u/S_Broves

I’m asking this because I’d like to try out a whole host of builds without having to spend hundreds of hours on the main campaign, when I could do the same in an afternoon on the Midnight Islands.

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Sorry for not including a screenshot. This post is just a question based on calculations I made from memory.

After going through every class and every type of bonus I could think of, I ended up with this result, and I can't figure out how to get past the 69 Intelligence barrier on my wizard.

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Level: 40

Classes: 20 Bloodseeker, 19 Shadowcaster, and 1 Vivisectionist

Mythic Path: Trickster → Legend

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Intelligence

Base: 28

Racial: +2 (Keen Kitsune)

Inherent: +6 (Master of Blood)

Profane: +5 (Umbral Mind)

Enhancement: +8 (Razmir's Mask)

Morale: +6 (Insightful Contemplation)

Other: +4 (Legend)

Alchemical: +8 (Grand Cognatogen)

Other: +2 (Vellexia's Magnifying Amulet)

I am aware that transplanting the lungs of a healthy prisoner into an asthmatic will cure the condition. However, if the reverse is done, will my healthy prisoner develop asthma?

If that happens, then I will need forty asthmatic lungs

Beneath purple sheets, lovers lay in tranquil repose, the first rays of morning creeping through the gaps between the dense scarlet curtains — a disturbance to their drowsiness, yet also an invitation to a majestic day. One of the enamored ones awoke with the brightness, his languid groans filling the chamber.

"By the lords", he thought as he sat up in bed, raising both arms, his right stretched fully while his left bent behind his head, threading through his black mane and grasping the elbow of his brother-limb with six delicate fingers that seemed never to have exerted any effort greater than carrying radiant alphelt's during their rare escapes into the city streets. Ahead, he tensed his limbs in a stretch as prolonged as it was sonorous, a satisfied melody escaping with each crack — one particularly audible one coming from his back. "These back will be the death of me one day", he chuckled before casting a longing glance at the gigantic companion, "or these contractors."

At the mention of the term, he could not help but lower a hand to his bare body, for it had been a long time since the sheets had fallen, grasping a full breast to squeeze it while he recalled the previous night, a haze of lust overtaking his consciousness as he began to replay the caresses performed by the lover of the occasion.

He could still feel the large hands gripping his breasts, sliding gently in a milking motion toward the areolas and, consequently, his nipples, ready for the games that the great fingers had in store for them — he could vividly feel the heat that had taken over his body at the time. However, entertainments of this sort were always merely an appetizer, far from sufficiently satisfying, for a daughter of the verlaneans, sated only by the most extreme of passions. It was not long before the contractor's amusement was interrupted by the woman's advance, who impatiently stimulated the giant's intimacy with her soft touch, yet continued, while preventing any protest by kissing his lips.

As the minutes passed, her caresses grew wilder. Meanwhile, her hands could barely grasp the member that continued to grow to proportions anomalous even for the woman, who seemed enchanted by such an unusual opportunity. As if aware of his partner's desires, a single arm of the man grabbed her to bring her onto his lap, managing to adjust her before her hips began to dance in a rhythm as passionate as it was frenetic. Afterward, the memories were nothing but warm flashes, whose only records of existence lay in the marks upon their bodies.

Bluish bruises on the woman's buttocks and breasts, as well as bite marks in various places, such as thighs, neck, and nipples. Meanwhile, a true battle seemed to have been waged across the man's body, with notable bites over practically his entire form, a piece of his lip and glans missing, as well as superficial scratches that still bled — after all, this was a known and admired risk for many who sought the services of an adept of Pesixty.

At the end of the recollections, a moist sensation arose between her legs and, little by little, her golden eyes grew glassy as she felt saliva rapidly filling her mouth and trickling down her lips in an almost maddening desire to continue those memories and discover the limits of her flesh. Just as great warriors mount their steeds, she threw herself atop the man, landing upon a still-rigid member while all her curves seemed to acquire a will of their own, dancing in a rhythm so beautiful and hypnotic, rising and descending as the woman drew ever closer to her lover, pressing her breasts against his chest, whispering mischievously, "wake up, my warrior," but received no answer.

