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You are Sir William Shepard, a former peasant elevated to nobility by a twist of fate. You are currently the lord by proxy of Silvale, Meaville and Olmsville, lands situated near the border of your now broken kingdom. Unprepared and unused to rule, you are trying your best to become a leader worthy of your title.

Recently you took a honeymoon trip to the land of the Centaurions and established an alliance between your peoples. You have returned home to begin preparations for resettling Crawford Barrow, where you hope to make contact with the ancient formicons in the mountains and negotiate the trade of their legendary arms and armor.


Archive: http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive.html?tags=Peasant%20Lord
(But I recommend the pdf instead)

Rules/Character Sheet: https://pastebin.com/T5J8SudX
File: 1531768218629.pdf (893 KB, PDF)
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893 KB PDF
Ophelia Lazar washed her husband’s bedsores every three days.

He was mostly husk now, the gibbets of life were leaking out of him in thin pus-filled paste and there remained only bone and skin. She would not allow the handmaidens or the servants to touch him. She kept his room locked and kept the key tied in a knot of wool around her waist and she defiled her own bare hands she with a wet towel and with water scented by crushed rose petals, which did nothing for the wounds but masked the smell. She wanted to forget he was dying. She wanted him to forget.

But really, she wanted him to die.

She was in love with two men that she hated and she bore their marks on her body like two brands. The necklace of shell and bone and the mote of gold on her left hand that symbolized an assimilation not yet total. She squeezed the pus from her husband’s shoulder blades and felt him breathe. There were no more words between them, they worked in their silence like two skilled gamblers over cards. His eyes were closed and the barest strength remained to keep him upright so that it was always like cleaning a dead body before the burial.

“William comes back tomorrow.” He said one day. She knew all had come undone.

“Yes.” She said, and she cursed herself.

“If you really love him you won’t hurt him.” He said. She ruptured a purple sore on his back, the size of a pancake, with her nail. It was not ready to be broken and a film of blood followed with the white fluid. Her husband was still. “Promise me.” He said.

“I promise nothing.”

“Can it not die with me?” He said. “Will you never forgive me? I have suffered too.” She squeezed the rosewater into his opened skin. If it stung him, he did not show it. “What happened to that little girl from Olmsville?”

“You made me what I am.” She said. She drenched the towel in the water and rinsed it of blood. “You took everything from me. Even my name, and the memory of who I was. And from the moment you gave me this ring and that name, the little girl was gone.” She shook her head and a little laugh escaped her. “No, before then. Even before our—my—baby was…” She swallowed. “I was lost the moment you forced yourself upon me. I was destroyed even then. But never mind. Never mind.”

He closed his eyes. And he prayed to god and there was no answer. “What about paradise?” He said. She laughed, openly, with her whole stomach.

“I welcome hell.”

“Our son is in heaven.”

“My son. My son.” She slapped her chest. “He is not your son. Never.”

He rose and touched her hands. “Sarah.” He said.

“That is not my name.”

“Sarah, please. They’re both so good and innocent.”

“And I?” She said. “Was I deserving?” She cast his hands away.

“But he loves you Sarah.”

“Not for long.”

Then there was nothing left to draw from. He had lost. “I’ll—I’ll tell them everything. I won’t let you do this.”

She smiled and braced his flesh again with the towel and suddenly he felt so tired. His body seized up like a broken puppet. "So eager to share her knowledge, that wife of his, I wish we’d met under different circumstances. We could have been sisters.”

“The water.” His mouth foamed.

Softly she lay him to bed and he stared up at her, still pleading, his body convulsing. She waited until the seizures passed and then called for help.

The Count would not speak nor move ever again.

It was Stewart’s idea, as usual, but he insisted that he was inspired by your democratic ideals. A good idea. A yearly council of the town leaders in Silvale, right before the harvest, to discuss pressing matters and to plan for the future of the kingdom. They have gathered before you, munching on pastries and draining the Count’s excellent store of wine.

Rufus Dare is at the far end of the table, picking his teeth with a chicken bone and scowling at the maids. Kilkain is here with his son, but seated by himself, trying his best to mind his manners as your wife questions him about the specifics of how one skins and dresses a deer (“and how about elk? How do you get the antlers off? And what about bears or mountain lions?” etc.). His son, who you’ve heard is now the captain of the Olmsville militia is coolly sipping champagne and chatting with a gendarme standing at the door.

Your thoughts are preoccupied by other matters. The Lord Count’s condition has worsened. His physician told you that it's a matter of weeks now and that his body has gone into complete paralysis. The physician is baffled, but you are not. It’s his curse.

Your training in the art of war continues in a more practical fashion now. You’ve begun drilling formations and maneuvers with the men and have staged several practice battles in the fields outside of Silvale. Progress is slow. The gendarmes of the city are already well trained, but they are few. You’ve taken to using them as instructors for the raw recruits. You hope that Wilkain will return soon with more.

You sigh and raise your eyes from your plate and briefly they meet your wife’s. She smiles as she meets them. Stewart was right (also as usual), the honeymoon trip did bring the two of you together. You now spend every night in each other’s arms and she reads to you until you fall asleep (or as it often happens, until she starts yawning and hands you the book to read instead). Since you told her of your ambitions she’s begun to take her own studies seriously, learning all she can from Ophelia about the maintenance of the household and then even joining you in the study to read about statecraft and politics. More than once you’ve gotten into heated debates over the writings of long dead rulers which have ended in either tickling (another weakness your wife has found) or passionate lovemaking.

Stewart has not let you hear the end of it.

Your feelings for Ophelia haven’t changed, but have diminished by the competition. You still see her in the halls, at the dinner table, observing you and Miriam with a quietude which frightens you. The pendant is still around her neck, but you’re no longer sure what that means. You’ve told her she’ll be well taken care of in the event of the Count’s death, but she seems unconcerned and even uncaring. Given her history, you can’t blame her for her apathy.

She’s here now, picking at a deconstructed slice of pie. She meets your gaze and holds it, then stands up and clears her throat. “Mary, will you accompany me to the drawing room?”

Your wife looks at you and you give her a slight nod; the time for pleasantries is over.
“Yes, of course. Mr. Kilkain, it was a pleasure to meet you. I hope we can speak again at the Autumn ball.”

Kilkain stands up and bows. “Miss—er, my Lady, it was nice, that is, the pleasure is all mine.” He says.

Miriam runs over to you and kisses your cheek. “Don’t stay up too late OK? I know you’ve been sneaking away to the study at night.” She touches the tip of your nose. “You need your sleep.”

You promise her you won’t and kiss her hands. Ophelia grabs her and leads her away. Stewart enters as they leave and grabs a seat next to yours and then claps his hands for attention.

“Gentlemen. I thank you for coming to what I hope will be the first of many such meetings. The purpose here is to have an open council about matters concerning your individual settlements. I urge you to speak freely.”

“Where’s the Count?” Says Rufus Dare.

“The Count is incapacitated, and I have been named as his proxy, as well you know.” You say.

Kilkain raises his hand to speak. You point to him. “I had a few ideas for Olmsville, if you wanna hear them.”

“That’s why we’re here.”

“Well I had a coupla ideas of my own.” Says Rufus Dare. “Pretty damn good ones. I think I oughta go first.”

Kilkain sits back a little deflated, clearly not pleased with the idea of being preempted by the shrew.

