected by plagues. Sliced through by the guillotines of snapped shut portals. Unmade as reality denied life. Gods consumed like twisted ambrosia. Guardians guarding no more, all broken like the automation armies. Multitudes poisoned, burnt, shape-shifted into masses of flesh that collapsed into putrid messes... Minds unmade... Melting... Freezing... Shattering... The skies, waters and lands wielded like massive claws and fangs, tearing into everything and themselves.'

'My torturous existence as the land burned and burned me through our connection.'

"SUFFER, MONSTER!" I screamed in defiance, sending my anger through the doorway.

More roars and shaking met my informal addressing of the fellow near-immortal.

I lay my bare self down on the cool surface, arms behind my head and feet pointed towards the only features of note. The monster had no such luxury of space. I don't even know how it could move any more, pressed up against the door like that. I wiggled my toes mockingly.

'Only the two of us left,' I thought. 'Only each other to grant boons to.' I flicked my silver eyes towards the metal slabs. There was only one boon I wanted to grant, now. I had to assume that the monster would want it at some point.

'The release of death.'

Then, and only then, would I be truly alone in this small, little room. I could wait for oblivion in the form of blank, grey granite to collapse upon me, or vomit out boon-based life-force in a suicidal purge. 'Decisions, decisions.'

I blinked.

'As a genius loci, I failed the land. I failed the people. I failed my partner. And, most importantly, I failed myself.' I stared at the domed ceiling of boring blank, grey granite, and stretched a hand up to obscure my view.

'Such melodrama,' I thought. 'But... I was too nice.'

My hand clenched.

'I won't make that mistake again.'

Another roar was my answer, and I smiled in reply.

'This will be a long wait.'

I woke up with an aching void inside myself, and no clue as to where I was. A reach towards my greater self - the-self-as-magical-realm, as demiplane, pocket universe - floundered in that void and caught onto nothing.

Nothing.

The shock drove me into oblivion once more, with only the faint echoes of countless lifetimes already past to accompany me.

I woke once again with that same empty void within, and the feeling of a year's seasons passing without. I was growing familiar with it by this time. It still hurt, of course, but the pain wasn't physical. I've opted out of the normal experiences of pain for quite some time - there was no reason to restore such.

For company, my body was feasted upon by cockroaches. They obviously approved of their diet, as their enjoyment translated into empowering life energy for myself.

I kindled the small trickles of Biomancy that remained inside myself into changing my body into ever-more delicious matter. Plans set, I forced myself into a coma-like sleep.

Another full spread of seasons passed in that manner. I would wake, observe the burgeoning ecosystem around and within myself, and tweak the nature of my own pale body as appropriate.

Eventually, a sort of stable homeostasis was reached. It was composed of those original cockroaches, some overly large insects and rats, and what looked like living blobs of protoplasm or clear oozes.

I yawned, and spat out a cockroach. It was quickly eaten by another, larger insect.

The teeming mass of insects and rat hides was rather warm and comfortable, but didn't serve any of my interests in the long run. 'Not that I really had any, anymore. Kingdom gone, population killed, memories shredded, powers gutted...'

I considered my future while a rat chewed my scalp. A piece fell by my one, currently intact eye. The other would regenerate soon.

'Silver-grey hair? Huh. Whatever.'

I've been seeing a line of bright purple fire shooting up into the sky infrequently over the past months. I doubted the special effects were for advertising purposes. As far as destinations went, it was as good as any.

I struggled upwards against the mass of vermin that covered me, and stretched. Some annoyed chittering greeted my actions, but I ignored them. I focused on where I remembered that violet flame to be, and started to walk, exceedingly slowly.

My enthralled subjects trailed behind me, their approval sending me a constant, slow trickle of boon-based energy.

I took this free time to go over what powers actually remained with me.

There was my obvious regeneration. That healing process was somewhat consciously directed, and tied in to my own immortality - no breathing, eating or sleep required. I could probably die if I wanted, though it would likely just pop my spirit out of this body. As making a new one would be troublesome, I'd prefer to keep my current one capable of life in some form or another.

The bloated form of a gigantic fly buzzed past me. After the house cat-sized creature took a chunk out of my shoulder, it rejoined the parade behind me.

The plains we traveled on were devoid of dramatic features. The sparse bushes and ruins on the horizon were all that drew my attention.

I scratched my chin absentmindedly as I continued to plod onwards.

There were still those sparse traces of Biomancy. My capabilities there weren't nearly enough to do anything on a reasonable timescale, but weeks and longer allowed subtle changes. The background, droning buzz behind me demonstrated such.

'My regeneration must include stamina,' I mused. 'Otherwise none of this would have been possible.'

A head turn led to the examination of the insects behind me, and confirmed another detail: I had some vague awareness of beings' wants, and the relative intensity of such wants. That was a rather convenient feature, though I couldn't be certain if I used it before or not. Or even had it before, for that matter.

The subtle sensation of an overly large 'bubble' around me indicated my existence as a genius loci was far from over. Instead of being severed from the land, I was merely... Uprooted. This mostly chitinous parade traveled in a large, house-sized spherical enclosure of altered reality, loosely centered around my self. Said altered reality's total degree of strangeness consisted of only one thing: myself, yet again. No deviant physics or aberrant magical effects to be enthralled by in the slightest.

At least the radius wasn't fixed - I could approach the defining border surface, or not, as I pleased. Some exploratory gestures revealed that the surface felt like a smooth, slicked membrane, as well as my own faintly claw-like nails.

The simple fact of being able to do so encouraged me in regards to incorporating some of my past, 'lost' artifacts into this newly mobile existence.

Days passed into weeks and months as I continued my simple routine. The odd corrections were made to my horrendously slow pace whenever I saw the violet flame erupt skywards. Nights were marked by examination of the local sky - a standard starry abyss that featured a single grey moon. The specific details of its crater-scarred surface remained the same every night, even as the phases changed what portions were visible.

I mostly ignored what my small insectoid parade overran. So far, this world looked to be a rather standard fantasy realm. My observations of the local popular humanoids confirmed them to be ethnic variations of humans of some kind, mostly equipped with barbarian-themed weapons and armour. The very rare exception even had some high tech items.

Regardless of my social interests, any interactions that I attempted towards those people ended up being in one of either of two extremes: different themes of running away and pointless attacks.

Personally, I didn't mind the attacks. While the small swarm of mixed creatures around me did provide boon-based energy to the tune of 'supply our mindless selves with delicious flesh,' they were rather appalling from an aesthetic standpoint. I just didn't yet have the heart to kill them off myself, regardless of any strong-minded intentions on my part.

I asked the two nearest beings what they thought. "Are you uglies going to kill yourselves any time soon?" In response, the amoeba-like blob on my shoulder stared at me with the half-digested form of one of my own eyes. The acid-damaged form of the silvery-grey organ did nothing. The other being, an orange-banded, long purple worm wrapped around my arm, merely squeezed, and that arm fell off. The acidic secretions had worn through flesh and bone with ease.

'Not that I could have heard them anyways,' I mused. I sighed in annoyance, and flopped backwards. A canopy of squishy, crunchy beings cushioned my fall. 'The buzzing of this swarm would overcome any normal speech.'

'I think that I have to finalize my artifact choices,' I thought with a grimace. The picking and choosing was a painful process, here at the low end of power spectrum. It was a rather blatant catch twenty-two: I needed more boon energy to get the higher tier artifacts, but I couldn't gain such without an artifact...

I was down to a mere three 'starter' choices, all with various degrees of exclusivity, side effects and all around annoyances.

The first was a weapon called Murder-Death-Kill: a sort of generic 'slay everything in sight while cackling madly' sword, made to drain and eat lives from all that it killed. As life-force fed it, the sword would evolve in power and ability, eventually upgrading into the vanguard for an exponentially growing arcanotech army destined for multi-planar conquest. While that sounded nice, the bolded warnings specified that the weapon was dedicated as a 'fun toy for a century or two,' and it would eventually gain full self-awareness and betray me - possibly even faster than my own powers could keep up in pace.

'Pass,' I thought.

The second was based around a comedy support animal. 'Fido' would be a brightly coloured dog, stuck in perpetual puppy-dom and ever joyfully yippy. He was included with an endless supply of 'joke waste' generating abilities, an universal translator, and was effectively immortal and invulnerable by a combination of automatic resurrections, rapid regeneration, and adaptive immunities. Fido could also teleport to its so-called owner's side across limitless distances and multiple realities in order to heal, resurrect and 'free' them from captive sound-proofed rooms and earplugs as required. Essentially, the dog was a gift that started as a cute idea but would eventually drive even the most pacifistic of people into insane, omnicidal purges of the multiverses and reality itself.

'By all the gods, no!'

The last choice wasn't nearly as warped as the other two. The 'Pearl' was designed to be a modular and upgradeable 'training toy,' and painful for an entirely different reasons. It was co-created with my last partner - one whose exact details rested in the shredded remains of my memories - as a gift for a prospective newly created genius loci child. 'A child that I would never have. At least not with her.'

'Yes,' I mournfully thought. I blamed the insects for the clear liquid that leaked out of my eye sockets.

I started the metaphysical installation process. As it began, the majority of my boon-based life energy reserves disappeared along with my perception of the world around me. The insects weren't missed in the slightest.

A dark haze crept up into my senses, somehow still conveying a sense of comfort, and a greeting message appeared.

["Welcome to reality, little one! We are honoured and grateful for..."]

I tuned out the introduction, as well as my own tears, and waited. Damn unskippable cut-scenes.

AirBreather · Oct 1, 2016

1 - Creation

The bearing I followed was eventually interrupted by a large river. I kept things simple by keeping the deep moving water in sight, and was rewarded by the view of a blackened hill in the distance, surrounded by multi-storied buildings of varying heights at its base.

The roadway to that small bastion of civilization was simple dry earth, but packed down enough that neither mud nor dust were an issue. It was wide enough for two horse-drawn carts to travel side by side in ease, but utterly dwarfed by the waterway I left. That aquatic highway was easily triple the size, with the occasional barge or two passing each other without problems. By the time the hilled town filled my view, however, the river was more akin to a deep, fast flowing creek than anything else.

Two armed men stood guard near the ascending path that led to the town proper, each wearing an uniform of hardened leather and supported by a small, metal shield. Their eyes flicked to me as I took the minutes required to reach them, then returned to the horizon. My silvery-grey colouration or studded leather armour obviously didn't warrant anything further.

I relaxed near the pair, feigning tiredness from my long walk. A cursory glance around revealed that no more visible traces of my personal swarm parade remained. That was a good thing, too, considering that I had eliminated the last of them over a day ago.

"Welcome to Torch," the nearest guard said as he focused on me. He was the taller of pair, and had an edge of blond hair sticking out from beneath his simple metal cap. "Keep out of trouble. We don't have any guides here, but if you are looking for something in particular I can give you a rough idea where it is." He waved behind him at the nearby buildings. "That's the only stables we have, and you can reach the marketplace if you head in further."

The shorter one grunted, but otherwise kept silent.

I turned around away from the city in imitation of the pair. There was nothing on the horizon but flat plains, simple roads and the river that led away from Torch.

