Afternoon: Underground Familiar Fight Circuit - Look for Pet

It started as a whisper. Not in the hallways—but in class. Slipped between lecture notes and spell diagrams. A passing murmur during classes. A snort-laughed rumor during an otherwise dry field theory discussion.

"The circuit's active again." "Heard someone bonded with a smogbeast last week—through fire." "Don't bother unless you've got guts. Or bait."

Joshua had heard it enough times to stop pretending he wasn't curious. So, over lunch, he bit the bullet and asked his dorm mates what this talk about the circuit was about over lunch.

"What's this Circuit everyone keeps talking about?" he asked, glancing at his dormmates.

Hella nearly choked on her drink. "Aww, does our little firsty want a pet?"

"You should get one," Flickwick said with a crooked grin. "You need all the help you can get, newbie."

"Very funny," Joshua muttered.

"Ignore them," Velka said, crunching loudly on her french fries. "It's smart to look into it. Familiars can make all the difference."

Neal, never one for small talk, nodded once. "It's an unholy place. But the best place to get a real companion."

"What kind of place are we talking about?" Joshua asked.

"You'll have to see it," Marrow said, eyes gleaming like he remembered blood and fire.

"Well, if it's so great, why don't you all have familiars?" Joshua asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Who says we don't?" Ume replied, pulling a sleek silver capsule from her coat and holding it up. "This is a pet chamber. Really useful. Keeps your familiar in stasis—close at hand, zero upkeep."

[A/N: its basically a pokeball]

"That sounds... kinda inhumane," he muttered, picturing some poor creature trapped inside.

"Look at you—got the heart of a little druid," Hella teased. "But jokes aside," she added, more serious now, its not only for convenience. Most pets don't live long so this extends their warranty if you could say. And they mostly just slumber in there."

Joshua looked down at the capsule. Small. Unassuming. Full of potential. "...Alright," he said. "I'll check it out."

-

No posters. No announcements. But if you listened closely to where students hesitated in their walks—or noticed the subtle exchange of marked tokens in the school—it all pointed to somewhere just beyond the usual path. With not much to do today since classes were finished for him, after lunch he followed the unspoken trail. Past weathered courtyard arches. Behind overgrown garden walls. Through mazes and half-faded corridors until he came upon a rusted door marked "Maintenance – Do Not Disturb" with glyphs clearly older than the department that put them there. Sigils that still hummed with ancient intention.

Ignoring it, he didn't hesitate as he headed down. He kept going down, descending further and further down for what felt like forever. Steps turned to ramps. Stone turned to bone. The air thickened—not with heat, but history. Until finally, the narrow passage emptied out onto a vast precipice… and he stopped cold. He had reached it.

Looking out, Joshua saw it— A landscape torn from nightmare and myth, stitched into reality beneath the academy's shining façade. A literal hellscape. The Pit of Beasts.

Hidden far beneath the polished towers and orderly spell halls of the Academy, this place wasn't on any tour map. It hadn't been constructed—it had been revealed. Unearthed. A scar in the world itself, carved from the fossilized ribcage of a slain Divine Father-Beast.

Some claimed The Pit was as old as the Academy. A place born from the corpse of a god-creature and sealed with ancient magic, forgotten things, and binding contracts and wards that still bled power. It was more than a structure. The colossal hole that led downward forever was said to pulse with the creature's lingering will and it just the tip of what this place held. It was a wound—living, thrumming with the pulse of something that never truly died.

This was where the Underground Familiar Fight Circuit made its home. Unofficial. Unregulated. It wasn't part of the curriculum, but yet everyone knew about it. A tradition older than any textbook. A rite of passage whispered about between classes. A half-illegal ring where beast-bonders, thrill-seeking tamers, rogue summoners, monster breeders, and battle-hungry duelists came to stake their pride—and their familiars—in blood. The familiar fighting circuit was all blood, fury, and spectacle.

