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The organization of the Vascieli is structured so as to assure the group’s survival over any single individual. At its lowest tier are the rank-and-file, the romantic and misguided, the criminal and the monstrous. These souls are a majority of those in service to the organization, rewarded handsomely with stolen gold or illegal narcotics (Hazeleaf remains the a worryingly significant staple of the rebels’ income, see Attachment A for proposed counter-measures), but kept out of the dark by their superiors. What little bits and fragments of the complex cipher can be translated only issues broad and loose terms about a task’s specifics or methods.

Above these men are the officers, the true Vascieli who are said to be at the edge of the sphere of influence. These men (and occasional women) run the gamut from military captains and fugitive sorcerers, to even members of noble houses. From the orders of their regional superior, who in turn receive their orders from the Sunken King, they oversee their assigned troops and carry out operations across their territory.

Little is known about the ranks higher than the officers, the regional superiors who are said to be within an arm’s reach of the Sunken King. The last attempt to interrogate one resulted in the prisoner’s mouth and eyes immolating spontaneously, the results of which are confirmed to be some sort of magical compulsion or trigger embedded within the victim’s tongue. A certainly brutal, if not near-certain methodology of ensuring the silence and protection of the rest of them.

All that is known about the Sunken King is the fact that in spite of a largely decentralized movement of radicals, there is an individual with a title and name that they ultimately must bend the knee to. Reports have been inconclusive. For their ramshackle armor and training for their troops, their secrecy is to be commended, if not seethed at.

Their philosophy is absolute: one is either with them underneath the colors, or against them with the authority of the realm. There is no compromise in their eyes.

With no central hold or keep to strike at, the Vascieli remain elusive, hiding in the deepwoods and hidden caves within the mountains. They strike out at undefended villages that do not support their cause and traveling caravans with brutal efficiency; plundering supplies, butchering their way through men and children alike, and dragging women unfortunate to be caught screaming into the woods. By the time the plea for reinforcements and levies comes, it is far too late for any lord to respond. Most of the time. The Empire remains on high alert and has raised troops to patrol the outreaches of the realm on Emeron's orders.

While other regional commanders issue propaganda that condemn their fellows for preying on “their brothers and sisters in mutual suffering”, the fact remains that enough of these attacks have caused the population to generally adopt a stance of extreme distaste against them.

(cont.)

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Even though a large majority of the organization remains shrouded in mystery and darkness, their goal is nothing short of ousting the Crowmonds from the Bladebound Throne, as well as the other noble houses. Whether or not they seek to overthrow the regents of the Empire’s neighboring countries remains uncertain to this day. Another goal of theirs is the protection and continual distribution of prohibited formulae and concoctions. Hazeleaf among other narcotics produced and sold cheaply are not only bringing in revenue, but crippling cities by weaning the lower echelons of the population on severe addictions.

While the Whrelzwth Mountains confines them to the eastern half of the continent, Aderaveth does not stand alone. The Holy Kingdom of Opran will not relent until every last one of them has been brought to justice for the massacre and sack of Lumeria’s Abbey. Similarly, they have earned the eternal enmity of isolationist Suthyae when attempting to steal wyvern eggs from their hatcheries. Itonia and Eladir likewise condemn them, and will pursue them in the rare chance they pass through their territories.

-Concerning the False People
- Documents Compiled by Magister Narim
- Written by Magister Ansell, Lord Commander Palme and Imperial Spymaster Jory Armand

=======

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>Winter 55, 238 ACR
>Encampment Outside of Silverstone Quarry
>Raleigh Silverow, Crownguard to Prince Allanus

In the privacy of their tent, Raleigh was finally able to drop the façade he had kept for Lords Pullman and Mazur for the last hours of the day. Lupine raised a cursory eyebrow as he took one step past the threshold, then promptly keeled over into his bedroll. She had the decency to kick a small pillow to cushion his face just before it hit the ground. That, he appreciated greatly.

There was a noise as Bellatrix got up, bloodied plate and greaves clanking in disjointed rhythm to the sound of her footsteps. He could still feel her amused eyes roving across his body, flickering down towards his in wry amusement. He might have felt self-conscious enough about it if he wasn’t so tired.

“You look like something my cat dragged out of the gutter.” Her voice was ragged, scratched raw from one too many battle cries. But it still had all the sardonic amusement to match the tired smirk on her face. “All wet, bedraggled and miserable-looking.”

He grunted, not even bothering to refute her claim. And if he were to offer his own commentary, he actually did feel as well as he looked. Bad, if not worse. “You don’t even have a cat.”

“No, I don’t. But do you remember that one kitten that Adrianna and Allanus brought into Karthmire? The stripped tabby with that streak of black along its face?”

Who wouldn’t remember? That little monster was responsible for an entire month’s worth of hell until Palme managed to some gullible lady from the River Marches to take it off their hands. Misplaced baubles, victimized maidservants, dead canaries left on bedsheets…it was nothing short of a miracle that it managed to survive as long as it did without someone strangling it in a fit of pique.

Gods know that he’d came close after finding his old journal little more than shredded bits of parchment. Although strangling was such an unrefined methodology of disposing of something. Magic, perhaps, was the alternative and more elegant solution. Messy, though, considering his preference for air magics.

“At our current rate of progress,” the mage remarked dryly, “I’d sooner welcome Ser Weskers with open arms and a fresh tuna than go back into that ravine on the morrow.”

The quarry itself lay at the bottom of a deep gorge, sheltered by a lower branch of the Whrehlzwth. It was nestled quietly into the mountain, protected from the elements by walls of stone both natural and man-made. A defensible position, with only one perceivable flaw: that there was no visible exit from the ravine save for the incline out of the pit. But its position offered it the vantage point of any incoming parties, either friend or foe, for at least a good mile or three in advance.

(cont.)

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Boasting thick ramparts and spires that reached for the heavens, the mine had more in common with a garrison than any of its contemporaries across the Midlands of the Empire. But considering the resource its workers once extracted from the depths of the earth, Raleigh could hold little animosity for its long-dead architects. It was, after all, a part of his namesake and heritage.

There were academics who argued that silver was the sole backbone of the Aderavethian economy. Gold itself still held value as the superior material for inlaying jewelry and other ornament pieces, as well as the sole mineral for the stamping of the Imperial Aurum. But it was not the coin that the majority of the realm would deal in for their daily living. That belonged to the Silver Crown and the Copper Link, the coinage used more by the smallfolk and lower echelons of tradesmen than the nobility of the realm.

But, he digressed away from the banal thoughts of Council matters and focused instead on the events of the day.
The lords had asked for a weakness, a possible link in the chain to exploit to expedite the journey. The walls offered no such thing, not even a little culvert to drain out water or waste or a weak point on the ramparts. Non-essential tracks and entrances had either caved in over the course of the mine’s abandonment, or had been collapsed by its current occupiers. And as far as he knew from the construction plans, the only entrance available to the fortresses was the pass itself.

From what little he could examine, protected from the hail of arrows with both magic and metal, there was nothing immediate that they could use quickly. And honestly, what did they expect? He was a sorcerer, not a war engineer. Many fields of knowledge came to him just as easily as one would breathe, but military architecture and engineering was not one of them. At least, not yet. He resolved that upon returning to Alnerwich, he would begin swift perusal of books pertaining to castles and their construction.

Bellatrix snapped him out of his train of thought with a harsh peal of laughter. “That bad, really? Was that mage of theirs too much trouble for you to handle?”

Just the mention of that bastard caused his Spark to ache. “He proved to be an unexpected source of annoyance…one that I intend to pay back with full interest upon the next time we meet.”

(cont.)

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There were more of the bastards than they initially thought, coming out of the mines in droves to defend their anthill of an outpost. Not nearly enough to overwhelm Pullman and Mazur, but enough to turn a simple pacification into an outright siege. That in of itself was worrying enough, the fact that there was a garrison of the Vascieli no less than a few miles away from Alnerwich and nobody was the wiser. And Mazur’s face upon watching the picket line held enough surprise, just the right enough to be or resemble genuine ignorance as opposed to collusion.

The spears and swords raised against the heavy cavalry of the Eagle Knights crashed against were counted to be at least one hundred men. At the walls themselves, archers loosed arrow after arrow upon the pikemen of Lord Mazur, estimated at just short of forty. So at least one hundred and fifty men held the garrison, though that number had been reduced by the time they broke ranks and retreated, pursued by the loyalists as they ran towards the gate.

And that would have been the end of it, if not for the wizard in their employment. It came as a surprise, as Raleigh had been unable to detect as much as the smallest presence of magic or a Spark. The man in the tattered robes seemed to appear out of nowhere, before waving his hand and shouting a few words in the language of magic. His fireball caused just as much casualties as the Vascieli themselves, at least fifteen of Mazur’s fallen and another twenty more injured with severe burns.

Before anyone could even think about returning fire, the unknown mage retreated, shouting for the gate to be closed as he reentered into the settlement atop a chestnut stallion. Raleigh shook his head. The only thing worse in his mind than a fire mage, temperamental and volatile in both personality and magic, was one without sanction or formalized training from the Ivory Tower of High Sorcery. Now those were men and women to be wary about.

Especially since he was the bodyguard to one of them. Save for the absence of sanction from the Tower, but only just. He still remembered the fuss Empress Melianna had kicked up upon refusing to send Allanus to Virian Atoll when his magical talent awakened.

Lupine passed a wineskin, accompanied with a lopsided smile. “You’ll get your chance tomorrow, whether you want to or not. By then, they’ll have finished at least shearing the branches off those pines they fell. Far from a proper battering ram or one of them Rosarn designs, but it’ll do the job well enough to crack the gates open.”

