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How can I describe one
with skin as dark as earth,
and features far too fair
to even be close to human,
and moves her lithe body
to the rhythm of falling snow?

She leaves no trace, no step
upon unblemished snow,
with hands raised high above
in praise, in rapturous worship
to elder, ancient gods.

Thus I remain silent, quiet
to her performance, where the
sound of broken ice remains
to be the world’s applause.

-Ballad to an Ingulan Skysinger, by an unknown poet

=======

The Elder Pantheon is one of the oldest religions observed by the Viridian Order, with a history of over a thousand years of tales passed on from Skysinger to Skysinger. This faith is one that is primarily worshiped by the Ingulans of the Moonlight Plains and a few devotees scattered across the continent and some of the lands beyond the Gaping Sea. While it remains the smallest when the time comes to count worshipers and adherents, there is no shortage of theological meaning and metaphor to be discovered in its two-thousand year oral history.

This book shall cover the faith in its entirety, but I shall present to you a brief summary of its main belief.

The faith maintains that the known world was brought into being by the union of the sibling gods Ingur, Molder of the Earths, and Ingur, the Infinite Sky, in the wake of Ingur’s battle with the primordial Beast of Chaos and its eventual sundering. Using its carcass as the foundation, Ingur built upon the Beast using the Aether, the raw materials of Creation, in order to form the Earth.

(cont.)

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Satisfied upon the completion of his work, he took his sister Ingul and copulated with her as the earth beneath them cooled. For seven days and nights, their lovemaking brought both life upon the barren earth. Ingul’s tears shed on the first night fell to the earth to create the first lakes and rivers, and where Ingur’s seed fell, forests and plants would spring to life. But to keep things brief, the Earth was finished in seven days, and the Elder Gods marveled at the result of their spent passion.

While the advance of time has not been kind to its faithful, most notably that of the Crimson Tyrant’s near genocide of the Ingulans, they still maintain a strong, if not noticeable, presence on Kaithe.

Perhaps the most noticeable difference between the Faith of the High Gods and that of the Oratory of Light is how their manifestations of faith reveal truths that these faiths have either glossed over or outright overlooked. For example, the female body is celebrated in ways that most of Kaithe find uncomfortable, in more ways than one. Ritual dances have a taste of the erotic, adding hip swinging and pelvic gyrations to the movements of clerical dancing.

Worshipers believe that this pleases the Elder Gods because it encourages the act that allows life to flourish and grow. The female body, according to Skysingers (Ingulan priestesses), is the epitome of life. It is the warmth of the woman’s womb that lovingly receives the seed from her husband, nurtures the soul the gods have granted unto her, and the milk of her breast is the ambrosia that sustains the child’s life.

Ingul granted all females this life-giving gift under the orders of Ingur. By granting humans the gift of sex, they freed humanity from the slavery of the gods. Humans no longer had to petition the gods for children; they could make their own progeny of their own volition. Access to life meant access to knowledge, wisdom, virtue and goodness. And the link between all of that is the woman.

>>48314535
so what I'm pulling from this is that at some point we will get a lapdance from an Ingulan priestess.

>>48314668
>>48314688
no anons, the point is that goodness and virtue comes from females, so we should only swear lifedebts to females.

>>48314714
Well, aren't we ahead of the curve then?

>>48314749
not exactly; Clearly, they must be of birthing age!

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>>Midbridge Garrison
>> Winter 47, 238 ACR

“I’m glad to see that you’re alright,” Lord Kieran exhales, grimly surveying the bloody epicenter of the garrison. “And that the abilities of the Crownguard’s prowess in battle continue to live up to their legends.”

You shrug, doing your best not to wince as a lance of pain races up the arm where one of the soldiers had nicked you. “And we are likewise glad to see that the Midbridge Garrison once again belongs to the Vale. Did you have any trouble with the remaining Vascieli?”

“Not much. In their zealotry to kill us, they became sloppy and undisciplined. That mad charge against our first wave of knights nearly decimated the entirety of their main forces. No major injuries saved for a few broken bones and some lucky cuts.”

The captain of Pullman’s Eagle Knights, identifiable by the gold trim around his armor, grimaces. “Aye, milord, but there are still some of them holed up in the cellars and passages bellow. They have barricaded the doors with everything they’ve got and refused our offers of mercy.”

The Lord of the Vale sighs, before waving dismissively to his captain. “Then once you and your men break down that door, you’re to kill all of them to the last. We’ve taken more than enough prisoners for the racks back home.”

“Three, sir?”

He scoffs. “The only reason that they’re alive is the fact that they pissed themselves and fainted. Utter milksops, the lot of them. And I’m not about to kill press-ganged boys if I can’t help it. Do I look like a Tarmund to you?”

The captain shakes his head. “No, sir.”

“Good,” Pullman nods, satisfied. “Then it is settled. Let me know when you breach the doors. There’s only two ways for them now: the sewer exit to the bottom of the ravine or the wall of Eagle Knight spears from the door.”

He turns to you, in an afterthought. “Thank you again, Painel. You may go about your business as you see fit.”

(cont.)

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You bow politely at his acknowledgement before walking away. It takes you a few moments to find an alcove for yourself, given the rushing squads of knights and activity as the garrison returns to more hospitable conditions. Pulling up your sleeve, you hiss as the dried blood pulls at the skin and lets more of your vitae flow.

Shaking your head and cursing your own ineptitude, you pull a bit of bandages from your satchel and begin to redo the crude bandages around your wrist and forearm.

It has been half an hour since the battle for the Midbridge Garrison, the tide of your fortune turning upon the opening of the gates. You had racked an impressive body count, felling at least five before the Ingulan had finished his task. He had rejoined you, and the two of you fought your way up to the battlements where he shot his arrow of fire.

By the time the rebels had realized what was happening, it was too late. The Eagle Knights came within the minute, charging through the gates with shields raised and spears leveled at the Vascieli. The whole affair took less than an hour before the Great Eagle of the Vale was raised above the highest tower, signaling your victory.

The blood runs thick in the main area of the garrison, where bodies in black, red and gold are removed for disposal. A pair of sullen-faced squires busy themselves by inspecting the corpses for anything of value, tossing coin purses into crates and any bits of parchment to their superior knights. Once they finish their grisly work, the bodies are carted to the bridge, and summarily thrown off into the deep ravine below.

You sigh as you tie the bandage around your wrist, flexing to make sure nothing’s damaged. Your time is now your own once again, and the Ingulan already left to go back to the others, primarily Allanus, his charge. As for you, you decide to…

>Aid the Eagle Knights in the basement
>Explore the garrison for Vascieli treasure
>Return to the royal siblings and Crownguard

>>48314983
>>Return to the royal siblings and Crownguard

>>48314983
>Aid the Eagle Knights in the basement

>>48314983
>>Explore the garrison for Vascieli treasure
We can find something nice and give it to the loli.

>>48314983
>>Return to the royal siblings and Crownguard

>>48314983
>Return to the royal siblings and Crownguard

>>48314983
>>Explore the garrison for Vascieli treasure
sounds like the eagles have the basement covered

>>48314983
>Return to the royal siblings and Crownguard

>>48314983
>>Return to the royal siblings and Crownguard

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You set off in the direction where the Ingulan went, tracing his steps and path as best you can remember. There is nothing more that you owe to the Eagle Knights, and it would make for somewhat of a poor sight to have a Crownguard snooping around like some misbegotten sellsword or mercenary. After all, your duty is to the crown, as much as you’d like to pick apart the walls to see if any Vascieli poisons or tinctures lingered in their occupation.

The garrison itself it large, definitely bigger on the inside than it is from the out, containing at least three separate courtyards: the centermost one dedicated to inspecting goods and directing the flow of traffic, while the East and West most courtyards reserved for the occupation of the standing force. Fully staffed, it could hold five hundred men, but a minimum of at least thirty were enough to keep things running smooth.

Your steps take you towards the Western courtyard, through a pair of double doors to find the carriage situated in the middle of area. A pair of servants race against the falling snow to bring up an overhead tarp to cover a bonfire where three chickens on skewers slowly roast above the flames. In spite of yourself, your stomach grumbles, and the corner of your mouth tugs up in amusement. It’s about midday now, and you’re back in time for lunch.

Ellana is the first one to spot you, cracking open the carriage door to wave at you from the entrance. “Marcus! Are you okay? I hope that you aren’t too – EEP!” She calls, yelping in surprise as her brother attempts to pelt her with a snowball. The projectile goes too high, smacking the frame of the vehicle and showering your charge in a localized snowfall.

You can hear the steam coming out of her ears as Adrianna growls from the interior of the carriage. “Allanus!”

Mollified, the young boy drops his next snowball, moving behind the legs of his Crownguard. Siverow sighs while the Ingulan chortles at the prince’s antics.

(cont.)

I hope we cleaned the blood off of our clothes, otherwise I imagine Ellana will be upset plus it will be very uncomfortable (and almost impossible to get out).

>>48315500
Probably can't get rid of it all on such short notice.

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>>48315370
Unsurprisingly, it’s Bellatrix that moves to greet you, sauntering up to meet you halfway to the carriage with a pointed look on her face. “So how was it?”

You tilt your head, confused. “How was what?”

“You know…” She waves her hands emphatically at the surrounding area, eventually gesturing towards the weapons at your belt. “How was the battle? I only managed to get here when everything was over and the bodies half-emptied of blood.”

Oh. “Well, I can’t say anything good or bad about it. Everything was relatively straightforward…except for a Vascieli knight that gave us a bit of trouble.”

“Really? How do you figure?”

Your eyes flicker towards the Ingulan, currently admonishing his charge in a low sotto baritone. “Well, the bastard managed to shrug off one of his exploding arrows. Or was it penetrating? I don’t know the finer points of enchanted arrows, but I can tell you that our opponent managed to fight in spite of a hole in his stomach the size of my fist.”

Bellatrix whistles lowly, impressed. “No shit? Damn. For all the horseshit they scrounge up from wherever they can take it, seems like they get a few things right every now and then.”

The dry look on your face could melt the snowdrift by the carriage. “Meaning?”

“Good soldiers,” She explains, “Cause in spite of their oh-so-lofty ideals of fighting for liberation and against the tyranny of the Empire…they couldn’t field shit on a battlefield if their lives depended on it.”

“Well, considering what the Eagle Knights are doing with the bodies outside…”

She laughs at that. “True enough. Somewhere down there, at least one pack of Vale Wolves are eating happy tonight. And…” She pauses, frowning at the bandage on your arm. “You’re hurt.”

“Oh, this? Just a flesh wound, honestly. Nothing too debilitating, if that’s what you’re worried about. I can still protect the royals well enough."

(cont.)

“Glad to hear it. Though it isn’t the royals I’m worried about when it comes to your arm.”

“Then what…the spar. Really?”

She smirks, unashamed at what you believe to be the correct guess. “If push comes to shove, all of us are fine holding out without another Crownguard. And besides, it wouldn’t do to have you pulling the injury excuse when we get to Montgomer. Or…”

Bellatrix looks around the courtyard, where a few knights have set up positions in every corner of the battlements and the ground floor. And in spite of the carriage’s presence, there’s still plenty of free space left. Almost as big as the Floor back in Kathmire Keep.

“We can just do it here. If you’re up for it. All we gotta do is get rid of this slushy shit and then...” she licks her lips and bears her teeth in a feral grin. "Just you, me and all the weapons at our disposal."

>Sure, why not? Spar here.
>Save the spar for Montgomer.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>48315609
COIN FLIP, COIN FLIP

>>48315609
>>Sure, why not? Spar here.

>>48315609
>Sure, why not? Spar here.

>>48315609
>Sure, why not? Spar here.
We don't know if we'll have the opportunity at Montgomer.

>>48315609
>>Sure, why not? Spar here.
We promised didn't we?

>>48315609
>Sure, why not? Spar here.

>>48315609
>Sure, why not? Spar here.

>>48314475
Kill jester

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While your arm isn’t going to hinder you too much, the fact that there’s so much goddamn snow that doesn’t have any sign of stopping makes you even more apprehensive to fight her here. The last time you had an intense brawl in a winter environment, you nearly bled to death. Bad kinds of signs if you ever saw them.

…oh what the hell.

“I’m probably going to regret this,” You mutter under your breath, “But what the hell. Sure, I’ll spar with you here, since I think that we might not get the chance at Montgomer. Thing is, we better hope that it stops snowing. One bad slip and we could very well crack our heads open on the rocks.”

Bellatrix seems surprised that you’d accept, either out of the fact that you actually agreed or the fact that you called her on her teasing. Maybe it was both, maybe it was neither. But her shock gives way to a savage glee. She isn’t making any hostile motions towards you, but the sight of her brimming with bloodlust is churning your stomach.

“Well, we’re going to have to be sure that you won’t fall,” She grins, clapping a hand to your shoulder. Squeezing it tightly, she pulls you in close, too close, and whispers into your ear. “When everyone’s asleep. Other courtyard, far away from the royals. Be there, Painel. ‘cause I’m looking forward to what you’ve got under all that leather.”

Her hot breath tickles against your ear, raising gooseflesh along the places where her words brush off your skin. Every instinct is screaming at you to get away and put some distance between you and her, but you keep calm as she backs off, her wide smile returning to a collected smirk. “Got it?”

