Let’s delve into the Menagerie!
Joshua "Edgeshot" Samuelson
Titles
: Folk-Hero of the Downtrodden(
+1 social rolls
with Iron/Copper students), Ballroom Bard(
+1 dancing rolls
),
Stats
Body: 6 | Health: 17/17[+2 Gloves]
Mind: 4 | Stress: 0/8(
-9 classes, +1 Boxcar
)
Spirit: 3 | Mana: 3/5(
-3 crafting, +1 Boxcar
)
Racial Trait:
Limit Break(Hit ⅓ Health and can cause Twice(2x) Damage rolls!)
Spells
: Raw Reinforcement(+1 to rolls, -1 Mana)
Skills
: Arcane Gunsmithing 1(+1 to crafting firearms), Arcane Physics(Ballistics) 1(+1 to trajectory hitting), Guncasting 1(+1 to spell fired from gun)
Magic Items
: True Aim Talisman(-1 Dodge for foe), Gusto Gloves(+2 Health), Enchanted Dance Slippers(+1 Movement Rolls), Runebreaker Choke(+1 Damage to personally crafted ammo), Bottomless Pouch(stores 100 items), Nail Hammer(+1 to rune-engraving), Blackfume
Satchel(stores 3 sets of ammo), Ashwaste Bracers(+2 to Magic training rolls)
Magic Consumables
: 1xBlack Ghost Licorice(Ghostshade Veil),
Magic Buffs
: None
-
You will have to earn your lunch if you want a
Fabled
Familiar. We will be facing
3 Foes
!
Let's roll for the danger levels! +3 to danger levels due to the Rarity bonus!
1- Threatening/Common Creature 2- Dangerous/Uncommon Creature 3- Hazardous/Special Creature 4- Lethal/Unique Creature 5- Ruinous/Rare
Creature 6 - Cataclysmic/Epic Creature 7- Apocalyptic/Fabled Creature
Give me:
1d6+3(Foe 1)
1d6+3(Foe 2)
1d6+3(Foe 2)
-
What’s your plan to survive down there in the
Menagerie
?
Plan: Flee for your life!
Foe 1: Flee(Dodge), if you can't consume Black Ghost Licorice to get away.
Foe 2: Attack, drag them towards foe 1 and let them fight it out. Then Flee(Dodge) to safety.
Foe 3: Attack, also drag it over for a big old brawl. Then Flee(Dodge) and watch the fire works
Use spell(Raw Reinforcement) to boost any rolls
Subsume Magic Items for 10x effect, but will be destroyed!
-
Beneath lay the Menagerie. Not a zoo. Not a sanctuary. It was the hollowed gullet of a Divine Father-Beast, a primordial titan slain in some forgotten age. Its ribs jutted like black canyons, vertebrae fused into arches that spanned entire ecosystems. This was no habitat—it was a wound in the world, still weeping wild magic, still echoing with the memory of divinity. A place the gods forgot how to bury.
Biomes stretched across its inner carcass in defiance of nature and sanity in impossible formations: jungles blooming upside-down, tundra stretching across gravity-defying cliffs, fire-rivers looping through anti-air canopies, desert spirals inside glowing bone structures.
No walls. No cages. No safety rails. Only breathless silence and magic so dense it sang in his blood. He started down a jagged moss-ridge, weaving between obsidian ribs thick as trees, each humming faintly with marrowlight. Flocks of glow-bats wheeled overhead. Phantasmal deer drank from an inverted lake, its water levitating in a perfect globe. Every breath Joshua took tasted like raw magic and danger.
Steeling himself, Joshua prepared for the descent by pulling out his bottomless pouch where he kept most of his goodies. He didn’t have much to his name, only stuff he earned through hard work or tough fights. The first thing he put on was the gloves which quickly made him feel invigorated. Then the Talisman which he attached to his hip to help with his aim, he even brought out his nail hammer which really won’t do much but he kept on hand. There was his alchemy pouch which he didn’t have anything in, but he wondered if it could be used as a weapon due to how volatile it felt. Finally there was the dancing slipper which were clearly for women, but he put them on anyway since they would help with his movement, though he did cover it with his boots.