"Wake up, my warrior... this body is not yet satisfied... only you are truly capable of satisfying it..." again, no different response from before. While swaying her hips, her mind too was in motion over the strangeness of the moment, the haze of lust fading as an indignant annoyance arose. "Wake up," she exclaimed in exasperation while momentarily ceasing her movement, grabbing his cheeks, "don't tell me you are weak-blooded, possessing only the appearance of a warrior. No, perhaps this is far worse... perhaps your bloodline has grown so weak that they cannot even withstand a daughter of the verlaneans?" A line had been crossed, but this did not seem to matter to the woman, who returned to her motion, slowly descending her body during the performance until she was close to one of the man's ears.

She bit his earlobe and, before any bleeding could begin, kissed the wound, sucking the vital fluid sweetly, then alternating to eager licks, certain that her offense, excitement, or pain would awaken the warrior.

However, nothing worked, for the giant still slept. When the strangeness finally registered, concern replaced the feelings of exasperation from wounded pride and unsatisfied desire. Only then could she sense that something was terribly wrong, for even if not particularly intelligent, she was aware that many creatures, her own people included, possessed body heat.

Even pressed against his body, she felt only a familiar cold that brought memories of the past. Again pressing her breasts against his chest, she noticed no heartbeat, nor the rise and fall of breath from his lungs, near the area where her navel touched.

The woman froze, her eyes lost their luster, her lips trembled, and all the rest remained motionless from sheer terror at comprehending the horrible meaning of those facts — a corpse. She leaped up, scrambling off the body while falling noisily from the bed onto the scarlet carpet. Quickly she composed herself, she had to, and approached the warrior, gently holding his face, searching for any sign that this was a mistaken hypothesis. Yet she found only more evidence in the purplish blisters on the dead man's wounds. "No, I recognize these blisters, for anyone born in that abode of pleasure would recognize the Final Ecstasy, no, this cannot... how!? By the lords, how could they be so audacious!?"

Years ago, when this drug was last used, she was but an innocent child. Yet she still vividly remembered the consequences that befell the conspirators, as well as those that fell upon a poor priestess, wrongly accused of killing a contractor. She was doomed, for an heir of the Alons had died in her sheets and, even with the prestige of her kind, she was aware of the storm awaiting her, caring little for her innocence or guilt.

She needed to flee, for otherwise, she would be killed at best. However, before she could devise even the most rudimentary of plans, the doors burst open with a crash, followed by the many footsteps of the guelefithve's who quickly surrounded the chamber to carry out their sacred duties in the abode of Pesixty, patron of pleasures, protective deity of the Pesives scattered throughout the continent of Fermillion.

Upon witnessing the morbid scene, they had no doubt — they stood before a murderess and profaner. Her lips stained with the purple blood of the heir, who had clung to life until his final moments when attacked in a moment of such vulnerability, with bites and scratches cruelly traversing his entire body. Not satisfied, in the eyes of the guards, an even more heinous desecration had occurred after his death, the corpse used for one final display of dominance for the amusement of a monstrosity consumed by pleasure. "Bllane Fentas," called the most imposing of the men, observing the scene with absolute disgust, especially the trembling, bloodstained lips of a criminal savoring the flesh of a poor soul, "I always imagined things would end this way for you, crossing the greatest of boundaries, you uncontrollable beast."

"Murderess of Lord Kenrick, heir of the Alons, whose grief will surely be eased when they can have you in their hands," raising an arm, he clenched his fist tightly and shouted to his subordinates, "seize the murderess, but do not harm her, for that is not our right, but rather that of those who wish to unload their sorrows over this loss through the spilling of her unclean blood."