Tournaments were waged inside suspended dimensional arenas, anchored to the edge of the abyss by glowing spellcages and forbidden stabilizers. Inside, spirits clashed, chimeras screamed, bound creatures tore each other apart behind shimmering shields of magical force.

Compared to the official Academy's sterile bestiary classes up top which was polite, sterile, and textbook clean. This wasn't that at all. It was blood pumping, brutal, adrenaline rushing, and pure spectacle.

The place was now a roaring, volatile underground colosseum—half sanctum, half stadium. Its ribbed arches loom overhead, wrapped in bioluminescent ores and crystals, hung with trophies from old legendary pet matches. Trophies hung from its ribbed walls: shattered pet collars, broken bone crests, remnants of legendary duels. Pet spells from past battles are still embedded in the stone, whispering of old pain and triumphant. The ceiling pulses faintly with divine marrow-light.

The many arena floors are set with living stone, terrain that shifts between fights—cracking open to reveal sandpits, steam vents, arcane glyph circuits, or thick swamp mist. The air tastes like rust and ozone. And the Pit, like the god-beast it was carved from, seemed to hum—deep, low, and eternal. Watching. Waiting.

A vendor waved him down from his outcrop. "Buyin', spectatin', bettin', or bondin'?" the man asked. He had four eyes, one of them made of glass.

"Spectate mostly," he answered.

"Come now, you've got the look of someone cursed with ambition. Do you not want to bet a little? I heard the banshee sisters will be doing well today."

"No thanks," Joshua shook his head. Already knowing such a vice won't end well.

Signing in disgust, the man let him through and Joshua entered the fighting arenas proper. If there was something magic users loved besides unraveling the secrets of the universe was a dueling and backstabbing. And if they couldn't take part in it, why not their pets.

There were three tiers of seating swirling around the stages: The Outer Ring were first-years, second year, and even third sat. They were of course the loudest and most rowdiest bunch. Throwing food around, engaging in bets recklessly, cheering for their favorites.

Then there was the Mid Ring. Where upperclassmen, familiar handlers and their crew, and top talents sat. They also engaged in chanting names and recording matches into rune-orbs.

Finally there was the Inner Ring – Cloaked observers. Faculty. Sponsors. Visiting alumni. Some wearing guild colors from secret magical organizations.

Crowds scream for familiars like they're star wrestlers. Chants erupt like: "Flarehound! Flarehound!" "Spinesnapper's gonna fold you!" "Crush, Bubbles, CRUSH!"

Vendors walk the aisles like sharks, offering glowing snacks, volatile drink mixes, and illegal enchantment tags to give your familiar an "edge." Bet-tables line the corners, managed by a contract mages, brutal enforcers standing guard ready to break fingers, and debt-spirits recording everything.

-

In the Underground Familiar Fight Circuit, the fight is only half the show.

Each match began not with silence, but with spectacle. Bonded pairs made their entrances like rockstars and warlords—accompanied by conjured flares, illusion projections, theme music woven from enchanted gramophones, and even backup spell-dancers (if they were cocky enough to hire some).

Above it all, a crescent-shaped commentator's box hovered midair, swirling with glamor wards. From within, two announcers—one an excitable sprite with a voice like static candy, the other a former champion whose voice rumbled like falling towers—projected magically-enhanced commentary across the arena.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMAGES—PLACE YOUR BETS AND PREPARE TO SCREAM!" "In this corner, we got The Soulshackle Sisters—those banshee twins of doom—and their necro stitch-raven, RATTLEKISS!"

Ethereal feathers spiraled down as the twins glided in on spectral wind, their familiar bursting from a cloud of black thread and wire.

"Facing them tonight—your reigning slime king of trash, that grinning menace of the circuit—GRINLOCK! Accompanied by the ooze that bruises: FESTERCOIL!"

The ground oozed open. A gleaming sludge boa coiled out, steam rising from every hiss. Grinlock emerged bare-chested and covered in hex tattoos, waving at the crowd like a circus champion.

Some matches were pure exhibition—flash, fame, and flex. Others were challenge matches, where grudges got settled with claws and magic. But the rarest—and deadliest—were the Binding Trials.