>Let Rufus Dare speak
>Let Kilkain speak first
QM Note:

As I mentioned in the QTG, I lost the updated pdf that I was working on (I have an old backup but won't have access to it till next week). Also I couldn't archive the very last thread and since it wasn't very long, we'll just redo it.

I've changed the management mechanics and added some info for the mass-battles we'll be running into soon. Please take a look at the pastebin to see the current status of your fiefs and how the new rules work. Let me know if something is unclear.
>Let Kilkain speak first
It's great to see you back man. Also, fuck Ophelia, Miriam 4 lyf.
>Let Kilkain speak first

What a suprise to see you alive

“I think we had better start with a status report.” You say. “Why don’t you go first Kilkain, and then you can share your ideas.”

Kilkain nods and brushes his hand over his beard. He glances at Rufus Dare who is sniffing the air like a rat and has folded his arms. “Things in Olmsville are pretty good. We got some new people coming in because of you, which is good. I’ve been focusing on building up food stockpiles and putting the new lads to work in the forest. Hunting, foraging, a few of them with the logging crew.”

“And what of the gardens?”

“Samson’s been taking care of that. Personally, lord, we don’t need ‘em. We’ve been doing just fine trading lumber for food from Meaville. And that leads right into my ideas actually.” He takes a breath, waiting for approval. You nod. “So I was thinking, we should be focusing our efforts on the forest. I mean now that the Elves are gone and all, we have free reign and there’s lots in there we can use.” He pauses and looks at his son. His son drains his glass of champagne and stands up and bows to you.

“My lord William, I am called Pavel.”

“Yes, I know. You gave me pointers when I was training with your uncle.”

“The lord honors me by his remembrance.”

You’re surprised by the lad’s calm tone, almost as though he was bored. You do remember him being rather stoic when he trained you. You file the fact away for a future use.

“So, what do you have for me Pavel?”

“I’d like the funds for an expedition into the forest. First to measure its extent, second to see what kinds of treasures lie deeper within.”

“And you would take some of the militia with you?”

He nods. “The trip would take two months or so, I would return before first snowfall.”

“You know we are preparing for war now. Your expedition would leave Olmsville undefended.”

He nods again. “I know. But I think that’s irrelevant for three reasons: one, Olmsville isn’t worth taking yet; two, even if there was an attack it would either come from the west or south-west but it’s doubtful that the lord’s father-in-law would allow attack from the southwest and its even more doubtful that the Gelderlanders, busy with defending the capital, would bother us at this stage.” He takes a breath.

“And the third reason?”

He blinks. “I’m bored.” He says. “It’s just something to do.”

“Pavel! My lord William, I’m so sorry. He’s still a boy. Sit down you fool!” Says Kilkain. His son shrugs and plops down. “Ignoring that last part, my lord, I think it’s a good idea. With a lay of the land we might consider expanding the logging and hunting camps, making roads that sort of thing.”

“How much would this cost?” Asks Stewart. Pavel names a figure before his father can answer. A not small figure.

>You have have 3 units of treasure*
>Let the lad go on his expedition (-1 treasure, ???)
>Let's hear some other ideas first

*Note treasure is a little harder to come by now, currently you get +1 treasure/harvest. See the mechanics page (Fiefs|Resources) to see how this works.
>Let's hear some other ideas first
Let us first hear the shrew's idea before deciding on anything

Good to have you back. Time to slap some thots
“Our funds are limited, but I’ll take it into consideration. Is there anything else?”

Kilkain shakes his head. “No, the rest I’ve got covered. I’m just focused on getting us through the winter now.”

“Good.” You look to Rufus Dare.

“My turn finally? Cause I don’t have no expeditions or nothing like that, but I got more down to earth type ideas. You know, like, good ones.”

“Why don't we start with how things are going in Meaville.”

“Things going just fine. Always have been. There ain’t never been no problem in Meaville the years I’ve been leading it and there ain’t gonna be any now. But I do got some ideas for how we might make things better.”

“Such as?”

“Such as, building a dock on our part of the river so we can get some stone and maybe ores from Lionsmaw southeast. It’d be easy access with the river, just need some men and some tools for the camp. No more'n a dozen men. Lumber from Olmsville maybe and a few boats from Silvale.”

Lionsmaw Falls is small waterfall upstream of a fork in the river near Meaville. It freezes during the winter but there’s plenty of stone that could be quarried out. The cave system might make for a good mine, if there’s anything worth digging out. Still, it’s not a bad idea.

“Another thing we could do is maybe get some different seeds from the Gelderlands. Hash, cotton, hemp, that kinda thing. I mean we ain’t in the rough with them right? So they got the best seeds this side of the mountain and why aren't we trading for ‘em? And while I’m at it, we should be getting us some slaves. Make life a whole lot easier with a coupla slaves doing the field work.”

“Where do you propose we get them?” Says Stewart, not entirely dismissing the idea.

“I don’t know nothing much about that.” Says Rufus Dare. “I’m just saying if we at war and everything there’s gonna be slaves at some point. I say point ‘em our way and I say we’ll put ‘em to good use.”

“Noted. How much would you need for the quarry?”

“Well I mean you want it done right, we gonna need a good amount.” He mutters some calculations under his breath and gives you a final valuation. It’s more than double what Pavel is asking.

>Go for the mine (-2 Treasure, progress toward tier 2 wealth in Meaville)
>Go for the expedition (-1 Treasure, ???)
>See about setting up a trade deal with the Gelderlands for seeds (opens Gelderlands as a trading partner, but note that without a docks at Meaville, you'd have to cancel/modify the Olmsville-Meaville-Silvale trade route)
Qustion: Didnd´t the forest had murderous elves?
As I remember, the Elves packed their things and left the forest. And for the choice
>Invest in Kilkain's idea
I would like to have some more funds for when the war starts. But Rufus' idea is good for later.
QM Note:

Some more info on trading routes as they are now extremely important and I forgot to explain them in the mechanics write-up.

Basically, the trade routes have been designed from the perspective of the trader. The total number of routes is based on the lanes of transportation (roads, rivers and sea). Each road and river can have 1 route, the sea can have as many routes as you like but only to other coastal towns. If you want more overland routes, build or exploit existing roads.

The routes work as you'd expect: a merchant buys stuff from a place, goes to another place, sells that stuff, buys other stuff with the proceed, then moves to another place and repeats. All transactions are 1-to-1 to start (some assets/governor traits may change this up) and while the merchant can buy and sell as much as he wants, he will avoid having a surplus or shortage (as this represents a loss for him). The exception to this is a tribute, which, of course, isn't really trade.

Routes can be circular (i.e a loop which returns to the starting place), even on the same lane (see the Olmsville-Meaville-Silvale circuit as an example).

Since some locations will not have access to certain resources, you'll need supply them through trade. The limitations on the lanes is meant to encourage making routes as long as possible.

Presumably Wilkain and the Count took care of them.
When is next harvest? While I feel like the mine is important, elves might have left behind artifacts or lore worth their price in gold. Yet, I don´t want to be penniless.

>Mine is a sure bet from me

But, taking into acount elves left the forest, having that place explored is a priority. Fuck it.

>Both ideas
It's currently early September. The harvest season is already upon you and will be finished by October.
Great then. When harvest finishes, we will have a bit more money on the pocket.
A mine is a good idea; considering what's about to happen, we need a war chest that's full now, not will be full later. It's a sacrifice, but it should be worth it. Investigating the former Elven land is also a good idea, but the thought of leaving Olmsville undefended rankles me. Not only that, even IF Olmsville isn't directly attacked, that doesn't mean that we may not need the forces to ride out for some other reason, such as supporting actions or the sort.