Then he begin the descent slowly, boots echoing off hollow, bone-lined steps. The deeper he went, the colder the air grew—not from temperature, but from
presence
. The stone beneath his feet thrummed with the pulse of something vast, ancient, and waiting. This wasn't a stable dungeon. This was something alive.
He didn’t come here on a dare. He came because something had called to him. A whisper. A feeling in his bones. A pull that sang to his soul like a tuning fork.
The Menagerie uncoiled before him like a dream about to turn into a nightmare. A vast underground expanse, crafted from the ribs and vertebrae of the long-dead Divine Father Beast, its colossal skeleton forming archways, cliffs, and bridges. Biomes stitched themselves along the terrain—shifting, sprawling pockets of impossible ecosystems.
He passed by a
crimson ashlands
belched smoke into a sky that didn’t exist. Charred trees crackled with heat-runes, and something with too many eyes slithered between them. Then he came upon a
glimmering kelp forest
grew from obsidian pools, where jellyfish floated through dry air and whispered names in reverse. He passed through a
sylvan graveyard
, where luminous deer grazed on moss-covered tombstones and ghosts lounged lazily in their own memorials.
Above him, massive chains suspended cages of rusted gold—each with creatures too dangerous to be allowed free. Below him, the ground cracked and opened into sinkholes filled with whispering fog and twitching shadows.
Then he heard a loud…
CRACK.
Rock came tumbled down from above. His paused and so did the world. Across the expanse—downwind and slightly ahead—a ridge broke open with a quake. From it
slithered a Fallout Wyrmling.
A serpentine dragonlet—its scales shimmered sickly with radiation-green light, parts of it see-through, like its body didn’t exist on just one plane. The creature exhaled steam that withered trees in seconds. Its eyes… were hollow lenses of flickering glyphs. And the thing was enormous, its very presence took up the whole expanse above him and he was nothing more than an ant before it.
Foe 1:
Fallout Wyrm
Fabled Creature - Apocalyptic-Level Danger(1d16 combat roll)
Image:
Round 1
Initiative: (You)1d4=2<(Enemy)1d16=10
(Enemy)Attack 1d16=8[Fallout Radiation]>(You)Dodge 1d4=3+1(slippers)=4
-4 Damage & Your suffering from nuclear radiation[-2 HP Daily until cured]
Round 2
(Enemy)Attack 1d16=10<(You)Dodge 1d4=2+10(slippers)=12
Round 3
Flee: 1d16=5(Enemy)<1d4=2+10=12(You)
Joshua ducked. Too late. It saw him. There was no roar—only a blinding pulse.
WHHRRRRMMMMMM— Radiation swept across him like liquid sunburn. He felt the burn instantly, barely holding back the nausea that overwhelmed him as his vision blurred. His skin prickled, feeling as if it was about to fall off and his body throbbed against his will.
He
ran.
Twisting through roots, vaulting over burning brush, hacking through fungal thickets that oozed spores as he passed—the Wyrmling chased, its very presence leaving ruin and decay.
It was closing in fast and he had no doubt in his mind he was a dead man walking if it got hold of him, forget that, if it even sneezed at him. At times like these, desperate measures called for desperate means.
His instructor did mention there as a way to get more out of your magic item, but it came at the cost of destroying them. Though now he had no choice, so he made the tough call and started to drag more from his dance slippers.
Letting it push him further and further, and he was able to get a led on the creature which roared behind him in anger. Until he fell. Literally. Into a gorge shaped like a collapsed lung. He rolled hard, coughing green mist, only to land before something… massive. A furnace-heart beat.
A
Star Colosseling.
