TheDeepDarkReef
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Rok Chapter: Snap Decisions
🕑 Added 2020-03-01 06:00:38 +0000 UTCBefore I get into the chapter, I just want to say, I am entirely unsure about this one. I really like how parts of it turned out and feel completely unsure at other portions. On top of that, I don't know if Rok's decision here feels natural or forced, or if it simply comes out of nowhere way too fast, because this will radically alter the events of Rok's storyline. It had to happen eventually, but I'm wondering if you think it should have happened now, but the people on discord seemed to want it so I gave it a shot. On top of that, this chapter is long, very long, possibly the longest I've ever written in a single chapter, and I'm not sure if that's a good thing either. Please tell me what you think, but most importantly, please, enjoy, and thank you for reading!
Edit: I want to inform the readers here that the version of this chapter just uploaded to Royalroad has been rather significantly edited, in hopes of addressing the comments made about it lacking a bit too much context. Hopefully, these changes help!
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Rok was at his desk, having just finished writing up a basic incident report for the events of the morning, throwing it out, rewriting it again, and repeating this twice more. The man was exasperated, the Mapper’s spell had worn off, or perhaps been made to wear off, just enough so that some of the ten troublemakers could speak to the scaled beastkin. Ideally, he’d have liked some answers from the group, but it seemed that they were under an Oath of some sort which kept them from speaking much.
Some of them also had rather troublesome identities, particularly the dragonkin in the groups. The golden one, apparently a half-brother to the eminently annoying Petra Goldwing from a few months earlier, was apparently raised with the same fanatical reliance on his clan name despite the fact that, in his own words, none of his actions were known or condoned by that very clan.
The silver kin was similarly privileged, although her origins were slightly more humble, and she managed to be even more vocal about them than the gold one. Both of them were experts at agitating the crocodilian, though, considering that they were both trying to use their draconic blood to pressure Rok into complying with their inane demands. They were fully leveraging it in their aura, burning mana to give them the appearance of superiority despite Rok being utterly unaffected beyond the annoyance they were drilling into him.
“Can you both stop.” He grumbled, not for the first time that morning or the afternoon it had become, as the two A rank kin and their lackeys made a fuss, demanding rights they’d forfeited and concessions they’d never be given to begin with. They seemed cowed, for the moment, but ever since they had gotten the ‘gift’ of speech back their petulance had come in waves. He’d tried to have them dragged out earlier, taken to a holding cell so he could have a moment of quiet, but the mousekin’s magic had thoroughly rooted them in place, and he was stuck having to put up with the potential diplomatic disasters’ antics until he had a more clear idea of whether he could get away with gagging the troublesome scions.
Thankfully, before he actually did so, or could get Kelly to come and give them all a suggestion or two, there was a knock at his door. Opening it up revealed the very siren he’d been thinking of, sneaking a few glances behind him at the rather sorry looking group. She was quick to put them out of her mind, though, and delivered the message she had been given.
“Rok, a group of gate guards are at the front, they say they were sent by the Mapper to escort four more prisoners back to the Island. They’re almost here, and three of them are to be immediately taken to the cells, but the last is severely Burned, they’ll need to take him to the clinic. Even then, they aren’t sure if he’ll wake up.” The grim news hardly sat well with the detainees behind Rok, and the four who had regained their voices were quick to try interrogating Kelly for more information.
He couldn’t quite launch into questioning her himself, though, before she once again looked behind his back. This time, though, she wasn’t looking at the assembly of headaches, but towards his desk, and Rok had an idea of why. And sure enough, the diminutive, white-haired form of the Mapper stood on his desk. Once he was sure all eyes were on him, he spoke up.
“I sincerely apologize for simply vanishing like that, Rok. It pains me even more to say that I may well need to do it again, soon.” As he spoke, he waved a hand towards the group, apparently freeing them from his spell. Before they could do something foolish, like try to run or possibly fight, however, they once more stumbled and fell, joints magically frozen.
“While I was sorting things out with the rest of these miscreants, I learned a few things that I find very concerning, frankly appalling actually, and I will likely need to depart and have a discussion, or several, with my former employers.” Despite the Mapper’s ever-polite choice of words, the anger was rolling off the man in waves, and to those in the room it was directed at, it was suffocating. After a moment, though, he took a deep breath, restraining himself.