We'll put a pin in the idea, though.

>>Go for the mine (-2 Treasure, progress toward tier 2 wealth in Meaville)
Changing to this >>3147457 I would rather don´t get caught with my trousers down
Damn, that choice should read:

>Go for the quarry (requires: 1 Lumber, 1 Food, effect: +1 Stone)

You have all these requirements for Meaville (see below). So it doesn't require treasure.

== Meaville ==
# Governor: Rufus Dare
# Resources:
- Food: 2 (+3 Farm, +1 Cattle, -2 Trade)
- Lumber: 1 (+1 Trade)
# Assets:
- Farm II: Large wheat farms around the village
* Requires: 1 Lumber, nearby open fields, livestock
* Effect: +3 Food

Okay then. I would rather do both ideas.
I'm going to delay the next update till tomorrow, so the other players can have a chance to change their vote in light of the new information >>3147488.

It was probably a mistake to run on NYD anyway.
It’s alive! Welcome back QM, happy new year! I will have to go through and reread the threads since it’s been a while
Supporting Pavel's expedition and building Meaville's docks. Remember that we will a strong trade if we commerce with the formics and they will supply armaments and probably stone. Even more so, a quarry should be set at Crawford Barrow, since it is mountain territory (right?)

Sadly I don't remember the place's location respective to our main territory, but a strong trade route from there (and formics by proxy) to Silvale is a must, in my head at least.
Welcome back op
Supporting both ideas.
It's great to finally have you back. I've been waiting for this.
Looks like the consensus is for both the expedition and the development of the mine/quarry. Writing.

In the meantime, regarding the trade deal with the Gelders:

>Send Sir Kay as a delegation to the Gelderlands to open them up as a trading partner
>Put a pin on the idea, the political situation is too volatile and a trade deal might tarnish the appearance of neutrality
>Dismiss the idea. The harvest ball is right around the corner and there'll be interested parties in attendance that you'd rather trade with.
>Put a pin on the idea, the political situation is too volatile and a trade deal might tarnish the appearance of neutrality
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"Proceed with the quarry at Lionsmaw. Start by building a docks at Meaville, after that I'll send some boats your way to ferry supplies." You say.

Rufus sits back wearing a contented grin. You turn to Pavel. "I'll fund your expedition, but I want an absolute adherence to caution and prudence. I don't want a repeat of last time." A moment of silence hangs over the table, as everyone remembers the mounds of earth.

"I am not my uncle." Pavel says, which doesn't please his father very much but does give you more confidence in the venture.

A few more matters are discussed. Kilkain relays a message from the loggers in Olmsville requesting special tools to expand the logging camp. Kilkain himself wants some tools of his own, traps and the like, for his hunting operation. These could easily be manufactured by the smithies here in Silvale, but Stewart mentions that the blacksmith's are all occupied with exporting goods downriver to Fretag. There would need to be an adjustment of the trade route to make it work.

Finally the conversation drifts toward the settling of Crawford Barrow.

"The alliance with the Centuarions ensures minimal interference." Says Stewart. "The problem is food." He unfurls a map and lays it on the table. "Crawford Barrow does not have fields and the forests surrounding it are quite bereft of wildlife. They'll need to import food from somewhere else though, obviously, doing so will disrupt the existing trading arrangement. Not to mention stunt the growth of whatever fief we import from."

"And what is our current trading arrangement?"

"Limited. We don't have roads leading anywhere else, but the roads are quite dangerous these days anyway. Silvale uses the river to send goods southwest to Fretag, as I mentioned before, and we could use it to send supplies to Crawford as well--once we've established a docks. Fretag does have a port, which might give us access to the rest of the world, should we want it. And here's the report from Sir Kay on our current routes."

== Trade Routes ==
# Olmsville - Meaville - Silvale
- Type: Caravan Circuit
- Outgoing: O: 1 Lumber => M: 1 Food => S: 1 Luxury
- Return: O: 1 Lumber <= M: 1 Food <= S: 1 Luxury
# Silvale - Fretag
- Type: River Line
- S: 5 Luxury <=> F: 1 Lumber, 2 Stone, 2 Metal

>Modify the trade routes (write-in)
>Leave the trade routes as is, you'll pay for the food yourself (-1 Treasure)
>Leave the trade routes alone, you'll delay the settlement of Crawford for now
Here's the data on the fiefs for convenience:

== Olmsville ==
# Governor: Kilkain
# Resources:
- Food: 3 (+1 Farm, +1 Hunting Camp, +1 Trade)
- Lumber: 1 (+2 Lumber Camp, -1 Trade)
- Luxury: 1 (+1 Hunting Camp)
# Assets:
- Farm: A few vegetable gardens within the village
* Requires: Nothing
* Effect: +1 Food
- Hunting Camp: A small advanced camp near the river preying on deer,
stags and beavers
* Requires: 1 Food, game to hunt
* Effect: +1 Food, +1 Luxury (from furs)
- Lumber Camp: A lumber camp near the border of the village
* Requires: 1 Food, nearby forest
* Effect: +2 Lumber
- River Docks: A small pier at the bank of the river
* Requires: 1 Lumber, nearby river
* Effect: Provides an additional trade route along river
- Town Militia: A ragtag group of peasants with makeshift spears and bows
* Requires: 1 Food
* Effect: +1d6 to defense roll, cannot be moved out of location

== Meaville ==
# Governor: Rufus Dare
# Resources:
- Food: 2 (+3 Farm, +1 Cattle, -2 Trade)
- Lumber: 1 (+1 Trade)
# Assets:
- Farm II: Large wheat farms around the village
* Requires: 1 Lumber, nearby open fields, livestock
* Effect: +3 Food

== Silvale ==
# Governor: You
# Resources:
- Food: 2 (+1 Fishing Camp, +1 Trade)
- Lumber: 1 (+1 Trade)
- Luxury: 0 (+3 Smithy, +3 Market, -6 Trade)
- Metal: 2 (+2 Trade)
- Stone: 2 (+2 Trade)
# Assets:
- Barracks: A small building that acts as a training grounds and sleeping
quarers for the gendarmes
* Requires: 1 Food, 1 Lumber, 1 Stone
* Effect: Allows the training and garrison of basic infantry
- Docks: A set of piers below the bridges in the town
* Requires: 1 Lumber, nearby river
* Effect: Opens additional trade route by river, allows transport
through river
- Fishing Camp: A small clan of fishermen that work downstream of the town
catching fish
* Requires: Docks, nearby river
* Effect: +1 Food
- Gendarmes: Men-at-arms garrisoned in the town to keep order
* Requires: 1 Food, 1 Metal, Barracks, Smithy
* Effect: 1d6 Strength, [Armored]
- Market: An open bazaar where river merchants and locals exchange
goods and servies
* Requires: 1 Lumber, 1 Stone, >1 trade route
* Effect: +1 Luxury for every resource sold in trade (up to +5 not
counting Luxury generated from market)
- Smithy II: A guild of blacksmiths that has settled in Silvale to ply
their wares
* Requires: 1 Food, 1 Lumber, 2 Stone, 2 Metal, blacksmiths
* Effect: +3 Luxury (from metal goods), +1d6 to soldiers trained here
- Walls: A stone pallisade with gate that surrounds the borders of Silvale
* Requires: 1 Stone, 1 Lumber
* Effect: +2 to defense roll, immune to raids
QM, boss, from left to right our fiefs on the map are Silvale, Olmsville and Meaville? Also I understand that Crawford is the black marker south east of our land. To whom does Rufus sells the food also? Pastebin shows -3 units being traded but not the same return. Is the fucker hoarding mah crops? Investigate that!!