Slumbering beneath broken starlight, curled in a nest of cooled magma and warped metal, like a fallen god-child napping. Its cracked skin glowed faintly with sun-ember veins. It was massive. And for now… unaware.
Foe 2:
Star Colosseling
Fabled Creature - Apocalyptic-Level Danger(1d16 combat roll)
Image: https://www.zerochan.net/4406604#full
Round 1
Initiative: (You)1d4=2>(Enemy)1d16=0(slumbering)
(You)Attack 1d4=2>(Enemy)Wake up=0
Round 2
Take Ghostshade Veil(Hidden for the next 24hrs)
Round 3
Flee: (1d16=7+1d16=8)/2=7<1d4=2+10=12
Joshua, shaking from nuclear fever and fear, looked behind. The Wyrmling was slithering closer, eyes bright with hunger. So he did what no sane person would.
He
raised his revolver… and fired. KA-THOOM.
The sound echoed like a challenge. The bullet pinged off a stone. The Colosseling stirred. Groaned. Began to rise. And
roared
in
annoyance
.
Joshua at this point has already consumed his magical treat as it did its effect, hiding him away from the world.
Just then the poor Wyrmling came in and responded with a banshee screech of its own in challenge.
Titan met Dragon.
A rivalry as old as time itself. Joshua didn’t have to do much as they both went at it without any questions. Magic detonated between them like collapsing stars. The land screamed. Trees vanished in walls of heat. Glaciers melted in seconds. Whole biomes—
entire ecologies
—were reduced to radioactive ash or magma rivers. Mountains crumbled. Gravity tilted. The terrain
unfolded.
Joshua was already gone. Running. Scrambling up the outcrop.
Sliding through vents of steam, diving behind divine bone columns, half-blind, clutching his revolver like a prayer. His ears rang. His coat was smoking. Every heartbeat felt borrowed.
The last thing he saw, before the smoke swallowed it all, was
a titan’s fist colliding with dragon breath
, shockwave sending up a mushroom cloud of shattered terrain.
And through it all he thought to himself, “
These weren’t even adults.
Just children of apocalypses.”
And he was the fool who woke them both.
-
You SURVIVED a clash of two Apocalyptic creatures!
You got very valuable information on the location of not one, but two fabled creatures. What will you do with that knowledge?
2x16 Progress for Magic, Body, Mind, and Spirit
Reinforcement Magic 0-✩: 46/100
Body 6 - Stat Progress 42/60
Mind 4 - Stat Progress 32/40
Spirit 3 - Stat Progress 32/30
→
Spirit 4 Stat Progress 2/40
Roll 1d4 for Mana Pool Gains
Rolled 4, Gained 4 Mana
Spirit: 4 | Mana: 6/9
-
Foe 3: Harlequin Beast
Rare Creature - Ruinous-Level Danger(1d12 combat roll)
Image:
Round 1
Initiative: (Enemy)1d12=6>1d4=2
(Enemy)Attack 1d12=7+2=9[Mimicry bullet]< (You)Dodge 1d4=2+10=12
Round 2
(Enemy)Attack 1d12=10+4=14[Raw Reinforcement]> (You)Dodge 1d4=2+10=12
-2 Damage
Round 3
(Enemy)Attack 1d12=9 [Mimicry Mental Trap] < (You)Dodge 1d4=1+10=11
Unable to resist due to low Mind Stat. Under Illusion, you can’t dodge
Round 4
(Enemy)Attack 1d12=5 > (You)Attack 1d4=3+1=4
-5 Damage. Hit ⅓ HP, triggered Limit Break(twice the damage). Broken leg & Wounded Stomach
Round 5
(Enemy)Defence 1d12=6[Spell-Eater] > (You)Attack 1d4=1+1=2*2=4
Attack Nulled
You have been CAPTURED!
