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Path of the Deathless Discussion Thread

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Just wanted to create a thread for this web novel.

It's a pretty cool and well written novel that can be found here


Has tons of OP hax n abilities such as acausality type 5, plot manip, concept manip, OP social influencing, mind manip, bio manip yadda yadda.. Consistently tier 6 so far from what I've been reading. Probably gets way higher since I'm not caught up and I'm a bit aways.
 
Valor every time Shiv flirts like a natural (he has no experience), or Adam every time he sees Shiv with another skill:

ref-do-something.gif
 
I just finished Books 1 and 2 in four days holy. Anyway, from the cosmology of the verse, it could be 1-C from the little information about what the Outsiders are. Also, is Foreshadowing, Exposition, and Outside Context Problem considered to be narrative haxes?
 
I just finished Books 1 and 2 in four days holy. Anyway, from the cosmology of the verse, it could be 1-C from the little information about what the Outsiders are. Also, is Foreshadowing, Exposition, and Outside Context Problem considered to be narrative haxes?
Honestly I think it might be considering later contexts about the system.
 
my favorite excerpt

Some Pathbearers like to claim that love and companionship are weaknesses that will unmake you. These Pathbearers are fools. Everything is a weakness. There is no single truth to strength. In fact, there is no skill, even, that is a strength in all situations. Skills make you more like the skills. If you destroy, if you kill, if you slay as a first resort, you will grow greater in the ways of the blade, grow stronger, grow faster.

But you will also be drawn away from other possibilities, like diplomacy or more subtle means of conflict resolution.

On a deeper level, perhaps you will not be wounded as much if you have no one you care about. Watching someone you love suffer or die is a particularly bitter kind of agony, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. But having no connections is not a strength. Yes, you will avoid a certain kind of injury, but you will also experience others. Solitude, for one.

I have tasted the decoction of solitude and found it a most disgusting potion. Let me tell you what solitude is, in its darkest moments:

Solitude is you missing most of your fingers, with your tendons cut out of you, with your body tortured beyond the point of breaking, and your mind teetering on the brink of madness, with you hanging from rusted hooks within a prison, taunted by your torturers and knowing that no one is coming to save you.

When the lonely make a mistake, it is a single event. A one-time thing. Alone, one error, one misstep, one failure will be your end. And for those of you who think that you will be perfect, that you will be a Pathbearer capable of facing all comers by yourself, understand that this feeling will not last when they drive the nails through your flesh. You will scream, you will break, and you will realize the mythology of your solitary power was just that: a story you told yourself.

Yes, we are shaped from our stories, but before the stories, there is flesh, there is bone, and then there is the bitter realization that we are little more than animals at our base. And that animal echoes long even after we become Legends.

The fate of the lone wolf is to die. Eventually, it is food. Perhaps you can say we are all food, if that is your means of rebuttal, and I might even agree. But the years that you spend alive matter. The people that you help matter. The things you do and the cultures you create matter, because we are not the System. We are not the gods. As far as you and I are concerned, the ones writing and reading these words are people. We exist relative to each other. We exist because of our communities, our homes. We exist for each other, no matter how much we fear, despise, or love one another.

We exist together. And if you cannot find strength or use in togetherness, then I bid you good fortune, because I barely survived my solitude, and I assure you, you will not.


-Valor Thann
 
weirdly worded ahh speed feat
Before the Culturist could say anything else, Jessica's flaming wheels roared. Time seemed to slow as she accelerated herself like a raging comet. She moved 4 meters and crossed 40 kilometers in the same instant,
 
"Hymn, there's something wrong. I tried to grow some eyes inside my ass to see what it looks like inside. I think I grew the eyes, but I’m not seeing anything."

Both of the Headmaster's eyes twitched. "Is your ass perchance bright on the inside?"

Shiv paused to consider that. "No?"

Hymn held out both hands open in front of him and said nothing else.

"I kinda forgot about that," Shiv admitted.
 
A Tap on the Head

A skill that, as the title implies, allows the user to knock out any adversary, provided that they are humanoid in appearance, possess a brain, and are generally unaware or arrogantly assume they cannot be injured by their attacker.