“They’d better,” He grunted, unstoppering the vessel before taking a generous swing, ignoring the raised eyebrow after the second swallow. The fact that he was thirsty and tired had nothing to do with his generous serving, thank you very much. “Because as competent as I am at offensive magic, the spells I have primarily studied were not meant for prolonged warfare..”

(cont.)

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She barked out a harsh laugh. “Then why did you even bother coming?”

His eyes tracked the corners of the tent, briefly closing to focus the Spark within himself. After a moment’s instant of scanning for eavesdroppers, he spoke plainly when he was sure there were alone. “Because I don’t have complete faith in Mazur’s sorcerer.”

Her eyes took on a sharper gleam, the amusement bleeding out of them as she mulled over those words. “You think he’s a traitor, then? You should’ve said something to all of us before we went and set off-”

“Nothing like that, no,” he interrupted her. “Clirharn is an insufferable sycophant and an incompetent mage, but I can tell that he lacks the proper backbone to try and rebel. He wears the ivory well enough to hide his rotund belly, but I could tell that he’s only barely capable of muster enough power for the threat Pullman and Mazur are riding out to.”
Bellatrix relaxed slightly at that, but she continued to frown. “We still outnumber them three to one, even though they have the garrison. And a rogue sorcerer.”

True enough. But Pullman insisted that the expedition take as little time as possible. Though it was that time of the season where brief warmth would take hold of the land, there was no desire to spend time on a drawn-out siege. It would be a desperate race against the world to retake the mines before the Empire relapsed back into the throes of winter.

“It would be an easy matter,” She continued, “To take a few barrels of pitch and some magic to smoke the bastards out of their little holes. And it would be a simple matter to collapse the mines on top of them after knocking down a few key supports.”

He snorted, retorting dryly, “Yes, and Mazur would also lose the quarry. Depleted of silver it may be, the carts the soldiers have found suggest that there is an undiscovered vein of iron somewhere deep within the caverns proper. Not to mention minerals and volatile compounds valuable to the Alchemists’ Guild. But by all means, if you wish to anger the two of them at the same time…”

The knightess scowled. “There’s no need to be an insufferable prig about it, Silverow. You ever wonder why you don’t have any friends?”

In any other situation, he might have taken extreme offense. But as it was, he could already feel the wine cooling his temper, extending his patience for her far beyond what it normally was. So he let it slide without further thought. Even though deep within his heart, he knew that she was right.

His damn pride as both a scion of the Silverows and sorcerer of the Ivory Tower. His damn insufferable attitude towards others bereft of the gift of magic and those lacking in knowledge and insight. All of his little insecurities and fears, masked by a detached air of nonchalant arrogance. It did the job too well. No one could see who he truly was, rebuffed or repulsed by his own words and demeanor.

(cont.)

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There was an apology in his throat, but it refused to come out. After another few helpings to the wine, Raleigh could feel it slowly welling up within him. Or was that his empty stomach, gurgling in protest to the alcohol? Either way, he knew that it had been a bad decision to take more than one serving, especially with his slight constitution. It certainly was if apologizing to Bellatrix fucking Lupine of all people was something he was considering!

Come morning, the headache would certainly be legendary, as well as the nausea and imbalance that came with it. Nothing that a simple application of magic could fix. Hangover remedies were something that every Initiate of the tower quickly learned after imbibing flask-distilled alcohol secreted away from prying eyes. But even that in itself was assuming that he would be able to concentrate past the buzz clouding his mind.

Just as he was about to open his mouth and apologize as best he could, Bellatrix shifted in her seat. The back of her head hit the central pole of the tent as she exhaled heavily.

“…gods damn them all…” She muttered under her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. “…this is gonna take longer than I thought.” At first, he thought he was referring to their situation, tented together for the duration of what was now an extended siege. But then, she added, “…fucking Vascieli…”

“…I’ll drink to that…” He eventually said, succumbing to his fatigue and the sweet lull of sleep. Unable to take one last drink. Unable to say that he was sorry for being a complete and utter ass when she didn't even deserve it.

===

Mom says it's our turn to play Kaz.

>>1059502
Writing...

>Winter 57, 238 ACR
>The Alchemists' Guild, Alnerwich
>Marcus Painel

The temperature outside is cold, but not so cold as to freeze the mud on the streets. It comes as a mixed blessing as you trudge past the morning crowd, trying not to wince as the liquid sucks and sprays at your clothes. You have only a marginal chance of slipping and cracking your head open on the non-existent ice. Tender mercies where you can take them.

The majority of yesterday was spent with Claudia, discussing the finer points of alchemy, as well as differences Aderavethian and Opranian styles. To be precise, there aren’t any differences, save for units and scaling in terms of how much is deemed “suitable” for a particular tonic or salve. “Pinch” in one part of the continent meant something else just one country away. Who would’ve known?

To your disappointment, her father had been absent from the Guild the entirety of the day. He would be in the woods, searching for ingredients that could only be obtained during winter. You raised a suspicious eyebrow at that, but not for the reason that she blushed for. While Claudia stammered on that this was not intentional or engineered on his part, you couldn’t help but feel…suspicious is too strong of a word, and paranoid is far from what you are.

A gut feeling, then? Or just a bit of trepidation? Because as it stands, Mengus Silvera is your only lead into the source of the Alchemist’s Fire used in Princess Ellana’s assassination attempt. And when you think of “winter ingredients”, you can’t help but think of Widow’s Tears, and other assorted catalysts that can be turned into deadly toxins.

But it could simply be that they had run out of Lagom extract, and needed to harvest more wildberries before they were eaten by wild animals. Regardless, you remain on your guard, even as you continue to play the role of Amadeo Elaya de Berulia, alchemist of Opran and seducer of innocent alchemists.

Still, your day with Claudia is not a complete waste. She’s a prodigy in her own right, with a sharp eye and mind for attention to detail. Just like the other alchemists you’ve met in your lifetime, Silvera’s daughter has that same gleam in her eye whenever she boils concoctions in flasks and mixes tinctures together.

Discovery, innovation, an innate curiosity to understand how things work and why they behave that way. An admirable trait in a young girl of her age. Most would be more concerned with lace, gossip or rutting with boys.

So you resigned yourself to your fate and played the dutiful partner for her current project. Not that you did so unwillingly. It was, to your surprise, a learning experience in its own right...

>What have you and Claudia been up to?
>Analyzing the response of a rat to certain toxins (Poison Chance)
>Experimenting with saltpeter and bat guano (Bomb Chance)
>Investigating chemical properties of certain herbs (Antidote Chance)
>Custom Option.

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Whoops. Forgot pic.

>>1059637
>>Experimenting with saltpeter and bat guano (Bomb Chance)
EXPLOSIONS!

>>1059637
>>Investigating chemical properties of certain herbs (Antidote Chance)

>>1059637
>Investigating chemical properties of certain herbs (Antidote Chance)

>>1059637
>>Investigating chemical properties of certain herbs (Antidote Chance)

>>1059637
>Investigating chemical properties of certain herbs (Antidote Chance)

No boom.

>>1059771
>No boom.

someday...

Poison had been immediately discarded, and bombs a close second after. Tempting as it was with their stockpile of saltpeter and bat guano, showing off your ability to craft explosives would only bring more trouble than it would be worth down onto your shoulders. Especially since these formulae come straight from Lucien, who had gloated once that his designs were leagues ahead of what anyone on the continent had.

No, as far as you were concerned, it was best to simply let the alchemists of the Empire figure out how to improve upon their own bombs. As far as you’re concerned, the formula of making your special assassin’s bombs is going to die with you…whenever that date comes.

Yaya’s words still echo in your mind, both your and Ellana’s readings she divined from the bones. “Dead undead”…what in the hells does that even mean? It’s a contradiction at a first glance, and a headache upon further thoughts and revisions. Even though it makes terrible sense…Lucien…Serena…

Both of them were dead. And yet they came to you in dreams…

“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.”

Your nails dig into your palm, fist clenched tight. It would have been easier to write it off as a pure coincidence if the damned crone hadn’t opened her toothless mouth. You spat in the face of prophecy and predetermined choices…but one just doesn’t ignore that kind of thing, especially when it’s shaken both you and your princess to the core of your beings.

Exhaling, you wave your way past the guards at the front gate of the Guild, quickly stepping into the old building. The rush of hot air is enough to put the color back in your cheeks and then more, a byproduct of the roaring fires and boilers in the main brewing chamber. The heat is enough to set your mind at ease, driving away the unpleasantness of Yaya’s cackling laughter and the feeling of Serena’s body against your own.

Disconcerting and longing as both of them were, you have another task at hand.

Finding Claudia’s office is an exercise in simplicity, simply retracing your steps from where you entered and exited over the course of two days. Knocking twice at the door, followed by three rapid taps grants you entry, with your partner ushering you in as fast as she can.

“So how are the tinctures?” You ask, hanging your cloak up on a nearby rack. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to see how they turned out. My master insisted I return home early.”

A technical truth. Ellana wanted to read more of that book of herbs and continue her education in the application of life-saving plants.

Claudia gestures towards a nearby stand on her table, where three curious vials sit on a wooden stand. “I didn’t check yet…why don’t you? You were the ones who mixed them, after all…”

>Roll 1d100 + 20 Knowledge
>Best out of three

Rolled 74 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>1059829

Rolled 4 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>1059829

Rolled 16 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>1059829

Rolled 2 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>1059829

>>1059833
>>1059836
>>1059848
The three tinctures you prepared the night prior are supposed to aid its imbiber in cleansing their body of toxins. Sugar alcohol and granulated charcoal went into the phials, measured and stirred carefully by gentle hands, among other ingredients and instructions. Apparently, this was a recipie found from a book on foreign medicine.