I really really thing something fishy is going on on Meaville, with that -3 food... after we clear that we can add a trade route to

Meaville: 1 Food => Crawford Barrow.
And I assume as time goes on, there would be a return on Crawford Barrow: 1 Luxury (metals?) => Meaville.
ah you fixed the food issue on meaville. Neat. The pastebin is wrong. Or is it... I still think there is food missing on Meavile... Rufus...
>Leave the trade routes as is, you'll pay for the food yourself (-1 Treasure)
Delaying the settlement of Crawford is unacceptable.
Modify the trade routes is probably the best idea, but I've got a headache and can't suss it out. If someone else does, I'd probably go for it if it doesn't screw over our current situation.

>>Leave the trade routes as is, you'll pay for the food yourself (-1 Treasure)
Best vote I got now. I don't want bankrupt us.
Also don't want to sit in silence waiting for perfection.
Missed some votes.
Literally all of them went the way I would have voted.
Feels good.
Food from meaville to crawford my dudes
Changing to this anons proposal>>3148752
>QM, boss, from left to right our fiefs on the map are Silvale, Olmsville and Meaville?
Other way around. The star is Olmsville.

The pastebin has a typo with the food for Olmsville, refer to what I posted above.

Regarding the trade route, keep in mind you can only run one route per lane. Currently both the river and the road already have routes so you'd have to figure out some way to incorporate the transport of the food into the existing routes (or break them). Crawford Barrow doesn't have a dock yet, so you won't be able to trade via the river so you'll have to modify the route on the road.

As an example you could do the following (adjusting the first trade route):

# Olmsville - Meaville - Crawford Barrow
- Type: Caravan Line
- Outgoing: O: 1 Lumber => M: 1 Food => CB

I'll leave you to figure out how this would affect your fiefs.
I think the food unit from Meaville won't be missed.
Status Quo:
Olmsville needs 1 food has 1 extra lumber. Trade fixes this.
Meaville has food surplus. Would need lumber for dock construction, I suspect.
Needs 2 Food, 5 Lumber, 5 Stone 3 Metal and has 4 to 9 Luxury depending on trade. I think?

Please check my math.

>Olmsville - Meaville - Crawford Barrow
>- Type>>3148836
>Olmsville - Meaville - Crawford Barrow Caravan Line
This is what we need. I think.

Linear Route:
1 Lumber to Meaville from Olmsville, 1 food from Meaville to Crawford, 1 food from Meaville to Olmsville.

Circular Route:
Linear Route:
1 Lumber to Meaville from Olmsville, 2 food from Meaville to Crawford, 1 food to Olmsville from Crawford.

I think the current roads only support the linear Route.
Damn phone posting.
Supporting this.
Note that requirements don't stack across assets, it's a max function not a sum. The resources are thresholds not point values.

e.g If one asset requires 2 Food, 1 Lumber and another asset requires 1 Food, 1 Lumber, 1 Metal it suffices to have 2 Food, 1 Lumber, 1 Metal in that settlement.

If you drop below 2 Food to 1 Food, the first asset is disabled but the second still operates.

In the case of Silvale, you only need 1 Food, 1 Lumber, 2 Metal, 2 Stone which you already have. I've made a note to have the requirement information for every asset tallied up so you don't have to go through every asset.

The circular route is fine also (technically both of the routes you mentioned are circular, the one I mentioned is linear since the flow of goods is one direction). Roads can support circular routes as well.

For the sake of expediency I'm going to go with this: >>3148836 and move on.
After some back and forth over trade proposals you settle on diverting food to Crawford Barrow that would otherwise go to Olmsville and Silvale. This will stunt Silvale's growth for the foreseeable future, but it's only a temporary measure till Crawford is settled and on the bright side, there will be a surplus in goods from the market which you can add to your own treasury.

As for the trade deal with the Gelderlands, you decide to hold off on the idea for now. The political situation is too volatile to admit even the slightest violation of neutrality. With that settled, you have Stewart take care of the remaining details and take your leave.

In the drawing room, your wife and Lady Ophelia whisper conspiratorially over a game of cards. They've gotten even closer since your return from the honeymoon, practically inseparable. You haven't forgotten Miriam's admission, that her choice of undergarments was influenced by Lady Ophelia. You wonder what it is they discuss and whether it has anything to do with your wife's resistance to your advances for the past week and a half.

"You're going to rest now husband?" Says Miriam. In fact you were going to the study to catch up on some reading. Miriam, who has become an expert at reading your facial expressions, guesses the truth instantly and pouts.

"What are you two up to?" You say.

"Don't try and change the subject." Says Miriam.

"We were discussing the upcoming harvest ball." Says Ophelia, her eyes never leaving the cards in her hand.

"Don't let him do that, Fifi." Says Miriam, turning to Ophelia, then back to you. "Go to bed and get some sleep." She points vaguely in the direction of the stairs.

"Do you remember the last ball, Sir William?" Says Ophelia. "I believe that was when you first met your wife."

"It was." You say.

"Isn't it amazing Mary? It's almost an anniversary." Says Ophelia. In all this, her eyes never leave her cards. "I mean, you even have a surprise for him."

"Oh, Fifi, don't!" Says Miriam, grabbing Ophelia's knee.

"What surprise?"

"It's nothing!" Says Miriam, now rising to her feet and pushing you towards the door. Her cheeks have taken on a strange flush, the kind of hue you've learned to associate with deep embarrassment, or great pleasure. You turn and grab her by the waist, trying to goad her into coming with you to bed, but again she resists. You just don't understand it, her appetite was even greater than yours not so long ago.

"You'll just have to wait." Says Ophelia, finally looking up from her cards and giving you a small smile that does not reach her eyes.


The weeks that follow are filled with the bustle of preparation for the ball. Much of this is taken care of by your wife and Lady Ophelia (with Stewart's help)--balls are a woman's fancy anyway and you mostly stay out of their way.

Having some time to yourself before the ball, you decide to:

>Go shopping in the market (-1 Treasure)
>Work on your studies (chance to increase Education)
>Spar with the soldiers (chance to increase Combat)
>Work on your studies (chance to increase Education)
Since we've already defeated one of the best knights in the realm, improving our Combat is not needed for now.
>Work on your studies (chance to increase Education)
>>Work on your studies (chance to increase Education)

>improving our Combat is not needed for now.
Agreed. And spending treasure would be foolish right now.
>>Work on your studies (chance to increase Education)


Roll me 3 1d20s vs DC 14 to see if you learn something new.

Apologies for the sporadic updates. I'll have more regular sessions starting next weekend.
Rolled 7 (1d20)

Rolled 11 (1d20)

Rolled 18 (1d20)

Oh, also, Miriam is pregnant.
You'll ruin the surprise for William!
You spend the weeks bowed over books and all you learn passes through your ears like water. Nothing sticks. You are distracted by your wife's sudden distance, her reticence, her gradual sisterhood with the former lover who you have not fully excised from your heart. Has she poisoned her against you? And what could the surprise be? Miriam will not tell you and you are terrified to ask Ophelia, even to speak to her. She no longer comes to the study but often you see her coming out of your bedroom. Late night politics and gossip with Miriam. She curtsies when she passes you and calls you Sir William and is very polite, but her face is stone.

