Following his encounter with Verlick - although the Dreadnaughts probably had something to do with it too, of course - Lowe had not been able to bring himself to return to interviewing museum employees.
He had made his excuses to the guard that had been put at his disposal - another oddly low-classed woman in an ill-fitting uniform - and taken to the avenues and roads of Soar for a wander.
During his trials and tribulations of the last year, Lowe had found himself walking these dark and mean streets more and more. Mostly, that was because, post-Classtration, he no longer had an office from which to work, but also because it was difficult to think clearly in an apartment that smelled of desperation, regret and last week's uneaten curry.
However, there was also something about the city of Soar, especially at this time of night, that had always helped him clear his head. And, right now, with Mental Fortress whirling nineteen-to-the-dozen, he figured his psyche needed all the support it could get.
Taking in a deep breath, Lowe stepped through the museum gates and into the early evening light, allowing Soar to wrap itself around him like a lover with sharp nails and a smoky laugh. Ignoring the portal stone opposite, he turned left and made his way into the heart of the Cultural Quarter.
Lowe had lived in Soar his whole adult life, arriving as a fresh-faced teenager with hopes, dreams and parents back home in the sticks who were as glad to be rid of him as he was to escape. What he found on arrival was a city with too many secrets and not enough scruples—a lady of the night who’d steal your wallet and kiss you sweetly while doing it. Lowe winced at that. He would like to think that was a metaphorical flight of fancy, but that had actually happened more than once over the years.
As he walked down a familiar avenue - this street wasn't a million leagues away from his beat when he was first deployed from Cuckoo House - he relaxed into a comfortable stroll, the cobblestones underfoot slick with the recent rain and other - less salubrious - liquids. It might have been his overactive imagination, but it looked as if each of the stones glistened like wet lips under the mana-empowered lights.
Even though it was getting late - exactly how long had he stood and stared at those writhing, moving Dreadnaughts? - Soar never slept; she merely waited, lying in a bed of shadows, her heartbeat a low, persistent thrum that echoed to the distant clatter of hooves and the muted murmur of voices drifting from barely-lit pubs. If he took a left here - at the crossroads of Hope and Expectation - he would soon be unable to move for places - and people - that could take his mind off what he had seen. There was a time - and not really that long ago, now he thought about it - when this would have been a pretty easy decision to make.
Now, though, Lowe resolutely stalked forward even as Mental Fortress positively shook under the assault of sights, sounds and entreaties from the darkness. At times like this, it felt to him like Soar was alive, but only just—like a parasite that thrived on the vices of its inhabitants, feeding off their desperation. This city was, to all intents and purposes, a vampire with a sense of humour. Or, now he thought about it, just your average, common-or-garden god . . .
Then Lowe staggered slightly, suddenly light-headed. Puzzled, he checked his stats and noted, with alarm, that his mana pool was almost exhausted: both Mental Fortress and Roll with the Punches appeared to be going gangbusters. The first made sense after what he'd been through with the Dreadnaughts. He'd have been astonished if it wasn't. The second though . . . were all these mental attacks actually causing him physical damage? Figuring this was an issue to ponder another time - and not wanting to see what would happen to his sanity if he no longer had mana to spare - he pulled out one of Mylaf's smoothies and downed it in one gulp. Voices called from the side alleys, asking for "a little taste, mate? That looks cracking!" but Lowe had long since learned to keep his cards close to his chest—Soar might’ve been the kind of woman who could make you forget yourself, but Lowe wasn’t about to let her get back under his skin.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
His mana refilled - although he noted it began ticking down immediately -
Lowe started to regret his decision to walk home rather than use the portal. Mana exhaustion was no picnic, and he really didn't want to get caught up in something without Roll with the Punches to rely on. Since having his Intellect and Wisdom power levelled by Latham, he hadn't had to worry about that happening. But now? Well, he just wanted to be safely tucked up in bed. He was getting old . . .
Dipping his head to avoid eye contact with anyone, Lowe passed by a narrow alley, its entrance framed by the flicker of glowing signs that seemed to beckon with a finger only the desperate could see. Even as he had that thought, he made out a group of figures loitering in the shadows beneath the words, eyes gleaming with a hunger that only came from wanting something you knew you’d never have. Soar attracted this type of lost man - and woman! - like moths to a flame, and she burned them all up just as easily, leaving nothing but ashes and regrets behind.
A soft breeze stirred, carrying a discordant burst of music—a minor-key tune that drifted from a hidden doorway, its notes curling around the group and pulling them towards it. Lowe recognised that sound, the melancholy hum of one of the innumerable
Lowe's mana dipped alarmingly again - what was going on! - and he downed a second smoothie. With alarm, he saw his inventory was starting to run low of the consumable. Mylaf would, of course, be delighted to whip up another batch, but that wouldn't help him if he ran dry before he got back. With an uncharacteristic burst of pace, he walked on, past shuttered windows that watched his progress with feigned disinterest, like a woman who’d seen it all before and wasn’t impressed. The cracks in their facades were evident in the mana light—wrinkles in the skin of a city that had long since stopped caring about appearances. Soar didn’t need to be beautiful; she had style, which was far more dangerous.
Lowe's undignified haste brought him to the main thoroughfare - Displacement - which would pass by his apartment. Here, the street widened into a boulevard lined with hawkers selling trinkets, consumables and promises. The crowds here were thick, bodies pressed close together, seeking a last vestige of something significant to make of their day. Lowe straightened his coat and started down the street, knowing that no matter how quickly he walked, Soar would be right there with him, her hand in his pocket and a smirk on her lips.
And then words swam across his vision.
<<<
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He shook his head as much to clear the confusion in his mind as to answer the question. More of this Rank 2 bullshit? Skills didn't move to Rank 2. They had four tiers - Common, Rare, Epic, Legendary - everyone knew that. They didn't 'rank up.' And, as far as anyone else knows, neither do attributes, a little voice said in his head. Considering the power of Mental Fortress, Lowe was forced to conclude it was probably his own brain supplying the narrative commentary. He was glad it was good for something.
<<<
"I don't know! What does Rank 2 mean?" In any other city, passersby might have commented on a slightly dishevelled, middle-aged man talking plaintively to himself in the middle of the street. In Soar - and at this time of the evening - such behaviour was so common as to be almost mandatory.
<<< 1. Reflective Barricade: Any mental assault directed at the Fortress is reflected back at the attacker, magnified by the strength of the [Lowe's] Willpower. 2. Thought Amplification: [Lowe's] mental processing speed and cognitive abilities are vastly enhanced, allowing for instantaneous problem-solving or the rapid learning of new Skills. 3. Shared Bulwark: [Lowe] can, temporarily, share their mental protections with an individual or with a group. Do you wish to Proceed?>>>> He needed to stop by Latham's house.