You take a moment to clear your throat. “Of course. You’d better show up as well.”

“Who do you think I am?” She scoffs, waving a hand as she walks back to the carriage. “I’ve been looking forward to this ever since you laid out Silverow’s ass on the Floor. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

(cont.)

>>48316093
Hot?

>>48316093
She saunters back to Adrianna, whistling a jaunty tune. Silverow’s taking his turn to lecture Prince Allanus about the perils of childish pranks, but the Ingulan as a man would someone who just signed his own death warrant. It’s an odd combination of concern and…pity.

Well, that can’t be good.

>>One meal later

“The fortress is ours,” Lord Pullman says, sucking the flesh off a chicken bone before tossing it into the bonfire. “And all the last dregs of resistance have been either taken care of or restrained properly. Now, there are several complications that have arisen. Not too worrying, mind you,” He assures at the royals’ wide eyes, “But enough that I feel obliged to voice it to you.”

Adrianna is quick to press the issue, speaking out on behalf of her siblings’ hesitation. “So what does the inclusion of these…brutes spell for our journey to Uncle Alistair?”

“All of the men I stationed here before I left to join your brother are missing, presumably dead since there’s no prisoners in the cellar save for the ones we put there hours ago. It would be foolish of me to just leave the Midbridge Garrison without any sort of escort.”

Silverow closes his book, leaning forward with a frown on his brow. “Then you plan to call for reinforcements, then, milord?”

Pullman nods. “Aye. Thankfully, I’ve still got a Nightraven on my belongings, and it won’t take more than a week before reinforcements arrive. As a matter of fact, I just sent it on its way towards my hold in the Vale. But until they arrive…”

“We’re going to have to hold down the garrison until they arrive,” You finish for him.

“Exactly. I hope that you do not mind this deviation from the plan. Emeron and Palme won’t be happy, but I’m not about to leave the primary road leading to my domain defenseless and without guard. Especially during the winter.”

“No, we do understand,” Adrianna says, pursing her lips.

(cont.)

“If you’d like, I’m more than willing to surrender the officer’s quarters to you-”

“No, no, that’s alright, Uncle,” Ellana assures him, “We shall be fine in the tents and blankets. If anything, you need the nice bed. You’ve been outside for ages.”

A tired smile breaks out across the lord’s face. “Well, now…that’s quite thoughtful of you, Princess…thank you. Oh, and before I forget…”

Pullman snaps his fingers and his squire comes forward, a youth with hair the color of straw with a satchel in his arms. He presents it to his lord, who takes it and pulls out the contents: a pair of knives, two pouches of what is unmistakably gold, and what appears to be a small book of sorts.

“Your reward for your aid,” He says. “Looted from the corpses of the Vascieli and supplemented from my own personal coin purse. It is a far cry compared to the Garrison, but it wouldn’t be proper to leave you without some kind of recognition.”

The Ingulan looks happy as he receives his money as well the knives that he straps to his belt. You, on the other hand, do a better job of keeping your satisfaction intact as Pullman passes onto you what is unmistakably an alchemist’s notebook.

“I couldn’t help but notice your kit. And this, we found off the dead body of a high officer. Normally, I would burn this without a second thought to prevent its spread, but if it is in your hands…I believe you could turn it for the good of the crown.”

>Acquired 10 Arums, 140 Crowns and 372 Links
>Acquired Vascieli Alchemist’s Book.

>You have eight hours until the sun sets.
>What will you do until your spar with Bellatrix?

>Choose one:
>Explore the Midbridge Garrison
>Meditate in the Specter’s Dream
>Read the ‘Botanical World of Kaithe’
>Read the Vascieli Recipe Book
>Custom option

>>48316481
What are the Rest bonuses again Kaz?

>>48316481
>Meditate in the Specter’s Dream

>>48316481
>Meditate in the Specter’s Dream
4 hours
>Read the Vascieli Recipe Book
4hours

>>48316481
>Meditate in the Specter’s Dream

>>48316495
>Eliminates Fatigue for 4 Hours
>Grants +5 to Stats for 8 hours
>Grants +10 to Stats for 12 hours

>>48316481
>>Meditate in the Specter’s Dream

>>48316481
>Meditate in the Specter’s Dream
Full 8, we'll have plenty of time to read during our stay here. Right now we have a duel to participate in.

>>48316481
>>Meditate in the Specter’s Dream
also how much money is that? like what could you buy with that much money.

>>48316481
>Meditate in the Specter’s Dream
4
>>48316481
>Read the ‘Botanical World of Kaithe’

>>48316612
A lot of money. The Aurums are Pullman's, but the Crowns and Links have been looted off of dead Vascieli. These values are subject to change and I'll pastebin a full chart later...

>Imperial Standard
>100 Links to 1 Crown
>100 Crowns to an Aurum

Links
5 – A commoner’s meal: 4 for bread and salted pork, 1 for weak beer.
10 – A night at a cheap roadside inn.
15 – A tumble with a back-alley harlot.
20 – The cost of repairs for a farming tool.
36 – A day’s wages for hard labor.
50 – A beast of burden or livestock, primarily oxen and cattle.

Crowns
1 – The general price for a farming tool (pitchfork, scythe, etc.)
5 – A mediocre sword.
25 – A tradesman’s daily wages.

Aurums
100 - A night with a courtesan from the best brothel
250 – A valuable piece of jewelry a lady or royal may wear (necklace, ring, etc.).
500 - An enchanted weapon from the Ivory Tower of Magic
1000 - A portable alchemy kit
2500 - Yearly maintenance for a motte and bailey

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When I say, “Choose one”, it really means “choose only one”…
>Enter the Specter’s Dream
Considering the fact that you’ve got a spar coming up against someone who can actually engage you in a melee combat…you decide to enter the Specter’s dream. There is no offense directed to Silverow when you say those words. A mage is dangerous, true enough, but easily overcome once you engage them in a melee.

Not so much with a proper solider, and one who happens to be a Crownguard, on top of that. You’ve never seen Bellatrix fight outside of smashing practice dummies to splinters back in the Crownguard barracks, but there’s plenty of information to be gleaned from those acts alone.

She has a large strength. She's easily one of the strongest warriors you’ve ever seen. You scowl deeply as you pull memories of combatants you’ve gone up against, including that of Zara of the Red Snakes. But you digress. She was the superior, in terms of strength, endurance and technique.

Next, she’s temperamental, excited by the prospect of combat. When you look back on it, she was more than willing to stay behind and keep the family safe while you and the Ingulan aided Pullman. But maybe, the twitch of her eyebrow was being denied proper combat. This one is more speculation than anything else, but it’s speculation that’s grounded and backed by a few logical deductions.

Ellana and Allanus stare at you as you settle down and initiate the Dream. For their sake, you keep your eyes closed as your senses begin to fade in and out. No point in scaring them, even though they’re waving their hands at you as if you were a statue. The voice of Adrianna admonishes them and tells them to go find something else to do. Even Crownguard need their rest.

How very kind of her.

Even before your sense of hearing goes, you can hear the royal family gathering around the fire, settling down comfortably as they pull out needlework, books, or small toys.

(cont.)

The passage of time quickly passes, hours turning into minutes and minutes into mere seconds. And while your senses are activating sporadically, you can still make out some snippets of information. One of the prisoners confessed to being forced into the Vascieli, taken from his village. In spite of his affinity for fire, Allanus seems to have a fondness for throwing snowballs. The Ingulan and Silverow discuss magic, as well as its applications to arrows, armor and the human body, doubtless trying to puzzle out the mysterious endurance behind the Vascieli Knight.

Still, life goes on, as one by one, they eventually shift positions, either disappearing into other parts of the garrison or moving and coming back after a walk.

You exit from the dream exactly when eight hours have passed, and the sun is a distant thought in the evening sky. The only source of light is the torches and braziers lit along the battlements and the courtyard, with the occasional bonfire casting shadows on the walls. A few knights patrol the battlements high above on the walls as the Crownguard keep a sharp eye on the royal family’s tents.

You stand up, taking care to get the circulation flowing back into your leg before you set off. You nod once to the Ingulan, who presses two of his fingers to his heart and traces a nine-pointed star across his breastplate. The Elder sign for good fortune and luck. Smiling, you wave at him before disappearing out of the courtyard and moving faster towards your destination.

>>8 in the Evening
>>Courtyard

“So what do you think?” Bellatrix asks, flipping her short sword in one hand as she gestures to your arena with the other. “Once it stopped snowing, it was easy to get the crud out of the way. Sure, the stones are still a bit wet, but you’d have to be drunk to slip on this kind of moisture.”

You think about a certain serving girl with a propensity for accidents and a talent for tripping over nothing.

(cont.)

“If anything,” You slowly say, approaching her from the side, “I’m more worried about the noise we’ll make. I have no desire to wake up the Crowmonds nor make the guards think there’s an actual fight going on.”

“Which is why we’ve let them know in advance,” She says. “And besides, with the wind still howling something awful, it would be damn impossible for anyone to hear outside of the middle courtyard.”
You give her a look that suggests that you’ve put little stock into her words, but you roll with it anyway. Unsheathing a pair of blunted daggers, you step onto the arena, given definition by a pair of four braziers. The square where you will fight is twenty by twenty feet across. Plenty of room for you to Dance as well as her to work magic with her spear.

A few of the knights closest to you watch with unguarded interest, and it might be a trick of the light, but you could’ve sworn that you saw the glint of coin exchanged between some of them. Not that it matters, honestly. You’re already rich enough given Pullman’s generous financial gift to you.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Bellatrix calls, falling into a stance. Her sword is held out to receive or counter an attack while her spear is leveled directly at you. The tips and edges are blunted to prevent lasting injury, but they would still hurt and even penetrate if you weren’t careful.

You look at her from across the arena, feeling your mind empty of all things save for battle, as you take the position of the Dance. “I’m always ready.”

>Attack. He who strikes first wins!
>Defend. Wait and see what she does.
>Custom option.

>>48317040
>Attack. He who strikes first wins!

>>48317040
>Attack. He who strikes first wins!
Actually on second though, I think allowing her to gain any momentum at all would be a bad idea.

>>48316969
>>The passage of time quickly passes

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Gonna take a quick break to eat something. Midnight snack. In the meanwhile, try to figure out and spitball some strategies to deal with her.

Bellatrix wields:
>Short sword
>Spear

>>48317179
I suppose when attacking go on the spear side. Once we get past it's range it becomes less useful even if she can whack us with it and it's harder for her to counter with the short sword.

I think. I don't really know jack about actual melee combat.

>>48317040
>Attack. He who strikes first wins!
give her a good show

>>48317269
Staying on her spear side will be the best bet. It doesn't matter how bullshit strong she is, swinging a spear instead of thrusting is all about leverage, which she will lack since she is using it one handed.

>>48317328
Her short sword is definitely going to be the larger threat to us, as long as we stay right on her. I'd say to focus on preventing her from getting a clean strike with her sword and never let her disengage.

>>48317179
If we have blunted throwing knives then we should absolutely initiate with them. Put her on the back step and don't give her a chance to keep us from getting in her guard.

>>48317179
Get in real close on her spear side, one handed spear is useless without a shield and a formation, and we have the advantage up real close where we can use knives but she can't use either of her weapons.

Okay, I'm back. And it seems that y'all have got a nice plan laid out. Stay on the side of her spear, give her a good show, spring forward and attack.

Writing...

>>48317579
>Inb4 she is so good at her weapons of choice she can utilize her spear 100% effectively from any range and can counter with her short sword even across her body, stretching like she is Dhalsim

Yoga!

Memeing aside, she probably has some crazy bullshit thing. She is a Crownsguard after all.

There is a quiet burst of wind that comes from above the walls, howling through the ramparts and battlements and scattering snowfall through the air. It sends knights scrambling to shield their eyes from the scrambling gust that claws at exposed skin, causes the fires around the courtyard to flicker sharply. For the briefest of moments, darkness holds supremacy over the garrison before the fires come back to life.

That is all the signal the two of you need.

The instant the lights come on, both of you move. There isn’t even a noise as you push off the ground and charge towards the center of the arena. In the dim light, you can see her mouth open in a gleeful smile, and her eyes charged with exhilaration.

This is not a spar.

This is a battle.

=

Bellatrix is strong; you have no doubt about that. You have seen at a firsthand basis of how devastating the knightess can be when the blood flows through her veins. And even though her targets had been inert and unmoving, she still displayed a surprising amount of proficiency with her weapons.

However, the advantage still lies with you.

Dual-wielding is always a bit of a tricky art, one that takes years to learn and even more to master. And that is only while carrying two of the same weapon into a conflict. As she stands before you, Bellatrix holds a spear in her left hand and a short sword on her right. By themselves, they would be enough to give you a little more pause and consideration for your tactics.

But with her current weapons, you can afford to cede more of your mental processes to your instincts.

There are only two ideal ways to wield a spear: to carry it with two hands as one would a quarterstaff, or with the spear in one and a shield of some sort in the other. And ideally? A spear wielder would have other warriors of similar disposition and equipment to support their blind spots.

(cont.)

This is not the case with her.