I called back over my shoulder, "You two watching for anything in particular?"

A grunt preceded a more serious answer. "Some members of the town council were concerned about rumours of an 'insect swarm monster' headed this way. The odd visitors have mentioned it, so here we are." A moment of silence - likely a shrug - took place. "Have you seen anything like that on the way here?"

I replied with a negative. 'After all,' I figured, 'I didn't see such a monster - I was such.'

"I hope we get pulled off this, then," the taller guard continued. "Rumour or not, a paladin of lomedae disappeared around here -"

The other coarse voice barked out two words.

"Yeah, that's the one," the verbose guard continued. "Castle Urion, deep in the Felldales, hosts a bunch of Iomedae's worshippers. They will eventually make a serious effort to find out what happened. Same thing with the small Kellid tribe that vanished."

I mentally winced at the mention. The paladin's gold trimmed, 'holy' themed arms and armour screamed out 'righteous heroine,' but I had hoped that the news wouldn't spread that far before I could make amends. I wanted to do that with those horse-riding nomads as well, though I had no idea what their average receptions were like.

"Black Horse," was helpfully supplied by the dark-haired guard. His throat had been cleared by liberal amounts of coughing.

I faced the town interior. This one location was a minor elevation that the town resided on. The entire location of Torch could be considered a three-tiered spawl: the odd farming lot and house at ground level, both close to the entrance roads and the slowly widening river; the large plateau that the town proper resided on; and the hill itself, a blackened, rocky outcropping that took up about a third of the plateau's size, yet rose only to somewhere between three to five times the height of the tallest buildings here. Any truly respectable tower would loom over the squat edifice without trying - at least until another blaze of violet light showcased it.

"Though their efforts might take a while," the first guard continued, "seeing as how we don't have a church of lomedae here, and no one is too terribly worried about what monsters do to barbarians here in Numeria."

A rasping chuckle from his parter emphasized that point.

"Fair enough," I replied, nodding. "You alright with giving me an overview of... Torch, was it?" I indicated the the town with a gesture, then comfortably hooked my thumbs in my belt.

"Sure," he answered. "Not like I have anything better to do here."

We spent the next little while doing just that. The pair of guards made sure to emphasize that the village could be a lot better off if the Technic League weren't demanding such heavy tributes from them. That group was apparently the local flavour of 'oppressive overlords,' though their direct involvement in this village was confined to rumours of a local spy.

A number of other rumours were centered on sightings of large monsters and some of the more well known local figures. The guards didn't lend much credence to them, and neither did I.

The 'torch' itself was a surging violet flame, typically the size of a large bonfire, that topped the village's central hill and provided smiths one of the very few known reliable methods to work 'skymetals.' The odd beam that shot up into the sky was preceded by a hill-side miniature quake, and was obeyed as proximity to the flare up was rather lethal. There wasn't much investigation into the actual origin of the flame, so the fire simply remained an unknown source of prosperity.

Our conversation ended after I told them of my intentions to tour the village and attempt to find some work.

I also managed to casually obtain the full current calendar date: Toilday, Abadius fourth, in the year of four-thousand, seven-hundred and fourteen AR. That would be the second day of the week, and the first month of the year. I'd figure out further local cultural specifics once I started mingling.

Toilday, Abadius 4th, 4714 AR - Journal Entry.

Came to Torch today. It is a village in the plains region of Numeria, a mostly barren country located in the 'Inner Sea Region' of a planet called Golarion.

There is no formal name for the local solar system, but 'normal reality' is collectively referred to as the Material Plane. Some magic users I've chatted with imply that there are multiple planes of existence (in this multiverse). Given my crippled powers and gutted psyche, I'll likely get to know a lot more about this place over the years. Decades. ...Eons?

Blah. Anyways...

As far as Numeria goes, the two most prominent forces of the land are the Kellid barbarian tribes and the Technic League. The tribes are separated into seven main geographical and custom identified groupings, with many smaller tribes scattered elsewhere. The Black Horses are the tribe whose dominion encircles this village.

The entire mass of barbarians are supposedly ruled by the Black Sovereign, an exemplar of their race who was capable of uniting all the tribes under his banner. There have apparently been a sequence of Black Sovereigns over the centuries in this country.

The current one is named Kevoth-Kul, who resides in the Palace of Fallen Stars in the city of Starfall. Said city is both the capital and largest settlement in this country.

The Technic League are actually more 'secretive cabal' than 'oppressive overlords.' My bad. Their shtick seems to be the use of 'mysterious technology' and 'accursed robots.'

...No, I'm actually serious here. They are like some sort of ascended cargo cult that have - perhaps somewhat successfully - reverse engineered and utilized rather high technology. However, rather than say... Educate the masses and bolster up a revolution of innovation... They instead hoard their scientific knowledge to the degree that bloody death squads are used to enforce the non-spread of 'Numerian technology.'

One of the most readily available examples of such high technology may perhaps be the 'android' species. Personally, I'd rather call them 'synthetics' due to their living nature, biological brains and all. Those beings are rumoured to have SOULS! On top of which, there is such a thing as undead androids! Ghost androids!

Mind. Blown.

Still, they are very few in number - I've barely managed to come across a half dozen of them - the normal, living ones - so far in Torch. Luckily, I think that there was one in the local bordello, the Marrymaid. I intend to research this species extensively. Well... At least one half of the population.

Wealday, Abadius 5th, 4714 AR. Journal Entry.

I was mistaken. Apparently the markings on androids can be confused with Kellid tribal tattoos. I was educated from a very close perspective. Repeatedly.

Regardless, this bordello obviously needs my patronage. I shall do my best to ensure that needs are met and wanted boons fulfilled.

Starday, Abadius 8th, 4714 AR. Journal Entry.

After three days of diligent dallying, I was politely, but firmly, told to leave by the head madam herself, Wrennie Dalrorn. She is a beautiful half-elf bard with... Yes. VERY politely.

Apparently the lack of the need to eat or sleep, combined with unlimited stamina, has a tendency to rather upset the schedules of the working ladies. My apologies. I'll have to do something to make it up to Wrennie. And the rest of them.

Moonday, Abadius 10th, 4714 AR. Journal Entry.

While it took me less than a day to walk through Torch, I spread it over a full two in order to cover the majority of every single path and road, including the one to the top of the Black Hill. There were quite a number of smiths of different specializations working around the large, violet flame. Blazing at nearly the size of a small house, there was plenty of cramped space for all of them at the top-side plateau. The dozen-odd smiths worked out of cart-based traveling kits, tools and anvils included, whose only nod to stablity were pistons knocked into the ground by their wheels and large, thin overhangs.

No skyward eruption occurred while I waited there. It would have been impressive, as the black scorch marks extended past the edges of this miniture plateau. As tight as things were up there, some seconds of intense sprinting would be all it'd take to go from one side to the other.

I managed to obtain some small sample slivers of each of the prominent 'skymetals' for a few gold pieces. I can't do much with them at this point, but I hope that they will eventually provide inspiration for Transmutation or Conjuring effects.

One disturbing fact emerged as I walked around: the Pearl-granted ability to 'scan' and recognize most anything that passes through the barrier of my Realm has rather hard limits. Specifically, molecular limits. Certain things, such as the bodily composition of androids and 'silverdisks' - coin-sized silver items - gave me the equivalent of an 'error message' from the Pearl. The implication there is that they are of technology that is - at least! - beyond the small scale of molecular engineering.

Fascinating.

I can only hope that there is some means to suitably upgrade my own scanning abilities. That state of fascination would easily shift over into twitching madness if such was not the case.

Oathday, Abadius 13th, 4714 AR. Journal Entry.

While three days of aimless wandering were milding entertaining, my next, more concrete step was to find a relatively stable place to roost at. Well... In a manner of speaking. More self-imposed limitations from the Pearl. Specifically, all those varied powers I've managed to collect in my town walk through have only gone into a 'waiting list.' From there, they first have to be 'unlocked' - a flat one day each for every entry - and then further assigned or installed to actively available branches of my magics, or the Pearl itself. While the first entry for any of them costs a mere day, the time escalates quickly.

The Pearl has formalized the properties of my Realm into rather simplified 'modules,' each themed around a particular speciality, such as Scanning, Defences, Environmental Control and more.

While the whole process is a rather transparent ploy to tie me down to a single geographical location, I do enjoy the game-like aspects of it. The scale of days isn't that onerous, and there are possibilities of 'unlockings' and other special features.

On top of which, quite a few of the events and achievements related to the Pearl come with... Her spoken encouragement. Words of endearment, affection, appreciation and simple greetings.

Those... Don't influence my thinking.

In the slightest.

Yeah.

Not at all.

Fireday, Abadius 14th, 4714 AR. Journal Entry.

My home-finding process is more akin to a process of elimination.

First, I went to the places that I'd actually want to live in: the Marrymaid. Ah... Yeah, that's it. Unfortunately, they don't want me to live there. After they stopped laughing at my 'joke,' their amusement transformed into stern, 'hell no' expressions.

Pity.

I'll really need to acquire a harem for myself at some point, along with some cloning abilities... Shapechanging... Hmm...

Anyways! Where was I... Ah, yes - the other rejects.

I was banned from the local casino, Silverdisk Hall, after a streak of wins and broken bones. The former were mine, the latter were the enforcers.

The Weeping Pond is a small, toxic cesspool filled with the bitter stink of sulfur and other chemicals. It is also lonely. The rumour of a giant monster snake in there was sadly false.

The farms are too far away... The town hall is rather public... The churches are a bit too holy... The junkyard too interesting... The warehouses too stereotypical...

There actually is a well known inn, the Evercandle Inn, as well as a cluster of nine boarding houses across the town.

However, I can't help but think doing such would be a boring failure of sorts.

I'll keep on looking.

Starday, Abadius 15th, 4714 AR. Journal Entry.

I've found it - the perfect location!

The Foundry Tavern is a set of three buildings, all owned by the town Councillor, Khonnir Baine. They consist of a well-appointed tavern, a multi-person capable large smithy, and his own home, which he shares with his foster daughter, Val.

Val, a shining example of a blond, Kellid beauty in the blooming spring of her life.

Val, the strident pupil and apprentice of Khonnir in the arts of wizardry and metal sciences.

Val, who has repeatedly seen me coming out of the Marrymaid... Barely two houses north of their own residence... And casually mentioned such details to her father.

This... Could be interesting.

Especially so when the Merrymaid is just a few buildings north of there.

Sunday, Abadius 16th, 4714 AR - Journal Entry.

They both absolutely refused my request.

Hmm.

Not terribly surprising.

However, I have a plan for this eventuality - I'll learn 'rope trick' and squat on their property! That little extradimensional magic effect will plug right into the Pearl, giving me my first genuine taste of a Sub-realm. ...I won't mention the bloody hole in the ground that 'create pit' is.

After all, the Marrymaid IS really close to the Foundry Tavern.

And Khonnir is a wizard, as well as being somewhat knowledgeable in regards to the local high technology.

And Val is rather nice to look at, despite the glares she sends my way.

Plan set!

AirBreather · Oct 1, 2016

2 - Creation

About five months later.

