Aetuornos Beta 2-4

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2-4: Monastic Genesis

The five visitors to Greenleaf (as a repetitive NPC informed them to be the town's name) all happened to converge on the blacksmith's shop at about the same time. "Hey, welcome!" A short, blonde elf girl who didn't look particularly suited to the job waved to them from next to the anvil. "New players, I'd guess?"

Ronin and Jack exchanged a look. "Uh, yeah. You?" the mage said.

"Staff. Trying out a few 'jobs' and appearances for a bit. I can give y'all the lowdown on crafting if you want, or just do a bit of it for you. Either way."
"I'm..already familiar with that information," Noire said. "What would I need to make some improvements to my daggers?"
"Oh~, lemme take a look," she said, and the rogue presented the weapons, handing one over after a gesture requesting she do so.

"Well, I don't know how it works," Thora complained. "Could one of you explain it?" Noire and the smith looked equally ready to do so, and the latter waved to the catgirl to go ahead.

"I did already tell folks this stuff several times today," she said. "Explain while I work though. I'm sure I can at least fix these up a bit. What've you got on hand for materials?" Some of the bits of claw and teeth from the winged lion-snake thing seemed to be sufficient for an upgrade, and she got to work.

Noire went through a brief explanation of the crafting system as she knew it, the staffer nodding the entire time that it was correct. When she mentioned alchemists, Jack raised his hand and waved it around like an eager student. "..Yes?"
"I though alchemists were one of the classes," he said. "But like, not available yet?"
"Well, there are alchemists—those whose crafting profession involves the creation of potions—and then there are Alchemists. They're like a weird mage-slash-noble class whose power is all centered on creating and using items of all kinds, not just potions," the rogue said. "As to why they're both called the same thing...I guess we could blame real-world ambiguity for that confusion."
The elf girl nodded, "Mm-hm. 'Potionmaster' just seemed so cumbersome, when real alchemists are folks who deal with potions."

"So anyway..."

By the end of the explanation, the smith was mostly through working on Thora's club, using some of the giant slime's remains to improve it somehow. Everyone involved thought it would be best not to question it too much. "Hopefully we'll get all those systems implemented pretty soon," she said. "By the by, have any of you noticed a purple light in the sky on the way here?"
They looked at each other for a moment. "..Nope," Jack answered first. "Why?"
"Hmm. It's just, there've been a lot of adventurers coming through the area today. Some wandered the fields, some entered caves and still others found old ruins to explore. But many who returned, or arrived here for the first time, reported their encounter with a strange girl wreathed in purple flames, flying through the sky above them. Several encountered unusually big, strong, or aggressive monsters which had a similar aura about them, and a precious few claimed to actually see her tossing those flames down to do that to the beasts. Things are tough enough around here already without all the monsters getting stronger."

Noire knew a quest hook when she heard one—and so did Ronin, judging by his expression. "I suppose we could try to find this girl," she said, getting in first. "Do you have any idea of which direction she might be in?"
"Hmm. Most recently, I think it was folks coming from the west who saw her, or at least a purple light of some sort above them. That's still a pretty wide area for just the few of you to explore, besides that you've no healers among you. But there's meant to be a monastery somewhere northwest of here, and a nature garden to the southwest, so maybe you could find someone at one of those places on your way."
"Suppose we split up," Ronin said. "We're really two parties here to begin with. We could check the direction of that garden?"
"Works for me," The catgirl said, looking to her other party members for input; they didn't have much.

"Welp, all done." The smith offered Thora her weapon back. "Your club oughta hit a little harder now."
"Sweet!"

"Hey, my turn now, right?" Jack said, waving his axe toward the elf girl a bit irresponsibly.
"Jack! Cut that out!" Ronin sighed. "Perhaps you three should go on ahead. I suspect this won't take very long."
"Very well," Noire said. "I bought a few signal-flares from the shop next door. We could readily alert one another with those should we see this mystery flying girl."

"Sounds like a decent plan," he nodded.

---

Celestials had a certain stereotype.