News of the world trickles slowly to your shores. The roads are filled with robbers and scavengers. Armies are on the march. One day Stewart brings you news of the royal family. King Aldemar is confirmed dead. His wife, Queen Caprice, is said to have survived and fled the capital. This fact was delivered with a strange excitement you've never seen in Stewart. The guards found him lying in a ditch later that night, the stench alcohol on his clothes as though he wore it for a perfume.

In this way the days pass and the night of the ball comes around again. The guests are not as numerous or varied as they were the year previous. Some have only come out of respect for the Count, to see him in his weakness. Others out of scorn, to the same purpose. Miriam's father is here and the governors of your fiefs. Sir Keres is here with his fiance, Lady Sophia. Even Sir Ulrich showed up.

"I don't want him here." Says Miriam, trying on her third pair of earrings by the dressing mirror.

"What do you want me to do then?"

She doesn't say. She takes off the gold hoops and finally settles on a pair of amber studs which flash like two drops of blood in the candlelight. "He wasn't invited."

"So I should throw him out into the street? What kind of message does that send to the Gelderlands?"

She waves at you to help her tie up the back of her gown. "I don't like what he did to my sister." When you draw the last lace into a bow she turns and adjusts your cravat. "And I don't like what he did to you." You wrap your arms around her waist. She's put on some weight these last few weeks, but also in some not-unwelcome places, so you've kept your mouth shut.

"We can't let personal feelings get in the way of diplomacy. Our kingdom is supposed to be neutral."

"You can't stay neutral forever husband. If you chase two rabbits you'll lose them both."

There is a knock at the door. "Mary, are you almost ready?"

"Ready, Fifi." She stands on tip-toe to kiss your cheek and adjusts your cravat again. "I'll see you downstairs."

"And the surprise?"

"Soon." She says, flushing. She uncoils from you and meets Ophelia at the door. They chat for a few seconds and then walk down, arm in arm.

You mind drifts to Sir Ulrich. He cannot be here without some purpose. The last time was to seduce Miriam's sister. This time it may be to seduce you, to have you pledge your allegiance to his country. It is true they still hold the capital, but the siege is on and it may not be true for long.

>Let Sir Ulrich stay, if only to observe him
>Tell Sir Ulrich to leave, you have more than enough grounds to do so
>Welcome Sir Ulrich as a gracious host and let bygones be bygones
>>Let Sir Ulrich stay, if only to observe him

William stop being so dense, gosh
Let Sir Ulrich stay, if only to observe him.
>3 1d20s vs DC 14
>Rolled 18 (1d20)
>Nothing sticks.

the fuck dude.
If i remember all the rolls are take into account. So I think its more like this.
DC - 14
7 - fail
11 - fail
18 - succes
This sounds right.
I do remember that William isn't a Bo3 champion.

>>Let Sir Ulrich stay, if only to observe him
Neutrality is important right now.
Upon directly encountering him, we should offer him the same warmth and civility that Ophelia has shown us recently.

>"Sir Ulrich. This is a surprise." Dead eyes staring through him.
Remember that 3 sucess at the honeymoon? It rewrote history
Don't remember actually.

>Let Sir Ulrich stay, if only to observe him
Just posting to let you guys know I'm not dead. I won't be able to update till Wednesday at the earliest, but I'm closing the vote for now.
I appreciate it.
See you then.
Is the surprise a polyamourous relationship b/c I feel like that will clear a lot of problems.
Thanks for the heads up.
>Is the surprise a polyamourous relationship b/c I feel like that will clear a lot of problems.
This was posted by either someone who has never met a woman or a liar hoping for a threesome with a murderess (there are worse things)
Your head
Stewart hangs by the door. His face is full of stubble, his clothes are
ruffled and his hair is not neatly combed. He looks like he hasn't slept
properly in days.

"My lord, the guests are waiting."

"And Sir Ulrich?"

"Stalking the floor quite like a cat. Shall I have him removed?"

"No. Have him watched. And the rest?"

"They do as they all do. Talk, laugh, smile, pretend all is quite well with the
world. A market of illusions."

"And this surprise of Miriam's--"

"I have guessed it, I think."

"What then?"

"I will not say, for Lady Miriam's sake. It will quite please you my lord, I
will say that."

"How is it you are so wise, my friend; so young and so wise?"

He barks but his laughter is not honest.

"Only young I think. And only the veneer of wisdom."

You take his hand. "I know something is amiss." You take his arm and hold him
fast. "I will not ask you, but I want you to know--"

"I know it my lord." He says, his eyes are shining with a quiet light. A love
and a gratitude.

"You have done so much for me. The tournament and Miriam and..."

"And still much to do yet. A kingdom, my lord wants. What a burden to put on a
poor foolish steward. Come, my lord, today is a joyous day for you. It soon
will be."

You follow him to the ballroom, which is lit with candles in the sconces and in
the chandeliers hanging overhead, whose glass breaks the light into a thousand
small fires and ten thousand small shadows.

Then your own courtier and steward announces you. "The Lord William, Champion
of Aldemar."

There are no more murmuring voices, no more dirty looks or insults in their
breath. But only an awe, an envy, a twist of their lips into a hollow smile.
This pretense is in a way more valuable than even sincerity, for it constitutes
dominion. It is power.

Your wife is at the arm of your almost lover. Ophelia is forcing her to chat
with the other noble ladies, but Miriam appears bored and when she meets your
eyes, she smiles and mouths a distress signal. It is unbelievable that this
much should change in a short year. A peasant. A soldier. A lord. A champion. A
husband. What more can a man be? There is an answer: A king.

"Sir William." The golden-headed villian of the tournament approaches you.
Behind him, his little servant cows and trembles. Her wrists and arms and neck
are covered in small bruises and scratches, the kind left by a riding crop or
some equal instrument of torture.

"Sir Ulrich, how are your wounds?" Asks Stewart.

Ulrich, perhaps remembering the pain, reaches to the back of his neck and rubs
a singular spot there just below the hollow. "Healed." He says. "And how is
Lady Miriam? And her sister?"

You glance over at Miriam and she is boring her eyes into this party, the
smiles are gone.

"One is well, as you can see. The other is not." You say.

"Pity. Lily, get me another drink will you, you idiot?"

The wretch slides away, bowing her head and curtsying as she passes. "You could
have given your slave a day off. We have servants here, Sir Ulrich." Says

"My slave is to do with as I please, steward. I will bring her even to my
bedchamber if I wish it."

"I don't doubt it." Says Stewart. You grab his arm and give him a questioning
look. He turns away.

"You should control your servants, Sir William. A lesser man than I might have
taken offense. And there are consequences for such things."

The slave returns, bearing a cup of wine which in her haste to offer it, slips
from her hands and falls to the floor, spilling its contents around like blood.

"My lord--my lord--my lord--" She cannot even speak. She falls to her knees and
taking out some pathetic piece of rag from her apron, begins to rub vigoursly
at the spill, only spreading it out further. Sir Ulrich's eyes bear down on her
like physical weight, under which she buckles more and more, till she is a a
heap, sobbing even as she cleans.

Stewart crouches down and tries to raise her, but she does not budge, merely
shakes her head and continues to draw the cloth across the floor.

"Do not touch her, steward."

"My lord, please, I will get another cup." She says. "It was an accident.
Forgive me!"