Early morning. Wealday, Sarenith 18th, 4714 AR. Ozy's Sub-realm.

"Hey! Ozy!" The strident bellow of Khonnir Baine, owner of the Foundry Tavern, echoed into my little extradimensional space. "Something big has come up! This is -"

I missed the rest of his words as I shuffled around on my seat. Without looking, I grabbed the preassembled folding pole from beside me and used it to knock the coiled rope through the floor's central opening. The pre-knotted, braided material quickly slithered over the nearby carpets and stretched taut, bouncing a few times from its ceiling-based point of attachment.

The middle aged man went silent as the rope twitched.

'Rope trick,' I mused to myself. 'The space created by that spell was far more palatible once my Pearl had jailbroken or 'interpreted' the ideas behind it into something I could use on a more permament basis.'

A look around reaffirmed those thoughts. My entire living space was now a moderately large, single room, filled with odd pieces of furniture and assorted knick-knacks. I could reach about a third of the room with my ten-foot pole without getting up. The only visible partitioning was done by carpet type and colour.

Khonnir's callused hands were visible first, quickly followed by his long, salt-and-pepper coloured hair. He began to speak again before he oriented himself my way.

"The torch has -" He cut himself off suddenly. "By the gods, man, put on some clothes!"

'Hmm?' I looked down at my pale-skinned figure, seated comfortably on a wood-frame, canvas chair. "Why?" I repeated myself louder once more, as he had ducked out of sight.

"Never mind!" He shouted from beyond the floor-based entrance. "It's just... The torch has gone out!"

'What?' I thought, shocked alert. 'He couldn't possibly be referring to the torch of Torch, surely?'

"You know," he continued, "skymetal forging, trash disposal, needed for the economic livelihood of this village?!"

'Ah. He did.'

"I'm attending an emergency meeting with the other councillors soon." His voice started to fade. "Make sure Val goes over her lessons! She..."

I missed the rest when a young blond head popped into sight. I was immediately the picture perfect model of non-exposure, legs crossed and hands in my lap. The minor points of my nails didn't cause the slightest scratch with the fast action.

"What did you do with that woman you brought home last night?" Val's pale blue eyes sparkled with feigned innocent curiosity. "There were these sounds that..."

'Kid. Seriously.' I shook my head in exasperation. 'Tall for your age or no, you're still the underage foster daughter of my sort-of landlord. Don't push it.'

The Kellid youth began to enthusiastically imitate the sounds she was having such fun describing.

One of my eyebrows began to twitch. 'I need better defences on this little Sub-realm of mine.' I ignored the very descriptive noises by focusing on uncleaned messes, which mostly consisted of dirtied sheets and blankets.

The only attention I directed to Val was a vapid smile while I subvocalized instructions to my unseen servant. The nearly intangible being had been pacing back and forth along the walls. At least Khonnir's foster daughter wouldn't try more disruptive attention getting methods while she was so engaged. She had grown accustomed to my pale skin and silvery-grey features with a startling rapidity - a speed that I understood once my features were explained as being akin to that of natives of Irrisen, some countries west of Numeria. They were predominately pale, with hair colours that ranged in the whites, greys and silvers. That rendered me simply exotic, but not nearly unique.

'I'd have to work on that...'

Wealday, Sarenith 18th, 4714 AR. Journal entry.

After the meeting, Khonnir investigated possible leads for how the torch could have gone out. He struck gold when he discovered a large number of tracks near the Weeping Pond. It was very likely that a large number of people had gone through that polluted body of water into the caves of Black Hill. Caves which, I may add, were only speculation prior to this point.

The council's 'call to arms' already struck gold, as a group of halfling adventurers have declared their intentions to brave those depths tomorrow.

With luck, this whole thing will be blown over in a day or two, at most.

Starday, Sarenith 21st, 4714 AR. Journal entry.

The failures of the past three days proved my predications foolish optimism.

Those earlier halflings were followed by a band of local thugs the day after. By this point, I felt that is was safe to assume both groups had been wiped out already.

However, this led to heavy hitters coming out. In the case of this town, it meant Khonnir himself and a few other hand-picked guardsmen and companions.

That serious approach bore fruit, as the wizard returned home with an extensive report of his findings, as well as a rather special prize - an inactive robot of some sort.

I didn't bother grilling him for the details. Not yet, at least.

Early evening. Starday, Sarenith 21st, 4714 AR. Khonnir Baine's house, village of Torch.

I traced my fingers over the inert chassis under the watchful eye of Khonnir.

The both of us were in the storage room in his house. This area was one of the few places quiet enough among the three clustered buildings he owned to keep and examine something the size of his 'prize.' The form was just shorter than a man's full height, and made of a mix of grey and white substances. There were three spider-like legs and a vaguely humanoid torso and pair of arms. Both of its hands were four-fingered, and it had some sort of single, central 'eye' in the front center of its head.

I flicked a pointed fingernail against the material, and the dull thunk suggested more 'metal-like' than any simple alloy.

"Are you familiar with robots, Ozy?" the technologically-minded wizard asked me, as he restrained his own inquisitive movements towards it. The still solidly built man was garbed in colourful craftsmen clothes, cut short enough on the arms to expose his circular Kellid tattoos. A number of pouches and bandoleers provided ready access to whatever small devices he could possibly need.

I made a dismissive sound. On this world, I had already absent-mindedly destroyed a few small artificial creations with the assistance of my insect parade. Off it, my works in arcanotech - the fusion of magic and technology - had been more about throwing masses of power at things to a high enough degree that they'd stick together. 'Scientist I was not; wizard I would never be.'

"Not as much as yourself, I imagine, Khonnir," I replied, then rocked back on my haunches. Comfortable leather slippers kept my feet from the wood flooring, while lighter, more supple leather provided for my pants and vest. "Though that isn't what concerns me in regards to your battle trophy here."

He stopped his own more complete examination of the robot at my words. "A concern?"

I nodded, then began to elaborate. "I'm getting the impression from this robot here that something is accumulating." I didn't mention that the only source for my 'impressions' were via the imperfect scans of the Pearl. Just like some of the higher technology items for sale in this village as well as the misnamed androids, simple molecular-level scanning was enough to get information but was far from capable of creating reproducible templates.

Khonnir withdrew his large hands from the metal-like surface of the robot. "Like what?"

I shrugged, then began to speculate out loud. "Let's assume that the torch is generated by, for lack of better terms, a generator. Of what is yet to be determined, but I'm assuming energies of some type." I tapped the inert chassis. "The next day after it was turned off, some odd people report having strange, splitting headaches in the morning. Combine that with your discovery of the tracks around the Weeping Pond, and it seems like some individuals entered the Black Hill caves, bypassed the 'metal walls' area, found that 'generator,' and changed it from its past settings to something that... Perhaps... Broadcasts power and headaches? Kind of like radiation?"

Varying levels of radiation were present in Numeria, as well as magical means of dealing with that affliction. The people here were familiar enough with it for the concept to not be unfamiliar.

I continued in light of his silence. "The easiest way to prove this hypothesis would be to simply wait and see what happens to this robot. If nothing happens, great. If it suddenly comes back to life, well... That's one thing confirmed."

He took on the role of a concerned father as he looked at the walls around the storage room and then back at the robot. He wasn't just responsible for his own safety, here, and Val was far from being a self-sufficient adventurer. "Do you really think it could turn on again like that?"

"This world has undead androids, Khonnir. I wouldn't be surprised if it started singing." I paused, then considered my statement. "Sing well? Yes. But sing at all? Not so much."

We both choked through some half-hearted laughter, then began to carefully examine the joints where the limbs attached to the main body of the robot.

Early evening. Starday, Sarenith 21st, 4714 AR. Foundry Tavern, village of Torch.

Of the three buildings available to me in my self-imposed confinement, the tavern was the most interesting. Interesting rumours flew through my ears, while the sights of truly intoxicated or bemused pretenders promised future entertainment.

I had barely walked in through the rear-side doors before my devotion to this den of booze and pub food paid out.

"Yeah, those two dwarves had to be blind drunk to drink the sludge from the top of Black Hill. Even though one had a burst of strength, the other had a burning hole in his gut!"

A mental red alert flashed through my mind, and I stopped by the table the words had emerged from. It was the center-most piece of such furniture, surrounded by a mix of other tables, the long bar and a fireplace. Due to the early hour, the tavern wasn't as full as it could be.

"Hello sirs," I began, addressing the trio of craftsmen. "I couldn't help but overhear something about the Black Hill sludge or some such?"

"Aye, what of it?" said the largest of the three. Judging by his soot-stained heavy coveralls, he was likely either a metal smith or worked with one.

"I want to drink lots of it," I began, totally deadpan. "Buckets would be fine, but barrels would be preferred." I preferred to hang around Khonnir's place, as leaving would interrupt my latest unlocking-in-progress.

That unlocking was part of the Pearl's built in handicaps - excuse me, training aids - that placed time delays on various features. If I encountered some new, magical feature, it would be added to a generic list of other such features, spells, items and so on. From there, it would have to be 'unlocked,' which required a flat time cost of one day that would be additionally spent at the same location as defined by the loose borders of my own control. After being unlocked, it would then be available for use in other specialities, each which cost time as well. A single day was the absolute minimum, and it didn't appear that there was any max. Hence my reluctance to depart from Khonnir's three buildings unless the need was significantly dire.

The background noise of the Foundry Tavern swallowed up their shocked silences.

"Are you daft, man?" spoke another of the trio. He was a tall, reedy fellow with a tightly bound ponytail. "Didn't you hear that of the two foolish dwarves, one all but killed himself?"

For an answer, I stuck the fingers of my left hand in my mouth and bit down, hard. Before their widened eyes could grow into sounds of protests, I showed them the torn flesh - as well as how it was mending. They didn't see my internal grumbles at my inability to bite through those digits. It would hardly have dramatic appeal to spend minutes chewing through my hand, after all.

The last of the three, a short, thick man with ink stained fingers, spoke what was likely in all their minds: "That's all fine and dandy then, but what would we be getting for helping you with your little... Experiment?"

I pointed to the mugs on their table. "While I'm drinking, I'll cover your own costs - in advance! - for the finest house ales. None of that one hundred gold coins per bottle hogwash, just the kind you'd have on a holiday or such."

...

Hours later, in the darker stages of the evening, cut down the numbers to a mere two. The scribe and leatherworker had begged off in their own ways - gone crawling into a darkened corner to purge their bowels or bemoan their imminent epic hangovers as appropriate.

I stared into the metal bowl that doubled as my glass. 'Last pint!' The oily liquid had slowly dissolved the iron's rust into an odd, glossy shine. I could almost imagine it gurgling while I examined at. 'Mocking me, no doubt.'

"You good, metal man?" I asked the smith sitting opposite me.

Due to my rather odd choice of beverages, we had relocated to a more secluded corner of the tavern. Almost a dead-end hallway, the only problems with it were the doors that surrounded us. At least the kitchen staff gave us a wide berth - more so when they saw some of the more unpleasant side effects I had underwent. I was down to the last bit of confirmed lethal liquid - the flesh melted off my bones at least three times, encouraging some rather creative 'drunken explaining' - which had been recovered from the remains of the barrels used to transport it.