>You gained 3x Blackwater
>Blackwater temporarily makes the imbiber immune to poison.
>You learned the recipe for Blackwater!

“How foreign?” You had asked the day before.

She answered promptly. “From Old Eridia. A trader brought it the year prior, and I’ve always wanted to see if what they actually said was true…”

“Hold on. You…you can read all of that?” You stare at her, impressed. “Wow. I can’t make out a single bit of that.”

You’ve had your fair share of looking at complex symbols and chemical expressions. But the scrawl on the book looks like it was written by a person with terrible tremors in their hands. No one you’ve ever seen in your life had handwriting this messy. Just as you’re able to recognize a symbol or a diagram, the lines and squiggles completely obstruct any sort of coherency.

Claudia’s eyes glitter, and she preens at your praise, visibly standing up straighter. “If we’re going to be honest…I had this book for a few months now. I’ve had time to translate and make the words more suitable and appropriate for a modern translation.”

…no harm in that. But you’re still wary nonetheless. Medicine and methodology other than that you learned from Lucien or stole from other individuals are enough to set you on edge.

“You better not be expecting me to drink poison,” You warn her. “There’s a limit as to what I do for beautiful girls.”

Bingo. You set another blush onto her face, and she stutters, “N-no! Of course not! Who do you think I am, Amadeo?”

The look on her face is too much. Still chortling to yourself, you grab the vials and let them catch the sunlight. “Take a look,” You say, gently swirling their contents. “I think that we did a good job. Kudos to you and your talent for deciphering old runes...learning all of that in just a few months?"

You smile at her. "Definitely a prodigy."

Now that she's all flustered and ready to talk...

>Ask what her father’s been up to over the last year. (Direct)
>Ask about what she’s been up to over the last year. (Sly)
>Custom option

Going to bed. Tired. Will resume before work starts.

>>1059989
>>Ask about what she’s been up to over the last year. (Sly)

night boss

>>1059989
>>Ask about what she’s been up to over the last year. (Sly)

>>1059989
>Ask about what she’s been up to over the last year. (Sly)

>>1059989
>Ask what her father’s been up to over the last year. (Direct)

>Ask about the translation. Do they have a lot of references within the guild?
One of these days, we have to report to Palme that we've been investigating by way of seduction.

>>1059989
>>Blackwater temporarily makes the imbiber immune to poison.
Alcohol is also considered a poison in high enough amounts, does this make people immune to that too?

>>1060487
>sugar alcohol and granulated charcoal
it sounds like Blackwater absorbs toxins, and probably includes an emetic somewhere in there.

So for poison poisons, it'll absorb them and they'll pass out your bum in harmless black bits.

But for sheer volume "anything is poisonous if you consume enough of it", it'll make you vomit that out.

>>1060495
Damn, no getting rich off of drunks then.

>>1060487
Alcohol is also able to dissolve certain substances that are otherwise tricky.

>>1059989
>>Ask about what she’s been up to over the last year. (Sly)
It'd be nice to get some useful info, but shifting to her father seems kinda abrupt.

>>1059989
>>Ask what her father’s been up to over the last year. (Direct)
We need something useful info-wise, and she's off guard.

>>1060487
Water is poisonous in high enough amounts. Shame though, woulda been funny to drink an entire bar under the table.

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Your attention, please. It is my sacred duty to remind the world that the tripfag, questfag, and lawfag who answers to TaskForceKaz has willingly and knowingly written the words 'angelic blueberry', and he meant it with all of his stupid weeb heart.

That is all, thank you and have a nice day.

>>1061990
Stay a while Birb. Look upon the redheaded knight and make plans with us.

>>1062040
>implying Kaz will ever post

So Blushing Alchemist, Haughty princess or Brash Redheaded Knightess?

>>1063707
Our waifu is dead. So is Kaz.

Knightess.

Note to self. Don't take naps in the middle of playing vidya for inspiration.

Writing...

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>>1060000
>>1060043
>>1060144
>>1060888
“If you don’t mind me asking, what is it exactly that you do here?” At the sight of her head tilting in confusion, you elaborate further. “I mean, you have all to yourself a laboratory of your own. Surely it is more than just translating old texts, validating foreign formulae…” Entertaining a Crownguard.

Claudia’s eyes brighten in understanding. “Ah…y-yes, here in the Guild, I’ve only recently attained the rank of journeyman after rigorous testing…I don’t mean to brag, but…” Flushing in embarrassment, she gestures to a pin on the front of her tunic. The light plays off a metallic icon fashioned in the alchemic rune for silver, a crescent moon in the process of waxing. “…I was the youngest in several years to achieve the rank on the first set of tests.”

An impressive feat. Most of the journeyman alchemists you’d spotted back in Karthmire were old, emaciated skeletons, with flesh waxy and sunken after decades of spending too much time next to volatile compounds. The youngest could not have been any more than thirty, and he already had a bit of silver in his hair.

The field of alchemy is not necessarily restricted to men. Or women, within the guild even. In the outlying villages and hamlets far away from the cities of the Empire, herbalists plied their own trade without any formal licensing. These were those who were unable to afford a formal apprenticeship, or simply chose to practice without the interference of the Guild.

Not so for Claudia, apparently.

“…what about you?” She counters, desperate to turn the conversation around and off of her. “…what is it that you do for your master?”

“…stupid brat! Your imprecision could have ruined the toxin, wasting an entire week’s work of progress…”

…you manage to force a wry grin. “I’ve only the bronze, but only for another year. But if you take every bad rumor and joke about apprentices under the thumbs of overbearing masters…”

“On your feet, boy. Tell me, what is the correct method to prepare a fragmentation bomb? Every word and number incorrect earns you another ten minutes of training.”

“Then you have my daily life, with a few spots of occasional respite.”

“How many people are you trying to kill? Ach, you’ve used too much nightshade. What a waste…or maybe not. There’s enough for five people…consider it an extra challenge. Use it all on unsuspecting souls in the market...”

She seems to be surprised by that. There’s a moment of brief silence, where she chews her lip as she thinks of a response. “…your master sounds very strict,” she eventually manages, offering a conciliatory smile.

“You didn’t poison the blades, boy! You really want to make me suffer that badly? So that I don’t die foaming at the mouth from just a scratch before you kill me with your own strength? Then so be it!”

(cont.)

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“‘Strict’…” You repeat the word. “…yes, I suppose you could say that he is.”

The trick to telling a good lie is to stick as many truths into it as you possibly can. That was a lesson you learned very early in your training. Never tell an outright lie, especially if the individual is an honest person. One lie only leads to another. Inevitably, one would be caught in a web of their own lies, with no way out save for the truth.

Half-truths are better, and require less of a practiced façade to deliver. You are far from an honest person, especially since what you’re doing is leading a girl on for all the wrong reasons. Still, you’ve always found inserting bits and pieces of the truth into your lies to sell them easier, to impress upon your mark that what you’re actually saying can be taken at immediate value.

You are an alchemist, but only in a certain and specialized field of brews and tonics. Your master was strict and demanding, but he was an assassin with an Opranian accent, not a cantankerous elder.

A lie by omission of details. A truth by any other name.
You try to deliver it in as neutral of a tone as you can. A hard task considering that the memories of your training…aren’t exactly ones that are pleasant to recall. Those were dark years, and you can’t deny that fact. For all your work at keeping a pleasant mood, you still can’t control the tangle of emotions that form in the pit of your stomach.

Apparently, Claudia could sense that something is wrong. “…are you alright?”

Well, enough moping. Exhaling deeply, you flash another smile. “Yeah…all this talk about my master just brought up some bad memories. Mishaps in the lab and the nightmarish exercises he had me do.”

The girl frowns, pursing her lips together. “Pardon me for saying this, Amadeo, but the more I hear about your master…it seems like you don’t have a high opinion of him. And that he’s…not a very good teacher.”

Now isn’t that the truth…

“I may not get along with him at most moments…” You counter, but not too harshly. “But I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. Everything he taught me has saved my life in one way or another.”

Alchemy isn’t all fun and games. One wrong addition, one cracked beaker exposed to the elements…a majority of Kaithe’s alchemists lack the Spark. The ingredients themselves occasionally had magical properties, but anyone with the knowledge and precision could make a rudimentary potion. Still, the ones that made fatal errors tended to leave very little behind to bury.

Lucien was nothing if not precise, whether in the field on a contract or in his alchemy lab. Throw the knife at that specific angle, add THIS exact amount of herbs into the tonic.

The lessons you had were grueling, but in the end, they had kept you alive. Both in the field of battle and in the laboratory of alchemy.

(cont.)

>>1063882
>>1064120
>Almost 3 hours and still cont.
This has to be some kind of record

like this :)

>>1064125
This is me making up with a little fluff before I post choices and hit the sack.

Writing...

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“…so I’m not too quick to levy my grievances onto him.” That is your second outright lie, right after the one where you stated that your master is still alive.”Even if he can be a very hard man to get along with.” A truth.

Claudia seems to think on that before offering a wan smile. “I see…are all Opranian alchemists like he is, then? We are very careful in how we go about our work. Reprimands if necessary, but…not quite as severe.”

“My master is most definitely not like any Opranian alchemist you will ever meet in your lifetime,” You bluntly reply. “He’s eccentric, even by the standards of our profession. The…ah…unenlightened might even call him ‘insane’ if he were to pass to one of those outlying hamlets and backwater villages. And as for your standards of safety…”

You glance around the room. A set of deep basins, and you can smell the different kinds of fluids that lie within their vessels. Pure water, some sort of mild acid, as well as a base substance in case of emergencies. Some sort of wool length hangs nearby, with a coarse surface and thickness about the length of your fingernail. A sheet, then, to extinguish errant fires, as well as a barrel filled with sand.