The adversary is rendered comatose in the aftermath of the skill’s usage and will remain so indefinitely, unless cold water or a vicious slap is applied to their face.

Take note that this skill will not work on anything that resembles a beast, or even a person shifted into the form of a beast. It requires an aesthetic component to trigger, and so one must resemble a humanoid for it to take effect. However, this rule is taken to the extreme. Even if you are a humanoid the size of a mountain, it will immediately affect you, and you will be disabled. The same thing can be said to a monster briefly turned into the shape of a humanoid, even crudely carved through surgical or Biomantic means.

Should you, in an extremely unlikely circumstance, obtain this skill either as a boon from one of the Fair Courts or through a System Quest within the Fairwoods, then understand it is best used in conjunction with your stealth, for the lightest tap will save you an immense struggle.

—Skills of the Fairest
(Unfinished encyclopedia about the Fairwoods, started by Hero-Ranger Morgan Munny)
Plot manip btw
 
The Educator pressed both palms against her temples and rubbed them in a circular motion while muttering something under her breath. “Of course there were. I think our dear Deathless has fallen victim to A Tap on the Head; a Narrative Skill used by the more… amusing denizens of the Fairwoods.”

“Why, Lost Ascendant, you have knowledge of the Fairest?” the Culturist said with surprise.

“Not nearly as much as the Headmaster. Especially with the Brokers' pet fairy feeding him information. But still enough.” The Educator’s face scrunched up uncomfortably. “I once sought to find inspiration for some of my drawings within the Fairwoods after an encounter with one of their toon subspecies. The way they moved, the exaggeration, and the animated detail, it inspired me. But my interest proved to be a trap.”

“Did one of them tap you on the head, Maia?” Jessica asked.

“One of them tapped me on the head,” the Educator spoke bitterly. “And when I woke, I was bound with Tension Rope. Which, as the name implies, doesn’t break until a certain amount of narrative tension is reduced. They tried to use me as bait to lure out one of their enemies so they could swat him over the head as well. Because, in their words, ‘it is the prerogative of the dastardly to fish for doofus do-gooders in desperate need of a noggin’ bashin’.’”

“I understood some of those words,” Uva said. “But how did you waken, after? Did it just take time?”

“Perhaps, but I didn’t get to find out before they splashed a bucket of ice-cold water over my head.” The Educator grimaced. “Soaked my robes and ruined my brushes. I wish I could say I gained great satisfaction ruining them with my paintings, but the damned cretins don’t stay dead or ruined. Incapacitating a toonish Fae is easy. Trying to kill or harm them permanently doesn’t work because it goes against the rules of comedic effect. Damnable creatures.”
 
hollyyy
A moment later, his mind struggled to perceive what was happening as the very world around them grew gnarled and faded like pages from an old book. There was a distance building inside Shiv, like he was peering out from himself, like a bystander—a reader peering at words describing what he was doing rather than a person guiding their own actions, with their own agency.

A Narrator of the Fairwoods has declared a final climax to this tale.

Beginning Epilogue…


Uva let out a surprised gasp as the curled fingers of steaming cold carried her through the air. She was partially shifted. The eldritch nature of her form was more exaggerated than ever before, and as Shiv caught her, her psychokinetic tendrils flicked about. They struck the Fae, yet they did nothing, bouncing off her body like there was a threshold she couldn't pass through.

“There, all of you are together now. The three who burn, all gathered as one before the queen they freed. What a wonderful story.” She clicked her tongue, and her face fell in disappointment. “Just a shame we're missing all the important bits leading up to this emancipation. Now it just seems like you were written in by the hand of the author as a desperate final measure to achieve a happy ending where none should have been possible.”

An arrow wreathed in Chronomancy erupted out from beside her head. It came within a centimeter of piercing her skull, but it froze in place, as did Adam, as the cold fused around him. Shiv tried to move, and the coldness scraped him as well, wrapped him in its loving embrace, and held him still.