I had, of course, compensated them for the loss of the barrels. They were a gooey pile off to the side. I'd need to scrape the mess off the floor later.

In answer, he only grunted and thunked his mug repeatedly on the table top. I uncorked the next bottle of Wineberry Mead and topped his wooden drinking vessel off.

He sipped it with a smile of relish that might have been forced, and looked at me expectantly.

"Bottoms up, I guess," I said while I swirled the viscous liquid around. I quickly chugged it before the fumes could nauseate me.

The pair of us waited for an effect to kick in.

In the absence of any visible results, I shrugged. A hand push delivered the current bottle of mead to the other side of the table.

"Thanks for the company," I said, rising from my chair with a wave. "Did you want more, or...?"

He didn't respond.

I waved a hand past his open eyes to no reaction.

'Guess he had a little bit too much to drink,' I thought. A quick check of his pulse revealed that he was still alive, and I started to look for some disposable cleaning tools. The whole experience was one of the more unconventional ways to decipher the mysteries of Numerian fluids, but taking the first steps to gaining access to a Pearl-legitimate way to reduce age, grant immortality, trigger mutations and more were easily worth a small pile of coins.

Sunday, Sarenith 22nd, 4714 AR. Journal entry.

A day past my drinking exploits summoned up the fourth expedition - an out-of-town adventuring party. I'm not expecting much, even if they are devoted to the worship of Brigh.

'The Whisperer in Bronze' is a neutral goddess of clockwork, invention and time. And yet... The technology present in the ruins is beyond anything I've seen in her temple in town. The most advanced 'home made' device would be the water purifier, and that thing was the size of a large building.

At least Khonnir's team can pass through the Black Hill Caves without difficulty.

Toilday, Sarenith 24th, 4714 AR. Journal entry.

Two days of silence proved the last adventuring party another set of corpse volunteers. With those cheery thoughts in mind, I found out that my sort-of landlord would be heading out again today.

He had a long but quiet talk with Val before he left - probably warning her against going near me or some such. ...If only he knew.

The headaches have continued among the villagers, along with the continually increasing energy levels of the robot Khonnir brought home. Both of those have already spawned rumours. The former based around tampering with Crowfeather Palace - the very necessary magical water purification building - and the latter based on 'sightings' of mechanical creatures crawling out of the ground and attacking people.

While plausible, neither of those rumours stand under any sort of close scrutiny.

Wealday, Sarenith 25th, 4714 AR. Journal entry.

Khonnir didn't come home yesterday.

Val, acting very mature for once, did a sombre shutdown of the Foundry Tavern. She assured the patrons that they would open again as soon as her dad came back home. False, hopeful smiles were exchanged all around.

The smithy building remained open - more experienced craftsmen have subtly 'volunteered' to manage the Foundry 'until Khonnir comes back.'

She was keeping herself active in order to not think. To not worry.

There wasn't another handy group of adventurers to throw against the problem. If nobody shows up, then... Eh. Screw it. I'll figure out what is going on myself.

...

When I checked what Val thought, her biggest response was laughter. Fantastic.

I seriously need to build up a more intimidating reputation. That was kind of embarrassing.

At least I'm currently set to 'Technomancy.' I won't have to wait a day to switch over to that particular division of my traditional powers.

Even though I doubt that the entire under-hill is filled with robots, Khonnir's discovery implies there is at least SOME high technology in there. My unlocked and assigned spell choices - excuse me, CHOICE - consists of only 'rebuke technology.'

Field test coming up. ...My regeneration is going to get a major workout, I just know it.

AirBreather · Oct 1, 2016

3 - Creation

Morning. Oathday, Sarenith 26th, 4714 AR. (Day 174)

The one Torch councillor free to take up her duties, Dolga Freddert, stared at me with a mix of disapproval and pity. She was a short, dwarven woman. Old, but only in a way that softened her frame and whitened her hair. She was still capable enough of working at her own smithy, as well as wielding her adamantine warhammer. That weapon was propped against her desk, hilt up.

There were supposed to be five of those councillors, but I assume that the combined problems of dealing with the village's waste disposal and massed headaches would be enough to pull them from their offices.

"We sent out a call for proper adventuring teams," she reiterated. "Not odd-job layabouts with particularly public... Interests."

Dolga must be referring to my devotion to the Marrymaid bordello. I couldn't think of any other obvious eccentricities she'd be referring to.

I returned her statement with a shrug, shifting on the well-patched leather chair. This small office saw less use than the other councillor's rooms, as the woman in front of me believed in 'action before words.' I mostly shared that philosophy, though I also believed that words in themselves could also qualify.

I put on a slight grin, flashing her whitened teeth. "I hope to add to my repertoire of 'odd jobs' rather extensively with this exploration, councillor."

She drummed her forge-toughened fingers on the aged wooden desk while she stared at me.

What followed were a series of probing questions whose intent was, I imagined, to prove whether or not I'd just trip, fall and die as soon as I left her sight. As the inquiries eventually stopped, I assume my answers qualified.

"Alright, you'll do," the councillor continued, leaning back into her own over-sized chair. Over-sized for her dwarven frame, that is. The slightest traces of tension disappeared from her expression as she relaxed. "...Anybody has to be better than that group of thugs that went in the second time. Bloody idiots."

I drew her attention back to me with a polite cough.

"Yes, Ozy?"

"I've got some questions..."

She sighed. "Of course you do. What are they? Is it about the gold reward?"

I blinked in non-comprehension. "No," I admitted. "But since you brought it up...?"

"Four thousand gold pieces for the return of councillor Baine's body, or that much plus a scroll of resurrection if he is returned alive." She harrumphed. "Another same amount for the restoration of the town's torch."

I took in the small, simple gold jewellery Dolga wore, as well as the finely dyed blue dress clothes. While not nearly in reach of a pauper, they were far from being the most luxurious apparel available in this village. Those observations prompted my own unusual reply.

"I wouldn't want to pull any gold from the village coffers before your tribute to the Technic League is due," I began, "however -"

She cut me off. "Noble sentiment is all fine and good, but I'd be more impressed if you said the same afterwards."

"However," I continued with a slight smile, "I have no qualms about meeting up with the League collectors and acquiring much more from them."

Dolga mutely stared at me in shock, then broke out of her daze with a head shake. "Again, Ozy, I'd be far more interested in actions and words. Talk to me afterwards - if you survive - and... Some scheduling information may fall into your hands. Understand?"

We both exchanged thin-lipped smiles and dropped the topic.

As the aged councillor seemed to finally accept my intent and enthusiasm, if not my actual ability, the remaining informational questions went by rather quickly. From her, more of the specific details Khonnir gave the council were provided, such as the exact details of the entrance - an underwater passage in the Weeping Pond; the inhabitants, like enormous vermin, other scavengers, gremlins, and some strange humanoids with the ability to blend into the cave wall shadows; the 'metal wall,' composed of an skymetal alloy called 'glaucite,' just like the metal mined from local hills; and how the broken automation Khonnir found was near a door made of that metal.

In regards to official assistance, I'd be provided a writ of discount for the village. There was also mention of official sanction of using the Foundry Tavern as a base of operations, as well as a casting of water breathing by the cleric of Brigh, Joram Kyte, but I didn't need either of those. The only sad point about the discount was that it did not apply to 'companion services,' such as those from the Marrymaid.

'Pity.'

Neither of us discussed the repercussions of what would happen if high tech details were leaked to the public. The threat of the Technic League arriving in force was very real, so any 'discoveries' would be safest kept confidential.

By the time I was ready to leave, a sense of happy relief was present in the dwarven councillor. We finished things with a bone-grinding handshake - her efforts, not my own - and I left the room.

Afternoon. Oathday, Sarenith 26th, 4714 AR.

Once I spent the minutes required to travel through the underwater passage that led to the Black Hill Caves interior, I took stock of my personal supplies and abilities. With access to the storage furniture of my rope trick inspired Sub-realm, I actually wore even less than what I came into Torch with. That inventory consisted only of a full body set of studded leather armour, brown and hooded, that left my arms free, and a purse, dagger and everburning torch on a thick belt of the same material.

The relatively spacious entry cavern that surrounded me smelled faintly of mold and vinegar. I imagined that the dim scent would be unpleasantly strong if I hadn't taken precautions.

One of those precautions I had installed into my Pearl was based on the life bubble spell. That particular choice eclipsed a number of similar alternatives, such as those based on water breathing. What the bubble granted was a fixed, one-inch shell that surrounded creatures with a buffer of tolerable living conditions. It allowed free breathing in vaccum and underwater, rendered those affected immune to harmful gases and vapours, and protected from extremes of temperature and pressure.

For lighting, there were a trio of overly amorous fire beetles nipping at my ankles. They provided a stable, overlapping glow that extended out to about ten feet or so. In a pinch, they'd also work as trap bait and distractions.

"Isn't that right, you little vermin you?" I said in a sugar-coated voice to the chitinous forms. They didn't deign to give me a reply.

The damp moisture that suffused the interior of the cave was shown through the dark marks of absorbed condensation that covered all the walls in sight. The dark waters I had emerged from winded around to the north along this sandless, stony beach, while in front of me, a soot-scarred landing continued for a few paces. It was stopped by a ledge, somewhat shorter than my own height, supported a number of stalagmites. Beyond those stony spikes lay a low-ceilinged cave. Some faint marks of tracks followed that very path.

I scuffed a leather boot against some of the sooty patches. The blackened substance came off with ease. 'Something was burnt here rather recently,' I thought.

My Pearl-summoned 'protector,' a rather generic unseen servant, wafted around the open area. I'd need it to trigger the two enchanted objects I had made in the past months. Both were unlimited use, contact triggered items in the forms of rings. Oned used a combination of shrink item and apport object to quickly and cleanly store any items of note I discovered, while the other was a simple magical unlocking device, courtesy of the knock spell.

While I currently didn't have any form of active monitoring of the beings within my Realm or Sub-realms, their passing through the border surface allowed for an informational snapshot to be directly and unobtrusively inserted into my past memory. Said info came from a combination of true sight, analyze aura, find fault, and technomancy, and provided me with details around alignment, emotions, health, magical intensity, weaknesses, abilities, true forms and high technology specifics.

I faced the direction each snapshot came from as I went over them. The northeast held a trio of small oozes which were suffused with all manner of fungi, mildew, toadstools and more; the far east hosted a single short, stocky, frog-featured humanoid with webbed feet, claws and glowing white eyes; and the south-southeast had a single female creature that resembled a bald human with a highly adaptive skin-based camouflage ability. Very interestingly, she compensated with the weaknesses of her ability by wearing nearly nothing except belts and weaponry scabbards.

'I wonder if they're friendly,' I mused to myself. 'After all,' I figured, 'going from 'friendly' to 'very friendly' often comes with interesting perks.'

"Alright, you three!" I addressed the fire beetles with an accompanying clap of my hands. "We're going on a little walk of exploring, looting, killing, and extra-friendly ambassadorial encounters! Who wants to come with?"

As before, they didn't dignify me with a response, but only continued to nibble at my booted calves.