Unbonded students. Wild familiars. A ritual half-fight, half-negotiation. You had to win the match and the creature's respect. Get it wrong, and the familiar might walk away. Or tear off your arm. Or devour your will to cast spells for a week. All outcomes were possible. Some even applauded failure—if it was flashy enough.

Turning back to the fight that was unfolding, the Soulshackle Sisters bird struck fast, it summoned spectral blades and dive-bombed from a cloud of thread and bone. But Festercoil melted to the side—literally—and reformed like a shadow snapping back into shape. Acid hissed past the bird's misty veils, blocking the projectiles.

"Oof! That bird just got out-slimed! But the little snake can't get through."

A cyclone of bone shards erupted as Rattlekiss shrieked in harmonic terror scream. Festercoil wrapped itself into a coil, weathering the storm mid-air, it lost mass fast, slim flying in the air. Then Rattlekiss came down, latched on, clawing what seemed to be left of the sludge creature, but it was the wrong move. Grinlock whispered a command "Detonate."

BOOM. Rattlekiss unraveled midair, one wing bursting into drifting string. The banshee sisters wailed. "FAMILIAR SHRED! First blood to the boa!"

The sisters commanded their bird to get up as Festercoil quivered, shape collapsing—then pulsed with sigils. SLUDGE FORM: GAMMA. The boa coalesced into a leaner, meaner version and smashed the bird against the arena glyphs. Tap out.

The audience screamed for more blood. Still, Rattlekiss fought on. With broken wings, it called upon a final illusion—summoning a weeping host of childlike phantoms, hundreds of flickering shades rushing toward the boa like waves.

Festercoil opened its maw—and fed. The specters vanished mid-scream, drawn into a void that smelled of trash.

Rattlekiss faltered. It didn't even cry out when Festercoil slammed it to the arena floor, dissolving the remains into harmless black thread. "IT'S OVER!" the announcers shrieked as the crowd went wild. "THE SLIME KING HOLDS THE CROWN!"

The Pit shook with cheers. Bets exchanged hands. And Grinlock, lounging above in his private seat, simply grinned—arms crossed, chest heaving in laughter as Festercoil burped out a single spectral feather. Victory never oozed so hard.

-

After the last match, the roar of the Pit faded to a low, pulsing murmur. Joshua drifted from the stands, following the winding paths carved through bioluminescent stone and whispering bone-root pillars. No one needed to tell him where to go—the scent of iron, incense, and inked contracts led him well enough.

The Familiar Market.

It wasn't a market in the traditional sense. It was a cathedral of creatures, a living museum of madness and wonder carved beneath the bones of the Divine Father-Beast. It sprawled under the Pit like a second campus—one the academy never talked about, yet somehow funded through silence.

Joshua passed beneath an archway ribbed with polished vertebrae and stepped into the market proper—and the air changed. The air grew warmer, wetter, thick with breath and bio-arcane residue. Soft lanterns floated low, casting oily shadows across arched stalls built from bone lattice and stitched hide. A handler waved him in with a meat-hook smile. "Come to browse the living stock, yeah? Don't worry, they're all certified… mostly."

Joshua entered. Torchflies flickered in glass bulbs shaped like eyes. Enchanted announcements buzzed overhead in a dozen languages. One whispered in his ear: "Flesh Market open until the 13th hour. All bindings final. No refunds on soul-exchange."

The market was colossal—a labyrinth of bioluminescent platforms, hanging walkways, and pulsing floor-runes. Floating bone-bridges connected hollowed-out chambers, each themed by region or breeder discipline. It was equal parts slaughterhouse, sanctum, circus, and trade expo.

He was led down cramped rows between containment units—tanks glowing with preserved ether, spirit-vats humming with bonded resonance, and rune-cages that adjusted shape depending on what was trapped inside. The walls were alive with quiet noises: mewls, hisses, rattling bones, psychic static. Some things blinked slowly. Others didn't blink at all.