Reality stopped moving. The confines of existence were narrowed until he was simply trapped, trapped in a cage sculpted in the shape of his body. That same fate befell Uva as well. The prison crept across the throne room, extended across the lands, and surged to encompass all reality.

No actions can be performed while the Narration is ongoing.

Before them, the Queen of Winter radiated with lunar brilliance. “Don't worry. I cannot hurt you right now. It is time for exposition. I wish to talk with you. I wish for you to know what I desire. I wish for things to be made plain. Because I am lonely, and Harkness was a terrible conversationalist.” She turned, directing a disdainful stare at the slack-faced vegetable slumped upon her throne. “She has served her purpose in drawing you here. Now I have all I need.”

Evanescia, the Usurper-Narrator of the Fairwoods, has marked you as an offering to the Broken Watchtower.

Evanescia, the Usurper-Narrator of the Fairwoods, has marked Uva Mettabon as an offering to the Broken Watchtower.

Evanescia, the Usurper-Narrator of the Fairwoods, has marked Adam Arrow as an offering to the Broken Watchtower.


Each notification struck Shiv like a hammer blow over the head. He tried to move, but the distance between him and his body and mind was vast. It was like the innermost aspect of his consciousness had been extracted entirely—displaced and exiled. He and his friends, for a moment, became sketches on a page; color bled away from their persons, and they blended into the backdrop. Each stood before the throne and the true Usurper Queen who looked down upon them; however, she suffered none of these effects. The gnarled-looking textures of withered paper never touched her. She remained a full person, colorful and radiant, vivid with detail. She continued speaking while everyone else had to listen.
 
hollyyy
A moment later, his mind struggled to perceive what was happening as the very world around them grew gnarled and faded like pages from an old book. There was a distance building inside Shiv, like he was peering out from himself, like a bystander—a reader peering at words describing what he was doing rather than a person guiding their own actions, with their own agency.

A Narrator of the Fairwoods has declared a final climax to this tale.

Beginning Epilogue…


Uva let out a surprised gasp as the curled fingers of steaming cold carried her through the air. She was partially shifted. The eldritch nature of her form was more exaggerated than ever before, and as Shiv caught her, her psychokinetic tendrils flicked about. They struck the Fae, yet they did nothing, bouncing off her body like there was a threshold she couldn't pass through.

“There, all of you are together now. The three who burn, all gathered as one before the queen they freed. What a wonderful story.” She clicked her tongue, and her face fell in disappointment. “Just a shame we're missing all the important bits leading up to this emancipation. Now it just seems like you were written in by the hand of the author as a desperate final measure to achieve a happy ending where none should have been possible.”

An arrow wreathed in Chronomancy erupted out from beside her head. It came within a centimeter of piercing her skull, but it froze in place, as did Adam, as the cold fused around him. Shiv tried to move, and the coldness scraped him as well, wrapped him in its loving embrace, and held him still.

Reality stopped moving. The confines of existence were narrowed until he was simply trapped, trapped in a cage sculpted in the shape of his body. That same fate befell Uva as well. The prison crept across the throne room, extended across the lands, and surged to encompass all reality.

No actions can be performed while the Narration is ongoing.

Before them, the Queen of Winter radiated with lunar brilliance. “Don't worry. I cannot hurt you right now. It is time for exposition. I wish to talk with you. I wish for you to know what I desire. I wish for things to be made plain. Because I am lonely, and Harkness was a terrible conversationalist.” She turned, directing a disdainful stare at the slack-faced vegetable slumped upon her throne. “She has served her purpose in drawing you here. Now I have all I need.”

Evanescia, the Usurper-Narrator of the Fairwoods, has marked you as an offering to the Broken Watchtower.

Evanescia, the Usurper-Narrator of the Fairwoods, has marked Uva Mettabon as an offering to the Broken Watchtower.

Evanescia, the Usurper-Narrator of the Fairwoods, has marked Adam Arrow as an offering to the Broken Watchtower.