A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, one unforced by the necessity of your disguise. “They are acceptable.” She seems pleased enough at that, but you continue on: “But enough about my master. I believe that the original question was for you…”

She seems to be a bit flustered at that, but recovers quickly enough. “…ah…right…well…” The girl takes a brief moment to clear her throat. “…as a journeyman, I have my own laboratory now, one that I got six months ago. And ever since then, I’ve been working alongside with my father and his assistants. We have several projects we had to take care of over the last year. A water-based fertilizer for the crops of the River Marches…and a lubricant to help with the Rosarn siege engines…”

As she talks, she seems to be picking up momentum with her speaking patterns. You can feel that same passion and energy from yesterday coming back in full, and she loses her stutter, blush and general aversion to talking with you. A noteworthy feat, considering how you had her blushing to the tips of her hair the other day.

Still, you should probably interject before the morning ends. It doesn’t seem that she’s even near done with her long list of projects…

>Ask if she’s worked with Alchemists’ Fire before. (Alchemy)
>Inquire as to how long her father will be out. (Stealth)
>Stay silent and politely wait for her to finish. (Social)
>Custom option.

>>1064144
>Ask if she’s worked with Alchemists’ Fire before. (Alchemy)

>>1064144
>Ask if she’s worked with Alchemists’ Fire before. (Alchemy)

>>1064155
>>1064157
Supportan

>>1064144
>Ask if she’s worked with Alchemists’ Fire before. (Alchemy)

>>1064144
>>Inquire as to how long her father will be out. (Stealth)
If they were making Fire here for illegal use, I doubt the young new journeyman would be assisting. In asking about her father, we can imply ...things, and so minimize suspicion, and hopefully gain an opportunity to gather some useful info.

>>1064144
>Ask if she’s worked with Alchemists’ Fire before. (Alchemy)

>>1064284
Even if shes not making it, good chance shes seen the stock they are bringing in and if they have the ingredients. Not to mention she could point us towards those tasked with its creation and distribution.

>>1064144

>Ask if she’s worked with Alchemists’ Fire before. (Alchemy)

>>1064909
The Fire is a closely guarded secret if I remember right, so I doubt we'll get that lucky, but we'll see.

>PSA: BRQ's scheduled resumption will be delayed by a 3 or more hours due to Sea Raiders. They are currently drinking from Kaz's skull.

Thank you for your patience.

>>1065820
how bad is it?

>>1065820
Where'd you hear that? I'm not doubting, just curious.

>>1065820
I succumbed to Steam Sale and bought it for shits and giggles. It's way too addictive for how simple of a game it appears to be.

Writing...

>>1065880
You never played mount and blade before?

Congratz you now get to wait with us for the release of Bannerlord release date delayed

buy a weavary and dye-works

>>1065890
I'm more of a Total War fan more than anything else when it comes to that demographic of fantasy/medieval gaming. I bought M&B after watching a couple vids on it to get some writing inspiration for some characters in BRQ.

>>1065897
If some noble starts throwing feasts I'm gonna be so mad

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>>1065880
Yeah...it's kind of addicting like that.

File: Alchemists' Fire.jpg (23 KB, 300x300)

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>>1064155
>>1064157
>>1064199
>>1064473
>>1065026
When she pauses to catch her breath, you take the chance to interrupt with an inquiry of your own. “Quite the list of accomplishments. But what I’m most curious about is Alchemists’ Fire.”

That seems to catch her off guard, more along the lines of breaking her train of thought more than a hidden agenda revealed. She seems slightly disappointed for the topic to shift in a different direction, but she manages to recover well enough. “Oh…well…what about it?”

“Have you ever worked with it before?”

Claudia’s brow creases into a frown. “…why would you ask that?”

For the first time, she seems to be on guard, in spite of her state of being flustered. Good for her to show some sort of professionalism, but an obstacle you’re going to have to overcome. Though to be fair, you suppose that you would be too, considering the subject you’re trying to discuss.

To this date, Alchemists’ Fire remains the most volatile compound to come out of a laboratory. Its sole purpose is as a last resort for when all other measures fail, commonly deployed in extended sieges against heavily reinforced walls and palisades. The orange flames it produced caused stone to bubble, and naught but smothering the flames in a heavy retardant or sand would douse them. Adding water into the mix only creates a devastating explosion.

The methods of its production are an Empire secret, rumored to only be learned by the Grand Alchemist of the Guilds in the three cities that produce it. Divulging its composition and method of creation is a crime punishable by torture that lasts over three weeks, followed by a slow death.

Excessive? Perhaps not. Alchemists’ Fire remains exclusive to Aderaveth, even after almost three hundred years since its invention. It is a prize sought after by many individuals; criminals, rogue alchemists, even regents of other nations. Sieges were won just by the mere threat of using it on the defenders within the walls or those assaulting the walls.

You shrug. “It is a foreigner's curiosity, that is all. I've always wondered what handling it would be like...your guards outside were very, very careful to make sure I was a certified member of the art. Though I suppose the accent does not help that much either.”

The corners of her lips quirk up at that. “Yes…I can see that. I hope they didn’t give you too much trouble, then?”

Nothing your next coin purse from the crown wouldn’t cover. Although Silvera's little pin certainly helped as well. “No. If anything, they are to be commended for being…thorough in their duty. Even without the stuff on the premises, the contents within a guild hall are too dangerous to be simply left unguarded, ingredients and finished products alike.”

(cont.)

>>1065982
ded

>>1065982
Claudia’s frown abates to amicable neutrality, but you can feel that she’s still guarded. “But to answer your earlier question, no I have not. Only the masters are permitted to…” She pauses. “…hold on. How do you know that Alchemists’ Fire is produced in this Guild Hall?”

…damn. For all her earlier susceptibility to flirtatious overtones and flattering remarks, the girl is sharper than she looks. Brains and beauty…a deadly combination for an alchemist to possess. You mentally chastise yourself for assuming that this was going to be an easy undertaking.

But you digress. You can’t just say that you read it in the royal archives in Karthmire, can you? Silver remains the prime suspect, but as far as you know, Claudia could be in on the plot herself...

...or not, given how she responded. Disappointed, dejected. Those were the emotions prominent in her response. She's just as curious as anyone else about how the stuff is made, purely from an academic and scientific standpoint.

But, you digress. You should tell her that…

>You’re Crownguard on an investigation. (Truth)
>You read it in a shipping manifesto. (Half-Truth)
>Custom option.

>>1066095
>>You read it in a shipping manifesto. (Half-Truth)
imply our master got his hands on it somehow, how? Well we have no clue, like we said he's a wee bit crazy.

>>1066095
>>You’re Crownguard on an investigation. (Truth)

>>1066095
on the one hand I feel bad for taking advantage on her, and on the other hand I don't see telling her helping us here, she'd just get angry and embarrassed because we took advantage of her and might refuse to help purely out of pique.

>>1066100
Fuck it

>>1066095
>You read it in a shipping manifesto. (Half-Truth)
In for a penny

>>1066095
>You’re Crownguard on an investigation. (Truth)

>>1066095
>>1066105
I guess I have to make a decision. I suppose I'll take a chance and risk pissing her off rather than her assuming we're a spy or something.

>You’re Crownguard on an investigation. (Truth)

Vote locked in. Writing now.

Get your dice ready

Hell hath no fury

still writing?

>>1066286
Yep. Dialogue is hard m8.

>>1066289
fair enough, just making sure you did not fall asleep

>>1066100
>>1066114
>>1066133
...in the end, half-truths are still lies by omission. And even when you first met her, your stomach churned as you seduced her into a stammering, incomprehensible mess. This whole thing was a bad idea from the start, even though it got you past the gate and into the Guild Hall proper.

Still, it’s best to lance the boil early before it grows into something truly monstrous.

You close your eyes, briefly taking a moment to focus on the surrounding area. Footsteps down the hall, just outside the thick door. A presence that comes and goes in front of the door every few minutes. Perhaps it’s a hall runner? Or maybe Silvera’s chaperone.

Come to think of it, it is strange that he would leave his daughter in the company of a young man all by herself. Either he trusted her enough to be able to repel persistent advances, or he had nothing to fear due to the presence of his subordinates. Regardless, you must hurry as fast you can and tell her the truth. Preferably before a concerned guardian comes in.

“Claudia.”

Her head snaps towards you so quickly that you could swear you heard every individual vertebrae crack. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to immediately drop the Opranian accent without any forewarning.

Regardless, you continue, holding up a hand to cut her off from talking. “I’m doing this so that we save ourselves some trouble down the road. Alright? So…just…whatever you do, don’t scream.”

“Amadeo…no….” Her eyes widen, and her hand goes towards her hip. A knife, perhaps? It doesn’t matter. Even if she had moved to retrieve a pencil, you’d still be on edge. As it is, it takes all of your self-control not to whip out your knives and assume a non-lethal position of the Dance. “…who are you?”

The good news is that she’s not screaming her head off for help. The bad news is that you have no idea when that might change.

Exhaling, you reach into your tunic, fumbling at the pocket before your fist closes around the object you seek. Claudia’s eyes go from a severe frown to open shock as you reveal the sigil of the Crownguard. The design catches the light of the morning sun, a shield encompassing the form of a gold-blue gryphon. When in disguise, these are what verified the identity of a Crownguard sworn to the throne.

“My name is Marcus Painel,” You intone, deliberately low and close to minimize the threat of eavesdropping. “And I am the Crownguard of Princess Ellana Crowmond. As per my duty to the Imperial Crown, I’m bound to seek and root out any and all possible threats to her safety.”

You pause, letting her take all of it in. Claudia’s mouth is open completely wide, and the determination melts into outright bewilderment. The cutting knife in her hands falls down to the stone floor, clattering forgotten on the ancient stone.She's completely and utterly gobsmacked at your words, but you can see the smallest traces of fear in her eyes.