When people thought of celestials, they thought of big, scary warriors in armor, with blazing weapons—usually swords—held in hand, and gigantic pearly white wings spread out behind them to make their appearance all the more imposing. They thought of the "protectors of humanity", the "servants of Sol", an entire race of stonefaced warriors who were best off not challenged, not questioned when they made a sudden request, and—for Kitsune—not pranked.

This image played a large role, for centuries, in many of their race choosing to hide their wings among all but their closest friends, appearing instead to be just magically-gifted humans. Their descendants from the second generation onward tended to never even find out they had celestial blood; many of them fell completely under the veil, in fact, never learning of magic at all. That was not considered a problem until a large contingent of those descendants all suddenly broke veil at once and turned on the magic world as a whole. In the wake of the disaster, Sol asked his people to at least ensure their families didn't fall under the veil anymore, and preferably to hide their wings a little less often, too. Some blamed the stereotype itself for the problem, of course. But stereotypes tend to exist for a reason.

Zefinar's wings weren't white, but he was proud to otherwise fit that image many had of his people. He didn't demand others do the same—understanding well Sol's desire that all of humanity exercise freedom of will—but in the two hundred-plus years since his creation, Zefinar had slain many demons and fought in many battles, fending off chaos wherever it was found. When he told people to do anything, it was because they were in serious danger, and his tone of voice alone tended to communicate this fact well enough for them to obey. Even other celestials came to respect and sometimes fear him, which was just fine with him since it aided more than it hurt his efforts to do his creator's will. He was even privileged with the duty of guarding Sol's domain for a brief time, but felt his experience and skill were wasted in such a relatively safe post, eventually asking to be dispatched on more meaningful missions again.

The world was in something of a lull since the lifting of the veil. That is: There were less dangerous situations cropping up and lesser demons getting loose, more people able to comprehend what was happening and properly defend themselves when that did happen, and...overall, less frequent needs for a martially gifted celestial like Zefinar to exercise his craft. This could only be good for the world and humanity, of course, and he shared his creator's joy in seeing it—but, at the same time, hoped that his skills would not become completely obsolete as a result. Danger would surely appear again someday, maybe larger than ever before, and people like Zefinar still needed to be around, and to be sharp, to confront it. Perhaps he rationalized his own desires some, not wanting to feel useless, but the concerns born from that rationalization were still no less valid.

Lately, a group largely consisting of ordinary humans worked with a few of those who could use magic to produce a device—or, maybe more accurately, an interconnected system which the device granted a connecion to. Zefinar little understood the inner workings of the device, and saw little worth for himself in its purpose—some manner of partially-social game or something. He probably wouldn't have known, much less cared, about it at all, if not for his latest orders, relayed by another, younger celestial from the organization who were formerly responsible for helping maintain the veil. Essentially, while the system wasn't especially of interest, the technology involved had much potential, and for whatever reason he was chosen to test it out.

Whether he was the only one testing the device and system, Zefinar didn't know, and didn't ask. He was confused if not disappointed to be given such a trivial-seeming task, which would perhaps seem better suited to someone created in the past few decades and more comfortable with modern technology on the whole—but none of this showed on his face or in his words. Instead, as a faithful servant to Sol, he accepted the task and asked only the practical questions of what and how.

The big pod the human company sent Zefinar was large enough for a human with his build, but had no possibility whatsoever of accommodating his wings. It had been not required, but suggested, that he choose an ingame appearance very unlike his own, so he went with a human female form—which would have no wings—so it was just as well he hid them before he began anyway. For "class"—once it was explained to him—he chose a monk, who was described as a devoted warrior, and balked slightly afterward to find that the game had its own, fictional gods and he had to choose one to "serve". Eventually he settled on "Luminiere", a god of light, since that was the closest thing to a sun god the game had. Sol himself had had other names over the ages too, all of which were associated with the sun or at least its light...so this would have to do.

Lying down and activating the device by some buttons inside, Zefinar felt a forced meditation state attempting to impose itself on him. This seemed to be their way of bringing the "player" into an imaginary world, so he allowed it to work after a moment, and his false, mental self in that shared world found itself falling.

