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

The architects of the guild designed the building in such a way that the high ceilings would require great beams to stabilize the overhead stone. Reinforced by iron bolts and no small amount of magic, the support pillars and shafts keep the domed and capped roof from collapsing in onto themselves. Ventilation seems to be a main concern as well as ensuring that the top is thick enough to keep the most severe of seasonal storms from bringing the building down on top of the lot of them.

There are some sections that dip low, forcing Claudia to keep a look out as you scurry from one corridor to the next, coming down from one rafter and then leaping back onto another. And that was just the main entrance to get into the long hallway of laboratories. Doubtless there will come harder challenges.

Regardless, you’re not one to complain. From the way the beams are placed at certain intervals, and interconnected from one cross-section to the next, maintenance seems to be something that is performed here. Of course it is. Nothing is this easy.

Muttering underneath your breath, you move on, hopping from post to post and hoping that tonight is not the scheduled time to inspect the rafters and ceilings. To your supreme pleasure, it is not. And the ambient torchlight is kept deliberately low, sealed within lamps at every two dozen paces. They will not risk open flame in this environment. All the better for you.

To your complete lack of surprise, there appear to be some people that are still in the building. There are alchemists that frown at beakers and flasks of unknown substances, occasionally adding a pinch of sulfur or rock salt into the mix. Nearby, bleary-eyed apprentices hold back yawns and groans of discomfort as they copy recipes and formulae from crumbling journals onto pristine sheets of vellum. And still there are those who simply just push carts of reagents and catalysts, to be bundled and prepared for transport or delivery to a customer.

More than once does Claudia get a few waves, some of which she returns with varying degrees of enthusiasm. “I’m happy for your success, Demien. Gretta, the order of powdered oyster shell and artichoke has come in for that special request potion. No, really, Henrick, I’m fine, I parted from Amadeo amicably at the inn…”

Eventually, she manages to make her way past her family, coming to a stop at the end of an abandoned hallway. There are no guards that are posted here, and nothing of interest save for a golden door. No, that’s not right. The door itself is painted gold, but you can see inlays of silver among the iron brace, among other symbols and metals sacred to the art of alchemy.

(cont.)

“We’re here,” she whispers, fishing out the keys at her belt. She is careful not to make as much as a jangle as she inserts her key. “This door leads directly to the laboratory and quarters of the Grand Alchemist. We’ll have to go up a flight of stairs first…”

You check carefully around you before descending from the rafters. It is a controlled descent that has you rebounding from beam to stone wall until you find yourself beside the girl. At your slight nod, she turns the key, wincing at the CLUNK the lock makes as it disengages before shoving you through the door.

“Quickly!” She hisses, closing the door before pushing right at your back. “We don’t have all night!”
You quickly lose track of the number of stairs you have to traverse, stopping short of seventy three before you give up. And these are moderately sized steps! You no longer feel like you’re climbing up a magistrate’s domicile, but scaling the archetypal wizard’s tower. The Grand Alchemist must like his privacy. And space, if the protrusion from the rear of the guild building was any indication.

For a good reason, apparently. It’s hard for your mouth not to fall agape at the lab before you. The most sophisticated equipment lies before you, even more advanced than any you’ve ever seen, both in Karthmire and in the grand hall bellow. A portable stove, rows upon rows of beakers and flasks, and a set of tools that would make a priest jealous.

But it is the walls, walls upon walls of reagents and catalysts. Tiny bottles of feverdew extract, jars of pickled drakling eyes, even a bony talon of a great Whrelzwth Roc are but commonplace among the rarest ingredients you’ve ever laid eyes on.

Claudia seems to take some sort of pride. “Isn’t it wonderful? Father and I built it together a few years ago, using our own innovative designs. Careful cataloguing and more efficiency means less items and reagents needed to create a formula…”

A she rambles on, you can see a little ways to the right that there’s a door leading to what must undoubtedly be the Grand Master’s domicile. Bedchambers, personal study…and private archives..

>Search the quarters. Claudia takes the laboratory.

You’re not sure what you were expecting when you split up to search your respective quarters. Silvera’s quarters seem to be the epitome of cleanliness. The man’s bed is perfectly made, all of the books are in order, whether they be in piles around the room or on shelves. There are no crumbs of bread or cheese on the desk, and the candle sticks on the holder are brand new.

All in all, it seems that the man’s very fastidious about keeping things in some sort of order.

…you don’t like it.

You don’t like it one bit.

There are a lot of books. Not nearly as many as the books in the Crowmonds’ personal library, but there are volumes that are as easily as thick as your fist. Old texts of alchemy, dating back to the founding of Aderaveth and the Bladebound Rebellion. And to your surprise, framed on the wall is an original formula for a hangover potion, penned on wyvernskin by none other than Treyu the Hunter, the oft rumored lover of Brynn the Breaker.

You check yourself before you get too excited at all the alchemical artifacts and relics from the history of the continent. There’s going to be time for that later. Best to start searching now and save your energy for when the bad thing happens. No, not “a bad thing”, but “the bad thing”.

It’s only inevitable.

Well, best get to searching.

"...'A Risque Repository of the most Ribald Tales'?" You shudder as you set that book back onto the nightstand. You just learned more about Silvera than you had any desire to, and not in a good way.

>Roll 1d100 + 20 Perception (+20 Circumstance)
>Best of three.

>Rolls from last thread:
>16, 67, 46
>36, 87, 66

Before anything else, you reach into your satchel and take out a scrap of parchment. Your talent of languages is narrow, consisting of only Westeron and a smattering of Iliac, courtesy of Lucien. The runes inscribed on the skin are written in Old Tathal, something that resembles even more of a scribble than what you’ve ever seen of the Ingulan tongue.

Regardless, you have a feeling that Urath would not object to translating the words for you. You sincerely hope he can read the older runes of his people’s language.

>You received Treyu’s Balm [Untranslated]

It takes less than two minutes to scribble them onto the page, and another to ensure that they’re as accurate as you can make them to be. Then, you return the scrap into your satchel and begin your investigation.

In spite of the immaculate nature of the room, there is little need to take too much effort into masking your presence. Dust has not been given time to accumulate or gather on the bookshelves or the desk. Silvera must use them constantly in his experiments or personal projects. You can peruse their contents quicker than you’d normally allow yourself.

However, there is little to uncover at a surface glance. You pass over a majority of the formalized texts, doing little more than confirming that they are what they appear to be: tomes and codices concerning alchemy and other assorted subjects. Likewise, there appears to be no hidden mechanism or draft that would indicate the presence of a secret chamber.

The desk itself is similarly lackluster. The wooden finish is faded and chipped, signs of exposure to ingredients and the chopping knife. Loose pieces of parchment reveal loose sketches of a myriad assortment of subjects: the cross-section of a flower, an errant list of tasks to do, and the image of a woman with the same hair as your unlikely conspirator.

Even a touched individual could deduce that this was not Claudia, but a close relation. But it would take someone who knew about the girl to conclude that this must be none other than her mother.

The image appears several times along the desk. It is a formal scroll done with delicate oils, and a loose sketch upon a stray bit of vellum. Austere and regal, laughing and smiling, the artist has portrayed a great many deal of emotions from this single subject. Without a doubt, this must be Silvera’s late wife.

It would be incorrect to say he is obsessed. The hand that brought these lines together was not trembling with some manic desire, but rather, a deliberate melancholy and longing. The fullness of her lips, the light that plays off in her eyes…

…he truly loved her. Even long after the date of her death that Claudia implied, Silvera had been unable to move on after whatever happened to his lover.

(cont.)

…you take a moment to wipe the accumulating dust from your eyes before you continue on with your search. It would be no good for you to get lost in maudlin thoughts of your own regrets and aches while on the job. You turn back to the dreary investigation of the other desk papers. Ingredients lists…personal correspondence…offers to increase male virility…ah, what’s this?

Tucked underneath a large pile of papers and a quartz curio, you unearth a small, leather-bound book. The cover is faded and weathered from long years of use, and the parchment within has long since yellowed.

A journal, perhaps?

You flip it open to the first entry, dated little more than a few years ago. A cursory inspection reveals not a daily chronology, but a weekly one concerning the personal thoughts of Mengus Silvera. It is meticulous, methodical and constant in its penmanship.

A picture of the man comes to life before you eyes – a beloved father who wishes only the best for his daughter and for her to expand her horizons beyond the confines of dusty tomes and an odious laboratory; a man of science who wants to understand not only how, but why the world works in certain ways and patterns; a fierce politician, desperately fighting off the encroaching grip of Lord Mazur’s influence on the Guild...

Unless he also lied to a personal accounting that only he had access to, Silvera truly seems to be an honorable man. He made no mention of rebels in his journal other then major incidents involving the scum. One entry briefly touches upon a battle in the Hinterlends the prior summer, and the discovery of one of their bases by the Godsblade of Opran. Scanning the entries should reveal the time Prince Emeron rode out to battle one of their splinter factions in Gerforen’s Reach…

But you cannot find it. That entry does not exist. Megus Silvera is a meticulous man, and he has so far not only mentioned every incident involving the rebels, but put a few disparaging sentences of his own personal thoughts. A cold feeling grows in your stomach as you cannot find any mention of Emeron riding out to do battle with the Highwaymen…or the attempt upon Ellana’s life.

No, that’s incorrect. The cold feeling in your stomach grows as you check the date of the last correspondence. It is so simple as to why you cannot find any mention of these incidents.

The journal that Mengus Silvera has maintained and updated faithfully for the last couple of years has not seen an update in more than five months.

What the hell?

“Marcus?”

Claudia’s voice cuts through your thoughts, and your heart almost flies up to your throat. You take a moment to compose yourself before you hiss, “What is it?”

“I think…I think I found something...” Her voice is uncertain. “Could you please come here? I don't know where this draft is coming from...”

>Hold off on telling her what you found.
>Tell her what you found in the study.
>Custom option.

>>1270029
>>Tell her what you found in the study.

>>1270029
>>Hold off on telling her what you found.

>>1270029
>>Tell her what you found in the study.
hmm, wonder what changed.. Depression? An offer he couldn't refuse? Doppelganger?

>hold off
We don't want to make an incorrect assumption and upset Claudia without reason

>>1270029
Woops here's my vote>>1270078

Rolled 1 (1d2)

Rolling for tiebreak.

1. Don't tell her.
2. Tell her.

>>1270042
>>1270078
>>1270097
There is nothing wrong with extrapolation, but leaping to wild conclusions is no way to properly proceed. You have several theories as to why the journal hasn’t been updated, and you can’t even find the simplest on among them. Not because you’re a dullard, but because they’re all just as plausible as they are terrifying.

“Did you find anything?” She asks when you enter the laboratory.

Your answer comes swift, a half-truth that causes your heart to clench after you promised her to be truthful in all things to her. “Nothing that could prove his innocence or guilt.”

Her eyes narrow, but you believe them to be more pointed at the mention of “guilt” more than any slip or tell that you didn’t tell the entire truth. Regardless, she seems to accept it before returning to what she had found.