(cont.)

“…this may be hard to believe, but I had no intention of leading you on the way that I did,” You admit. “Truly, I didn’t. But one thing led to another, and then your father came…” You cut yourself off before you can make a fool of yourself to her. “Liar” is bad enough on its own without that attached to your name. “…I didn’t mean to drag you into any of this.”

…

The silence in the room is too much. Her mouth works as if to form words, but all that comes out are strangled gasps and choked grunts. It’s enough to make you mad, and you can’t help but go on to avoid dragging it out.

“…but I really meant what I said earlier. About you being a talented, beautiful young woman. Really, you’ve more talent in your years than I did at your age. If I had said one thing that was true in our earlier…time together, then it was that.”

…of all the things you had to say, you decided to go with that?

Gods damned hormones.

>Roll 1d100 + 20 Diplomacy
>Best out of three

Rolled 91 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>1066347
Here comes the hilarious failure.

Rolled 6 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>1066347

Rolled 76 - 20 (1d100 - 20)

>>1066347
let's do this!

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>>1066354
>Here comes the hilarious failure.
we were rolling to diplo the opposite sex. Failure was never an option

Did we just seduce this woman for real this time?

>>1066462
Well this is all about to go daring mistique and intrigue for her, so maybe?

The attempted assasination of our charge should have made it out as a serious rumor, so why we are here should become very obvious to her very fast. Put that alongside if she has any major political or stationary aspirations then we are a boon thats walked right into her lap.

>>1066572
hell, if it makes her a much more rounded character to add to the stage, more power to her.

The way stories go, having someone who will eventually be capable of making Goddess' Tears will be VERY good for Ellana, regardless if Claudia has power over her.

>>1066354
>>1066355
>>1066356
At the best, you expected a slap. At the worst, you expected her to scream.

What you did not except is for Claudia to turn a deep crimson, breathe too hard and fast for any normal person, then faint dead away. You rush forward, catching her just before her head would hit the stone floor of her laboratory. Damn, damn, damn…not what you were expecting at all.

Cradling her gently, similar to the way you first held her a few days prior, you lay the girl down on a nearby bench. A cursory inspection of wounds reveals none whatsoever. She’s merely unconscious, overburdened by the revelation of what you truly are. Her breath comes easier now, the gentle swell of her chest rising and falling at a steady pace.

No small amount of guilt churns in your stomach as you recall the experiments and sessions the two of you partook in. Smiling and laughing, blushing and flustered…a camaraderie of alchemists and interest in the sciences.

…what a gods-damned mess.

You take a moment to adjust the little hat on her head, brushing the hair that’s come down out of her face. Hopefully, when she wakes up, you won’t have too much trouble explaining the particulars of your presence in the Guild. That she won’t hate you…too much.

“Missan Claudia, there is a need for you to sign off on some-”

The door to her laboratory creaks open, revealing the youthful face of a hall runner. He could be no more than eleven or twelve years of age, with freckles and unkempt bangs accompanying the smooth lines of his face. The boy is unable to finish his sentence, choking midway through it on the sight before him.

Claudia Hildegard, daughter of Grand Alchemist Silvera Mengus, unconscious as the Opranian stranger looms over her, too close and with hands upon her.

Somewhere and somehow, you know not the particulars but there is somebody out there that is laughing at your misfortune as the boy’s mouth opens to scream.

Gods damn it. Gods damn it all to hell.

>Now that we’ve had enough cloak and dagger going on, let’s get into some action, shall we?

>Choose a character:
>Kieran Pullman, Assault on Silverstone Quarry, 238 ACR
>Maxvell Crowmond, The Siege of Fortress Corhul, 6 ACR
>Gunter Iverson, The Blasting of Karthmrie, -384 ACR

One last thing: you will be taking command of the forces. This is not a standard POV shift where it's just me writing.

>>1067241
>Kieran Pullman, Assault on Silverstone Quarry, 238 ACR

Let's stay somewhat on the same time period.

>>1067241
>tfw we are basically not!Ezio in this time period
Claudia will be the first of many, I'm sure.

>Gunter Iverson, The Blasting of Karthmrie, -384 ACR
I have no idea what we are about to get into except the first one, so I'm going to pick the option that will probably have the most far-reaching consequences.

>>1067241
>>Kieran Pullman, Assault on Silverstone Quarry, 238 ACR
Yes Finally BRQuest!

>>1067241
>Maxvell Crowmond, The Siege of Fortress Corhul, 6 ACR
A siege sounds like fun.

Drat. We were so close.

>>1067241
>Kieran Pullman, Assault on Silverstone Quarry, 238 ACR

>>1067241
>Maxvell Crowmond, The Siege of Fortress Corhul, 6 ACR

>>1067256
>>1067267
>>1067272

Vote locked in for Kieran Pullman and the Assault of Silverstone Quarry.

>Lord Pullman commands:
80 Eagle Knights Heavy Calvary
40 Imperial Crossbowmen
Bellatrix Lupine, Crownguard
Raleigh Silverow, Crownguard

>Lord Mazur commands
>150 Pikemen
>40 Imperial Crossbowmen
>2 Portable Ballista
>Jaster Clirharn, Court Sorcerer

>Available Siege Engines
>4 Assault Ladders
>2 Battering Rams

>The Enemy commands
>175 Vascieli

>In the opening moments of the siege, you decide to...
>Keep the knights mounted. (Heavy Calvary)
>Have the knights dismount (Elite Infantry)
>Split the knights between cavalry and infantry.

>>1067329
Split the knight

>>1067329
Do we know the composition of the Vascieli? Heavy infantry, light, crossbowmen, cav?

>>1067397
40 Crossbowmen manning the walls and the two gate towers.
100 Pikemen in the garrisson
35 Light Cavalry
1 Rogue Wizard

The walls of the quarry are 30 ft. high.

>>1067329
>>Keep the knights mounted. (Heavy Calvary)
We'll need a counter to the light cav, and we've got plenty of infantry for now.

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>>1067423
“Loose!”

There is a tremendous crack as Mazur ballistae unleash their deadly load. Ten metal spheres as heavy as any naval ballast soar through the air of the cold winter morning. In the distance, you can see the sight of bowmen scattering as the artillery impacts the side of the eastern gate tower. It is not enough to completely break the stone walls, but it penetrates far enough to temporarily cease the hail of bolts.

Stridling chafes at the noise, but the beast does not panic or bolt. This is not the chestnut mare’s first battle, nor will it be the last. Five years of traveling across the Empire are shared between the two of you. She knows how to behave herself better than most can claim for their men.

Already, Mazur’s soldiers move into the gorge, escorting the siege engines as they traverse down the incline. Wooden bolts fired atop the walls break and shatter against the raised shields of the pikemen, occasionally finding their mark in the gaps between metal plate and armor. A number of men fall onto the ground, screaming in agony or already dead as their blood seeps into the earth. You recall the particular bolt that the rebel bastards use, designed to shatter within a soldier’s body and cause severe damage to the internal organs.

You shake your head. What kind of heartless bastard would design such a thing?

Mazur insisted on going first. It is his land, after all, that the rebels are occupying, and it would reflect badly on him if he were to let another be the first to assault the walls. You ceded the first blood for that reason, as well as the numbers that he could field into the siege.

Many men would die just to raise the ladders, and even more underneath the murder-holes at the gate proper. Boiling water to bring flesh to a bubble, heavy stone to crush skulls and limbs into powder. So many ways for men to die, just so that others would have their chance for victory.

Better his men than yours. A cruel thought, but one that you cannot help to hold.

Nevertheless, you look on, a grimace on your face as you hold your forces atop the hill. At your right, Captain Stern fingers a set of prayer beads, muttering prayers to the Radiant God past the bandage around his face. To your left, the Crownguards Silverow and Lupine stand in line, eyes scanning the battlefield for any shift in the tide.

There. Fifty meters away, the gate opens, creaking and protesting as the chains raise the barrier. Pouring out from the break, a unit of rebel cavalry surges out, lances lowered and racing towards the line of vulnerable pikemen.

“That’s our signal!” Slamming your helm shut, you draw your weapon and foist it high into the air. Sunlight glances off the sword of your fathers, the Stormtalon blade. “Men of the Vale, do you want to live forever?”

Their answer is a roar that echoes in the mountain gorge, long after the Eagle Knights come crashing down the mountains.

>Roll 1d100 + 50 Charge
>Best out of three

Rolled 21 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>1067518

Rolled 32 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>1067518

Rolled 60 + 50 (1d100 + 50)

>>1067518

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>>1067534
>>1067581
>>1067589
It is not the optimal charge. The incline itself is not nearly as perilous as it could be, but the ground itself is the deadlier adversary. Loose stone and moist gravel chafe and suck at the hooves of the horses. The initial momentum of the charge is interrupted, and you’re forced to slow yourselves before you can safely turn a trot into an all-out gallop.

Ahead, the light cavalry crashes into the first line of pikemen, those escorting the first of the two battering rams. The ranks of shields do not break, but at the point of impact, Mazur’s soldiers buckle and reel from the impact. The Vasceli’s momentum carries them significantly far into the unit of forty-something men, parting through them like a hot knife through butter. But even with the path cut through the pikemen, they sustain their own casualties.

You can see men flung from horses pierced by spears or twitching forms run through upon the moment of impact. The break in the gap moves to close, and the formation attempts to shift to contain the rebel cavalry. But the Vascieli are faster.

heir horses shriek and neigh as their captain, an armored figure bearing the Sunken Chalice on his shield, impales a man upon a monstrous glaive. The command he issues is indecipherable above the din of battle, but its effects are clear to see. Rallying together, the cavalry moves to cut their way out of the rank of spears and pikes, approaching an exit through the line where the soldiers are at their weakest.