The old celestial's first instinct, of course, upon finding himself in a sky-like area and falling downward, was to spread his wings, but he suppressed that quickly enough to avoid pushing his real body out of the pod with them. Probably most of the company's clientele weren't so used to being in "two places at once" and wouldn't have difficulty focusing only on the imagined body for long periods of time; he would just have to do his best with keeping his real self still.

Anyway, the "falling" was unusually slow, and after a moment it became clear what was going on: This was a medium in between his original mental state and the shared one, being used to help acclimate him to what would be the imagined body's drastically different appearance. And...it accomplished this by simulating transformative magic. Zefinar's body tingled strangely, and he shuddered a bit.

His sole previous experience with being transformed hadn't been especially pleasant. Later attempts at transforming him had been blocked by some charms he kept going or enchanted items which he wore at all times. Reminding himself that he was in no real danger here, he tried to relax and let it happen. Fortunately, the simulated magic appeared intended to help him in this too, as the tingling settled into a more pleasant sensation not unlike his body being gently massaged and pressed down on from all sides.

"Hmm..mmh." The result of that sensation was his body beginning to shrink. His toned arms and legs began to lose definition as he became shorter and slimmer, their muscles diminishing and softening. His body instinctively fought back once or twice, partially undoing the last second or so of change each time, but he managed to reel that in afterward, and the transformation seemed to accelerate as a result.

Looking down, Zefinar could see his clothes shrinking too—much more than his body was, in fact. Already his pants only reached down to his knees, and his shirt had pulled itself entirely off of his stomach, with its sleeves almost gone. Divested of that covering, he could see his arms, legs, and midsection were all completley devoid of body hair now, as well as bear witness to the last of the solid, manly shape of his limbs giving way to a slender, feminine form. His hands were smaller and more delicate now, the callouses of many battles nearly finished fading from view.

He shuddered once again, just slightly, at something gently touching the nape of his neck. Putting a hand up, he was relieved to find that it was just hair—growing longer, of course, to fit a more feminine form. More examination found it longer in the front too, and all beginning to bunch itself together near the upper corners of his head somehow. Then...

"Aa~ah..!" The old celestial got a sensation down between his legs—his manhood beginning a rapid decrease in size—which shouldn't have felt especially good, but did anyway. It made his heartbeat accelerate a bit, his cheeks feel warm—all in the simulated body, of course, not the real one, but these feelings did a good job of making it hard to focus on anything but the body they were coming from. He almost missed the fact that he was being made to cry out too, and his voice was changing in the process.

"Aa~aahmm, mmh.." Zefinar made an effort to close his mouth and suppress his reaction, but this only seemed to agitate things worse. His body squirmed as the last of the downward and inward shrinking completed, and then the bulk of his hair, now tied up by ribbons where it had been gathered before, streamed out in two long black tails that fell far enough down to touch his lower thighs. "MmnNNAA~Aaah..!" And, at the same time, the change between his legs sped up, and his voice pushed its way out of masculine range through some continued futile attempts to keep himself quiet.

Finally, it melted away, a bizarre and unreasonably pleasant sensation which caused her to gasp high and follow that up with a somewhat pathetic and squeaky "Haa~ah" of a sigh, equal parts relieved and confused. Panting softly as she calmed herself, the new girl wondered if this was how transformations usually felt under the purview of Zotha. It was uncomfortable in entirely different ways, but there was no contest between this and the excruciating pain of her previous experience.

However, thinking of the change in the past tense may have been a mistake, as Zefinar's body began to make clear. Her hips and thighs began to push their way out, her waist pressing inward at the same time, all of which drew an irritatingly cute "Wa~ah!" of surprise from her lips. Then, just as suddenly, her chest joined in on the assault, pushing itself forward into the tight top which remained of her shirt all at once, and drew a somewhat more mature "Oo~oh.." out of her as the appearance of the new breasts confronted her with another brief spurt of a woman's pleasure, down in the new equipment she'd just been handed.