“But before we make any decisions, we must know everything that can be learned from these few. Their Oaths are of little consequence, they’ve only sworn on their own mana, and they will be free to tell us whatever we need to hear.” Despite the Mapper’s rather ominous declaration about their fates, his renewal on their restraints ensured that they couldn’t raise any objection as he raised them out of the water.
“Would you mind leading the way to somewhere more suitable for an interrogation? I’m afraid I still have yet to learn the layout of your island, as shameful as that is.” He asked Rok, as the ten were lined up behind him, pulled along as the two walked to the still-temporary prison. They maintained a brisk pace as they went, the Mapper’s urgency at this matter was bleeding through to Rok and few words were exchanged. They made for an unusual sight, a parade of frozen adventurers pulled along behind the Island’s Guildsmaster, but that very authority meant that beyond some curious stares, they weren’t accosted.
The walk was short from the Guilds Hall to the makeshift prison, and hardly a few minutes passed before the Mapper unceremoniously dumped the group of ten into one of many barren, concrete cells. Rok was almost eager to start questioning them with the Mapper’s presence, something which might actually compel them to answer, but the tiny man wanted to speak to Rok, first. The two stepped into the hallway, and the Mapper isolated them from any listening ears.
“Now that we actually have a moment to speak, Rok, I must let you know that poor Aby might well be in a difficult spot, thanks to the Fae. They had the audacity to send that group in with another Dungeon Core in their possession, and there is the distinct possibility that this provocation may be too much for the little one.” Rok’s eyes widened at the information, and he could easily see why the Mapper had returned even more worked up than he’d left. To deliberately spark a Dungeon War was madness, Cores could often go Rogue just from simply encountering another Dungeon’s domain randomly, to drop one in the middle of another was simply begging for problems.
Rok didn’t realize that he was the source of the low, rumbling hiss until the mapper had to speak up to continue his talk. “I honestly could not predict what may happen next, Aby is vastly different from any other that I know of, but it is still a child, it wasn’t even remotely ready for its first War, even if it was against a crippled infant of a Core.
“I’ve told those at the gate that no one is to descend for any reason today, and the guards acceded to that demand, but I think a single day may not be enough rest. I would recommend barring access for longer, but that may be difficult, and I doubt doing so would endear you to the masses.” The Mapper trailed off there, but Rok was well aware that he was correct. He’d long since accepted the responsibility of managing the Dungeon, managing Aby, and he couldn’t allow it to become Rogue all because of some game he wasn’t even aware of.
At the same time, he knew that he wasn’t yet well established enough to simply close down the Dungeon for an extended period of time, he’d have a riot on his hands before long. The thing was just too lucrative, and he was sure that people were already unhappy at being told they would miss a single day. Much longer than that, and people could well do something nasty, to him or to Aby, and neither option would have a good outcome.
Rok grit his teeth, but he felt helpless. Even if the Mapper was right and the Fae were the cause of his new troubles, and he likely was correct, there was nothing he could do. He was too weak to even get an audience with a Dungeon Fae, back when he was an active Guilds member, and he was hardly much better years later. Idly, he sent a mental tug at his storage ring, and a vial of deep crimson he’d gotten not half a day earlier appeared in his grasp. The Mapper immediately noticed this, too, and a pensive look was plastered onto his mousey features.
“Rok… My friend, I know you are due for your ascension soon, very soon, and that things look rather dire at the moment, but you hold in your hand a very important choice. There is the very likely possibility that you’ll immediately hit the threshold to S, if you drink that, and you won’t have the option to hold back if you do. It will be dangerous, I will help however I can if you choose to drink it now, but there’s only so much that even I could do. However, it will make you strong, very strong, should you succeed.”
Rok was staring at the bottle in his hands as the Mapper said his piece, deep in thought. It would be risky, dangerous and potentially lethal, even, but it was entirely possible that the near future held plenty of that if he didn’t take the leap. The only difference would be that if he waited, he may lose any chance or choice, and by then it would be too late. He took a deep breath, maybe his last ever, and flexed his thumb, popping the cork stopper out.
The Mapper said nothing more as Rok brought the vial to his mouth, opening his toothy jaws and tilting his head back. The liquid went down quickly, and Rok realized what he was drinking almost immediately. This was no potion, miraculous or otherwise. The metallic tang was familiar to him, having tasted blood an uncountable number of times. Only, this blood was special, that much was obvious from the sheer amount of mana that was contained within it, but Rok swallowed it all in a single gulp, and for a single moment, found himself wishing for more. The taste was divine, and it set something off, in the back of his mind. Something primal and hungry.