"I told you not to touch her, steward. I will not tell you again."

Stewart stands and looks Ulrich in his eyes, looking as though he would spit in
them. Ulrich merely seems amused.

"Stewart, let's go to the balcony and get some air." You say.

He waves you off. "My lord Ulrich, are you a card player?"

"What's this?" He laughs. "Why yes I am, steward. And not at all a bad one.
I've matched hands with the sharks of Bern and come away intact. Why? Are you

"In the drawing room, if you please. And any that would join us, I welcome
you." He says to the crowd, who had paused their conversations to listen and
now must pretend that they didn't.

"Have you money, steward? I do not play for trinkets."

"Will you play for your slave?" Says Stewart, his voice is nothing like you've
heard before. Not the usual controlled, easy music, but something under strain.
The slave in question perks up at this, looking back at Stewart with an
expression as though she looked upon a god. Awe, tinged with fear.

"Lily? Has she stirred your loins, perhaps?" He laughs. "Certainly. But she has
served me for years. She has, what you might call, a sentimental value."

"Put it to gold."

He names a sum. A not trival sum. A flash of fear passes through Stewart's
eyes; it is more than he can meet. Then he looks at you. Beseeching.

>You have 2 units of Treasure
>Stake him without hesitation (-1 Treasure)
>Attempt to haggle over the price of the slave, at the risk of angering Ulrich (Ettiquitte roll)
>Refuse, the treasury is not meant for gambling over slaves
>Stake him without hesitation (-1 Treasure)
We're going to have a stern talking to with Stewart after this though.
>Stake him without hesitation (-1 Treasure)
You nod at him, not hesitating an instant. His interest is purely carnal, another notch for his belt, but if it will cheer up him from his latest gloom, you are happy to oblige.

“What’s going on here?” Your lovely wife has managed to break away from Ophelia’s snare and now stands with her hands square upon her hips, the posture of judgement so familiar to mothers.

“Lady Miriam, domestic life has certainly been…generous to your body.” Says Ulrich.
“Ulrich.” Says Miriam, and in that single word she seems spell out all the disdain she feels for the man.

“I may have misjudged you, after all, Sir William. Neither master of your servants, nor even your wife.” Says Ulrich.

“Yet he mastered you in the tournament, Ulrich. What does that say about your position?” Says Miriam. You quickly step in front of her as Sir Ulrich’s handsome face has become distorted. His lips curl back and his eyes narrow together in a scowl. He says nothing and Miriam seems to take this as an invitation for further abuse, but you take her hand and sweep her away toward the dance floor where the first wave of dancers has already lined up.

“That man. I absolutely want to flay that man.”

“Tell me how you really feel.”

“And I don’t like that steward of yours either. Always bringing women into the house—as if this were a brothel!”

“The thirst of all men.”

“Not all men.” She says, laying her hand flat against your chest, as though searching for the heart beneath. “For some men, love is pure. But anyway, you should have thrown that man out. Why suffer him?”

“I told you why. Besides, perhaps he has a point. My wife seems more and more my master each day.”

“Nonsense.” She leans her head upon your breast, as the music starts, slow and sweet. “I would do anything for you.” She says.

“Will you tell me this secret, finally?”

She leans back and studies your face and begins to chew her lip. “Fifi said I should wait until the end.”

“Did she?”

“It’s strange. I keep going back and forth. One second, I can’t wait to tell you. The other I dread it more than anything.”

You kiss her brow. “Tell me anything.” You kiss her neck.

“Stop it, people are looking.”

“Let them look.”

“I’ll tell you, if you stop.”

“Tempting.” You move down to the base of her neck, a spot you’ve marked down from experience.

“Stop it! I mean it.”

“Well tell me then.”

She looks down and her hand braces the rim of her belly. “I’m with child.”

The music stops, or rather, goes to its second movement, much faster and lively. But you don’t move. The others have to dance around you; a few them give you dirty looks. But you simply stand there, dazed, stunned. “Are you…are you not pleased? You can’t be surprised with the way that we’ve been…well you know. But how do you feel, are you pleased? Oh, say something.”

But you can say nothing. A father. You’re to be a father? You look across the hall, your eyes leave your wife and retreat to a more ancient focus. First the candles above you and then, inevitably, to Ophelia, whose eyes meet yours, as if they were waiting to catch them, like an eagle waits for the moment a fish surfaces on the water. She smiles at you, but her eyes are like that time in the garden, looking upon the dead squirrel and dead themselves.

“Husband?” Miriam looks close to tears, still waiting for an affirmation, something to assure her that all is well, her child is welcome. What she reads on your face terrifies her. A violence has erupted within you, borne of love purely, but of opposing objects.

“Yes. No. Yes. It’s wonderful.” You say, trying more to convince yourself than anyone.
Miriam wraps her arms around you, tightly, as though trying to prevent you from floating away.

“How long? And is it a boy or girl? And how long? And shouldn’t we meet with a physician? And how long?”

“I only realized it last month. Well it was Fifi that understood it first. I would say next March or April at the latest.”

You take her hand and begin to kiss it, moving down to the sleeve, to the scars on her wrist and she flinches to feel it, but you don’t stop. “Are you happy?” She asks.

“Of course, I’m happy. Of course. A child. A father. Of course.” You pull her into an embrace. “We’ll have to prepare. A midwife, the best in the country. In the world.”

“I promised Fifi.”


“She knows all about it. She even knows more than I do, and I suspect as much as any midwife from the provinces.”

“We shall have to see.”

“Oh don’t, she’s so sweet to me, she treats me like a little sister and I admit I feel closer to her than the one I have by blood and I’ve already promised her. She’s looking forward to it almost more than I am. And it would put me at ease. You know how it is…”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, my old sickness. What if the baby catches it? I just feel at ease if I know it’s her.”

You feel lightheaded your body is flush with sudden fever. You walk around, searching for Stewart, dragging your wife behind you without feeling her weight. Then you remember that he’s in the drawing room, with Ulrich. Then you see Ophelia, striding her way towards you through the crowd.

>Check up on Stewart
>Stay with your wife, see what Ophelia wants
>Break away and escape to the balcony for some air
>Stay with your wife, see what Ophelia wants

Stewart needs checking.
We need a breath.
But leaving now might be misinterpreted and William needs additional perspective on Ophelia.

>Stay with your wife, see what Ophelia wants
But we should check on Stewart before long.
>Stake him without hesitation
This was the right course.
Any other action could only be interpreted as a far too public sign of weakness.
>Stay with your wife, see what Ophelia wants
Lady Ophelia glides rather than walks, her dress streams behind her like the tail of a bird.

"Told him then?" She says. Miriam smiles and nods. "I couldn't wait."

"I suppose congratulations are in order, Sir William." She says.


"I do wish you the best."


She gives you a look, a quiet, discerning looking that seems to split your forehead and search the brain within. Then it goes and there is a shout and the doors of the western hall slam open. A servant rushes past the crowd, out of breath and sweating. The Count's personal servant.

"The Count--"

"Has his condition worsened?"

He shakes his head, swallowing and bowing. "He's dead."


You are taken immediately to him; Ophelia and Miriam follow. The Count is on his bed, as usual, his toothless is mouth open in something almost like a smile but his eyes are closed, the skin pale and the chest still. Ophelia brushes past you and lays her head on the man's breast, and feeling nothing there, starts to weep quietly. You find tears coming to your own eyes, as you remember this great man's sacrifice and his kindness and his mercy.