“I think there’s something here…” She gestures towards a shelf covered with the pickled ingredients. “How do I know? A draft, to be precise. I can feel it if I wet my finger and hold it in the air within the general area of this section of the lab…”

It takes you a little more than a conscious effort to forget the image of her licking said digit before you try it yourself. Methodology aside, she’s not wrong. There’s definitely a light wind that’s blowing through the laboratory, and it isn’t coming from the hearth.

The only objects of suspect in the area is the alchemy table, the ingredients shelf, and a distillation station. The table is immediately written off as it’s propped up against a window facing the Anosar and the peaks of the distant Whrelzwrth. The distillation station meets a similar fate, as there are too many moving parts.

Out of all three of them, there is only one possible place where it would make sense to install a hidden compartment.

“What are you-” You hold up a hand and motion for her to be quiet as you approach the shelf. Your eyes dart from one subject to the next, squinting to distinguish or make note of any irregularities…

…there. Among the rest of the collection, there is an odd stone that has a veneer of polish across its surface. It was not polished naturally, you realize upon closer inspection, but over time and with the oils that human skin produces. And where dust has built up in the corners of the shelf, this one remains devoid of it.

Claudia jolts when you tentatively pull the stone and a loud THUNK echoes throughout the room. You grin, feeling the bookshelf shift as you turn back towards her. “Help me with this, will ya?”

“But this is impossible!” She hisses as she joins your side. “A secret passage in the tower? Father would have told me about this…”

You shrug, digging your heels into the stone. “Maybe it’s a secret privy only to the Grand Alchemist? Who knows? We can ask him when he returns.”

(cont.)

As soon as there’s enough room for the two of you, you stop pushing. A flint is struck and the illumination of a candle shines upon a winding corridor and a door at the end. Cobwebs, filth and dirt hang along the walls and cake the floors. Then the smell of filth and copper reaches your nose.

Claudia manages to hold down her initial reaction. “R-ready?”

You nod, taking up the candelabra in one hand as you brandish Serena’s blade in the other. “Stay behind me. We don’t know what’s beyond that door, but I’m not taking any chances.”

The ceiling is low, but not too low to the point of stooping. The corridor is easily big enough to allow four people to walk through in rank formation. With only two yards of distance between the hidden shelf and the door, you have to wonder why the architect went to the redundant effort of two doors.

For extra security is the easiest answer you can think of, to keep unwanted intruders away with one final layer. You didn’t detect any traps coming in. Hopefully there aren’t any on the door.

The door has no keyhole, but its handle shows no sign of being obstructed. You test it a few times before you pass the candles to Claudia. “Are you ready? On my count…”

She nods, fingers turning white as they flex against the bronze.

“One…two…three!”

=======

The chamber is circular, no more than three yards in radius. It is neither large or claustrophobic, but leans towards snug. That would make sense, to keep it hidden within the walls as to prevent an obvious protrusion on the outside.

A perfectly hidden chamber for one to hide all of their secrets.

And the greatest secret in the room was the bloodied corpse in rags chained up against the wall.

The candelabrum slipped out of Claudia’s nerveless fingers, hitting the floor with a noisy CRASH. In the confines of the chamber, it echoes sharp and loud. It literally wakes up the dead, and the man in chains jerks to life, wildly turning his head to try and find the source of the noise.

He cannot, you dimly realize, because of all the bandages that wrap around his face, half-obscured by greasy, unwashed hair. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to manage the entirety of their prisoner’s face, to obscure everything save for lips, ears and eyes. The prisoner can speak, the prisoner can hear.

But in place of eyes, all that is left are gaping sockets that flap about uselessly, desperately trying to make sense of a sightless world.

“What’s this…you bastard…” The man’s voice is a hoarse croak. “Here to do...some more? You’re…” The man coughs hard, hard enough to send blood spraying across the floor. “…back…so…soon?”

Even as you see her eyes go wide and her mouth open in horror, you are too late. There is nothing you can do to stop Claudia's ear-piercing shriek.

“FATHER!”

(cont.)

>>1270138
awww ye, it's not our fault

So, i am guessing changeling.

>>1270138
The girl abandons all sorts of pretense and formality as she rushes towards the side of the man. In turn, it seems that her voice has sent a desperate energy to the man, who now struggles even harder against his restraints.

“…Claudia…oh, you bastard…you whoreson…” His growing rage is cut off by another torrent of blood, but that does not stop his movements. You can see his wrists, scabbed and bloodied against the chain that holds him back, worn from months of trying to escape. “...I’ll kill you, do you understand…I’ll kill you…”

“Father, father, father!” Her hands go straight to her dress, tearing a strip of fabric from the hem of her skirt. The bundled cloth goes to clean the worse of the grime, staunch the flow of blood at his wrists. Her eyes are brimming with tears as they turn towards you, helpless and completely afraid. “What…I don’t…why…”

Suddenly, things start to make sense. A very terrible amount of sense.

You spring into action, reaching into your own satchel to pull out a length of scrap cloth and bandages. Those you pass to Claudia, who receives them gratefully before returning to her father. While she’s distracted…

The noise that comes out from Silvera’s throat is inhuman as you put the slightest of pressure upon his cheeks. Trails of crimson bloom upon the surface of the bandages, a brighter and fresh shade of red that seeps through the soiled cloth.

Even as Claudia turns on you, demanding why you did that, the final piece of the puzzle falls into place.

There is only one kind of magic that allows for one to steal the face and eyes of a victim and don them as one might a mask for a play. Only one kind of individual who would perform such a perverse violation of nature without care for corruption of their Spark.

And one of them is working for the Vascieli.

“Oh sh-”

Your instincts flare up and you instinctively dodge before you can finish your sentence. Claudia shrieks and Silvera stills in fear as you turn around to face what had attacked you.

At best, you can describe it as a mass of cancerous flesh, growing even as it falls down from the ceiling. In a grotesque parody of the human body, it stands upon two legs, and experimentally flexes meaty fingers as they come into completion. Upon completion, it stares at you with a blank face, devoid of any features save for red, soulless eyes.

Homunculus. The lesser familiar of Blood Magic, the elite infantry of the Crimson Tyrant’s armies, feared legends across the continent, and the guard to Mengus Silvera.

Well, shit.

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

File: Homunculus.jpg (141 KB, 1920x1110)

141 KB JPG

>>1270153
Forgot pic. Basically a six-foot version of this ugly mofo.

Rolled 13 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>1270153
fight!

Rolled 88 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>1270153
Come on man, clutch it.

>>1270153

Rolled 58 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>1270153

>>1270150
I mentioned this earlier in a different thread, but BRQ is low fantasy, so stuff like this is few and far between. Sure, there are dragons and other magical creatures, but other than that...there aren't any traditional fantasy creatures common in the genre. Deliberately made this choice to emphasize on humans. So no elves, dwarves, etc. Even changelings or monsters along those lines.

But if there are, then I've gone and put my own special twist on them to ensure that they're the exception to avoiding fantasy cliches.

Writing...

>>1270162
Fair enough, makes life interesting at least.

File: Loophole.jpg (74 KB, 480x283)

74 KB JPG

>>1270156
>>1270157
>>1270158
You react quicker than it can, stomping and catching your knife as it flies out from your boot. The Dance begins with a harsh cadenza as a storm of steel blows rains down upon the creature. Only you will be the sole person to dominate its soulless gaze.

Serena’s blade has no trouble carving through the flesh. The magic of Emeron’s sorcerer prevails against the thick and fibrous skin of the abomination. Your second blade is merely mundane, and the initial impact almost jolts the handle from out of your grip.

You pull back just in time to avoid another one of its swings. Claws extend from distended arms, sharp enough to leave gouges in the stone where you stood and tears away chunks of the structure. The noise they make as they scrape along the granite goes all the way into your skull, grating and grinding in an unholy cacophony.

The armor of the Crownguard is crafted from the finest materials and reinforced by magical enchantments. You have faith in the spell-smiths that forged the equipment, but you’d rather not test it against those claws.

Think, Marcus, think! Your mind races as you move in for a counter-attack. It turns towards you, away from Claudia and her father as it tries to match you blow-for-blow by a loophole overlooking the docks. The blades dart like the strikes of a hornet, jabbing quickly before retreating, over and over again. But for all the wounds you inflict, they are not lasting. Icherous blood the color of rotting flesh seeps from its injuries, only to coagulate within seconds of exposure to the air.

The stories and chronicles you’ve made plenty of mention to their monsters. They would gush over how Maxvell Crowmond fought a Purebreed to a standstill atop a hill of corpses before sundering it with a single blow. What was that single blow? Decapitation? A thrust to the heart?

Nothing conclusive. And there is no mention of them in any book. Legal, that is, given how the subject matter falls into that forbidden category of magic. Right up there with necromancy.

All you know is that at the current rate, tiring out is inevitable. And sooner or later, you’re going slip up and get a fist full of talon for your trouble. Thing is, all you know is that if you want to have any hope of killing this thing…you’re either gonna need enough power to do it in a single blow…or a better plan than just revisiting the legends.

>Use a bomb.
>Use a poison.
>Custom option.

>>1270181
We need to burn the bugger.
Yell for our companion to find something to burn it with, then:
>Use a bomb.

If nothing else the damage will slow it down.

>>1270181
>>Use a bomb.

>>1270181
>Use a bomb.
fragmentation if we can stick it in the middle. fire otherwise.

It can heal over shrapnel, but pieces of metal interfering with muscle will at least slow it down and make it clumsy for another trick.

>>1270181
>>Use a bomb.

Frag out!

>>1270181
>Use a bomb

>Getting a bit tired. Gonna hit the sack and resume in a few hours. Let's see what plan you come up with to deal with the Homunculous.
guys, I think we were supposed to come up with a plan

>>1270260
The plan is frag it, then try get to the alchemy lab to shovel anything nasty on it we can. Acid, fire, whatever works.

>>1270181
>Bomb it

Fragmentation. The idea is to lead it away from Claudia and her father. Fragging it will convince it we are the threat.

Plus, poison has a much higher chance of affecting them or us with worse conditions than bleeding.

File: Bomb.png (375 KB, 597x619)

375 KB PNG

>>1270186
>>1270187
>>1270190
>>1270195
>>1270247
>>1270314
“Healing” would be the incorrect term to apply to the homunculus’ ability. At the best, it appears to be some sort of measure meant to only halt the process of exsanguination rather than closing the wound outright. All you’ve been able to inflict are small wounds little better than mosquito bites.

But perhaps…

You reach into your bomb satchel, running your fingers over the ceramic containers until you find the object you seek. The alchemic rune for combustion is engraved at the peak of the sphere, only a scant inch away from the fuse.

This is going to be very close.

Very, very close.

“Get down!”

With bomb in one hand and Serena’s blade in the other, you rush the monster head-on. Behind the homunculus, you can see Claudia’s expression change from one of confusion to abject horror as you ignite the fuse against the rough surface of the sphere.

“Marcus, what-”

There’s no time for hesitation. No time for second thoughts.
There is only you, the homunculus, the bomb and wicked claws that race towards your body…

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

Rolled 94 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>1270359

Rolled 33 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>1270359

Rolled 39 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>1270359

File: Homunculus.png (581 KB, 1694x1025)

581 KB PNG

>>1270362
>>1270366
>>1270367
The steel blade becomes a blur as you lash out against the monster, moving past a clumsy guard and a hasty swipe to score a direct blow upon its tside. Swollen, bloated flesh parts underneath the magic of the knife as you carve a wicked gash. The path of your blade goes through sinew and bone, creating a small opening within the creature’s body.