For all you know, she could be ambidextrous, but it still didn’t matter. Her spear is one to be wielded with both hands for maximum efficiency. While it doesn’t quite match the length of some of the larger sorts of longspears, it’s still at least a good two feet larger than a shortspear. And the weight at its tip in the form of the gryphon and the head…

Even if the weapon was made to ensure balance and counterweight for a seamless wielding, there is no changing the fact that she is using it inefficiently. Not that she seems to care too much.

You feint right, pretending to go for the sword before switching last minute to chase after her spear. She doesn’t fall for it. Bellatrix moves, twisting her body before letting her spear out in a wicked arc meant to crash into your side. That, you easily dodge, leaping back before you chase her spear again.

The tip of her spear and the lengths of your blades clash together in a shower of sparks, steel grinding against steel for the briefest of instants before you pull back and go at it again. There is no struggle to overpower the other, no prolonging the contact. All that there is are brief, dainty almost little bites that are exchanged between your weapons.

Surprisingly light on her feet, she does a good job of keeping you at bay, either battering aside your daggers or preventing your attacks by charging in with her sword. More than once have you been forced to block instead of dodge, yet you’re the one making her do most of the work of backing off and twisting to show you both of her sides.

Not that she looks any bit exhausted in the slightest, let alone even breathing too hard. Gods above, her endurance is monstrous. Five (at least, you think it’s five, but for all you know, it could have been ten) minutes into the battle and she doesn’t even look winded.

(cont.)

“You’re doing a good job of chasing after my spear,” Bellatrix calls out, exhaling as she deflects another one of your blows with the shaft of her spear. The noise it makes confirms it to be made of wood, but the fact that there’s no scratch on the weapon indicates either enchantment or special materials. Both maybe, considering how Prince Emeron gave you an enchanted dagger. “It’s the first time I’ve had to move this fast in a long time. Last one to get me to move this was Palme back in the Keep long before you came to the Crownguard.”

You grunt, batting aside a trust of her sword before moving back towards her spear. “It’s the wise thing to do against an opponent with your equipment. Any soldier with common sense…not that there’s a lot to go around, but any seasoned warrior would strike there.”

“Or maybe you’ve got a preferences for shafts instead of sheathes?” In the darkness, you can see the whites of her teeth bared in a feral smile. “Not that I can blame you. It’s one hell of a pretty weapon.”

You can’t tell if she’s deliberately trying to goad you or if she’s just exchanging friendly talk between the two of you. You decide the latter, given the lack of malicious intent behind the words. Shaking your head, you flip your daggers and move into attack…

…only for the monotony of dancing around the floor and exchanging little bites to be broken.

In a move that surprises both you and your audience, Bellatrix casts aside her short sword. It falls the ground with a clang, bouncing twice along the stones before it comes to a stop. The spear was in both of her hands even before the first noise rang out, and by the time the second noise rang across the stone, she was already charging your position.

>Roll 1d100 + 30 Combat
>Best of three.

Rolled 13 + 30 (1d200 + 30)

>>48317978

Rolled 44 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>48317978
Win or lose, I'm hoping for a decent showing.

Rolled 27 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>48317978

Rolled 29 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>48317978

>>48317978
+35 you mean. 30 Combat 5 Rested Bonus.

Don't delete, we can just add it up.

>>48317991
>79

That's probably a lose, but hopefully we don't go down like a bitch.

Rolled 55 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>48317978

>>48318020
Well where the fuck were you?

Rolled 45 + 35 (1d100 + 35)

>>48317978
Check my 100

Rolled 80 (1d100)

>>48317978

>>48318070
Derp, forgot the +30 (or 35)

File: Spoiler Image (967 KB, 500x281)

967 KB GIF

>>48317983
>>48317991
>>48317997
By some miracle, you manage to parry it by the skin of your teeth, but not quickly enough for it not to leave some sort of impact. As her spear thrusts forward, you yourself move to meet Bellatrix. There’s a noise as your dagger knocks the blunted front of the spear aside, but it’s far from the most optimal parry. It flies up towards your face, and it’s only at the last possible second that you twitch and turn to avoid a potentially fatal blow.

There’s a sharp pain on your cheek as the edge of her spear opens up a small cut on your cheek. You hiss as you retract, throwing a pair of knifes at her feet. They rattle harmlessly to the stones, but they do the trick well enough. Both of you backpedal, stepping back to the places where you started from.

“Ah, fuck,” you mutter, bringing the pad of your thumb up to your cheek. It comes away smeared with blood, and it doesn’t show any sign of stopping soon. Not that it matters, anyway. Because for the most part, it shouldn’t impair your vision if you continue…not that you exactly set any rules for this “spar”. “Okay, I completely forgot. What’re we fighting to? First blood? No, can’t be that since you just nicked me. Incapacitation? Surrender-”

She isn’t listening to you.

Even in the poor light, you can see her raise trembling fingers to the blood that’s splattered across her face. She pulls her hand down as if to wipe it off her, trailing down her nose, coming across her mouth-

-It was only for a moment, and it could’ve been a trick of the light, but could’ve sworn that something…you’re not sure what. Yet something definitely happened to her eyes. Golden irises had faded away as a shade of red as dark as blood washed over her eyes-

But you blink, and they remain as their usual amber-gold.

(cont.)

>>48318205
Seems like our knight isn't entirely human potentially.

>>48318205
AND YOU SAID MY EYES WERE FREAKY

>>48318205
Bellatrix lets out a rasping, shuddering breath, planting her spear on the ground as if she were about to stumble. This comes as a surprise to you more than it does the knights, because as far as you’re concerned, you didn’t make too much of a lasting impression on her save for a few heavy-handed blows. Something isn’t right…

It takes her a few moments to recover, eventually coming out of her stupor. Her breath eventually returns to a level, if not slightly strained, tempo as she smirks right back at you. “Oh, no. You’re not…getting off that easily, Painel. We’re not stopping. Oh, we’re not stopping at all,” She whispers in a guttural, undulating tone. “Not until one of us is lying on the ground, not until one of us is begging for mercy, not until there’s a clear and present winner…”

You find yourself hard-pressed to say it, but it looks like she’s gotten even _more_ excited about fighting you. To the point where she’s getting somewhat lost in what you can confirm to be some kind of bloodlust. But to a certain extent, you feel the same way in regards to your partner. The blood in your veins is singing, and there’s an elation that you’re actually fighting against someone who can make you bleed, make you work hard for your kill-

No.

You pull yourself back and shake your head to violently rid yourself of those thoughts. Not kill. Subdue. Incapacitate. As tense as things are going to get, this is not a duel to the death.

>”Alright, glad to see we’ve got established victory conditions.” [Play it off, it’s just a trick of the light.]
>“Wait, hold up. What the hell just happened?” [Eyes just don’t change color, especially not like that.]

>>48318297
>>”Alright, glad to see we’ve got established victory conditions.” [Play it off, it’s just a trick of the light.]
Small details like that shouldn't stop our duel.

>>48318297
>>”Alright, glad to see we’ve got established victory conditions.” [Play it off, it’s just a trick of the light.]
lets not be the one to start the poking into the past game

>>48318297
>”Alright, glad to see we’ve got established victory conditions.” [Play it off, it’s just a trick of the light.]

>>48318297
>>”Alright, glad to see we’ve got established victory conditions.” [Play it off, it’s just a trick of the light.]
I'm all for asking. But later, without an audience.

>>48318297
>”Alright, glad to see we’ve got established victory conditions.” [Play it off, it’s just a trick of the light.]
Eh, whatever. If she wants to tell us sometime she'll tell us. Until then, no point in prying. Certainly not from Marcus.

Just hope neither of us get seriously hurt here.

>>48318297
>>”Alright, glad to see we’ve got established victory conditions.” [Play it off, it’s just a trick of the light.]

None of our business, Palme isn't stupid enough to hire someone with something like that going on unless it's at the least not dangerous to his charges. If she wants to tell us she will, otherwise it's not important that we know.

File: 2dd.jpg (15 KB, 300x300)

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>Guttural, undulating voice
>Getting off that easily.
>Lying on the ground, begging for mercy

>>48318297
>>”Alright, glad to see we’ve got established victory conditions.” [Play it off, it’s just a trick of the light.]

>>48318253
this is being said later though

>>48318297
>”Alright, glad to see we’ve got established victory conditions.” [Play it off, it’s just a trick of the light.]

Man, no offense meant, but the fighting obsessed lady is starting to feel like a really overused trope. Like, almost every quest I'm reading has one, but I am probably finding it more often because I am not a fan of it.

>>48318416
....you're telling me BRQ is cliche.

What part of MY LIFE IS YOURS did not tip you off to that?

besides, this is supernaturally obsessed with fighting, which is not actually as common.

>>48318416
I can understand that sentiment. With that said, I do plan on subverting that trope. Maybe even in this thread, even. Trust me when I say it's not as it seems.

Writing...

>>48318205
>trailing down her nose, coming across her mouth-
>>48318416
looks like something supernatural/magical. Vampire?

Also, she got us with her spear. She must have whipped it back really fast to get blood on her face.

>>48318433
Really? Supernatural fighting obsessed is arguably even more common than the mundane kind. And most authors just use it as a cop out so they don't need to make detailed character. I'm not saying kaz is doing that, but it's pretty often that a female warrior is part demon/a werewolf/possessed by angry spirit/ some other bloodlust reason.

>>48318487
Maybe the spear is wonky? Soul edge type deal.

>>48318505
Oh shut the hell up. You haven't been bitching while she's been spoiling fo

>>48318487
Gonna drop some word of god before I continue.
>Vampires
Vampires do not exist in BRQ. Bellatrix is 100% human.

Writing...

>>48318523
For* a fight and doing the manly lady bit. Now you choose to bitch?

>>48318523
A-anon? Did you die mid post?

>>48318505
But aren't they mutually exclusive? It's always "woman who likes fighting and got where they are with their own power" and "mysterious silent beauty empowered/possessed with supernatural powers"

>>48318525
AHAH, that just means EVERYONE ELSE isn't human! We're all Carbons, you heard it here first!

>>48318530
This is the first thread I've been live for. I would have said something sooner if I had been here.

>>48318532
Phone @ work. Somehow auto posted.

>>48318538
Well good to know you`d have stuck to your guns and been a pick asap

>>48318535
So, humans get red eyes when they taste blood, and we get silver eyes when we trance. I wonder what other species are related to what colors?

>>48318554
I assume you meant that I'm a dick, but I'm not really sure how I'm being a dick. I stated out that Bella is showing signs of a trope that I dislike. Kaz said it's not how it seems, so I'm waiting to see what happens.
Sorry if I upset you, but I really am not trying to start an internet argument.

You have more than your fair share of questions that you would most certainly like answered. But, Palme’s words come to mind, about how everyone’s got skeletons in their closets and how the Crownguard is a new start for people who just want to start anew. You of all people know this more than anyone else.

“Alright,” You nod, once again raising your daggers into a battle stance. “Glad to see that we’ve got some established victory conditions, unorthodox though they may be.” You end that particular sentence with a poignant cough.

Fantastic. You’ve fought a lot of people, but this may be the first time you’re fighting someone that’s got some kind of…switch for blood. She’s always been headstrong, confident, maybe cocky and intrusive depending on her mood, but now?

The closest and only description that you can come up with is...

It’s as if she’s blood-drunk. There's no other way you can explain it.

Something in the back of your mind clicks in recognition. Perhaps in recollection of something told long ago, or some odd tidbit of information once heard. But that can wait until later. Much, much later.

Because if you don't dedicate every ounce of your concentration to winning, you just might get seriously hurt.

“And I’m glad that you understand it,” Bellatrix whispers, bringing down her spear once again to level directly at you. She shudders for a moment, exhaling deeply before grinning once again. “Okay, ready? No more playing around.”

Your eyes meet, your own soft brown meeting her sharp gold. And in another instant, both of you take off at the same time, once again racing towards the center of the arena, weapons poised and ready to strike. You can’t help but give into the exhilaration of the battle as your blood sings in delight as sparks fly and steel crashes in discordant melody as the long winter night continues…

>Roll 2d100 + 35 Combat
>Best of three

>Choose one:
>The First Man
>The Holy Man
>The Wise Man

Rolled 53, 71 + 35 = 159 (2d100 + 35)

>>48318641
Double Nat 1s!!!!

Rolled 6 + 35 (1d100 + 35)

>>48318641

Rolled 43, 52 + 35 = 130 (2d100 + 35)

>>48318641
>The Holy Man

Rolled 71, 17 + 35 = 123 (2d100 + 35)

>>48318641
>>The Holy Man

Rolled 96, 16 + 35 = 147 (2d100 + 35)

>>48318641

Rolled 52, 96 + 35 = 183 (2d100 + 35)

>>48318641
>The Wise Man

>106, 106
Dubs

Not bad though I'm sad those 96s came up at the end just to taunt us.

>>48318641
>The Wise Man

>>48318641
>>The First Man

>>48318641
>The Wise Man

And since we are doing a perspective change cutscene again that is my queue to go to sleep.

bump/test post

>>48318641
>The Holy Man

bumpin'

Bump for great justice.