As soon as the tangy-sweet blood settled in his stomach, however, those thoughts vanished, all thought vanished, for the briefest moment, replaced by pain. But he couldn’t stay that way, not if he wanted to survive this experience. He did the only thing he could think of in that moment, calling forth his status, and forcing himself to read.
=====
Name: Rok Otor
Race: Beastkin (Greater Saltwater Crocodile)
Status: Healthy
Saturation: Threshold Reached (!)
Feats: Atavistic
Affinities: Moderate Water, Moderate Earth
=====
The Mapper was right, Rok noted, before he was forced to focus fully on the changes happening within himself. At first, it felt simply like the worst heartburn he’d ever experienced, a burning wave starting at his stomach and then working its way up, through his chest. It quickly devolved from there, however, when that burn became more.
It spread out from his center, a lance of angry heat that travelled through his veins and nerves and flesh, from his toes to his head, he felt every centimeter of his own body and it was searing agony. And then it got worse. From mere heat, he felt pressure starting to build, realizing quickly that if he didn’t find some way to alleviate that pressure, it would make some way itself, and that would not be pretty.
His jaw clenched even harder, and he became aware that at some point, he had hit the floor. Through willpower alone he focused on that feeling of pressure, where it was originating from, where it was the worst. He focused on the very center of his chest, grabbed hold of that feeling, and pushed an idea into it. He told it to burn and it did. Once more, a wave of fire ripped through him, but this time, he truly ignited his body.
The core of his chest rippled, the scales withered and the flesh beneath flickered and crackled as an otherworldly green glow spread out from there. If Rok hadn’t been so single-mindedly focused on keeping his burning controlled, he would have seen his own muscles, the tissues of his own organs being seared by this green light as it spread out, looking for all the world like a piece of charcoal as its last embers died, the final color turning to a white ash and crumbling away.
No blood flowed, even as vessels were exposed to air and then further charred into nonexistence and organs were immolated by his own will. But then, a second wave of power flowed from the focus of his ordeal, this time, pulling energy from the seemingly bottomless well at his core and weaving together new flesh from nothingness, replacing vital systems that he should have died without. A third fluctuation happened, as he pushed even more of his own will into burning before he could be burnt, and it set the brand-new tissue ablaze.
The cycle continued, every time his body would be incinerated by his own power, a second pulse would recreate what was destroyed, just before Rok’s own awareness could no longer hold on, but each restructuring would once more leave him with too much power, too much energy, threatening once more to reduce him to ashes. And so, he instead focused on destroying himself before his own, unrestrained power could do it. He was forced, over and over, to scorch away his own body just to survive, and he had no idea how long this lasted.
However, with every new wave of cremation, the restoration would be just a little better. Every cell that was charred was one that needed to be replaced, and the only thing that could be used to replace it was mana, ripped straight from his very essence to rebuild him. Again and again, he would scorch his body into nothingness, existing only through sheer resolve for an instant, before his body would be reconstituted once more, allowing him to cling to life anew before he needed to repeat.
But, after what seemed like an eternity of this destructive rebirth, Rok could feel this endless reservoir running dry. The end was in sight, but he wasn’t yet done, and one final time he demanded that his mana rampage, controlling the uncontrollable to ravage himself into something better. And this last push was also the most thorough, for the briefest fraction of a second, his body was truly destroyed, all the energy he’d spent decades infusing into his very flesh was gone, used to burn away that very flesh, and he was nothing but a soul untethered, floating in endless nothingness before the world reasserted itself, and used the dredges of power that he’d produced and used to, one final time, recreate.
Bones, sinew, muscle, leathery-scaled skin, Rok’s body was knitted together almost exactly as it was, and yet, he was no longer a creature of flesh and blood. He felt it, too, he was strong despite having never been more drained in his long life. He flopped onto his back, feeling the power coursing through his reforged body and basking in it. He was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness and boundless energy, needing both a nap and a jog around the world, but it seemed the world wasn’t quite finished, yet.
Congratulations! Through sheer dedication and willpower, you have become something better than yourself!
Your efforts have not gone unnoticed, Vol and The System both applaud you for this monumental achievement!
As such, you have earned more privileges by The System itself, and the rights and responsibilities that come with it.