Here, monster breeders hawked bio-altered familiars grown in womb-vats or stitched in gene-looms. A manticore kitten purred in a nutrient cradle. A hybrid crow-serpent hissed lullabies in reverse. One vendor leaned over his stall, lips stained with mana-ink: "This one sings in your dreams. Great for mental wards. First bond free, extraction costs triple."

Great, arched summoning gates crackled with bound glyphs. Within them hovered free-roaming spirits, waiting to be bargained with or tamed. Elementals, shadow phantasms, storm serpents—all caged in contracts drawn in flame or tears.

A summoner in ceremonial robes stood beside a whirlpool of wind and ash. "This sylph slew its last wielder. That's why it's discounted."

Naturalists, beast-shepherds, and ancient animal handlers had their sanctum too. This area was quieter, darker. Vines snaked along the walls. Soft hoots and growls came from natural dens woven with spell-thread.

An old centaur whistled softly as he brushed a mossbear cub, its body dotted with medicinal fungi. Nearby, a dusk-furred vulthound circled a pool of moonwater, testing potential buyers with a predator's gaze.

A druid in vine-wrapped armor caught Joshua's eye. "We don't bind. We ask." Joshua nodded respectfully and moved on.

Grotesque and glorious, this was the haunt of alchemists, gene-smiths, and mad tinkerers. Creatures here defied taxonomy. A six-legged jackal-fish blinked from a stasis orb. A fire-bellied mimic pretended to be a cage, tricking customers who reached inside.

One stall even advertised "Modular Bond Beasts"—familiars with customizable limbs for different tasks. Swap out the stinger for a healing gland. Replace the wings with sensory threads. "Your familiar, your way!" the vendor cheered, handing out eyeballs on sticks as samples.

He paused before one tank. Inside, a soot-slicked embercat slept coiled in a ring of coal. Its breath glowed faintly orange with each exhale, heating the glass. The placard read: "Furnace-Line Embercat, Gen3. Cauterizing Roar. Soul Temperament: Loyal-Abrasive."

A shardback beetle shifted in its crystal terrarium, leaving behind a soft shimmer like a broken mirror. Each movement jittered, skipped—a breath too fast, then too slow. Temporal drag. The sign read: "Caution: This familiar operates five seconds out of sync."

All around him, voices called out—offering packages, deals, training scrolls, storage charms, and even insurance plans for high-risk familiars. Magical artifacts hung like chandeliers from the ceiling, shedding soul-light. Familiars yipped, howled, hissed, and sang. Some stalls featured arena replays projected in illusory bubbles, showing famous duels. One even played a highlight reel of familiar bondings gone wrong.

And behind it all were the buyers. Veteran beast-bonders in blood-slick cloaks. Rich kids buying pets like fashion accessories. Quiet-eyed tacticians hunting synergy. Mages from far realms with customs written on their skin. Some bought for power. Others for loyalty. A rare few bought out of love.

Joshua's boots crunched on crushed coral as he passed a vat of floating larvae—one of which turned and winked at him. Somewhere deeper in the market, a creature sang in a voice that made his bones ache with longing.

Around him, beast tamers in alchemical leathers whispered spells to keep their stock docile. Summoners bartered soul-inked contracts. One stall had a creature with no visible form, just a swirling storm of emotion sealed inside a reinforced orb.

A vendor leaned toward him, voice low. "Looking to buy?"

Joshua didn't answer. Not yet. He was looking for something. He just didn't know what it was. But somewhere in this grim bazaar of impossible beasts, living magic, and whispered names, he felt like it was already looking for him.

-

Eventually, the stalls thinned. The laughter faded. The scent of blood and mana-laced beast smells gave way to something older—raw and wild, like the breath of the world before humans gave it names. Joshua passed the last of the Market's vendors—past whispering breeders and spectral signage, past suspended cages and softly humming bond-ward pylons—until his boots came to rest at the Edge.

And there it was. The Menagerie.