>>48318641
>>The First Man

File: Magister Ansell.jpg (57 KB, 600x816)

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>>48318655
>>48318656
>>48318661
>88, 78, 106
>106, 87, 52

>The Wise Man

“…and that is why you must wash your hands before every meal,” You slowly intone, tapping the ground with your staff as you pace around the table, where all of the class inspects the water through the magnifying instrument. “Because it would hardly be pleasant to ingest one of these creatures. They are known for carrying all sorts of virulent diseases. Yes, do you have a question, Sam?”

The robes do nothing to flatter the boy. In fact, they only make him look even fatter than he normally is. It’s almost tragic how at the age of only seventeen, this boy was already taking on an appearance of magisters in the later stages of their lives.

“Magister Ansell,” He wheezes, doing his best to move around the others, “Is there a way to know whether or not a certain source of water is safe for drinking? I mean, sure, we can avoid drinking water that’s dirty, or’s got some of that green stuff on it-”

“Brine or algae,” You correct him softly, “Either word shall suffice, though the former is used for the sea while the latter can be applied to both fresh and saltwater.”

“Yes, those. But even if there isn’t any of that and the water appears to be clean…then what do we do?”

“That, is the next component of the lesson. If everyone could move aside?”

The Initiate class of Viridian Order swiftly complies, moving to clear a space by the table. From your satchel, you remove a skin filled with water, and pour it onto an empty tub. Within a few seconds of draining its contents and cleaning the instruments, you are ready to continue the lesson.

“This is water drawn from the same source,” You explain, “But notice that the creatures in the water are dead, if not completely destroyed. For the most part, this water is safe to drink. How do you think I accomplished this?”

A flurry of hands goes up into the air, as well as no shortage of shouted answers.

(cont.)

“A solution of some sort, derived from alcohol.”

“No, that would not work! It would have the acrid smell-”

“Both of you are mistaken. Clearly, it is some sort of spell or potion-”

“Get that out of here! Spells have no place in the Viridian Order-”

“If you wanted to learn magic, then you should have taken up with the Ivory Tower-”

“W-wait! We are all men of science and reason, there is no need to come to such violent discourse-”

The class quickly dissolves into total anarchy as the brown-robed initiatives begin to engage in shouting matches. Fingers are pointed, mothers and lineages insulted, and more than one fist is raised as the situation threatens to degenerate from a vocal cacophony to a physical brawl.

You can’t help but smile. Ah, to be young. So fiery, so tempestuous. To see your students so passionate in their studies and discourse reminds you of yourself when you were that age. But that was so long ago, of course, far too long ago. Your passion for academia and life remains, but it has been tempered with the wisdom that comes with age, the withering of your body, and the loss of loved ones as time cruelly marches on.

But it is not like you to be stuck in such melancholic thoughts.

You sigh ruefully as you raise your staff and bring it crashing down onto the floor. At the noise, the initiates immediately stop, pausing mid-sentence and pointed gesture to turn their undivided attention towards you.

“Your passion and drive for knowledge is appreciated,” You speak, “And all of you believe that yours is the right deduction. But please, restrain yourselves from shouting. Save it for the defense of your thesis when the time comes for you to take the Eightfold Test. It is unbecoming of magisters or initiates to shout like common laymen in disagreement.”

Your words seem to mollify them, somewhat. Most nod while others stare and shuffle their feet, too embarrassed to meet your eyes.

(cont.)

“But returning to the subject at hand, none of you are correct. How did I purify this water? The answer is astonishingly simple. All I did was put it in a pot, start a fire, and let the water boil for about ten minutes.”

The silence at your revelation is so quiet that if a snowflake fell to the ground, it would have made a sound. Somewhere in the deep corner of your mind, you can’t help but sigh. Was it really that surprising? It’s a simple fallacy to assume that Magisters like their long-winded explanations and complicated solutions for the most basic of problems. Not so much for you. You like to be swift and to the point.

“So…is it the heat then?” Sam asks, hesitant to ask but resolute in his deduction. “That kills all of the creatures?”

“You are correct. Bringing the water to a certain temperature is indeed the primary mode. This kills the bacteria. Now, I’ve prepared laboratory number five for tomorrow’s lesson. You will observe and try to catalog the exact temperature and time that it takes for contaminated water to become purified. Yes, do you have a question?”

“This is an astonishing discovery, Magister,” one of your students says, with no small amount of awe in his voice, “But it must have its limitations. Is there any kind of water that cannot be completely purified in this matter?”

You shift your staff to the other hand as your lean back against the wall. “Dirty water, predominantly where the rivers run quick and the mud is quick to churn. Boiling sea water leaves nothing but salt, and I would hope that you would never consider water densely packed with algae to be drinkable.”

Something moves in the corner of your eye, and you briefly flick them towards the entrance to the classroom. There is nothing there save for an empty hallway and the flickering lights of candles as they hold out against the slight breeze in the halls.

(cont.)

File: Jory Armand.jpg (75 KB, 659x800)

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Your eyes narrow before they return to your assembled class. “But that is a discussion for tomorrow’s lesson. I have already kept you here long enough, and the night is getting late. I have little doubt that your other teachers will be unamused to have you groggy for their lessons. You are dismissed.”

As one, they clasp their hands in their fists and bow towards you from the waist. “Thank you for the lesson, magister,” They chant in a sonorous rumble.

You return the gesture, inclining your head. “Go get yourselves some dinner. And be careful on the way to the hall. It is still cold in spite of the snow and frostbite is still a very dangerous foe.”

One by one, they collect their things and shuffle out of the classroom, excitedly discussing the lesson and words you imparted to them. Eventually, their voices fade away as they round the end of the hall and disappear out of sight. Only when the last echo fades do you turn to address your guest.

“I was in the middle of a lesson,” You mutter dryly, “Could you not have waited for me to finish?”

“Sorry, magister,” Jory Armand, master of the crown’s spies, says with a non-apologetic tone. His teeth glisten in the dim light of the room, and his eyes show a capricious sort of demeanor not uncommon among hunters. “But it couldn’t be helped. I had to get to you as soon as I could.”

“That seems to be a trend of late.” You pause as you take a moment to empty the tubs into a drain by the windowsill. “Please tell me that you didn’t frighten some poor student into thinking that phantoms lurk in the citadel.”

“It was only once, and you got a kick out of debunking ghosts. And I would love to keep talking, but Palme and the prince wish to see you.”

A dark look comes across your eyes. “Another autopsy?”

“That’s right. They need you to cut open the bastard that offed himself in the dungeons. Figure out what he took."

(cont.)

The man who tried to kill Princess Ellana. It isn’t his death that surprises you as much as it is the method of how it came about. “…give me a moment to collect my tools. Although there might be little need for delicacy considering how your subjects usually end up.”

“That’s all on Palme and the prince, to be honest,” Jory says, scratching the back of his cowled head. “Only thing I did was watch as they ordered the screws to be put to the stubborn bastard. Literally, at one point when he refused to talk. But don’t worry about that. He ain’t pretty to look at as of now, but insides should still be intact.”

“That remains to be seen. There are many kinds of toxins and poisons that can just as easily mutilate one’s organs even more badly than three feet of steel. His liver must be a mess.”

“Well, your guess is as good as mine. You need an escort, or shall we meet up at the dungeons?”

You shake your head. “No. As I said, I will collect my tools, and then proceed to meet you at the dungeons. I will need to know which room, of course.”

“Cell number eight.”

“Thank you.”

You sigh deeply as you begin the long walk towards your quarters, with Armand walking the other way. You’re almost getting too old for this. Not that you know how old you actually are. You stopped counting the years even long before you held the infant who would become the Crimson Tyrant.

>Midbridge Garrison
>The Phantom

It is with deep breaths and wide eyes that you straddle Bellatrix Lupine, daggers at her throat as you keep her pressed down to the ground. No matter how hard she tries to extend her hand, the spear is just too far beyond her reach. And her sword was on the opposite end of the arena.

Disarmed and powerless, the knightess is completely at your mercy.

(cont.)

>>48321805
>you held the infant who would become the Crimson Tyrant.
that's the uhh, king, right? The one who has sons old enough to lead military expeditions?

>>48321805
>you straddle Bellatrix Lupine
Lewd

“Yield,” you whisper, pressing the edges deeper against her throat. Blunted, they would no harm save for lingering marks, but you’re trying to get a point across. More than once did you take her to the ground, only for her to throw you off and attack once more. “The battle is over.”

It took too damn long for you to get to this point. You’re not sure how much time has passed, but it’s been long enough for the fuel in the braziers to almost be consumed by the fires. And for the first time since the Princess saved your life, this is the most exhausted that you’ve ever been.

She’s finally breathing hard, almost as exerted as you are. Even with her breastplate, it’s easy to track the movement of her chest as it rises up and down with every hard breath to enter and leave her mouth. A small amount of blood leaks from a forehead would, a lucky scratch you managed to get in. Even so, it does nothing to diminish her appearance.

“…I yield,” Bellatrix concedes, in a small voice that’s more a sigh than anything else. “You win.”

You nod, acknowledging her as you pull the daggers away from her throat. Standing up on wobbly legs, you sheathe your blades before extending a hand towards her. She looks at it for a brief moment, considering and weighing her choices before she clasps it in an iron grip. You help her up and move to collect her wayward weapons as the audience of knights gives a subdued and muted applause.

“Don’t let this get…to your head,” She mutters, trying to gather her breath, “It’s just one victory. There’s still…still another one. At least two matches before…I acknowledge you as the better.”

You raise an eyebrow at that. “Really…what makes you …say that?”

“First time is an accident…a repeat performance is…necessary to confirm. Could’ve been dumb luck…”

“Maybe…but don’t forget who won this time.”

“Fuck, you’re starting…to act like…Silverow. Smug as hell…”

(cont.)

That gets a chortle out of you. “No, don’t think so…don’t have the sick up my ass..."

“Aye, no you don’t…but in all seriousness…let’s save the rematch for a bit later…”

“Didn’t expect to hear that from you…”

“I’m still…I’m still human,” she grunts as you push open the doors leading to the far courtyard. “And right now…sore all over in places…didn’t know could get sore…”

“Let me know if anything persists…in my years before the Crownguard…had a fair hand at dressing wounds…easing tension out of limbs…”

A brief moment of heartache overcomes you as your mind brings a memory from your past. Days spent doing nothing with Serena as you both recovered from injuries. One thing would always lead to another in therapy...

“Gods above, Painel…is there anything that you can’t do?”

You cough, dispelling bad memories before responding:: “Lots of things…I can’t wield a spear and…ride a horse at full gallop…”

The tow of you continue to exchange words as you return to the royal camp. Silverow is the first to see the two of you, looking up from his book in surprise at your disheveled appearances.

“What the hell happened to the two of you?” He hisses.

“Oh, we…” Bellatrix gestures towards the exit of the courtyard. “Just a friendly spar…”

The mage seems to be incredulous, stunned into silence at her flat delivery. “Um…well, given your…current state, I think it would be best for us to let you get some rest. We’ll take care of the night shift.”

The two of you thank him before trudging towards the Crownguard tents. Once you stop in front of your respective quarters, Bellatrix slides her arm off your shoulder and saunters into her tent.

“That was fun…definitely should do it again sometime…” She chortles before waving at you. “See you in the morning, Painel.”

>“Alright. See you then.” [Go to sleep]
>“Hold up. Just one thing.” [Ask about her eyes]

>>48314475
Kill jester

>>48322238
>“Alright. See you then.” [Go to sleep]
No need to pry like we said.

That said if she ever teases us about our Meditation Eyes we give her a 'Look who's talking.'

>>48321925
He said something about the Crimson Tyrant in his Twitter.
https://twitter.com/TaskForceKaz/status/751692997960630272

>>48322238
>>“Alright. See you then.” [Go to sleep]

>>48322238
>"Nice eyes, try to keep a better lid on them next time. See you."

>>48322238
>“Alright. See you then.” [Go to sleep]

>>48322238
>>“Alright. See you then.” [Go to sleep]

The noise that comes out of your throat is more of a snort than anything else, but the tired smile is genuine enough. Even if it hurts to pull your face into making that expression. “Alright. See you then.”

>Bellatrix’s opinion of you has increased Sharply.

>>One week later

It eventually stopped snowing, and the sun finally became visible after days of being hidden behind grey-silver clouds. In the week of waiting, the fortress slowly came back to life under the scrutiny of Lord Pullman and the Eagle Knights. The blood and corpses are eventually removed, and the gates are open once more to let what scant travelers through, entering or exiting the Vale as they saw fit.

Pullman’s Nightraven came back on the second day, with confirmation of his orders and three hundred Eagle Knights ready to relieve them of their duty. With the absence of significant snowfall and weather that is, for the most part, mild and tame, you have little doubt that they will take too long. Three weeks if another storm hit, but no longer than that.

Thankfully, the gods are merciful and have no surprises or sharp contrasts in the weather to offer. It is still cold, and that almost goes without saying, but it’s a pleasant enough cold if you’re suitably equipped for the winter weather. A fact that does not go unnoticed by Ellana and Allanus, who spend many long hours of the day playing in the snow, much to the consternation of their sister. Something, something, unbecoming and getting their clothes dirty.

But, you digress. You yourself have had the opportunity to relax a bit, with a little more free time to yourself and leniency given the security of the compound. The presence of the Eagle Knights constant guard is also a notable factor.

