Money is arguably one of human civilization's most impactful inventions. Born from human necessity, it quickly perated every corner of the known world, being adopted by almost every race in Gesthe. Money fuels trade, serving as the cornerstone of prosperity and progress. Truly, its evolution is fascinating, from the initial exchange of rare shells to the minting of copper, bronze, silver, and gold coins.
Yet, it is the Shareholder Houses of Al-Lazar that have truly revolutionized the concept. They ingeniously adopted re paper scraps as a representation of value for easier trade. What makes this system striking is its straightforwardness. These notes can be exchanged for gold or other precious tals at the city’s treasury, establishing a chanism rooted almost entirely in trust and upheld by the city's vast resources.
Terd as "promissory notes," their popularity is surging among cities that engage in trade with Al-Lazar.
- The Fanciful Travels by Beron de Laney 376 AC.
Stroke for stroke, counter, parry, strike, and slash. It was my very mirror. Its very existence was a problem, a test and a divine ordeal. At its very essence, it posed the quandary - how does one defeat oneself? Like many things in life, the solution was simple, yet the execution was far from it. A simple answer to a simple problem. You just had to be the better version of yourself.
“A small hint for you, child of mortals. It will not be through violence, nor through magical might, that this Test is overco,” declared the goddess imperiously, floating upon high.
Our blades t again, locking clumsily, and we were both off-balance from having put too much power into our blows. She shrugged casually as she moved through the shadows and flickering darkness. “Never did you mortals learn to listen,” she sighed exasperatedly.
Distracted, a slow parry on my part caused a small shock of pain as the tal of my enemy’s weapon smashed against my upper arm. It was a good thing that my Health was so high, as the force of the blow, I am sure, would have been debilitating, armored or not. Instead, an abstract ten points were subtracted from my Health pool. Angrily, I replied in kind, striking at its knee-joint, causing it to lose its balance and crash to the ground. However, my follow-up blow failed to end things. My mirror dodged the descending blade, rolling away.
We were not equal after all. This thing, for all of its mimicry, fought like a machine. There was no anger behind its blows, just cold, calculated reaction. I switched grips with my weapon, holding it like a hamr now to better deal with an armored opponent. My mirror did likewise, and I smiled beneath my helm. As there was no emotion, so too there was no true thought behind its actions, no real plan. It was only reacting.
I almost laughed at the bitter irony. This Gilgash-thing was indeed a perfect mirror of myself. My old self, that was. The old that could do nothing more than to react to circumstance, that never thought of tomorrow. Always dealing with one problem without thinking about the next. The old was weak. The old was dead, dead from exposure, sliced from navel to neck in the arena, or crushed under the very earth itself.
Our strikes beca less elegant, but more punishing. We dealt ringing blows against each other that dented our thick armor. The underground temple to the Mother of Monsters sounded like a blacksmith’s forge as we beat each other into shape. As we fought, it was like I was being made anew. Being nearly my equal made it the perfect sparring partner.
You have gained 1 Dexterity.
There it was, the key to my victory and the release from this underground hell. Unlike the pseudo-, and the other artificial creations of this place, I had the capability for accelerated growth. It was a slim advantage, but one that would beco more pronounced as the contest continued.
But with such a close competition, the hand of fortune’s favor would heavily influence the scales. I would need to massage the odds in my favor with a better strategy.
I shifted to a more defensive mindset, focusing on avoiding the swift incoming blows, conserving my own Stamina and letting my mimic to waste more of its. Its hamr descended in a predictable arc, which I dodged, and the head of the weapon smashed into a plinth and sent stone chips scattering. Evading the attack had been easy, for I had seen the action telegraphed in my arms and the set of my shoulders, its arms and its shoulders. It was a flaw that Cordelia had warned of before, that my movents were too large and lacked subtlety. They were too straightforward and honest. Seeing myself from an outside perspective made it easy to see the truth in her words.
My retaliation ca swiftly, a simple Power Strike enhanced blow that smacked into its helm, stunning it. Again, and again, I repeated this move until my vanquished foe lay still at my feet. Notifications filled my inner sight, but I paid them scant attention as I raised my hamr weapon to end this trial.
“CEASE!” cried out the voice of divinity, forcing my arm to stop, the limb suddenly feeling alien and apart from . No matter how I struggled, it felt like the commands I was sending to my arm were simply being ignored.
Utterly frozen, I could do nothing as the goddess floated closer to . Always. Those in power only play gas that they have already won, I thought to myself as I snarled in aggression.
“No, no, no. This is not how it should have been done,” pouted Iasis, “You were ant to fight each other for a bit before you realized the futility of fighting yourself. It was ant to teach you sothing!”
“Teach sothing, you say!” I spat back, my helm causing my voice to sound hollow.
Rolling her eyes, she explained, “Yes, you were ant to sheathe your sword and the mimic would have done likewise. It is ant to be a mirror of yourself! Have you not read of the tales!? Honestly!”
“Tales!? What tales? You speak in riddles and bend and break the rules that you have made, like a spoiled child. You have dance to your tune, and I will suffer it no longer. Strike down and end this farce, I grow tired of it all,” I answered, all the while using this ti to check my notifications.
You have completed a Divine Ordeal.
You have completed the Test of Iasis
You have gained 200 experience.
You have gained the Mark of the Adapting Helix.
You have learned Frenzied Strikes (lvl.1).
You have learned Swords (lvl.3)
You have learned Hamrs (lvl.4)
You have gained 1 Strength.
From my notifications, this divine trial had certainly taught sothing. Control returned to as the experience flowed into my being. As powerful as they were, the gods of this world could be defied. If one was strong enough.
“Ignorant… and so lodramatic are you, human, but I guess I did after all make you in my own image,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. Her voice grew serious and stern, “If I wished you dead, you would be. I tolerate your presence because you are amusing, and because I have a use for you. Be that as it may, I will not tolerate RUDENESS!” exclaid the divine.
The anger left her as quickly as it ca, for her expression beca bright and joyful. She clapped her hands together, her eyes lighting, “You have passed the Test! Which makes you worthy of receiving my Mark. Oh, how delightful. This has not happened for, ah yes, centuries! Well done, now the Hul Abba, my servants will allow your passage!” she praised, her enthusiasm almost infectious.
“Now, claim your prize! Quickly” she intoned.
I sought my ‘prize’, scanning all the corners of this room, only to see the pseudo- swiftly revert to an amorphous blob. The liquid began to vibrate, creating ripples that distorted and distended it into strange shapes. Then corners ford, and new wooden textures ford along the surface. Slowly, it began to take the rough shape of… a trunk or chest.
“Quickly, before it finishes its transformation. Touch it!” insisted the goddess, command etched into every syllable of her voice.
I found myself drawing closer, my hand reaching for what was left of my defeated foe. Making contact with its wooden surface, I felt a connection more intimate than anything I had ever felt before as I claid what was rightfully mine. My heart raced, pounding in my chest, as a strange, fiery desire enveloped .
And then, with an abrasive suddenness, pain, that most unwelco of guests, imposed itself upon .
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