Somehow, they break through the lines, coming out at an angle to take them back to the gates. Addditional riders have fallen, leaving the enemy at only…you estimate at least twenty or so odd horsemen in tri-colored tabards. Pikemen either fall underneath the hooves of the horses or scatter to avoid the lengthy spears. For a moment, it would look like they would retreat to the gates, then come back around for another attempt.

Now!

There is a terrible noise as the full brunt of the Eagle Knights’ formation crashes headlong into the surviving cavalry’s flank. Bones break and spear shatter, and the smell of shit and blood fills your nostrils as men fall and break upon your charge. The screams of the dying echo in your helmet, even as you raise Stormtalon to cleave and cut your way through the ranks of the enemy. The blade cuts through flesh and sinew, and the blood of both men and beast whets your blade as Stridling carries you through the battlefield.

(cont.)

You timed it just right, to ensure that you would not bring your own men straight into Mazur’s ranks. The lord of Alnerwich rallies his men to fall back into formations, to quickly raise shields and resume the long trek to the walls. And just in time as well. The defenders of the eastern gate tower resume loosing bolts at the men holding the ladders.

You turn your attention back to the floundering cavalry. The unit is completely broken. Wearing little more than padded leather and rusted chain, they had been completely and utterly crushed by the charge. At the worst, you saw three or four of your own fall, either laid low when their horses perished or killed by some errant lance.

Not that you have time to take a full account now. As the survivors of the charge flee, a fraction of men broken and routing, the captain remains. Even with over seventy spears levied directly at him, the man remains cold and unyielding, rising up from the corpse of his mount. Wordlessly, he draws his sword, presenting the blade in a knight’s salute.

He means to duel you.

>Dismount and fight him one-on-one. (Increases Honor)
>Just mow him down where he stands. (Increases Dread)

>>1067784
>Dismount and fight him one-on-one. (Increases Honor)

On one hand accepting the duel is what a true knight should do...but these are vile criminals of the crown who attempted to kill your charges twice already.....criminal scum don't deserve honor.

>>1067784
>>Just mow him down where he stands. (Increases Dread)

>>1067784
>Just mow him down where he stands. (Increases Dread)

Considering that if the situations were reversed we wouldnt get a duel either, i see no reason to risk giving this man one.

>>1067784
>Just mow him down where he stands. (Increases Dread)
yeah, no, they use shatterheads, poisoned blades, and those archers are still there.

>>1067815
>>1067822
>>1067854
>>1067941

Once upon a time, you might have accepted. Maybe a decade and five years ago when you were still a hopeless romantic on the field of battle. Now, after all you’ve seen and done, you still might, depending on the enemy.

But this was a Vascieli. The scourge of the Empire, the ones responsible for killing your men on the Midbridge. They poison their blades, use shatterhead bolts, and prey upon the smallfolk with raids and narcotics.

If your situations were reversed, would he give you the honor?

You are not a cruel man. You are not Emrich Tarmund, who would casually slay a thousand surrendering men without losing any sleep about it.

But this is not a foe who bends the knee and ceeds victory to you

You already know your answer.

Strider rears back as you flick her reins and dig your boot into her side. Her shrill neigh pierces the cold winter air as much as any arrow would as you drive her onward, bringing her to a full gallop. Your men part before you, drawing back as you race across the ground, where the rebel captain stands.

If he even displayed a moment of fear or cowardice, you fail to see it. Behind his plated helm, you cannot see anything, even as he himself takes off into a run. He will fight. He refuses to be cut down like the mad dog he is. An admirable gesture, especially for one of his kind.

At the last possible second, mere seconds before you close the distance with Stridling, the man moves. Leaping out of the way of your mare, he lunges up with his sword, hoping to catch the soft flesh where your shoulder meets your arm. The man is fast, and it certainly would have spelt a serious injury for you if you had been a second slower.

Stormtalon batters the sword away as you bring it about in a parry. It is a sharp blow, one that nearly jolts the blade out of your hand and travels all the way up your arm. But he has it worse. The impact is too much for the captain to handle, and the blade flies out of his broken hands.

It spins through the air as you bring your blade around in a reverse strike, aimed directly at the scant edge where chainmail reaches collarbone. By the time the sword returns to the earth, planting itself blade-first into the winter soil, so too does the captain’s body come tumbling down, devoid of its head. That comes down moments later, crushed underneath Stridling’s hooves as you bring her back to your men.

(cont.)

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They are silent, eyes grim behind helms as they take you back into the unit. Stern’s mouth is set into a thin line of silent approval as he falls in line behind you.

“Report?” You grunt, sheathing your blade. The tremor of the blow can still be felt, tingling up and down your arm every few seconds. That would take care of itself in time, but you have little to spare. “How many men did that cost us?”

Even now, you can see that the two ladders have made it to the walls of the garrison. Mazur orders his crowssbows to fire at the battlements, covering the men who rush up the ladder, shields raised as best they can while they climb. Siege engineers work feverishly with hammers and nails, doing their best to affix the structure to the wall as they race against the defenders. An errant bolt through the brain brings one of them low, but another is quick to take his comrade’s place, finishing the job before scurrying back to the line.

Stern’s moustache is covered in blood, and he smells like someone had shit and pissed all over him. “We lost seven horses and three men. One crippled and eight with minor injuries. The rest of the boys are in fighting condition.”

You try not to blanch. Seven horses…those would be hard to replace. But you count it lucky that you went sword-to-lance against cavalry instead of infantry. Mired down in a slog of tightly packed bodies is the death of a mounted knight.

“Silverow!” Your shout brings the sorcerer over within a few moments. Clapping your hand on his shoulder, you pull him close and whisper into his ear. “Stick close to me. You’re the only counter that I’ve got against that rogue, do you understand?”

The Crownguard nods. “Aye, milord.”

“Good. Cast whatever magic you can to keep those boys on the ladders alive, and when that bastard appears, let me know and start counter-casting.” Releasing him with a grunt, you turn to his companion. The girl is grinning of all things, drenched in blood and eyes blazing with feverish delight. A berserker? “Keep Silverow safe. If he dies, we’re ploughed nine ways to the next week…”

A total of twenty men perish on the ladders before the first pikeman reaches the top of the walls. And in conjunction, the first battering ram makes it to the gate. Even before the men in the canopy move away from the wheels and take up position, the defenders begin their assault. Rocks and steaming fluid pour from the murder holes, crashing and splashing onto the pikemen.

Against the rocks, the structure holds, but the tanned leather of the engine begins to emit a foul odor, one blown by a breeze that comes tumbling down the mountain and into the gorge…acid! Those sons-of-bitches…

>Keep your knights mounted and ready for the gate to break.
>Order your knights to dismount and go to the ladders.
>Custom option.

>>1068060
>Keep your knights mounted and ready for the gate to break.

Standard push and clear for a siege.
Ram breaks the gate, men either take the initial courtyard or get held up, cavalry comes in to break any formation stupid enough to be stood on the otherside that isnt pikes.

>>1068060
>>Keep your knights mounted and ready for the gate to break.

>>1068060
>Keep your knights mounted and ready for the gate to break.
explosives would be nice. A good flashbang could make them miss, or better spill the acid on the inside.

>>1068060
>>Keep your knights mounted and ready for the gate to break.

Honestly these guys need an infiltration expert to take this place.

>>1068152
>Honestly these guys need an infiltration expert to take this place.
But wherever could the Crownguard find such an expert?

>>1068238
bleeding out on the streets, DUH

Had to take a brief break to grab a quick bite and use the restroom.

And for those curious...the Siege of Corhul is similar to this one except on a larger scale. Defenders are in the thousands and you're besieging a proper city, complete with trebuchets, siege towers, etc. General Maxvell Crowmond is the ancestor of Ellana, to whom many refer to as the Dread Crow, the Emperor's Executioner.

The Blasting of Karthmire is the night when the dragons landed on Kaithe and slaughtered a large majority of the nobility gathered for a festival. Gunter Iverson is the stable master of Suthyae and bodyguard of the royal bastard Baldir. You would be rallying the defenders and soldiers of Suthyae as best you could.

Writing...

>>1068083
>>1068129
>>1068137
>>1068152
“Have the men stay mounted and ready to storm through the gate,” You order. “And those crossbowmen Mazur lent us? Have them take shots at the battlements to the west side, soften up the battlements before the ladders get there.”

This is Lord Mazur’s territory. The two of you get on pleasant enough terms as Midland bannermen underneath the Crowmonds, but it is him that the rebels slight. It is humiliating enough for another to inform him of rebels within his lands, even more so to necessitate aid in cleansing them from the land.

Honor demands that Mazur lead the assault, that his men would be the first ones to take to the wall. It would be so easy to give the order for the men to dismount and take to the ladders. Compared to the jack-chain and gambesons of the pikemen, the Eagle Knights would be able to take the wall faster, quicker and with less casualties, dressed in chain and plate.

It is a sobering thought that the loss of life is the more honorable option, and to preserve lives is to humiliate a mutual bannerman. But what can you do that would not result in resentment? The last thing Lionel or Emeron need is bad blood between their vassals.

Stern’s voice carries your orders over the assembled troops. Bowstrings sing in dissonant unity as the cavalry rallies beyond the range of the defenders. Crossbowmen unleash a flurry of bolts towards the parapets high above, countering the hail that comes from the garrison. It’s a hard job; they’re protected by the stone walls while your men are out in the open. But there’s a lucky strike, one man falling from the walls with a shaft embedded deep in his throat.

