FINAL CORE : [A holy dungeon-core litRPG]

Obols

Obols are the common currency of our country, as they have been for as far back as we can trace our history. Over time, the look, size, and make-up of obols have changed, but the name has persisted.

Obols are a primarily coinage based monetary system with a wide variety of denominations. The most commonly used coins by the people are the one-obol, ten-obol and fifty-obol coins. There is a large variety of further denominations. For larger transactions, such as the purchase of a house or property, ten-thousand Obol coins are available.

If one wishes to release themselves of their burden, they are able to deposit these at a banking institution or, for members of the adventurers’ guild, there.

They are created solely by the central bank of the nation, which oversees the minting process. The intricate magic imbued into each coin prevents forgeries from entering the market, as they are easily identifiable as being fake by any trained merchant.

 

~ Of Obols, the Currency of the Nation

 

 

~ [Countess Avoria] ~
Female, Pure-Bred Elf, Noble (Countess) Location: The Central-City, Castle

 

How many weeks has it been? Months?   Avoria sits in the room that she has been sequestered to, locked away in the castle. It’s hardly a prison, being a lavish chamber with fine bedding and warm meals that are brought regularly. But even with such luxuries, life becomes… tiresome.   Perhaps that is why she has latched on to the faith of Isaiah? Given the guarded door of the room that is watched day and night, it, like the cool wind that blows in through the balcony, is the only thing to reach her on nights like this. She rises to her feet, wandering toward the window as she looks out at the city below.   During the eruption of faith that followed the last message from Isaiah to the world, hundreds of people swarmed to leave the city, and she could only watch them from up here like a starling with clipped wings as they uprooted their lives, threw everything away, and simply traveled to a distant place.   — The south.   Her window faces towards it, and so, from high up in her perch in the castle, she longingly stares towards it, towards the beacon that she can see even from here. Even if it is only a pinprick — a point that glows like any of the other stars in the night — it is the closest star down on the surface of the world.   They say it is the tower that glows so vividly, so she can only imagine what a spectacle it must be to see in person for it to shine with such radiance, even from half-way across the country.   But something is different tonight. The light of the stars above, coming together with the shine of the tower far on, off in the horizon and the glow of the city below, finds itself trapped in a sheen on a smooth surface, the location of which is entirely impossible. It is attached firmly to her balcony, like a sheet of glass laid out flat in the middle of the air, and it simply stretches off into the night.   In confusion, Avoria touches it. It’s solid.   Oh.   She must be dreaming again.   The woman stares up at the sky. Sometimes she dreams about flying away or being carried off. Sometimes she dreams a brave knight will break down her door and ferry her off to a distant place. This is a new one, though.   A cold gust of midnight wind reaches her face, tussling her hair past her eyes, the fresh nip of the late summer night breeze makes her realize that she isn’t dreaming, however.   With eyes that go wide in a wonder that is usually reserved for the minds of children experiencing the happenings of the world for the first time, Avoria looks at the bridge that stems out to her upper floor balcony, high above the city.   It leads towards the south. It leads towards the light that sits beckoning her on the distant horizon.   The countess steps up onto the edge of the balcony, standing on the railing, the wind enveloping her frame.   As fate would have it, the door to her chambers opens then, and her attendant steps in. Seeing her standing there, the attendant screams, dropping a full platter. The guardsmen outside her door rush in and, seeing her, run towards her, likely thinking that she is about to jump.   — Avoria closes her eyes and takes a step.   Yes, she’s afraid. What if there is nothing there? She hates her life here, but she doesn’t want to die. But she also knows that a life in this place is no different than doing just that.   Her foot touches something solid. She reopens her eyes, and she takes another step and then another.   Avoria runs over the bridge in the sky, turning her head back to look as it dissipates behind her, the guardsmen trying to grasp the air but finding nothing there to touch.   She’s free.   As she moves, the woman looks down in understandable terror. She’s higher up than any reasonable person really ought to be. But if this is real, if this is actually happening, if this miracle has come to her, then she will place her faith in it.   She does so as she runs straight towards the brightest star in the night.