So what exactly have you been up to as you wait for Pullman’s reinforcements?

>Choose three:
>Socializing with the Royals/Crownguard
>Reading the Vascieli Alchemy Book
>Reading ‘The Botanical World of Kaithe’
>Practicing your riding.

>>48322820
>Socializing with the Royals/Crownguard
>Reading the Vascieli Alchemy Book
>Practicing your riding.

>>48322820
>Socializing with the Royals/Crownguard
>Reading the Vascieli Alchemy Book
>Practicing your riding.

>>48322820
>>Socializing with the Royals/Crownguard
>>Reading the Vascieli Alchemy Book
>>Practicing your riding.
We should teach the Loli how to alchemy while on Horseback.
Like a medieval fantasy version of Cardgames on Motorcycles.

>>48322820
>Socializing with the Royals/Crownguard
>Reading ‘The Botanical World of Kaithe’
>Practicing your riding.

>>48322820
>Reading ‘The Botanical World of Kaithe’
>Practicing your riding.
>Socializing with the Royals/Crownguard

>>48322888
Teaching the princess to identify poisons would prove very helpful later on in life

>>48322820
>>Socializing with the Royals/Crownguard
>>Reading the Vascieli Alchemy Book
>>Practicing your riding.

Taking a brief break to get some food. Be back in a few minutes.

Next few snips are gonna be quick so I can get the rolls out of the way
>>Riding your horse
>>Vascieli Alchemy Book
>>Socializing

With the weather brightening up and the snowfall mercifully absent, the roads are, for the most part, good enough to ride in. The odd bit of traffic coming in from both sides of the Vale and the highlands, as well as the Eagle Knights trampling the ground yesterday, flattened the snow well enough for the horses to be taken at a full gallop without (too much) fear of slipping.

You couldn’t be happier at this outcome. Because while you’re perfectly capable at taking your mare for a moderate pace or a brisk trot, you still had one last hurdle to overcome. One final training before Bellatrix would deem you competent enough with a horse so that she wouldn’t have to worry about you falling off and cracking your head open.

When you aren’t guarding the royals or reading your latest book, you and Bellatrix take to racing your horses down the bridge. It starts off as a moderate canter before you feel yourself gaining confidence in your riding. And as the days go on, the aches and pains brought on from sitting in the saddle are diminishing, waning as you grow more comfortable in the leather. Or maybe you’re just growing used to your groin and legs hurting like hell.

Either way, you can proudly say that you've come a long way from being unable to ride a horse...

>Roll 1d100 + 50 Knowledge (+20 Knowledge, +30 for practicing for a week)
>Best of three
>Practicing for a week ignores critfails.
(cont.)

Fuck, ignore the (cont.) please.

Rolled 13 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>48323768
Boom

>>48323768

Rolled 77 (1d100)

>>48323768
>>48323806
Let me try that again

Rolled 26 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>48323768

>>48323823
127 is pretty solid.

>>48323788
>>48323823
>>48323860
>You have gained the Talent: Riding!
>You may urge your horse to canter and gallop without rolling
>You will not be penalized when making rolls to perform complex maneuvers

You’ve set up something of a schedule for yourself as the long days go by. After exhausting yourself physically on the horses, you return for a quick meal before you begin your reading. Setting aside the ‘Botanical World of Kaithe’, you eagerly settle down into a comfortable position and begin perusing through the battered journal.

You frown as you skim through the pages. At least half of the book is written in some kind of cipher, and what part that isn’t is barely legible due to poor handwriting. No, that’s not it. Perhaps the author of the book was riding when he inscribed his recipes and ingredients, given the odd jolt and squiggle every few words and sentences. Not that it matters.

The book itself seems to be divided into a three sections: the first describes a process by which one can transmute Catalysts into raw ingredients. A very useful formula to have in places where Ingredients are scarce, such as the Dreadlands or the deserts of the distant south. The second seems to detail some kinds of recipes. These you might be able to puzzle out if you squint at the ingredients list long enough.

But it’s the third part that gives you cause for great interest. You’re not sure what it is given the cipher, but considering hastily written notes and corrections, it appears to be a manuscript or manifesto or some sort. And carefully tucked away within the outer layer of the book is a letter of some sort.

>Obtained Vascieli Letter

That is tucked safely away in the bottom of your satchel, kept close to you at all times as you try to glean the secrets within the pages...

>DC is high due to Vascieli Cipher.
>Find the key to reduce the DC.

>Roll 1d100 + 50 Knowledge (+20 Knowledge, +30 Week of Study)
>Best of three, week of study negates critfails

Rolled 85 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>48324039
Look at this one.

Rolled 38 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>48324039
Look at MY one.

Rolled 60 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>48324039

File: 1380701455769.jpg (50 KB, 407x695)

50 KB JPG

>>48324039
considering how large our bonuses are for some things, will there ever be a DC over 100?

>>48324062
pic related

>>48324039
Wouldn't the Key be the Letter? Hard to tell exactly, but since it was tucked close, it's the most likely suspect.

>>48324188
Yep.

Writing...

>>48324062
>>48324075
>>48324120

>135, 88, 110

It is only after several days of permutations and hair-tearing frustration that you manage to finally crack the cipher in the most roundabout way possible. Not that you can tell what you’re reading, but there are some symbols and letterings that repeat themselves enough for you to get a general idea of what’s words and what aren’t.

Not that you need to worry too much about the lettering. It’s easy enough to commit the first part of the book to memory, the passages that detail the process of transmuting Catalysts to Ingredients. There’s enough time for you to learn the theory for its eventual application once you’ve gotten more catalysts from the wilderness.

>Transmutation unlocked!
>You can now turn unused Catalysts into Ingredients

For whatever reason, they never bothered to include numbers in their Cipher. Combine that with the picture of a few ingredients as well as some vague references written in Common, you’re able to tease out two of what you estimate to be seven formulae in the second part of the book.

>Sinkroot Extract, a poison crafted from Sinkroot and distilled to create a flesh-eating acid.
>Panacea, an antidote to a wide variety of toxins and poisons.

There’s still five more potions left and the last manuscript to decipher. Not that you’ll be able to do it without the key. You decide to consult Palme or Lord Pullman later. Perhaps they might know something. Especially the latter, since he seems to be the one who has to deal the most with the Vascieli.

And you cannot forget the time you spend with the rest of your Crownguard and your charges alike. Just quiet hours listening to them play, talk and simply live as best they could in a place without the stifling walls of Kathmire keep. And in the quiet hours of the evening, where the Crownguard would sit and talk about the small things in life, as the fire crackled merrily underneath a winter sky.

(cont.)

>You got closer to the Crownguard
>You got closer to the Royal Family

And there were times where you had some more time with certain individuals. Perhaps this was circumstantial, such as a coincidence of timings or chance meetings that turned into lengthy discussions. Maybe you sought them out, or they in turn looked for you?

But you digress. There are some members among your merry band that you had a large portion of your time devoted to more than others.

>Choose one from each category.

>Which Royal did you spend the most time with?
>Adrianna
>Allanus
>Ellana

>Which Crownguard did you spend the most time with?
>Bellatrix
>Silverow
>The Ingulan

Might head off to the gym soon. Health reasons. If I don't respond within my usual timing, please don't panic. Keep the thread bumped please.

>>48324760
>Allanus
>Silverow

Probably the two we've spent the least amount of time with.

>>48324760
>Ellana
>Silverow

>>48324760
>>Ellana
>The Ingulan

Keep getting swole kaz

>>48324760
>>Ellana
>>The Ingulan

>>48324760
>Ellana
>The Ingulan

>>48324760
>Ellana
>>The Ingulan

Bump for great justice.

>>48324760
>>Ellana
>The Ingulan

>>48324760
>Ellana

>Bellatrix

Back and bumped.

Writing...

>>48327789

>Ellana
“Marcus? Are you there?”

It’s the third day of your stay, and only just after you’ve finished eating your lunch. The bread and dried meat went down easily enough, a perfect balance of stating your hunger and preventing an after-meal nap. You’re halfway through deciphering the second half of the transmutation formula, and you’ve found yourself a quiet little alcove to study.

Unsurprisingly, Ellana quickly found you just when you were making some decent headway. Because if there’s two things that you can safely say without a doubt, it’s that the universe derives some sick pleasure from your frustration and that Ellana can track you down wherever you go.

Her quiet walk comes to an abrupt stop, shifting her heels into the snow as she waves at you. “Oh, there you are? What exactly are you doing over there?”
You mark the book with a slip of paper before you close it shut with a quiet thump. “It’s just some light reading,” You smile, “A little gift from your Uncle for helping him take the fortress.”

You make way to stand up and move towards her, but she holds up a hand. “Please, you don’t have to get up. I can just…there’s a spot over on that crate. I can sit there.”

True enough, she makes her way towards your little alcove, humming a tune to herself as she glides along the snow. Though it takes your aid and a lift up for her to reach the height of the container, at least a good four feet off the ground. You have little doubt that she could climb it on her own, but with her dress as well as the winter furs around her body, it would be incredibly difficult for her to do on her own.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” You intone, affixing your charge with a wry smile, “What brings milady over here? I was under the impression that your sister desired for you to study in the carriage.”

(cont.)

Ellana purses her lips, eyebrows furrowed as she glances in the direction of the courtyard. “It was very hot inside. I will tolerate them if they’re needed, but I’m very not fond of stuffy or enclosed spaces. I feel…as if I am confined.”

You nod in understanding. “It’s not uncommon. Many young boys and girls your age feel the same way. They have a drive, a passion to explore the world around them. Always asking questions, always searching for the next big thing.”

She is silent, lips pursed in concentration and eyes rolled in a pensive gesture before she replies. “You say that as if you don’t think that way anymore.”

“That would not be incorrect,” You slowly answer, “But I would like to clarify that I do not think this way because of the responsibilities that I carry, as well as my age.”

“Ah. Like your responsibility to my brother, right? And Ser Palme.”

“Yes. I cannot afford to pursue idle fancies and, to be blunt, childish things when I must devote my being to keeping you safe from harm.”

“But what about before that day,” Ellana asks, tilting her head in curiosity. “Did you ever not have any dreams? Any sort of wishes or desires? As an adventurer, you must have had some sort of motivation for traversing the land-”

Fight to survive the day.

Amass enough money to escape.

Protect Serena.

You do your best to prevent your face from tightening up in a grimace, but something must have slipped.

“Oh, I’m sorry Marcus,” Ellana apologizes with a contrite tone, lips, brows and eyes coming together in concern. “I didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories-”

You wave them off and force a half-smile onto your face. “There’s no reason for you to apologize. Everything that happened to me before we met…you are not responsible for my history.”

She thinks about that, before breaking out into a smile. “Perhaps not then, but in a literal sense, I am now, though. You are my Crownguard, after all.”

(cont.)

File: Ellana Crowmond.jpg (68 KB, 640x480)

68 KB JPG

That gives you pause, as well as an involuntary smile. “Yes,” You laugh, “I suppose I am, milady.”

She smiles, before quickly furrowing her eyebrows and summoning the most serious look on her face. For a moment, you’re worried about a stroke or some other ailment. But it is not the case. She looks up at you, her gold meeting your brown with an intense scrutiny.

“I don’t know the details,” she says, placing one of her small hands atop your own, “But I sometimes catch you when you’re doing something, and you’re eyes…they’re distant, as if you’re daydreaming. Marcus, whatever haunts you…you don’t have to worry anymore. You’re with me now, and you’ve a new home among us and the rest of the Crownguard. You’re not alone anymore. I promise.”

…

You can’t help but exhale deeply, struggling to keep your composure. One ragged breath escapes from your throat before you manage to clamp down on the lump in your throat. For the second time in your life, it feels that someone is trying to lift the burden on your shoulders.

The first time this ever happened, it was the love of your life. She carried them with you, and when she died, the weight on your back increased tenfold, crushing you under the weight of despair and hopelessness.

And now, a girl – no, a princess – no older than eight years wants to help you carry that burden.

The words that come out of your mouth are slightly strained, slightly choked. “Milady, I-”

“It’s okay, Marcus. Really,” She smiles, and you swear that it’s bright enough to put the sun to shame. “You don’t have to tell me if it’s too painful. But I just want you to know that with all of us together? We’ll make you new memories. All of us. So you can-”

She can’t finish her sentence. A snowball smacks into the wall above your heads, showering the two of you in a localized snowfall.

(cont.)

>>48329541
And now the trained assassin gets into a snowball fight with a little kid

Ellana shrieks as shards of ice manage to get past her collar and down the back of her neck. You grunt as you shield the book from errant moisture, quickly taking stock of the situation at large.

The guilty party, one Allanus Crowmond, has the decency to look mortified and bashful before he takes off in a dead sprint, abandoning his pile of snowballs as he runs towards the carriage.

“Allanus!” She shouts, shaking her head to rid her hair of errant particles of ice. “Oh, I’m going to get you for that! We were in the middle of a very important discussion!”

For a moment, you would’ve sworn on every holy book that she was about to hike her skirts and give chase to her elder brother. What stops her at the last second, however, is a wayward glance towards you. Her temper returns to an idle demeanor and she gives you a small smile.

“Marcus, I do really mean those things. But…perhaps we can continue this discussion later? Here, I'm going to need your help, please.”