Joshua walked into a cave to hide out, breath shallow, heart thundering. Ash still fell from the sky like black snow, drifting from the apocalyptic clash of the Fallout Wyrmling and Star Colosseling above. Even now, thunderous impacts echoed through the depths of the Menagerie, each strike shaking the roots of the pit like war drums from gods who had never learned mercy.
His coat was torn. His hand was still shaking from what he had been through. And his skin—it shimmered faintly with irradiated glow. He didn’t know what kind of fallout he'd just soaked in, but it wasn’t the kind you could walk off with a potion.
Coughing, he looked at his hand which had blood. Taking a seat on a rock slick with psychic moss with a dead tree to his back, his breaths thin and ragged after outrunning an
apocalyptic duel
between a nuclear dragon and a cosmic titan. Even now, tremors rippled upward as mountains collapsed in the distance and daylight cracked like glass.
He needed a second—just one second to catch his breath… He never heard it coming. A whisper—his own voice. “What do we have here?”
Joshua’s hand dropped instinctively to his revolver. Too late. A bullet of pure mimicry magic stuck the stone beside his head, missing his temple by an inch. His revolver was already in hand—he fired blind—but the Harlequin was behind him now.
It didn’t make sense. It
shouldn't
move that fast. Not only that, how did it notice him? He was still under the Ghostshade Veil, but it seemed to see him perfectly well.
He rolled, scrambled, kicked off the moss—but the monster only laughed. It stood in the clearing now—if it could be said to
stand
. Long, emaciated limbs hung like marionette cords. Its skin was a writhing carnival of masks and colors, stitched from the souls of mimicked things. Its "face" changed every heartbeat: now his instructor's, now his dorm mates, now his own, now that of his librarian members, and then that of the princess in the fox mask.
“
Poor little gunslinger,
” it crooned in a thousand voices.
“So tired. So brave. So breakable.”
Joshua warily stepped back, sensing how dangerous this creature was. Then it did what he wasn’t expecting, it summoned forth his own spell. He should have realized what that shot was that almost stuck him.
It snapped its fingers, and dozens of his own spells of magical reinforced bullets flew at him, exploding and ricocheting around. The mimicry was flawless. He did his best to dodge and weave around it, but some of them struck him.
Hiding behind a boulder, he winced as he grabbed his bleeding shoulder. He wanted to fight back, but he didn’t have many options.
Laughter bounces between the stones—his own voice echoing. “Come out, come out, little gunslinger,” the creature called out. Not taking the bait, Joshua looked around for an exit. Then out of nowhere the world started to spin all around him, he felt like he was on a carousel wheel, where he couldn’t tell where up was down. He knew immediately he was under some spell.
From the corner of his eye, he could see the Harlequin beast dancing, a strange macabre scene which felt as if it was insulting him. Appearing from seemingly nowhere, Joshua was unable to dodge this time as the creature grabbed hold of him.
Then came the pain. A flurry of
shapeshifted limbs
lashed out. A claw became a chain, became a burning brand. Magic filled the air as the limbs carved into him meanwhile a ribbon of illusion magic wrapped his throat and slammed him into the rock wall.
CRACK.
His leg bent the wrong way. His ribs shattered like pottery. Joshua screamed—but no sound came out. The Harlequin stood over him, head tilting.
“Do you know why you’re still alive?”
it whispered, now in the voice of the princess.
“Because broken things are more fun to watch.”
Darkness clouded his vision. The ground rose up to meet him, but he refused to give up. Something from deep within him let loose and he aimed his revolver point blank at the creature and let loose, overloading it with all his power as the bullet fired.
A shot rang—a beam reinforced with sheer instinct and will. It passed through the Harlequin’s head—and
did nothing
. The beast’s face simply unraveled into ribbons and reformed around the bullet wound, laughing.
“My, my, what fun we should have,” the creature sang as with a simple claw hand it knocked him out. But before he lost consciousness, he felt the sensation of
being dragged
. His fingers scraped against stone and fungal soil.