 

Status Applied: [Pilgrim of Isaiah]

+25% LUK

+25% MAX-STAMINA

+1% SOUL-REGENERATION / Minute

+ EXP for every nine steps taken directly towards the tower

 

 

~ [Bretik] ~
Human, Male, Wizard (Stone) Location: The Southern Edge of the Island, the Beach

 

Several bottles of wine in various states of corking lie around them in the sand of the beach.

 

The group sits by the ocean, up on the island, staring out at the expanse of water that should, by all accounts, be gone by now. After all, the island is several kilometers up in the air and the water of the ocean on the southern edge of it has just been cascading down now endlessly for days into the rest of the ocean below.

 

“So… how does it work?” asks the party archer next to him. He turns his head, looking at her, and then shrugs.

 

“Hell if I know,” replies Bretik. “Fun to watch, though.”

 

“Right?” asks the archer, looking back out over the misty waters of the ocean that somehow never runs dry.

 

The sound of someone taking a swig from a bottle comes from next to him as their healer takes a long drink from a bottle and then passes it over to him. “So, how long are we going to stay up here?” he asks, taking the bottle.

 

“On the island?” asks the priest. He flops back in the warm sand, spreading out his arms and lying there. “Until we retire, I’d say,” he explains. “At this rate, that should be… eh… Two weeks from now?”

 

The man takes a swig from the bottle, passing it on to the archer. “I think that’s a little optimistic,” he replies. “But we’re definitely making more cash than in the old dungeon.”

 

The archer takes her drink from the bottle and then passes it on down the line to the shieldswain, who has so far been silent. “Wow, I almost forgot how bad that place was. We barely scratched by.”

 

“It was the worst,” sighs Bretik. The bottle is passed back down the line, the process now repeating itself in the other direction.

 

“I’ll drink to that,” says the archer, emptying the bottle and then plucking another one out of the sands. She uncorks it and then tilts it over, splashing a large gulp away into the ocean. “This one’s for you, Isaiah!” laughs the woman and then follows up with a large swig herself.

 

 

~ [Isaiah] ~

 

Isaiah sits with crossed legs near the water of the hot-springs, listening to the trickling sound of the water dripping.
The monk sits across from it, and it does its best to learn her art of meditation.

 

It finds the practice useful.

 

Often in the past, it has rushed into decisions that have resulted in substantial fallout. So, training the clarity of the mind can only be beneficial, no?

 

— She exhales. Isaiah exhales. The cycle repeats.

 

“I’m telling you, chief,” says a voice from the side. “She’s gonna bite it.” Isaiah opens its eyes, turning its head to Red. She is floating in the hot-springs, where many of the others have gathered. Today is the weekly day of rest, so all of the uthra are not working and the tower is free of adventurers.

“I think she’ll be fine,” says Magenta, also sitting in the water. Beige hides behind her, nodding. “All she has to do is walk straight; how hard can that be?”

“Why doesn’t she just fly?” asks Orange, her head popping out of the water. She latches onto Red, who tries to fight her off.

 

Magenta shakes her head. “Humans can’t fly.”

 

“Huh?” asks Orange, looking at Magenta. “But… isn’t she like… a special human?” she asks. “That’s why she lives in a castle, right?”

 

“Yeah,” replies Magenta.

“But she can’t fly, so… what makes her special?” asks Orange, puzzled. “Isn’t she just a normal human who lives in a castle?” Red pushes her off, and before she can be scolded, Orange shoots down beneath the water, fully disappearing into the mineral rich blue pool. Red looks around herself in annoyed confusion, trying to locate Orange to little avail.

“Focus,” says the monk.

Isaiah returns its gaze to her.

— Water splashes everywhere as Orange suddenly shoots out of the bottom of the pool, grabbing the meditating monk and abruptly pulling her down into the depths, where both of them vanish into the nothingness of the deep abyss of a chest high pool.

Isaiah closes its eyes, trying to focus its breath despite all of the laughing and splashing going on next to it.