Oathday, Sarenith 26th, 4714 AR. Journal entry.

I made a through sweep of the north-most cavern spaces before attempting to follow the camouflaging humanoid.

Doing so allowed me to recover all three bodies of the halfling adventurer team, and another three from the others. All of them were transformed into small and sanitary cloth patches, courtesy of that very convenient feature of shrink object magic.

Nearly all of those corpses were completely looted already, but a through inspection of them - and the places I found them - revealed a single gem, over a hundred gold pieces, and some potions, jewellery, silverdisks and empty vials. More substantial items included a chain shirt, a set of tools, and a hand crossbow with less than a half-dozen bolts.

Noteworthy is that one of the corpses was infected with some sort of mold that would eventually spawn a living, plant-based, small humanoid creature. It would need to be cleansed of such if a traditional burial was planned.

As far as the fascinating idea of spawning a plant creature goes... I resisted the impulse to infect myself. After all, the process would likely take too long.

None of the creatures I had already identified provided any sort of challenge.

Early evening. Oathday, Sarenith 26th, 4714 AR.

There were four of those lightly grey-skinned figures. Though 'grey skinned' may be an a small falsehood, as the skin of the four thin-bodied women kept on constantly changing to match the materials around them. They seemed surprised that my entire 'adventuring party' consisted solely of myself. The three fire beetles didn't last, but at least I hadn't truely relied on them for illumination. Just like the everburning torch I kept with me, they were an unnecessary red herring for others expectations. Among other personal enhancements, the perceptions of true seeing prevented ackward dependencies.

I kept on an extra wide grin, pointed thumbnails hooked behind my belt, while they whispered among themselves.

This particular chamber was rather large. In defiance of what I had walked through so far, the ceiling rose to a distant thirty-odd feet overhead, while a pit that descended into pitch darkness lay against the south wall. A soft, cold breeze emerged from it.

Four ramshackle huts made out of some patchwork mix of metal, hides and plant matter were visible and obviously the homes of these individuals. There might be more of those huts, however, as one of the beings came from a northern cave passage. Far to the east lay an opening on a large, dark grey metal wall - perhaps the very wall that Khonnir's group went through and retrieved that robot from. The surface looked pitted and scorched, but otherwise remained without rents, tears or rust. A rather robust example of high technology construction.

One of the four, perhaps marginally taller than the others, stepped closer to me when they went silent. She was dressed - and I used that word loosely - in a series of belts, straps, scabbards and small pouches.

"You've survived the caves to reach this far, by your self?" she asked me, bald head cocked and her hands tracing the hilts of a pair of large knives.

I passed on mentioning the fire beetles and the unseen servant. "Yes," I replied from within the depths of my hood. "It wasn't much of a problem at all." The traces of my blood on the leather armour I wore may have suggested otherwise, but as I believed it to be the truth - it was so. I had to be careful to tell the truth, as unless my choice of magical specialities was Dominion - focused on my Realm itself, controlled through the Pearl - all the effects I had running in and on it were applied equally to everyone inside, including those that I'd call 'enemies' or 'hostile.' Unless the beings I faced were a true, actual threat - in the sense of soul destroying, landscape absorbing and so on - that level of non-favouritism would continue. The currently shared effects resided in the Interfacing category were based on the spells of discern lies, speak with animals, life bubble, and cultural adaption. While the subtle benefits of cultural adaption may have made my inroads into the social good graces of the people of Torch easier, I have yet to truely assess how it worked on others - how they would, perhaps invisibly, adapt to my own microscopic 'culture.'

"I'm Sef," she said, gesturing towards herself. "I lead them." Another brief flick of her hands indicated the three others, which returned to her knife hilts as soon as possible. Sef's darkened eyes blinked. "Are you open to a brief alliance? I have a problem that needs solving, and you appear to be competent."

'Ah yes, the smell of fresh boons in the... What time is it, anyways?'

"Of course, Sef," I replied enthusiastically, as I pulled my hood back to expose my pale skin and silvery-grey colouring, inwardly cautious. While she hasn't lied so far, these beings were flagged as 'chaotic evil' via the analyze aura aspect of the Pearl's - and my own Realm - border-located scanning features. I hoped that there was enough common sense present that I wouldn't have to slaughter the bunch of them. Thankfully, any intelligence gained by passage through my Realm borders was only available to myself, as compared to the equal opportunity applications of effects within the area itself.

She began to walk in the direction of the center north-most cave. I followed, as did the other three, who formed a half-circle around me.

Sef indicated the opening with another brief flick. "In there lies a lair of gremlins. They are annoying little pests about this high," she indicated a spot on her lean thighs, "who have the ability to teleport and curse objects. Kill them all. Do that and leave us skulks alone -" 'Ah, that is what they are called.' "- and I'll allow you free passage through our caves and a strange device I've recovered from the ruins here." Her hands traced her knife handles while she looked past me to the other three.

Interestingly enough, even though her body language whispered 'planned ambush betrayal,' I wasn't getting a sense of deception in the slightest. 'Nice.'

"Add answering some questions and being able to merely inspect the rest of your treasure and you've got a deal, Sef," I replied.

"Fine," she near-immediately answered me, then assumed a more relaxed, waiting pose.

The four of them were apparently going to remain at guard right outside the cave opening.

'Whatever,' I thought, and slipped my hood back up. 'Time to go kill some annoying little buggers.'

Late night. Oathday, Sarenith 26th, 4714 AR.

'These were seriously annoying little fuckers.'

Even though I had dimensional anchor active via the Pearl category of Defences, it didn't prevent other gremlins from using their very own dimension door spell-like abilities to pop into the caves where my Realm didn't cover and then wander my way. I've been killing these evil little fey for hours and had nothing to show for it other than a coating of blood and gore on my hands and mouth.

While ripping apart the little bat-eared horrors with my hands and teeth was both easy and satisfying courtesy of my own permanent greater magic fang-like effects, it also kept me just a little bit too close to the action. I've begun to see the appeal of reach weapons and ranged combat quite clearly.

The light fingers of my unseen servant did its best, constantly removing the larger chunks off of me.

'There! A flash of purple skin!' I hoped that this would be the last one.

The creature lead me into a dead-end room. The little freak's needle-like teeth shone inside a grimace that was slightly wider than normal. I caught the furtive glancing of its yellow eyes towards the ground in front of me and sighed.

'Another trap. Fantastic.'

My leading leg hit the tripwire and a spike of jagged metal launched itself into my torso. As I breathed around the bloody, gaping hole in my lungs, the sight of the cavorting gremlin clapping in glee was very clear.

In response, I held up four extended fingers and pointed them towards the capering critter.

'See this, little freak?' I thought as I stared hard at the gremlin. 'This is going to go right up your a-'

Fireday, Sarenith 27th, 4714 AR. Journal entry.

I'm going to have a long bath in my little Sub-realm. And then, I'll be cleaning everything I touched - twice over.

...

Sef was true to her word. The 'strange treasures' were a pouch of nearly fifty silverdisks and what looked like electronic access cards, each of which had a brown stripe. I'm devoutly hoping that there isn't some sequence or spectrum of colours used to unlock some complicated geometric alien maze or something.

...They're usually incredibly annoying.

Wait... Did I actually do that, or was it a dramatic reenactment way back?

...Having a shattered psyche is also incredibly annoying. On the upside, I could probably reread all my old books and they'd be surprises again. Of course, that necessitates actually finding them somehow.

The reason Sef thought the brown-striped cards were valuable was because of the preceding asker: a purple-haired lady, who was accompanied by a number of orcs, humans and ratfolk, arranged a deal with the skulks to kill anybody that entered the caves. For this, they paid a large number of silverdisks, the remainder of which I now had. That same lady was also asking for any cards similar to what was found. That large group left through the gremlin caves and had not returned - there was yet one more 'metal wall' there, but the inset door was completely jammed. No easy passage via the magic of knock, either.

In regards to the low number of skulks present, they only had one real victory - the group of thugs, whom they massacred. They were in turn nearly completely butchered by Khonnir's group, who took the majority of the silverdisks for themselves.

The group of which the four skulks were members of were originally from deep underground, and had ascended by the use of magic. Apparently the pit in the main chamber descended all the way to an entirely different geographic region - the upper layer of three of the Darklands, Nar-Voth. It'll probably be a good idea to plug that hole once this whole Torch situation gets resolved.

Speaking of 'plugging holes,' I arranged a little trade with the skulks: my yummy delicious blood and flesh for... Services rendered.

The orgy that resulted was rather messy. Kind of like the last one at the Marrymaid, to be honest... Or was it the one before that? No blood involved there, though. Other liquids took precedence.

No worries. I'm sure I'll go through a suitable reminder soon enough.

Early morning. Fireday, Sarenith 27th, 4714 AR.

My first encounter with a 'live' robot was in a hallway barely longer than a single flight of stairs. The artificial being was the same model as the one Khonnir had brought back on his first expedition, but completely functional. The grey and white form's vaguely humanoid torso rested on three spider-like legs, while the four fingers of its two hands twitched to the smallest degrees. Standing tall, it came to about the same height of my self. The single 'eye' in the front center of its head didn't display any obvious signs of life.

I'm assuming that it, like the earlier dismembered robot, was slowly gathering energy from the projecting reactor. However, I had no idea what triggers could formally awake it besides a full energy tank. 'Movement? 'Hostile' activity? Littering?'

'Lets see what rebuke technology does,' I thought to myself, then willed the execution of that technomantic magic towards the triple-legged bot. It slowly slumped forward, but did nothing else.

I walked over the smooth, dark grey metal of the floor with my brown leather boots and cautiously poked the closest leg. I grew bolder with the lack of a reaction, and continued to poke it vigorously for a minute or so, giggling all the while.

I wonder if... Nah, that'd be impossible... Surely?

I took out my shrink-items-into-cloth-pieces-and-teleport-them ring and gently tapped it against the grey and white form. 'No reaction.' I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding - I wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or relieved, because...

My unseen servant brushed some specks of dust off the shoulders of my brown leather studded armour.

'Oh. Right.'

"Please touch that creature with this ring," I said, directing my words to the invisible being and gesturing towards the slumped robot. The nigh-intangible form plucked the ring from my hand, floated over to the inert bot, touched it and... It disappeared!

My jaw fell to the floor. Well... Metaphorically speaking. I was still standing there dumbfounded when the the ring was returned to my outstretched hand. I pocketed it absent-mindedly, in awe of the possibilities. Truly, there was now only one true goal for me in Numeria: collect the robots. ALL the robots. From EVERYWHERE.

Fireday, Sarenith 27th, 4714 AR. Journal entry.

The identifying abilities of technomancy present in the Scanning features of the Pearl served me in good stead. These first few chambers beyond the 'metal wall' acted like either storage or buffer rooms for the vast space beyond.

Unlike the Black Hill Caves I had just came from, the central metal-walled area was truly deserving of that description. Dome-shaped in design, the massive open space was over three hundred feet in diameter and a hundred in height at its highest point. I could imagine that this, right here, was the reason for the hill's height. The flooring - no, ground - was composed of a stretch of sands under a starless 'night sky.' More grey metal, I imagine.