Down. Down, beneath the roots of the Menagerie. Into the dark—into the Harlequin’s
lair
. A maze of shattered mirrors, flickering lights, and bone chimes. Screams echoed between the walls and the air hung with the scent of old terror. Then everything went black.
You are suffering from Broken Leg [-1 to Dodges until cured]
You are suffering from Bleeding Stomach [-1 HP until cured]
Give me rolls for escape;
1d12(Foe)= Rolled 6 < 1d4+10(You)= 14
-
Joshua woke in darkness. Not the kind that surrounds you—but the kind that
gets inside you
. That leaks into your bones. That hums with the weight of too many memories scraped raw.
The lair was not a room. The walls of the Harlequin's lair weren’t walls at all. They were curtains stitched from flesh—not quite human, not quite beast. They breathed. They whispered. Smeared across them were faces, distorted and frozen mid-scream. The ceiling rippled like oil-slick silk, casting back light that didn't come from anywhere. The air stank of copper, perfume, and rotting meat. Mirrors floated in midair like shattered stars, their reflections shifting between impossible landscapes—sometimes his memories, sometimes
worse
.
Cages hung like chandeliers, swaying gently. In them were other familiars—twisted and broken. A bladed serpent bound in iron prayer chains, weeping ichor. A glass-winged fox missing its eyes, whimpering softly in fear. A mimic parrot repeating “
Please stop please stop please stop
” in a child’s voice.
Joshua was strapped to a chair—or what passed for one. It had too many arms and none were kind. Every surface prickled with sadistic precision. His gear was gone. His coat had been hung like a trophy on a meat-hook across the chamber.
And the Harlequin? It
danced
. It twirled on the ceiling. Wore Joshua’s face again. Then a friend. Then something unknowable, all eyes and teeth. It didn’t need to speak—but it did. “
We’re going to learn what your magic tastes like,
” it purred. “
Maybe it’s smoke. Maybe it’s rust. Maybe it’s regret.
”
It didn't ask questions. It just hurt him.
Shock-bites
.
Illusion-lashes
.
Mimicked bullets through muscle
. It smiled every time he screamed. When he didn’t, it got
gentler
. That was worse. It spoke in his voice as it worked. “
Is this what heroes do? Break like paper when it matters?
”
Time had no meaning. Pain did.
-3 Health. Remaining HP: 3/17
Then after what felt like an eternity, the thing stopped and he knew why when everything trembled. The entire lair quaked as thunder cracked from the world above. Somewhere higher in the Menagerie, the Star Colosseling and the Fallout Wyrmling collided again—a nuclear roar met a gravitational scream, and reality
buckled
.
The Harlequin paused, head cocked. “
So loud,
” it muttered, annoyed. “
So rude.
”
Then, to Joshua’s disbelieving relief—it slithered away, unraveling into smoke, masks drifting behind it like cursed confetti. Gone. For now.
Thanking the two behemoths, he moved on instinct. Unlocking his cuffs, he was thankful for all the skills he picked up on the road. Burning. Bleeding. Ribs still screaming. He forced himself to stand, stumbling through the lair. Every step was agony.
But he moved. He stumbled deeper into the lair, seeking anything that could serve as retribution. He passed the cages. Let them open. One by one. The creatures stared at him—then bolted into the tunnels with primal terror. That would piss the Harlequin off.
Near the back of the chamber, nestled on a twisted altar of bone mirrors and harp-strings, was a mask. It pulsed with a familiar hum of the creature. He didn’t hesitate. He took it.
Rolled 7, Exalted Treasure
Loot:
Harlequin’s Mask
- The true face of the Harlequin. Take the form of anyone you touch, and mimic their spells.