The sound of the ram impacting the gate is a dull CRASH that echoes throughout the valley. The sergeant bellows curses and oaths at his men, charging them to work faster, strike harder. Above them, the murder holes continue to drop death onto the unit. The leather coat along the structure will not last long, and the protective awning is but wood against stone.

Somehow, the men on the east side of the gate manage to penetrate through the defenders. Within moments, pikemen flood the battlements as they pull themselves up and over the ancient walls. Mazur shouts at them to go to the gate, to stop the soldiers within the murder holes from continuing their work. They nod, slowly but surely cutting their way through lines of retreating soldiers and oncoming reinforcements.

(cont.)

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It does not take long for the second set of ladders to reach the western side, as well as their respective escorts. With the defenders harried by your crossbowmen, they have an easier time raising the ladder and securing it in place than their fellows over to the east. One by one, they begin the long and perilous climb up the ladders, spears set aside in lieu of short arming swords and daggers.

Suddenly, Raleigh’s eyes shoot wide open, and he grabs your arm. His voice is one of alarm and desperation as his other hand tries to weave a somatic gesture. “No-!”

Whatever he wanted to say, it is too late. The only warning you receive is the smell of ash and cinders before gouts of flame explodes from out of the gatehouse. It races along the battlements, engulfing Imperial soldiers and rebels alike in merciless blaze. In an instant, the momentum that you had built up quickly comes crashing to a complete halt.

Your forces are beyond the range of bolts, but you can still hear the screams. Their enmity forgotten, Mazur’s forces and the Vasciali are indistinguishable from one another. Both of them are the same howling individuals, desperately clawing and fighting to escape from their burning clothes as the flames boil their flesh, sear their armor onto them. Burning figures pitch over the walls, either desperate to escape the blaze and failing to look…or deliberately throwing themselves off the battlements to end their suffering. You’re not sure which one is worse.

That’s easily fifty men that just lost their lives, or became unfit for combat… if they still lived.

Stern’s oath is explosive. “What in God’s name was that?!”

Raleigh’s face shifts from alarm to calculated analysis. “A spell…there is only one spell within the element of fire that comes to mind. Flumi’s Stream, a devastating attack that channels magic through one’s hands in a continuous stream of fire. A very powerful spell that only accomplished sorcerers are able to attain-”

The men stationed at the battering ram are blessedly ignorant of what happened to their comrades. With a final CRASH, the partitions of the gate give way under a particularly strong strike. The hole they create is not very big, no wider than to let at least three or four men through at a time. Still, they let out a ragged cheer, abandoning the ram as they surge forward into the garrison.

(cont.)

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In the distance, you can see Mazur screaming at his mage, the sycophantic and pot-bellied Clirharn. Whatever he said, it barely seems to please the lord of Alnerwich, who storms off angrily in pursuit of the gate. The rotund mage quickly follows, alongside the lord’s bodyguard.

“How often can that spell be cast?” You demand of Silverow. “How often can someone pull that off?”

The sorcerer thinks. “…it would take a great deal of energy…depending on the quality of the user’s Spark…but the average is generally no more than once every twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes. More than enough to push through the gates. “Do you have any spells that can counter or at least shield us from something of that magnitude?”

“…if I were to do so, it would require constant maintenance on my part to encompass beyond a personal area. I would not be able to cast any offensive spells, and even then, it will only offer protection to those within a limited area.”

>Have Raleigh cast his shielding spell. You’ll get in close and stick the mage yourself.
>Save his magic for offensive casting. Only a sorcerer can truly match another sorcerer.
>Custom option.

>>1068891
Ah, the age old question: Offense or defense?
>Save his magic for offensive casting. Only a sorcerer can truly match another sorcerer.
If we have a reliable way to keeping time, we can try having him swap back to defense before time runs out.

>>1068891
>>Save his magic for offensive casting. Only a sorcerer can truly match another sorcerer.

>>1068891
>>Save his magic for offensive casting. Only a sorcerer can truly match another sorcerer.

>>1068891
>Save his magic for offensive casting. Only a sorcerer can truly match another sorcerer.
that could have ended a lot worse if the forces were focused on the ladders, huh?

>>1068936
>Save his magic for offensive casting. Only a sorcerer can truly match another sorcerer.
Redundant vote at this point, but I might as well throw my weight behind everyone else, too.

Gonna have to take a break for today. I might post again in a few hours, but unless I tweet about it, then we're resuming tomorrow after I clock out of work.

>>1070557
We know. Swadia needs to be destroyed.

>>1070609
Swadia forever!

>>1070644
Nords4lyfe

>>1072082
Acceptable. At least you aren't Rhodok scum.

>>1072149
Whats so bad about Rhodok? I mean apart from generally shit infantry and middling cav?

>>1072149
I'm sorry I can't hear you over your cavalry getting stuck in my mountains and my crossbowmen mowing them down.

What's that? You managed to limp to my castle? Can't use your horses here. Now get riddled by bolts by my snipers that your longbowman don't have a chance to pick off.

ded

>>1079054
I'm gonna post something, then fuck off to bed. First day of classes start tomorrow.

Writing...

>>1079061
LIES

>>1081565
Kaz @TaskForceKaz 16h16 hours ago
More
Gonna post what I can for BRQ later. University resumes. Fuck me.

>First BRQ in 2 and a half months
>Thread has been up for 6 days
>Get 1 conversation done and the beginning of some side battle not in the MCs POV.

I see Kaz is trying to match archelon's level of pacing. Warband was a mistake.

>>1082944
Real talk, and I'm not meaning to be a dick here, does anyone here actually care about this random battle that doesn't really have any bearing on the story. I mean, it's cool and all, and I know that it's just because kaz has all this backstory he wants to share with us but doesn't know how to integrate it into the story, but I'd way rather be actually advancing the story and we'll learn the things we need to know through the telling.

>>1084602
i liked it. Not in terms of what choices to make, but it's setting the stage for the shit that's going to go down and obviously spread towards the city/Elana.

>>1084602
This battle does have story relevance though. Our crownsguard compatriots and our escort through the land are fighting here. Any losses her hurt us later.

I like it, its a nice different thing from the usual.

>>1087460
What the side battle thing in comparison to the Marcus's PoV or it being an actual post compared to a dead quest?

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>>1068936
>>1068948
>>1068961
>>1068990
>>1069072
Twenty minutes is more than enough for you to secure the garrison. Even now, you can hear the sound of Mazur’s soldiers fighting their way through the bailey. Silverstone has only a single ward and keep, paling in comparison to the workers’ quarters and antechamber to the mines proper. Perhaps the original engineers believed the garrison to be neigh unassailable, and had gone forward in construction with industry outweighing military.

Regardless, it is an advantage that you fully intend to press. Even if the defenders here were better armed than their comrades on the Midbridge, they were still outnumbered and outmanned by both the pikemen and your cavalry.

“Save your magic. What little I know of high sorcery suggests that it would be unwise for you to do battle against their mage with your energy taxed from shielding us. Leave the rest of the keep for us to take care of.”

Silverow nods, retreating to the side of the formation with Lupine in tow. The girl’s lips are still stretched in that maniac grin, but you manage to fight down the urge to grimace. Her eyes remained the same amber-brown that they had been for the duration of their journey. She is not completely lost in the throes of bloodlust.

But you cannot shake the memory of those pupils suffused with a dark crimson. How Painel managed to maintain a calm front during their spar on the Midbridge speaks well of his stoicism.

You shake your head. If Ser Palme had approved of her joining the Crownguard in spite of her…behavior, then it’s more than enough for you. The man’s judgment of character is second only to Alistair’s.

“Through the gate!” You shout. This time, you accept a spear that Stern hands to you, and the banner of the Vale Eagle ripples in the morning air. “Twenty minutes to bring the bastards to heel and hell before that mage of theirs can use his magic! Be quick about it lads. Forward!”

Just in time. The men at the gate finish removing the battering ram, leathers still smoking and acrid from the deluge of acid. Mazur’s soldiers leap out of the way as you lead the charge of Eagle Knights through the ruined entrance and into the inner sanctum of Silverstone.

Mazur’s pikemen have engaged the Vascieli, meeting the rebels in the center of the ward. It is a harsh melee, ranks dissolving as they engage each other with only a modicum of discipline. The ground is a deep ochre, ore dust and blood commingling as men from both sides bleed and die. Allied crossbowmen along the walls pick their targets carefully, firing only at rebels that attempt to flee and at the remainder of the enemy’s own ranged troops.

(cont.)

The lord of Alnerwich fights alongside his pikemen, stabbing and cleaving with his sword at any exposed flesh. Mazur’s hair is matted with blood, and a fierce snarl is on his lips as he deflects a blow with his shield. A vicious counter leaves his opponent desperately trying and failing to keep his entrails in his ruined midsection. His misery is ended with a clean stab through the heart.

Not too far away, protected by a circle of shield-bearers, Court Sorcerer Clirharn weaves spell after spell. Bolts fired at Mazur shatter upon an invisible barrier, sending fragments of metal and wood spinning harmlessly in the air. The man is visibly sweating, either from fear of attack or exertion of magic. Both seemed to be reasons enough to warrant fear and anxiety.

You give the signal to flank, wheeling Stridling into a sharp turn as you hold your hand up diagonal from your body. The sounds of whistles answers your command, acknowledgement of the command as they fall into sharp line behind you. There is no need to completely go around to the enemy’s rear. There is enough room within the garrison to build enough speed for a devastating charge to the side.

Already, you can see the despair upon the rebel’s faces, and the gleeful exultation of your allies. Even though the Vascieli troops outnumber the current number of pikemen and knights, they know that they have already lost. And that no mage can help them now.

Stridling rears once more, voicing her battle cry as you unleash your own. “Eulalia, Eulalai! Eulalia Fir Aderaveth!”