Beneath the roaring coliseum of The Pit lies its true heart—a secret world few dare to enter. Not a cage. Not a forest. Not even a dungeon. But biomes birthed from the corpse of this legendary creature. The cavern below wasn't carved. It was grown—a deep, multi-layered organ-space formed from the hollowed guts of the Divine Father-Beast. Massive arteries now formed bridges between glowing ecosystems. Lungs bloomed with airborne spores. Liverlands hosted radiant fungi that sang when stepped on. The air was thick with pulsing primal magic, older than spellcraft.

It was vast. Impossible. Alive. It is a living graveyard and primordial Eden—a labyrinth of forgotten magics, wild birthright, and elemental power. There are no walls, no maps, no rules. Only countless biomes, each one a paradox, stitched together by instinct and magic.

Somewhere far below, a flock of glimmerbeaks spiraled through an inverted forest canopy—where trees grew from the ceiling and dropped leaves that hissed as they fell. A boiling river of psychic mist cut through a twisting ravine, churning with the screams of old memories. Light didn't fall evenly here—it rippled like liquid, chasing sound instead of sun.

Joshua leaned forward over the edge, eyes adjusting to the layered depths. And for a moment, he swore something down there stared back. A blur. A howl. Then silence.

Behind him, an upperclassman in scaled robes stood with arms crossed. He didn't look like a vendor. He looked like a survivor. "This is the real place," the upperclassman said quietly. "The Menagerie. Everything else is just preparation."

Joshua said nothing, his mouth dry. The man continued, voice low. "Familiars down there don't come in cages. No bells. No summoning circles. You go down? You don't get a familiar… you earn one."

He pointed toward a winding descent path—carved from fossilized tendon, wrapped in glyph-thread vines, and flanked by bones of failed attempts. "Some call. Some chase. Some… choose you when you're about to die."

Then he walked away. Joshua remained. And for a long time, he simply watched—trying to decide if what he felt in his chest was fear…or readiness. Down there was something waiting. Maybe his familiar. Maybe his death. Maybe both.

-

Where would you like to get a Familiar from?

Buy an experimental creature from the Familiar Market. Safe(-1 to rarity roll)

Participate in the Underground Familiar Fight Circuit for a bloodthirsty creature. Risky(+1 to rarity roll)

Delve into the Menagerie for a primal, wild creature. Very Dangerous(+3 to rarity roll)

-

Types of Familiars. Roll 1d6

Beast: Natural, animalistic creatures with magical traits or mutations.

Elemental: Embodiments of primal forces or natural phenomena.

Plant: Sentient flora or fungal creatures.

Construct: Crafted entities animated by magic or tech.

Chimera: Spliced hybrids—fleshcrafted, magical or alchemical experiments.

Spirit: Incorporeal, ethereal beings who can be imaginative, or illusionary creatures.

Otherworldly: outsiders not from this plane of existences [Locked]

Mythical: Legendary creatures from ancient tales with great lineages.[Locked]

Cosmic: Entities from stars, outer space, or hidden dimensions.[Locked]

Eldritch: Beings from beyond reality, unknowable or forgotten.[Locked]

-

Rarity of Familiars. Roll 1d6

1. Common:

Basic magical creatures with minor abilities or instincts. Often used for training or utility. Easy to tame or bond with.

2. Uncommon:

Slightly more powerful or intelligent. May possess a singular trick or affinity.

3. Special:

Marked by a standout feature—be it a mutation, rare lineage, or distinct magical trait. Stand out among their type.

4. Unique:

One-of-a-kind within the current generation. No others like them exist.

5. Rare:

Scarce and storied. Seen only in wild zones or forbidden regions. Possess potent magic and complex traits.

6. Epic:

Powerful familiars that shift battles or alter place with their very presence.

7. Fabled

[Locked]

:

Creatures of story and legend. Possibly extinct, sealed, or long forgotten about.

-

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.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

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)

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)

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)

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

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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. Let's you take on 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 → Spirit 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

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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

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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.

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

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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

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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

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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

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Week 1 Progress!