Each notification struck Shiv like a hammer blow over the head. He tried to move, but the distance between him and his body and mind was vast. It was like the innermost aspect of his consciousness had been extracted entirely—displaced and exiled. He and his friends, for a moment, became sketches on a page; color bled away from their persons, and they blended into the backdrop. Each stood before the throne and the true Usurper Queen who looked down upon them; however, she suffered none of these effects. The gnarled-looking textures of withered paper never touched her. She remained a full person, colorful and radiant, vivid with detail. She continued speaking while everyone else had to listen.
The character being called Evanescia is pretty lmao considering the author is a honkai star rail translator (I'm serious)
 
There didn't seem to be such rules in the Fairwoods. Everything worked here, but at the same time, narrative laws reigned over material force. Power came second to character development and literary entertainment.

With that epiphany, Shiv’s A Glimpse of Perspective triggered. He caught a flash of something, something from the perspective of an omniscient deity. It glimpsed down at the Fairwoods, at the clock hands connected to the Broken Watchtower at the heart of this place. Across the great and vast realm of the Fairest, massive explosions enveloped the world, truly colossal explosions, great enough to obliterate Integrated Earth. These cataclasmic attacks were unleashed as magic spells, as strange artillery projectiles carrying apocalyptic payloads, or simply caused by entities moving so fast they were beyond Shiv's ability to perceive, appearing as thin tendrils of light.

But as every blast cleared, the Fairwoods remained unblemished. Not a tree was incinerated. Not a patch of land was cratered. Not a single building was defaced. Even the clouds remained in place, fluffy and blue or gray and sour with rain, depending on where in the Fairwoods the calamity originated.

Ultimately, it didn't matter, and the message was clear. Your personal power and the Tier of your skill were still respected. You could unleash that much energy. It just wouldn't matter. This place was not a place of matter. This place was a place of folklore.
 
platonic form jumpscare
We begin our lives in pieces. The fragments that become who we are are accumulated through experiences and triumphs, and eroded by failure and wrong lessons learned. Such is why the instruction of a child's virtue, the development of their mind in logic and empathy, and a regimen to perfect their physique must come together so that they can form the alloy of their idealized self.

To be anything less is to disgrace this gift of life you were given.

The same can be applied to how we seek to perfect our craft of war: beyond weapons, above weapons. We have our hands, our understanding, and our tongues to strike and break that which lies within, and our might to rend and ruin the whole without. But as said before: All things are of a final wholeness. So why cannot a word deliver a physical blow? Why cannot a style of violence be conveyed through rhetoric or base sophistry? Why cannot hypocrisy be identified and struck like an opening in someone's guard? And why cannot fists and feet carry the intent of enlightened understanding or compel shame in the shameless to unleash blows of emotional weight deeper than material harm?

They can, and they will, but only after you forge yourself into a proper whole, capable of bearing the burdens and blessings of the Final Way.

To reach this pinnacle, you must possess a style of expression, a style in kinesiology. The movement of violence, violence expressed by your body. You must understand the weakness and flaws of the mind, for consciousness is a theater of battle all to itself, and those who wield themselves poorly shall be wielded by their enemy in return.

Finally, one must possess the strength to fling forth their mind, their spirit, their strength and will. The Final Way is expressed through a myriad of patterns. It is an entombment, a craft, an art to this war.

At our foundation, we were meant to struggle and strive, and so we must have a vessel that strides beyond the limits of what this world has anchored us in. That mortal shell, that feeble flesh which rots and decays, is insufficient. The way you fight now must be of a purification, a higher order, a Platonic form.

Above mind, beyond strength, reforged of spirit, where the wound of words matches the wounds of bodies.

Perhaps you do not understand now. Perhaps the true meaning behind the Final Way is to be more than what a few words can convey. I tell you, seek perfection. Achieve dominance in the domains of the mind. Become a Psychic. Become a Gnostic of the Heart, a Psychologist who can strike and mend that which breaks within, and become a practitioner of any of the Martial Ways, and walk these paths in tandem until all three merge into one.

Once your spiritual forging completes, then you will understand. But then you are not at the end. You are at the beginning. And so, you may turn the following pages and continue your journey everlasting.


—Legend-Philosopher Melaia Kelhaus
 
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