The passage between the buffer rooms and the central dome hosted a tentacled creature that housed itself inside a stony shell. Despite the effort I took to break it out of said shell, it didn't taste good either raw or cooked. A larger version of the same being was inside a 'cave' surrounded by shells of lesser versions and masses of bones. From there, I picked up an amber necklace which granted various combat advantages against swarm based opponents. As it was both fashionable and useful, I wore it immediately.

My meandering search across the sands had me encounter a total of seven skeletal creatures, each four-armed and with rather elongated, spade-shaped skulls. They broke easily under my blows.

The same sort of setup that granted entrance to the main dome area from the caves was mirrored nearly opposite across the sands. Liberal applications of my single anti-technology spell granted passage through an electrically sparking buffer room, while the doors past it opened with the press of the brown-striped card Sef had given me earlier.

A rather attention grabbing flashing button all but called out to me in the room beyond. I passed on it - and the fascinating computer consoles that lined the walls - until I had more applicable resources and abilities.

Beyond and around the computer room was an observation deck of sorts. The high-ceilinged room had a window that overlooked the open interior of the dome, and also featured the mad carvings of an undead, four-armed zombie, armed with a pair of short swords and javelins.

Yes. Quite.

After splattering likely more than a normal humans' worth of my blood on the walls, I finally managed to put the creature out of its unlife. The zombie, much like the other seven skeletons, had some sort of eternal undeath rejuvenation cycle operating. The find fault scanning feature identified their weaknesses being the placing of their remains where the rays of the rising sun could strike them. With the assistance of my ever-handy unseen servant, I loaded up those aged bodily fragments and planned on doing such once I left this underground ruin.

The same room that held the zombie upgraded my brown card to - wait for it! - a BLACK access card! Yay. Yippy. Hip hip hooray.

Fireday, Sarenith 27th, 4714 AR. Journal entry, continued.

I replaced my shredded studded leather armour with some cheap clothing I had kept in storage. I have a decent amount of clothes stashed for just that purpose.

Somewhat refreshed, my exploration of an entirely new section of the high technology ruins continued. Through a few doors, the passageway from the four-armed zombie led into what looked like a reception area - a metal desk with malfunctioning computer panels on it, a pair of couches, and a large amount of ambient lighting provided by glowing panels on the ceiling.

Signs of recent violence are visible in dried blood stains on the floor and walls near the doors to the north, while some rust-red mold and fungus clings to the southern wall. More of that 'kill-corpses-and-hatch-plant-people-from-it' fungus, or so my Pearl scans assure me.

Fantastic.

Time to loot, pillage, and otherwise desecrate ancient ruins. Hopefully I'll find enough pieces of Khonnir that they can be used to resurrect him with.

...

This level could be reasonably summed up as 'sciencey.' There were multiple labs in extremely poor repair that appeared devoted to chemical, material and living sciences, as well as some overgrown greenhouse-like spaces. More time was taken to examine the varied contents than to actually explore the place - that 'science level' had a floorspace that barely exceeded that of Khonnir's three single-story buildings.

Even though the majority of the encountered creatures were hostile, a starving, curious and naive sentient fungus proved a notable exception. I fed it some of my blood but still couldn't manage to coax it out of the lab it was housed it. Maybe later.

The center-most room was a malfunctioning elevator. There I obtained a rather impressive shock to my comprehension once I read the names of the four decks displayed on the central monitor: Engineering, Science, Crew and Docking. The implication was that these weren't so much ruins of an ancient high technology structure, but that of some sort of traveling craft! At this point, I'm assuming it was a conventional space craft rather than a planar vehicle, as no mentions to planes or magic has appeared anywhere. I'll reserve final judgement in case other evidence shows up.

This revelation also brings an interesting light onto the other mysterious ruins of Numeria: are they also space ships or fragments of such? Do they all come from the same source of high technology, or are there different ones? Is this encountered technology truly only limited to this country, or are there other examples? On this planet - or in this solar system? How physically large is this greater universe - do the night sky stars actually represent distant suns?

Lots of interesting questions, including how magical enchantments could possibly work with high technology, if at all.

Now then... That reasonably large elevator had what appeared to be a simple electrical fault: a connecting piece of metal had been torn free. I took the damaged portion out, and made some rough sketches as to what the intact piece should look like. It'll require some metalwork in-town.

I considered the encountered robots more as 'loot' than threats. There were a total of four mangled remains of medical drones, as well as two intact ones. Unlike the earlier triple-legged repair robots, these had a set of four legs. The other major difference were that their two hands had fully articulated sets of five fingers, with one set being tipped with four fluid-injecting needles.

Easy nightmare torture fuel for the masses right there, I shit you not.

Another robotic find was a flying type, held aloft by a series of four spinning rotors. It came equipped with a pair of grappling arms and an integrated stun gun. Unlike the grey-white colouring seen so far, the painted portions of its chassis were a light, earthy brown.

I continually bemoan the inability of molecular level scanning fidelity to process these examples of high technology. As is, I'll be collecting a stack of shrunken, cloth-patch converted robots for some future undetermined time when I can interact with them on less disadvantaged standing.

On a happier note, I found Khonnir! He... Was in really rough shape. Half-mad in fright from his experiences, as well as having both his legs crippled with scores of surgical incisions. Some sort of nanotechnology was present inside him as well, and I don't know what particular healing magics cope cope with it. Perhaps some of the rare odd medical tech for sale in Torch could be used for such.

I'll be heading back to town now. Apart from the living councillor to restore to good health, I also have a number of corpses to deliver to their respective grieving parties, some undead remains to place where sun can hit them, and that broken piece of metal to get fixed.

The journey will also give me another chance to enthusiastically and vigorously greet Sef and the other three skulks with her: Luepel, Brath, and Yadriss.

...I'll skip doing so on the way out.

Maybe.

AirBreather · Oct 2, 2016

Moonday, Sarenith 30th, 4714 AR. Journal entry. (Day 178)

I enjoyed a surge of positive publicity when all the recovered bodies were brought back to the town. I don't know how long the good feelings will last, but the three days so far have proven high-spirited.

While nobody particularly cared about the thugs, the half-orc Parda Garr that traveled with them was popular and well regarded. From Khonnier's team, there was Gerrol Sonder, and his return brought a sense of closure to Emelia Otterbie, his betrothed. As she was a weaponsmith's daughter, I was obligated to order a new, custom masterwork weapon for myself. My choice of an armoured gauntlet may have annoyed the smith, but as the commission would take over a month to complete I wasn't too worried. I made sure that they would take care of the plant-monster spawning mold that infested the corpse before it was buried.

The set of four Brigh-worshipping adventurer bodies, along with their personal holy symbols, were delivered into the care of Joram Kyte, another town councillor and a senior cleric of that goddess. The promise of 'favours from the church' were mentioned, but nothing came to my mind to ask for.

The metalwork required to fix the damaged fragment from the elevator machinery took out a day's worth of work from a fine detail smith. It was completed the first day back. Hopefully the installation of the device will take less time than it took to make it.

I hit paydirt through the attentive use of discern lies while talking to Sanvil Trett, a man who has been established as a leading expert on Numerian technological artifacts and the language associated with it.

...I never notice the language thing. I must be too used to translation magic.

Anyways... Back to Sanvil. Apparently he is a Technic League spy.

Go figure, right?

Some more questions and lie-filled answers confirmed that he had been a less than ideal example of humanity.

I thought that the Torch citizens were overstating the 'secret police' aspects of the League, but it now seems that I'll need to reassess those beliefs. Well... To put a long story short... I'm going to invite good old Mr. Trett along with me to the deep interior of the that crashed ship. The malfunctioning medical bay seems very suitable. Once there, I'll rely on the very likely chance of some of that purple haired lady's followers to attack me.

They will provide an ample visual demonstration for either the conversion to my side... Or the fate that will befall him.

...I might get to practice some evil laughs, too. Good times!

Now, to check in on Khonnir...

Wealday, Erastus 2nd, 4714 AR. Journal entry.

It only took two days to convince Sanvil and travel far enough within the ruins.

As I didn't have any unobtrusive means of subduing my companion spy, I relied on the age-old method of hitting him over the head with a big stick. Thankfully, it worked and he didn't die from the damage. I'm glad that I wont't have to assign the basic resurrection magic to my Healing speciality.

The elevator on the science deck was a simple repair with the custom-made replacement part. Completed, it gave me extensive, glorious access to one other floor on this interred ship - that of the engineering deck. Some baiting attempts with the wolf-like creatures, in the large room that the elevator opened to, drew in a small mix of half-orcs, ratfolk and ropefist thugs - the last types were the same brutes employed in town. To assuage my personal morality, I humbly asked them to surrender and I'd free them outside of Torch.

None accepted my generous offer.

Pity.

Early afternoon. Wealday, Erastus 2nd, 4714 AR.
Sick Bay, Science Deck, Black Hill Caves, Torch, Numeria, Golarion.

"Wakey wakey, Sanvil Trett." I kept my voice soft and low as I repeatedly poked the nearly clean-shaved face of the Technic League spy. I had already divested him of all weapons, pouches and accessories he had equipped. The most notable find was a small pin with the League's symbol, an equal-sided triangle bounded within a gear-edged circle. I rolled the small piece of jewellery around in my free hand while I watched his breathing movements.

He came to with a groggy groan, which I greeted with a bright smile.

"Feeling a bit under the weather, are we?" I angled my head to better match his own. "Did you want a healing potion?"

"Sure, Ozy," he replied, working his jaws loose. He jerked into full wakefulness once he realized that his arms, and indeed his full body, were tied down. His brown eyes flicked around. "What..."

I cut him off from making any forms of creative storytelling by dropping his own League pin on his armoured, chain-link chest. It clinked twice than fell silent.

"Welcome aboard this crashed ancient spacecraft, Sanvil Trett," I began, rocking back on my heels. "This little room here was where Khonnir was found."

The battle-trained form of Sanvil lightly shifted as he tested the ropes that bound him. He was on the east-most cot of four. Two other half-orcs were beside him, and three ratfolk were stacked together on the farthest cot. The others didn't survive my handling. All of them were stripped of armour and equipment. The wolf-like creatures were on the floor, spread across the room. None of the other beings were bound like he was. There was just the silent sounds of their breathing, along with the scents of grease, trash and filth they brought.

'They didn't need restraints,' I thought. 'Not anymore.'

The dull grey metal floors and walls were well illuminated by the ceiling panels. Glowing screens that topped metal desks added to the lighting - bright enough to see the old traces of blood splatters all around. The large, transparent pod that Khonnir was in hummed softly, adding to the ambiance from the eastern corner it crouched in.

"What's going on, Ozy?" he asked me, successfully resisting the impulse to focus overly long on the League pin on his chest.

"Just a little demonstration, Sanvil," I replied, equally cordial. "I wanted to make sure that I had your complete attention, and some way of showing what I am... Capable of. Do you understand?"

He nodded. His long black hair was a marked contrast to my memories of Khonnir, whose had already started to get streaks of grey.