Perfect.

Somehow, the homunculus is able to scream without a mouth, a ghastly noise that reverberates deep within your skull. At the best, it resembles the noise a deep whale makes, a low and rumbling noise that awakens the darkest part of your instincts. It makes you want to flee, to run as fast as you can and damn all the consequences that you leave behind.

Claudia’s legs give out from underneath her. The girl whimpers, head clutched between her hands as she desperately tries to block out the noise. Even her father has become a lifeless mass, going absolutely still, cringing back as best his restraints can allow him.

But you’ve seen worse, suffered through worse, survived against worse things against a bloated sack of meat.

“You think you’re the only one to make a decent battle cry?” The sound of your heartbeat is like a drum in your ears as you lunge forward, even as the blood of the beast begins to seal the wound shut.

There is a terrible noise as your hand plunges into the monsters chest cavity. The stench of rotting flesh and corroding iron pervades your senses as blood splatters across your body. A force laps and pulls at your armor, a suction that tries to take you in and keep you trapped within itself as the blood begins to solidify.

You remember this part of the legends, how those too slow would have their weapons trapped within the monster as its blood congealed.

But you are faster than the faceless men within the old stories. You kick the monster’s thigh, pushing off from its body to free your hand, now coated in the vitae and gore of the homunculus. The force of the impact sends both you and abomination stumbling backwards, to the others and narrow hallway respectively.

You aren’t taking any chances. You rush towards Claudia, pulling her into a tight embrace in spite of her protests and revulsion against the odor of your arm. The faint scent of coriander and mint along her clothes is a balm, a tender mercy as you hold her close and shield her from the inevitable.

(cont.)

There is a wet noise as the bomb inside the homunculus’ chest detonates. A wave of heat rushes out from the hallway, and the smell of burnt flesh and saltpeter fills the air. Shards of pottery and stone go flying, striking you as your body stands between the alchemists and harm.

Most pieces either bounce harmlessly off of your armor, but there are some that find gaps in the more vulnerable parts. These are the little shards and splinters that will hurt, but not debilitate your ability to fight. These are annoyances that will have to be taken out at a later date.

As the dust settles and the ringing in your ears diminishes, you relax your grip on Claudia and inspect the girl for damages. She’s gone as pale as a sheet, trembling something awful. Her breath comes out in little hiccups, and she offers no resistance when you gently probe at her neck, feeling for a pulse that you confirm to be too fast.

“Claudia…” You whisper, gently cupping her cheek. “Claudia…you need to get your breathing under control. It’s not over yet…Claudia…”

She stirs, whimpering as you gently lay her down against the wall. Beside her, Silvera appears to be no more worse for the wear than he was when you found him. The man in question twitches as you approach.

“What…what happened?” He croaks. “What’s…going on…?”

Before you can answer, there is a noise that comes from the hallway. You turn around, blades at the ready as the homunculus stumbles into view.

The bomb had a catastrophic effect upon the creature. One of its arms had simply been blown away, and half of its body is little more than burnt meat and congealing blood. It wobbles as if drunk, emerging to reveal the shredded ruin that had become of its face.

It’s been critically injured, but the battle is still not over. So as long as it remains whole, it will not fall until you have achieved complete and utter destruction of the entire body.

It lurches forward, limping with claws outstretched and primed to strike.

>Attempt to get Claudia’s aid.
>Finish the creature by yourself.
>Custom option.

>>1270416
>>Attempt to get Claudia’s aid.
Chemicals, bombs, whatever she can do she needs to do now

>>1270416
>>Finish the creature by yourself.
It's still dangerous, no point in letting her near it.

>>1270416
>Attempt to get claudia aid

>>1270416
>Attempt to get Claudia laid.

>>1270416
>Finish the creature by yourself.

>>1270441
ayy

>>1270441
Yes, because there's nothing like mortal fear and terror that gets a girl wet.

Writing...

>>1270419
>>1270431
>>1270441
“Claudia, I’m going to need you to do something.”

The alchemist stirs. Her eyes are glazed, unfocused and unseeing before they lock onto you. Her voice is a timid whisper that only you can hear. “…Marcus…?”

You circle the homunculus as you gently take hold of Claudia’s wrist, pulling her up onto her feet. She wobbles uncertainly and almost falls on you before her legs manage to right themselves. “That was my only Splintershard bomb. And other than Firewater, I don’t have anything else that could do that much damage in a single blow.”

Timing is everything. She needs to be as close to the door as possible without compromising her father’s position. However, the chances of her being attacked seem to be moderately low. Out of the three humans in the room, the homunculus only has eyes…or an eye, more accurately, for you.

“You helped your father make his laboratory in the other room, right?” You quietly ask. At her hesitant nod, you offer her a reassuring squeeze and a comforting smile. “Alright. If we’re going to get out of this alive, I’m going to need your help.”

“Huh?” Confusion spreads across her face. “What…what…how…?”

“It’s simple, really. I need you to make something for me, something strong or volatile that can kill the bastard in a single go. Do you think you can do that?”

There is no terror in her eyes as she turns to look at you and not the monster. “I…I don’t…”

“I’ll hold it off and buy you some time. I think I can do that much.”

“But…but…I don’t know if I can…” Her eyes briefly flicker towards the advancing creature, and a shudder runs along the length of her body. “I…I’ve never…this…I’m not…”

She is overwhelmed by the situation. That much does not surprise you given what the two of you have seen. This is a girl who’s spent all of her life in the safe and controlled environs of a laboratory. Hesitancy, uncertainty, and fear in the face of the unknown have all been recorded to make a man lock up in indecision.

However…

>Appeal to her talents. She’s the daughter of the Grand Alchemist. [Gentle]
>Appeal to the situation. If she doesn’t do it, all of you are going to die. [Blunt]
>Custom option.

>>1270536
>>Appeal to her talents. She’s the daughter of the Grand Alchemist. [Gentle]

this is as close to seduction as we're gonna get in this situation

>>1270536
>>Appeal to her talents. She’s the daughter of the Grand Alchemist. [Gentle]

>>1270536
>Appeal to the situation. If she doesn’t do it, all of you are going to die. [Blunt]

>>1270536
>>Appeal to her talents. She’s the daughter of the Grand Alchemist. [Gentle]

>>1270536
>Appeal to her talents. She’s the daughter of the Grand Alchemist. [Gentle]

>>1270536
>Appeal to her talents. She’s the daughter of the Grand Alchemist. [Gentle]

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>>1270538
>>1270545
>>1270551
>>1270552
>>1270553
“I think you can.” You flash a roguish grin. “Journeyman at your age and daughter to the Grand Alchemist? You’re easily the better alchemist between the two of us.”

Claudia flushes at that, turning away to avoid your face. “But…but…what about…”

She raises a trembling finger towards the homunculus. The abomination continues to circle the two of you as you move towards the corridor.

“Well, that’s easy compared to what you have to do. I’m not so skilled that I can concoct potions or tonics in the heat of battle. You know your father’s lab far better than I do. I would not know how to operate all of your tools.

“And have you already forgotten?” You tap your jerkin, underneath which bounces the sigil of your station. “I’m a Crownguard. It is expected of me to do battle with the worst that the continent has to offer, be they human or otherwise, in the name of the Imperial family. I would not have been chosen if my skills were less than adequate.

“So, Missan Hildegard…” Claudia starts as you cup her cheek, and bring her eyes to meet your own. “If you would do me the honor of being my princess just for this engagement…you can trust me to protect you with all of my efforts.”

“Ah…ah…ah…” Her cheeks turn a deep crimson and her voice is an incoherent stammer. Better for her to be flustered than afraid, you suppose. And that does not last for too long either. The sound of Silvera struggling against his restraints brings a spark, lighting the fire you saw in her eyes when you first performed alchemy.

“…okay…” She nods sharply, clenching her fist in determination. “I’ll do it!”

>Claudia sharply approves.

“Good. Now, go, and don’t look back!”

You shove off from the wall, flying towards the homunculus as you let her go. The claws that lunge towards you graze your shoulder, embedding themselves in the wall where you had previously occupied. Trapped, you move in to press the advantage and drive the monster away from the corridor.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Claudia sprinting down the blasted hallway as fast as she can. In her haste, she does not seem to notice how the rushing wind plays at her skirt, hovering perilously between her thighs and bottom.

As far as last sights go, you muse as the claws come free of the stone, this one is not so bad.

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

Rolled 74 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>1270634
Come on Nat 1

Rolled 100 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>1270634

Rolled 100 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>1270634

>>1270650
WEW
Saw >>1270648 thought it was mine realized it was not then >>1270650 comes through

>>1270648
>>1270650
well then. The Dice Gods love Claudia apparently.

>>1270650
>>1270648
M-masaka!?

>>1270648
>>1270650
>Two Nat 100s
So, uh. Kaz.

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>>1270648
>>1270650
WHICH ONE OF YOU SUCKED OFF THE DICE GODS FOR THIS.

>>1270648
>>1270650

Well, dice for the dice gods I guess.

"Marcus! I've got the potion completed an..."
>calmly wiping blood off our dagger
"Oh, right, nice job yeah, perfect couldn't have done it without you."

>>1270648
>>1270650
>Give inspiring speech to get extra help
>defeat monster single-handedly
>Claudia's fw

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>>1270680
Lewd Kaz

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>>1270641
>>1270648
>>1270650
Even as you press the advantage, you remind yourself that this is the exception and not the rule when it comes to these creatures. Homunculi are dangerous creatures, and rightly feared by smallfolk and royals alike. There are still darker places in the Empire where these abominations of the Crimson Tyrant are said to roam to this day, creatures who’s names are only spoken in hushed whispers across the continent.

Bloat trolls, sanghuls, niranocs…

Nothing good ever comes from blood magic.

If you didn’t have the Splintershard bomb, you would have been hard-pressed to prevail. An enchanted dagger can only do so much against a magical creature with properties of a homunculus.

But in spite of that, this creature is about to die. Just like any other mortal creature, it is dependent on blood for its continued survival. Perhaps even more so than humans or animals. Certain schools of thought believe that blood is the source of life’s energies, balanced between four humors and charged with energy to animate one’s body.

If that is the case, then this creature is half-dead. Between losing a significant portion of flesh and one of its arms, the only thing keeping this monster alive is the remainder of its blood.

But you will show it no mercy.

The dance reaches a furious climax as you cease simple attacks and approach without hesitation. A clawed hand is easily dodged, a desperate kick taken advantage of. The monster stooped, and you plant the mundane weapon in the monster’s neck.

When the homunculus rears back in pain, you hold on for dear life, taken with the blade as the blood hardens around it. You pull yourself up, avoiding the claws to pivot around the monster’s neck. Dangling from its back, it cannot possibly hope to reach you with only one distended, disfigured arm.