She grabs onto your hand, in an attempt to pull you up from your seat. “We must quickly return the attack that my brother has given us. He’s not going to learn his lesson and change his manners if we do not do something to correct his errant behavior.”

>Choose a memory:
>Join the siblings’ snowball fight. The prince needs to learn his lesson!
>Teach her the basics of botany. This is something new for her as well.

>>48329726
>Join the siblings’ snowball fight. The prince needs to learn his lesson!
You heard the lady. We can teach her another time.

>>48329726
>>Join the siblings’ snowball fight. The prince needs to learn his lesson!

"Why do your snow balls always hit my throat?!"

>>48329726
>>Join the siblings’ snowball fight. The prince needs to learn his lesson!

>>48329726
>>Join the siblings’ snowball fight. The prince needs to learn his lesson!
Marcus could use some fun

>>48329726
>>Join the siblings’ snowball fight. The prince needs to learn his lesson!

>>48329726
>Join the siblings’ snowball fight. The prince needs to learn his lesson!

>Join the siblings’ snowball fight. The prince needs to learn his lesson!
Ah, what the hell. You’ve still got another few days before reinforcements arrive. Plenty of time to at least get to the second of the two items. And if your lady is so keen about bringing retribution to her brother, then who are you to deny her?

Tucking the book inside of the satchel, you’re quick to respond to Ellana’s pulling at your hand. She doesn’t run very fast, so you have to pace yourself to let her lead you onto the field of “battle”. The two of you take cover behind a wagon of supplies and prepare for Allanus’ punishment. For every snowball she made, you created four, and between the two of you, you had a nicely-sized arsenal between the two of you.

The war began when your throw knocked Allanus’ book out of his hands just moments before Ellana hit her brother in the chest. Things did take a turn for the interesting when Allanus started using magic to blast snowballs out of the air. And then a turn for the disastrous when he called for his Crownguard to help. But the battle between the siblings ended when a snowball pelted Adrianna in the face, who had opened the carriage door to see what was the source of the noise.

Everyone was quick to call truce and run before the princess could clear the ice out of her face.

It was nothing short of childish, unbecoming of everyone involved. Unseemly of the royalty, and absolutely undignified for the Crownguard to involve themselves in a silly children’s dispute.

But as you led a giggling princess to the safety of the hidden alcoves, the burden on your shoulders became lighter.

>You became closer to Princess Ellana.

>>The Ingulan

“Urath.”

It is when you and the Ingulan share a patrol for the night, keeping a sharp eye on the royal members of the family as you relieve Silverow and Bellatrix of their shift. You stand silently at the campfire, staring into the embers before the Ingulan breaks the silence.

(cont.)

Interesting quest, checking the archive.

File: Urath.png (300 KB, 600x800)

300 KB PNG

You turn your attention towards the Ingulan. “I’m sorry?”

He scoffs, shaking his head in amusement as he sheathes his knife and puts away his whittling project. “Urath,” he repeats, the “ur” coming out as a guttural “or”. “That is my name, just as yours is…am I pronouncing this right? Marcus…Paynal?”

Oh. “Uh…” You scratch the back of your head, clearing your throat as you stand up to walk towards him. “The last name’s actually pronounced like…you ever had pie?”

Urath frowns, and you can see the gears churning in his head. “Pie…pie…the circular pastry stuffed with either preserved fruits or meat. Pie-nel? That is how to pronounce…”

You nod. “Yes, that’s correct. But if you don’t mind me asking…”

“No, go ahead.”

“How come you only told me your name now?” You ask, sitting down where his log is perched. “I mean, it’s been almost two weeks since I’ve been with the Crownguard. Everyone just called you ‘the Ingulan’ so that’s what I kind of did.”

He rumbles. “Cultural reason. I cannot reveal my name to someone I cannot trust or have not done battle with. As you have fulfilled both of those requirements readily, I am no longer bound by my people’s laws.”

“Huh. That’s…quite fascinating.”

“Do not worry. Others had to go through the same thing. Not only you.”

He jerks a thumb towards the Crownguard tents, where the soft breaths of Silverow are drowned out by the literal sawing noise of Bellatrix’s snoring. Huh. So the others had to get his trust before he could tell them his name.

“I see,” You slowly mutter. “Is that something exclusive to you, or does that pertain to all Ingulans?”

“Only me,” He answers. “No, only to certain members of my people. Those who swear an oath to the Ancestor Stones must only share their names with worthy comrades.”

(cont.)

Worthy comrades. You quickly dispel thoughts of Asmodai’s Ingulan twins as you offer Urath a hand. “Then I am pleased to make your standards.”

He stares at the hand before clasping it in a tight grip, pumping it vigorously, perhaps even more strongly than most would. “You honor me with your company. But, I a question of my own, if you not mind.”

You shake your head. He answered one of yours, so you suppose it’s only fair for you to return the favor. “Not at all.”

“Where did you learn to fight? You are…not a normal warrior typical of Vethians. Your weapons do not make you unremarkable save for how you use them. That style of how you cut through those Vashanol-”

“Wait, hold up,” You interrupt him, raising a hand. “Vashanol?”

It takes a moment for his face to slip from offended at being interrupted to understanding. “Ah. I apologize. The rebels. Vas…vas…”

As his lips struggle to form the correct pronunciation, the realization of what he’s trying to say comes quickly to you. “Oh, you’re talking about the Vascieli from the other day.”

“Yes. How you fought against them was…very strange. I ask again: where did you learn to fight?”

>“My father taught me.” [Half-truth]
>“I learned it on the road.” [Lie]
>“That’s none of your business.” [Reject]
>Custom option

>>48331175
>>“My father taught me.” [Half-truth]

>>48331175
>>“My father taught me.” [Half-truth]

>>48331175
>“My Mentor taught me.” [Half-truth]
>But in truth, I know little of its origins. He was a man who kept his secrets close. [Lie?]

>>48331175
>>“My father taught me.” [Half-truth]

>>48331175
>>“My father taught me.” [Half-truth]

>>48331175
>>“My father taught me.” [Half-truth]

>>48331175
>“My father taught me.” [Half-truth]

>>48321047
I feel I should mention brine is just salt water and can't really be identified by colour anyways, and even if it could boiling it would not make it drinkable (you have to evaporate it entirely and condense it in a clean container)

>>48331405
You're right. Fuck. Well, can't take it back now. I used the wrong word. Probably 'detritus' or something or other that's found at the bottom of rivers would've worked. I was half-asleep when I typed that and went over the draft.

>>48331448
don't worry about it man, we all fuck up lol

>>48331067
>pie-nell, not pay-nell
Welp, now I'm going to have to change how my brain pronounces his name.

Now that’s a hot subject. You frown, the container underneath you shifting as you adjust your weight to fully face Urath. “I don’t mind answering that,” You slowly intone, exhaling deeply as you prod at a wayward stone with the tip of your boot. “To make it brief, my father taught it to me when I was very young.”

It’s not a lie by any means necessary, but you’re holding a lot of information back. Not that you plan to divulge any more information than that. You have little desire to revisit those bad memories of close encounters with death, the physical and emotional scars Lucien’s teachings left upon you.

“I see.” Urath is silent for a few moments before he continues, “He must have been a great warrior, to be able to impart such skills to you.”

Your laugh is devoid of any humor. “Yeah, I guess that's true. Strongest fighter I know.”

“Stronger then Bellatrix?”

The memory of your fellow knightess going blood-drunk at the ingestion of your blood flashes briefly through your mind at his words. “Bellatrix is…she is very strong, especially for a woman. Better than most men I’ve ever fought. But no one I’ve ever fought can hold a candle to my father.”

He nods at that. “If you do not mind me asking, where did he learn it?”

For this, you’ve got nothing. You just did what you were told, in the interest of getting things over with quickly and to prevent another beating from falling upon your head. Needless questions, according to Lucien, were useless in the face of raw instinct and intuition.

“To tell you the truth, I don’t really know much about its origins. My father was a secretive man.”

“That is not uncommon,” He responds, staring up towards the evening sky. “Even the Ingulan have our own methods of fighting that we guard close to our hearts.”

Yes, but the techniques were to kill without leaving a trace, as well as killing multiple people with ease if the situation ever occured.

(cont.)

>>48332044
ded?

>>48332425
Worse. Writer's block.

Writing...

>>48332437
DED

>>48332437
Kaz. Important Question.

Pascal when?

>>48332437
so you need a fresh shitposting injection, STAT?

I'm kinda dry, hangon...

>>48332476
When we sacrifice our dog.

So Adrianna, Bellatrix or clumsy maid, which girl are we going to get into a relationship with then freeze up when getting intimate with because of Selene's death?

>>48332549
But we don't have to sacrifice our dog.
Pascal already exists, we just have to wait for him to arrive in our world.

>>48332673
Ellana.

>>48332673
queen

>>48332673
I'm still on the "vow of celibacy" route.

>>48332673
Celibate route.
Unless we have someone actually manage to break through our trauma and phobia of getting close to another person.
But that seems unlikely.

File: Urath Smiling.jpg (256 KB, 508x800)

256 KB JPG

Ugh, this was a pain to get out.

>>48332044

“Still, I thank you for taking the time to answer my questions,” Urath says with a polite smile on his face, before getting up from his seat and stretching his limbs. You’re not sure why, but you seem to have confirmed something for him. But you can’t tell what it was. “Now, if you have questions of your own, I will answer it. No, three. I asked two more than I initially had wanted.”

All of the bad memories have made you a little more tired than you’d normally be. Emotional exhaustion, perhaps? Regardless, you’re not sure if you’ve got the patience for more questions and answers. “Oh, you don’t really have to-”

“There must be an equal exchange,” He insists, frowning at your words. “In order for balance to be maintained. Tenet of my religion. I insist that you ask your share of questions.”

You don’t hesitate as much as you pause. To be honest, you don’t really have any questions. No, that’s not true. It’s just going to be hard to get answers when there’s an unspoken rule about prying too deeply into each others’ pasts. You’ll have to pick and choose your questions carefully.

>Choose three:
>How come Allanus has two Crownguard?
>The tattoos on your face. What do they mean?
>Where did you learn how to shoot?
>Where did you get those arrows?
>Custom option.

>>48332825
>How come Allanus has two Crownguard?
>The tattoos on your face. What do they mean?
>Where did you learn how to shoot?

>>48332825
>>Where did you learn how to shoot?
>>Where did you get those arrows?

>>48332825

>How come Allanus has two Crownguard?
>The tattoos on your face. What do they mean?
>Where did you learn how to shoot?

>>48332673
>Implying we'd ever be in a stable relationship
What about one-night stands or just straight up fooling around? I'm down for that.

>>48332673
Here the thing anon. You know how girls have routes in VNs where you pursue them, learning about them and their issues?

Marcus is the one with the route here. A girl has to pursue US and have to work to open up Marcus.

>>48332825
>How come Allanus has two Crownguard?
>The tattoos on your face. What do they mean?
>Where did you learn how to shoot?

>>48332825
>>How come Allanus has two Crownguard?
>>The tattoos on your face. What do they mean?
>>Where did you learn how to shoot?

>>48332825
>If knowing your name is significant, what should I call you normally?

>>48332890
Actually, that's a pretty good question.

>>48332858
That's probably fine. But like >>48332864 said any girl that wants an actual relationship has their work cut out for them.

>>48332890
yeah, thats a good one to tack on

>>48332864
Like I said it'd involve us freezing up from trauma.

>>48332890
yes this

>>48332890
yea i like that one

This one’s been bugging you ever since you made their introduction back at Kathmire keep. “How come Prince Allanus has two Crownguard? Everyone else I’ve seen, barring Prince Emeron, has only one. Even the queen at the banquet. That sorcerer who kept to himself. But Allanus gets two.”

“A simple question,” Urath remarks. “Very easy to answer. I was original Crownguard chosen to protect the prince. When discovered that he could use magic, an exception was made, and Silverow was sworn into our order to aid the prince with training in arcane arts.”

Huh. Well, that made enough sense. What little you know about the Ivory Tower of Magic is full of superstitious malarkey, but there’s some grains of truth within the rumors of the streets. Harsh standards, strict masters, and a ten percent fatality rate. Considering how much Queen Melianna fawned over her daughter, there’s little wonder as to why the Crowmonds would have sent for a sorcerer instead of sending their son to the Tower.

And they had the power to do it. After all, they are the ones seated on the Bladebound throne.

“Alright, that makes enough sense. You seem to get along with Silverow well enough. Okay, next question...the tattoos on your face. What do they mean?”

The Ingulan twins that Asmodai siced onto you had ink on their own faces as well. And while Urath had them in the same location (forehead, cheeks, jawline), they were of different design. Where the twins’ were jagged and angular, Urath’s are smooth and curved.

His hand reaches up to touch them, almost instinctively as he gently presses down on the skin. “These are tribe tattoos of the Ingulan. They denote two things: that I am recognized as man among my people, allowed to take mate and lands for my own. Additionally, these designs mark me as a member of the…you would not understand the name. Literally, my clan is ‘Children Who Dance in the Shadow of the Mountain’.”

You nod. "I see..."

(cont.)