While she caught her breath, Zefinar happened to look down and realize that the ground had materialized below her—the acclimation accomplished, this was the simulated world itself. Some manner of miniature monastery, just a few buildings connected together, stretched out below her; initially it seemed like she was going to crash into a roof of one of the smaller buildings, but her fall abruptly slowed down, confusing her attempt to catch herself, and she went through the roof instead—landing unceremoniously on the floor of a room inside that building. She still managed to plant herself on a knee, a foot, and her hands, a good position for a short and relatively painless fall, and stood up almost immediately.

"Hmmph." Her voice wasn't as high normally as those last few sounds, which was a relief; it was just about mid-range, if anything. Looking around, this seemed to be a modest bedroom of some sort. Zefinar shrugged to herself and headed outside, doing some stretches to try and get used to her smaller, somewhat weaker form. It seemed decently flexible and agile, at least, and she actually felt stronger than she looked...

The setting of this "game" was meant to be a world overrun with wild beasts and monsters, which the players were tasked with fighting. Monks were an unarmed, armorless class, she'd been told; they used a combination of their fists and magic related to their chosen deity to fight, and could heal others with their touch. While Zefinar's weapon of choice was a sword, the old celestial had trained in the use of a great many weapons and martial arts, and was certainly no stranger to unarmed combat. She made her way out of the complex and onto the nearest road, seeking out some of these hostile creatures to test her skills, and this strange body's powers, on.

---

The road to the monastery seemed to be free of monsters, and no sign of a purple light or a girl in the sky, either. Eventually (that is, after not very long at all) Thora got bored of just walking. "Say, Noire."
"Hmn?"

"You said you were brought up hunting for prey and stuff, right?"
"Yep."

"So, you ate like..raw meat?"

"Sometimes. It's not as if we didn't have the means to cook, but all being werewolves, we didn't really need to either."

"...Ough, sometimes I get a bad craving for the stuff too, it's horrible."
"Why's that bad?" Fiori said. "You can get raw meat at pretty much any grocery store, right?"
"Certainly, but it's—enncgh." The catgirl made a disgusted face for a second, and then cleared it by quickly shaking her head. "Okay look, when you hunt something and eat it right away, it's hot. Like, the inside of any living mammal is. The texture is very different on something that was alive five minutes ago, too. So—it's—ahh—" She seemed to take a moment to struggle with coming up with a good comparison. "Okay. You both like ice cream, right?"
"Sure."
"M-hm?"
"Imagine if, somehow, someone was able to make something that was the shape and flavor of your favorite kind, except it was served hot and it had the texture of, I-I don't know, beef jerky or something? Really, seriously—imagine biting into that while your brain wants—expects—normal ice cream."

Thora had difficulty even putting a mental image of the taste together in her mind, but probably made a face anyway; the necromancer seemed to do likewise.
"Yeah, exactly. Just, completely the opposite of what it's supposed to be like. That's what it's like eating long-cooled, often refrigerated meat from the store. A-and I could, microwave it or something to make it warmer, but that doesn't fix the texture problem and now I'm cooking it, so why not make it actually cooked so it tastes good? Long story short, the only way I can sate that craving is by buying livestock and killing it myself, or..going hunting out in the woods and same. And, good luck finding a place to do that around a suburban house without looking like a complete psychopath."

"..Sorry if that brought up any unpleasant mental images," she added after a moment. "It's easy for me to forget not everyone's as closely familiar with 'killing to eat' as I am."

"I'm fine," Thora said; actually, she was now trying to think of a way to cook meat that might make it taste like something fresh and raw. It might appeal to some 'total carnivore' types who complained if their steak wasn't literally bleeding. If the cooking process still killed disease the normal way, it could even be a safe 'curiosity food' for anyone who wondered what that tasted like. If she did get a good idea for it, this werewolf was probably the person to pitch it to for early testing.

Fiori had a...different response: "Oh, like, it's no problem for me either. When I was in eighth grade my class toured a farm, I got lost and wandered into the front door of their abattoir. And oh boy, it was active, too."

"Uh..you're...okay though...right?" Noire said, recovering after a very long pause between the three of them.