Against all odds you survived a harrowing fight with a Rare Creature
12 Progress for Magic, Body, Mind, and Spirit
Reinforcement Magic 0-✩: 58/100
Body 6 - Stat Progress 54/60
Mind 4 - Stat Progress 44/40
→
Mind 5 Stat Progress 4/50
Spirit 4 Stat Progress 14/40
Roll 1d5 for Stress Pool Gains
Rolled 2, 2 Stress Pool Gained
Mind: 5 | Stress: 2/10
-
Robbing it of its valuable, he tailed it out of there. More than anything he craved revenge against the creature that toyed with him and tortured him, but he knew that was beyond him. But he swore one day he would track it down, and put a bullet in its skull, putting it down forever.
Waking down long winding steps, Joshua had no idea how deep in the Menagerie he was, but he knew he wanted out. Coming down here was definitely a bad idea. People did mention how dangerous this place could be, but he had no idea he would run into what were definitely two fabled creatures, and a rare beast that enjoyed suffering.
Yet, that thing that called him down here felt closer than ever. It was a
pull
. Not magical exactly—but
old
. It wasn’t dragging him forward. It was
waiting
for him to arrive.
He followed the long winding paths. Thankfully he didn’t run into any more danger. There was no predators in sight or traps waiting for him.
He limped along, his leg sending up needles of pain with each step, but he gritted his teeth and continued. After what felt like forever the air became clean here, untouched by the rot of the lower biomes or the terrible madness of the Harlequin lair.
He passed through stone gates sculpted like interlocking beasts, fangs entwined with feathers and scaled tails. The architecture wasn’t human, elf, dwarf, or fae. It was older. More primal. Shaped by
creatures
for creatures. Symbols hummed low along the stone—wards not meant to repel, but to
guard
.
Finally, he arrived.
A temple, buried in the roots of the Menagerie.
It was a cathedral of silence.
Vaulted arches curved like ribs. The walls were worn smooth from time, not neglect. The air was thick with stories—not spoken, but etched in pressure. Faint murals lined the chamber, painted in ash and light, depicting impossible creatures locked in celestial dance: a three-headed serpent crowned in fire; a winged lion with a dozen eyes; a shadow-beast stitched from starlight and storm.
At the center of it all—on a raised altar—was an egg.
It hovered inches off the stone, cradled in a shallow basin of obsidian vines. The shell pulsed like a heartbeat—too slow for anything living. It was smooth, but shimmered in shifting patterns: feathers, scales, fur, bone. Every breath Joshua took near it made his magic
ache
with familiarity.
The pull he had felt since entering the Menagerie—
It was this.
He approached slowly. The chamber didn’t react. No traps. No curses. Only a growing pressure in the back of his skull, like being
watched by something that had already chosen him
. The egg was warm. Not like fire, but like a storm cloud—charged and coiled, waiting for the world to make sense again. “What are you…” Joshua whispered.
-
Found Egg of Fabled Chimera type creature!
Will do Creature Creation later.
-
Climbing out of the literal hellhole that was the Menagerie deep within the pit, Joshua looked like a ghost.
Pale, bloodied, coated in ash, and trailing a scent of ozone and charred magic, he dragged himself up the final ledge like a dying patient. His coat was torn, barely clinging to his frame, and his right leg didn’t quite bend the way it should anymore.
A lone student, fishing off the edge of the pit with an enchanted rod, looked up and blanched. “Dude,” the student said, eyes wide. “What the hell happened to you?”
Joshua didn’t break stride. Didn’t even look at him. His voice came out raw, scraped from the inside of his ribs. “I survived!”
The student made a noise somewhere between awe and horror, but Joshua was already moving, limping away from the edge of the pit with the slow determination of someone who refused to fall until he reached somewhere
safe
.
His thoughts flickered, dazed and broken. He wanted to head to the secret club he was invited to later today, but with the state he was in he knew he couldn’t even make it to tomorrow. His magic reserves were drained. His spirit was fraying. Every step was a thread away from collapse.
So that left him with two choices; either he could head back to his dorm to try to fix himself up, but most of his injuries were way beyond his means or he could head to the infamous infirmary.