“An Ingulan who has no tattoos is one of two things: Iathunan or Anuthan. Iathunan are those with our blood that are youths that are untried, or Ingulans born outside of a tribe. Those who live in cities and have forgotten or forsaken the Old Ways. But an Anuthan is someone who has been banished from the Moonlight Plains for eternity. Oathbreakers, kinslayers, criminals who pervert nature and on and on. The tattoos have been flayed from their skin for their crimes.”

The corner of your lip twitches as a certain incident flashes in your mind at the words “flayed from their skin”.

You quickly decide to change topics, eventually finding one that’s best suited for this first conversation. “You said that you swore an oath to reveal your name only to trusted comrades.”

Urath nods. “Yes, that is correct.”

“What am I to call you when there are others around us? Say, Lord von Roie’s soldiers or a group of village peasants.”

There’s something in his eyes that shine as you finish your question. “Very sharp of you. You are correct in assuming that you will need to call me by a different name. I go by several, but the one name that I am fond of the most…”

He taps the bow strapped to his back, and the arrows in his quiver rattles in response. “Archer, in the Common tongue. Or Emathul, a hero in our legends renowned for wielding a bow to slay children of Aetherion, Beast of Chaos.”

You process this information and test the words on your tongue. “Archer…Emathul.”

“Thul,” he corrects you, “You must put great weight on the ‘ul’ in order to pronounce it correctly.”

“Thanks. Well, I try to work on my Tathal, but until then…I guess I’ll just call you ‘Archer’. Is that alright?”

He nods, flashing a brief smile. “It will do. Now, if you will excuse me, I have prayers to perform.”

You blink as he stands up and moves to the side. Prayers. In the middle of the night.

(cont.)

You shake your head as your discussion finally draws to a close. “Yeah, don’t let me keep you. I’ll just keep an eye over here on this side of the tent.”

“It will not take me long. Only a few minutes, and I shall return.”

“Alright then. It was nice to meet you…Archer.”

He frowns, the meaning apparently soaring over his head before he shrugs. “The honor belongs with me, Pay…Pie-nel.”

>Urath, the Ingulan Archer has made your acquaintance.
>As with the other Crownguard, you can talk to him in your free time.

You watch him go around the tent, towards the back end of the Crowmond’s sleeping quarters. Within a few minutes, you can hear a faint whispering, a low prayer uttered in Tathal. You can’t make anything out of it, but the prayer is quite melodious, if you had to say anything about it.

>>???

The smell of lavender and barley lulls you out of your sleep, gently pulling you from a slumber devoid of dreams. Pillows stuffed with straw and down shift under your weight as you push off from the mattress. You pride yourself on your vision, but even you cannot escape the bleariness of awakening.

The room is poorly lit, the only sources of illumination a pair of flickering candles. One sits atop the bedside table, wavering as your movement sends small gusts of wind to lap at the flame. The other sits at a table in the distance, casting macabre shadows of the figure hunched over and diligently working on an unseen object.

Your eyes narrow. The last thing you remember was entering the Specter’s Dream, right on the last day before Pullman’s reinforcements came to bolster the garrison. This situation is an impossibility. Movement immediately knocks the user out of the Dream, and the Specter’s Dream is supposed to be devoid of all sorts of night time visions.

But before you can do anything, let alone try to move as quietly as possible or think of a plan, the figure at the table stops their work and turns to face you.

(cont.)

File: Serena Smiling.jpg (431 KB, 768x1024)

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“Oh, I didn’t know if you would wake up,” says a voice that stops you cold in your tracks, a voice you never thought you would hear again in your life. A myriad of emotions pierce your heart in a single instant, and your breath becomes faster, ragged, unsure, afraid. “You've been asleep for the longest time.”

Your vision focus sharply increases, driving away the shadows and darkness that cling to the figure addressing you. She still looked the same as your sweetest memories, no even better than fleeting images lingering in your mind. As if nothing had ever happened on that fateful day.

Blue eyes filled with nothing but kindness, so easy to get lost in on slower days of idolatry. Her hair comes down in her usual braid, always tied together whenever she worked jobs or magic. But it is the smile that graces her lips, accepting of all your faults and the one thing you failed to protect.

“Hello, Marcus,” Serena whispers, still smiling from her seat by the table. “How have you been doing?”

>“I don’t…this isn’t possible…”
>“This is…this is a dream…”
>[Say nothing, run towards her.]
>Custom option.

>>48333873
>“I don’t…this isn’t possible…”

>>48333873
>>“I don’t…this isn’t possible…”

>>48333873
>“This is…this is a dream…”

>>48333873
>>“I don’t…this isn’t possible…”
Oh boy. So, bets on parts of Marcus' brain creating a Serena tulpa, or Serena's soul being used by one of Marcus' enemies to break his will?

>>48333873
>YOU'RE NOT MY REAL WAIFU

>>48333873
>>“I don’t…this isn’t possible…”

>>48333873
>No! That's not true! That's impossible!

but seriously
>“I don’t…this isn’t possible…”

>Marcus Painal
>As in Painful Anal

>>48334173
>Marcus Painal
>As in Pine-sol Enema

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Your mouth forms words, thousands of sentences that you want to say all at once. But all of them are caught in your throat as a strangled gasp. Cold logic wars with your emotions as you manage to choke out, “I don’t…this isn’t possible…”

Her smile becomes softer as she reaches out towards you. The hand that places itself on your bare shoulder is warm and full of life, weathered and calloused in the places where her fingers wrap around her staff.

“Is that so? Tell me, why do you believe that to be the case?”

It takes more than one attempt to swallow the lump in your throat. “You’re dead. I saw your body in our home, watched as the flames ate away at our house. And, and the last thing I remember was the Specter’s Dream.”

The bottom of her lip juts out in a playful, child-like pout. A gesture she would use whenever you tried to be smart. “Then you have answered your own question. You are in the Specter’s Dream.”

“But that is impossible,” you argue, “Because it is a trance that doesn’t involve actual sleep. The dream is only the name of the technique, and it doesn’t have any sort of actual meaning to it. Proper sleep involves the complete cessation of all senses; the trance turns them off at a random, but always keeps at least one on at a time.”

“Perhaps. But maybe you’ve become tired enough to inadvertently fall asleep. Sparring with the Knightess and exercising with the horses is certainly strenuous activity.”

You shake your head. “No, because I’ve never experienced any problems with the trance-”

“There are always exceptions to every rule,” She says, dutifully quoting what you told her so many years ago. “Perhaps now is the moment where everything’s chosen to make itself known.”

You’re quickly running out of ideas, as well as composure with her hand on your shoulder. You yearn to take it, hold it tight in your own, to confirm that the girl in front of you is indeed your lover.

(cont.)

She sighs, adopting a sad smile. “You really think that I’m some sort of illusion? Perhaps some sorcerer’s projection into your mind?”

A chill runs down your spine. “Those are also possibilities,” You mutter, “But you told me that kind of magic is only demonstrable by powerful sorcerers. The likes of which haven’t been seen on Aderaveth since the last age.”

“Then what am I? And how am I here?”

You search your mind, desperately trying to come up with an answer. In any other situation, you would let yourself have as much time as you want. But not here. Hopeless before her, you can only wring your hands. “I…I do not know,” You admit. “Dammit, you…this is not fair. Taking her appearance-”

She shakes her head, moving her other hand to place her fingers on your lips to quiet your rambling. “Nire Maitea,” She whispers.

‘My beloved’.

For the first time since you woke up, you truly met her gaze, looking directly at her without any sort of trepidation or fear. “…Serena?”

She smiles, once more, pulling you into an embrace. “Hello, Marcus…”

And just like that, your composure shatters.

A trembling hand reaches to cup her cheek, weathered flesh meeting her own smooth skin as you pull her in for a kiss. It is chaste, devoid of any carnal instinct as you pull her closer to you, to feel her warmth against your cold body. The taste of lips, a rich flavor of lavender and barley tea is soon marred by the sudden intrusion of salinity.

You can feel her lips curl into a frown as she pushes you away, her own fingers moving to catch the tears that fall from your eyes. Your face remains stoic even as all of your emotions just spiral out of control.

“There is no need to cry,” She says, gently pushing you back onto the mattress. “Marcus, it doesn’t matter how long or where you go. I will always be where the path of your life takes you, where destiny chooses to take you, every step of the way…”

(cont.)

And it is those words that precede the sensation of her lips once again upon yours. Everything slowly fades away into nothing as you give into your aching heart, and pull the love of your life closer, and closer, and closer against your body…

>>???

“Dreams…” You mutter as she strokes your hair, running her fingers gently through the mess atop your head. “Are an aggregation of fantasy and memory. This is the only option that is left that makes sense. But I am not dreaming. I will maintain that.”

Serena -truly Serena- smiles, both at your stubbornness and the fleeting moment you share. “But if you were to find out that all of this is just a dream?” She asks, resting her head on your chest, “Then what would you do?”

>“If this is a dream, then I do not wish to wake up.”
>“If this is a dream, then I absolutely must wake up.”
>“If this is a dream, I do not know if I should or shouldn't wake up."

>>48334564
>“If this is a dream, I do not know if I should or shouldn't wake up."
"I have someone I have to protect in reality, but you being here... it isn't fair."

>>48334564
>>“If this is a dream, then I absolutely must wake up.”

>>48334564
>>“If this is a dream, then I do not wish to wake up.”

>>48334564
>>“If this is a dream, then I absolutely must wake up.”
I know how these things turn out. We gotta wake up, to wither a)hide the evidence or b)deal with the backlash.

>>48334564
>“If this is a dream, then I absolutely must wake up.”

>>48334564
>“If this is a dream, I do not know if I should or shouldn't wake up."

>>48334564
>>“If this is a dream, then I absolutely must wake up.”

All this kind of thing will do will make it hurt mre when you wake up knowing it was a dream.

>>48334628
>to wither
to either,

>>48334564
>>“If this is a dream, then I absolutely must wake up.”

>>48334564
>>“If this is a dream, then I absolutely must wake up.”
there is no other option but to bring the waifu back into reality, Lich Quest go

You sit up in the mattress, pulling her along with you as you settle back against the headboard. “If this is a dream, then it means that I must wake up. I do not belong here. All of this? I love you so much, but this…this is not reality. I see a door, but I do not know where it leads. The window is boarded shut. What lies outside?”

You shake your head even as you pull her in closer. “This is what I want,” You whisper into her ear. She shivers at your breath, at your touch. “You are what I want above anything else. But…not like this. You are not the engineer of this…whatever is happening, but this is cruel. The one time I want to be selfish, and I am denied that even in my dreams.”

“Then take as much time as you want,” Serena intones, running her hand down your hair, your ears, your eyes and your cheek. “Steal what you can from whoever is the architect of this haven.”

“I…I cannot,” You choke. “Because the longer I stay, the more it will hurt when I return to the waking world. The pain is already unbearable.”

She looks up at you, and her eyes hold the tears that you would be shedding. “The choice is yours. I cannot force you to stay, even if I wanted to. Your life is in your own hands.”

You grit your teeth, tightening your grip around her. “But you were the only one I would ever give it to. Both in life and in death.”

Those are the words to make her to cry. Her tears spill across your chest as she shakes within your grip.

“I love you so much, more than anything in the world,” You whisper as you kiss away the tears falling down her cheeks. “But I have a responsibility in the waking world.”

She nods in understanding. “Ellana Crowmond, youngest princess of the Aderaveth Empire.”

“And my charge and sworn duty.” You pause, closing your eyes before resuming. “But she is not…she is not a replacement. No one will ever replace you-”

(cont.)

>>48335029
I swear to god Kaz if you fucking go there

>>48335045
Fucking go where?

>>48335053
on the bed, on the table, all over the floor, in the fridge, on the grass, on the day of christmas.

Serena cuts you off with a chaste kiss, before pulling back with a sorrowful smile. “She is not my replacement, I know that. She is your duty. And as her Crownguard, you must protect her from whatever harm will come her way.”

Your laugh is devoid of any trace of humor. It’s full of self-loathing and bitterness. “I made that promise once. We all know how that turned out.”

“…it doesn’t matter. You can love me as you protect her. You do not need to exchange one for the other. Marcus…please.”

“Oh gods dammit…” You moan, letting your head fall back to hit the wooden board with a loud noise. “I can’t disagree when you make that face.”

It returns to her face. The smile that came to greet you whenever you would come home, in the aftermath of passion, and on slow days of nothing. “Marcus, if you wish to go, then must do so now.”

You try to make a sardonic smile. It comes out as some nervous twitch of your lips. “Or what? I’ll be trapped here forever…wherever the hell this place is?”

She lets out a breath of amusement before it gives way to a serious demeanor. “No, but you must return to where your destiny lies. You need to wake up. But…I have to warn you. They are coming.”

A cold pit forms in the pit of your stomach as the words of your father echo back at you. He had said the same thing when you had woken up the other time. “Who?” You ask desperately. “Who is coming? And what do they want?”

But even as you say the words, you can feel the world around you slowly ceding away. It’s as if a presence from behind you grips your head, slowly stretching apart your vision with every second. The room starts to fade away into darkness, the lights of the candles dying and Serena’s tear-streaked face the sole object of your focus.

“I don’t know who they are,” She says, and it’s as if her voice is a great distance away, echoing in your ears. “But what they want is to reclaim what was taken.”