But the monster is not as dumb of a brute as you thought it to be. It seems to sense your plans, and tries to move backwards and crush you against the wall. Yet even as its bloated flesh comes into contact with the unyielding stone, the only blood to stain the walls is its own. There is no one hanging onto its back. The only living beings in the room are the monster, the prone form of Silvera, and a feather in the wind.

You fall down from the leap to drive Serena’s blade directly where the skull meets the base of the neck. There is a noise as the steel cuts through tendons, grinds against bone before the homunculus lets out another keening wail. This close, it takes you every effort to resist the urge to flee, and to hold on as you pull the blade out and drive it home again.

(cont.)

>>1270719
Marcus Is the king of making the bitches Swoon.

>>1270891
This time, the damage is done. The homunculus falls to the ground, collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut. There is a tremendous shudder that shakes the building as the full weight of the beast comes toppling down.

Moments later, Claudia bursts into the room, carefully balancing a large flask of some sort of smoking, vicious fluid. At the sight of the creature, the alchemist stops, staring blankly at its fallen form before looking at you. There is shock, bewilderment, disbelief…and even awe in her eyes.

“It’s not dead yet,” You state, motioning for her to come forward. She obeys, taking a few trepidatious steps towards you. “See this? All I did was sever the connection with its spine and skull. I have no desire to find out as to whether or not it can regenerate from this kind of injury, so we must work quickly. What have you concocted?”

It takes her a moment to snap out of staring at you before she finds her voice. “Oh, um…oil…oil of vitriol?”

An acid? Perfect. You give her another grin. “That’s exactly what we needed. Now, if you could pour the contents upon the skull and along the spinal cord…”

“AHEM.”

The two of you start as you turn towards the restrained Silvera. In spite of the man’s emancipated appearance, gaunt cheekbones and jaundiced skin, the Grand Alchemist of Alnerwich still manages to carry himself, even in the restrains.

“If you would be so kind…” He croaks, “…as to get me some water…and perhaps some enlightenment as to the current situation…”

Claudia turns to you, hesitating as she holds the flask over the homunculus’ skull. At her questioning look, you make a gesture and stand up. “I’ll help your father. I need you to take care of the homunculus.”

The alchemist nods, and begins to pour the fluid onto the monster’s body. An acrid smoke fills the air as the fluid begins to do its work of breaking down the flesh and blood. Silvera’s nose twitches in displeasure as you squat down beside him and begin to work the locks holding him in place.

He whets his chapped lips before speaking, “So…you’re not that bastard…I don’t recognize your voice...you’re not affiliated with a blood mage, are you?”

“I’ve killed one of them before.” You return.

The Grand Alchemist makes a noise of approval. “Excellent. Now…a more pressing question…what is your relationship with my daughter? I could not help...but notice that you...seem to be...close...”

>A fellow student of alchemy.
>A loyal subject to the crown.
>A potential romantic interest.
>Custom option.

>>1270978
>I have done nothing ungentlemanly with your daughter, further information can be exchanged when you are not changed up in your own secret room with a homunculus right fucking there

>>1270978
>A potential romantic interest.

>>1270978
>A fellow student of alchemy, and a loyal subject to the crown.

>>1270978
>>A fellow student of alchemy.
>>A loyal subject to the crown.
We aren't going to be in this city forever. It would be cruel to string her along, and then just disappear.

>>1270978
>A fellow student of alchemy.
>A loyal subject to the crown.

"And I hope to be counted as a .. close friend. But that is up to her."

>>1270978
>A fellow student of alchemy
>A loyal subject to the crown

Also this >>1270992

>>1270978
>>A fellow student of alchemy.
>>A loyal subject to the crown.

>>1271008
Her dad wants her to branch out, so this is the possability of a new companion

>>1271114
we've never talked to her actual father, before now. New companion would be cool, but we have responsibilities.

>>1271247
You missed the part where we read his journal like 4 posts ago

>>1271512
He does have a point though. Its most likely been 5 months since Silvera had seen his daughter. He may want her to stay close to him for protection.

That being said, we did just brutalate a fucking Homunculus without injury at a reasonably low skill level. Maybe he wouldn't object to her travelling with us? New potions teacher for Ellana, and new helper for brewmastering.

>>1270978
>>I have done nothing ungentlemanly with your daughter, the esteemed researchers of the Alchemist's Guild do play their part at being just as protective as you.

>>1271537
That's terrible. It implies that if they weren't as protective, we would've done ungentlemanly things. Does the concept of 'a gentleman' even really exist in this world?

>>1271550
I mean we lied to her, and seduced our way in here you could argue that we were in fact very ungentlemanly

>>1271550
fair enough

>>1270978
>>A fellow student of alchemy.
>>A loyal subject to the crown.

>>1271550
Not "gentleman" as much as chivalry. Because knights and everything.

>>1271620
We getting a feat or ability for that double 100?

>>1271727
Oh, definitely. I need to figure out what to offer so that it fits well with the bullshit that you just pulled off.

>>1271727
At the rate we're annilating any related to blood magic I think it's should be related to that.

You know since the Vascieli hideout is destroyed and the blood mage is pretending to be the leader of the alchemist guild wouldn't this be a good time to for the guild to conveniently receive some new members?

>>1271786
This is a very good point. Blood magic has become our bitch, somehow, even though its supposed to be powerful as hell.

>>1271901
Blame insane rolls. And Kizar from the first thread was a lightweight compared to the heavy-hitters of the forbidden arts. Rest assured that the blood mages deserve the feared reputation they get.

>>1271785
Bonus against Large Opponents?, Better dodging?

>>1271785
Godlike powers. Duh.

>>1272005
I can blame insane rolls, but the fact remains that we got 2 insane rolls during blood magic fights. One of those fights got 2 100s.

I think its safe to say Marcus is a fuckin beast against those who dabble in the dark arts, which is weird considering the Dance could function as one of those.

>>1272224
Dance of bloodletting?

>>1272229
Nah just a forbidden art considering it was made by Wraiths. Whenever Wraiths are in fantasy in any way, you usually know shits getting fucked.

>>1272249
I must've missed something. I thought The Dance was just Marcus' weird way of talking about combat. Is it some sort of super-secret forbidden fighting style that was made by whatever wraiths are in this setting?

>>1272336
It's probably a martial philosophy up until the part where you literally phase into another dimension(see king's bodyguard)

>>1272336
Essentially, yes. There was someone else in a perspective swap that referenced the same "Dance", so I doubt it's Marcus being poetic.

>>1272345
Except he probably called it The Dance because Lucien did (I think) and Lucien learned it from an organisation, and it's implied the King's Bodyguard is from the same organisation I think. So it could still just be his way of talking about it.

>>1272341
That sounds likely, I suppose. Forgot about the weird thing that bodyguard had.

>>1272229
>>1272249
>>1272336
>>1272341
The term "Wraith" first appeared in Thread 6 as "Wraith's Dance" when Morganna sparred against Emeron, used to describe the entirety of the styles that she knows how to employ: Sparrow, Bear, Wolf, Revenant. It is a martial style of combat that she knows how to use. If we're lightly touching upon meta-knowledge, then it isn't too much of a spoiler to say that the two of them use a similar style of combat. Marcus refers to it as "The Dance" because that's what Lucien told him.

As for how her father can literally hide in the shadow of the Emperor, that's spoiler territory.

Anywho, I think that I should take some time to answer a few questions about lore in light of recent events. I will answer questions to the best of my ability without spoilers and give you the information as Marcus or any other citizen of the continent would know it.

>>1272367
I've forgotten all about who Morganna is and that her dad was the King's bodyguard. I have excellent memory.

>>1272367
Wait. FATHER?

>>1272401
>“If you have not seen him, then he is succeeding. Ruvel and his child are masters at hiding in the shadows, unseen and unheard. Ellana’s could learn from their example. Work assured that Ruvel is listening, and has no doubt taken your advice under…consideration. He will keep my husband safe.”
>Queen-Empress Melianna Crowmond, Thread 9.5

>>1272409
Sure, they might hide better than us, but do they have our mad dancing skills?

>>1272409
So has Ruvel noticed the similarities? Also how in/famous was Lucien?

>>1272472
Ruvel spends every waking hour in the presence of the Emperor's shadow. As of this moment, Marcus knows that someone is guarding the Emperor, but not to his identity. The man in question only has basic knowledge of Marcus' name and general talent with a weapon because of "skeletons in the closet" in regards to who the Crownguard were before induction to the royal family. He trusts Palme's judgement.

As for Lucien...he's taken contracts across the continent long before Marcus was born. The peak of his career came when he publicly assassinated an Archbishop of the Church of Light. He is less known for more discreet incidents such as poisonings or accidents of minor nobles, wealthy merchants, etc. The name his contacts referred him to was "Wraith".

>>1272514
how rare is the spark?

>>1272565
If the current population of Blasted Kaithe is about 24.7 million, then the ratio of people with the Spark to people without it are about one to one thousand. There are approximately 24,700 mages within the total population. This number factors in all users: hedge (untrained) wizards, high sorcerers of the Ivory Tower, necromancers, blood mages, etc.

>>1272579
what are the mage percentages?

>>1272610
Hedge wizards and high sorcerers constitute an overwhelmingly large majority of the magic population, easily 80%. Blood mages are generally 15% with Necromancers at about 5%.

Another thing that I would like to mention is that humans are not the only beings capable of wielding a Spark. Most notable are the dragons, recorded to have casted their own magic. Magic resistance and even an affinity for spells are why Blutlings (monsters created from blood magic) are so feared.

>>1272675
do normal humans have magic resistance?

>>1272728
Vanilla humans? Not unless they're wearing some enchanted fetish or item. Magic resistance generally appears in those with the Spark, human or otherwise.

>>1272745
what would wraiths be?

>>1272757
Yes, to a certain extent. Phantom specters are loosely considered to be magical creatures only because they do not exist in the natural world. However, not enough data has been collected to perform a conclusive study, even as to whether or not these creatures exist as campfire stories or the flights and fancies of madmen.

>>1272808
So I have an idea, just give us another + on combat. double 100s kinda deserves it

>>1272808
also how many stories are there of wraiths?

>>1272874
If that's too general it could always be a + to fleshy abominations

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>>1274774
Or just a + to things bigger than us.

>>1274785
Some sort of speed bonus would be good too since we did win due to being really fast.

>>1272970
Define "story". Because ghost stories are a dime a dozen, and almost every culture/religion/region/etc. will have their own stories to share. Whether they have any factual weight to them is something else entirely. You'll have to do some extra research for any illumination on that.

>>1272874
>>1274774
>>1274785
>>1274790
I'm either thinking of a feat that gives a bonus to speed, or maybe one that grants bonuses against creatures affiliated with Blood Magic. Then again, I've been wanting to revamp the stat system because I feel that three are lacking. However, that's the nuclear option that I've no interest in touching soon.

I need to brainstorm some more.

>>1274883
What stories share a common element?

>>1274912
Other than the fact that all of them involve the dearly departed? Not much. But that's territory Marcus needs to research if you want to get information beyond that.

Anywho, I figured out what to reward you guys with.

>Blutmörder: +10 to Combat Rolls made against Blutlings and Blood Mages.
>Fleetfooted: If a Natural One would be among any roll related to acrobatic feats both in and out of combat, immediately disregard it.

Writing...