"Oh, sure!" she said in a chipper voice, with a quick nod. "I tried to go vegetarian for a couple of weeks, buuuut I got over it." Maybe a 'dark' class like Necromancer suited her real personality better than Thora had first thought...

A short walk later, the rogue stopped in her tracks—which both of her party mates had learned by now was a sign something was up, and reacted accordingly. Thora gave her a questioning look.
"Sounds of a battle up ahead. Get ready," she said, drawing her daggers and starting forward—but not at full tilt, clearly meaning the berserker to pass her with her wider strides.

They crested a hill, and several yards off before them was a human girl wearing shorts and a crop-top, completely unarmed, with a pair of ridiculously long black twintails. She was surrounded by five beasts which looked sort of like the results of a mad-science genetic experiment that crossed wolves with wildcats and then grafted metal, hedgehog-ish quills all across their backs. No sooner did this sight come into view than one of the beasts pounced at her, and she leaned back, limboing impossibly deep to pass just underneath it, and stuck her fist up into its underside, a brief flash of golden light appearing around it like a hologram of a short blade tapering to a sharp tip at the end. However, it was a very real cut the monster's underside received from it, more collapsing than landing on the other side of her.

Two more came at her at once, and instead of straightening up she planted her hands on the ground, backflipping over them so that they ran right into each other; she somehow chained this into a sideways dive-kick complete with another, much longer blade of yellow light that extended from her lower leg to well past the foot, which buried itself deep into the head of an unsuspecting beast, killing it. She pushed off its head and pirouetted in midair to deliver a combo of kicks to the remaining monster's snout, sending it sliding back away from her as she landed neatly on her feet.

This chain of attacks took all of a second or two to happen, and afterward Thora stopped in her tracks. "Should we even, uh..interrupt?" she said quietly as the stranger raised her foot and stomped another blade deep into the head of the stunned monster. Looking closer, there were two more corpses that she'd made before they'd even arrived.

"At this point it seems more like kill-stealing than helping," Fiori agreed. The three survivors were spreading themselves apart across from her, snarling but staying back. She held a fighting stance facing them, seeming to wait for them to make the first move.

"Nonetheless, she is outnumbered at the moment," Noire argued. "Let us lend our aid before she corrects that." She ran down, raising one of her daggers up before tossing it into the side of the nearest beast, landing just below the start of its spines. The thing yowled and turned toward her, curling itself into a ball as it charged so that the only thing exposed were its spines. By now Thora had caught up, and she raised her club to swat the beast back the way it came from, letting it crash into the other two.

"Allies!" the stranger greeted them as the catgirl ran up to sweep her thrown dagger back into her hand. "Your aid is not necessary, but appreciated nonetheless." Well—at least she didn't sound angry with them? She then ran up to the collapsed pile of beasts and kicked hard into the same underside she'd limboed under before, stabbing a light blade deep into the thing's flesh and killing it. Fiori came up and slashed the one that Thora had batted back, having Roth shoot some flame into the wound right after. The third beast got up and made to slash at the stranger with its claws; she easily sidestepped each swipe, punishing every single one with a swift kick to the beast's head. Noire kept up with this dance from a bit to one side, watching for an opportunity to throw or stab without risking harm to their new "ally".

Fiori's target pushed itself up and made to bite at her; she hopped backwards and Thora, having caught up to the faster Necromancer by now, sent her club into the thing's side, finishing it off and sending it on a sideways roll that stopped against another beast's body. By now the one striking out at the stranger was clearly exhausted, and she gave the catgirl a small nod before doing a backflip-somersault way away, giving her plenty of room to duck in and stab down through both of the thing's eyes, finishing it off.

The unarmed stranger crossed her arms, surveying the dead monsters as the party of three approached her. "You three appear reasonably capable. Others playing this 'game', I suppose?"
"That'd be correct," the rogue said. "You seem to be a..monk, I suppose?"
She seemed about to say no, but paused to correct herself. "I have chosen that as a false profession for the purposes of this 'game'." Again with the air-quotes tone on that word. "My name is Zefinar, a humble servant of Sol."