(cont.)

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Dropped my trip.

“I don’t know what that is!” You shout back, struggling to form the words as reality continues to distort around you. “I don’t know anything about any stolen object, any enemies I have. I killed all of the Snakes, spared the one innocent boy. Enemies of the Crown? The ones responsible for the assassin?”

She continues, “You must be vigilant…wary…on guard at all times…”

“Serena!” Your body feels as if it had been soaked in molasses, almost impossible to move save for slow and jerky movements. “Will I see you again? In my dreams, or in my nightmares?”

The last sight you see before everything goes completely black is her face, with her eyes closed and her mouth moving to form three words in the language of magic.

“Maite zaitut, Marcus,” She whispers as you cease to think. “Beti maiteko zaitut…”

>>Midbridge Garrison
>>Winter 54, 238 ACR

You lurch back into reality with a strangled gasp of breath, seizing violently as you struggle against the sheets draped around you. There is a spectacular noise as you fall from the cot, crashing onto the floor with a nasty thud.

Three seconds only pass before someone comes sprinting towards your tent. “Painel? Was that you?” Silverow. “Is everything…is everything okay in there…?” There is a moment of silence before he makes up his mind. “I’m coming in.”

The sorcerer steps through the flaps, his concern giving way to outright worry as he spots you on the ground. “Gods above, are you alright? Here, take my hand.”

You’re in no mood to talk, but you grab onto the offered limb, pulling yourself up with a single motion. “…thanks,” You mutter. “I’m fine. It’s just…”

He pursues his lips. “Pardon me for being blunt, but you do not look ‘fine’ at all. Your eyes are bloodshot and you don’t look like you’ve gotten any sleep. Is there anything the matter? What happened?”

(cont.)

You take a single, deep breath before exhaling the sigh of a spent man. “It was just…a bad dream. It was just a nightmare that got under my skin. Everything’s fine, I’ll just…give me a second to get ready for the day.”

From the look on his face, it’s clear that he doesn’t believe it. Hell, even you don’t believe it.

>Choose one:
>The Cleric
>The Regent
>The Specter

>>48335411
>>The Regent
'He' Yeah sure.

>>48335411
>The Cleric

>>48335411
>>The Regent

>>48335411
>The Cleric
I want Kaz to get down and dirty, all covered in blood.

>>48335411
>The Cleric

>>48335411
>The Specter

Gonna go to sleep then type up the POV shift when I wake up. Vote's locked in as cleric. Be back in a few hours.

Bump

Stayin' alihve~

>>48335239
So you know when I said last night that if another girl wanted a relationship with Marcus they'd have to work hard to open him up and pursue him?

Nevermind.

That's going to be impossible if Marcus continues to have vivid dreams like this.

>>48337921
I think these dreams are someone else forcing themselves on marcus, not his actual mind.

Something or someone is trying to make him prepare.

>>48338552
>>48337921
I also think that It will cycle through all the important people in his life but only once.

>>48337921
>>48338552
Marcus's father told him the same thing last time he lapsed into sleep. We're probably not going to get Selene again. Maybe Asmodai of the fucker that killed Selene, if they warrant, then the princess.

>>48335411
>The Regent

Bump this shit.

Don't you die on me.

Probably worth another bump.

Back, bumped and writing...

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>>Outskirts of the village of Willowmourne, the Moonlight Plains
>>The Cleric

The song comes to a dramatic close, with Irun setting the strings of his instrument still as the beats of Kelli’s drum fade away into silence. Silence reins about the patch of earth before the gathered Aderavethians burst into applause, men and women of all ages clapping at the youth’s performance. Irun takes his sister’s hand, the two of them bowing politely to the audience as they throw coins into the offered basket.

Links come from peasant children, who shyly approach the troupe before retreating behind their parents’ legs once they made their offering. Craftsmen and merchants place their Crowns sparingly, and it’s clear that more than one besotted youth believes that enough will perhaps convince Kelli to accompany them back to the town. Or more specifically, the inn along the crossroads of the Vethian road.

You can’t help but laugh at that thought, the bangles on your wrist jingling and chiming with every breath to exit your mouth. How many men come to truly listen to the worship of the goddess? How many only come to watch the dancers or escape from the prying eyes of their wives? You shake your head as the siblings retreat back to the caravan, their basket clinking heavily with every step they take.

More than one jealous fishmonger’s wife or tanner’s betrothed has come forward with accusations of seduction, screeching for your tribe to be prohibited from entering Willowmourne. But they are quickly dispelled by Commandant Renouart. For the last three generations, the tribe of the Children who Walk Among the Stars have never intermarried with the Vethians. The blood of the goddess remains pure and untainted in your tribe.

(cont.)

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Copulations and flings? Of course, that almost went without saying if the motive was good enough. Not that they could ever prove such claims. Tea made from the extract of maidenweed took care of that well enough.

Not that you particularly care. You’ve had your own fair share of suitors, besotted romantics and more than a few knights-errant profess either their love for you or a pouch full of silver Crowns. They are both rejected, the former with sympathetic intentions, the latter with restrained hostility.

Skysingers are clerics to the Elder Gods, not back alley harlots. Your dance is your worship, your people’s equivalent of prayers to the New Gods. Your clothes are no different than the frocks of monks or the coverings of sisters in the Oratory of Light. You are just as much a devotee to your gods as they are to theirs.

Some of the more…insistent suitors have required a more forceful hand when they were struck with over-enthusiasm. Either at the hands of your guards or at the end of your own blade. Far be it for you to be defenseless among those who do not hold the faith.

Still, here you are, performing the sacred dance in front of a crowd of unbelievers. Surrendering yourself to the praise of the gods while making coin on the side? The revered elder does not often have moments of foresight in her advanced age, but when she does…

If you had your own way, the worship of the Elder Gods would be kept among your people. But that is not the case. You are an Ingulan, beholden to the tenants of the faith. Especially since the role of the Skysinger is the path you have chosen to walk for the rest of your life. Honor to the gods, honor to the ancestors, honor to the elders.

(cont.)

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You empty your mind of all worldly things as you take to the clearing, gliding along the earth as your veils trail behind your steps. The murmurs of the crowd abruptly fade away at your entrance. Siblings shush their younger bretheren, freckled youths push each other for closer looks. Everyone’s eyes are on you, even as Kelli and Irun return to take up their instruments once more. Only this time, both of them take up the drums, the only instrument allowed to accompany the Dance of Life.

Their eyes meet yours, and you incline your head as you raise your hands above your head, the bangles at your wrist and ankles chiming with the first beats of the song. Before the second beat falls, you are already moving, slowly yielding your mind, surrendering your body to the primal beat of the drums.

You have seen poor imitations of the Curma-Ingul, paltry attempts by amateurs and grafters who tried to imitate what they have seen, only to fail spectacularly. It is because they dance to be exotic, to stand out among hundreds upon thousands of troubadours and bards, trying to use a ritual to the gods as a means to achieve fame.

To the audience, it seems that you barely move, standing still in place even as the metal girdling your limbs move to the rhythm. Small, controlled movements of the hands and legs set them to the drums. Then you spin, and you can feel the hem of your skirts floating up to reveal lean, muscular legs tanned the color of baked clay.

The siblings hit their drums as one, holding their beat as you strike an iconic pose. You lean backwards on one leg in a feat of great flexibility and dexterity, as one hand reaches to the sky, towards Ingul, the Infinite Sky and Mother of the First Children. The other gently points to the ground, towards Ingur, the Molder of the Earth and Father of the Gods. In this position, you are the union that binds the earth and sky together, the link between the primordial sibling-gods who brought the planet from the Void.

(cont.)

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The beat resumes, faster this time, and your body responds in motion. Your movements flow naturally in response as the tempo begins to increase underneath the siblings’ hands. The role of Ingul is yours to play for this passage as you thrust and rotate your hips in union with the beat, beckoning and motioning towards an unseen lover. As you enact the seven days of creation, the veil in your hands paints the air with a deep purple, much to the delight of your audience.

One of the village youths, a sandy-haired youth either foolishly brave or drunk with desire, stumbles forward from the crowd with a leering smile on his face. The rest of your tribe tenses, hands going to weapons and swords before you direct the slightest of looks towards them. You don’t miss a single beat as they hesitantly relax, still casting hostile looks towards the unexpected performer.

To their credit, Irun and Kelli go along with you, shifting the desperate beat of the Curma-Ingul to the primal and harsh Curma-Zethul: the Dance of the Weather God. Not that your partner seems to notice the change in the beat. He only draws closer, and as you change the pace of your movements, you hide a smile as the bangles chime with your new tempo.

Just as it appears he would come to embrace you, you step around him, sashaying the veil along the empty space where you once stood. It catches along his skin, pulling away not too gently as you reel the cloth against his face. He makes a pained noise, clasping his hands to his eyes where the edge of the fabric raked against his brow. The audience laughs at his misfortune as you direct a coy look towards him.

But it seems that he didn’t get the message. He’s still smiling, still tracing eyes along your body as if you were a piece of meat he was about to devour. The look on your face seems to be taken for that of invitation instead of scorn or rejection. To him, it’s all a part of the play, some kind of twisted ‘ritual’ of courtship.

(cont.)

>>48343036
you ok Kaz or did you block yourself again?

>>48343425
I'm trying to recall the foolish mistake in my youth of approaching a delicious, brown-skinned dancer.
Just some formatting issues, word management, and trying to get everything to flow nicely. Got everything planned out for what's gonna happen, but...getting words to flow is very hard.

Writing...

>>48343476
Fair nough. You got any birdseed?

>>48343476
>I'm trying to recall the foolish mistake in my youth of approaching a delicious, brown-skinned dancer.

You don't touch the fucking dancers, ever.

This is how I learned to hide a switch blade in a bikini

>>48343534
Approach =/= Touch.

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>>48343036
It takes every ounce of your self-control not to growl. You express your irritation by stamping the ground, clashing the bangles on your wrist in a harsh noise as you strike up a faster tempo. The siblings quickly adapt to your beat, faltering only for a moment before they recover once more.

If the thirmul-batan wanted to dance, then by the gods, he would get one.

You approach him, ‘sheathing’ the veil with a swift motion and adopting a stern look on your face. His leer is bad enough, but it’s the crooked teeth that make it worse. If it weren’t for that, and the fact that he isn’t bothering to hide the arousal between his legs, perhaps he would’ve been tolerable, at best.

“That’s right,” He says, grinning as his hands reach out once again, “D’you think you can get them to change to that song of fertility-”

You don’t let him finish his sentence. Your foot traces the dirt as you step right around him, sending a light cloud of dust into the air right behind your legs. He turns to try and catch you, only for you to step away at every last second. It takes a few of those motions and the unchanging look on your face before his leer gives way to a frown of consternation, and eventual ears that turn red as the audience laughs at the show he’s putting on.

Good. He seems to be learning.

Or not. His face scrunches up with finality as he lunges towards you, determined to finally lay hands on you. And possibly do more, if the look in his eyes is any indication of his desire. The audience holds its breath, as well as that of your tribe as you stand there, motionless…

…only for you to step to the side, sticking out a bangled foot that catches him in the middle of his charge. With a grunt, he trips, arms flailing in panic before he hits the ground with a particularly loud noise, matching the final beat of the Curma-Zethul. That gets the crowd going, roaring their approval at the ‘performance’ the two of you put on.

(cont.)

>>48343534
>This is how I learned to hide a switch blade in a bikini
Sounds hot

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>>48343747
Your fellow tribe members don’t even bother to hide their smiles at the turn of events, laughing and saying colorful insults in Tathal towards the boy. Zathun runal, aethir conturi. Small cock, mind of testicles. And those are the only milder ones they’re saying.

Unsurprisingly, it’s the youth that’s left unamused, cursing under his breath as he pushes himself off of the dirt. His face is streaked with mud and his clothes are covered in dirt, all while his face burns with embarrassment and fury. But it his response that surprises everyone, least of all you.

“Mud-skinned whore!” He growls as he draws a weapon from his belt. A knife of some sort, at least a good six inches. The sound of steel grating against sheathes accompanies the terrified screams of the crowd as your tribe draws their weapons and surges forward. “I’ll cut some manners to go with your tattoos-”

The crowd parts immediately as two members of the audience enter into the clearing, a pair of unhelmed knights with stern looks on their faces. No, they were not knights. The symbol on their tabards, a six-pointed sun with an open hand, identifies them as paladins sworn to the Oratory of Light.

You try not to look too surprised. The Holy Kingdom of Opran is a very long way from the Moonlight Plains, easily hundreds of miles even with the Vethian road. And while the relationship between the seceding state and the Empire is currently placid, you’re not quite sure how you or Commandant Renouart should to react to the warrior-monks’ presence in Aderaveth.

But, you digress. Before the youth can charge you, the taller paladin smashes a gauntleted fist into his face. Blood and teeth go flying as the youth reels, collapsing into a boneless heap on the ground. He doesn’t even have time to moan before he’s hoisted up by the scruff of his collar.

(cont.)

>>48344077
>paladins sworn to the Oratory of Light
>Holy Kingdom of Opran
So they're the White Knights of Oprah?

>>48344143
bad joke

>>48344077
paladin is too chivalrous for this shit.