>>1275018
>>Fleetfooted: If a Natural One would be among any roll related to acrobatic feats both in and out of combat, immediately disregard it.

>>1275025
Oh, my bad. I should've clarified that you get both of them.

>>1275018
both or choose one?

>>1275028
noice

>>1275018
Sweet.

>>1275018
ded

>>1275341
Kas doesn't run quests. He writes books with occasional input.

>>1275018
This is a minor thing, but I'd really prefer 'Blutlinge' over 'Blutlings', since it sounds much better in German. 'Blutlings' just feels like a weird mishmash of languages.

>>1275922
Alright, that sounds fair enough. And just for future reference, the Aderaveth Empire is a mix of medieval England and Holy Roman Empire. So there's both Germanic and English names along with terminology that's present in the narrative.

>>1270992
>>1271004
>>1271008
>>1271017
>>1271037
>>1271044
“A fellow student of the alchemical arts.” Your response comes out muffled, teeth clenched as they hold onto your lockpicks. This isn’t the first time you’ve had to work a lock in horrible light, but shackles are a different kind of beast. The small diamond won’t get this thing open. Your tongue maneuvers the small ball in place to trade tools before you get back to work. “And a loyal subject to the crown.”

“Crown?” Behind the bandages, you can see the man’s brow furrow, creasing in deep thought. “What do you mean by that? Who are you?"

“I’ll answer all your questions and more once we’ve gotten you out of these chains. There’s a time and place for everything, but I swear I’ve done nothing untoward with Claudia.”

If Silvera heard the hesitation in your words, he made no sign of it. He grunts in affirmation before lapsing back into silence, leaving you to work at the locks in relative peace. It does not take too long. The tumblers disengage with an audible click, releasing his arms from the chains that bound him.

“Father!” As the Grand Alchemist sags, a set of hands aid you in halting his fall. Claudia grips her father’s arm tight as she helps you settle the man against a corner. Silvera’s breath hitches, wincing with every movement. The scabs along his wrist have broken, revealing raw flesh underneath in the shape of the shackles.

But it does not stop him from extending trembling hands in the direction of his daughter’s voice. At first, they brush at the strands of her hair, trailing down her temple before settling on the sides of her face. Calloused hands gently probe and glide, tracing over brow, nose and cheek with great deliberation.

“Claudia…” Silvera whispers. His voice begins to tremble just as much as his ravaged body. “My child…you’re safe…”

The girl’s fragile composure only lasts for another second before it completely shatters. Claudia’s stammering turns into a cry as she flings her arms around her father’s body. Even as she sobs bitterly into his shoulder, Silvera’s hand reaches out to gently stroke the back of her head, murmuring past bloody tears. The two of them are inconsolable, completely lost in their own world.

You quietly withdraw, leaving them to have their reunion. Even if you did help facilitate it, this moment belongs to them and them alone. The steps you take lead you towards the homunculus, now little more than fetid meat. But even among the foul stench and dissolving flesh, it is impossible for you to ignore Claudia and Silvera.

The sorrow of finding a loved one so brutally hurt.

The joy between father and child as they finally reunite...

(cont.)

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>>1277716
>The sorrow of finding a loved one so brutally hurt.
Got that in spades Marcus.

The joy between father and child as they finally reunite...
Hah!

>>1277716
…
The metal workings of your gauntlets creak as your fist tightens. You are truly happy that the two of them have come back together…yet you cannot help but feel something else. It is wrong for you to feel this way, reprehensible even. Yet you cannot deny that on some base aspect of yourself that jealousy is not an emotion you feel at their reunion.

“Envy’s no good, Marcus…because all it does is count someone else’s blessings instead of your own. Just this once, I’ll quote one of those dog-eared bastards of the light because this time, they’re right. Now, come on. The others are waiting for us back in Black Alley. You know how Serena worries when we’re late from a raid.”

…gods, you’re a real piece of work. It’s been almost an entire decade since you put a knife between Lucien’s ribs. Yet here you are, still bitter about the “love” your father had given you, still craving some semblance of paternal affection that you never found in your broken childhood.

It is not a desire to stop brooding over melancholic thoughts that stops you, but the sight of an impossibility. Even as it lays severed from the spine and nearly half-dissolved in oil of vitriol, the skull of the homunculus continues to behave as if it were alive. Eyes the color of freshly spilt blood twitch in their sockets, and fibrous tendrils of neck muscle flail uselessly at nothing.

In an instant, Serena’s blade is in your hands, poised and ready. How is this monster still alive? Abomination it may be, blutlinge are still creatures that require just as much functions as any other human or beast need to survive: a functioning body, oxygen, and an intact skull. It is not an undead, brought to life by fell necromancy, but a creation of weaving flesh and dark magic together in a union that violates the natural order of things.

The sound of drawn steel interrupts the two alchemists. Claudia screams as the sound of tearing flesh echoes throughout the room, a wet and gruesome sound as the creatures jaw strains…and pulls. Within a second, a ragged, bleeding hole of a mouth has appeared where there was none before. Jowls quiver and spew pungent fluids on the stone as the skull trembles from what is, unmistakably…laughter.

It is a repulsive sound, a grotesque parody of human amusement, a heaving, wet noise that merely repeats itself without end. Then, it abruptly stops, and those soulless eyes turn to face you.

(cont.)

>>1277760
>"A shadow stirred to action."
>Destroy the creature’s skull.

“...sO yOu ArE tHe One wHO dEsTRoYEd mY lItTlE pUPpEt…” The words that come from the homunculus’ mouth do not match the movement of its jaw. The voice is legion, a multitude of speakers of indistinguishable from age and gender, nationality and creed. “i WoULd aLmOSt bE iMpREsSSeD iF I wERe nOt sO aNGry…wHo ArE yOU, bOy, tO So eAsIlY fElL a bLuTLinGe…?”

The pit in your stomach goes cold as your mind races through all the lessons in magic you shared with your lover. Astral possession? No, this is something else, unrelated to the arts lost in the prior age. A homunculus, solider it may have been in Aedric’s army…is still a familiar, sharing a magical bond between itself and its creator.

This must be the blood mage. The one that created the monster and stole Silvera’s eyes and face. How powerful must this man be, if he is able to somehow do this with a bond attached to a dying creature? You've never heard of such a feat, even in the old legends or Serena's lessons.

>Destroy the creature’s skull.
>Give the voice your name.
>Refuse to answer the mage.
>Custom option.

>>1277760
I want to use amadeo, I really, really do.
>Someone who's killed a blood mage before

>>1277762
>>Destroy the creature’s skull.

>>1277762
>Destroy the creature’s skull.
Thanks for running Kas. Hopefully this'll take my mind off of life for awhile.

>>1277774
Kas runs Akun. I just run BRQ and TF666. :-)

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>>1277777
Kas. Kaz. Miller. Whatever I'm tired and life is shit.

>>1277780
there's actually someone who uses Miller....

>>1277762
>Destroy the creature’s skull.

>>1277761
>>1277763
>>1277772
>>1277774
>>1277799

“A shadow stirred to action…” You raise an armored boot, poised perfectly against the near eggshell-thin its cranium has become. “And someone who has killed a blood mage before.”

The voice laughs. “iF yOu HAvE kIlLeD oNe oF Us bEFoRe, tHeN tHEy WeRe a PooR eXaMPlE oF oUr kInD-”[/b]

Its words are cut off by the sound of your boot coming down upon its head. The crimson eyes swell before they burst like overripe tomatoes, and the voice becomes incomprehensible among the slurry. The metal heel grinds as hard as it can, turning flesh, bone and blood into a singular, rancid mix. Then, you raise your foot once more and bring it down…and down…until you are absolutely sure that the homunculus is truly, and utterly, dead.

>You have gained a Quality.
>The Powers that Be: Blood’s Attention
>An ancient force knows you; if it even exists.

The three of you are not given a moment’s respite. In the distance, you can hear the sound of a door below you shattering underneath the tremendous force of an explosion. And even before the noise ceases to reverberate in your ears, you can still make out distinct cries and shouts that grow ever closer with every passing moment.

“The others!” Claudia’s hand comes to her mouth. “They must have heard the noise we made in the battle with the homunculus! Marcus, I don’t think…I don't...”

>Escape out the window and return tomorrow.
>Stay and reveal the truth of who you are.
>Custom option.

>>1277800
>take a sample from the blutlinge as evidence
>Escape out the window and return tomorrow.

>>1277800

>>1277805
Is there any way the blood mages could trace that? I'm almost worried we've got to clean the boots or some such.

>>1277800
>take a sample from the blutlinge as evidence
>Escape out the window and return tomorrow.

This is a good plan so lets do it, we can just come back later after they explain shit

>>1277809
well we need to confirm how to utterly erase these traces if they exist, anyway.

>>1277800
>Escape out the window and return tomorrow.

>>1277815
Right should we ask the our friends here about it tomorrow? I'm worried about running off with a bit of blood mage familiar.

(I can't remember if where anywhere near our charge but I'd sure as hell hope not. I don't want to give the bastard a read on her as it were.)

>>1277821
.....good point. Still, the problem is if something happens to the corpse while we're gone.

Is there some place we can meet Palme discreetly before burning the sample?

>>1277809
Once the link's been severed? No, there's really no way to trace it unless the mage in question gets a fresh sample. You're safe from tracking. And when Silverow gets back, you could always ask him if you've got some sort of magical trace on you.

>>1277823
Corpse isn't going anywhere. Claudia needs it to prove that her father had been kidnapped and usurped by a blood mage. And closest way of getting into contact with Palme is sending a messenger bird.

>>1277800
>take a sample from the blutlinge as evidence
>Escape out the window and return tomorrow.

>>1277823
>>1277826
Alright good enough for me.

>>1277826
I meant if the blood mage would sneak in and decompose the corpse or something before the guild can analyze it, but okay.

>>1277834
His/Her cover's been blown. The alchemists aren't stupid. Now that they know that someone had ripped the face off of their leader and impersonated him like a three-act comedy, they'll be on high alert, and coming back would be suicide. A cover and facade is only useful as long as it isn't noticed.

Writing...

>>1277805
>>1277813
>>1277817
>>1277829
You bend down, pulling out a flask from your satchel. It is with the utmost care that you take a sample of the creature’s brain, flesh and blood, sealed away tight in one of your alchemy phials. You are no mage. But Raleigh is one, and Palme is bound to have the ear of the Court Thaumaturge. They will have better means of using this than you will.

“Now is the time for me to take my exit.” There is no time to lose. You sprint out of the secret chamber, as fast as you can towards Silvera’s private study. You don’t even make it past the end of the corridor before you hear footsteps coming after you.

“M-Marcus, wait!” Claudia manages to catch you just as you release the lock keeping the window close. The room grows cold almost immediately, filling with the chill winds of winter. You look down, grimacing at the drop between the tower and the cold waters of the Anosar. This is going to be very close.

“I’ll come back back tomorrow, once everyone’s emotions have cooled,” You promise as you step onto the windowsill. “I need to get this sample to the Crownguard as fast as possible. The situation surrounding the circumstances of the Princess’ assassination attempt have become more dire than we initially thought.”