Fiori appeared somewhat confused by this announcement, while Noire—if very briefly—had a similar response to Thora. Oh no, a celestial?! Or, more specifically, a 'servant-of-Sol-for-life' type? What was one of those doing playing Aetuornos!? Instead of asking that, the catgirl said, "You refer to your real self with that, hmn?"

"Of course. What other self is there?"
Noire came slightly closer. "How..familiar are you with role-playing games, Zef?"

"I ordinarily have no time for such triviality," she replied, not seeming to mind the shortening of the name. "I am only playing this game on orders to test the underlying technology."

"Well, you aren't meant to introduce your real self to others in this sort of game," she explained patiently. "The entire idea is to play the role of someone other than yourself. Often someone cooler, stronger or more powerful than you really are, but sometimes just—someone different. Isn't it helpful to be familiar with perspectives other than your own?"

"This is true, but I little see the point in lying about my name or identity," she replied.
"Well, see, it's not lying, it's like writing a work of fiction together," the catgirl said. "Everyone has the understanding that if I tell you my name is Noire, I mean my character's name is. No one's deliberately deceiving each other, at least insofar as that."

"Hmph. I suppose if I allow you to call me 'Zef', and tell you that I am a 'monk in service to Luminiere', this would help your enjoyment?"
"Certainly," Noire said cheerfully. "And you seem to be an exceptional fighter, based on your performance against these beasts."

"That I am, either way," she stated—her tone not proud at all, but conveying a statement of a clear and obvious fact. "I must be; my typical duties involve much combat."

"Impressive. Well, my companions here are Thora, a berserker, and Fiori, a necromancer." Zef immediately gave the latter an absolutely terrifying look, which faded after a second or two—but not before she took several rapid, incautious steps backwards away from her and nearly fell over.
"Not a real necromancer," she clarified to herself, aloud.
"Uh, r-right, definitely not!" Fiori squeaked, hugging her scythe like it was a teddy bear. "Justinthegame!"

"Excuse me, then."

"Yyes. And I, myself, am a treasure seeker," Noire continued smoothly. "We are presently on the lookout for someone rumored to be flying above this area, enchanting monsters into much stronger and more aggressive forms. Would you be interested in joining us on this quest?"

"..I suppose it is preferable to wandering aimlessly," Zef said after a moment's consideration. "Perhaps an enchanted monster will also prove more of a challenge to take down."

"More than likely," Noire said. "To be honest, we came this way in search of a healer to begin with. Thora's style of combat tends to cause her frequent injury, and while she is exceptionally tough, anyone can only take so many hits."
"Hmph, 'I'm tough' is no excuse for being reckless and sloppy," the monk said, crossing her arms and giving the tall demon a look of severe disapproval.

"H-hey, I'm not any kinda fighter in the real world," she protested. "That's just how the berserker class works."
Zef's eyes narrowed a bit. "...If you say so. Nonetheless, I wouldn't withhold healing from one in pain, if I can give it."
"That's..a relief."

The monk turned toward Fiori again, who had gone to stand over the largest pile of hedgehog-wolf-thing corpses. "...What are you doing?"
"Oh, uh, don't mind me~. Just collecting monster souls," she said.
"Necromancer class stuff," Noire clarified further. "They'll have a tactical purpose for her later."
"..Understood."

"But, we should go about collecting the spoils while we're at it, anyway. The pieces monsters leave behind tend to be useful for crafting items or improving equipment. Or—they can at least be sold for money to afford other supplies," Noire explained patiently.
"I had the basic idea of this game explained to me," Zef said—bluntly, but not sounding particularly annoyed by the explanation. "I chose a class which possesses no equipment to upgrade on purpose."

"Nonetheless. You did most of the fighting and slaying here," the rogue persisted. "It would be terribly unfair for you to claim none of the reward. I'm certain someone as clever as you could find profitable things to buy with the money."

"Hmmph. Just pick out whatever you think is fair." Thora increasingly had the sense that, despite anything she might say to the contrary, Zef was genuinely interested in the 'kill stuff' aspect of the game—and not much else. Well, it took all types...