EMERGENCY Action Healing!(Skipped Join Secret Society)
Would you like to either;
Heal yourself - Roll 1d6(body) & unable to cure aliments
Go to Infirmary Roll 1d6(body) + 3(hospital) + 0 student +1 nurses or +2 The Doc & able to cure aliments[Nuclear Radiation, Broken Leg, Bleeding Stomach]
Give me Hospital Rolls;
1d6(healing); Rolled 2, 2 Hp Recovered
1d3(1- student 2- nurses 3- doc); Rolled 2, Nurse
Old Health: 3/17(+2 Gloves)
Recovered: 2(Roll)+1(Nurse)+3(Infirmary)= 6 HP
New Health: 9/17(+2 Gloves)
Cured Ailments: Nuclear Radiation, Broken Leg, Bleeding Stomach
-
The Infirmary of the Grand Academy of Magic wasn’t a white-walled sanctuary of gentle nurses and clean linens. It was a
containment wing
tucked into the spine of the main campus—a hybrid of battlefield triage, alchemical lab, and curse quarantine. Known across the academy as equal parts healing and horror, where magical experiments gone wrong come, and those seriously injured from magical adventures.
Some called it the “Slaughterhouse.” Others whispered darker names. No one ever called it
safe
.
The hexsteel doors hissed open as Joshua limped toward them, aura scanners flickering red as they registered a dozen kinds of internal damage and magical contamination.“Patient incoming. Condition: Critical. Magical Contamination Detected.”
The voice was genderless, flat, and not remotely comforting. Joshua staggered in. The interior light shimmered with diagnostic runes. Walls pulsed with containment wards. The air smelled like sterile lightning and blood. A nurse appeared from around the corner—or what
passed
for one.
Image: https://i.ebayimg.com/images/g/p5sAAOSwcY9hgbVA/s-l1600.jpg
Eight feet tall, metallic limbs grafted to bone. Face covered by a plague mask of gold-etched crystal. Their name tag read simply: NURSE ELTHA – Trauma Specialist.
They didn’t ask permission as she shoved a bone-white needle into his neck. With that it went dark for him.
Every once in a while he would surface up in the middle of his operations as he heard the chanting of a bone setting spell. Then he was in a room where a massive spell-siphon machine wheezing as it drained the radiation from his body, letting it swirl in an alchemical jar labeled
“Level-Three Fallout: DO NOT INGEST.”
Later, he awoke on a levitating cot inside an isolated ward-chamber. His coat hung beside the bed, magically mended but still bearing that faint ozone scorch. His leg was in a full stasis splint. His side was wrapped in bandages infused with slow-drip healing sap.
He felt much better, but he still had some way to recover. The nurse offered him the option to stay the night so he can get back on his feet feeling better tomorrow or he could leave now since he wasn’t in critical condition any longer.
Would you like to stay at the Hospital longer? 1 Action
Yes; another round to recover!
No; keep 9 hp
-
Day 7 – Zarvian (Rest and relaxation)
Heading out of the hospital, Joshua had to say he was creeped out of the place and didn’t want to stay no longer than what was necessary. After the day he had, he all but nearly dropped dead on his bed when he made it back to his cabinet.
The next morning, when he came down for breakfast nearly everyone could see how battered he was, all but nearly at death door with how bandaged he was.
Flickwick peeked up from her bowl, bug-eyed. “You look like you lost a duel to a stampede and came in third.”
Velka whistled from her counter, “Damn, kid. You fall into the Pit or something?”
Joshua grunted. “Something like that.” Not remarking on how on the mark she was.
Neal raised a brow from behind his puzzlebox. “You smell like radiation and gunpowder. But hey… you lived.”
They didn’t ask more. Everyone in Redhook had secrets and he wanted to keep his encounters down in the pit to himself.
“Come by place later. I can look you over,” Catalina was kind enough to offer.
“Thanks,” he nodded his head appreciatively.