Reinforcement Magic 0-✩: 58/100

Body 6 - Stat Progress 54/60 | Health: 14/15

Spirit 5 Stat Progress 4/50 | Stress: 11/10

Spirit 4 Stat Progress 14/40 | Mana: 6/9

Skills:

Items:

Relationships:

Discoveries: Learned about Multiverse Gunslingers, Found 2 Fabled Creatures & 1 Rare Creature in the M

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Week 2 & 3 Begins – Schedule Planning

You have 42 ACTIONS in Total!

Days in the Week!

Day 1 Arcanis – The day of structured magic, high spellcraft, and formal study.

Day 2 Draveth – Day of combat training, body building, and elemental refining.

Day 3 Caelith – The day of celestial magic, star gazing, prophecy, and dreaming.

Day 4 Ferradine – Day of magical crafting, runework, golem making, and artificing.

Day 5 Veilmere – Barrier between worlds is thinnest; favored for summoning, spirit magic, and planar study.

Day 6 Zarvian – The beastbound day; magical creatures roam more freely, a great day for exploring or being in the outdoors.

Day 7 Hearthrest – A quiet, soul-healing day for recovery, tea, introspection, and soft magic.

Time Slots for each Day

Morning (6 AM – 12 PM)

Afternoon (12 PM – 6 PM)

Evening (6 PM – 10 PM)

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Locked-In Actions: 11 Actions*2=22 Unavailable

Class 1: Guncaster Fundamentals! [Lecture(Class)/Practicals(Skill/Spell)/Workshop(Crafting)/Field Training(Stat)] (3 ACTIONS & 3 STRESS per week)

Class 2:

Arcane Gunsmithing[Lecture(Class)/Practicals(Skill/Spell)/Workshop(Crafting)/Field Training(Stat)] (3 ACTIONS & 3 STRESS per week)

Class 3

: Magical Ballistics[Lecture(Class)/Practicals(Skill/Spell)/Workshop(Crafting)/Field Training(Stat)] (3 ACTIONS & 3 STRESS per week)

Club: The Librarians(2 ACTIONS per week)

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Suggested Actions: 10 Actions*2=20 Available

*New/Important Ideas

Academy Schemes/Power Moves - form secret cabals, clubs, unions, or courts

Train with a Familiar or Pet(Awaken New Pet)

Join Secret Society(Union of the Oppressed)

Form/Join Student Study Group

First-Year Exhibition, the Foundling's Proving

Burn an Offering at the Altar of Forgotten Spells(Random Spell Upgrade/Degrade)

Write a Letter to a Dead Sorcerer(Name)

Hold Game Night for Dorm mates(Relationship)

Magic Puzzle Vaults

*Favorites

Instructor's Office Hour(Extra Training) - Reason Teacher Bonus

*Special Buildings

Recover at Infirmary(Health) - +3 Bonus

Recover at Reservoir/River of Magic(Mana) - +3 Bonus

Recover at Place In Between/Liminal space(Stress) - +3 Bonus

Head to the Grand Library and Research(Subject) - +3 Bonus

*Old Ideas

Do Quest(1 or 2)

Explore the Redhook Linehouse Dormitory(Carts)

Bond with Redhook Linehouse Dormmate(Name)

Romance your partner(Name)

Visit the Bazaar of Realities(Shopping)

Go on Academy Missions(Task)

Go Hunting(Target)

Apply for a Part-Time Job(Money)

Crafting Session(Item)

Attend Student Gathering or Event

Sneak into Forbidden Areas

Perform a Ritual

Contract with lesser Entity

Attend a Guest Lecture or Visiting Scholar's Talk

Compete in a Mini-Tournament or Challenge Trial

Explore the Academy Grounds(Random)

Rest & Recover(Pool)

Personal Training(Skill/Spell)

Meditation(Level)

Write-in your own ideas!

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Options:

SKIP - You can skip locked-in action but it comes at a cost.

First time, nothing. Second, negative academic roll. Third, lose class progress. Fourth, lose instructor relationship point

EMERGENCY - You can drop or move an action due to changing circumstances.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.