“B-but what am I to do while you’re gone?!” She’s not as much upset as much as she is angry. “How am I to explain the presence of my father, that…that disgusting creature and its corpse to the Guild without you here?”

“The answer is simple enough: tell them that a Crownguard ordered you to comply with a search. If I stay, they’ll know who I am, and my cover as Amadeo will be ruined. I already risked a great deal by revealing my identity to you, but I cannot do any more than what is absolutely necessary.

“Besides,” You add, tipping her a wink as you brace for the jump. “You’re the daughter of the Grand Alchemist. It’s a fact that behind that pretty face of yours is a smart and cunning mind. You’d have to deliberately try to give me away.”

The last thing you see before you take the long plunge is Claudia’s face, equal parts indignant, angry and very flustered. “MARCUS!!!”

>Much later
>The Fortress of Alnerwich

You accept the mug from Urath with a grateful nod, withholding a sneeze as you sip at its contents. The steaming water is a balm against the chill. And the noise to come out of your throat upon a single swallow is low enough to make Adrianna blush.

“Thank you…” You mutter, shivering under the blanket.

Ellana frowns, settling down beside you with an inquisitive look about her. “Marcus, what happened to you?”

You try to still your teeth long enough to give your charge a little grin. “Oh, nothing milady needs to worry about…”

>“I simply slipped on the ice and fell into the river.”
>“I tried to take a swim like the Reachlanders do come winter.”
>“It was an alchemical experiment gone horrifically wrong.”

>>1277880
>“It was an alchemical experiment gone horrifically wrong.”

>>1277880
>>“I simply slipped on the ice and fell into the river.”

>>1277880
>>“It was an alchemical experiment gone horrifically wrong.”
>".....so I jumped into the river to stop the fire."

>>1277880
>“It was an alchemical experiment gone horrifically wrong.”

>>1277883
>>1277885
>>1277889
>>1277905
“It was simply an alchemical experiment that had gone horrifically wrong…” You pause to take another sip of the hot water. “…so I jumped into the river to stop the fire.”

Urath raises a knowing eyebrow. He had been the one to greet you at the gate, and the only one in the room who knows about what you brought home from the guild. The princesses, for that matter, don’t look nearly as convinced, but they seem to buy it at face value. The prince, on the other hand…

“That was far from smart considering how cold it is,” Allanus points out, leafing through one of his spellbooks. “I would think that in this cold weather, you’d do whatever it takes to stay warm.”

“Not if it means cooking me alive,” You retort dryly. “But given the choice between burning to death or freezing to death…"

"Burn in hell, Joran Asmodai."

"I choose neither.”

>You sent a raven to Karthmire, notifying Prince Emeron and Lord Commander Palme of your encounter with the homunculus.

>It is now the Evening.
>What do you wish to do?

>Decipher more of the Vascieli codex.
>Educate Princess Ellana on botany.
>Spy on Lady Sofia Rudnick for Lady Klara.
>Custom option.

Gonna hit the sack now. Tired as hell.

>>1277924
>Spy on Lady Sofia Rudnick for Lady Klara.

>>1277924
>Spy on Lady Sofia Rudnick for Lady Klara.
May as well doublecheck if the ruler is somehow being manipulated as well.

>>1277924
>Spy on Lady Sofia Rudnick for Lady Klara.

I spy with my little eye... A CHEATING WHORE

>>1277924
>>Spy on Lady Sofia Rudnick for Lady Klara.

>>1277924
>Spy on Lady Sofia Rudnick for Lady Klara.

>>1277924
>>Spy on Lady Sofia Rudnick for Lady Klara.
Let's get this over with, and now that we know there's a blood mage active, we should keep an eye out for more face stealing.

>>1277924
>Spy on Lady Sofia Rudnick for Lady Klara.

Now that I think of it Widow's Fang should be effective against creature created through blood magic.

>>1281503
The Widow's Tears is essentially a naturally-produced toxin ten times more powerful than a brown recluse spider. Necrosis and cellular destruction is almost instantaneous upon coming into contact with exposed, raw flesh or ingestion. And that's just its raw and unrefined form.

File: Berthold Lawcomb.jpg (104 KB, 503x800)

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>Meanwhile...
>Karthmire Keep, Karthmire
>Emeron Crowmond

He never felt comfortable upon the Bladebound Throne.

The sentiment stayed with Emeron ever since his father bade him sit upon its cold surface at the tender age of five. One day, this throne will be yours, he said, and all of the responsibilities that come with its inheritance. A duty to your family, a duty to the realm, to rule over the greatest empire forged by man.

That man had been slain, killed by his best friend in brother in all but blood. Nine generations have passed ever since your ancestor Maxvell Crowmond, the Dread Crow of Gnuryll, doomed his line to the curse of the imperial throne by rising up against the Crimson Tyrant.

Yet it had to have been done. He had been the only one among dozens of squabbling lords to have the right to rule, among the adoration and respect of the entire continent. It would take more than just strength of arms to keep the Empire from falling apart in the wake of the rebellion.

However, those years have long since passed. No longer do any of the territories harbor thoughts of secession. The Aderaveth Empire is more than capable of rallying troops to march against a tangible host of enemies from without and within. But even in the absence of petty bandits or those rebel whoresons, it is the intangible enemy that is the most dangerous of all opponents.

There are several things in life that vexed Emeron to no end. First among them were the blasted Vascieli, and all other dangers that his family faced on a near-daily basis. Next was his father’s illness, how it chains him to a bed and him to a throne that is not his. It is far from a comfortable seat, reminds him of the inevitable, and keeps him from things you would otherwise be doing.

“…and remind me of how many steins of dye have leaked into the Brakwater?”

But there are some days when the sheer idiocy of the smallfolk rank higher than familial duty and political intrigue.

“Nearly seven steins, your highness,” Ansell quietly murmured, turning through the folios of some collected report. “Enough to dye several yards of fine Jade silk-”

“And more than enough to cause permanent damage to the bay,” Bertold snapped. Lord Lawcomb was far from an imposing figure, almost an entire head shorter than the assembled members of the imperial court. But what he lacked in height, he more than made up for in a cunning mind and a tongue sharper than steel. “Gods alone know what goes into that foul slurry, but we can see the effects well enough without knowing.”

Even from high above the dais, Emeron could see the assembled men flinch at the Master Treasurer’s words. Meister Brecht of the Dyer's Guild, jaundiced from years of exposure to chemical fumes, cut a rather pathetic sight, trembling in the chains binding his arms together. Unlike his conspirator, the sullen-faced Rolf Wirz remained as miserable as he had first appeared when the city guard brought them to the Keep.

(cont.)

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The prince shifted in his seat, eyes flickering to Orici. The Lord Commander merely gazed upon the offenders as if they were little better than bugs in his soup. No matter what he did, he could not catch his friend’s eye. It seemed that there would be no counsel from him today.

Damn Uncle Alistair. Damn him to hell and back for choosing the winter months as his vacation away from court. Damn von Roie for making him play Justicar for this absolute mess of things.

An epidemic had broken out no more than a week ago, sending hundreds to hospitals and laying dozens low into the cold winter soil. No, that was not right. They had been denied even a basic burial, instead piled and burned like tinder upon a campfire. Panic had been on the tongues of the smallfolk, who feared the worst and became hysterical to a fault. Yet in the end, and after no small amount of effort on several fronts, the cause of the “plague” had been identified.

A barge captain transporting goods for the dyer’s guild had been drunk at the helm, running his vessel against a rockier branch of the Anosar in the middle of the night. By the time the man had become sober, the damage had already been done. From the waters upstream: dead or tainted fish and river life, contaminated well water…Bertold predicted a severe impact upon the Brakwater’s fishing trade come spring, one of Karthmire's few sources of export.

Magic could have easily solved this within a few days, with no one other than the irresponsible party getting the end of the stick. But instead, the Dyer’s Guild had chosen to retain their silence and pretend as if the incident had never happened. Why? Out of fear for appearing incompetent and unworthy to hold a guild signatory.

The High Thaumaturge’s appraisal had been severe. In the time that had long passed, the contamination would have spread too thin for even the best sorcerer to contain and extract. A magical filter would have to be created, an expense that would severely cripple the treasury. Taxes would have to be raised, projects placed on hold…nothing short of a complete and utter fiscal disaster.

Brecht croaked. “Your highness, if I could explain….”

“There are six men, nine women and fourteen children that are dead because of your blunder. And I don’t care,” Emeron snapped as Brecht tried to protest, “Who the fault lay with on the night of the accident. As far as I’m concerned, you’re little better than Wirz for failing to report that your chemicals have tainted the reservoir and the city’s wells. I’m not the one you need to explain your reasoning to. By all means, explain it to the assembled court. The families of your victims are in attendance as well.”

He was angry, aching after long hours sitting on the throne and close to killing someone after listening to petitions, issuing judgement and being the Emperor for the day. This was the final straw.

(cont.)

File: Prince Emeron Crowmond.png (1.68 MB, 1260x1887)

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Emeron stood, eyes blazing as he gazed down upon the offending parties. “Lord Justicar von Roie has returned to his estate at Montgomer to rest for the winter. However, I am just as capable of passing down the Emperor’s Justice in his absence.”

He paused, taking a moment to recall the words his uncle would say when dispensing with his duties. Then, he declared:

“Meister Brecht of Karthmire. Missen Rolf Weiz of Longwarder. In the name of Emperor Lionel Crowmond, I, Crown Prince Emeron Crowmond find you guilty of your crimes against the people of Aderaveth, by actions and inactions that have lead to the harm and deaths of uncountable numbers. As for your sentence…”

>Execute them. [“The headsman’s axe waits…”]
>Flog and fine them. [“Pray your purse runs deep.”]
>Imprison them. [“Twenty years in the Pits.”]
>Custom option.

>>1285975
>Flog and fine them. [“Pray your purse runs deep.”]

Killing them won't bring back the dead, but their money can go a ways to fixing this mess.

>>1285975
>Flog and fine them. [“Pray your purse runs deep.”]

Then
>Imprison them[5 years in the pits]

Give the money to the families of the people who died, then, then instill tactics for water purification while the crisis is in place. The Alchemist Guild can help with finding ways to purify the water.

>>1285975
>>Flog and fine them. [“Pray your purse runs deep.”]
This is, among other crimes, manslaughter, but it isn't murder, and so isn't worth his life. Make the fine heavy, and put the money into fixing this mess if we can.

>>1286177
> then instill tactics for water purification while the crisis is in place
> A magical filter would have to be created, an expense that would severely cripple the treasury. Taxes would have to be raised, projects placed on hold…nothing short of a complete and utter fiscal disaster.
Not a bad idea, but these things cost money.

>>1286249
... I had the idea of simply having them look into it. If the Alchemist Guild was even worth a third of their gold they would have already found the way to remove water and various other resources from liquids. It is a major factor in any form of chemical solution crafting.

Then again, if the guild is shit enough to not have the ability to clean water, then forget the purification. Its not worth the money to create a manhunt for filtration.

>>1286249
>>1286177
We could offer a reward, in the form of the money we fine from him, to anyone who can come up with a cheap solve to this problem like a special material which purifies the dye from the water.