You allow the husband and wife some final privacy and return with Miriam to the ballroom, where another consternation unfolds.

"I want a rematch. I demand a rematch." Says Sir Ulrich, clasping the arm of his slave and dragging her from the drawing room.

"Don't touch my slave, Sir Ulrich." Says Stewart. "I'll not tell you again." Ulrich looks around him, at the eyes of the crowd, at Miriam's father and then finally at you. He turns red and stammers. He still does not release the slave. "I'll give you the money. Twice what she's worth."

"Release her." Says Stewart.


"Release her or be known as an oathbreaker."

He pales and finally lets go, shoving the slave to the ground, sweating. "Lily." There is a pained look upon his face, an expression completely unfamiliar to it. Grief. The slave picks herself up and looks first at Ulrich and then at Stewart. She bows to Ulrich and then runs over to Stewart's side and bows to him.

Stewart grabs her shoulders and raises her. "None of that. You are free now."

"What!" Screams Ulrich. "That-you can't do that!"

"She is my slave and I will do with her as I like. I will even free her if it pleases me."

This is too much even for Sir Ulrich. He screams and charges into Stewart's stomach, knocking him to the ground. Several noblewomen faint. The guards pile into Sir Ulrich, and pull him away from Stewart's bloodied form. His face is bleeding and smashed beyond recognition and for a moment, you fear that he's dead, but the guard assures you he's still breathing. Just knocked out.

"What should we do with this one my lord?" Says the other guard. Ulrich is still struggling, screaming profanities at the top of his voice; it takes four men to hold him down.

>Throw him out, this embarrassment was punishment enough
>Throw him in the dungeon below
>Take him to the courtyard to cool off
>Take him to the courtyard to cool off
Don't want to make enemies of the Gelderlands over this.
>>Throw him in the dungeon below

He's made a colossal ass of himself with no err on our part, he hung himself. We can play this to our advantage HARD if we work this right- but we need to show strictness. We punish the man for his trespass, not the subjects he rules.
>Throw him in the dungeon below

>>3167545 You want him to cool off? He can do that in the dungeon!
>Take him to the courtyard to cool off
“Take him outside. Restrain him, if necessary, but don’t hurt him.”

The guard nods and gestures to his men. You check on Stewart first. The slave he just bought and freed, is already examining his wounds. She shrinks away as you approach. Stewart’s nose is broken, and his jaw has dislocated. One of his eyes is already swelling shut from a violet colored bruise and blood flows freely from his mouth and lip. He coughs and groans and his good eye flickers open.

“Did I win?” He says.

“Do you feel like a winner?” You say, setting up him upright.

“I feel pretty as a peach.” He spits blood into his hand. “Where’s the girl?”

“Here I am, sir.” Says the slave. For some strange reason, Stewart does not look at her when he speaks. Not as thought it were beneath him, but more like he was embarrassed.

“Your name again?”

“Lily, sir. It is Lily sir.”

“Well, and what are you still here for? You’re free now. Leave! Do you need money? Here,” He rummages in his pockets and takes out a few silver coins—more money than the slave has ever seen, for she at first refuses, thinking it a mistake, and then examines the coins like they were made of ice and might melt any second. “Still here?” Stewart tries to get up, but even with your help, he can barely stand. He’s a lover not a fighter.

“Where will I go sir?”

“Where? How should I know? Go home!”

“I have no home sir.”

“What, a birthslave?”

She nods. “Might I, may I, could I…stay here, sir? With you, sir?” She holds out the coins, to return them, though the very idea of parting with so much money seems to tear her apart.

Stewart, though still not looking at the girl, and instead addressing all this speech to you, begins to grin. It is ghoulish with all his wounds and blood. “Stay here? Preposterous. We have no need of more servants. Stay here! Quite!”

“Oh please, sir! At least, at least let me repay your kindness. I shall be your loyal servant.”

Stewart’s smile just seems to grow wider. “Impossible. Quite impossible.”

“Please sir, I beg you. Such a thing…such a thing would stain my soul forever. Let me serve you.”

Stewart passes out before he can answer, but the smile on his lips remains as a testament to his strange pleasure. You have a few of the servants carry him to his room and you instruct the slave-girl to tend him (she would not have stopped crying or asking otherwise). Perhaps that was Stewart’s plan all along, a devotee he could defile whenever he wished, exploiting her guilt and gratitude. You can’t say you fully approve, and judging by the look on your wife’s face, neither does she, but all men have their vice. Better satisfied with a slave girl than a queen.

You soon leave Ophelia to address the guests, instructing her to wait on the news of the Count’s death. Meanwhile you retreat to the courtyard for some much-needed air and to see about Sir Ulrich. The guards at the front door, tell you that he relaxed the moment he was outside.

“He requested some privacy, m’lord. Seemed calm enough so we left him. I hope that was alright. He’s by the stables. We’ve got a man checking him from afar just in case.”

“Anything unusual?”

“Well m’lord, he’s been crying.”

“You’re kidding.”

The guard shakes his head, looking quite serious about the whole thing. You follow the trail down from the manor to the stables. Sir Ulrich is sitting on a metal stool, wiping his childlike eyes with his sleeve.

“I’ve shamed myself today.” He says, hearing your approach. “Forgive me, Sir William.”

Contrition was the last thing you expected from the proud prince of the Gelderlands, but it is not welcome. “It was uncharacteristic of you.”

“Will you not sell the slave back to me? Speak reason to your steward. She has no value as a--a consort.” He squeezes his eyes and then clasps his hands between his knees.

“But a sentimental value, perhaps?”

He doesn’t turn but does wince as though you’d splashed him with cold water. He sinks even more heavily into the hunch. “What will it take Sir William? Gold? Land? What do you want?”

>Nothing. It’s your steward’s decision, not yours. Besides, you don’t want to ruin Stewart’s good mood. You owe him for all he’s done.
>Gold. A coffer full of it. (+3 Treasure)
>A favor. A blank check to be cashed in an indeterminate future. Ulrich is good for his word if nothing else
>A tract of land in the north Gelderlands
Make your case. Why do you want her back?
We need more info. If he brings up the fact that he loves her, push him on his abusive behavior.
Supporting this>>3167881
support as well. But first go and fetch a bottle of something strong and two glasses.
Also rapport. Very important
>Why do you want her back?
>We need more info.
Definitely this.

Also, technically isn't she free now?
Selling back a servant's slave is different than enslaving a free girl.

Plus, we owe Stewart more than any of that.
...but not more than ALL of that.
Also, it's important that we find out why he came here.
I'm certain it wasn't for this.
This is a good idea to.
Plying him with alcohol under the guise of compassion or even just being a fellow noble is an excellent way to further weaken our already weakened enemy. By no means should we actually get drunk or feel any real compassion for this man.
He's probably just a sadist dog mourning the loss of his favorite chew toy.
Good ideas.
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“Right now, I want a strong drink. And so, do you.” You raise your arm to get the attention of the guard that’s supposed to be watching. He moves out of his hiding place (just further within the stables, pretending to have a conversation with a stablehand) and taking your order, hurries back to the castle to realize it.

You observe Sir Ulrich in the silence. His cloak, dyed in the distinct bright red that marks the soil of his country, clings heavy to his broad back. The muscles in his shoulders clench and unclench as he wrings his hands and pulls at his nose. “Do you love her?” You say.