Your method of ascension, ingesting the blood of a vastly stronger creature closely related to your own race to act as a catalyst, has granted you certain perks and drawbacks, some paths are only now opened to you and others forever barred.
Your Status will reflect your new race and some of your new circumstances, but some facets remain hidden, and rely on you to discover them.
Once more, welcome to the ranks of The System-Recognized, Rok Otor, and may your pursuit of power not stop here.
He was dumbfounded, having never seen that much System Text at a single time before, but with a thought, he once more opened his status. Once more, he would have been stunned into silence if he hadn’t already been unable to make a sound.
=====
Name: Rok Otor
Race: Beastkin (Deinosuchus Tegere)
Status: Healthy
Aspects: The Shift, The Sea, The Striker
???: ???
???: ???
...
=====
Rok examined his new screen for a long moment more, simply taking in the changes, surprisingly few, that meant so much. For a start, his race really had changed, something uncommon at best and unheard of to some, and from what he could tell, this was more than a simple racial evolution, especially considering he’d never even heard of whatever it was he was now. A Prime Saltwater Crocodile would have been understandable, he was hoping it might happen, even, but he wasn’t even sure what this creature was, beyond terrible, apparently. He had a feeling, however, that it wasn’t terrible for himself.
Finally, he dismissed his screen, and took a look around himself. The first thing he’d noticed was that he wasn’t at the prison any longer. Instead, he was staring at the ceiling of his own hut. He was alone in the room, and he wasn’t sure how long he’d even been there, but the sun was still burning strong in the sky above, so it was likely less than a few hours, or more than a full day.
The second thing he noticed, was that he desperately needed to get dressed. He moved to correct this, and immediately encountered a new problem, before he even could check his wardrobe. He pushed himself to a standing position, feeling completely at home in his new body, but when his head smashed into the ceiling of his house, he realized that he wasn’t at home in his own home.
He ducked down, scowling up at the hole he’d put in his roof just by standing up, before it clicked that he’d made a hole in the roof, just by standing up. It hardly took a genius to figure out the implications of that, and with a start, he realized that he was huge. The ceiling of his home was specially made so that even his two-and-a-half-meter frame had a meter of extra space above his head when he stood, but that was far too short, now. He couldn’t get an exact number, he was in his home with no equipment and unable to even stand up fully, but he made a reasonable guess that his new body stood at a truly towering four meters.
This gave him an excuse to figure out what else had changed, although he was still lacking a mirror to find out too much. A few things still stood out as obvious, however. The first was that his formerly dull off-brown scales were a completely different color, now. He stared at the smooth scales and scutes on his body, and their deeply rich grey accented with stripes of mossy black. The next big difference came in the form of a tail, a long, muscular appendage continuing down his vertebrae rather than ending as a ‘normal’ humanoid’s tailbone.
He was already familiar with having a tail, atavism had long since gotten him used to that, but it was certainly novel to feel the growth while in his normal kin shape. It was proportionally smaller than what he was used to, ever-so-slightly thinner and more flexible, so rather than being forced to hang straight down as he stood, he could hold it out, adjusting his balance with it. He realized that he seemed a little more animalistic in general, although he couldn’t yet tell if that was reflected in his face.
All of this came together to make his search for clothing quite a bit more difficult, for one, and he wound up needing to wrap the blanket he’d been collapsed on around his waist to preserve his modesty. Once he succeeded in that, not even bothering to attempt to put on actual clothes now that they were so exaggeratedly small, he was faced with a new trial.
At a glance, Rok couldn’t get out of the door. He was simply too big, too broad to even attempt it and too tall to simply go through sideways without bending himself in half. In the end, he wound up laying on his side, scooting himself through the doorway with jerky motions, only to make eye contact with a silent watcher once he had nearly freed himself.
“Oh, dear,” Started the man who put him in this situation to begin with. “This is certainly… not quite what I’d expected.” Rok had dragged himself to a sitting position, towering over the Mapper despite that fact. “I was just returning to check on you once more, before returning to the problem-children and continuing my interrogation. I needed a break, though, every new bit of information they reveal only serves to further anger me, and I cannot let that get in the way of the knowing all the facts.