>>1285975
>>1286177
This

File: Burnt Kaithe.jpg (4.17 MB, 3300x2400)

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>>1286141
>>1286249
>>1286433
>>1286436
>>1286448
“You will be flogged in the market square, thirty lashes a week for every dead subject of the Crown. In addition, I am levying a fine to pay for the commission of a magical filter. The two of you and the Dyer’s Guild will be required to pay fifty thousand aurums-”

The room erupted into chaos. Brecht went into a hysterical fit at the same time Lawcomb stared aghast at the prince. As Emeron viewed the ensuing pandemonium, he could not blame the reaction. Fifty thousand aurums was a fortune, easily taking up a quarter, third or even half of a noble’s coffers. While nowhere near the price of building an estate, a man could do many things with that much money. One could finance a band of mercenaries, purchase dozens of ackars’ worth of farming land...cover a small portion of the cost for a magical undertaking.

Those bastards at the Viridian Atoll were notorious skinflints, even for sorcerers. A Hinterlends banker had more mercy than those magic-addled twits, locked away in their Ivory Tower.

“Shut up!” Emeron shouted, bringing his fist down upon the throne. The metallic crash of his gauntlets against the metal arm of Aedric’s seat echoed throughout the great hall, cowing the assembly into silence. “Let me finish before all of you lose your heads. The fine is to be paid in installments so as not to immediately bankrupt the Dyer’s Guild. And don’t worry: the two of you will be pulling your own weight in covering the cost.”

The ensuing silence was sharp enough to cut through the air. “I also sentence you to five years of hard labor in the Pits. Nothing is accomplished from locking you in a cage and leaving you to rot. Oh, and Brecht?”

The meister’s face was stained with tears and snot as he descended from the dais. He took one look at the man, scowling as he debased himself. That would not do. The guards hauled him to his feet, and there was no waste in movement when Emeron tore the badge from his tunic. “I find you no longer worthy of being a guild meister. Your guild signatory has been revoked, and is pending dispensation to more capable hands.”

His cloak whispered in the air as he spun around, turning his back on the prisoners. “Get them out of my sight. I want them in the Pits tomorrow and breaking stone before noon.”

They had to drag Brecht out of the room, who responded feebly to their ministrations. Oddly enough, Weiz looked relieved, content even with his sentence as the guards escorted him from the hall. How strange.

(cont.)

>>1286433
No harm in the asking, but we couldn't really ask them to work for free. I'm gathering that money is (or will be) tight, thus my hesitation. But, loss of major water sources may cost more in the long run anyway.

I bet they can clean small amounts of water (a few bottles at a time or so), but haven't had reason to try to scale those methods up for cleaning a whole bay.

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>>1286479
The assembled lords, ladies and smallfolk were soon to disperse as well. Some stayed behind, the families of those who perished. They clasped his hands and touched the hems of his cloak, saying their thanks past kerchiefs stained with tears. Emeron’s anger faded, running like butter before a hearth, and returned their gestures with reassuring words and bodily clasps.

Within minutes, the sole occupants of the room were the attending members of the Imperial Council: Master Treasurer Lawcomb, Grand Magister Ansell, and Lord Commander Palme. The rest had cited either leaves of absence or a prior engagement. At the barest of minimums, the royal court could function with at least two members.

Emeron avoided the throne, collapsing against a nearby pillar. He closed his eyes, relaxing as his muscles sighed in relief from the stiff and merciless chair, opening them to find the others circling around him.

“Fifty thousand aurums…” Lawcomb muttered, scrawling something in his little book. “Indeed, the services of the Atoll do not come so cheap, your highness.”
He scowled. “Do you have another suggestion, then? Because the last time I checked, it was your job to balance the books and budget while my father spent the money.”

The Master Treasurer showed no signs of annoyance at the bite in his words. “The Alchemists’ Guild will be cheaper should we hire them. However, given the wide-spread nature of the epidemic, I doubt that they will be too effective in dealing with the threat.”

It could have been worse, he mused. This colossal mess could have happened in the peak of summer, when the sun would bring the full brunt of its wrath upon the city. Lines for public wells would stretch on for blocks at a time.

“Do we have a full accounting as to which wells are untainted?” Emeron asked.

“A handful at the best,” Palme answered, jerking a finger towards Ansell. “I sent men to collect samples from all public wells across the entire city. Out of the ten he’s had the time to study, only two of them are devoid of the chemical.”
Two out of ten. And that was out of nearly eight dozen public wells that ran throughout the city. Gods help them all…

“We’ve almost emptied out what we made from last year,” Lawcomb said, “Coming perilously close to spending the Crowmond fortune. I don’t need to tell you how disastrous it would be for the coffers to be empty. The prior years’ returns from the realm and all our holdings barely managed to come above the margin.”

Gods, he wanted to fight someone. Of all the princely duties, the subject of governance and women were fields he was not so keen on. “Then what do you propose we do?”

Ansell frowned. “We have two immediate options. The more obvious one is to increase taxes. The people may or may not be sympathetic to our reasoning. After all, it is for their sake, not ours. The castle wells are still pure.”

Finally, a silver lining.

(cont.)

“Alternatively, we could reduce the standing royal army-”

What? Emeron stared at Lawcomb with annoyance. Gods, the man would not just let this point go. “You cannot be serious. I thought we already put this point to rest-”

“That was before those dunderheads contaminated the available water supply,” the treasurer returned. He paused, taking a moment to compose his words before continuing, “Your highness, as well-meaning the gesture is, it is very expensive to maintain an army when there are no threats-”

“No threats?” He stood up, gesturing to the hallway that lead away from the great hall even as he got too close towards the treasurer’s face. The temper that had cooled off moments ago was stirring to life once more. “No less than a month ago, someone tried to make an attempt on my sisters’ life. And before that, we’d set off to destroy a band of brigands preying upon the outreaches of my grandfather’s lands. Lord Pullman sends reports of Vascieli occupying vital bridges and garrisons-”

A weight came upon his shoulder, squeezing as best as it could past the metal shoulder-brace. Palme did not need to speak. His eyes conveyed more than words could ever do.

“…the point that I’m trying to make,” Emeron continued, without the heated vitriol, “Is that we are always at danger, now more than ever before. I pay for the Silver Knights out of my own coffers, you know. But I need an army to supplement them. Archers, pikemen, men-at-arms…”

Lawcomb’s face did not even break a single sweat or betray any emotion beyond stoic professionalism. “All I am saying is that we trim away the excess elements, the fat if you will permit a comparison. There’s no need to have so large of a host. Even should we reduce the army by a small percentage, eight thousand men are still more than a match for the rebels.”

Silence reigned while he mused on those words. “…true enough. But there are those who won’t like it. Do you know how rowdy those men can get? Especially when they’re no longer in the order of the rank-and-file? I won’t have them terrorizing the smallfolk-”

“And they won’t,” Palme interrupted. “I’ve personally overseen the training of the city guard. They’ll be more than prepared to deal with a few boys come home from war.”

...it took twenty hangings and ten castrations before the army understood that you would not tolerate any misconduct against the smallfolk. Even to those underneath the banner of their enemies. If that was not going to convince them in the capital, then nothing would.

Ansell hummed. “Aternatively, we could take a loan out from one of our allies. However, that is an option that we’d rather not do for…reasons.”

Asking a lesser state to borrow money? Aderaveth would never live that indignity down, even though it would save…actually a lot of money.

Damnation...

>Increase the taxes.
>Reduce the standing army.
>Take a loan from an ally.
>Custom option.

>>1286670
>>Reduce the standing army.

>>1286670
>Reduce the standing army.

Alternatively, is there a need for mercs anywhere? We could always form a merc company with the men that we lay off from our army.

>>1286680
That is a possible option to consider once we rake in all the votes. There's almost always bound to be some sort of conflict on Kaithe at any given moment.

>>1286670
>>Increase the taxes.
> After all, it is for their sake, not ours. The castle wells are still pure.”
If it does cause unrest, we could make a proclamation that it is a temporary increase, perhaps.

>>1286670
>Increase the taxes.
Only slightly. Even a 1% increase is a lot collectively.
>Reduce the standing army.
I don't like it one bit but it seems necessary.
>Other
Are there any worthwhile investment that can be made in the realm? Any improvements to the economy will also be expressed in our revenue via taxes and may offset the damage done by the guild.

>>1286718
>Are there any worthwhile investment that can be made in the realm?
As mentioned above, you could loan out part of the royal army as a mercenary company. That's a viable option. What Emeron lacks in interest for administration, he more than makes up for in keeping up to date in wartime struggles. He knows of all the current hotspots where there's a need for soldiers.

Similarly, here's a few options/quests Emeron could take up:
>An Ingulan Conundrum
There are unconfirmed rumors of silver and gold located in the Whrelzwth. Problem is, the vein is said to run directly underneath an Ingulan burial vault. Even though the Moonlight Plains are a part of the Empire, the Ingulans will be hard-pressed in negotiations for non-Ingulans to stomp around their sacred territories.

>Rebuilding the Roads
Several of the paved roads made in Aedric's time have fallen into disrepair over the centuries. Repairing them would be a long-term investment, but would have significant trade and economic payout in the long haul. Facilitating trade and communication with the north and south would see an economic boom when goods and currency are being moved across the territory. Not to mention neighboring countries that used to be a part of the Empire before they seceded.

>Outsourced Exploration
Opran has recently seen ships bearing exotic items and dark-skinned converts to the faith of light. Perhaps they have come across distant lands further to the south-west of the continent. Sending a fleet to explore is risky, but high-rewarding if successful should they find this supposed "Belt of Dreams" that Opranian sailors speak of.

>Any improvements to the economy will also be expressed in our revenue via taxes and may offset the damage done by the guild?

You could impose a stricter penalty on the guild if push comes to shove. One they'll be paying off for several years. Alternatively, you could put pressure on the Tower of High sorcery, blockade the Atoll or deny them key items/ingredients unless they negotiate down (a last-ditch option considering how powerful sorcerers are).

>>1286670
>Increase the taxes.
Only a smidge.
>Reduce the standing army.
this is the main thing

....although it would be good to hire the men we're about to fire to help with the whole filtration issue. Dig new wells or divert tainted flows if they aren't technically skilled.

>>1286784
>Rebuilding the Roads
ooooh yeah, we're gonna need some good logistics to counter the future blood fuckery

>>1286784
Is it possible to use the standing army as a means of rebuilding and maintaining the roads? Kinda like what the romans did with their legionaries when they weren't killing shit.

>>1287342
they'd be pretty exposed. Either go around carrying all their equipment, slowing the roadwork, or focus on not looking like soldiers at all, including the officers.

>>1287305
>>1287342
Might be good

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>>1287295
>>1287305
>>1287342
>>1287395
“How much can we increase taxes without the smallfolk rioting?” Emeron asked, leaning back against the pillar. “I mean, Ansell said it himself. It’s for their own damn good, so they better contribute to it on top of what they already owe us.”

The three of them deliberated silently. To everyone’s surprise, it was Palme that responded first. “A very small margin. There are some districts that are poorer than others, and the Slums remain to have at least a quarter of the capital’s population living in it. These people who live in camps or derelict buildings can barely afford to make the monthly dues and keep themselves alive…”

At the looks people gave him, the knight waved them off as his mouth formed a thin line of displeasure. “I personally took command of the city guard when the Red Riots started. Do you not remember?”