Ulrich recoils. He looks up into the sky as if he was suddenly lost in a deep wood and was trying to get his bearings by the stars. “Of course not.” He says.

“You offer me gold and land.”

“She is…I have known her a long time.” He looks up, embarrassed at this innocent admission, but daring you to mock him for it. The guard returns with a bottle of the count’s good wine and two wooden cups and promptly takes his leave. Ulrich sips his drink like medicine. His eyes move toward the stables and to the few horses that are docked there. “She is a horse.” He says.

“A horse.”

“A creature, a loyal beast of burden. With me from the beginning.”

“She mentioned she was a birthslave.”

“She was assigned to me when we were only children. She is like a horse that grows with the rider. She was a foal. I was a boy. But that is not love, that is a kind of destiny. I imagined our separation to come at the very end. Hers or mine. Not this farce.”

The genuine tenderness of this last admission nearly makes you spit out your wine. “You beat her.” You blurt out.

“Yes? And do you not whip your horse to make it run?” There is a strange simplicity to these words. It is like the naive logic of a child’s story. “I do it for her development. If anything, such close attention makes her more precious. The labor of training a wild beast only adds to its value. So yes, I will offer land and gold. I would not see my efforts wasted, thrown away to satisfy your steward’s…I would rather see her dead.”

“My steward has freed her.” You omit the part about her wanting to stay on as Stewart’s servant. “What makes you think he has such intentions?”

“It’s a trick. I know men of his kind. Without scruples or decency.”

“Yet when you do it…”

“I have never touched her in that way!” He stands up and for a moment you fear he’s lost control again, but his rage soon passes. “I am not so unworthy as to need…or desire a slave for a companion.” Yet, he seems to try to more convince himself of this, than you.

“I was talking about Lady Orison.” In truth you were not, but now you’re curious as to how this barb will be handled.

He brushes back his blond locks, sits, and drains his cup. “Regrettable. But it is different. I only wanted a fair fight. I would never have even approached Lady Orison, if I hadn’t seen you trying court her.”


“I know, I know. It was not her you were courting. Who would have thought you were going for the mouse? Though I suppose all that has worked out in your favor. Had we known about the mine…well no matter.”

You turn and down the contents of your cup. The warm buzz of alcohol moderates your temper, before it can do any harm. “You would use an innocent woman that way? A woman you did not even love.”

He scoffs. “Rich.” He begins to clap his hands. “Very rich, Sir William. Quite a performance. You know I’ve thought a lot about our fight. In fact, I’ve been able to think of little else. Do you remember telling me, just before the duel, that you did not love Lady Miriam? At the time, I thought it was a lie, an act of desperation, something to wheedle yourself out of the—but now I know. I have been made to know it. I should have seen it even then,” He taps the corner of his eyes. “why your eyes were not on your future wife, when you first danced with her, but indeed, on the wife of another.”

“What nonsense is this?” You are painfully aware of the blood pounding in your face.
Sir Ulrich smirks and reaching into his inner breast pocket, he retrieves something within a closed fist. Slowly he uncurls his fingers, letting the thing drop, holding it by its chain. A thing of shell and bone, with an intricate pattern across its body, a necklace whose twin lies beneath four bolts of cloth in the bottom drawer of your dressing table.

“Nonsense from its source.” He says, scooping up the necklace with his other hand and returning it to its hiding place.

>Demand to know where and how he got that necklace
>Plead ignorance and try probe him on what he knows and how much (Etiquette roll)
>Change the subject (write-in)
>>Change the subject
We cannot allow this dog to control this conversation.

>"Whatever you think you know,"
Lying or denying is futile . Perhaps by saying he only "thinks" he know, he might reveal more without us prying.

>"there is a great divide between fighting for a lady you do not yet love and publicly beating a "beast", that you claim to cherish, so badly that it trembles and falters when it nears you."
This puts him on the defensive.

>"Is this why you came here, uninvited? To beat your slave on my floor? To gamble with my steward? What are you playing at?"
This drives home that nothing has gone the way he wants and goads him to reveal what it is that he does want.
File: like a fiddle.jpg (42 KB, 1280x720)
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>Change the subject (write-in)


"So what? Don't you find Ophelia stunning? And seeing that in your hand makes me think you also had a taste. Of her. Do you love someone?"

>"It is no strange fate to grow into love. I have no need to hide the fact that initial I had no true interest in her- to tell it truly, I believe she knew such as well, even from the beginning. Yet I never saw fit to use her only as a tool. Even in my darkest hours, when I deigned need to marry for my land's sake, I swore to do my best by her as a husband also. And in such respect, I found myself growing as a person, and so grew my attraction to fair Miriam."

Because literally all of this is true.

And then >>3174324
While I don't disagree with any of this, the dog doesn't deserve to hear such truths lest they are used to pry worth from his hide.
>Change the subject (write-in)
Supporting this>>3174752
To the dirt road, to the decaying rosebushes of its border and to the house beyond, which is yours, go your eyes. You shut them all. Beneath your veils, among that darkness, the spectre of a terrible breed of beauty arises like golden ash from fire. She wasn't wearing the pendant today. In fact you haven't seen her wear it since the council meeting. So, it's real. Sir Ulrich knows. What does he know? What does this mean?

There again is her eyes, the lips you have tasted and the tongue parting them and the wicked smile. What is this cursed geometry of passion? Tell me of love, like death. The face draws near. The kiss is too soft. The touch so pure as to be almost chaste.

It is your wife. Your pregnant wife. Mother of your children. There is a kind of love that is not passion. If only you could make yourself unalloyed...love should be...love should be...

You open your eyes. It seems as though years have passed and the weight of ages are upon your brow. It was an only instant.

"A man can also fall in love, Sir Ulrich."

"So you admit it?"

"I have no need to admit anything. Yes, I had no interest in her then but she knew it too, even from the beginning. She was never a tool. I am not like you Sir Ulrich, even in my darkest hour, I became her husband not in words only, not in ceremony, but in flesh. My oaths are like yours: I keep them. They destroy me. They change me. Yes...if there is an admission: I fell slowly. But I did fall."

Sir Ulrich wears an expression of a kind of resolute awe, as though he watched the first dawn unfold. "I envy you." He finally says; he does not say of what, yet it is a bitter admission. "But you're wrong."


"We are the same. Fate has fashioned us and forced our meeting. It is destiny." He stands and lays his hand on your shoulders and leans into your ear. "Your very existence is an abomination to me."

"Why did you come here uninvited Sir Ulrich? To play games? To gamble? To insult and threaten me? To bully your slave in front of my guests?"

"To take what is rightfully mine."

"Pray tell."

"Silvale." He says, smirking again. "I know the Count is on last legs. Without a formal will, his lands will pass to the king. But as the king is...predisposed, it will instead pass to whomever sits on the throne--or his son."


Decided to end it here since we're already on page 10
I Love how you people choose option "change the subject"
And then not change it at all, you guys just jump right into it that subject
I think it's actually very William-like to do that desu
ye, QM's quest is so good because it doens't obey to the anon but it happens organically so.

Also fuck, Ulrich does have a strong claim for Silvale, greater than ours. He got us into a corner. It is probably now when we have to strenghten our claim (somehow) or pick a side... next thread comes war
Well there should be document that sets us as a proper inheritor
While it might, it should not be recognized, since fiefs are hederitary (?) Currently it belongs to Ophelia but she needs ***to be protected by the ruler or remarry*** so... bad shit bru.

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