Morning –
Linehouse Bathhouse Car
Steam hissed and pipes groaned as Joshua pushed open the wrought-iron door of the bathhouse car. Copper pipes ran along the ceiling, hissing with mineral-rich steam. Lanterns cast golden light through the fog. Rune-etched tubs overflowed with shimmering, restorative waters. Enchanted herbs floated on the surface, faintly humming. He eased into one of the larger tubs with a hiss of pain and relief. The water glowed faintly around his injuries, threading warmth into torn muscles and frayed nerves.
A shadow loomed beside him.
Ashford
, shirtless, scars gleaming like silver calligraphy, slid into the water across from him. “You look like you got chewed up by the Linehouse engine,” Ashford remarked, folding his arms behind his head.
Joshua smirked and joked. “You should see the other guy.”
Ashford gave a quiet grunt of approval. “You’ll fit in here.”
For a while, neither of them spoke. The bathhouse let them rest—not just their bodies, but whatever weight they were carrying.
+1 Relationship Progress - Relationship with
Ashford
: 1(1/3)
Old Stress: 2/10
Roll for Stress Poll Recovery, 1d5+1 Day Bonus +1 Relationship
Rolled 6, 6 Stress recovered!
Current Stress: 8/10
-
Afternoon –
Ghost Tea & Conversation (with Hella)
Later that day, Joshua found
Hella
seated on one of the balconies hanging off the Redhook Linehouse, a breeze fluttering her bandana. She had two steaming cups before her, pale violet vapor curling up like dreams. Ghost tea. She gestured at the seat across from her. “Figured you could use something that doesn’t punch you in the ribs.”
He sat, wincing, taking the cup. The flavor hit sharp and nostalgic—like lightning in a bottle of honey, soaked in gun oil and distant thunder. They talked. Slowly.
Turns out, Hella’s world wasn’t so different from his. A world scorched by twin suns and stripped to bone-dry mesas and redstone gulches. Desert towns. Long walks between stars. Wind carried not sand but cinders. People who carried guns not just for survival, but identity. Her homeworld had bounty laws carved into basalt obelisks, crystallized essence of wandering spirits captured in jars and traded like coin, and skyships that ran on ghost-fire.
Joshua laughed more than he expected. “Guess we’re both from backwater shitholes with style,” he said.
“Speak for yourself,” she grinned, teeth flashing. “My shithole had class.”
+1 Relationship Progress - Relationship with
Hella
: 1(1/3)
Current Stress: 8/10
Roll for Stress Poll Recovery, 1d5+1 Day Bonus +1 Relationship
Rolled 3, 3 Stress recovered!
Current Stress: 11/10
-
Evening –
The Anatomicum with Catalina
By sunset, Joshua found himself limping toward the
Anatomicum
, the Linehouse’s mobile medical bay—half clinic, half spell-surgery ward. Its exterior was carved like an old mortuary chapel, but inside it buzzed with sterile light and scent of cooling runes.
Catalina
, still in her lab robes, peered at him over her glowing clipboard. Seated on a chair across from him was that creepy doll staring at him without blinking.
“You’re upright. That’s something.”
She made him sit. Checked his ribs, his leg, his mana circuits. Her touch was clinical and cold. She didn’t ask what happened. She could read it on him.
“You’re pushing your body hard,” she said, voice even. “It’s adapting, but not without cost. These scars will fade thanks to your magic. And the radiation… It's all but gone now, but that kind of exposure leaves echoes. Might come back to bite you.”
He nodded. She bandaged what was left unwrapped, then handed him a dose of tonic so bitter it nearly curled his tongue. “Try not to die,” she said. “You’re not done here.”
He walked out slower—but straighter.
+1 Relationship Progress - Relationship with
Catalina
: 1(1/3)
Old Health: 9/15 hp
Roll for Health Poll Recovery, 1d6+1 Day Bonus +1 Relationship
Rolled 5, 5 Health recovered!
Current Health: 14/15