"Great." I stood up and dusted my dried-blood coated hands on my simple drawstring trousers. "To start with, please pay attention to the beings around you. They aren't a risk in the slightest because their minds are completely gone."

I kept silent while he digested my words, then showed him the palms of my hands. With a small push, I used the sharp, pointed edge of a fingernail to slice it open. The blood ran dark red as normal, but glimmered strangely. Drops fell to the ground as my hands relaxed to my sides.

"The most substantial side effect I obtained from my binge drinking of Numerian fluids was the ability to internally generate, bleed out and choose which of the many, myriad results to grant to the drinker." I paused, then locked my silvery grey eyes to his own brown ones. "All that under my perfect, conscious control."

My statement wasn't truly a lie. What was incorrect, however, was pointing the reason for the benefits fully towards that exotic sludge, when the real reason was how my Pearl system interpreted all those varied effects. Much like a magic spell that had multiple results only required a single unlocking, so too did the massive potential of Numerian fluids fall under the umbrella of one, single spell effect in my Biomancy magical specialization. The past few days had me drop the spells I kept in that speciality and add in this single one instead. I had already permanently granted myself those removed features, anyways - true seeing and greater magic fang.

'Too bad that each instance of enhancing myself still counted as a separate effect,' I added with a mental grimace. 'Every single one costing more time than the one previous... Unless I opted to wipe out the whole batch and start fresh once more.'

"Impossible," he began, muttering quickly and quietly. "That's absolutely impossible. The effects of those liquids are impossible to predict, they..."

I waved over the assembled creatures. "Nine beings, Sanvil," I began, my voice flat and sincere. "All still alive and under the same effect."

In the next score of minutes, I showed my bound audience member how extensive that control truly was. Every single effect was called out in advance, and repeated across the three different species present: half-orc, ratfolk and wolf-creature. By the time I was done my little demonstration, each of them was a misshapen, freakish mess - a collection of extra, twisted arms accompanied by putrid stenches, unusable wings, and skin that both glowed and was covered with armour-like plates. Furthermore, the wolf-creatures had been reverted to young, pup-like forms while the others were aged into grey decrepitude.

The only feedback Sanvil gave me this entire time was wide eyes and beaded sweat rolling down his forehead.

I interrupted the sequence by placing one of the deformed puppies onto his rope-bound legs. He tensely focused on the creature while I stroked its striped head.

"I'm curious, Sanvil," I started, then kept silent.

He licked his lips. "What about?"

"Just how much is a guaranteed youthening process worth?" I angled the fang-toothed puppy's head his way then let it droop down again. "Is anything sold like that across Golarion?"

"Yes," he began, his eyes glinting with an obvious sense of greed. "The fabled sun orchid elixir is one such..." Sanvil explained how there was a desert nation - Thuvia - whose entire economy revolved around the sale of a mere six doses of those elixirs every year. The silent auctions that drove the liquids sale had gone on for literally thousands of years, and were often sold to blood-thirsty warlords or mad wizards that used it to extend their reigns of terror. While the process did indeed support Thuvia's economy, more than one minor buyer's realm likely bankrupted their own populace for a single purchase.

'I think that I'll pass on mentioning that I can also grant actual immortality,' I thought while listening. 'Passing on a simple method to reduce up to six years at a shot would cause far less of a firestorm than that particular revelation would.'

He realized the enormity of what I was able to offer at about the same time I did.

"I won't..."

"Won't what, Sanvil?"

"Tell anyone..."

"About one of the most important secrets on the planet?"

The bound figure nodded as solemnly as possible. Interestingly enough, the Pearl-based features of discern lies had been confirming the truth of all that he had spoken so far. The results were far different than the deceptive statements that had drawn us into this one-sided confrontation.

'Time for one last demonstration.'

I lifted up the unmoving, overly fanged and deformed puppy and placed it next to its brethren. I then went around and fed each and every unbound creature a final drop of blood. One by one, their skin, muscles and organs dissolved and ran off their now utterly clean bones. Once the liquefied matter stopped flowing, I placed a small skull on his chest next to that Technic League pin.

"How would you like to work for me rather than the League, Sanvil?"

I inwardly smiled as he began to gush in enthusiasm for the prospect of doing so. Once we departed this underground spacecraft crash site, I'd have him start on a more stringent employee requirement: replace the 'evil' aspect of his chaotic evil alignment with something more bearable within a few years. Before that, though...

"Tell me about the Technic League. I want to know everything."

Fireday, Erastus 4th, 4714 AR. Journal entry.

A slightly youthened and otherwise invisibly enhanced Sanvil Trett became my first official agent. Not too bad for less than a days work.

The return to exploring below Black Hill took multiple time hits as I used the convenient Numerian-fluid sourced Biomancy abilities to acquire some more half-orcs and ratfolk. I delivered them to the sentient fungus in the geology lab on the science deck, though only after making sure that they'd be mindless and constantly regenerating.

The fungus was ecstatic about its source of 'yummy red food,' but still didn't want to leave the lab. I'm still hoping to convince it to come with me, though perhaps a budding spore would be more portable... Hmm.

A longer delay occurred when I stopped by Sef and her fellow skulks. As I had to wait a day in the same spot to change my Biomancy back to Technomancy, I opted to do such in pleasant company.

Basically, we screwed in shifts for the whole time. I left them sated, exhausted, and with full stomachs of my own flesh and blood. ...Yes. They really like their knives for some reason...

I'm beginning to think that my sex drive might be the slightest bit deviant.

Hopefully I can start building a harem as soon as possible, with the intent to normalize things - even if just a little bit.

Regardless... I returned to the science deck via the elevator and began a more through search of the areas I had drawn the creatures from. The inspection turned up a number of technological devices worn by the passage of time, as well as small stashes of silverdisks and edible goo tubes. My robot collection was added to in the form of two more repair drones - those three legged types - as well as a new model.

The single-eyed form looked like a heavily built humanoid wearing large, rusty armour. Its fully articulated, five-fingered hands were capable of wielding weapons. The spell-like identifying abilities of technomancy - which I wished wasn't named the same as my magical category of the same name - revealed said weapon to be some sort of neural inhibitor, though partially damaged by the passage of years.

The same room the 'man of gears' was in revealed - dun dun dunnnn! - a WHITE access card! Maybe by the time I've finished exploring Numeria I'll be able to do a large-scale mosaic or some other form of artwork with all the freaking access cards I pick up.

My past looting of the now-dissolved or fungus chow victims gave me a nice stash of studded leather armour. Other than that, only minor amounts of silverdisks, gold pieces, brown access cards and other cheap equipment came from them.

Late evening. Fireday, Erastus 4th, 4714 AR.
Navigation Control Room, Engineering Deck, Black Hill Caves, Torch, Numeria.

I gained access to this room via one of the back corner dual-door passageways.

All the interior surfaces were sheathed in the dull grey metal that were ever-present throughout this crashed spacecraft. The domed chamber had a balcony that ran around the walls, which were in turn covered with blinking lights and various technological apparatuses.

I was crouched behind what looked like an altar made of cobbled together machines - a three-fingered hand that rose up between two smoking braziers and a pile of assorted junk. It was pleasantly warm, and allowed me a sheltered view of the rest of this chamber.

That view was needed, as while the sole patrolling occupant had somehow missed my entrance, it was still moving around. The winged creature was about my own height and coloured a mix of earthy brown and slate-grey. The darker segments appeared like encrustations, like a layer of toughened skin that was glued onto its brown form. The gargoyle, so I named it for the combination of wings, tail, long curving horns and periods of utter stillness, had also decorated itself with bits and pieces of small machinery and wiring. I had no idea what purpose they served, as those pieces were neither magical or conferred any sort of protective ability.

'Maybe if I'... My uncovered head bumped into a brazier bowl, and a flare of hot black ash puffed into my face.

I sneezed, and a black horned head whipped my way.

'Oops.'

The gargoyle's black-and-brown maw opened in a silent roar, and it bounded my way, long tail extended out behind it. Seconds were all that it took to cross from the completely opposite side.

"Hi there!" I began, as I stepped out from behind the altar. "Would you be interested in surrendering? I'm currently offering -"

My greeting was cut off by the stony claws that ripped out my exposed throat, followed by a probing plunge into my torso via an armpit.

'Maybe I should invest in full-body armour some day,' I mused as the gargoyle tore at my throat with his fangs. I played dead for a few seconds longer in that most decidedly unattractive embrace, then popped into action. My lolling head snapped forward and I bit into the creature's face, its flat, broad nose somewhat restrained behind my teeth. I used my mouth more to roughly immobile than to tear.

My functional arm repeated the same action as the gargoyle, but I had no need to go around its non-existent armour. Instead, I worked my pointed nails up through its soft, warm, clay-like abdomen towards the beating presence above. I reached and ruptured the heart at about the same time my ribs had all been shattered and the flesh of my neck removed.

I collapsed onto the winged form in a pool of mixed bodily fluids, spitting out chunks of its face.

'This isn't what it looks like, I swear!'

The sounds of the last unexplored door opening were followed by a thunderous roar of machinery that nearly vibrated the air in its intensity. Even as it filled the room with a roaring thunder, that noise was soon overshadowed by the scores of heavy footfalls that came pounding out of that doorway, and the heavy blows that fractured my bones further.

'You have got to be fucking kidding me,' I thought. 'The cheap muscle comes before the solo tough-guy, NOT afterwards!'

...'I really should check my memory for Pearl notices, especially when they say 'small horde of pissed off beings, right here!''

Starday, Erastus 5th, 4714 AR. Journal entry.

The setup was a trap for me - an ambush, with the gargoyle used as bait. The purple-haired lady, who was now a confirmed android, had some sort of intelligence in regards to my so-called 'combat style' and capabilities, and was prepared accordingly.

Perhaps even frighteningly so, as they were ready to combat a regenerator on the same scale as trolls: fire and acid, and lots of it. Annoying.

If the fight with the decorated, silent gargoyle was the slightest bit an exercise in skill, the melee that followed was utterly devoid of such. By all rights, I should have simply let my spirit leave my body.

I didn't. Maybe it was pride? Refusal to let some two-bit mooks and a purple-haired beauty knock me down with such a simple ploy? ...That I fell victim to. Yeah, pride works. Maybe annoyance, too.

So. Instead of dying, I forced that mangled collection of bones, blood and organs to relentlessly attack. I had no form of strategy or tactics. I was simply flailing away. I used the irregular beats of my oft-restarting heart to spray blood into eyes and mouths. Set on fire or covered in acid, I did my best pass it on as directly as possible. I choked half-orcs and ratfolk alike with my own organs and ripped out their own any way I could. More often than not, broken shards of my own limbs were used as weapons rather than non-existent hands or feet.

...I think I was even decapitated once or twice. I didn't keep track. Who does, right?

When my lungs, throat and mouth were capable of it, I laughed in madness incessantly, all the while screaming through the blood and liquids that poured through my perforated lungs: "EAT YOU! EAT ME! DEATH! FOR! THEE!"

Truly, it wasn't my best work, as far as 'threatening words of violence and madness,' but I didn't feel particularly inspired. Blah. I'll have to brainstorm some more suitable lines, especially as there were a number of fleeing survivors.

