Money is arguably one of human civilization's most impactful inventions. Born from human necessity, it quickly permeated 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 mere 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 metals at the city’s treasury, establishing a mechanism rooted almost entirely in trust and upheld by the city's vast resources.
Termed as "promissory notes," their popurity 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 ssh. 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 overcome,” decred the goddess imperiously, floating upon high.
Our bdes met again, locking clumsily, and we were both off-bance 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 metal 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 bance and crash to the ground. However, my follow-up blow failed to end things. My mirror dodged the descending bde, 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, calcuted reaction. I switched grips with my weapon, holding it like a hammer 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 pn. It was only reacting.
I almost ughed at the bitter irony. This Gilgamesh-thing was indeed a perfect mirror of myself. My old self, that was. The old me 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 me was weak. The old me was dead, dead from exposure, sliced from navel to neck in the arena, or crushed under the very earth itself.
Our strikes became 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 bcksmith’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-me, and the other artificial creations of this pce, I had the capability for accelerated growth. It was a slim advantage, but one that would become 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 hammer 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 fw that Cordelia had warned me of before, that my movements were too rge and cked 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 came 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 y still at my feet. Notifications filled my inner sight, but I paid them scant attention as I raised my hammer weapon to end this trial.