“This definitely makes for an interesting break, though, so I need to thank you, even if I know this new form” he waved his hand at Rok for emphasis “wasn’t intentional. I must apologize for putting you in this predicament. I truly didn’t anticipate such a drastic evolution.” As he spoke, he grabbed Rok’s arm, although their disparate sizes made it seem more like he just laid his hand flat, and pulled, and then the duo was outside of his home, Rok sitting on soft beach sand.
He simply enjoyed his surroundings for a second before once again pushing himself to his feet, feeling this time unrestrained but by the sky above. The Mapper, hardly standing at Rok’s knees, seemed elated to see the changes which had occurred in Rok, but there was also a deeply curious gleam in his eyes, the sort Rok had seen whenever he spoke of Aby, or of Dungeons in general.
They sorted things out once Rok was back on his feet, the Mapper had gifted Rok a pair of pants ‘meant for the child of a Titan’ which, just barely, fit, although they weren’t made for someone with a tail and did little beyond cover his legs. Where, how, or why the man had kept clothing that was so hilariously larger than he could ever use was a mystery to Rok, one he was happy to ignore in favor of having some clothes at all. He wrapped the blanket around himself as a makeshift cloak, albeit a poor one, and the two started walking.
“Thank-” Rok started, before slamming his mouth shut in shock. What had come out of him was not the voice he remembered, it was hardly a voice at all, it was such a deep baritone it just felt like something was rumbling in his chest and ears, a reverberating echo packed with almost as much power as he felt in his body. Cautiously, he tried speaking again, keeping his volume as quiet as possible, which was admittedly still very loud. “Thank you, Mapper. I feel incredible.”
“Of course, my friend. I must congratulate you on joining the ranks of the truly gifted, although I was hardly expecting you to make use of my gift to accomplish it so soon. Still, your decisiveness is absolutely commendable, and you may well have made the smartest decision, choosing to ascend now rather than later, if what I’ve coaxed out of our unwelcome guests is true.
“But we still have time to prepare, and you have a much better grasp of the power on this island now than you had mere hours ago, Rok. I do want to know, however, why you chose to rank up in such a violent fashion?” He fell into thought at the Mapper’s words, it certainly wasn’t a very pleasant means of grasping at power, but everything Rok had heard suggested that every single method of ranking was similar in that a single, small error was fatal, or possibly worse. He asked the Mapper that and was answered with a chuckle.
“Of course, ascension is hardly an easy feat, and no matter how you chose to go about it, you would have been teetering between death and power the entire time. I’m simply curious as to why you chose to light your body and mana aflame, very few outside of the phoenixes choose to do so. It was likely that very choice which made your evolution so much more… pronounced than it would otherwise have been. Instead of simply incorporating these changes to your body in some other way, your new bloodline, and the changes it wrought on your soul, had nothing to work off of, and could instead create an ideal vessel for your new self.”
Rok nodded, what he was saying was sensible enough. He took another step, his stride carrying him over a meter and a half in that single step, before he shrugged and responded to the Mapper. “I’m not entirely sure, it just felt right.” The mousekin nodded, apparently satisfied with the vague answer, before they emerged from the mangrove swamp that covered a large swath of the island, the only place untouched by the din of civilized chaos.
Almost instantly, all eyes drifted their way, and an uncharacteristic silence took hold of the northwestern edge of the town. Rok was at a loss, too, not having any idea what he could say to the rapidly gathering crowd. It seemed that they hardly knew, either, and for a long minute, only quiet murmurings could be made out, the masses torn between a sense of awe and fear at the familiar stranger.
“Is that- are you Rok?” Finally, one of them spoke up, and Rok turned to look at them. It was a man, a human, that he only vaguely recognized. The titanic beastkin nodded, thinking better of speaking before he got a handle on his new voice. That revelation served to thin the crowd a little, with some people losing interest in the monolithic stranger now, but many more instead launched into questioning him, with the same few obvious queries being thrown at him in a progressively louder fashion.
His refusal to speak lasted a short few seconds after that, when the racket became unbearable. “Please,” he rumbled out, “settle down. I will make a formal announcement about my new appearance later. For now, though, I have work to do.” The crowd flinched back, whether from shame or simply recoiling at the still poorly controlled power in Rok’s voice he couldn’t say, and they slowly went back to whatever it was they were doing before, letting Rok continue walking down the dirt-sand road.
The Mapper remained quiet; his mood was steadily worsening as they approached the jailhouse Rok started his Ranking in. It seemed that he really had needed the distraction, earlier, if simply returning was getting him so agitated, and Rok wasn’t sure whether he should be glad to have missed the earlier questions and what went on, or worried about what information he’d yet to hear of.