I was slightly mollified by the whole experience as a number of my opponents soiled themselves in terror. Yay me! ...Which really stunk. Boo!

Regardless, rebuke technology proved effective against the robots and somewhat so against the purple-haired android. I think that I stretched the Pearl-based interpretation when I used it against her, as the 'androids' of Numeria are - as I detailed before - much more like a synthetic life-form with custom organic brains than anything else. Instead of complete shutdowns like what occurred to robots, she instead just got jolted like a very minor seizure.

Unfortunately, I'll have to keep conscious and focused to keep on reapplying the effect.

Annoying.

Here's to hoping that she can be conditioned against leaving this room before I get REALLY annoyed - purple hair and exotic looks only take you so far. Well, really far - but still. Limits.

...Dammit, why couldn't she have just been ugly.

My unseen servant got started on cleaning the charnel house this chamber became. If it could be annoyed at me, I imagined it would be.

"Fuck you very much, sir. Please and thank you."

Heh.

Now, back to watching purple-hair twitch and my own organs regenerate.

...

Through the passing of a day, I eventually healed enough to pull myself from whatever pile of red slime I was congealed to. I used the time of my remaining regeneration to finish searching this bloody offal-filled domed room.

Apart from the items taken off the various mangled corpses, another small stash was contained in the pile around the clawed altar. All of them were high technology items, and all looked rather weathered by the ages and ill handling.

There was also a large machine with a pink glass tabletop-like surface which projected semitransparent holographic images. After the dried blood was scraped off, some fiddling with the controls revealed it to be a display of this entire crashed spaceship, whose form I was able to zoom, pan and manipulate. An examination of that impromptu 'map' revealed that static filled areas were destroyed, while the other areas were clear and detailed and signified structural integrity.

Apparently I did a decent job exploring this space wreck. Yay.

...

I used my wonderful, wonderful white access card to bypass the now re-closed large doors into the very last room. I felt safe to leave miss purple-hair alone, as she was securely tied up in blood-ville. Doing so resulted in her staring at me impassively in the whole 'I'm-an-android-devoid-of-emotion' way. Mildly disturbing that I'm still attracted to her regardless.

The space I entered was the source of the staggeringly loud noise I had heard from earlier, which came from a very swank looking piece of technology that all but screamed "I'm a fucking awesome piece of hardware!" I resisted the urge to trail my fingers up and down the machine, murmuring "Yes you are, oh yes... Yes you are..."

Anyways... Leaving aside the fact that it probably wouldn't be able to hear me... The machinery hosted two immense cylinders of pulsing violet light, while a thinner violet cylinder extended from the top of that enclosure through to the roof of the chamber. The same colour as the official Torch torch, of course. The two main cycliners were as big around as a horse-drawn cart, while the center, smaller one was about the diameter of a large serving platter.

Some fiddling with the controls, reading of the various display screens and careful consultations of what technomancy told me revealed that the front-most, spike clustered apparatus on the reactor was a power transmitter. After it was disabled, some more adjustments restored the device to its prior 'stable' status - a constant, low-level excess energy venting. The two columns of energy flashed bright and pulsed back upwards.

...I really hope nobody was sampling the Numerian fluid sludge up on the top of Black Hill just then. They'd be kinda... Fried. Yeah. Very much so.

As the lovely special effects didn't seem to be ending any time soon, I opted to head out. There was a prisoner to accidentally paw repeatedly, and corpses to poke with pointy sticks.

AirBreather · Oct 8, 2016

Starday, Erastus 5th, 4714 AR. (Day 183) Letter transcript of Garmen Ulreth.

High priority information for sale.

I knew that headline would catch your attention, you despicable fiend. Its been a few years, hasn't it?

Torch's sheep have willingly been fleeced and slaughtered by yours truly during that time. As that boring phase is ending, I thought that I'd pass on the reasoning for such and get some coin for my trouble.

It started with a small deal that I thought would pass over easily. A little piece of android tail flashed some silverdisks, and I was bought. You'll hear no more details about that, though.

Complications ensued when a new live-in visitor to Torch outgrew his reputation. He is a man that goes by the name of Ozy - short for something, I'm sure - with pale skin and distinctive silver-grey hair and eyes. I originally thought that he was from Irrisen - those cold weathered bastards all look kind of like that - but his pointed nails and absolute ignorance of that region started to convince me otherwise.

His reputation was of a layabout odd-job taker with an insistent interest in the local brothel, so much so that he was removed from it multiple times. Not in a negative way, mind you - more like endless stamina.

Now upgrade that 'endless stamina' to 'immortal, regenerating psychopath' and you'd begin to get an idea of how I could get annoyed.

Through the course of various personal business transactions, I've found out that his regenerative abilities eclipse that of trolls. Excessive amounts of both fire and acid were tried without any reasonable sign of effective use.

I personally have no idea what he is. I've speculated and discarded ideas of variant android forms, mutants, undead, changelings, aberrations, solid oozes, demons, devils and more. The only other possible clue as to his nature is that his flesh and blood are delicious.

Yes, that's right - delicious.

In one conflict with Torch's local Ropefists, that Ozy character engaged in rather bloody, force-feeding and force-eating insane combat where such samples were tasted. The official report was 'better than anything from the finest tavern.' While everyone who told me such somehow ended up dead immediately after from their assorted wounds, the mystery remained.

Keep your eyes peeled for me.

If anyone else wants some low pressure coin, there is a poisoner on the run from Daggermark here. The half-elf bard goes by the name of Wrennie Dalrorn and oversees the Marrymaid bordello. I've enjoyed the perks of such knowledge immensely, though cautiously. While she might outlive her usefulness soon, she has been a bountiful, fruit-granting tree that only needed the barest touches of water in order to harvest.

Now that things are drying up... Well. Maybe I'll go somewhere that isn't a blasted wasteland like Numeria - or an even worse place? I'll find out when I get there.

Till we meet again, you old fiend.
G.U.

Oathday, Arodus 16th, 4714 AR. (Day 225) Journal entry.

It has been over a month since the whole torch-of-Torch issue was resolved.

A tarven patron reminded me that today was 'Armasse', a holiday of sorts tied to Aroden and Iomedae. That prompted the memories of the whole 'death by swarming creatures' paladin from way back... I still haven't heard anything from that holy order. I suppose that they either couldn't afford the time or magical costs to investigate near here. Same sort of thing with the Black Horses tribe - though perhaps the searchers themselves suffered a mishap from local monsters? Hmm.

Here in town, the celebratory mood peaked a week ago and is slowly winding down. My recovery of councillor Khonnir Baine, combined with the restoration of the famous violet torch, gave me access to as much free food - which I didn't care about - free rooms - which I didn't need - and assorted veiled invites to 'view their personal skymetal collections' over the course of a night. Or two.

...Which I may have over-indulged with. Ahem.

I leveraged the good graces of the town towards the ruling council, and officially bought both the Weeping Pond - the polluted body of water that led to the caves under Black Hill - and the 'unknown, unspecified' area under that same hill. The cost? One single gold piece more than the rewards they granted me. The only caveat was that I ensure that the torch itself doesn't go out. Again.

They were also disturbed by the reasoning I used to not lethally punish the instigator of the torch's extinguishing: Meyanda wasn't evil; she was brainwashed; and - perhaps most importantly to me - she was exotically attractive. Resigned disappointment followed from them, along with mutters of 'well, what did you expect from HIM.'

My reputation grows? Hmm.

While the council members and average townsfolk were generally content with my vague descriptions of what happened in the caves, Khonnir was not. Even though he had went through a grueling series of days being tortured by robot-injected nanites, his mind was not completely gone. He knew that there was much more then what I let on, but respectfully kept quiet. I suppose that saving his life and reuniting him with his foster daughter meant more than ancient technology - at least at the moment.

Regardless, that middle aged Kellid is a font of knowledge I'll be tapping if I want any help in those fields. I'm sure that something will come up.

Sanvil Trett reaffirmed his double agent nature with me. He left for another town on his personal trade route - I think it was Iadenveigh? He muttered about them being low-tech savages or something - after showing me the report he intended to send to the Technic League, and some more enhancements from my self. While I wasn't thrilled with passing on to them even the vaguest details of my own nature, he sensibly pointed out that such an obvious shortfall of intelligence would be a long-term risk to his cover.

I agreed.

To sum up that report, I - Ozy - was a mutant immune to radiation, and the caves deep under Black Hill were full of those lethal energies; that I discovered the 'torch of Torch' would continue to work until a catastrophic failure destroyed it in a decade or two, and would attempt to prolong that time; that those details had been diplomatically obtained; and that Torch should have no problem meeting their tribute quota this year.

One of the other big issues was Meyanda, the purple haired android that was the cause of this mess. Talks with her pointed me to her 'god' - a being named Hellion, coming out of Scrapwall, around a hundred miles to the north-east. I - likely in a fit of hormone fuelled optimism - sent her back the same way, though with one notable difference: the permanent ability to discern falsehoods, courtesy of that very same spell.

She didn't travel on foot, as I had a location of my own to investigate: the metropolis of Chesed, the largest city in the whole of Numeria, was about fifty miles farther north-east than Scrapwall. I dropped her there on the way. We rode together on a summoned phantom steed, with her very comfortably sitting right in front of me.

Cue the 'awesome ride' jokes, though nothing much happened.

Some of the intelligence Meyanda revealed to me included the name of her Torch contact, Garmen Ulreth. He was the head of the casino, a loan-shark and a behind-the-scenes crime-boss of the Ropefists. Even though he skipped town before I could confront him, I managed to pick up the secondary power relay that was being used. It was a complicated block of technology about the size of a desk, and depended on the projected power of the buried reactor under the Black Hill to work. So I was right about there being a power relay, yet wrong about there being just one.

In one word: YOINK. I'm still looking for a scanner upgrade that will work on all this hi-tech... Meh.

In Chesed, barely a two-day tour was enough to dazzle me with massed acquisitions of magical powers, abilities and enhancements. Even though they would still have to be unlocked and more, the fact that I didn't have to solely rely on the poor samplings from Torch was greatly relieving.

The majority of the time I used for my Pearl-based time delays were spent with Sef and her three fellow female skulks. We basically had relaxed orgies for days - weeks? - on end, while my metaphysical acts went on in the background. In what I thought was a minor character improvement, the four of them seem to have been reducing their recreational knife use. Hurraz, I guess?

Once I feel somewhat more comfortable in my power choices, I'll head to Scrapwall, spring the expected trap, and move on from there.

I never had a pet god before. 'Hellion.' Hmm...

...

Ah, never mind - there was that ill-fated attempt of a 'goddess of naughty tentacles.' My dear old forgotten partner had NOT been thrilled with that particular uplifting into divinity... Maybe here? Nah...

Hmm.

Back to the skulks.

A/N: Just a small blurb to end cap book 1. I'll be putting up a 'summary info-dump', in character, tonight if I can manage it. Other chaps are in development, with the next one done already. I've also updated/edited the previous chaps with the feedback recieved so far - please let me know if it needs more attention.

~AB

Walking My Reality [OC, Pathfinder, Magical Realm Alt. CYOA]

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