…oh, hold on a moment. Right, the Red Riots. Nasty thing that had apparently been, if the report was any indication. “I was still in the Reach when that happened,” Emeron shot back. “I’m not my father. I can’t be expected to remember every little engagement.”

It looked like that Palme would say something as he opened his mouth to respond. Go on, Emeron thought. I dare you. Tell me how it’s only a matter of time before father succumbs to his illness. Because you’ve only told me so many times before about the ball and chain I just got up from.

But the Lord Commander held his tongue. “True enough. But to keep things brief, the power structure of the slums changed overnight when the reigning gang of criminals perished in a single instant. The city guard had to move in force to pacify the more opportunistic bastards trying to assert dominance over the territory.”

Lawcomb’s eyes brightened. “Ah, yes. That dreadful incident with those Red Snakes brigands. Nasty thing that must have been, waking up to find two dozen men with their bodies brutalized and their throats cut. Did we ever find the party responsible for that mess? As beneficial as it was to unearth evidence of economic sabotage and conspiracy with the Vascieli, the ones responsible for the massacre are still out of the reach of the law.”

For a moment, there was something that had flashed in the Lord Commander’s eye. But as quick as Emeron saw it, they were replaced by a cool mask of sardonic stoicism. “No. Whoever was responsible for this has all but disappeared, for lack of a better term. Do you know what the people are saying? ‘Wraith’s Night’, they’re calling the date, and the stories are already making the rounds by errant campfires. Toasts and cheers have been made to the eponymous…Wraith who rid the poor bastards of the gang.”

(cont.)

>>1289374
>>For a moment, there was something that had flashed in the Lord Commander’s eye. But as quick as Emeron saw it, they were replaced by a cool mask of sardonic stoicism. “No. Whoever was responsible for this has all but disappeared, for lack of a better term. Do you know what the people are saying? ‘Wraith’s Night’, they’re calling the date, and the stories are already making the rounds by errant campfires. Toasts and cheers have been made to the eponymous…Wraith who rid the poor bastards of the gang.”
And in that moment, Marcus felt his peepee twitch in pride, though he knew not why.

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>>1289374
Ansell chose that moment to clear his throat, meeting all of their gazes with a reproachful, but amused smile. “Customs of the smallfolk aside, I would think it wise to simply lay the matter to rest. What’s done is done. And when he returns from Montgomer, Alistair can take up the cause. There’s no need for you to pick up our erstwhile comrade’s slack all by yourself, Berthold.”

“My only concern is the budget and the realm’s coffers, magister.” The Master Treasurer tapped a ringed finger on the cover of his book. “But I am merely concerned that there exists an individual or group that can casually slaughter twenty seven men in a single night and escape without as much as a trace.”

Put in that perspective, it was a serious concern for a myriad amount of reasons. Honestly, Emeron could not decide which one was either more impressive or worrying: that a group of individuals was responsible…or that a single man had killed them all.

“And we’re sure that no magical evidence was collected?” Lawcomb pressed. “Blackstaff was certain that there was no trace of sorcery of any sort. Perhaps this was the work of some-”

Palme exhaled deeply. “Master Treasurer, do you not trust my word?”

“What on…no, of course not. You’re one of the most sensible men in the realm-”

“Then trust me when I say that the matter has been thoroughly investigated as best as I could. All of the reports have been left for von Roie to investigate come the end of Spring. And should any new lead come up, rest assured that I will personally deliver it to you myself.”

That seemed to satisfy the copper-pincher at the very least. “Then, by all means. Before we had gotten distracted…” His eyes turned to Emeron. “Your highness, I believe that Lord Commander Palme is correct. The increase in the tax would have to be small in order to prevent destabilization. A flat rate across all the districts, from the slums to the Blumenviertel. I am suggesting…”

He paused to do the arithmetic on a blank folio. “Even increasing the tax by a marginal percentage, say one or two percent, would prove beneficiary in easing the burden on the coffers.”

Emeron smiled. “Then it’s settled. When is the next tax collection?”

“In eight days, your highness.”

“Good. Come the next month of collection, I want it spread to the surrounding regions that a temporary, but necessary tax has been imposed for the sake of the realm. It will be null and void upon the creation of the filter.”

“Excellent! Now, if you will permit my leave, I will have a report ready upon the morrow. Sers. Your Highness.”

With a swift bow, the Master Treasurer departed from the great hall. His steps were quick, a furious tap against the weathered stone as he retired for the day. He would not be seen until supper, and not tolerate any interruptions when analyzing his charts.

(cont.)

“...I was not even finished…” Emeron sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I was about to suggest another strategy.”

“Oh?” Ansell and Palme looked intrigued, and he had to fight the urge to dissemble. He might not have liked the prospect, but if needed, even he could think of ideas to better the realm other than a brute force of arms. “And what is this proposal?”

He looked at each of them before replying, “The Vethic Road. As it stands now, only some portions of the main thoroughfare are properly functional, and there are some run-offs and portions that have either eroded or turned into mud and slurry.”

The two of them looked even more surprised than before. “What’s brought this on?” The Grand Magister teetered perilously before the two of them helped him sit down beside Emeron. “Thank you…but it is very strange that you would turn to the road.”

“Pardon my Uldun, but the Vethic road has gone to shit,” Emeron said bluntly. “Neither of you were on my excursion to the Reach. It was nothing short of a nightmare to get the cavalry through the forest when a landslide had completely barred our passage.”

The old man remained pensive as Palme replied, “Fixing the road has always been a project of the Emperor’s…do you mean to take it up for yourself?”

His foot twitched at the mention of his father, but he paid it no mind. It was true. That was one of father’s goals, even long before he took sick. As much of a deranged madman Aedric had been in the twilight of his life, the Vethic road remained one among several projects the Conqueror had commissioned before he became the Tyrant.

“I’m not nearly as well-versed in the subject as Lawcomb is…” Or as chatty, for that matter. “But I know enough about economics and trade to know that fixing the road would do wonders for the realm.”

It would be a long project, one that would even take years, but it would have a lasting impact in the years to come. Trade between the north and south now easily facilitated, faster travel and more secure paths for both smallfolk and nobles alike.

And the best part about it?

“Additionally,” He continued, “I would like to begin talks with our neighbors in Suthyae and Opran. Perhaps it is finally time to unite the old roads one more and cement our relations as best we can short of marriage.”

The deed of restoration would be ascribed to Emeron.

Not to his father, and certainly not to Aedric.

The Vethic Road would be Prince Emeron’s to call his own.

=======

>The Fortress, Alnerwich
>Marcus Painel

>Roll 1d100 + 10 for Stealth
>Best of three

Rolled 51 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>1289485

Rolled 71 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>1289485

Rolled 96 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>1289485

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

256 KB JPG

>>1289497
>>1289502
>>1289517
In the end, the symptoms that could very well have led up to a debilitating cold eventually disappeared. All it had taken was some herbal concoction and a brief lapse into the Specter’s Dream for the side-effect of your swim to vanish. Every now and then, your nose may still run, but that is not too much of a pressing concern.

Now…Klara’s request…

Once you were certain that Ellana had fallen completely asleep, you quietly made your way out from her room, bereft of your armor save for your cloak. Urath stands by the door leading to Adrianna and Allanus’ rooms, acknowledging your presence with a nod. You return it, miming a sign for silence before you leave. He understands, returning to his quiet vigil.

How he managed to stay upright against that wall for more than an hour at a time is anyone’s guess.

The pace you take in navigating Mazurs’ fortress is not nearly as frantic as it had been a few days ago, as well as your earlier jaunt into the Alchemists’ Guild. Now that you know all of the little hiding places in the corners and dark parts of the overhead ceiling, masking your presence is an exercise in simplicity.

It does not take too long for you to dodge passing servants and yawing guards, leaping from one pillar of support to the next. Only once did the need for a distraction come about, but that had been dealt with relative ease. A single pebble falling from the ceiling bought enough time for you to pass through a particularly narrow doorway.

The floor that Patryk and Klara had given to Lady Sofia is not nearly as grand as the one housing the Crowmonds. Does she even know that the royal family is being housed within the walls of her husband-to-be? Perhaps, perhaps not. But if Klara would be proven right, then this noble would find herself bereft of a possible match.

The entrance to this wing of the fortress is only lightly guarded, four guards manning the post. They are similarly as easy to move past as much as their compatriots. You cling to a support beam, hugging tight against the varnished wood as you pull yourself from one hallway and into another, coming close to nearly skin your back along the stone partition.

Down the corridor and in the hallway corner, there is no one present. With that said, you are still able to press yourself against the wooden door frame. A moment of concentration reveals that there is no other sound save for the drafts of wind. No one is asleep in the room. It is truly empty, and her ladyship and her protector are nowhere to be found.

Now isn’t that odd…

You don’t know when they’re going to return.

>Perform a thorough, slow search.
>Perform a quick, glancing search.

>>1289635

>Perform a thorough, slow search.

>>1289635
>Perform a thorough, slow search.

>>1289635
>>Perform a thorough, slow search.

Gonna hit the sack. Will resume tomorrow.

>>1289635
>Perform a quick, glancing search.
I think it's more important to figure out where they are. That might be where the incriminating stuff is.

>>1289635
>>Perform a quick, glancing search

>>1289635
>>Perform a thorough, slow search.
We're looking for incriminating evidence, and aren't on a schedule. We should keep an ear out though; don't want to get caught snooping around.

>>1289635
>>Perform a thorough, slow search.

>>1289441
>Put in that perspective, it was a serious concern for a myriad amount of reasons. Honestly, Emeron could not decide which one was either more impressive or worrying: that a group of individuals was responsible…or that a single man had killed them all.
I think the thing that would shock him the most is that he already has him under the crown's employment.

>>1291528
Hey yo Emeron. That thing that killed that entire single-handily? That butchered them? It's right next to your younger sister in another town...


...protecting her of course.

Also I realized a few things. The Vascieli and the blood mages are starting to seem to be intwined somehow. Which could bode poorly for the empire. Also we have the problem of a powerful blood mage having seen our face. It could be prudent to invest in a mask so we don't draw too much attention from them and by extension Ellana.

>>1292131
doesn't our gear come with a cowl?

>>1292156
Yes it does. With that said, the Silvera that you met after you first seduced Claudia does know your face. However, he/she does not necissarily know that the one who slew the Homonculus was the same Amadeo who swept his "daughter" off her feet. You had your cowl on for the Homunculus fight.

>>1291547
It's okay though, as long as I read stories in the funny voices I made for your sister when she was younger or keep my debt of honor points ahead of everyone else, he'll keep protecting her.
>debt of honor what?
Easier to show you than explaining, watch this. Marcus, I heard you fell into the water and caught a cold. Here some cold medecine.
>>MY LIFE IS YOURS, I OWE YOU A DEBT OF HONOR
>...What?
You hungry? Here some stale bread or whatever.
>>MY LIFE IS YOURS!
How about I read you a story tonight? I'll do the voices you like.
>>HONOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRR
>Is this for real?
Yep.

Thanks for running.