He would find out soon, however, as every step brought him closer to his destination, and when his head was peaking over the tops of some of the smaller buildings, those steps were large. The Mapper managed to keep up effortlessly despite the difference in gait, but the few who tried to follow after him had to jog, if not practically sprint, to keep pace with his new strides, and it wasn’t long before Rok was once more outside the terrestrial holdings. The experience was surreal, he was staring down at guards that weren’t even as tall as his waist when it was mere hours since last they spoke, and they were only around a head shorter, then.
The pair stationed outside of the heavily reinforced building watched with wide eyes as their reborn Guild head crouched low to fit through the large doorway into the barren stone building. Thankfully, it was made to be much more accommodating to people of his new proportions than his own home was, and he hardly had to duck his head to stand in the halls. According to the Mapper, he’d kept most of the group together while talking to them; apparently, they were relatively forthcoming with information, but they didn’t know much of it and kept succumbing to the effects of breaking their Oaths.
The casual nonchalance the Mapper used as he mentioned forcing them to become Oathbreakers was in many ways concerning, but now was hardly the time to care. He also mentioned that he had to bring the two dragonkin to a separate cell because they were ‘belligerent in a way that only those pompous lizards can be.’ They were able to hold strong in the face of even the Mapper’s pressure, revealing very little and nothing which would violate the Oaths they made.
Since the mousekin refused to resort to anything which would bring actual harm, them being trained to resist the aura of someone stronger than them made it very difficult to get anything more substantial than their own names and that of the clans who would ‘make them regret this injustice.’ The silver one seemed a little more reserved, apparently realizing what she’d gotten herself into, but the golden one seemed every bit as arrogant as his sister had been, a genuinely impressive feat in the face of a Titled.
That said, Rok had to admit that the Mapper was hardly the most intimidating person. He had all the power of a Titled, of a force of nature, but these people may well have grown up in a household with someone else like that, who earned their power through making bodies instead of books. Once they realized the Mapper wasn’t going to do any more damage than what they would do to themselves if they spoke, it became very easy for them to delude themselves into silence. If that was the case, then perhaps they needed someone less diminutive to try and get them to open up.
Rok opened the door to their cell, underestimating how much force his new body could produce and nearly ripping the heavy steel thing right off its hinges by mistake, before he once more ducked down low and twisted slightly to fit himself through the doorway. The room itself had an even higher ceiling than the hallway, so as he entered the room, one hand on the frame to guide himself through the tight space, he was able to fully bring his new height to bare in front of the two immobile kin.
At a glance, it was obvious that they were not expecting Rok, or whatever it was that he had become. The girl managed to shrink back into herself despite only her head being untouched by the Mapper’s magic, and the boy simply stared, slack jawed, as Rok gave them both a wide smile. Apparently, whatever they saw lining the crocodilian’s jaws didn’t inspire confidence in their predicament.
He finally stopped focusing on holding back the power he’d felt ever since waking up, allowing his aura to come rolling off him in waves. The duo blanched even more, as Rok cleared his throat, and spoke with a voice he swore he’d never get used to, one that rattled his own bones from the pitch and volume.
“Well then, let’s have a talk, shall we?”
Comments
Neal OHara
Thanks for the chapter! I largely agree with Jacob's response, Rok's decision makes sense, but we are missing the context of how strong the Fae are and why an S rank Guild head is better able to protect Aby than an A rank. For the future though, I can hardly wait to see Aby's reaction to the new Rok! She dislikes the Mapper, however I think Rok's new form may be much more appealing to her senses. Maybe to the point she'll be willing to let Sela talk with him?
Jacob
I like it, I do think it's missing a little bit of context dose becoming an S rank just make him a nuclear deterrent or dose he get more resources and backing from the guilds. Also how rare are S ranks, if the Fae are so powerful a group how does Roc becoming S rank stop them from just sending 3 or 4 S ranks to take care of it. Rok's decision makes sense but I think we need just a few extra details about how much power he could possibly gain or much influence the Fae really have
Gabriel
I think it turned out well. Could it have been done better? Maybe? Do I know how nope. Rok's under a lot of pressure and would have been feeling cornered; fight or flight kicks in and he seems like a fighter trying to even the odds.