“EULALIA!” As one, your men answer your call, spears level and horses charging into the thick of the battle. “EULAIA! EULALIA FIR ADERAVETH!”

There is a tremendous crash as the Eagle Knights crash into the rebels like a javelin thrown by a god. Blood whets the ground anew, and the sounds of men and shrieking beasts fill the air. The ground quakes and trembles underneath the force of the men of Aderaveth and their cries as the siege comes to its inevitable conclusion.

…

In the later years, when the Battle of Silverstone was legend, there were miners who claimed to have heard an army’s voice resound through gorge, fading away like snowfall, whispering:

“Eulalia…”

===

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>Winter 57, 238 ACR
>Alchemists’ Guild
>Marcus Painel

Claudia, as it turned out, was considered to be a sibling of several workers of varying ages and ranks within the Guild. Her precocious years had been spent within the brewing halls and laboratories of her father’s peers and underlings. Learning, asking, seeking, growing, craving more knowledge for the sake of it underneath their watchful eyes. They were her witnesses from a curious child into an inquisitive young woman.

Now, at higher stations and with the pins to prove it, they came rushing into her laboratory by the trios at the hall-runner’s shriek.

You gave a truthful account as best you could, underneath glares borne out of irritation for interrupting experiments and familial anger for someone who is, by all accounts, suspect in the current state of their sister.

True enough, your hands were on her, but you were checking for injury and any sign of bruising. She had fainted, you said, while in the middle of concocting a formulae of your own design. It was not toxic, of course, but was prone to giving one severe headaches if exposed to it to prolonged periods, or from inhalation at a close distance.

Your excuse fell upon stony faces until it was confirmed that she would return to consciousness within a few hours. And that she had been unharmed, both from the fall and from whatever you may have done.

In any other situation, the accusation of assaulting a girl in her sleep would result in blows being exchanged. As it is, you are already on thin ice under the intense supervision of the alchemists. Doubtless, Silvera is going to hear about this when he returns. You have little desire to compound the report of his daughter fainting with the additional news of a fight breaking out.

Eventually, after you’ve proven your good intentions, Claudia’s elders and friends leave, returning to their own laboratories and halls to resume their work. They depart with threats, some veiled, some explicit. “If we see as much of a bruise or tear…”

Of course, they aren’t about to leave you all by yourselves. The runner boy is stationed outside the door, waiting until the girl comes out of unconsciousness. Which won’t be for another few hours. Salts were not an option of rousing her. She had, “enough chemical” within her from your earlier “experiment”.

Though that leaves you with nothing to do while she sleeps off the shock of your revelation...

>Head back to the fortress.
>Sneak off to Silvera’s office.
>Wait for her to wake up.
>Custom option.

>>1091191
>Ask for entrance into the archives
may as well look up some botanical substances.

Say, what supposedly might be in short supply but available in the forests in winter...

>>1091191
>Sneak off to Silvera’s office

>>1091191
>>Sneak off to Silvera’s office.
But play it conservative; We're under a watchful in here already, we don't need more suspicion for trying to sneak into private areas.

>>1091191
>Wait for her to wake up.

>>1091191
>Wait for her to wake up.

>>1091191
>Wait for her to wake up.
It would be risky not to.

>>1092582
>>1092883
>>1093274
…better to be here with her when she wakes up. It’s your only shot of ensuring that your identity as a member of the Crownguard remains a secret among the Guild. While you’re uncertain as to her blabbing about the truth of your identity to the other alchemists…better to be safer than sorry.

And while there’s no (non-magical) lock that you’re unable to pick…what would it say about you if you were to just leave her there? Worse yet, if you were caught?

With that pleasant thought lingering in the back of your mind, you resign yourself to staying in the room. You seat yourself upon a wooden stool. Boredom eventually gets the best of you, and you pull out one of your knives and a small bit of wood. The sound of the blade gently taking shavings out of the stick fills the room, echoing along the walls with every sharp push of the steel.

An hour passes, then two before Claudia eventually stirs to consciousness. She moans piteously as her eyelids flutter, writhing along the bench as best she can. Then, they snap wide open, faster than you’d give someone credit for. She goes ramrod straight, lifting herself off the bed as she scans the room with furtive eyes.

The knife and whittling were already away when she first made a noise. You approach slowly, hands raised to show that you have nothing and no ill intent. “Are you alright?” You ask softly.

Her eyes widen, and a trembling finger points to you, but she doesn’t have time to answer. The hall runner comes into the room, squeezing himself through a small crack between the frame and the door itself.

“Missan Claudia!” He cries, swiftly approaching her. “You’re awake!”

The alchemist waves off the boy’s uncertain hand, muttering underneath her breath as she swivels her legs over the bench. “…Henrick…yes, I…I’m alright…”

Henrick’s relief is palpable, even from your distance. “Thank goodness! We were all so worried about you…” Then, his gaze turns to you, full of suspicious intent. “…did the foreigner try anything? If he did…”

You don’t make a move, not even a single facial tick as Claudia’s eyes meet yours. The stoic front you maintain is hopefully enough cover to hide the fact that you’re already planning to fight your way out of here if things go wrong.

Then, her eyes glance towards the table where you had brewed the Blackwater. “…no…Amadeo…he didn’t do anything…” She states, with each word more sure than the last. Her higher functions seem to be unimpaired, or swiftly recovering from the abrupt fainting spell. “…we were just…experimenting…”

And you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Could that have been phrased better? Perhaps…but you’re not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

She covered for you.

But why?

(cont.)

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Still, the boy’s eyes remain suspicious. “Are you sure? Missan, if he’s pressuring you…”

Claudia’s next breath is an exasperated sigh, one born of longsuffering. “I am fine, Henrick. Truly. Amadeo…he would not try anything strange or untoward. He is…” A small bit of emotion plays in the corner of her eyes, that doesn’t quite reach the smile on her lips. “…an honorable man.”

…ouch.

“Now…don’t you have work to do? Messages to ferry, ingredients to note? You’ll never get bronze if you just stand around there and dawdle. Henrick…I’m fine, and I do appreciate you for staying to see that I was alright.”

Henrick’s face is still sour when he departs, caught tight in a grimace as the girl bids him farewell. The runner stiffly bows before shooting a glare at your direction. If looks could kill, you’d certainly be six feet under. Or dissolving in a cauldron of acid, given the current location. The door closes with a resounding CRASH, once more leaving the two of you, Crownguard and Alchemist all alone by yourselves and a silence thick enough to cut with a knife.

“…he’s a good lad.” You break the silence first, offering her a rueful smile. “He reminds me of myself when I was his age.”

That gets a repressed chuckle from her. “…indeed? Or is this another fabrication of your…mask?”

She has you there. “No, truly. Fiercely loyal to friends and loved ones, always trying to intimidate their elders…” You shake your head. “It’s a miracle I managed to stay alive for as long as I have. Still…”

You shift in your seat. “I must ask: why did you cover for me? I mean…I’m not ungrateful that you did. Far from it in fact. But…”

There is a moment before she responds, exhaling deeply as she pinches the bridge of her nose. “…in all honesty? Curiosity. Just simple, inquisitive curiosity and an alchemists’ desire to know the truth. Irrational? Perhaps…” Her cheeks color. “But I think that if there’s anything that you owe me before an apology…it’s an explanation as to why you had to come here in that…disguise…” By now, her face is completely crimson.

That's right. You do owe her an answer as to why you went so far with your...facade.

>Choose one:
>The assassin’s trail points to her father. She needs to know how deadly things are for the Guild.
>You just need to access her father’s records. She does not need to know the depth of the situation.
>Custom option.

>>1093906
Someone tried to kill my ward with Alchemist's Fire. I followed the trail here. I need access to the records to sniff out who gave it to him and why. The fact there is a Vascielli encampment in the general area additionally bodes quite poorly.

I came in disguise because frankly if I came openly I would get nowhere and whoever did this would run free. As for the flirting? It was an affectation. You really are quite lovely, and a brilliant alchemist besides, but it was a false.

>>1093906
There was an assassination attempt on the royal family using the Fire, and this is one of the only places that makes it. I was attempting to be covert to keep any conspirators here unaware of the investigation. I do have some alchemy training, and it was nice to work with another of the trade, and I enjoy your company.

that's the sentiment I'm looking for.

>>1094063
So anon you still here?

>>1094243
Not for much longer, but yea, I'm still around.

>>1093906
>The assassin’s trail points to her father. She needs to know how deadly things are for the Guild.

>>1094253
So any other ideas on this? Anything we might be able to sue to turn her?

>>1094274
The truth is the easiest, but we should obfuscate it somewhat;She (or any eavesdroppers) don't need the full details. We could play up our anger at the attack, try to drum up some sympathy. We could emphasize our mysterious side, she seemed to like that. We could offer... something if we otherwise fail, dunno what though.

We could lie, though we've already outed ourselves as Crownguard, so we're rather restricted there. On the run, deep undercover, "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you", "I have my orders", "just wanted to see what one of these places was like", "i was bored". There's all sorts of silly reasons we could some up with for infiltrating this place, take your pick.

>>1094381
I was thinking implying a Vascielli link.

>>1094385
Oh. Implying them in the assassination? To what end?

>>1094404
Well their goal is overthrowing the royal family yeah? Also there is a BIG encampment in the area, yeah? Sometimes the best implication are filling in the blanks.

>>1094404
>>1094406
Adding on, the Vascielli are hated and noted alchemists. Implying this implies either they've figured out a state secret, or someone was supplying the ISIS stand ins.

>>1094412
Ah, you mean imply that we're working against them, or that they're planning some great evil that may affect her in some way. Yea we can try it, we just gotta not get caught up in a web of implications; We already got caught once.